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EzekielIn the end, Darran had avoided his demise or any other untowardness by keeping his surgical blades trained on the repositioned muscles in the Countess' forearm throughout their interaction. Were he to cut specific structures, something he could handily do in his death throes if necessary, he'd not only force her blades out, but render them unable to retract to boot. She'd be exposed amongst her peers for the mutant she appeared to be, unable to find somebody to fix the issue without leaving Darran's quarters, and that was unacceptable to her.
Aside from that, he decided to amend his earlier assessment: she was at least not unreasonable to look at, aside from some of the more intriguing protrusions and orifices she currently exhibited, feeling she was in safe company to do so. Bone-edged tentacles, feeler tendrils, more than a couple of constructs emulating the function (if not the form) of both sorts of genitalia, and in particular a sharp-toothed mouth above her left nipple that she was smoking with right now. The scent of the lho-stick she now pulled on through a boldly-decorated theatre length holder clearly smelled of something other than the usual components, something strong enough that others might have worried about the contact high. Darran was not strictly perturbed. He had ways of keeping that out of him.
'Tell me, doctor dear...' del Arheidt asked calmly, sucking something off of a dirtied finger as she spoke and interrupting Darran as he redressed. 'What's your opinion of fate?'
'Ah, fate. Aren't we all subject to its whims, at the end of the day?' he asked, smiling coolly. 'Or perhaps it is the opposite, and there is no such thing as predetermined destiny? Who knows?'
'I'm sure you've heard about the silly little men who seem to think the former is true,' the Countess lamented in response, sighing under her breath. 'The Architect of Fate who convinces us to try and play Corpse-God? All nonsense to me, of course, but I admit that unlike the other two, His followers do sometimes see use...'
At this, she stood, strutting toward Darran once again and sliding a hand down his still-bare chest. 'If you're sure you don't wish to partake further of me, then I have something for you before I go.' He felt a card press into his hand; when he took a look, it had the name of an establishment written and an image of a building drawn upon it, something that looked very much like a cheap shop or bar somewhere in the Lower Hive.
'I believe the man who gave this to me intended you to go there in... was it five day's time that you don't have any appointments scheduled?' she asked. Quickly, Darran recalled his work schedule, and realised that she was right, and that there was no reasonable way for her to know that without some form of outside help. His practice was strictly confidential, after all. Perhaps she'd figured it out through other means... or perhaps there was something happening that required his presence after all.
'Well, thank you kindly for the information, Countess,' Darran said, tucking the card into his trouser pocket as he began buttoning up his shirt. 'I suppose you'd like to set up another appointment soon?'
'I might drop in in four days. Not,' she added as she finally withdrew her augmentations and began to put her own clothing on, 'specifically for an appointment... I happened to enjoy the afterparty, you see, and it'd be a shame if you disappeared without leaving anything for me to remember you by.'
'Doing, I think you mean,' Darran smirked blithely. 'Maybe I'll oblige you just this once; it was a good time, after all.' In truth, he didn't care that much. Whether the Countess legitimately wanted their tryst to continue, or whether it was merely a ploy on her part to perform some horrendous misdeed upon him, he'd be able to deal with it when the time came. For now, he had more surgeries to address.
Five days came and went. With what the Countess likely believed were fond memories of her, Darran had made the long journey down from his quarters in the Spire, delving into the murky Lower Hive in search of the bar drawn upon that slip of card. It took long hours, a couple of precisely-severed finger tendons in order to disarm a thug who thought he could cleanly rob a rich man, and a newly-purchased stub pistol and ammo to defend himself with after that encounter, but Darran ultimately found the bar in question, a most unpleasant place compared to the usual fare of the Spire and Upper Hive. Not that he'd know much about that, but he could make educated guesses.
The people within didn't seem too pleasant either, he noted as he took a seat at a random table. Visually, none necessarily stuck out as being more important than any others either within or without, but to his understanding the people here were about as fond of the Emperor as the Spirers who asked for cosmetic operations miles above them. The most prominent, barely, were a robed man trying much too hard not to be seen, perhaps a priest of some form or another; and the oddly-dressed soldier the robed man was staring intently toward. And of course, Darran himself, very much dressed as a man who planned to perform surgery later that day. He didn't... but for some reason, he suspected he would have to anyway, whether or not the patient could pay up afterwards.
