Chapter Text
"…You aren't my regular doctor."
Llyudmila, operator Crownslayer, stood in the doorway of the doctor's office of one Dr. Martinez, a Perro with bobbed dirty blonde hair and a mole on her left cheek. Sitting where she normally sat was instead an unfamiliar (yet deeply familiar) figure, a shorter woman with stark black hair and feline ears, and a black and green lab coat that made her stick out like an originium warning label. Who then proceeded to return her absent-minded stare for nearly a solid minute before the reproba had broken the silence.
"Dr. Martinez called out sick. Because of the short notice, I agreed to cover her appointments. I trust this won't be an issue?" She spoke with a very familiar, very professional cadence.
"…No." She lied.
She sat down on the patient's table, legs dangling off the side. The young(?) doctor pulled up her file, scrolling through on her tablet for all of a few seconds. Llyudmila took the chance to stare slightly more subtly at the stark figure before her. Her sleeves were a fair bit too long for her arms in a way that seemed intentional. Inside her loosely worn jacket was a small device with a face on the digital screen, displaying yellow and a small (^v^). A mood sensor? Huh.
"Let me know if I've got this all right, okay?"
A nod. "Mhm."
"Operator name Crownslayer, Reproba, Birthday July 22nd, mid-twenties… Is all of that information correct?" Purple, questioning.
She nodded, only half listening. She never was the most diligent patient, considering she'd survived so long without this kind of care. But by those same experiences she knew when to trust her gut on someone suspicious, and she was certain she'd seen this person before.
"Last check-up was… Ah, the office in Nuova Vosilini, last year. We got you on a long-term healthcare plan around that time. By your condition I take it you've been keeping up with that?" Yellow, content.
"…More or less." Not much beyond the standard: regular oripathy meds, exercise, eating healthy (She'd been following that, probably), no excessive drinking (Okay she definitely was not following that).
The feline(? Are those ears… real?) didn't say anything, but the orange pouty face did the talking for her here. "I'll be checking your blood pressure and heart rate, alright?"
She doesn't wait for a response before going for the stethoscope around her neck, hands covered by her sleeves, seemingly adamant about keeping them well and truly hidden. The closer she got, the more Llyudmila could swear she'd seen this maybe-a-feline from somewhere before. The way she held herself, the way she talked, it was all so…
"Is something the matter? Your heart rate is increasing." Purple, confused.
"Eh? Oh, it's nothing." It was certainly not nothing, but she wasn't exactly sure of what it was.
Her doctor(…did she ever say her name?)'s lips tightened infinitesimally, in a way to almost catch her bluff. "If there's anything you think I should be aware of, or any questions you may have, please make sure to let me know." Yellow, content (nuance wasn't well-supported, it seemed).
She slowly nodded, still only half-processing everything she was saying, as the doctor took Llyudmila's arm softly (her hands were hard. Calloused?), and wrapping a cuff for her blood pressure around her arm, and pumping it.
"…Are you new around here?"
"Hm?" Purple, questioning.
"I said, um," She didn't need to say that. She shouldn't have said that. She absolutely hates smalltalk, why the hell did she say that? "Have you been here long?" And yet, she was so, frustratingly close to figuring out why the hell she thought she knew this person. Surely that much would be harmless.
"…You could say that." Green, happy.
What did that mean. "What do you mean."
"…blood pressure's looking good, heart rate stable, could you take a few deep breaths?"
Was she being secretive on purpose? Surely that question wasn't the kind where you'd need to answer cryptically to hide some past misdeeds like she'd been accustomed to? Regardless, she took a few deep breaths, crystals stinging slightly down her throat. It'd been significantly better recently, what with the new meds and the surgeries a few months ago. Apparently there was talk about topical oripathy relief medication to help with crystals in difficult spots, which was a pleasing idea if nothing else.
"Respiration rate is within expected ranges, Temperature is within normal range, could you open up?"
