The body is an amazing thing. It's the first to tell you when you did something wrong; like, say, drink too much. For all of the experiments done to make his body more durable, more resistant than the frailty of normal humans, whenever one beer turned to two or ten or thirty Experiments tended to have the same symptoms anyone else had. Pain: lots and lots of pain.
The room was dark, well that's wasn't exactly a fair statement. All room was always dark to Dysprosium. But, even through the shadows he could sense warmth and quiet wherever 'here' was. It should've been comforting, sense his last tangible memory involved the words 'Fuck You' to some drunk in some pub. But it only gave him a faint sense of concern. After all, who would care enough for him to let him in here? Some wild, drunk, blind Stalker they didn't know?
Was he even alone now? As the thoughts begin rushing to his slowly waking brain a sharp stab of pain knocked everything off line for a moment. His body convulsed underneath the bed sheets he was under, fighting in vain against the throbbing grinding of his nerves. Of all the abuses he's taken over the years, the thrashing Dysprosium's own body could give him after a night on the town seemed to always kick his ass pretty good, at least it didn't until a cool hand grabbed the man's bare shoulder.
"Try not to move too much." The hand's owner softly called to him. "It'll only make things worse. Although, you've had enough hangovers to know that."
Dysprosium groaned again, wordlessly obeying the icy voice above him as he choked back his growing hangover. He knew that voice from somewhere. Even with his splitting headache his milky eyes peered up in his direction, unrestricted by the blinder he could feel the long swinging cloak that swept with that old Scholar's every step. "Omri."
"Try not to talk either."The Scholar said, turning away from the Experiment wincing every now and then on his bed.
Why was he here again?
Wrangling Rekenber's trained dogs wasn't something Omri Usoa usually looked forward to and for good reason. The Experiments had repeatedly proved to be little more than rampant children. For all of the expense the Corporation put into creating them, the motley group easily doubled it with their recklessness during their assignments. Disturbance was the least of their troubles considering whenever an Experiment was in town, mass murder was not only possible but probable.
Then there was the Scholar's personal thoughts on them all. The ragged, sordid, nihilistic lot of them. That type of thinking was a sin amongst his superiors who still saw the value of the Experiments and the Labs. Truth be told there was plenty of zenny to be made through the process. But, even knowing the practicality of their existence, Omri couldn't stop the festering hatred nestled deep inside of his heart. Logic and conscious couldn't contain in: nothing could.
Which brought him back to the original question. Why was he here again?
"You really managed to fuck yourself up good this time." The Scholar's dusky yellow eyes narrowed from the shadows of his hood to the tray in front of him. It was a concoction he had made before and had become familiar with; especially for this Experiment. "You'd think you'd learn by now Dysprosium."
A cryptic grin crossed the green-haired Stalker simply groaned in response. Anyone listening in would've thought Omri was concerned and they'd be wrong. Dysprosium knew the Rekenber agent much better than that. Friends were a luxury neither of them could afford working for the Rekenber Corporation. They both needed each other to be at their best if they were going to exploit one another's skills. The Stalker's arm could have been hanging by a threat and Omri would cut it clean off to keep him focused on his job. Oddly enough, Dysprosium would do the same for the Scholar. It was a strange understanding from the outside looking in, held by the thinnest trust and respect known to man. But somehow, it worked.
Pushing aside a few damp strand of green hair stuck to his face, the Stalker tried gritting his teeth against the pain as he again tried to push himself out of the bed. Again he failed, but with his inability to move Dysprosium became aware of else. He really should've noticed it before. After all, those sheets did feel a little too comfortable against his skin...
"Where are my clothes?" The Stalker grunted, his hand trailing from the bandages and dog tags still on his neck down his bare chest and lower, finding not a stitch of clothing. "What did you d-"
"Its not like I wanted to okay?" Came the Scholar's irritated reply, his words punctuated with the sound of an egg cracking. "It was much easier to explain things this way. You should be pleased Dysprosium. For once your scrawny ass got you out of trouble."
An amused smirk crossed the Scholar's face as Dysprosium muttered agonized curses at him from his hotel bed. Really at the time, he didn't have much of another choice. The bar fight had been loud enough to get Omri's attention, even though it had happened several blocks away from the hotel he was staying at. By some incredible fortune, no one was dead. There were plenty of people maimed, more than a few broken jaws; but at least no one was dead. He could've either dragged the Stalker to the Inn covered in someone else's blood and smelling like beer or naked and smelling like beer.
Naked drunks: always more sympathetic.
The room remained quiet as Omri finished the Dysprosium's remedy, the overwhelming stench of raw egg and Worcester kicking at the Stalker's nose. There had to be another way to get over a hangover, but this was the only way the Scholar knew for sure. With the Stalker's heightened senses, it didn't make downing the 'drink', if it could even be called that, any easier. The swearing and wincing continued from Dysprosium until he felt Omri's hooded frame hovering over him once again.
"Relax. I used a tarp to keep you covered and new clothes will be sent to you in the morning. Here." Dysprosium's tanned face strained as he felt his arm getting pulled out from under the sheets. A cold glass was pressed into his hand, which he grabbed onto immediately. "Try not to gag."
