gurabad | 020 » just know that you won't have to do this alone

[not long after that incident, francel is moved to more spacious quarters.

or, well — maybe more spacious isn't really the right way to describe it. the quarantine chambers had been big enough, technically, but francel had been forced to spend his time in them with his hands and legs bound — sometimes in chairs, sometimes in beds, sometimes in straitjackets.

the new room is better. nicer. there's a bed, and a desk, and a chair. one wall is lined with narrow windows, too near the ceiling to comfortably open and close without some sort of stepladder, but they let in light so that francel knows what time of day it is. at the same time, he's not an idiot: he knows he's still a prisoner. the furniture is bolted to the floor. the windows are too narrow for him to slip through.

it's still a prison cell. just — it's a nicer one.

the researchers tell him that it's dangerous for someone of his species to be outside.

they send other scholars to talk to him, all of them with complex titles that francel doesn't quite understand. geneticists, wildlife biologists, physiologists, immunologists. some of them send him through strange machines; others wire him to them. a medical exam is conducted every week. the dentist keeps marveling at the perfect health and alignment of francel's teeth despite his apparent complete lack of dental hygiene understanding.

they're nice enough, but they laugh at him: sorry i'm not dr. walker — you must be lonely, you haven't seen ryan in weeks! — i'd put these headphones in your ears, but i don't know what i'm going to do if you come — i promise i won't touch your ears; i've got a cat, that's enough commitment in my life.

the most interesting scientist (they all tell him to just think of them as scientists) is a surprisingly friendly man who identifies himself as a psychologist and anthropologist; he is patient and kind, but he treats francel like a child. "do you know what an anthropologist is?" he asks, all too slowly.

"i have heard tell of a famed eorzean anthropogeographer," francel answers, cautiously, and for some reason, the man laughs.

the psychologist conducts an impressively long interview — about his life and his culture and his views on this and that — and after that visit, the shamrock employees start treating him a little better. francel half-suspects that some sort of company policy has been announced; suddenly, everyone calls him francel and not the elf, and sometimes they ask about ishgard, and, oddly, women stop coming in to check on him.

(the psychologist had concluded, among other things, that francel's sexuality and culture contributed to a general respect for but distrust of women, and given the intelligence of the subject, distrust may lead to compromised results. female employees are encouraged to send male proxies to administer experiments.

experiments administered by ryan walker may have unorthodox results.)

weeks drag on into months. francel starts asking, more and more often, if they will ever let him explore the world. he promises not to draw undue attention to himself; he promises, in effect, that he'll be good. none of this seems to have much effect until his mood sours. at that point — perhaps wary of the waste involved if their previously sweet and cooperative elezen subject decides to kill himself — someone, somewhere, agrees to have francel transported to a likely aether-rich environment.

based on the subject's descriptions of aether, the most likely location: the former wwi trench sites in france, abandoned and reclaimed by nature in the form of lush forests.

perhaps ryan walker is assigned to supervise francel on the trip because they think he'll be able to improve francel's mood.

(somewhere, griffith must be internally screaming at the thought of ryan with that elf again.)

francel is wearing wrist and ankle monitors, but it isn't as if he's planning to run off. on the contrary, he falls asleep waiting for ryan to board the plane; when he wakes up, he isn't sure if the airship is still in flight or if it's landed.

sleepily:] ...Doctor Walker?

Edited 2016-08-25 05:01 (UTC)

[While things have been easier for Ryan in the sense that he's not a prisoner and he's not being subjected to a litany of experiments, on the personal humiliation front he's right there with Francel. Ryan always knew that he had a long list of people itching to see him fail in any capacity. What he didn't know was how tenacious they would be after the fact! No amount of hilarious failures from other people decreases the novelty found in mocking Ryan, apparently.

Though he does get back at the worst offenders by spreading a particularly nasty substance on the earmuffs they'd taken to putting on whenever he walks in the room.

