[ So now it is. Unlike last time, he doesn't just appear, but it does take less than a handful of seconds from her confirmation to the moment amber sparks cut themselves out of the air in her room, carving a circle out of nothingness for Stephen Strange to step through.
The air that flows through the portal is cold, snow trodden onto her floorboards as he steps through and lets it close up behind him. His expression is grave, voice urgent when he asks: ]
Is it giving you any symptoms?
[ He's crossing to her immediately wherever she is in her room, focus intense, a diagnostic eye running over her as he hunts for any visible signs of potential emergency. ]
[ That entrance is less expected when Yennefer's been anticipating a knock on the door — but as someone who specializes in generating portals, she barely has the opportunity to look over his, to study it in contrast to her own, before he steps through and it's winking shut behind him.
(Truth be told, her first instinct is to ask him to open it back up again, rather than address the current problem, even as she briefly wraps her arms around herself as a guard from the invasive chill.)
His question, by way of greeting, prompts a frown — first of concern, and then bemusement, especially in light of his demeanor. ]
I suppose some... numbness, but nothing excruciating or unbearable. Besides, if I hadn't felt anything, I wouldn't have known where to look. [ On her back is where she'd found them, the streaks that resemble painted stripes veering closer to her niez mark. ]
[ Numbness. The lack of any real shift to his expression doesn't imply that that's a reassuring answer - but it is, at least, an answer. Better than the worst case. ]
Where is it?
[ He doesn't mean to be brusque, but there's no room for pleasantries when he knows the worst of the stakes. It's been a long enough time that Yennefer's likely fine, that she's about to be stricken down by any unexpected reaction to the impression he left behind, but what if time lets it better do its work, what if at any moment...?
Expression stern, imploring, masking the frantic urge to open his third eye and seek it out for himself. ]
[ The directness of his questioning doesn't quell her; it's the look in his eyes, as it roves over her, intense and seeking, and while she knows she's made the right decision in contacting him about this, it doesn't make the actual, face-to-face confrontation any easier.
Her first instinct is to make some remark about how he's already seen her unclothed, but then she remembers he hasn't, not really, when he'd sought her out that night and had no initial knowledge of whose room he'd stumbled into.
Rather than answer in words, she breathes out a sigh — and then unceremoniously reaches for the ties holding the bodice of her dress closed, pulling them loose so that she can tug each arm out of its respective sleeve. She'll afford him the courtesy, at least, of turning around before she wriggles the material down past her chest, letting it gather above her hips — he'll be able to see it on her back distinctly enough, next to where the niez rune adorns her right shoulderblade. ]
[ Stephen blinks as her demeanour shifts and she starts to undress, focus thrown. But of course she's going to have to remove layers to show him where he left his mark on her.
He swallows and straightens, granting her scant space, and when she turns there's some small relief to not have just firmly implored her to bare herself more intimately to him. But there it is - that inky sheen, smeared in streaks over her back. He lifts his hand, hovers it over the marks without touching, watches as his fingers fit in the width of the trails.
And now that he's here, what the hell to do about it? This isn't like it had been with Nami, isn't the sudden threat of impending death. There's no obvious cure here. ]
Can I touch?
[ His voice falls softer now, less urgent, some mild apology around the edges. Like he's woken up suddenly to the reality of the situation: he is not a doctor here, and she not his patient. ]
[ It's an assent, as much as it can be one without her actually saying the words out loud — and for all that she can feel the strangeness in that area, the place where her skin doesn't quite feel like her own in the places where the black, inky substance still clings to it, the rest of her hasn't been suffering from anything outwardly concerning.
Perhaps it's because she'd attempted to remove it on her own power, even if she can't wield chaos to heal herself. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that she isn't entirely human even when she's not in the process of transforming into something else, and the effects she's supposed to be experiencing have been slowed by her elven blood.
Whatever it is, she's not questioning it yet, even as something had seemed to happen in the vicinity of her back and made her breath hitch, as if she could feel the nearness of him, his presence hovering close to the trails his touch had left behind.
But, speaking of touch, what harm could it do? He's not... still leaking, and he might very well be the only person who can retrieve it from her, even as she turns to glance back at him over her shoulder, meeting his eyes so he knows she won't take issue with him putting hands on her now. ]
[ Yes. Immediate response, that much would definitely be bad. He raises his gaze to meet hers as she turns to him, his expression still folded with concern but some of the harsher edge wavering, then drops it back to his task.
Two fingers trail the edges of each mark, getting a sense of it. Nothing comes away, no residue, but it still feels somehow slick to the touch. Imagined? Sense memory? Lingering nightmare. He draws his hand away.