Try not to gag. What great advice that came from someone who probably never had a drink in his life, much less a hangover. With great care Dysprosium sat himself up, his headache reaching another tier as he took breath. It wasn't enough, but at this point it couldn't have been too much worse than what he was going through now. After another breath the green-haired Stalker finally downed the remedy and managed to do it in a single gulp. No gagging, but plenty of coughing followed as Dysprosium tried to shake the oily feel of it out of his mouth.
"Well maybe you can learn." Omri smirked faded as he walked off, less interested in staring at the Stalker and more interested in the books that traveled with him. "I'll give you details tomorrow."
"What 'details'?"
Already the remedy was taking effect, easing the Stalker's pain from the hangover. Finally, Dysprosium could string together a few thoughts. Carefully he rolled his head, letting his neck pop loudly as his feet touched the carpeted floor. Slowly, a dull sense of agony still in the back of his mind he let the sheets slip away, the lack of a violent reprimand from the Scholar signaling that he wasn't being paid much attention to.
"Go to sleep Dysprosium." Omri murmured, far too engrossed in work to notice what was going on behind him. Standing on the far side Scholar instead flipped through one of the books, his owlish eyes taking in the words in front of him. That attitude; like a father lecturing a rebellious child.
For all of his respect for the Scholar, poking at his dry sense of restraint in...everything. It made for a great teacher and someone worth Dysprosium's short attention span. But, in the Stalker's darker instinct he couldn't deny the older man had a giant target right on that spot in Omri's barren gaze that made him wonder how much prodding it would take? How close could this Scholar get to the edge before he let himself fall over?
Of course, that could've just been the fact the alcohol still messing with the Stalker. "W'ever it is, should be good. After'll, it brought you to Prontera."
"Work is work. You know that better than anyone. Rekenber asks us for our devotion and our effort for a reason." Omri murmured after a moment, now only vaguely aware that Dysprosium wasn't in one place anymore. "We all do what we must. You'll have to be prepared for that. Luckily this is just in your skill set."
It was a firm thought; a discipline really. It didn't matter though. The words were barely out of his mouth before he felt a pair of arms circling around his body.
"What the hell are yo-"
"Shut it." A lopsided, almost cocky grin crossed the Stalker's face as he backed Omri against the nearby wall. It was something Omri should have considered, yet he must have forgot. Liquor made Dysprosium surprisingly playful—it was just too dangerous to trust. For civilians it usually led to a bloodbath. For someone like the black-haired Scholar, it meant feeling an unwelcome hand slide skillfully up your shirt.
Drifting in a haze of drunken lust Dysprosium couldn't help but savor the confusion trembling through Omri's slender body. So much conflict hidden underneath that cold skin...the Stalker kept his prey still as he pushed the offensive cloak to the floor. Holding Omri like this, stripping him down against the Stalker's naked body, made that searing iciness of his skin much more desirable.
Strangely Omri was thinking the same about his captor. Of course he was disgusted in it all. This was an Experiment; a test rat. An imitation of life feeling him up against his will. This was an inferior being manipulating his body, his senses. But didn't he let him? Didn't he marvel in the Stalker's strength? His desire to get what he wants? Even...lust after it?
"You're still drunk..." Omri said softly, pointing out the obvious. He was too close, close enough for the Scholar to smell the mix of alcohol and blood still hovering on Dysprosium's skin. He let the green-hiared Stalker's lips brush against his own, every nerve on end trying to think of someway out that didn't involve evoking the Experiment's infamous temper even as said Experiment nearly had the Scholar's vest off.
"So what?" Of course he was still drunk. Dysprosium brushed it aside as if he had been told the weather, his milky white eyes empty and burning into the yellow eyes of the older man. Any other complaints where silenced as the Stalker crushed his lips onto the Scholar's. Both minds went blank, the rising tide in each threatening to drown them both. A brazen moan cracked through Omri's throat and poured into the Stalker, driving him to pull the Scholar towards the bed. Yet, even as Omri followed the Stalker's possessive kiss willingly he froze, hesitated and pulled back.
He wanted to; they both wanted to. But they couldn't. At the very least Omri knew it. His slender fingers trailed up the confused Stalker's firm chest before entangling itself in his messy hair. Beyond the depths of darkness Dysprosium could feel the Scholar's eyes on him, waiting in the silence before his thin lips parted and said in a weary, cracking whisper.
"Go to sleep."
The Stalker felt the hand and warm body pull away from him, leaving him standing naked. Omri straightened his vest. A suddenly weariness came over Dysprosium, as if his body had attached itself to strings in the Scholar's hands. Another wry smile crossed his face as the man dropped back until he collapsed onto the bed, cocooning himself into the sheets.
"It won't be that easy one day Omri."
"One day?" Omri sighed, wiping the taste of the Stalker from his mouth with the back of his hand. Dysprosium's eyes slowly drooped, no longer able to keep him from a long-needed sleep. "You think after all of your hangovers you'd learn not to say that. Maybe one day...you'll learn better..."
A/N: Dysprosium/Orion Erebus belongs to SinfulShinrai/Resalan. This is a non-canon story written purely as a request. For more on these characters and RO fan goodness, check out the Project [A]esir website (link's on the profile page).