drakekalashnyk

[drakekalashnyk]

galcsis​:

katana ✗ drake.

she  doesn’t  want  to  say  it  out  loud  ;  you’re  right.  fears  he’d  have  too  much  pleasure  in  hearing  her  say  the  words,  even  if  he  does  already  know  it  to  be  true.  but,  as  true  as  it  might  be,  kat  can’t  help  but  wonder  when  the  day  will  come  where  drake  doesn’t  follow  a  direct  order.  when  light  is  shown  on  his  true  loyalties—-  kat  can’t  help  but  think  he’s  loyal  to  no  one  but  himself,  and  his  wife,  if  she’s  lucky.  as  much  as  she  wants  to  ask  him  ;  what’s  your  game  in  all  of  this  drake?  what  do  you  get  out  of  it?  she  doesn’t—-  half  afraid  he  might  slip  a  special  something  into  her  next  drink  and  she’ll  never  wake  again.  can  never  sleep  with  both  eyes  open  when  the  kalashnyk’s  are  around.

“  alright,  ’  a  beat.  “  let’s  get  a  drink  kalashnyk.  ’  turns  her  head  up,  eyes  remaining  on  his  as  she  moves  past  him.  “  it’s  an  order.  ’  besides,  i’d  like  a  little  deeper  dive  into  the  black  hole  whirling  around  up  in  there.  she’s  not  sure  how  far  she’ll  get,  or  if  she’ll  even  get  anywhere  at  all.  as  much  as  kat  doesn’t  trust  drake,  she’s  also  endlessly  curious  about  him.  and  so,  this  could  be  a  win,  or  it  could  be  a  really  dreadful  drink  with  a  sociopath.  only  one  way  to  find  out.

-

Drake doesn’t know what to make of the Commander in these moments; the shifts that gently suggest conversation in another direction. If there’s a genuine concern for the plummet of perhaps uncomfortable topics breached; a fear in the eyes of the woman, or if another hidden desire is even more concealed behind those calculating hues. The surgeon hasn’t entirely figured out the game the leader of them plays and really, he’s not entirely sure she understands herself.

Which means the ball remains ever in his court. Because what he really thinks about it all is secreted away in his own dark mind; he thinks that his carefully spoken words – the ones that border disgusting whilst remaining entirely valid on the tongue of a doctor are so true that Katana can’t do anything but act as her role: command.

Let’s get a drink.

Usually, a suggestion in the mouth of anyone else – but from Kat, something else; a kind of silent boast of her power that despite everything previously spoken about; the bloody descent of a cliff is nothing more than a minor jibe that holds nothing more than provocation.

When Kalashnyk knows, if there were opportunity – and it mattered in that moment, there would be very real consequences if both of them were standing on the edge of a mountain. “I hope your drink choice is something strong then, Commander,” is the return – makes no point to comment on her order as though she’d achieve her goal explicitly if he were to acknowledge the detail. Drake unfolds his arms, gestures ahead in a polite manner: “Ladies first,”

[drakekalashnyk]

galcsis​:

katana ✗ drake.

i  could  take  that  crown  from  you.  she  doesn’t  offer  what  she  can  only  suspect  he’s  waiting  for.  she  doesn’t  let  her  hands  curl  into  fists,  she  doesn’t  let  her  distaste  rise  to  the  surface.  drake  has  always  peaked  the  commanders  curiosity,  he’s  always  held  her  attention.  if  for  no  other  reason  then  the  sheer  fact  that  she  does  not  trust  the  kalashnyk’s,  hard  to  voice  the  opinion  when  it’s  really  based  on  nothing  other  then  the  sheer  feeling  he  gives  her,  when  words  like  his  are  exchanged.  a  blatant  offering  of  his  lack  of  respect  and  she  has  to  wonder—-  has  he  forgotten  the  reason  his  family  is  gone?  because  he’s  not  looking  at  it,  but  somehow  she  feels  that’s  exactly  how  he  looks  at  her.

“  i’m  sure  your  vile  imagination  gives  you  plenty  to  view—-  enough  hopefully.  because  you’ll  only  ever  watch  that  vision  unfold  within  the  confines  of  your  own  sick  mind  kalashnyk.  ’  a  dry  smile  forced  to  follow.  “  you’re  not  a  soldier  drake.  you’re  a  doctor.  that  is  the  most  terrifying  part.  ’

-

Conversation with the Commander, as it turns out, remains somewhat entertaining. It’s like coded messages; a slither of a reminder that she’s a leader not just for being easy on the eye – probably that too. But instead, a skillset that is required in such a position, so he assumes. That for every little quirk of his lip, she matches it; returns the gesture with the same kind that implies there’s something hidden behind dark hues. Fabian’s just not sure what. Never a reason to pry – isn’t in the business of delving into the philosophies of the commander as much as he’d rather do it with a scalpel – or bare hands if that’s the option – and see the beneath in all its red and pink glory.

The cliff started it; the thoughts of this all and Katana feeds it just as eagerly as Drake does. Talk back and forth that keeps the surgeon engaged enough that the only diversions he makes is to capture the rocky face behind the woman, and then Kat herself. Eyes shift between the two like it’s unnecessary to have even verbalised his thoughts when its implied with a tip of his head sideways – an interested expression that if the mention of plummeting to their deaths hadn’t already been broached, it might be asked now.

Because Drake knows not many smile like he does; smug when it’s the one place it’s never particular welcome.

Then, said outright beyond their codes: Vile; Sick mind.  

I don’t think you know the definition of that yet, Kat.

But, it’s not too far off – Fabi knows it. Just as well as she does, but the surgeon finds that it’s all easily jovial in the position he holds, a title like sawbone that’s a little more implicative; dark, than the word surgeon ever was. The doctor has trust, by default – life in his hands, can twist humour in all manner with the Kalashnyk trademark of warm and welcoming smile. Makes even the darkest of truths laughable:

Oh, I could slip and kill you, you know, but don’t worry, I’ve done this a hundred times. 

Right before he’d subdue a patient and they’d be at his mercy. Not how most doctor’s would – or are supposed to envision a theatre.

“Strong descriptors, Katana,” he muses, catches the smile that isn’t quite some mirroring anymore. Nerve struck? Surgery accident – a potential; anyone who prods enough leaves detriments. Fabian’s pretty sure he’s getting there. So, it remains to be the doctor’s deciding moment, as it is every time he holds emergencies between skilled hands; stop; continue; slip –

Not a soldier, no. Not like that – in the traditional sense at least and he quietens his thoughts of operational ideations for a moment to contemplate her words. “Out here,” he begins, makes a point to point a finger towards the cliffs from where his arms are crossed across his chest. “I think a few lines are blurred,” a beat, “and I wouldn’t be a very good doctor if I were uneasy around such trauma, would I?” Let’s it hang for another few moments before he adds:

“No soldier, you’re right, but you’d give me orders – just as you would anyone,” just as you would any soldier Katana. Whether those orders were with bloodied hands and a body on his table yelling: ‘save them’ or something else with just as much importance remains irrelevant.

An order is an order.

Drake puts that command in his hands and let’s his mind decide whether it’s played through as requested. Whether he saves or kills. Perhaps, a doctor by trade – a soldier; all madman. All self-serving.

She’s not wrong either – maybe that defines her terrifying.

