[ ohh a secret— that is clearly none of his business! thankfully, palamedes continues to be quite the golden baguette. shoyo couldn't see much of anything to begin with and jokingly claps the man's shoulders. "damn baguette" he mutters, but makes mental note to leave pal's diary be. ]
So you're kind of like a dead-thing doctor, aren't you?
I'm a necromancer and, separately, something like a doctor, yes. Why?
[His necromancy usually has much less to do with the doctoring part, which he feels like he should point out? Dead-thing doctor is a different concept.]
[ necromancer, that's the word. dead stuff. but if doctor is a side hustle, that also helps with where he wants to go. ]
You can probably, definitely stomach looking at dead things, right? Like blood, and . . . Hands, and . . . [ that thought makes his throat go dry. he doesn't want to go there. as far as he knew, no one knew about it but him. he wants to keep it that way, but that costs him. nightmares breaking through an otherwise undisturbed sleep, panic, memories— he can't get sidetracked. ] —Anyway, I can't. I get sick enough to throw up.
This place is harsh. I want to get better at handling that stuff. You know? So I was wondering if . . . You've got tips.
[Oh, he thinks, it's like that. This isn't a surprise - which isn't to say he expected it from Shoyo specifically, but he expected it from someone, eventually. Given how cruel and unusual the city can be, and how, not to put too fine a point on it, bloody it is, well.
Inevitable.]
Sure; I can try. The first thing you need to remember is that the body- flesh, bones, all of it- is something we built our whole culture around, back home. The first time I held a human liver, I was six years old. That's in class, by the way.
[They don't just hand out livers.]
So my first tip is this: it's going to take some time. You're starting decades later than I did, and you come from a place that isn't comfortable with what happens to a body when dies or gets hurt, can I assume that?
[ oh, shoyo manages to squeak out. a human liver. six years old. when he was six, he was holding a kickball. and a puppy. and making refrigerator art in class.
trying to keep a waning smile in place, he nods. ]
Only doctors and . . . Homicide detectives . . . Get into that, back home.
Well, like we've said: I'm a necromancer. I passed Flesh Morph Analyses when I was eight, because I had to. From what I understand, your culture doesn't path children into careers until you're practically adults, either. I'm sure even your doctors struggle.
[He learned that middle school exists, and also that you have to be in school until some specific age instead of accomplishment? Wack. Flesh Morph Analyses didn't have age requirements.
But don't ask about Flesh Morph Analyses. He holds up a hand, like, he gets it; the gulf between them when it comes to being used to touching viscera is vast and nigh unconquerable, but also: there's plenty of time.]
Why don't we start simple? Tell me what bothers you so much about... it.
[ oh, well— if that was true, then maybe there’s hope—?! ]
Whoo. Okay. [ what was it that bothered him, really? ] I think it’s theeee— smell? Maybe the smell comes first. If it’s something small, I can look. Until I can’t feel my legs.
[ although, he’s not exactly confident with his answer. it’s clear both in his verbal uncertainty as much as the way he’s scrunching his brows to think. ]
—Okay, no. It’s . . . The inside. Like all the blood and the stuff inside.
[Hmm. Palamedes waits for him to come to his- final?- answer, then thinks about it.]
The gore, you mean? You don't like the violence, or you don't like blood and insides at all? Some people only care about bloodshed when it's their blood and their shed, after all.
[palamedes.]
That is to say: does context matter? Would you faint if I scraped my knee outdoors, or is it— the violence?
The violence, then. There's nothing wrong with that; I know everything there is to know about human organs, for example, but I still wouldn't like to see one burst open in front of me.
[This, a gentle reassurance, like the one about how long this adjustment period may take— it is in fact totally normal to not be comfortable around bucketloads of gore.
That said,] Blood only 'gushes like a hose' from the arteries, which aren't as close to the surface of your skin. You've seen too many pictures. [movies.] Not that I recommend watching a person bleed live, but try to remember: spectacle will lie to you.
[Trust No Special Effects]
I have to ask— Do you really think you'll need to be comfortable with violence? I mean, so often that you need tips? What are you getting into out there?