Aside from that, he decided to amend his earlier assessment: she was at least not unreasonable to look at, aside from some of the more intriguing protrusions and orifices she currently exhibited, feeling she was in safe company to do so. Bone-edged tentacles, feeler tendrils, more than a couple of constructs emulating the function (if not the form) of both sorts of genitalia, and in particular a sharp-toothed mouth above her left nipple that she was smoking with right now. The scent of the lho-stick she now pulled on through a boldly-decorated theatre length holder clearly smelled of something other than the usual components, something strong enough that others might have worried about the contact high. Darran was not strictly perturbed. He had ways of keeping that out of him.
'Tell me, doctor dear...' del Arheidt asked calmly, sucking something off of a dirtied finger as she spoke and interrupting Darran as he redressed. 'What's your opinion of fate?'
'Ah, fate. Aren't we all subject to its whims, at the end of the day?' he asked, smiling coolly. 'Or perhaps it is the opposite, and there is no such thing as predetermined destiny? Who knows?'
'I'm sure you've heard about the silly little men who seem to think the former is true,' the Countess lamented in response, sighing under her breath. 'The Architect of Fate who convinces us to try and play Corpse-God? All nonsense to me, of course, but I admit that unlike the other two, His followers do sometimes see use...'
At this, she stood, strutting toward Darran once again and sliding a hand down his still-bare chest. 'If you're sure you don't wish to partake further of me, then I have something for you before I go.' He felt a card press into his hand; when he took a look, it had the name of an establishment written and an image of a building drawn upon it, something that looked very much like a cheap shop or bar somewhere in the Lower Hive.
'I believe the man who gave this to me intended you to go there in... was it five day's time that you don't have any appointments scheduled?' she asked. Quickly, Darran recalled his work schedule, and realised that she was right, and that there was no reasonable way for her to know that without some form of outside help. His practice was strictly confidential, after all. Perhaps she'd figured it out through other means... or perhaps there was something happening that required his presence after all.
'Well, thank you kindly for the information, Countess,' Darran said, tucking the card into his trouser pocket as he began buttoning up his shirt. 'I suppose you'd like to set up another appointment soon?'
'I might drop in in four days. Not,' she added as she finally withdrew her augmentations and began to put her own clothing on, 'specifically for an appointment... I happened to enjoy the afterparty, you see, and it'd be a shame if you disappeared without leaving anything for me to remember you by.'
'Doing, I think you mean,' Darran smirked blithely. 'Maybe I'll oblige you just this once; it was a good time, after all.' In truth, he didn't care that much. Whether the Countess legitimately wanted their tryst to continue, or whether it was merely a ploy on her part to perform some horrendous misdeed upon him, he'd be able to deal with it when the time came. For now, he had more surgeries to address.
Five days came and went. With what the Countess likely believed were fond memories of her, Darran had made the long journey down from his quarters in the Spire, delving into the murky Lower Hive in search of the bar drawn upon that slip of card. It took long hours, a couple of precisely-severed finger tendons in order to disarm a thug who thought he could cleanly rob a rich man, and a newly-purchased stub pistol and ammo to defend himself with after that encounter, but Darran ultimately found the bar in question, a most unpleasant place compared to the usual fare of the Spire and Upper Hive. Not that he'd know much about that, but he could make educated guesses.
The people within didn't seem too pleasant either, he noted as he took a seat at a random table. Visually, none necessarily stuck out as being more important than any others either within or without, but to his understanding the people here were about as fond of the Emperor as the Spirers who asked for cosmetic operations miles above them. The most prominent, barely, were a robed man trying much too hard not to be seen, perhaps a priest of some form or another; and the oddly-dressed soldier the robed man was staring intently toward. And of course, Darran himself, very much dressed as a man who planned to perform surgery later that day. He didn't... but for some reason, he suspected he would have to anyway, whether or not the patient could pay up afterwards.