[drakekalashnyk]

solarisxluna​:

†hε šΩuαll (pαr† ⊕ηε)

ωh⊕: Solaris Luna & Fabian Kalashnyk (@drakekalashnyk) ωhα†: Securing the buildings and animals of Arcadia ωhεη: During The Squall (Pt.1) - 7 hours before the storm ωhεrε: Arcadia

It came a little quicker than normal, the weather over these last few days was indicators of the incoming storm but this time it felt as though the gather storm has appeared quicker on the horizon. Solaris wasn’t sure wether it was due to the recent events or if she was just loosing track of the days. Lately her mind had been other places, she was finding it difficult to concentrate on even the most simple of tasks, all she could think about was how she left River behind. Just like she had left her parents. 

“River.. I’m so sorry.” Sol uttered under her breath barely making a sound. “I’m coming for you I promise.” she continued as she looked up at the clouds gathering.

These clouds were like the storm clouds that Solaris remembered from her time back on earth, but somehow more mystical darker if that was even possible. It was times like this where every outlander was imperative to ensure the safety of the people. 

Solaris & Fabian had been tasked with ensuring the safety of all the animals and buildings during the coming storm, as leaned against the wooden pole outside of tannery waiting for Fabian her eyes once again drifted to the sky, there was a storm coming, and she couldn’t help but feel this one would be different.

-

This isn’t his usual regime. Drake’s not exactly an animal keeper in this sense – other people, perhaps. But, not this. Partnered with Solaris, he’s securing the livestock; playing a role that’s not his norm, much less within his comfort zone. Though, he’s doing his best to brush that off as he’s padding the backs with faux encouragement of those with four legs, ushering them inside buildings, fingers securing latches with able hands as he does so.

Another section cleared; locked down.

The surgeon glances up, eyes the murky sky almost like he’s glaring it out. Then he’s traipsing back towards the tannery, hands rub together to brush the dried mud from hands. There’s a haste amongst the camp that reminds him that it’s not just the storm that is amiss, the taken as prominently talked about as is the oncoming weather.

He spots Solar easily against the building – imposing presence; an unquestionable force despite how she’s casual against the tanner’s place.

Drake likes forces; likes to think he can balance the scales awfully well when he wants; picks when one side dominates.

“Slacking off?” he’s got a ghosting smirk on his face as he approaches, the kind that hints he’s joking, but half tells that there might be an ounce of truthful intent. But it’s passed by as fast as it’s said –

“Where’s left, Chief?” – respectfully, lifts a brow like he’s for once, content with someone else taking lead on an operation when it’s not his trained specialism. Kalashnyk’s not the best with animals, as has already been witnessed with his less than keen impressions to wrestle them into safety thus far. Drake maintains that role; the front that everything’s calm in his mind when there’s thoughts of what else he could be doing; wonders if when the storm strikes if there’s casualty’s he’s to be – little too morbid Drake, not right now. Brings himself out of it, thinks of his wife and where they’ll be shortly after this task is complete. Job first, that later. 

[drakekalashnyk]

solarisxluna​:

š⊕lαrïšxdrακε

drakekalashnyk​:

The way the tomato juices released in his mouth and dripped down his chin and covered Drake’s thumb reminded Solaris of the way that blood dripped down her sword through her fingers after a kill and she felt oddly comforted. The fact that she found it comforting was probably enough a cause for concern however she had become a warrior and a damn good warrior at that, that no one really asked questions, but if they had known her before… but the was almost to inconceivable to imagine she had become a product of her circumstances, oh the hate and rage that flooded her mind, the need for vengeance that flowed through her veins.

As Drake spoke she kept silent, she had no intention of enjoying the ripe tomatoes even if they did look so good, she was working on patrol, since everything that went down in terra, Solaris was being more careful, patrolling more places, she was not going to let another soul be kidnapped by the council.

“Don’t stop on my account.” she smirked.

-

“I wasn’t planning on stopping,” he returns, takes another lazy bite of the tomato, licks the juice of his thumb before it falls wasted to the ground. He knows who the Chief is, of course. Doesn’t recall ever disliking the warrior – a kind of heat behind her eyes that reflects in his own sometimes. Though, he’s never voices that, nor acknowledges it beyond a private thought. There’s an integration that Kalashnyk sometimes feels a little out of the loop with in regards to the different roles they both play.

But he makes a point to try to care: “Any news?”

Fabian’s swallowed his mouthful, tongue slides out between lips again for the liquid, looks at her expectantly for some kind of answer. He’s referring to the taken; the two of their own that lies within the walls they all used to call home. A fleeting ideation of what they could be doing – whether they’re subject to the same kind of man Drake is, beneath a hangman’s knife – perhaps interrogated for all the ins and outs of what they’re up to beyond the walls without being on the direct radar of Tera or if they’re cosy in a cell awaiting starvation to come knocking; morbid seems to be Drake’s primary stream of thought.

The visions don’t stay too long, harsher ones fast to sweep in and take residence in their place if he allows himself to think too hard on he and his wife’s former lives. Surgery in a sterile environment isn’t all they’ve lost. A jaw tightens for a brief moment when the intrusive memories beyond bloodshed are pushed down.

He takes another bite of the tomato in hand to cover that, casual as he hangs on an answer from Solaris. Even hearing something of the medical regard would satiate his idle fingers, his dwindling thoughts to see flesh. His lip lifts in the corner; makes it seem like he’s friendly and not imagining cutting skin behind those dark eyes. 

Still finishing the mouthful of tomato, he gives an afterthought: 

“—or is it all quiet on the western front?”

[drakekalashnyk]

lilahkalashnx​:

drakekalashnyk​:​

LOSS. / FLASHBACK

TRIGGERS: CHILD DEATH TW, GRIEF/POST-DEATH TRAUMA TW, MENTIONS OF MISCARRIAGE TW, LOSS TW. 

The chair Dahlia sits on is uncomfortable and she’s contemplating on whether to throw a fit about it. The accusations held against them are indicated through the documents presented — each one a signed death by the couple. Accidents, they like to call it. Accidents because who would pay that much close attention? Delilah liked to toy with the line, see just how far they could go with letting a life slip through their fingers, and each time they got away with it, each time they had to tell a family member ‘sorry, but they didn’t make it’ brought on a fire in her to keep doing it over and over again. She says it’s for practice; they call her a monster for it.

There’s a struggle to keep the smug grin off her face as the board reads out their ‘crimes.’ They’re missing some, she notes. Date nights that end with blood on their hands with Drake’s wrapped around her pretty little throat as he pushes inside her. Date nights and these people look at them like they’re crazy. Romance truly is dead.

She waits for the punishment but there’s no fear. Delilah knows what she and Drake have to offer, knows that these idiots wouldn’t even dare to —. And then Emerson’s name pops up and the smile slips right off her face.

—

Drake has his arms wrapped around her and it’s the only thing keeping Delilah from falling apart. Her heart breaks and it’s reminiscent of the loss before Damian, the child she never had a chance to hold. And now the son she had the privilege of raising suffers the same fate. Death keeps taking what she wants and call it cosmic karma or universal retribution, but there Delilah sits, tears streaming down her face.

He says her name and it’s like an anchor but the waves of grief still hit against her very core. Delilah knows that he’s right, knows that composure won’t waste any of their time, but he gets the only shred of vulnerability she has. “What if they get Daisy,” and with this her eyes widen, chest heaving at the very thought. “Drake, what if they get her too?” They can’t; she won’t let them, but with Damian’s funeral already being arranged, she’s not too convinced of herself. “We can’t just trust them to not do anything if we do whatever they say.”