[ he's avoided the goriest entertainment for this very reason. it hadn't gotten any easier, nor was he ever going to be prepared to see his own hand spliced right off and getting— all of that, burned into his memory. so that. that was an artery. oh.
the more he thinks of it as a cloudy nightmare, the more it comes back to haunt him. the question doesn't make it any smoother a task to answer back, either. ]
Just . . . Like, [ he's not looking at palamedes. he chooses to look at the floor. he's always maintained eye contact because he has always been honest. ] Whenever something like that, happens? Even if it's not all the time, I'm . . . Deadweight. To everyone including me. And, I guess, [ this part is said quickly, as shoyo rubs the bottom of his nose in an idle, meaningless gesture beyond a nervous fidget: ] The nightmares don't stop.
If you're deadweight, I don't even qualify. [He is a stick with glasses who is supposed to come with his own bodyguard-bestie because necromancers are all uselessly feeble? At least Shoyo has muscle mass.
Which, okay, he holds up a hand like, just a sec.]
Listen; I don't think I need to tell you that no one is putting any blame on you for not being comfortable with violence. If they are, well, that I can't help you with. Get better friends?
[He shrugs, because that one isn't a joke, if there's somebody out there putting him down for not being gungho for all the murder and gore, they're probably not worth it.]
So. Let's focus on the nightmares. Exposure is, again, a terrible option for this, so— have you tried any sleep aids?
[ shōyō stays quiet; he can’t even nod in understanding and simply pulls his gaze elsewhere. his feet seem more comfortable, in a little kick at nothing as he slipped his hands in his pockets. there hadn’t been anyone expecting that of him beyond, well, himself— so he should maybe get a better self?
in parts, true. he should stop pushing himself to that, but there has yet to be acceptance— or understanding that exposure wouldn’t rid his traumatic experience from him, but make it quite worse. ]
I’ve always used meditation and my sleep tapes for years. It’s not working anymore.
This place will interfere with anything non-chemical sooner rather than later.
[Gently, because it's not Shoyo's fault that his usual helpers aren't working anymore, and Palamedes thinks that should be made abundantly clear.
So, ideas. He brings his hand to his chin, thoughtful.]
There's always the bell in the Sanctuary; the one that reduces corruption. We ring it often enough, although I haven't studied how long a 'dose' of that magic lasts. There's a young lady witch who comes around the Sanctuary often enough, her name is Luna— she's quite the whiz with enchantments. I don't know for sure, but she might be able to enchant a... pillow for you, to help with sleep.
If you're not interested in magic, the Lumenarium might be able to part with some sleeping pills.
[ well, the more pal rolls out the possibilities, the more the worried fall of his eyes widen up with bewilderment and attention. as in oh, oh these options exist? a pillow enchantment actually sounds cool, a soft enough idea even if magic was concerned. the latter— there's some resistance in his own thoughts, part of simply being an athlete and always trying to stay away from any long-term substance use.
still, he does ask, for both options: ]
Would any of that be, um, [ viciante, 中毒性のある, he says in a soft mutter to parse the word: ] addictive?
[Helpful. Okay. Take two,] I don't recommend using any one aid to excess— that's where the problems start. The bell and the magic pillow, those are going to lean towards your mental dependence, I'd wager - being related to magic, and all. Psychological dependence isn't precisely the same thing as chemical dependence— I don't know which one you're worried about, really.
[He'd guess the chemical one, if he had to? The nature of psychological dependence on anti-corruption aids in this place is likely more easy to keep in hand than addiction to sleeping pills. He'd have to ask around.]
If it worries you, I'd recommend keeping track of your experiences with whatever it is you choose. That way, you'll have a finger on the pulse of how well it works, too.
Sure— I don't see why not. I'll caution you that using them consecutively in short enough periods will spoil the data, but it's not as if the data is your priority.
[This isn't a closed study that requires absolute precision and accuracy, after all. It's fine to be less tidy for personal benefit.]
Like I said, though: we've no way of knowing the addictive properties of various magical strategies right now. If the bell works, for example, skip the pills. That's my official advice.
