Althea
The Battle of Carteneau had been a nightmare for man and a boon for beasts, and something of both for the rare few who might be considered both things. There had been blood aplenty, and yet tremendous losses to all sides of the conflict, even before Dalamud broke apart and rained fire down on them all. And in the aftermath, most who survived found themselves in need of tending in some fashion or another, be it for physical wounds or ones unseen. No one left the battlefield unscathed, some simply hid their scars better. A few remained utterly invisible and carried on as if it were just another day.
On some level, and whether anyone cared to admit it or not, seeking out some form of comfort was a necessity, even if that came solely in the form of drinking, or sleep born of utter exhaustion. Even the Medici and the technicians who saw to the surviving subjects of the Colossus Project had had more than their share as a result of their own experiences, and what others brought back from the field. The visions followed them into their sleep, if they found it at all within their reach.
Frost had curled up on his bunk and pressed his forehead to the cold wall of the room, and dropped off into the black embrace of slumber, but the things which had passed before his eyes mere bells earlier still flickered and flashed behind his eyelids. His arms ached. His entire body ached. He could still feel the searing burn of the nearly white hot rain that poured down from the skies amidst calls for retreat which were all but muted against the deafening roar of the eikon hanging overhead.
However, from somewhere outside the dream something else brought him a feeling of calm and cast a stillness over everything which echoed in madness. A sudden, dull impact sound somewhere between the waking world and the dreamscape caused him to flinch, fall, and meet the scorched ground once again. And then silence returned, the unseen world plunged again into a comfortable void.
A not unpleasant warmth spread across his back and around him like an embrace, and it would have settled him into a more stable level of rest had it not been for something crawling across his back from his right side to his left as he lay there. He felt a twitch of fingers at his shoulder and lifted a hand to meet them, so fine and delicate compared to his own. It wasn’t the first time she had kept him company.
Althea had been one of the first new faces he met following his arrival and entry into the project. She had been one of dozens of technicians overseeing the vital health of the subjects and their responses to their augmentations. He never quite figured out what it was that she saw, other than a young Duskwight who was at first scared and then fascinated by what was happening, and eager to barrage her with questions. He ate up every answer she could give, since so many of them involved his favorite subjects of study - anatomy and physiology. He hadn’t even begun to imagine the sorts of things the body could endure, but he was learning something new every day even as he grew into his own augmentations.
For someone who was several years older than himself by five or so Summers, he never could tell. The Hyur lass was a vision of porcelain skin and raven hair which was drawn up into a long tail most of the time. The fine-rimmed spectacles she wore only managed to enhance dark eyes. She seldom smiled, not while she worked on himself or any of the other subjects, but there were enough opportunities off duty to become better acquainted, and the anatomy lessons eventually became hands-on.
And now that same vision was here and lay staring steadily up at him in utter stillness as he shifted to face her and gather her closer. Something in her expression was surprised and yet strangely peaceful, and it remained just so beneath the carress of dark fingers across her red-stained lips. It was an empty look which he knew too well and the scent of blood hadn’t been lost to him.
Frost gathered Althea closer to bury his face into her hair and kiss her goodnight, and his hand clasped over the wound which stole her. Amidst the dreaming and the suddenness of her arrival, his own reflex had caused one of his arm blades to extend and pierce her through. Gently cradling her, he gathered up the top sheet from his bunk and wrapped it around her.
The times when he actually had to make use of the disposal room were few and far between, but every now and then it became the destination for his leftovers, if not other unwanted refuse. Neither of these things were delivered that night, but somewhere deep in the small hours he granted himself access to the room and slowly kneeled to place his companion within. He cast a look around at the room in search of the disposal unit and caught him square in the eye. He said nothing at all, not when he lowered his eyes again, and not when he rose back to his full height to leave.
He would have some serious cleaning to do before morning check-in.