Ridiculous. The Kalashnyks brought down to their knees. They council better kill them once they have the chance.

-

Grief comes in various forms; a spectrum that Drake sees – or did, on the regular. Doctors are haunted by it, shadows that follow them at every turn, a kind of demon that consumes and near enough turns every word spoken into violent beasts that tear down loved ones from within hospital walls. He says it so often in comparison to everyone else: I’m sorry for your loss, we did everything we could. Like a broken record, the latter part a lie in some cases; in situations where slippery fingers that play life and death into his hands where reasonings become a little more sick. It’s never been Fabian on the other end – never has it been him, until it had been.

Once, and then twice.

Another lie – it gets easier. Does it? The pain of loss dulls a little over time and is instead replaced with a festering pit of rage that doesn’t necessarily make it easier, more relenting in a way. Drake’s arms around his wife, her body vibrating against him as the agony spills out in waves, brushes up against his own where he wants to become cold; the dark desires that cloud all judgement that he must put aside to be a husband to his wife. They’ve done this before, the first time – a cloud of smoke had buried them then, and an even heavier blanket has them on the ground forced into gravity’s pull to feel everything about this loss; torn away their child because of them.

A different grief; a harsher one. Where this had been no science or fate that had taken their first unborn, but this had a name; a cause; something tangible to be destroyed. A monster as bloodhungry as they can be.

But not in this moment, not when tears stain Drake’s shirt and he dreads the moment his hands untangle from Delilah’s hair and he has to let go – because despite how they are, Kalashnyk knows fragility of life, every day learns its sensitivity a little more. He will lose no more, no more – no more because of him. He’s soft, so is she, beneath the weight of his grip on her he presses her tighter against him, for however long it takes. Drake’s there, refuses to let go until she’s ready for him to – and perhaps he might not even be ready himself when that comes.

Swallowing, Drake’s head shakes once, no. “They won’t,” affirmed, through a tightened jaw that doesn’t match the gentleness of his voice only moments ago. Emptied from lips with such belief, such venom that he’s assured himself that the Kalashnyk’s will suffer no more losses, they are the ones who will inflict, slaughter those in their paths – hands so powerful with surgical tools that it’s so hilarious that there’s such trust instilled because of how the two letters that precede his name matter. Dr. Kalashnyk, orthopaedic surgeon. What’s unwritten but remains to be just as factual: Murderer and madman. “We won’t let them, Lilah,” a second assurance, even more vicious behind its meaning than the last. A whole counter to how gentle his arms on her are, but how virulent his mind remains, warring with the agony that lies within his heart.

Drake knows that Delilah’s got a point, she always does. That blind faith in the fact Emerson’s word alone isn’t the most promising of affirmations to make. But just like holding a scalpel over a patient in an operating theatre, the odds of survival are known – and even against ninety-nine to one, that one is still a domineering factor that could flatline even the most simple of procedures.

Fabi imagine one day – in fact, knows that against these odds, he will someday have Avery underneath his hands, and he’ll count down every percentage whilst issuing a new age surgical procedure upon her. He’ll spend his time playing the game now, to be the reaper later, as with Lilah, he knows. But, there will be retribution for their own pain; vengeance despite how the world might appear to crumble around them from the floor of their home.

“No, we can’t,” he agrees, lands lips on the top of her head, slow when he squeezes his eyes shut to prevent any slips from his own tearducts. “But we will treat it like we do, they have no reason to take a child – they cannot afford themselves to be smeared as unjust, Lilah, they won’t touch Daisy, and we will not forgive for Damian – nor forget, as soon as this job is complete, we’ll remind them of who they wounded,” a promise; sealed when he raises her chin up to him, kisses wet lips, salt of his wife’s kisses against his where he tries to make clear that he is not allowing this grief consume them – not whilst Emerson still walks.

[drakekalashnyk]

TOMATOES.

Location: Ranch. Side: Outlands. Open for: All Outlanders.

[Triggers: Eyeball Horror/Ideations?]

Drake’s never been the best of cooks – Delilah’s the chef of the two of them, but he likes to think he’s got the better taste. (he managed to wife her afterall, whilst she’s stuck with him.) And whilst the sawbone traipses through the farm, it’s noticeable that he’s busying his time with greenery and falsely posing as a greenthumb. Kalashnyk’s just waiting for the yell of Medic, stat, that encourages his move to the medical tent. Craves that sensation in his chest that comes when he’s got control of life and death again; a little twisted in his intentions when faced with those on his operating table – in the outlands case, the makeshift kind. The doctor has to settle for the ideations of such things instead, looks at the ripe tomatoes hanging on stalks, fastened in place by poles as vines wrap around and make prey of the fastening.

He imagines wrapping his fingers around it, squeezing the juices through fingertips – a watery red that’s not quite the same shade as the one he’s fantasising over, but it’s the right kind of texture to swap it out for an eyeball, how easy it is for even just a fingernail to slip and split the delicate folds of one of man’s favoured organs. Last thing they ever see, Drake hovering over them with a hint of a smirk, perhaps.

But whilst he imagines that, the tomato he plucks from the vine isn’t cut by his nails, instead – bitten into, squelches with a vigour that when he pulls back from the edge of the Ranch’s field, there’s a shadow in his peripheries, obscures the sun beaming down on him whilst warming the back of his neck. 

“You should try one of these, they’re ripe,” he remarks with some afterburn of amusement to ihs own thoughts. Drake’s not considered the act of actually taking one unpermitted, but he’s sure someone would have told him prior to walking up the lengths of the fields on his exploration, not to help himself – though it is just one tomato. Thumb comes up to his chin to catch the stray tomato juice before it spills down his top, side smiles the newcomer as though he hasn’t just turned fruit and vegetation into something its not.

He debates looking for the squashes next – stomach growls quietly at the thought, knowing Lilah’s probably got something already on back at their place. Kalashnyk takes another bite of the half destroyed tomato, glances at the stranger now; waits for their input, if they have any.

[drakekalashnyk]

LOSS. / FLASHBACK.

Location: Terran Hospital / Home. Time: Early Morning / Anytime Closed for: @lilahkalashnx​

TRIGGERS: CHILD DEATH TW, GRIEF/POST-DEATH TRAUMA TW.

It’s dropped like a lead weight on the desk in front of him – medical documents, the kind he’s seen twice over. It’s Drake’s handwriting decorating the papers, a near illegible script as iconic as any doctor’s really. But he knows his own scrawling’s, and so does the medical board – by default, so does Emerson. A kind of stare between Kalashnyk and the board that indicates there’s no admittance ready to be offered; accusations thrown about with regards to he and Delilah’s interference with certain paperwork; a few too many accidents that left a little too many questions. He hasn’t looked at which they’ve presented him with – it doesn’t matter all that much, he’s guilty of it, they know that as much as he does. Yet, there’s a twisted smile struggling to stay contained on the edge of his lips where he’s envisioning the board skinned and written down as a new form of document. Wonders for a moment if his wife in the chair beside him is thinking something similar – perhaps an even more creative of circumstance to befall them.

Perhaps even what they’ll do when the board dismisses them and they disappear off shift for a couple hours into a supply closet. Fabian’s not due to enter surgery for a few hours yet, a simple knee arthroscopy that he convinces himself could be done with one eye and one hand – though, probably not the best time to test the theory. Bad timing considering the harsh consequences that are being threatened to both Kalashnyk’s.

