milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's morning. Ray's awake.

He's also got two fairly thick books on advanced aviation systems and advanced composites welding. If the 'USED' stickers on the spines are anything to go by, they came from a university or college bookstore.

He's going to get permanent wrinkles in his forehead if he keeps frowning like that.

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Naraht's expression would be one of repressed frustration along with increasing physical discomfort.

"Forgive me for being unclear, Ray," he says tightly. "I know he's out of the bar. I was talking about when he gets back. I was simply taking issue with the implication that you seemed to be making that we should wait until after his child is born. I fail to see how waiting another eight to nine months would be helpful."

"Huh? Heck, no," Ray says. "First of all, I'm pretty sure she's a good several months into the pregnancy. And second, I just meant to wait until we were sure that he wasn't distracted by something to do with the pregnancy, like something going medically wrong or something. Guys get pretty uptight about that kind of thing."

He runs a hand over his face again. "Sorry. You deserve better than this- I'm sorry, Naraht, I've been on edge ever since we got back from my world and you don't deserve to catch it in the grinders. I mean, yeah, the whole thing doesn't seem nearly as pressing an issue to me as it obviously is to you, but that's kind of irrelevant. You helped me with something enormously important and I ought to be a little more willing to reciprocate."

Naraht sighs and curls his fringes tightly under his body.

"You don't need to apologize, Ray. I suppose I should learn to contain my frustration better, especially since I know our mindsets are so completely different. It's just...it seems like people are trying to ignore this and hope it will go away. One thing I've learned from studying history is that you can't do that...though that's probably the Horta slant on history talking. Intellectually, I can understand how this wouldn't seem as much of an issue to you, but emotionally...

"And I'm not at my best right now, either. This hangover is taking forever to resolve, and I'm sure that's making me rather touchy."

"I don't know that it's necessarily 'hope it'll go away' so much as it is 'not seeing it as all that relevant to begin with'. But maybe that's just me."

He frowns a little. "Uh, is that normal? In my species that kind of thing only lasts a day at the most."

"Since when is abuse of power...no, I'm not going to start this arguement again," Naraht says. "I've been through it with Tim, with Barry and with Susan Delgado. It must be some kind of mental connection we are simply not making."

His fringe loosens a bit and flutters. "Well, this is only the second hangover I've ever had. The last one only lasted a day...but that was one from graphite. The goo back on your world was definately not graphite."

He shakes himself. "I wouldn't worry about it. Just some fatigue and a little 'upset stomach'. I'll probably be fine tomorrow."

Ordinarily Ray might press on with the discussion, but hearing that it'd already been discussed multiple times let him breathe a little easier. Probably everyone else had covered all the grounds he would've done, and most likely they'd done it a little better.

"I don't know, Naraht," he said doubtfully. "New York City is famous for its chemical pollutants. There was probably something in the rock or the goo or something that might be giving you more-"

He stopped. An image had flashed across his mind, one he would spend a long time trying to erase.

"Out of curiosity, what do normal Horta excreta look like?" he asked.

Perhaps Ray shouldn't be so sure of that, but Naraht has already promised to reserve judgement until Bernard gets back.

He does chuckle a bit at the question about excretion. "Well, the majority of what we excrete is vaporous," he says. "But we do have to pass small amounts of solid matter. It looks rather like volcanic sand...well, I've been told that it's more of a grey than black color, but you probably get the picture."

"Okay," says Ray. "So... does that change if you get sick?"

Naraht thinks for a moment. "It should. To be perfectly honest, it is almost unheard of for us to get sick in the first place. Silicon-based life is rare. And silicon-based contageons are even more rare."

He shrugs. "Most Horta illness is caused by overindulgence and eating chemicals that are not compatable with our system. There are a few that can cause us problems. Asbestos for one." He shivers at the rather unpleasant memory that invokes.

Ray thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. "There wouldn't be any of that in the street, I don't think," he says. "The EPA tested the air after the Twin Towers collapsed and found pretty minimal asbestos levels considering the age of the buildings. I doubt any of it would be present in the surface of the road through Central Park in levels enough to make you sick."

"Oh, if I'd ingested any significant amount of asbestos, I wouldn't be merely be feeling run-down. Asbestos causes hallucinations and extreme euphoria in those who eat it...and it also destroys our circulatory system in a frighteningly short while in doses that large."

"Not so different from what happens to humans, then, except that we don't even get the mental effects," murmurs Ray. "Just fibrous masses where our lungs used to be."

He's not really up on his biology.

"Yes, but it is highly unlikely that you would become addicted to it," Naraht says quietly. "When you see a person doing something so terrible to themselves. Even when they know what the consequences will be..."

"No, we just get addicted to other killers, like tobacco and opiates and coca alkaloids and alcohol." Ray's expression goes grim. "I know what you mean, though."

Naraht sighs...but the sigh turns into a catch as his stomachs twist again. "Well, whatever is bothering me, I think maybe I should go get some sleep and try to let it pass," he says.

Ray nods. "You know where my room is. Call me if there's any trouble."

"I will, Ray," he says as he heads toward his crawler. "Oh, you do remember that you can call me Iohor, don't you?" he asks teasingly.

"Force of habit," Ray admits. "I'll get used to it eventually."

Naraht chuckles and continue on his way...

There has been a change in Naraht's skin, however. Probably too fine to be seen by the unaided human eye, but if one looks closely, his surface has a slightly dusky appearance.

If looked at with a microscope, one would see millions of tiny, silvery crystals there.

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