What finally, finally causes the teasing to taper off some is him successfully creating embryos from the sample he collected. It's hard to continue insisting Ryan only did it because he was into it when he gets actual results. A couple of the embryos even manage to take in surrogate wombs. Since Francel's mental state is already starting to decline by then, it becomes strictly forbidden to mention it to him. With something like that under his belt Ryan decides it's time for him to declare that he's taking a vacation. Surprisingly, his request is agreed to and even funded. When he receives a text while he's packing, he discovers why.

He's despondent without you, so take responsibility!

The real details of his assignment follow afterward. Honestly, he can't believe they're taking their little joke this far! But it does sound interesting, so he'll do it regardless. With hidden platform boots, of course. He can't let the balance of power be thrown too much, he might die.

Ryan ignores Francel initially as he straps his luggage into place. Usually someone would have done that for him, but he doesn't like to let anyone touch his things. Bereft of good reasons to ignore him after that, he settles down beside him with a small, resigned sigh. ]

Yes. Francel, correct?

[He knows. Of course he's been keeping up with him to some extent. He even sat in on some tests, though only the ones where Francel was unconscious or he was able to be in another room while observing.]

Mm...

[francel sits up straight, rubbing his eyes and then the bridge of his nose in an effort to recompose himself, but he still seems dazed when he turns his head to the left and blinks blearily at ryan. it's been months, sure, and perhaps he's just not remembering correctly, but something feels... off. hadn't ryan been much shorter during the exam?

...then again, ryan had been a lot of things during the exam.

a dull colour rises to francel's cheeks. better to just not think about that.]

...Yes. Are we — have we arrived at our destination?

[they haven't even taken off; he slept for fifteen minutes at best. really, with his sensitive hearing, there's no way francel would be able to sleep through the roar of the engine at liftoff — but he wouldn't know that. eorzean airships are a lot quieter, being magical and all.]

[He sees that slight flushing, and he can hear the laughter of the people he's working with already. At least these private jets are set up so that the passengers don't really have to interact with or see the pilots. Small blessings.]

We haven't even taken off yet. The flight will be roughly eight hours.

[Ryan fastens himself in as the pilot announces that they'll be taking off, then gestures to Francel.]

Buckle up.

[francel seems confused by the command at first, but he does get the picture after seeing how ryan is strapped in. he fumbles for his own seatbelt, slotting it neatly into place.]

Are your airships so dangerous that men even risk falling out of their seats?

No, it's just protocol. The sudden increase in speed upon taking off can cause people to topple over if they're moving.

[Poor Francel. The plane starts up, and even though the cabin has a lot of sound insulation he's still going to hear it during take off. There's also the slightly unsettling ear popping sensation as they get up higher. Ryan almost asks him what it feels like since his ears are different, but he thinks better of mentioning his ears in any context in a likely bugged cabin. Once the plane stabilizes Ryan unbuckles and stands immediately, walking toward the bed.]

I'm going to sleep.

[francel's cringing in his seat throughout the takeoff, with his hands over his ears and an obvious wince on his face. he peeks up at ryan after the noise settles, vaguely resembling like a child peeking out of his blankets after a thunderstorm despite his ridiculous height. he doesn't seem especially thrilled that ryan has decided to go to sleep.]

Wh... What? Already? You don't intend to sleep for the whole flight, do you?

[A kinder, more sociable person would feel bad just consigning someone to boredom like that. Ryan does not. This is better for the both of them, after all. Maybe he'll explain as much later, but saying "we can't talk now because people are listening" would give people even more fodder than just talking normally.]

Of course I do. You were sleeping when I arrived, weren't you? Just go back to sleep. Then we won't have to waste time once we get there.

[francel seems to wilt at that reply, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. he's still strapped in like a good boy, perhaps because he's gotten so used to being tied to various chairs over the last few months — and then, sulkily, a few words slip out of his mouth.]

The least you could do is ask how I've been...

[ohhh that's going to give the coworkers weird ideas.]

[Oh my God Francel, think before you speak! Or maybe he doesn't care? If he gets to go home, he can leave this whole humiliating mess behind him. With a huff Ryan flops on the bed, turning his back to the elezen. He'll just stare at the wall the whole flight, though. He can't sleep when it's so bright, and there's a person in here with him too. That's not to say he can't remain silent for eight solid hours, because he can and he will unless Francel tries to engage him in conversation.]