“We were going to deal with this as a standardisation, a revocation of your medical licenses and dismissal –”

Fabi’s tuned out, obviously, no counters readily supplied beyond the obvious – a genuine belief that two surgeons lost in Tera, both renowned in their areas; Drake’s orthopaedics more than exemplary and proven so would cost them far too much in regards to surgery, a still very in demand requirement in any case. But he’s picked up the past tense in their given words – were, implies, that’s not the outcome to be delivered; a reconsideration in response to their skillsets, most likely.

A trivial meeting nonetheless.

“—Emerson has decided to handle to matter directly,”

Drake’s attention is stolen back, fast. Eyebrows furrowing into a frown, the briefest of glance over to Delilah to assess if she’s sharing his expression. It’s strange, the figurations of scalpels in the medical board’s skin suddenly become obscured by Emerson’s face and while the pair of surgeons sit patiently for a verdict, Fabian feels a prickle of concern over the involvement of another.

And he had been right to be.

Because rejection to Emerson’s request after that, they should have realised wouldn’t sit well.

Afterwards, mere hours later, there are words that still haunt him now, because he’s said the words hundreds of times in a faux manner to loved ones of patients:

“I’m sorry Mr and Mrs Kalashnyk, but your son, Damian… he’s passed away in an accident,”

-----

There’s an irony in the sickening way the vicious cycle turns – a snake devouring its own tail in hunger insatiable. It’s a perverse karma; subjected to them with foul play; violent intent that rivals only themselves. Fabian’s grieving in any way a father can and in this moment, it’s lost in amongst the reassurance of being a good husband to his wife first. Before his own turmoil can manifest and be exerted in any detrimental way imaginable, they’re not surgeons by Terran standards anymore, not after everything. The refusal to be pawns in the highers games, the tragedy that followed –

– a kind that isn’t an accident at all.

Drake knows that with every fibre of his being, he knows better than everything, that kind of accident doesn’t just occur by mistake. Death certificate issued, cause of death – a fucking lie, a kind of insult to the man’s intelligence like he hasn’t forged tens of them and been the reason for their existence to begin with. But not this one, never this one.

None of it hangs in his mind for long when a kind of void; hollow in his chest is numb and endless. Only fills with Lilah’s tears as she lays over his thighs – he’s on his knees, arms wrapped around his wife as she lays sprawled over him on the ground a despair that he cannot, for anything soften. Murderers, killers with a method broken by a death of their own and weakened at the edges where barriers must reform.

“Lilah,” it’s soft, accompanied with fingers through her hair as he draws her to him, rests a tired head on top of hers, feels the vibrations of sobs against his chest where he sits, eyes closing – tries to draw more appropriate images of their children; their lost child that isn’t stained in red and mauled in a darker memory of what they, to the bottom line, caused.

Not that Drake will accept that. It’s a level of anger that boils beneath the agony of grieving. His wife first, then he’ll leave a stain elsewhere. “Delilah,” he murmurs again quietly, attempts to gain her attention through the drenching of his shirt, “Save the tears,” he doesn’t say why; it’s known between them silently. Like a code that only they can decipher, with a history like theirs, it only provides an already adept ability to return favours – patience, another trained quality in any surgeon. Once over the hurdle of this loss, the world will burn, whatever it takes. Fabian’s hand tangles in Lilah’s tendrils, takes a breath, inhales her scent like he might suddenly forget it and keeps her pressed against him, doesn’t dare let go in case she might leave too quickly. It’s whispered in a sigh:

“We have a job to do,”

[drakekalashnyk]

dulcesatana​:

katana ✗ drake.

there’s  a  fit  of  soft  laughter  slipping  from  her  wetted  lips  as  she  looks  back  at  drake.  he’s  right—-  in  his  position,  risks  can’t  be  so  freely  taken  as  she  does  in  hers.  each  role  plays  a  different  purpose.  the  risks  she  takes  personally  don’t  always  match  what  she  would  for  her  people,  and  so,  maybe  he’s  right  there  too.  is  she  too  adventurous  with  everything  she  has  to  risk?  probably.

she’s  not  one  who  enjoys  opening  up,  always  leaves  herself  open  for  others  to  do  so  with  her,  but  never  chooses  to  partake  in  the  venture  herself.  maybe  that’s  another  reason  she  always  looks  at  drake  and  his  wife  a  little  longer  then  the  others.  drake  always  seems  to  pull  conversations  from  her  she’d  rather  have  on  her  own.

“  careful  there  drake,  you  might  lead  someone  to  think  you  care.  ’  something  loosely  given  to  those  in  his  role  but  she  never  quite  believes  he  does.  there’s  always  other  energies  that  come  from  his  company.

head  shaking  softly  as  he’s  leaving  her  now.  hands  falling  back  to  her  side  with  a  chuckle  at  his  last  remark.  “  you’ll  be  the  first  one  i  grab  if  i  decide  to  take  the  jump.  ’  it’s  not  a  threat,  a  poke  more  then  anything,  and  his  twisted  mind?  she’s  sure  he’ll  find  at  least  some  enjoyment  in  the  thought.

-

Fabian’s thumb is brushing between the gaps in his fingers, an age old habit of keeping his hands moving when he’s so accustomed to stilling them; trained to be steady where such twitching movements can be catastrophic – balance life and death in the fate of a single inch. Fascinating, really, a little morbid to think about when looking at Katana, backdropped by the watering hole and its all natural glow that’s entirely absent the clinical environment he lives – used to, live in. But it’s on his mind, nonetheless. Only overtaken by the laugh that reminds him of his wife, how it’s a bliss that grounds him to a plain that’s a little less twisted; perhaps even more so, doubled in its insanity, therefore countered entirely and believed to be rational. But even if the psyche isn’t his speciality, he knows when he’s lying to himself. To believe there’s anything of the sort in the lines of Drake’s mind – or his wife’s, is near insanity itself.

But he doesn’t need the commander to be aware of that, can’t draw attention to the sick man with a glint in his eye that never quite hides even when he’s so talented at playing the most personable of doctors. Surgeons, generally, trusted by default – have to be, lives lay in their hands and Kalashnyk is a little attached to that ideation. Finds it humourful that trust alone allows someone to lay beneath a knife in another human’s hand, splits them open – albeit, sometimes not verbally voluntary but generally, necessary.

And then, he’s thanked afterwards. Put on a pedestal as a hero like they are blind to how many times Drake’s considered allowing accidents to happen; that he wanted to draw a little too close to an artery and snap it like a violin string plucked a little too hard under the weight of something more vicious; music to the surgeon’s ears. He’s thinking all that, whilst looking at Katana and her laughing.

It’s why the glint never quite vanishes in his eyes; the darker parts never do switch off entirely, lives in it with ease. Only recognised by another like him, Lilah, one of the few; maybe the only.

Katana’s words strike him as funny, because he knows he has it in him – he’s married, has a level where Delilah is everything, his children; shrouded by a bittering thought he cannot act on, are there amongst that feeling. So, the cold – slightly apathetic behaviour he exhibits that someone he manages to suppress enough to be a little more charming in places, isn’t all he is.

But it’s close.

“I couldn’t take that crown from you, commander,” he returns, half smile at the sideways remark that hangs in front of him with an suggestion he’s not sure the woman would take lightly. And yet, he doesn’t think it’s false either; not that he’s ever taken an interest in the commander’s life beyond her role, that’s not his job: “I think you even add a new gemstone to it each day,” though it’s blatantly obvious to a married man about those who are not involved with others and he’s never seen Katana with someone like he is with Deliliah.

