[CLOSED-ish] Not what teacher said to do

[heirring]

WHO: Characters involved in the lyrium-anchor experiment.
WHAT: Catch-all for experiments and other moments exploring the relationship between lyrium, anchors, and Rifters.
WHEN: Now through the end of fantasy!November
WHERE: The Gallows, the old Project Felandaris office.
NOTES: OOC Information. Content warnings: Human experimentation, needles, drug use, references to addiction, some optional light body horror and memory share, etc. Please include warnings in the subject lines of your threads if applicable.

Comments

[grindset]

It's an unexpectedly tender moment, this soft collision of impulses without thought. What Jayce then says to him as he takes back the note is completely harmless, the pettiest of threats—and it neatly shoves him back from the edge of doubt. No, he thinks, finishing his gesture in a sharp snatch, he is definitely justified in blocking this doorway.

"Taking the high road, I see."

As he says this, he's opening the note's fold one-handed; reading it takes but a moment, and his examination of the coin, a glance at each side, is pointedly brisk. Without commentary or critique, and freshly steeled against the searing significance of these items by Jayce's own choice of delivery, he looks up. Handing it all right back to him would be an effortless, merciless riposte—for a moment, it may even seem like he will—

but he doesn't. Instead, staring Jayce in the eye, a simple question:

"Why?"

[pathlit]

Taking the high road, or trying. Their fallout shouldn't be anyone else's burden. He will sully this one thing, this study of Wysteria and Viktor's, for a dim possibility because if it exists--

if lyrium could have a repeatable, targetable, regenerative effect on the body of Rifters--

Jayce frowns, then glances at the door frame. The trying, you see. Not wholly succeeding -- not with the sullen shift in his expression. The soft clench of his fists at his sides to stop himself from rubbing the back of his neck.

"Why do you care?"

[grindset]

What a thing to be asked, especially now, holding this token of gratitude, given in recognition of the very act that permits Jayce to stand here and make a needless ultimatum. The coin has barely even had time to grow warm in his hand. It's a painful question at its essence—and it worsens as it unfolds.

Why, indeed? Why block only Jayce from volunteering? The answer seems obvious at a glance—but really, why only him? Viktor doesn't relish exposing anyone to the very real risks inherent to this trial—in his view, the only truly acceptable subject is himself—but they're going to happen whether he supports them or not, and he would rather be here. But if the trial weren't so deeply important to him, would he still be here, or would he simply refuse to participate at all? Wherein lies the distinction? What makes him so willing to hand a waiver to someone else? Even on bloody-minded principle, what makes Jayce's life an unacceptable risk compared to that of any other person who might approach this office?

Pressed beneath the sickening weight of his own hypocrisy, Viktor buckles. While not for the reason it seems, the result is the same: he doesn't answer.

[pathlit]

Jayce is blind and deaf to the turmoil rolling through Viktor, his gaze intentionally avoidant, and when the span in which a response is generally expected passes, his fists clench tighter. Yes, he is blind and deaf to his... former partner's turmoil, but he feels it all the same-- a sticky sensation, foreboding in its stillness, like the unnerving quiet of life preceding a heavy storm.

That same weight bears down on the both of them, pushing their discomfort until Jayce can't bear to wait any longer. He glances at Viktor. Doubletakes, because the sight pains in its subtle agony-- strikes his stomach and snags his heart with confused guilt. Here, he would offer comfort in the touch of his hand without a second thought had their friendship not been called into question.

Instead, he feels the urge with a sense of shame. He looks down-- down at Viktor's hand, and then he releases a small sigh. Softly, not unkindly, he says, "Look... Can we talk about this later?"

It's a terrifying proposition, actually, to risk irrefutable confirmation while seeking clarity, and not one he's keen to pursue, but it might extinguish whatever... this is, prompting this ridiculous attempt to block Jayce's entry.

[grindset]

This sudden shift tells Viktor just how ridiculous it is—it must mean he's lost his composure completely. What a fool he's being. Embarrassment compels him to spend the next moments scraping it back together in brisk swipes. Their eyes won't connect again.

"There's nothing further to discuss. Madame de Foncé will be administering the draught. You'll have to sign a waiver."

Through this he's securing note, coin, and cloth together in one hand, adjusting his carriage, shifting and reseating his crutch in advance of moving. Last of all, he leans to add in sharp undertone, "I don't need your protection any more than you need mine."

Then he turns to leave the doorway, to head back inside, where all will proceed as intended.

[pathlit]

All of it, the guilt and worry, shame and confusion, they coalesce into acid in his gullet. Jayce glares at the the asymmetric position of Viktor's body as he retreats, lips thinned with a taut frown.

There's nothing further to discuss.

After his childish interference.

Liar, he thinks, and were it not for their location and reason(s) for attendance, Jayce might choose poorly and fan the flames. Instead, he takes a moment to mentally reset-- to shove the indignation and resentment and hurt beneath, somewhere dark and small and cornered -- and then approaches Wysteria's work station, politely ignoring Viktor's presence for the remainder of the day and each one after it.