[sigh.

since ryan so stubbornly insists on ignoring him, francel won't push it. it'll just have to be eight hours of boredom for him!

they gave him a thick jacket, just in case he didn't find his hooded sweatshirt and denim jeans warm enough; from the inside pocket of said jacket, francel fishes out a sketchpad — again, one that was provided for him. he's been using it for several months.

(one absent-minded corner doodle of ryan had been unceremoniously torn from the book and paraded around the office for several days.)

there is a pen in his lft hip pocket. he fishes it out and begins sketching; when the seatbelt starts to dig into his shoulder, he unbuckles it and continues his drawing. he spends about a half-hour quietly hunched over his sketchpad before he looks over at ryan, rolled over on the bed facing the wall.

francel frowns. with a surprising stealth considering his size, he walks over to ryan's cot and grasps the sheets folded at the foot of the mattress. he shakes them out. he drapes them over ryan.]

[That picture is most certainly contributing to Ryan's mood. While he can appreciate that Francel must be terribly bored having tests run on him all the time and nothing else, any indication that all that teasing might be correct on some level ruffles him greatly. Francel shouldn't be thinking about him if he's not there, and obviously he's only going to think about Francel if he's working!

Perhaps if he were actually asleep he wouldn't notice the sheets kindly being draped over his prone body, but as it is he sits bolt upright the second they touch his skin. He clutches them suspiciously, staring up at Francel and trying to discern his motivations.

Well, now he can't even pretend to sleep. He'll feel like he's being stared at the whole time.]

...are you that bored?

[francel stands frozen in surprise for a good two seconds when ryan sits bolt upright with all the horror-movie rage of frankenstein's monster; once it becomes clear that the good doctor is, in fact, asking him a question, francel settles into a more neutral — slightly hostile — frame of mind.]

It is not boredom that drives me, but mere concern. I thought you had fallen asleep.

[Concern? Really?]

You would honestly worry about the comfort of someone essentially keeping you prisoner? Don't you have any sense of pride?

[He waves him back toward his seat dismissively.]

I can take care of myself.

[surprisingly, francel stands his ground.]

I would be a prisoner no matter where I went, in this world.

[he does not waver.] You are helping me now. It is not a matter of pride.

[Well well, look who has a spine after all. They said he was becoming despondent, but Ryan's not really seeing it. Maybe he's perked up now that they're actually going somewhere? He shifts under the sheets with a quiet rustle of cloth, turning over again even though it makes his skin crawl to show his back to someone.]

Do as you please, then.

[Unless "as you please" involves talking to him.]

[he stares at ryan's back in silence for another few moments, knowing full well that it isn't his place to push — and yet he inexplicably wants something more from the good doctor, something more than these brusque dismissals and the complete refusal to look him in the eyes.

francel is tempted to reach out and ruffle ryan's hair out of spite.

instead, he returns to his seat, sighs, and starts drawing again.

he's halfway through an impressively well-shaded sketch of haurchefant's face (always haurchefant, he draws haurchefant every day, as if he's afraid that he might forget his best friend's face if he doesn't) when he looks up again. it's been two, perhaps three hours. he doesn't have a watch to know exactly how long it's been. the plane is traveling in relative silence; the pilot hasn't said much of anything.

he turns to look at ryan's cot. is dr. walker asleep now?]

[If the silence bothers Ryan, he doesn't show it. There is some tension between his shoulders as he listens to the scratching of Francel's pencil against the paper (what if he's drawing him again?!), but eventually lying perfectly still with his eyes shut gets him to relax. After couple hours pass he's actually dozing a bit. The plane in flight supplies white noise, and while it's not proper sleep by any means with this much light on his face he definitely can't be considered properly conscious anymore. His breathing is slow and even, and he looks somewhat peaceful instead of like he's been constipated for days.]