Fabi’s head lifts again, eyes glimpsing back to the cliff, pushes out his bottom lip at the idea of being dragged down – what a way to go, he can’t exactly argue that. Imagines his own body in all its mutilation upon impact at the ground; it’s quick, he’s sure of that for the most part, but doesn’t stop his mind thinking about any survival options; like there’s a mode of collision that might mean he would live – though, probably crippled and to a man who relies on himself. Steady fingers, able hands – and working mind, knowledge beyond the average, he’d definitely rather the sudden splat. With that, he reminds himself – there would be two of them, because Katana will be the mass of meat near flattened next to him.

If the smile isn’t enough to slowly remind Katana that Drake’s a little skewed in his humour – or at least, entertained by her jabs, his follow up has to be:

“I suppose I better work on my build – I’ll fall a lot faster than you as we are,” you’re small, Kat, “and I’d want to at least watch you crack open like a watermelon before I follow suit afterwards,” he breathes a laugh at the imagery, red painting the base of the cliffs as two bodies mush into a pile of liquified organs. “And a good soldier, always follows after their Commander, isn’t that right?” Not that he’s sure on that one fact, he’s not quite a ranking soldier as much as he’s a medic; a sawbone out here in the wilderness, but he understands he falls into the category in some way or another; blood in all forms, suits him fine.

[drakekalashnyk]

dulcesatana​:

katana ✗ drake.

her  eyes  follow  his  to  the  cliff  above,  one  brow  arched  as  they  make  their  way  back  to  him.  “  so  what  are  you  waiting  for?  ’  she’s  not  sure,  really,  if  he’s  the  type  to  take  a  chance  like  that.  it’s  not  something  she  can  read  in  him—  unlike  his  vividly  descriptive  way  of  sharing  his  thoughts.  

there’s  always  a  bit  of  an  odd  feeling  when  with  drake.  the  way  his  mind  operates  in  a  way  she’s  not  sure  hers  ever  could.  she  considers  him  lucky  to  have  found  someone  with  a  mind  just  as  twisted  as  his  own.  

her  lips  are  twirling  into  a  smirk  at  his  moment.  she  is  a  firm  believer  in  the  saying—  a  first  time  for  everything.  maybe  a  bit  of  pride  that  he’s  able  to  read  that  from  her.  “  sure,  but  the  possibility  of  something  bad  happening  is  something  we  chance  with  every  decision  we  make.  i’ll  always  take  risks.  ’  she  had  a  feeling  it  was  part  of  who  she  was.

she  stopped  attempting  to  hide  the  disbelief  that  drake  brought  on…  really  whenever  they  talked.  she  did  her  best  to  laugh  it  off  though.  “  that  jump  is  nothing  in  comparison  to  our  trainings  on  the  sky  cliffs.  ’  she  commented  cooly,  small  smile  still  resting  on  her  lips.

-

What are you waiting for? It’s a ruse if he ever did hear one, not so much with a verbal answer as it is just returned with actions. Drake’s never been against the more dangerous of adventures – rather considers himself and his wife as part of the greatest one; his children sweet accomplishments, milestones that become the reason he’s standing opposite the Commander of the Outlanders and not in a Terran hospital in the middle of an eighteen hour operation to begin with. Traded the sterile environment, for dirt and grime of the woodlands, but cannot fault the glacier waters and their beauty right in front of him. Things he’d never see in Tera. So, what are you waiting for Drake? He asks himself that time, couldn’t provide the answer when he’s not waiting for anything,

Nothing at least, from Kat.

He doesn’t think he’s wrong about the possibility of someone not making that jump, catching the edge, slipping and dragging skin to be torn off as they hit the side of the cliff-face and are stripped down to the bone. Only a streak of red left, muscle tissue caught on harsh ridges that serve as a stark warning for those like Katana to be a little more sure of themselves when committing to the dangerous.

Perhaps he misunderstands the Outlanders – doesn’t consider them all to be brave when that’s probably a requirement to find themselves in amongst the wildling ranks. 

Fabian’s standing there, arms folded, thoughtful expression when he exchanges words with the woman. “Of course, but generally, those will favour the better odds – we don’t take operational risks if there’s a two percent survival rate,” not unless it’s the more dire of circumstances. And out in the wilderness, the formalities of humane surgery isn’t all that rigorous.

To Drake’s favour.

“In your position, you’re the one who makes those calls – what if something happens to your odds, Katana?” an honest question, a moment or so before he pivots to turn, leave before he sinks into the mud below him and forgets what he’s there for. Kalashnyk laughs quietly as he’s walking away, turns his head to point his ears towards the Commander when she quips, he offers her: “I can’t imagine any of you are jumping from that height, however,” his lip ticks up at the side, “– first time for everything,”

[drakekalashnyk]

medictm​:

drakekalashnyk​:

          lukas   valued  his  privacy  as  much  as  anyone  else  did.   if  it  were  up  to  him,  he’d  ban  all  questions  from  being  asked.   it  was  the  lack  of  respect  for  privacy  that  killed  his  best  friend,  after  all.   granted,  there’s  fault  weighing  his  own  shoulders  down  for  breaking  curfew  and  stealing  from  the  infirmary  back  in  tera,  but  in  the  eyes  of  the  council,  kids  like  him  shouldn’t  have  been  wandering  outside  the  walls  to  begin  with   –––   it  was  their  own  fault  his  best  friend  ended  up  with  a  hole  in  her  chest,  their  own  fault  something  got  to  her  heart  before  lukas  could  return  in  time  with  proper  medicine.   if  the  guards  that  night  had  just  believed  him  when  he  said  he  was  running  an  errand  for  someone  without  further  questioning,  maybe  he  could  have  saved  her  that  night.

          he  doesn’t  have  to  keep  things  from  the  other  outlanders.   if  he  does,  it’s  for  their  own  safety   (  and  sometimes  his  own  selfishness  ).   there’s  a  certain  level  of  respect  for  the  people  he  considered  family. 

          “   not  great,  if  i’m  being  honest.   ”     even  if  he  wasn’t,  he’s  sure  drake  would  have  found  out  for  himself  eventually.     “   this  stuff  looks  like  it’s  not  viscous,  but  i’ve  never  seen  anything  like  it.   ”     never  dealt  with  anything  like  it,  either.   he  can  add  it  to  the  many  other  vials  of  liquid  that  have  mysterious  healing  powers.   it’s  modern  day  magic,  in  his  opinion.     “   i’m  almost  tempted  to  think  it’s  not  even  worth  it  to  try  anything  while  the  water’s  this  dull.   there’s  nothing  to  extract.   ”

-

Drake’s lack of surprise is evident with the way his expression changes; only earns Lukas a brief glance of dark eyes when he offers up the expected answer. Of course it’s not going great. 

It’s not entirely a lack of faith as it is a lack of understanding for most of the properties of the new planet; Kalashnyk will always take the scientific pathway, begins to wonder how it can be applied to even the most magical seeming things. It’s just not his area of expertise; the geological exploits, never really has been, not in the way the human body is one of the most complex puzzles he enjoys slicing up.

The backpack he’s wearing hits the grass at his feet, knees bend to crouch beside it as though he’s looking for something particular; an answer to the other man’s speculations perhaps, but yet another kind of unachievable task. “Have you observed any negative side-effects since beginning your investigation of the lake?” Fabi asks, slightly more interested in the topic with the newly posed query.