[ pal’s smart with the science stuff. he can log it in a sleep journal. anything to make it easier to gather the right answers and make the night terrors slip away in his dreams.
shōyō nods at his manager’s verdict. it’s one that he’ll follow down to the period. try the bell. even the pillow. kick the pills. repeat that, so he doesn’t forget. bell. pillow. no pills. his mouth moves wordlessly to form something, and words have yet to really come. shōyō inhales instead, presses his lips into a puffy line—
—leans over and hugs him, on his toes to reach a greater height, clapping pal’s back as he finds the right spots to handle and squeeze around the shoulders. ]
[--Oh, a hug, okay. Palamedes gives a surprised little pseudo-laugh, a puff of a sound, tucking the notebook under his arm to free his hands to pat Shoyo between the shoulders. There, there. It isn't as though he would have refused to help.]
So, that sounds good? You can keep me posted, if you like. I'm pretty good at data interpretation.
[ it deserves an extra pat along the back and about three seconds of lingering before shoyo pulls back with the beginnings of a smile that most closely resembles his sunshine. ]
Alright. [ oh, and: ] Sooo . . . Does this mean I don't have to hold my first liver?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
So you're kind of like a dead-thing doctor, aren't you?
no subject
I'm a necromancer and, separately, something like a doctor, yes. Why?
[His necromancy usually has much less to do with the doctoring part, which he feels like he should point out? Dead-thing doctor is a different concept.]
cw: emeto mention
You can probably, definitely stomach looking at dead things, right? Like blood, and . . . Hands, and . . . [ that thought makes his throat go dry. he doesn't want to go there. as far as he knew, no one knew about it but him. he wants to keep it that way, but that costs him. nightmares breaking through an otherwise undisturbed sleep, panic, memories— he can't get sidetracked. ] —Anyway, I can't. I get sick enough to throw up.
This place is harsh. I want to get better at handling that stuff. You know? So I was wondering if . . . You've got tips.
no subject
Inevitable.]
Sure; I can try. The first thing you need to remember is that the body- flesh, bones, all of it- is something we built our whole culture around, back home. The first time I held a human liver, I was six years old. That's in class, by the way.
[They don't just hand out livers.]
So my first tip is this: it's going to take some time. You're starting decades later than I did, and you come from a place that isn't comfortable with what happens to a body when dies or gets hurt, can I assume that?
no subject
trying to keep a waning smile in place, he nods. ]
Only doctors and . . . Homicide detectives . . . Get into that, back home.
no subject
[He learned that middle school exists, and also that you have to be in school until some specific age instead of accomplishment? Wack. Flesh Morph Analyses didn't have age requirements.
But don't ask about Flesh Morph Analyses. He holds up a hand, like, he gets it; the gulf between them when it comes to being used to touching viscera is vast and nigh unconquerable, but also: there's plenty of time.]
Why don't we start simple? Tell me what bothers you so much about... it.
no subject
Whoo. Okay. [ what was it that bothered him, really? ] I think it’s theeee— smell? Maybe the smell comes first. If it’s something small, I can look. Until I can’t feel my legs.
[ although, he’s not exactly confident with his answer. it’s clear both in his verbal uncertainty as much as the way he’s scrunching his brows to think. ]
—Okay, no. It’s . . . The inside. Like all the blood and the stuff inside.
no subject
The gore, you mean? You don't like the violence, or you don't like blood and insides at all? Some people only care about bloodshed when it's their blood and their shed, after all.
[palamedes.]
That is to say: does context matter? Would you faint if I scraped my knee outdoors, or is it— the violence?
cw: description of injury/gore
[ minor injuries were part of sports. he could handle something as simple as that! but when it came to, hm, more— his imagination runs with it. ]
But if, like, your knee popped out, and if I could see the bone poking up and the blood started gushing out like a hose I’d . . . Not. Feel good.
[ he doesn’t exactly look good. ]
no subject
[This, a gentle reassurance, like the one about how long this adjustment period may take— it is in fact totally normal to not be comfortable around bucketloads of gore.
That said,] Blood only 'gushes like a hose' from the arteries, which aren't as close to the surface of your skin. You've seen too many pictures. [movies.] Not that I recommend watching a person bleed live, but try to remember: spectacle will lie to you.
