Post by Bharune on Apr 2, 2011 13:29:49 GMT -5
It was incredible, really, how a few weeks ago he had been scrounging around the gutters of Cocoon, fighting for his life, with only a single person in existence who gave any kind of thought to his well-being. Dirt, grit, filth, sin…their blood and sweat and suffering held absolutely no value to anyone, and had they breathed their last in those pits none would’ve mourned the passing. Lucien – ambitious, alluring, clever Lucien – despite his intellect and potential, would not have earned a second glance from anyone. Not a glance that suggested anything proper, at least.
And now, Cocoon bended to his every will.
All he had to do was leave his Sanctum brand unhidden, that eventual cobra’s head of a mark, black in a tender caress against his throat, appropriately enough. Once seen, Cocoon tripped over itself to serve him, never asking who his master was, or what purpose he had, or for what use he was utilizing the requested resources. Though Lucien didn’t like it, he didn’t feel himself any more enslaved than he had been before; he had just exchanged collars. Tether for tether.
This one was much more convenient at the moment.
But Lucien was prideful, so servitude was a difficult business for him. Balance was important.
He had attacked the Fal’cie Ark only four days ago, though at the time he had acted purely out of some animalistic, instinctive drive, ignorant of the creature he pushed against. He was alive, so he couldn’t regret the brand too much, though what fate now awaited him he could not determine. He had no hint of his Focus, but he was unafraid.
C’ieth was a fate for the despairing and weak, the ones who allowed themselves to crumble. But if there was anything powerful about Lucien, it was his will, and he would not permit himself to turn C’ieth regardless of the cost. His strength would not waver.
So instead of seeking out his Focus, Lucien furthered his own abilities, remaining on standby for orders from Ark. The greater his power, the more value he had and the less likely he was to be discarded for petty reasons like his insolent tongue.
Lucien wanted to remain alive, especially until he could find some cure for he and his brother’s….condition. But he refused to beg and grovel for it.
He’d rather die.
The petite redhead straightened from his work, glancing at one of the walls inside Eden’s Academic Resource Centre. The digital library had been his near-sole place of residence for the past several days, giving him vast depths of information for whatever use he saw fit. For all anyone knew, he could be orchestrating the destruction of Cocoon, yet none questioned him.
The digitized walls of the resource room Lucien currently occupied were covered in images of anatomical references, overlying photographs and diagrams that covered all sides, plus lists of references and materials he could select to display. The main screen exhibited several diagrams of the throat, seeming to focus on the larynx, trachea, and pharynx, and related organs such as the esophagus, which Lucien appeared painstakingly intent upon recreating at his work table.
The u-shaped table was laden with odd supplies and medical tools, and other base materials such as wood and grass and leaves and bone, with the more…fleshier compounds stored in a chilled container beside the desk. Other parts of the table displayed other organs he had already managed to make function properly, such as a flesh-hewn heart filtering blood through coils of plastic tubing. Near where he was currently working, a decorative metal censer supported a bit of incense, and languid, curling smoke flavored the air with anise to help mask the lingering scent of preservatives.
“Eugene, scalpel,” Lucien muttered, leaning in close to the model he was working on. Ungloved fingers brushed along the curve of the throat, his crimson eyes focused on the way the dead tissue molded to form the proper shape. At his words, there came the soft patter of wood against the desk and the light clatter of tools.
‘Eugene’ was a rough, anatomical mannequin designed to teach basic anatomy to young children, and stood only about foot high. Lucien had reconstructed its simple hands to give it more function, and he manipulated the small figure to improve his own precision while concentrating on other things. The wooden figure sprinted towards the other side of the other side of the desk and – after Lucien shot the scene a quick glance to locate the scalpel he needed – bent over to pick it up. When the mannequin made the dip, however, the front of its chest popped open, spilling plastic organs against the table. Eugene picked up the scalpel, then pranced back over to Lucien.
The redhead sighed a bit, taking the scalpel. “Well go get your insides,” he muttered, turning back to his work to finish molding the vocal folds with the knife. “We don’t want to leave those lying about, do we?”
He still needed more practice…