He can’t deny Lukas doesn’t have a point in how it might not be worth it. Though, to anyone of science, just accepting the first answer: that it’s a magical, unprecedented lake isn’t always the one they want to settle on.

Science exists to always be prepared to be proven wrong; it’s what it’s about.

Drake, once he makes it past the sharper things, retrieves a flask, twists the cap so he can take a sip, stares at the marvel that is the lake in a couple extra moments of silence before speaking again: “I’m sure you’ll get somewhere with it, Lukas,” eventually.

[drakekalashnyk]

Send in 💖 to find out what my muse’s Love Language scores are

LOVE LANGUAGE | DRAKE

7% receiving gifts; this is probably interpreted as something a little more sinister; morbid and somewhat medical. Likely from his wife and formerly, his children; something a little kinder than the usual on that front. But he doesn’t much participate, perhaps with the occasional medical drama story gifted to Lilah to make her smile, if that counts. 

10% acts of service; surgery; team effort? Partnership with his wife and everything that comes with it; same kind of mindset, little deranged and generally on the same page with everything.

33% quality time; family for Drake trumps most of everything else, spending his waking moments with his wife and, previously, his children is the most grounding thing for him. Keeps him somewhat sane and balances his tendencies. This time spent he’s entirely too aware how fast it can change within the blink of an eye.

20% words of affirmation; not so much constant reassurance as appreciation for an effort in stressful clinical environments, security that he’s doing well even if his ‘accidents’ aren’t so straightforward. It’s assurance that he’s still able to put on the grin and fool everyone. 

30% physical touch; fulfilled by his wife on all accounts, in all scenarios and he’s greatly appreciative of it. Knows that it’s vital and with a twisted way that he visualises flesh and bone, it’s a need and desire that Delilah seems to negate when they’re together. 

[drakekalashnyk]

dulcesatana​:

katana ✗ drake.

brows  twist  together,  a  sloppy  attempt  to  hide  the  smile  that  forms,  and  her  heads  tilting  to  the  side  as  she  rings  out  her  hair—  eventually  a  chuckle  slips  between  her  lips  and  her  head  is  shaking.  but  she’s  entertained,  really,  despite  how  odd  he  may  be.  

“  relax,  drake—  it’s  not  that  serious.  ’  she’s  looking  back  over  her  shoulder,  lower  lip  caught  between  teeth’s  grip  as  she  admired  the  water  behind  her.  “  besides,  have  you  ever  taken  that  jump?  ’  her  attention  was  turned  back  to  him  now.  curious  hues  searching  his  at  the  question.  

she  knew  the  answer  she  expected  to  hear,  almost  hoped  he’d  prove  her  wrong.  

the  waters  were  unknown  but  the  jump  was  exhilarating—  the  watering  hole  and  sky  cliff’s  always  giving  way  to  her  addiction  to  adrenaline  ;  she  was  a  junkie  for  it.

“  as  many  times  as  i’ve  taken  it…  i’ve  never  touched  a  bottom  of  anything—  i  think  we  can  rule  out  skulls  being  caved  in.  ’

-

Drake remains stoic, doesn’t really feel the need to offer the counter argument when it’s abundantly obvious that she’s set in her ways. On a molecular level, that’s also a psychological thing; human nature. He’s shares that manner of thinking, except, perhaps a level of severity varies between them. 

The only thing that moves is his iris’ when they look back up to the cliff, would probably be lying to himself if he said he’d never take the dive. Seems like a thrill; an opportunity only found in the wilderness they were in. “I haven’t,” he admits, eyes flicker back, almost like he understands every muscle in his body to its core and can easily control one without the other, doesn’t need to overtly express his concern beyond a few carefully spoken words.

She’s already ignored them, and he isn’t going to reiterate. Katana the daredevil of a Commander. A respect unspoken.

Finally, when she’s the one to provide a rationale, he reconnects from the detachment and his head turns to her entirely, a smile returning and a finger absently taps on his elbow as his arms remain crossed; thoughtful, in a strange, slightly off-kilter aspect.

“I would have assumed you be the master of first time for everything, is that not correct?” a brow lifts, intrigued with the idea that omnipotence is found just because she cannot touch the bottom – he knows the implications, too deep for humans to dive. But there’s plenty things they’ve all learned aren’t nearly as impossible as they once thought. That is how discoveries are made; how progress is met and Fabian might be keen to stretch the bar of comprehension in most places. He still very much is waiting for the moment, per se, that someone makes Kat’s jump and does crack their skull open, lets the crystalline waters turn a dark shade of red.

It’s a sick thought to be anticipating that day.

“And what about if someone merely, falls, makes a picturesque view of scratched skin against the rockface if they don’t make the distance to begin with?” It’s a morbid thought, he knows it. Katana probably, expects it – to not, is likely be oblivious to as how twisted as Drake can be. But he tosses in his own egotistical boost; narcissistic about his own skills to assist and save:  “Not even I can help then,”

[drakekalashnyk]

dulcesatana​:

open to everyone at the watering hole.

the watering hole was a close second for katana. the sky cliffs being her ultimately escape from the moment she came upon them. there was no peace quite like the kind offered from way up there. 

the beauty of being down here however, was almost a vision of community. two very different communities just enjoying the beauty that abellio had to offer.

standing at the top of the rocks katana wore a growing smile, a few quick steps back before diving off the edge. it almost felt like there was no end to the depths below her. she’d never stay down there long enough to find out. the first breath when reaching the surface again was like the closing rush to the adrenaline that coursed through her being from the moment she jumped off the edge. she pushed her hair back behind her ears as she stepped out of the water. 

“ if you haven’t tried that yet, i highly recommend it. ’ lips split into a smile as she spoke.

-

Neutral territory is as calm as a trainwreck with emotions, Drake sees the hostility in some eyes, the fear in others that each time a priority trip to the watering hole is made, an idea that it might be the last crosses the minds of people more than just once. Fabi doesn’t generally fight in combat situations; he’s a doctor; a sawbone now, it’s not very on brand. But he can war with the human body if it lays in front of him and gives him every access to it. Knows where hurts, what muscles you need and what he can remove that offers the person the ability to live. There’s some kind of sick war in that power, he gets it and there’s no stopping the detrimental thoughts that cross his mind when he sees someone of particular interest: I wonder what your liver looks like? Heavy drinker? But nobody knows those thoughts behind the smiling, renowned Doctor Kalashnyk who has a record for surgeries of the highest degree.

He doesn’t even notice he’s staring at her when Katana emerges from glacier waters, it’s with a smile. Drake’s equipment; bags are by his feet, arms crossed over his chest whilst he’d been staring out to admire the sights on offer, the surgeon doesn’t even know when he’d been staring at the woman half dressed. Delilah would have something to say about it. Though, it’s not quite with that intention.

“You say that now, watch when you have a queue to try tombstoning and bodies with blunt force trauma, skulls caved in, begin washing up…” he trails off the darkening thoughts because, he wonders if that’s not the worst idea; if the murderers of his children would be amongst the wreckage of that. “I’d be careful, Katana,” accidents happen, is the only warning off it, commander withheld from lips in public, no need to make a public target worse.

