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Post by Tybalt on Nov 13, 2011 23:57:21 GMT -5
The bite of chilled metal against his arm spooked him, but something about being gripped in this fashion made him freeze in place. Doom's grip was much like his command had been, firm and holding the promise of force behind it should Tybalt disobey him, yet cordial. He seemed to be at every turn giving Tybalt a choice, and wanted him to be aware that he was doing so - even if the options were, 'disobey at the cost of liberty or life', 'comply with the bare minimum', and 'serve Doom'. He also wanted Tybalt aware that he was investing in him where he did not need to, and Tybalt, inconsequential thing that he was, was baffled and humbled. He bowed his head again.
"....I am grateful for your.... attention, my lord."
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Post by Victor von Doom on Nov 14, 2011 11:47:41 GMT -5
"Your compliance is appreciated. Would you prefer it be done here, or in a medical lab?"
Another very deliberate presentation of a choice. His overall demeanor was warm -- this was not the first time he'd have to explain scientific procedure to a guest from an inferior culture; he felt rather fatherly about the whole affair. Having a parent trained in the practice of medicine had banished his own anxieties from an early age, and while it wasn't his usual policy to explain anything to prisoners, at the moment it pleased him to be gracious.
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Post by Tybalt on Nov 14, 2011 15:11:46 GMT -5
"I - I wouldn't know the difference. Is a medical lab safer, my lord?"
Tybalt, on the other hand, was accustomed at this point to almost all medical attention being from himself, as the scars from wounds he'd stitched himself could greatly attest. As such, the great unknown of medicine, painful and unpleasant as he'd mostly found it, spooked him.
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Post by Victor von Doom on Nov 14, 2011 15:46:39 GMT -5
"Yes, but you might be more comfortable here, with something pleasant to look at."
He gestured at the rather uneventful scenery beyond the glass. In its original function the room had overlooked an ornamental garden; now it overlooked rows of dull but magically and medically significant herbs. (Victor seemed to forget he still held onto Tybalt's arm.)
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Post by Tybalt on Nov 14, 2011 16:13:48 GMT -5
"Comfort doesn't matter," he said flatly.
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Post by Victor von Doom on Nov 14, 2011 16:18:59 GMT -5
"Ah. Follow along, then."
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Post by Tybalt on Nov 14, 2011 17:17:34 GMT -5
His movements were stiff (he hadn't slept well), but he worked that into a grim formality.
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Post by Victor von Doom on Nov 14, 2011 19:41:03 GMT -5
Doom led him along without a glimmer of self-consciousness, grip on his sleeve tightening.
Suffice it to say he wasn't ushering him into where the bulk of his actual scientific work took place -- while spacious, those repurposed cellars and crypts were less than inviting, and furthermore, above Tybalt's security clearance. Given the nature of most crises at Castle Doom, it was better equipped for henchman triage than such a small procedure; Doom bade the noticeably surprised servant attending it prepare the appropriate materials, and motioned for Tybalt to take a sit wherever he pleased that did not bear any unfortunate rusty stains.
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Post by Tybalt on Nov 18, 2011 16:33:02 GMT -5
Tybalt sat heavily, but he had already gone quite tense with apprehension, eyes widening as a cat's might at the room they had entered.
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Post by Victor von Doom on Nov 18, 2011 20:59:50 GMT -5
A tray of implements landed beside him -- a jumble of somewhat archaic instruments, with the exception of one very modern-looking evacuated needle.
"Roll up your sleeve."
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Post by Tybalt on Nov 18, 2011 21:02:24 GMT -5
He did, very clearly having to take measures to try to calm his breathing, and unable to take his eyes from the needle.
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Post by Victor von Doom on Nov 18, 2011 21:20:57 GMT -5
"Breathe normally," he said, firmly. "Which is your dominant hand?"
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Post by Tybalt on Nov 18, 2011 21:33:48 GMT -5
Tybalt took a long breath, then breathed out, very, very controlledly, through his nose, shutting his eyes for this. By the third breath, he was able to open his eyes and meet Doom's. The eyelids themselves were fine - and his skin did not appear pale, as he imagined a masked man's skin would be; in fact it was close in complexion to Tybalt's own, which was disconcerting - but at the very edge of what was visible there appeared pink scarring. Doom must have had a very scarred face in order to wear it, even though it was itself just sleek and structured enough to be ornamental. Yet the structure of the mask gave the appearance of a strong jaw and nose and high cheekbones, and on its own, it would have suggested a very handsome man. But from what little was visible of his face, there was nothing hideous; his many teeth were white and even, if a bit terrifying to witness, and his eyes were an unusually light brown, almost a glint of sunset.
Tybalt was disconcerted by how he noticed this, and by how distracting it was. He realized with a sinking feeling that he had not answered his question, not out of fear of punishment but a general dread of what the future held.
"...it's this one," he said, slowly making a fist with his right hand and tilting the hand up from the wrist, a vein standing out in it, then unclenching. "The right one."
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Post by Victor von Doom on Nov 18, 2011 22:05:41 GMT -5
"This might hurt -- though not as Doom suspects you are used to."
The memory of his guest's catalogue of scars came to mind readily -- not a subject he was unfamiliar with, but most of them seemed the worse for having been haphazardly stitched up. He made a mental note to inquire about them.
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Post by Tybalt on Nov 18, 2011 22:09:43 GMT -5
"-but this is a different kind of hurt-"
Indeed, it was one Tybalt was actively apprehensive about; he hadn't feared the lash or the cane in a while, not as much as he dreaded the humiliation of it (the lash was particularly bad, as it had only ever happened as a disciplinary action from the prince, and the prince's pampered nephew, who was always as responsible as Tybalt was, got off comparatively lightly). Fearing that needle seemed a silly thing, but Tybalt had never had a pin or needle put into him deliberately, and thought that might be different from a pin-prick. He also did not realize the entire length wouldn't be put into his arm.
His breathing quickened.
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