He should probably tell her what he knows, before he starts trying anything. ]
It's some kind of neurotoxin. Interferes with nerve relay, generates altered sensation. I'm sorry, I should've -
[ Checked, he should've checked back in with her, shouldn't have let her save him only to put her carefully out of mind once he was saved to spare himself the awkward conversation. He should've thought, after Nami, to go straight to her. They had been together at the crescendo of his struggle with his curse. Of course he'd left a mark. ]
[ It's as much an effort to reassure him as it is herself — even though she doesn't know why she's bothering to extend him that much. Why should his regret matter to her? Perhaps because she doesn't enjoy the implication that she didn't choose to help him, that she wasn't aware of the state he was in when she offered to do so. ]
Right?
[ Or perhaps she needs to have that fact confirmed, needs to know by looking at him that his avoidance had only been a consequence of needed distancing and not because he'd wanted to ignore anything that might have been left behind.
It's why her gaze ultimately lingers on him past the curve of her shoulder, somewhat expectant and seeking that assurance from him. ]
[ That much he says earnestly, emphatically. Meets her eye when he does it, his own gaze clear and briefly imploring. No. He didn't know. He'd have needed her just as much even if he did, can't promise her that he wouldn't have asked of her what he did if he known.
But he didn't. Not then. And that still isn't good enough. ]
But I've known for a while now. [ And then, eager to ensure she understand he's not seeking reassurance, this isn't wheedling for forgiveness: ] It won't happen again.
[ That kind of oversight. That carelessness with her, or with anyone else. He knows now. He'll let this be a lesson. ]
[ For a moment, she's not entirely certain what he means — that he won't put her at risk again, or that he won't put her in the position of having to help him stave off a transformation again. The fact that she even briefly considers which he might be referring to, and the notion that it could very well be the latter has more of a sting to it, is... troubling.
But he isn't looking for absolution from her, and she isn't inclined to offer pity either, especially since she's certain he wouldn't accept that either. ]
I won't hold you to that.
[ Not when they're both forced to accept the possibility that either of them could be transformed with little notice; next time it could very well be her seeking him out, desperate for a solution. That part goes unspoken, but given the knowing look she affords him, she doesn't think she needs to reference it aloud. ]
[ He can't reject the sentiment, much as he might want to hold himself to impossible standards. It's not down to him to dictate how she should respond to his mistake. What matters, all that really matters, is how he goes about fixing it.
And to that question he still doesn't have an answer.
All he can do is think back over how it had gone with Nami. What he'd done, what had changed. It's a different scenario: the problem there had been in her lungs, her bloodstream, the cure the sharing of breath... but what part of it had been the fix? ]
I don't know. [ He admits. ] It didn't happen like this.
[ Not on the surface, sunken into skin. He swallows, looks back up to her again from where his attention had drifted down to the marks he'd left. ]
There are things I can try.
[ The tension in that response, his hesitation, implies a discomfort that might be telling. ]
[ The lack of specificity in his words speaks greater volumes than if he'd made up a solution there on the spot — but they're both navigating this relative unknown, aren't they? She doesn't expect him to have an answer right away, same as she'd been unable to determine one on her own. At this point, fumbling through it together is still a better option than what she's already been struggling and failing to do by herself. ]
Well, the most obvious might be to reproduce the circumstances that put it there to begin with.
[ One of them needs to just come right out and say it, and Yennefer hardly has an issue with candor — though she does use a bit more tact than simply pointing out that they might need to fuck again. ]
But I'm guessing you want to attempt some other measures before it gets to that point.
[ It's a bizarre position to find himself in: not quite propositioned, not quite propositioning. Feeling the need to defend himself against the insinuation that there is a world in which having reason to sleep with her might ever be an undesirable outcome.
It flashes across his face for a moment, brief confusion, a pinch between the brows. But she's right. He would prefer to try other measures. Not least of all because, in this very specific set of circumstances, sleeping with her is a last resort. ]
I don't think it needs to come to that. [ It hadn't last time. He's just not sure how to translate what did work last time to skin of her back. ... And actually, maybe rather than stand here frowning at her like she's a conundrum only he can solve, it'd be more sensible to just - ] When this happened before, it was the lungs.
[ Which may go some way to explaining why he's quite so tense. Why he came quite so quickly once he realised what she was telling him. ]
She couldn't breathe, so I breathed for her, and after a while she was able to take over again.
Perhaps it's simply a matter of drawing... whatever this is, back into yourself.