[drakekalashnyk]

medictm​:

𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏:   the  lagoon. 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐:   outlanders.

     extraction,  while  incredibly  fascinating  &  captivating,  was  very  difficult  to  do.   STEADY  HANDS.   a  requirement  by  the  very  nature  of  the  art,  is  something  that  is  either  taught  with  great  repetition  or  genetic.   if  you  asked  lukas,  he  wouldn’t  provide  a  definitive  reason  as  to  why  his  hands  don’t  shake  like  they  once  did  back  on  earth.   he  didn’t  get  his  expertise  from  his  father,  that’s  for  sure.   if  there’s  one  thing  he  did  get  from  him,  it  was  the  ability  to  trigger  a  fight  or  flight  response  quite  quickly   (  fight  was  his  preferred  option  ). 

     he’d  been  an  outlander  for  quite  some  time  now,  but  everything  he’s  done  has  been  self - taught.   his  research  is  still  his  &  he’s  very  weary  of  exposing  his  own  discoveries,  but  he  still  uses  them  for  good.   the  vial  in  his  hand  stays  secure  between  his  index  finger  and  thumb,  eyes  scanning  the  small  sample  of  water  from  the  lagoon  as  he  sits  near  the  edge  of  it.   the  science  behind  the  healing  abilities  of  the  water  is  still yet  to  be  uncovered,  but  lukas  would  be  lying  if  he  said  he  didn’t  like  a  little  bit  of  a  mystery.   eyebrow  lifts  just  as  someone  else  enters  the  area,  hand  soon  showing  off  the  small  bit  of  the  lagoon  entrapped  in  glass.     “   thirsty  ?   ”     a  joke,  it  is.   that’s  obvious  from  the  grin  painted  across  his  features  as  the  male  stood  up.     “   i’ll  never  get  over  how  fuckin’  cool  this  place  is.   ”

-

A backpack sits on Drake’s back, medical supplies on hand; underneath the sharper of tools, of course. There’s some priorities hidden in the rear of Kalashnyk’s mind that are more unsavoury to those in the Outlands that might not share his and his wife’s views; but he’s always been very good at playing the role, does want to find an outlet for his pain; the loss, in his own way. He knows Delilah has hers. 

The Lagoon is as much of an enigma as anything, Drake’s taken by it, its properties that science cannot explain – he certainly has no idea, the biomedical and anatomical skillset he opts into more often than not, swamps the research side, tenfold.

Drake doesn’t expect to see too many there, and unsurprisingly, the ones that usually are, share the same level of medical interests as he does – though Kalashnyk will still silently be aware his hands; a surgeon trained for decades is more better suited, the only hinderance being the equipment available in the Outlands, not nearly as technical as those in Tera.

But he’s also very good at improvising in the moment.

“I think we had the same idea,” we didn’t, but, “how’s working out the impossible going for you?” it’s not mockery, in fact, there’s a sliver of genuine in the tone. A story ready to be made in the other man’s answer. 

[drakekalashnyk]

INTERVIEW | FDK.

Hello Citizen. Your 72 hour re-assimilation from stasis has come to an end. We’ll be performing a final medical evaluation and placement questionnaire before sending you down to Tera.

↠  To the best of your ability can you please state your full name, your birth month and age.

It’s cool against Drake’s skin, a gust of air sweeps over warm flesh; keeps him lucid and aware to hear the sound of the overhead speaker presenting questions. Professional to answer, despite the jarring rationality kicking in; he’s accustomed to performing under pressure, knows how to be personable even if behind his smile is something darker. “Fabian Drake Kalashnyk,” full name, given. “April eleventh,” He narrows eyes at the prying, “thirty-seven,” but it’s still to the point, with a smile that’s somehow not as strained as the way he lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck and loosen the coils in his muscles. It’s not an entirely abnormal feeling, as though awoken from a slumber a little prematurely and another hour would have been favoured. But he can’t because as he starts to process thoughts again, he begins to understand what’s happening.

↠  Thank you. To the best of your recollection; what was your last memory of earth?

The smile, wide and ingenuine remains with a light that isn’t often see in the eyes of a doctor with something a little unhinged within him.

“My wife under me,” he begins, thinks of the glow in her face and how he has to dig for the last recollection. But when he delves, he knows the solemn look he expressed right before they boarded – or was it sooner than that, he considers it for a second; debates if something has gone awry in his thoughts when he attempts to piece together a chronological memory. Where is Lilah? It’s like a burst that slams something more intimate into the forefront of his memory. Yet, that practiced professionalism wins over; deadpanned: “I’d just finished a bypass, she commented as I was pulling my gloves off about how,” I looked too good with blood on my hands, and we fucked in the store cupboard ten minutes later. “it was just us, and it’s – yes, it’s her, at the hospital and then it’s … the door closing right after I kissed her to remind her being apart is temporary,” there’s a glaze over his eyes, a covering to the details of the truth, a flare of where is she begins to surface and before he can start to ask and the lips part to interrogate for it, the voice continues.

↠  Can you tell me — are there any family, friends, or loved ones that you’re expecting to see here in Tera?

“Yes, I just told you, my wife, Delilah,” it’s firm and he straightens, pushes forward and through the sickeningly clean air; familiar like a hospital, a little too bleached and sterile. But Drake’s eyes search the room, it’s more than just the absence of his wife. “Damien, Daisy – the twins,” a lie, fabricated, but it’s the story told. “My sister-in-law, where are they? Fuck the questions until you tell me they’re alright and they’re here,” Because they’re not in the room right now. There’s nothing else for him there; his work incomplete without the partnership with his wife, his everything and the deranged duo that parent children that also, aren’t there. Drake knows the formality right now is supposedly a standard, but the robotic lack of empathy – from a man with very little himself, is more than unappreciated.

↠  Do you believe in right and wrong? Good and evil?

He shook his head, unbelievable, formerly wound muscles tightening again when Drake’s fingers twitch with a need that he cannot allow to surface. “No,” certain, he knows what it is; understands the principles of what is considered right and wrong as though laws set out from the beginning of time stand true and valid. That life is treasured and with a purpose self-found. Evil stands to prohibit those rules, to go against the social normalities that are laid out from birth. Drake knows what it is, really, he does. “It’s subjective, that’s it.” That’s all he cares to comment. His steady hands, trained; skilled as a surgeons should be brush against each other, crave a scalpel in hand where he can bury metal in deep. Perhaps you’ll realise I don’t play; how’s that for right and wrong? He manages to carry a thoughtfulness as he waits patiently as he can for an answer to where his family are.

But the interviewer continues to pry.

↠  What matters more? The individuals wants and needs, or the communities?  

Drake gives the scientific response; the heartless one:

“Sometimes the communities needs is considering the individuals, one person diseased is both their need for a cure as well as the infectious potential for the community,” He thinks if he answers faster, a little more bluntly that the process will be faster. That the questions that begin to encourage a headache in Kalashnyk will be a minor price when he holds his wife and kids again. Safe. Can then begin the adjustment to the new world;  “Next question.”

↠  What is one thing you want to do once you get off the arc?

It’s going to be your skin as a fur jacket if you don’t answer where my wife and kids are. “I want to see Lilah and my children,” as honest as it gets, “that’s all I’m considering right now,” there’s a terrifying tranquillity that he snaps into, the realisation that despite his continued implications; the ever constant reiteration that his family is more important than answering the questions. Drake, as a doctor, gets the importance of medical evaluations; psychiatric tests that he is sociopathically too good at slithering his way through. It’s not a psychotic tendency, psychopaths do not know they’re psychopaths. Like the former asks, Drake comprehends the thoughts of his are unorthodox. He and his wife predicting life and death at the end of a scalpel is not how every well-intentioned white coat works. But for them, it does. Kalashynk backs up, lifts his head as though he can maintain composure for however long this takes.