[Trust No Special Effects]
I have to ask— Do you really think you'll need to be comfortable with violence? I mean, so often that you need tips? What are you getting into out there?
no subject
[ he's avoided the goriest entertainment for this very reason. it hadn't gotten any easier, nor was he ever going to be prepared to see his own hand spliced right off and getting— all of that, burned into his memory. so that. that was an artery. oh.
the more he thinks of it as a cloudy nightmare, the more it comes back to haunt him. the question doesn't make it any smoother a task to answer back, either. ]
Just . . . Like, [ he's not looking at palamedes. he chooses to look at the floor. he's always maintained eye contact because he has always been honest. ] Whenever something like that, happens? Even if it's not all the time, I'm . . . Deadweight. To everyone including me. And, I guess, [ this part is said quickly, as shoyo rubs the bottom of his nose in an idle, meaningless gesture beyond a nervous fidget: ] The nightmares don't stop.
no subject
Which, okay, he holds up a hand like, just a sec.]
Listen; I don't think I need to tell you that no one is putting any blame on you for not being comfortable with violence. If they are, well, that I can't help you with. Get better friends?
[He shrugs, because that one isn't a joke, if there's somebody out there putting him down for not being gungho for all the murder and gore, they're probably not worth it.]
So. Let's focus on the nightmares. Exposure is, again, a terrible option for this, so— have you tried any sleep aids?
no subject
in parts, true. he should stop pushing himself to that, but there has yet to be acceptance— or understanding that exposure wouldn’t rid his traumatic experience from him, but make it quite worse. ]
I’ve always used meditation and my sleep tapes for years. It’s not working anymore.
no subject
[Gently, because it's not Shoyo's fault that his usual helpers aren't working anymore, and Palamedes thinks that should be made abundantly clear.
So, ideas. He brings his hand to his chin, thoughtful.]
There's always the bell in the Sanctuary; the one that reduces corruption. We ring it often enough, although I haven't studied how long a 'dose' of that magic lasts. There's a young lady witch who comes around the Sanctuary often enough, her name is Luna— she's quite the whiz with enchantments. I don't know for sure, but she might be able to enchant a... pillow for you, to help with sleep.
If you're not interested in magic, the Lumenarium might be able to part with some sleeping pills.
no subject
still, he does ask, for both options: ]
Would any of that be, um, [ viciante, 中毒性のある, he says in a soft mutter to parse the word: ] addictive?
no subject
[Helpful. Okay. Take two,] I don't recommend using any one aid to excess— that's where the problems start. The bell and the magic pillow, those are going to lean towards your mental dependence, I'd wager - being related to magic, and all. Psychological dependence isn't precisely the same thing as chemical dependence— I don't know which one you're worried about, really.
[He'd guess the chemical one, if he had to? The nature of psychological dependence on anti-corruption aids in this place is likely more easy to keep in hand than addiction to sleeping pills. He'd have to ask around.]
If it worries you, I'd recommend keeping track of your experiences with whatever it is you choose. That way, you'll have a finger on the pulse of how well it works, too.
no subject
[ he’s have to think about it. pal has brought up a good point, though: keeping track. that’s something he could do. ]
Do you think I can use all three? Not, like— all at once. Maybe just switch them around and keep track of how they’re working.
[ it seems less likely to get stuck on one, that way. ]
no subject
[This isn't a closed study that requires absolute precision and accuracy, after all. It's fine to be less tidy for personal benefit.]
Like I said, though: we've no way of knowing the addictive properties of various magical strategies right now. If the bell works, for example, skip the pills. That's my official advice.
no subject
shōyō nods at his manager’s verdict. it’s one that he’ll follow down to the period. try the bell. even the pillow. kick the pills. repeat that, so he doesn’t forget. bell. pillow. no pills. his mouth moves wordlessly to form something, and words have yet to really come. shōyō inhales instead, presses his lips into a puffy line—
—leans over and hugs him, on his toes to reach a greater height, clapping pal’s back as he finds the right spots to handle and squeeze around the shoulders. ]
no subject
So, that sounds good? You can keep me posted, if you like. I'm pretty good at data interpretation.
no subject
Alright. [ oh, and: ] Sooo . . . Does this mean I don't have to hold my first liver?
no subject
You never have to hold a liver. If you're ever curious, I'll tell you all about what necromancer school is like.
[It's gross. It's gross during 100% of the times that it isn't boring test-taking.]
no subject
[ he’d say never, but it’s bad luck to use negatives! ]
—Thanks, for real.
no subject
Sure. Anytime.