ataraxion | 03

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03 - Video

[The feed opens to a dimly-lit chamber in the ship that, at best, looks suspiciously organic. The Wraith has propped up the comm camera so that he can move about his lab without inducing motion sickness, or perhaps his present state has left him with little energy for a more dynamic broadcast. He seems to be a bit less skeletal than he has in some of his previous network appearances, but even then his face is thin and worn. The corners of his mouth briefly flick upward in what might optimistically be a bitter smile, and his voice - though still rusty and quiet - is not quite so accusing as last time.]

I... [grudgingly] realize that I my last address to you came across as more incendiary than intended. One might argue that starvation can wreak havoc on the mind, but I hope that today shall mark an end to this bitter cycle of hunger and fleeting satiation.

[He steps closer and produces a vial of some amber-colored liquid from a rack of test tubes on one of the lab workbenches, which he holds in his off hand so that the camera is focused directly on it.]

This is the first stage of a gene therapy that will significantly ease the effects brought about by my feeding. The retrovirus was designed and tested by myself and others in the science department. It alters human DNA so that the body produces an antivenom upon contact with my feeding enzyme. [He briefly flashes his feeding hand at the camera, now dark with hunger, as a demonstration. The skin around his feeding slit has drawn back to expose a ring of small, sharp barbs, each one bristling with red-orange Wraith venom.] At present, we Wraith have an incredibly inefficient means of feeding ourselves. The process is wasteful - if we did not also strengthen your kind with adrenaline, the shock alone would kill in seconds. I should hardly need to say that this is not an optimal result for either Wraith or human, but it is the only option available to us in nature. The gene therapy will endow any who take it with the ability to minimize the damage caused by our feeding enzyme, which is a far more desirable outcome for both our species.

In streamlining this process by curbing the strength of our enzyme, we would no longer need to drain humans dry to feed ourselves. Likewise, no human save for the frailest would ever fall by our hand. This [he turns the vial in his off hand a bit, to keep it in focus] is meant to be a shield, and one which I give to any human who elects to take it.

[Protection from Wraith bites, at the cost of implicitly volunteering to be food. He'll let that point sink in as he cuts off the feed.]

[OOC: We can handwave the inoculation if you'd like to, or we can work something out in his IC Contact page. I also have an OOC tracking list up for easy reference.]

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[Someone has terrible, terrible associations with that word you're using to describe yourself, Mr. the Wraith. And he's kind of starting to wonder if everyone aboard this ship is a parasite of some stripe. But there's no point in pretending they're not there, to be surprised by them later on unprepared. Yes, he's totally judging you.

Frostily:] And those who are not human?

Edited 2013-01-21 18:20 (UTC)

[A corner of his mouth lifts up into a lopsided smile.]

Speaking generally, they are not part of my natural diet.

[Not a very palatable creature, is he? Gross-looking and parasitic. At least Garrett has the good grace not to look gross.

...Well. At least he's being gracious about being a parasite. He did go to all this effort, and Garrett did have a point about not being able to choose what sustains you. Just how much was a deer likely to appreciate an elf, after it became venison?

Still, wariness is an essential part of a wood-elf's make-up, even if Thranduil is only a wood-elf by adoption-sort-of.]

I am not certain what part of your diet is natural, but I suppose it cannot be helped.

[Not that Thranduil is much of a looker himself. What self-respecting man doesn't have a beard or tattoos from brow to heel?]

The course of our evolution has taken us so that we prey upon humans, and humans alone. This is how nature shaped us, and I cannot change it.

[Beards are for dwarves.]

As I said, it cannot be helped.

You call yourself a wraith. Are you living?

I think I should find it difficult to speak if I was anything but alive.

One would think, but I prefer to be certain. Those who we calls wraiths in my world are neither alive nor dead. Which are you?

[He frowns at that. It's not a case of neither/nor. You're either alive, or you're not. A third state simply isn't possible.]

I am quite alive.

[Is he sure? He looks pretty dead to Thranduil. But he breathes. He doesn't have that...that feel the dead or undead have about them. Not over the console, anyway. He acts too...normal.

And he really does have to admit...]

I have never known any creature to take such care not to harm prey as you do.

[Since harm is usually the point.]

[He's initially silent, at a loss for words. This is a move that needs to be made, and one that his only choices are to comply or perish. It's not for humanity, but for Wraith - for all Wraith, from the eldest viziers to fledgelings in the creche. It's not a humanitarian effort, it's a political move to save his hide, and possibly the hides of his people.]

... Evolution demands that all creatures must adapt or die. This is one such adaptation.

But it was not your death at stake.