[ Whether that means he needs to be touching her, embracing her, whatever it is — making direct contact seems to be the simplest way of going about it.
There's also the possibility that magic might need to play a role, if it means opening herself up to him in that sense, but she isn't that eager to suggest that particular merging if they can achieve the same through some kind of physical connection. ]
I don't — it's not that I can't breathe.
[ But she does have an awareness of this strange ooze on her, of it embedded in her flesh, even if she can't tell whether it's moved or expanded since she first noticed its existence. Besides, it's not exactly at the best angle for her to study it head-on; she'd only caught the briefest glimpse in the mirror, and half-believed it was some kind of mudstain at first. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I'll come down. Now?
no subject
[ even if there's hardly anything appropriate about what's happening to her. ]
no subject
The air that flows through the portal is cold, snow trodden onto her floorboards as he steps through and lets it close up behind him. His expression is grave, voice urgent when he asks: ]
Is it giving you any symptoms?
[ He's crossing to her immediately wherever she is in her room, focus intense, a diagnostic eye running over her as he hunts for any visible signs of potential emergency. ]
no subject
(Truth be told, her first instinct is to ask him to open it back up again, rather than address the current problem, even as she briefly wraps her arms around herself as a guard from the invasive chill.)
His question, by way of greeting, prompts a frown — first of concern, and then bemusement, especially in light of his demeanor. ]
I suppose some... numbness, but nothing excruciating or unbearable. Besides, if I hadn't felt anything, I wouldn't have known where to look. [ On her back is where she'd found them, the streaks that resemble painted stripes veering closer to her niez mark. ]
no subject
Where is it?
[ He doesn't mean to be brusque, but there's no room for pleasantries when he knows the worst of the stakes. It's been a long enough time that Yennefer's likely fine, that she's about to be stricken down by any unexpected reaction to the impression he left behind, but what if time lets it better do its work, what if at any moment...?
Expression stern, imploring, masking the frantic urge to open his third eye and seek it out for himself. ]
no subject
Her first instinct is to make some remark about how he's already seen her unclothed, but then she remembers he hasn't, not really, when he'd sought her out that night and had no initial knowledge of whose room he'd stumbled into.
Rather than answer in words, she breathes out a sigh — and then unceremoniously reaches for the ties holding the bodice of her dress closed, pulling them loose so that she can tug each arm out of its respective sleeve. She'll afford him the courtesy, at least, of turning around before she wriggles the material down past her chest, letting it gather above her hips — he'll be able to see it on her back distinctly enough, next to where the niez rune adorns her right shoulderblade. ]
no subject
He swallows and straightens, granting her scant space, and when she turns there's some small relief to not have just firmly implored her to bare herself more intimately to him. But there it is - that inky sheen, smeared in streaks over her back. He lifts his hand, hovers it over the marks without touching, watches as his fingers fit in the width of the trails.
And now that he's here, what the hell to do about it? This isn't like it had been with Nami, isn't the sudden threat of impending death. There's no obvious cure here. ]
Can I touch?
[ His voice falls softer now, less urgent, some mild apology around the edges. Like he's woken up suddenly to the reality of the situation: he is not a doctor here, and she not his patient. ]
no subject
[ It's an assent, as much as it can be one without her actually saying the words out loud — and for all that she can feel the strangeness in that area, the place where her skin doesn't quite feel like her own in the places where the black, inky substance still clings to it, the rest of her hasn't been suffering from anything outwardly concerning.
Perhaps it's because she'd attempted to remove it on her own power, even if she can't wield chaos to heal herself. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that she isn't entirely human even when she's not in the process of transforming into something else, and the effects she's supposed to be experiencing have been slowed by her elven blood.
Whatever it is, she's not questioning it yet, even as something had seemed to happen in the vicinity of her back and made her breath hitch, as if she could feel the nearness of him, his presence hovering close to the trails his touch had left behind.
But, speaking of touch, what harm could it do? He's not... still leaking, and he might very well be the only person who can retrieve it from her, even as she turns to glance back at him over her shoulder, meeting his eyes so he knows she won't take issue with him putting hands on her now. ]
I assume it would be bad to leave it there.
no subject
[ Yes. Immediate response, that much would definitely be bad. He raises his gaze to meet hers as she turns to him, his expression still folded with concern but some of the harsher edge wavering, then drops it back to his task.
Two fingers trail the edges of each mark, getting a sense of it. Nothing comes away, no residue, but it still feels somehow slick to the touch. Imagined? Sense memory? Lingering nightmare. He draws his hand away.