[dr. walker lies perfectly still in his bed. his breathing is slow. he's probably asleep.

so he is capable of sleeping after all. from what little he's heard about ryan's work habits, this might be a rare moment of weakness. it's a good thing that nobody gave francel a camera, or he'd be taking pictures to commemorate the occasion right about now.

he looks down at his unfinished portrait of haurchefant, and suddenly he feels very tired.

francel flips to a new page. a fresh start, a fresh leaf of paper, creamy like skin and the deep-throated laugh from months ago that sometimes still lingers in francel's ears. two clicks of his pencil.

he bends over his pad and lets his hands think for him.

four hours, five hours, six hours.

at last the pilot's voice crackles over the loudspeaker. "ladies and gentlemen — or rather, just gentlemen — as we start our descent, make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins..."

and so on and so forth. francel slowly stows his pencil back in his pocket.]

[As he lies there half asleep Ryan's thoughts drift, mostly focusing on the metaphysical properties of aether and the implications thereof concerning the souls of living creatures. An afterlife isn't something he's considered as being a possibility before, and for someone that's lived a life like his it's not a pleasant one. Wouldn't it be laughable if, after all that time he spent deriding religion while stuck in Catholic school, he ended up in some sort of hell after all?

Eventually his stillness and drowsy state gives way to real sleep, and at that point he's not able to control his thoughts anymore. He dreams of being the demon his father always said he was, of spreading death and sickness everywhere he goes. He dreams of corrupting people with nothing more than a sweet whisper into their ear, and —

Ryan startles awake at the announcement. Oh. He fell asleep for real, didn't he? He rises from the bed to buckle into the seat again, hair mussed even more than usual from the way he was leaning on it. He presses a button and says:]

This isn't a real airline, idiot. Everything is already stowed away.

[Sassing the pilot probably isn't the best idea ever as he'll discover when he makes the plane jerk just a bit. Asshole.]

[the pilot has to get in one last word, though in a tone that is much less radio-star professional than before. "can't a guy just relive the good ol' days?" he complains, as the plane begins to make its descent (francel braces himself in his seat, covering his ears again, though there's less engine noise than there was at takeoff). "you're a real asshole, walker."

at last the plane seems to grind to a halt. francel looks up with the pout of a scared puppy, slowly uncovering his ears and looking around the room.]

...I-Is it over?

[Why yes, he is an asshole. Geniuses get to be assholes, lowly grunts do not. Ryan rises and goes to unstrap his luggage, glancing over his shoulder at Francel looking as frightened as a small child might.]

Yes. There should be rental car outside so we can drive to the hotel and get cleaned up and whatnot. After we eat, if you aren't tired we can head on out to the trenches.

...Okay.

[that's not a phrase that francel would have uttered in his life in eorzea, but he's been here — on earth — long enough that he's picked up some innocuous phrases here and there.

as he rises from his seat and hovers around ryan — he's not going to take point, he doesn't know where they're going — he wonders if he should try to initiate conversation again, or if the researcher is just going to shoot him down.]

...What are we going to eat?

Whatever hotel room service has, [he says as the pilot opens the hatch and gets the walkway set up for them. He glances back at Ryan as he says that with a little grin. "Ready for some time alone with your boyfriend, huh?"

If Francel thought he was getting the cold shoulder from Ryan, he'll see what it really looks like as Ryan walks on past the pilot with his luggage like the man doesn't even exist. He doesn't even spare the energy on looking irritated, he just heads straight for the car and pops the trunk to put his things inside.

He also immediately starts searching for bugs.]

[francel has the energy to protest — "he's not my..." he begins, but then ryan breezes right past the elf and the pilot, and francel has to half-jog just to keep up.

the pilot's smarmy laughter follows after them, but he's ducked back into the plane by the time ryan's thrown his luggage in the trunk of the rental car. francel, having no luggage besides a small drawstring bag full of clothes and the sketchpad and pencil in his pockets, doesn't bother.

ryan appears to be looking for something, but francel doesn't ask. instead, he shoots a quizzical glance in the (still-shorter) man's direction.]

don't ask me to write starters: the tl;dr

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