"Eh? Ah-" Before she could even question how she even measured her temperature when she hadn't even touched her, a tongue depressor held her mouth down, nearly making her gag. She was more than a little sensitive about the oripathy lesions in and around her mouth, so it was hard to contain the red in her cheeks. The doctor was a professional, she had no… concrete reason to doubt that, and yet…
"No swelling, visible oripathy lesions stabilized, surgeries are healing nicely… hm!" (Green, happy.) As the feline(or whatever she was, those ears were definitely fake) took the stick out of her mouth, a small noise escaped the maybe-a-woman's lips from deep within her throat. It had a metallic resonance to it.
Crownslayer stared at the creature wearing a woman's skin with a mixture of realization and sheer incredulity. Staring back at her was a look of soft embarrassment, but a sense of innocence. She started feeling nauseous.
—
Her head was pounding, consciousness fraying at the edges. Lesions dragging daggers into the inside of her throat, limbs failing as her knives clattered to the ground. She was pinned down by one long, black, scythe-like appendage, made of some nigh indestructible metal, face to face with a monster out of her nightmares. Her nostrils were filled with the smell of copper and smoke.
—
"No…"
"No?" Purple, questioning.
"No, nononononoNO!"
Llyudmila scrambled to put as much distance as possible between her and the symbiote, Mon3tr, as possible, reaching for her dagger (shit where WAS IT) and landing opposite the door (FUCK), taking a low defensive stance. Smoke was starting to escape the edges of her gritted teeth. Mon3tr didn't say a word, face neutral, the only indication that something was amiss was the digital orange face on her shoulder.
"Why… This is a fucking joke…" She was breathing ragged, trying to collect herself. This had to be a joke, a prank, right? Why else would she be getting a checkup- a checkup- from Kal'tsit's alien freak of a pet wearing a face distinctly similar to the woman herself? She got up from her crouch, still defensive in her posture, swearing in Ursan between every breath.
"Crownslayer, please don't make a scene." Orange, pouting.
"Don't you FUCKING DARE TOUCH ME."
Mon3tr didn't say a word. They stood in silence long enough for the smoke to form a thin layer on the floor, trailing into the vent near the ground.
"You… Where's Kal'tsit…"
"She's not here." Blue, sad(?).
"No shit, freak."
Crownslayer felt the hair on her back stand on end in that instance. Something under Mon3tr's skin seemed to shift unnaturally.
"What was that?" Red, angry.
"I- you fucking-" She tried desperately not to stumble over her own thoughts against the pressure that had settled over the whole office. If Kal'tsit's not here, yet she(? It? They?) is, something… happened? "Hah… hahah…"
"What." Still red.
"So, what, the old hag finally eats the dust and suddenly the pet decides she can take her place, is that it-"
A flash of metal , the rustling of cloth, a thud, then a clatter (her knife. There it was).
"…do not get to fucking talk about her like that." Were the first words she heard- or thought she heard, her ears were ringing too much to be sure. Immediately following that, she was able to register the ever-present sensations of a sharp object on her neck, and one to the left of her head.
The nauseatingly familiar smell of copper began to settle in, and with it panic and something else she couldn't name (didn't want to name).
She's too close, can't put any distance, can't move can't think can't fight can't can't CAN'T-
"Hey." Mon3tr brought the scythe-arm closer to the reproba's neck, receiving a whimper and a shiver. She was practically insensate, the only thoughts in her head splitting themselves on the razor's edge she found herself trapped by. She was able to refocus her vision just long enough to see the look in Mon3tr's eyes, once unreadable, now vibrant, dazzling emerald green and fully focused on her.
"Oh… shit, I screwed up…" And then she blinked, and the look in her eyes was gone, and so were the scythe arms, and then she was on her knees.
"Y-you…" She was panting again, and the ability to form thoughts steadily returned as well.
"Look, I'm really sorry, just…" Blue, sad.
"Stop- please."
"But I-"
"PLEASE."
She stopped, face down-turned, eyes still glancing down at her before darting away in embarrassment, cheeks burning. Sure enough, Llyudmila could feel a distinct pressure against the inside of her jeans, and all at once she could say with absolute certainty there was no place she'd rather be less.
"…I'm done here, right?"
A curt nod. "you're not injured. You'll be fine with some rest, just make sure to send the data from your oripathy monitor to the-"
"I know." She pulled herself up, and walked to the door.
The last thing she could see of the woman before she left is the blue of her mood sensor, and she swore she could still see that look in her eyes. She wanted to cry.