↠  What are your hopes for Tera and how do you plan to contribute to this new society?

“I imagine you’re going to require surgeons, good ones,” the tick on his lip is a tell to the secondary meaning behind the words; a low dig to the earlier question. “I hope to raise my children here and help people, give them every opportunity to thrive to the best of my capabilities,”

And Drake’s a liar.

Thank you for your time and patience during this process. Welcome to paradise… welcome to Tera !

[drakekalashnyk]

Fabian Drake Kalashnyk

“Give me thirty seconds and a butterfly, I’ll get your result,”

NAME: Fabian Drake Kalashnyk GOES BY: Drake (Fabi to close acquaintances.) AGE: Forty-Three BIRTHDAY: April, 11th. GENDER: Male || Cis ORIENTATION: Hetero. ROLE: Formerly a Terran Surgeon | Outlander | Sawbone

[TRIGGERS: SERIAL KILLER, MURDER, DEATH, GORE/SURGICAL, CHILD DEATH, CHILD THEFT/CHILD KIDNAPPING.]

Sometimes, names carry weight and often, those heavy burdens come with life sentences that end those same lives in a pool of red. Watch for the ones with the friendly smile, tempting presence and promising futures – they’re usually hiding something… and it’s not always the weighted name.

You can’t always see behind a man’s eyes to see what desires crawl to surface at night.

Nobody’s looking deep into the hues of a surgeon when they’re blade deep in a heart – because there’s more pressing issues when in the operating theatre. Not that beneath the surgical mask they wear there’s a wicked grin and an undiagnosed heart issue… just look at the post-op paperwork, everything else checks out…

Kalashnyk, in Tera carries a ball and chain that drags the word skilled surgeons with it. A name known for the medical trades, unchallenged in their area for what they are far too good at – and unbeknownst to everyone else, it’s not always with good intentions. To Kalashnyk himself, he considers it a powerful deterrent that’s known for being the reaper; harvester of lives and that’s more than enough for civilians to want to detach from any affiliation to that name. The front is; Drake Kalashnyk, husband to Delilah Kalashnyk; the best in their fields, heroes and saviours of lives.

The catch comes when they both know: They get to pick who lives and who doesn’t.

Most children don’t pick up switchblades as one of their first toys, don’t end up covered in red when they get clumsy and puncture skin and leave grotesque scars in their early years. To realise that it hurts and that pain is partially nerves and somewhat psychologically before even entering the teens, something’s gotta sit a little wonky in the mind for that. And with a father whose entire job revolves around being at the medical facility as an on-call; he’d never been there to supervise.

He learnt that at sixteen when that switchblade punctured his then best friend’s chest; watched them bleed out whilst he remained powerless to help, never considered such damage that the blade that merely left scars could do. Remains to be the first time he cried without physical injury; the breaking point that paved the road of medical school and surgery. Even as years progressed, trained relentlessly in the walls of Tera’s infirmaries to help people and be the best at what he did; as some kind of twisted apology to his teenage best friend.

He also couldn’t let it go; his morbid and murderous mind.

Whilst everything else had been easy for him where he pushed to succeed, nothing was easy about the call that covered the slaughter of his father in a rebellion that separated the people from Tera. Nothing as poorly timed as the triple bypass surgery he was supposed to be entering into with a level head about three minutes later. Still an entry level surgeon back then, a couple years before thirty and Nazar can still remember the feeling of a hand that crushed his own heart with an iron vice that threatened to unravel everything he’d worked for.

Yet he still went into that operating theatre, call him a madman for doing so.

Time of death: 03:23am. Paper reads: Cause of death, atrial fibrillation.

Should read: Reaction to excess anaesthesia; misdiagnosed.

After that, Tera wasn’t the same. A strange constant that had to continue despite it all, but a tension that unsettled even the greatest and hard-shelled of individuals for what seemed endless. Though, meeting Delilah then, in the same haunting walls of surgery; same bizarre fascination with the things he shouldn’t have brought something a little light in the darkness of Drake’s soul; if that’s ever a thing. A team to be reckoned with, surgeons without fear of death; become the monsters that everyone else fears. Paint a smile on those same features; they only see an angel who can do no wrong with a scalpel, that accidents don’t simply happen.

Two years later, Delilah put Kalashnyk onto her name; a year after that, they had a boy, Damian. And the murderous surgeons built a perfect little family, kept the documents up to date; refused to let the reapers be known as picking those who lived and died like gods.

At seven years old, Damian Kalashnyk was killed by the Emerson as result of the Kalashnyk’s sick tampering with medical protocol.

Unpublicised, kept quiet as to not incite panic amongst the ranks at the hospitals, Drake knew that there’s no coincidence – a man like him is aware what coincidence really looks like, watches his wife fall apart at the seams as the news is delivered. You’ve never heard a scream so loud; so broken. And yet, if anyone who takes pity on them knew what they did to deserve it, they’d know too that Damian was an innocent in his parents insane desires. Fabian’s rage, deep seated for the loss almost costs them their own lives, to go against Emerson in any form is a mistake; cuts sharper than his blade against a throat and had Delilah not stopped him, he might have died that day too. 

Nobody knows the real reason the renowned surgeons fled but the death of their child severed all interest in being the ’ prized doctors; the name Kalashnyk, carried like ghosts that simple vanished into the night; risked the Blood Wood in order to find a place where Drake doesn’t have to stare the killers of his child in the eye and resist digging that blade into those same hues as punishment.

He knows loss; experienced it from childhood, his best friend; his father and his own child. The madman within him almost seems justified; almost. But amongst the ranks of the Outlanders; finding a purpose as a Sawbone; he knows there’s forever going to be a craving underneath his skin that encourages blood and where he still finds power in picking who deserves to live; he’ll make sure Emerson never even gets that choice.

That scalpel will cut deep; through their black souls and he’ll make sure it hurts; screams like his wife did when they beg.

And even then, Drake’s not even sure they deserve it so easy, but it’ll always end soaked in blood; remind them who they antagonised; what kind of mistake they made. 

Dr. Kalashnyk being one half of the psychotic duo; and he’s not the kind one.  

Positive Traits: Intellectual, Humorous, Quick-witted and Personable.  Negative Traits: Morbid, Detached, Cold and Demented. 

Connections || Family 

Nazar Kalashnyk | Father Delilah Kalashnyk | Wife  Damian Kalashnyk | Son [Deceased age seven] Daisy Kalashnyk | Adopted Daughter [Stolen & Deceased]

Connections || Misc. 

TBC.

Further Depth

Former Surgeon in Tera, below his father.

Doesn’t much go by Fabian; it’s always been Drake.

Sawbone for the Outlanders. 

Essentially an unspoken serial killer that’s no longer in Tera; it’s without provocation and often if not from patients he’s working on. Will participate in freelance killing if he doesn’t click with someone; lowkey.

Will probably try to murder anyone who mentions Emerson in good light; known to be affiliated with them or anyone who speaks ill of his family and son. For your sake, please don’t. 

If he doesn’t plan to later gouge your eyeballs out, R E A L  N I C E  G U Y.

Crude. Will probably throw surgical jokes and be hideously inappropriate because his humour is fucked, but it’s generally without further intention. 

TBA.

[drakekalashnyk]