[Despite how overwhelmingly bad of an idea it is for Lucius to take another dose when they have yet to see how the current one will effect his demon-flesh, Fabius doesn't voice any concerns. If anything, he stares at his brother expectantly, as if waiting to see if he really will just pour out another mound of translucent pink powder, eager to snuff it up.
Then wordlessly he turns, his slithering tail cutting through the thin layer of dust that coats the floor as he makes his way towards one of the many metal utility shelves that partitions the operating theater from the rest of the factory.]
If you're so eager to take Ambrosia directly, that can surely be arranged. [One, because Fabius is curious to see what will happen to his dear brother and his new flesh; and two, because if Lucius does overdose, it's not like he won't make use of the flesh left behind.
From the shelf, he retrieves a clear, cleanly marked bottle of saline fluid. One of the many perks of his residency at an understaffed clinic was that no one really paid too close attention to the materials Fabius would swipe and bring back for his own use; and with the saline in hand, he makes his way towards the slab that Lucius has perched upon, grabbing the nearby rolling cart covered in surgical tools as he does.]
Do you feel anything more? [He's impatient,] or do you want it intravenously?
[ As if can taste Fabius' thoughts on the overlong, over-sensitized tongue that drifts between his lips, Lucius laughs as his brother turns. He would have been more surprised to hear him object to the suggestion, except perhaps as a biasing of the results of this test.
Lucius reaches for the beaker again, and the frustrating way his fingertips have been wholly encased in enamel doesn't even touch him in the moment. He can feel the glass on the lengths of his fingers, against his palm, and he nearly thinks the powder within the tube buzzes at the nearness of his touch. Another breathy chuckle passes through his fangs, and he finds himself tumbling back to recline against the cold slab with more carelessness than languor.
There is the sharp strike of metal against the back of his skullβbut rather than piercing pain, the sensation that lances through his scalp and the bone beneath is one of pleasure. Now, the sound that parts his teeth is a sigh, and by the time Fabius turns, Lucius is dragging the hard, flat bottoms of his hooves against dirty metal, the meeting of their textures vibrating up the bones of his ankles. ]
You don't need to ask to know the answer to that. [ He holds the beaker above him, and the pinkish color within seems abruptly very sharp to Lucius' eyes. Again, he swishes it, watching those dust-fine granules shift with the movement, and his dexterity doesn't seem diminished much by his high, either. ] You just want me to say as much so I can't be upset when I stop breathing!
[ He tilts his head against the slab so he can shoot a grin Fabius' way. ]
I could only ever hope for such a fortuitous result. [Fabius snarls back as he returns to Lucius' side. Luckily then, that the effects of the drug seems to have finally caught up. It seems the both of them are still having to get used to these pathetically slow bodies. With the sight though, Fabius sets aside the jar of saline for now, and instead rounds on his brother.
Lucius holds that beaker up in the air, and like an admonishing parent taking something bad away from their child, he yanks the glass from Lucius' claws. It's set aside, in favor of looming over his brother with his scowling, cadaverous visage hovered just close enough so that he can press his fingers against the socket of one of Lucius' eyes. As his thumb and forefinger peels an eyelid open from its languid, half-lidded state Fabius shifts to allow one of the bright, sterile lights above them to shine down on Lucius' face; and with scientific curiosity, he watches the way his brother's slitted pupil constricts.]
Reaction seems normal so far... [he hums in thought, more to himself than to Lucius. Then he moves away again, and the hand that had pried that eyelid open instead drops to the pulse-point on his brothers neck. He raises his other arm, staring down at his ticking wristwatch, counting the beats.]
Heartrate is also expected. [His aureate gaze returns to Lucius' face,] do you feel any nausea?
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Then wordlessly he turns, his slithering tail cutting through the thin layer of dust that coats the floor as he makes his way towards one of the many metal utility shelves that partitions the operating theater from the rest of the factory.]
If you're so eager to take Ambrosia directly, that can surely be arranged. [One, because Fabius is curious to see what will happen to his dear brother and his new flesh; and two, because if Lucius does overdose, it's not like he won't make use of the flesh left behind.
From the shelf, he retrieves a clear, cleanly marked bottle of saline fluid. One of the many perks of his residency at an understaffed clinic was that no one really paid too close attention to the materials Fabius would swipe and bring back for his own use; and with the saline in hand, he makes his way towards the slab that Lucius has perched upon, grabbing the nearby rolling cart covered in surgical tools as he does.]
Do you feel anything more? [He's impatient,] or do you want it intravenously?
no subject
Lucius reaches for the beaker again, and the frustrating way his fingertips have been wholly encased in enamel doesn't even touch him in the moment. He can feel the glass on the lengths of his fingers, against his palm, and he nearly thinks the powder within the tube buzzes at the nearness of his touch. Another breathy chuckle passes through his fangs, and he finds himself tumbling back to recline against the cold slab with more carelessness than languor.
There is the sharp strike of metal against the back of his skullβbut rather than piercing pain, the sensation that lances through his scalp and the bone beneath is one of pleasure. Now, the sound that parts his teeth is a sigh, and by the time Fabius turns, Lucius is dragging the hard, flat bottoms of his hooves against dirty metal, the meeting of their textures vibrating up the bones of his ankles. ]
You don't need to ask to know the answer to that. [ He holds the beaker above him, and the pinkish color within seems abruptly very sharp to Lucius' eyes. Again, he swishes it, watching those dust-fine granules shift with the movement, and his dexterity doesn't seem diminished much by his high, either. ] You just want me to say as much so I can't be upset when I stop breathing!
[ He tilts his head against the slab so he can shoot a grin Fabius' way. ]
no subject
Lucius holds that beaker up in the air, and like an admonishing parent taking something bad away from their child, he yanks the glass from Lucius' claws. It's set aside, in favor of looming over his brother with his scowling, cadaverous visage hovered just close enough so that he can press his fingers against the socket of one of Lucius' eyes. As his thumb and forefinger peels an eyelid open from its languid, half-lidded state Fabius shifts to allow one of the bright, sterile lights above them to shine down on Lucius' face; and with scientific curiosity, he watches the way his brother's slitted pupil constricts.]
Reaction seems normal so far... [he hums in thought, more to himself than to Lucius. Then he moves away again, and the hand that had pried that eyelid open instead drops to the pulse-point on his brothers neck. He raises his other arm, staring down at his ticking wristwatch, counting the beats.]
Heartrate is also expected. [His aureate gaze returns to Lucius' face,] do you feel any nausea?