He should probably tell her what he knows, before he starts trying anything. ]
It's some kind of neurotoxin. Interferes with nerve relay, generates altered sensation. I'm sorry, I should've -
[ Checked, he should've checked back in with her, shouldn't have let her save him only to put her carefully out of mind once he was saved to spare himself the awkward conversation. He should've thought, after Nami, to go straight to her. They had been together at the crescendo of his struggle with his curse. Of course he'd left a mark. ]
no subject
[ It's as much an effort to reassure him as it is herself — even though she doesn't know why she's bothering to extend him that much. Why should his regret matter to her? Perhaps because she doesn't enjoy the implication that she didn't choose to help him, that she wasn't aware of the state he was in when she offered to do so. ]
Right?
[ Or perhaps she needs to have that fact confirmed, needs to know by looking at him that his avoidance had only been a consequence of needed distancing and not because he'd wanted to ignore anything that might have been left behind.
It's why her gaze ultimately lingers on him past the curve of her shoulder, somewhat expectant and seeking that assurance from him. ]
no subject
[ That much he says earnestly, emphatically. Meets her eye when he does it, his own gaze clear and briefly imploring. No. He didn't know. He'd have needed her just as much even if he did, can't promise her that he wouldn't have asked of her what he did if he known.
But he didn't. Not then. And that still isn't good enough. ]
But I've known for a while now. [ And then, eager to ensure she understand he's not seeking reassurance, this isn't wheedling for forgiveness: ] It won't happen again.
[ That kind of oversight. That carelessness with her, or with anyone else. He knows now. He'll let this be a lesson. ]
no subject
But he isn't looking for absolution from her, and she isn't inclined to offer pity either, especially since she's certain he wouldn't accept that either. ]
I won't hold you to that.
[ Not when they're both forced to accept the possibility that either of them could be transformed with little notice; next time it could very well be her seeking him out, desperate for a solution. That part goes unspoken, but given the knowing look she affords him, she doesn't think she needs to reference it aloud. ]
How do you remove it?
no subject
And to that question he still doesn't have an answer.
All he can do is think back over how it had gone with Nami. What he'd done, what had changed. It's a different scenario: the problem there had been in her lungs, her bloodstream, the cure the sharing of breath... but what part of it had been the fix? ]
I don't know. [ He admits. ] It didn't happen like this.
[ Not on the surface, sunken into skin. He swallows, looks back up to her again from where his attention had drifted down to the marks he'd left. ]
There are things I can try.
[ The tension in that response, his hesitation, implies a discomfort that might be telling. ]
no subject
[ The lack of specificity in his words speaks greater volumes than if he'd made up a solution there on the spot — but they're both navigating this relative unknown, aren't they? She doesn't expect him to have an answer right away, same as she'd been unable to determine one on her own. At this point, fumbling through it together is still a better option than what she's already been struggling and failing to do by herself. ]
Well, the most obvious might be to reproduce the circumstances that put it there to begin with.
[ One of them needs to just come right out and say it, and Yennefer hardly has an issue with candor — though she does use a bit more tact than simply pointing out that they might need to fuck again. ]
But I'm guessing you want to attempt some other measures before it gets to that point.
cw: suffocation mention
It flashes across his face for a moment, brief confusion, a pinch between the brows. But she's right. He would prefer to try other measures. Not least of all because, in this very specific set of circumstances, sleeping with her is a last resort. ]
I don't think it needs to come to that. [ It hadn't last time. He's just not sure how to translate what did work last time to skin of her back. ... And actually, maybe rather than stand here frowning at her like she's a conundrum only he can solve, it'd be more sensible to just - ] When this happened before, it was the lungs.
[ Which may go some way to explaining why he's quite so tense. Why he came quite so quickly once he realised what she was telling him. ]
She couldn't breathe, so I breathed for her, and after a while she was able to take over again.
no subject
[ Whether that means he needs to be touching her, embracing her, whatever it is — making direct contact seems to be the simplest way of going about it.
There's also the possibility that magic might need to play a role, if it means opening herself up to him in that sense, but she isn't that eager to suggest that particular merging if they can achieve the same through some kind of physical connection. ]
I don't — it's not that I can't breathe.
[ But she does have an awareness of this strange ooze on her, of it embedded in her flesh, even if she can't tell whether it's moved or expanded since she first noticed its existence. Besides, it's not exactly at the best angle for her to study it head-on; she'd only caught the briefest glimpse in the mirror, and half-believed it was some kind of mudstain at first. ]
But I don't know that it isn't spreading.