ataraxionlogs | (no subject)

CHARACTERS: "Todd"/Guide, James T. Kirk, and all volunteers
LOCATION: Medical Bay
WARNINGS: Extensive description of the Wraith feeding process, and internalized self-loathing. Possible profanity.
SUMMARY: You can never win, you can only break even. With a Wraith, you can't break even - even if you are one.

He's growing used to the fire in his bones, and the thought disgusts him more than he would dare to admit. This repetition of siphoning off a bit of life and then slowly starving again is not the way of a Queen's man. It is short-sighted - but the kine are a short-lived species, as it should only be that they cannot imagine so far into the future. Yet he has agreed to this deal, and their short-sightedness is his own. It will not be long before he starves again, and then more humans will have to sacrifice themselves to him. So this vicious cycle will begin anew.

He kneads the dark vein that winds itself abound his wrist so that it does not swell with enzyme, but he closes his fist as he does so. He can grow used to the fire in his bones, but never shall he look upon a hungry hand without shame.

Guide waits in the medical bay, squinting at the too-bright lights. When he has the strength to do so, he stands; when he hasn't, he rests, sitting as regally as one can in torn leathers.

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"For the most part." His response is light but firm; he does not hide his suspicion or his curiosity. The wraith is a strange being, if only in skin color and the sound of his voice. He steps forward anyway, to subconsciously put himself between Frodo and the predator, and returns the greeting. "Providing aid to a fellow passenger. Albeit in an.. unusual manner."

It should bother him more. He knows what it means to be prey, to be seen as a food source or something killed for sport. But Orcs and spiders cannot, will not, leave their prey alive, nor have they ever attempted to negotiate as this one has done. It is a strange thing indeed.

"Shall I sit? Or do you have them lay down?"

He was no human, his barefeet with their coating of hair and the pointed ears told of more. And without taking size into consideration it was the same drained look that might have been what made Frodo now stare back at him, seeing similar pains from his own face. Frodo was not strong enough to take another thing draining him, the one around his neck was doing that steadily already. Just the same-- This creature carried some measure of burden, his eyes were worn eyes-- just as his were.

Something was eating at him, at least, whatever it was that made him need to seek out participants. Either way, Frodo did not like it. When Legolas moves in front of him he says nothing, only frowns at his back. He continues to watch him, saying nothing.

There is something eating at him, though it's nothing so mysterious and magical. His own body is stripping itself of nutrients to keep his vital organs intact. He knows how tired he must look, for all that he can do to look otherwise. He gestures to one of the beds prepared by the medical staff, looking Legolas in the eye as he does so.

"I have no particular preference, although fatigue sets in quickly. You may prefer to lie down," he says mildly, as if he's not about to literally rip the elf's life from his chest.

It is not unlike seeing an old man, or a starving man, or a starving child. Not that he sees many of them, secluded as his people are; but starving forest creatures he has seen. The Long Winter was a terrible one; bearable, certainly, for those who do not fear the cold. But not for those who must eat. Never for those who must eat.

He averts his gaze only for a moment to follow the gesture; then he looks back to the wraith, to Frodo, and then heads toward the bed to lie down, hands laced stiffly over his stomach. It has been years since he has felt fatigue outside of battle, but he'll not risk falling over because of it.

It's a vulnerable position; he swallows anxiety, and it tastes like-- like the sterile stench of the medical bay. Clean. Empty. Metal. He grounds himself by fixing his gaze on the wraith, watching his movements like a cornered animal.

Seeing Legolas like this, who was always so merry on their journey--strikes something in him. If anything Frodo understands the need of uniting against troubles--he knows it because the Fellowship did the same. Yet it is different when watching your friend willingly put themselves in a situation that would cause them pain.

Is this what his cousins felt? What Sam felt whenever he looked at him, still himself and yet so worn? It made him sorry to think of it, as he quietly moved to sit beside one of the chairs he saw. He will sit next to Legolas; offer him what presence he can because the elf, their seven other companions would do the same for either of them. The hobbit gives him a look, bright with concern yet understanding just the same.

He glances over at the Wraith, wondering what sort of creature he is. There is a sort of kinship just at a glance. Someone who is clearly being worn away, as he feels in himself. If given the chance to relieve some of the burden..would he do the same?