It is to be expected – Cassius is a monster, after all, and humans are afraid of monsters. They will always be afraid of monsters.
It is why he walks with extra care as Hugh – no. Doctor Argyros - no. Doctor Hugh leads him to his room. Why the hum under his skin lessens to a whispered squirm. Why he fixes his stare to the back of Doctor Hugh’s head instead of the wide-eyed people they pass.
Cassius is fond of humans. Less fond of scaring them.
Even now, after Doctor Hugh had gone and come and gone again (escorted, even, like he had done something wrong. Cassius had watched, had gone to the window, had taken in the details of all that had stood before his companion), Cassius is still taking care to keep himself from spreading. From scaring the humans who come to see him, but scurry away whenever he attempts to greet them.
(He does not greet them anymore. Merely sits on the bed and watches as the faint tones of an orchestra drift from the people box Doctor Hugh had so graciously shown him how to use.)
Time passes, and passes still, until the door to his room opens and -
Cassius stands from his seat with a violent roll of his shell, stare locked (and intense in a way he has not worn since he had stepped upon this ship) onto the new, purpling ring circling Doctor Hugh’s eye. He crosses the distance between them with lurching movements, ignoring the tray in Doctor Hugh’s grasp as he reaches out to brush his fingers just over the discolored skin.
“You are hurt.”
A frown ghosts at his face, because - because Doctor Hugh is not like his Hunter. Doctor Hugh does not – does not heal like his Hunter does. Like Cassius himself can. Doctor Hugh is a monster, yes, but – not an enduring one. Not one made to weather blows or guns or sharp edges or - or pain.
Death, even.
Doctor Hugh can be killed. So much easier than he or his Hunter can.
(The realization has him stilled, has every little body under him stopped. The silence is heavy, his upset heavier.)
“Who?” Cassius asks, tone dead and still like the rest of him. His head creak-turns slightly to look through the window, to the few rabbits lingering skittish by the door. (Wolves to him in his anger, though. Wasps. Stingers to be pulled and wings to be plucked. Meat to be filled with holes.) “Was it that human earlier, Doctor Hugh? You looked to be - angry at him. Did he do this?”
Cassius still knows his face. Could find him, even, if he spread himself out enough. There would be no shadow for him to hide in.
(Cassius has learned many things from his Hunter. Human manners, human mercy, human care.
A monster’s justice.)
It is hard, so hard to withdraw his hand from that mark upon Doctor Hugh’s face. Lets it drop limp to his side. Lets his eyes drop, too, to the purple lacing over Doctor Hugh’s knuckles. The angry, split seam.
Something inside of him aches.
(Something inside of him churns.)
His eyes once more fix on Doctor Hugh’s face, the quiet hum returning to his voice when he asks, “Shall I hunt him for you, Doctor Hugh?”
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It is to be expected – Cassius is a monster, after all, and humans are afraid of monsters. They will always be afraid of monsters.
It is why he walks with extra care as Hugh – no. Doctor Argyros - no. Doctor Hugh leads him to his room. Why the hum under his skin lessens to a whispered squirm. Why he fixes his stare to the back of Doctor Hugh’s head instead of the wide-eyed people they pass.
Cassius is fond of humans. Less fond of scaring them.
Even now, after Doctor Hugh had gone and come and gone again (escorted, even, like he had done something wrong. Cassius had watched, had gone to the window, had taken in the details of all that had stood before his companion), Cassius is still taking care to keep himself from spreading. From scaring the humans who come to see him, but scurry away whenever he attempts to greet them.
(He does not greet them anymore. Merely sits on the bed and watches as the faint tones of an orchestra drift from the people box Doctor Hugh had so graciously shown him how to use.)
Time passes, and passes still, until the door to his room opens and -
Cassius stands from his seat with a violent roll of his shell, stare locked (and intense in a way he has not worn since he had stepped upon this ship) onto the new, purpling ring circling Doctor Hugh’s eye. He crosses the distance between them with lurching movements, ignoring the tray in Doctor Hugh’s grasp as he reaches out to brush his fingers just over the discolored skin.
“You are hurt.”
A frown ghosts at his face, because - because Doctor Hugh is not like his Hunter. Doctor Hugh does not – does not heal like his Hunter does. Like Cassius himself can. Doctor Hugh is a monster, yes, but – not an enduring one. Not one made to weather blows or guns or sharp edges or - or pain.
Death, even.
Doctor Hugh can be killed. So much easier than he or his Hunter can.
(The realization has him stilled, has every little body under him stopped. The silence is heavy, his upset heavier.)
“Who?” Cassius asks, tone dead and still like the rest of him. His head creak-turns slightly to look through the window, to the few rabbits lingering skittish by the door. (Wolves to him in his anger, though. Wasps. Stingers to be pulled and wings to be plucked. Meat to be filled with holes.) “Was it that human earlier, Doctor Hugh? You looked to be - angry at him. Did he do this?”
Cassius still knows his face. Could find him, even, if he spread himself out enough. There would be no shadow for him to hide in.
(Cassius has learned many things from his Hunter. Human manners, human mercy, human care.
A monster’s justice.)
It is hard, so hard to withdraw his hand from that mark upon Doctor Hugh’s face. Lets it drop limp to his side. Lets his eyes drop, too, to the purple lacing over Doctor Hugh’s knuckles. The angry, split seam.
Something inside of him aches.
(Something inside of him churns.)
His eyes once more fix on Doctor Hugh’s face, the quiet hum returning to his voice when he asks, “Shall I hunt him for you, Doctor Hugh?”