[He wants to know why.]

Should you speak to any human who has been here for a good length of time, I am certain you would know otherwise.

[How about that. A monster capable of diplomatic thinking. Thranduil absorbs this for a moment.]

Do you have a name?

[He keeps getting this question over and over again, and each time is more and more confusing. Of course he has a name. It's just inseparable from who he is as a person, and that's somewhat difficult to condense into anything easy on the tongue.]

'Commander' is sufficient.

[He knows orcs have names. He's never been sure about other monsters.] Commander of what?

Consort, Commander of The Queen's Forces, Lord of Her Household, Chief of Blades, and Master of all Her Hives.

[A beat.]

'Commander' is simplest.

[You're getting something that looks suspiciously like a deer-in-the-headlights look. A very elven one. Except it's not, because elf-kings don't, ahem, don't do that.

After a moment, Thranduil leans back in his chair, shifting his grip on the pad.]

Indeed. And you feed from Men alone.

[What's 10,000 years without indulging in a bit of fun at someone else's expense?]

Ideally, yes.

[Yes, he's starting to notice the Wraith is about the only person on board this ship who does not make him feel old as hell. In fact...he's starting to get the impression he's sort of a kid poking at an old man. Not easy at 6500 years.]

Why only Men?

[The term "human" is applied rather loosely around here and he's trying to see how many of his people are safe.]

Edited 2013-01-21 21:44 (UTC)

You may as well ask why we breathe oxygen rather than nitrogen, or why the eye developed to sense a particular spectrum of light. It was not our choice. It is simply what we are.

Edited 2013-01-21 21:57 (UTC)

You do not feed on elves. Nor halflings.

[A particular halfling does not need any more stress than has already been dumped on him.]

They are not native to my reality.

[That's not a 'no', exactly.]

Edited 2013-01-21 22:56 (UTC)

That isn't an answer.

[Thranduil can do this all day.]

Edited 2013-01-21 22:58 (UTC)

I should likely not feed on either one, unless out of desperation.

[Which should be rendered moot if the retrovirus treatment catches on.]

[And there are plenty of humans. Still. Thranduil does not like unknowns. He likes putting trust in them even less.]

You should not likely?

Would you bite down on a plant if you had no idea of its origin? How should I know if either one will be beneficial to my health, if neither are known to me?

You are answering my questions with questions.

Indeed, I am.

Stop it.

I shall not, if only because the answer should be painfully obvious.

[And because this is the most entertaining thing he's come across in a long, long time.]

If it is obvious, why do you dodge it?

[Thranduil never had siblings, so he's not used to being teased. But he does have multiple kids, and is starting to get a totally positively unrelated sense of familiarity from this.]

Oh, but I haven't. I've given you ample reason to consider, even if you have not yet considered it.

[Picking on each other is a well-honored, traditional Wraith pastime. Having dozens of half-brothers and cousins to practice on helps, too.]

...You're making fun of me.

I presume this means you'll have regular donors from now on?

That would be the desired outcome, yes.

Edited (wrong icon) 2013-01-23 21:35 (UTC)

So this is what has been keeping you from our games, Commander. An antivenom could be of some benefit, though that depends. Does it also negate the positive effects?

It is regrettable, but one's work should always come before play. By positive effects, I assume you mean the benefits to my health.

No, to me. The reminder of being alive; that is my drug.

[ His weakness. ]

We should play again.

How much of that do you have? [ Because if there's a limited supply, he should probably say as much. ] And how long does it last when you take it?

This is meant to permanently alter human DNA. It is designed to be particularly difficult to deactivate by accident. However, I cannot say at present that it might not deactivate after a number of years.

My supply is somewhat limited - I may be able to alter seven to ten humans at the moment - but as you can see, I have no shortage of the means to produce more.

[He steps slightly to the side, so she can see a little more of his lab. There are a few repurposed aquariums in the back of the room, each one filled with some decidedly and unpleasantly alien liquid. The workbenches at his side host racks of petri dishes that have some kind of growth inside. It may not mean anything to her, but it clearly does to him.]

[ A number of years. Even though she's got nothing to go home to except a casket, the idea of being trapped here for that long doesn't sit well with October.

It definitely doesn't mean much to her, but if he's been able to create some of the serum, she figures all that stuff has something to do with it. ] And you're sure it'll work? [ She's let him feed from her twice; may as well continue it if she can get the serum and keep from dying. Again. ] Because I don't really feel like being the guinea pig that dies if I offer to help.

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03 - Video

[video] /gathers up all the "old as hell" CR

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[video] Sorry he can be pushy.

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