#f.ritz: i like the fox part but let's make him a pirate instead. objectively cooler

[mute-call]

"Constant pain? I-- Uthman, I had no idea. I'm so sorry." It's obvious by the alarm in Steven's voice and expression that he really hadn't been aware. The majority of the actual science going into the mascots is something he neither knows nor understands, and when it comes to things like physical side-effects that he can't see with his own eyes, he's almost completely in the dark.

"...that's horrible." He's sure the scientists are doing everything they can, but still. That's kind of a big deal, and Bell is frustrated on the Cases' behalf that things have gone so wrong.

"If there's anything I can do--" It's an empty offer. Steven surely can't provide anything for the pain that hasn't been tried already.

"...right..." Steve chews at his lip, pausing to take a deep breath. "It's not fair of them to ask that of you. Like I said, I'll... talk to them." He's not sure how seriously his reports on Banban's mental health are taken, but he always does his best to describe the potential benefits of humoring the mascot. No, not humoring-- of taking the time to see things from his perspective.

"Is everything okay?" He's not sure whether or not he should withdraw his hand. Banban's fixed expression can be hard to read at times, but it's obvious that he hadn't been expecting the touch. Whatever's going on in the Case's mind, though, Steven thinks this might be a good thing; verbally, at least, Banban isn't outright denying that he's inhuman right now. That's progress! That's a step towards acceptance.

"Exactly!" Steven says, managing a bright smile. He gives the paw a reassuring squeeze, loosening his grip but not letting go completely so Banban can choose for himself whether or not to end their contact.

"I can only imagine how hard this has all been. But... if anyone can figure it out, it's you. I really believe that. I mean, in some ways, you're breaking new scientific ground every day, just being yourself!" Maybe he's going a little overboard.

He coughs, backtracking.

"I-- um. Oh, right, I was going to ask-- is there anything you want me to bring you next time? I was thinking more books, but maybe I can find something to make you more comfortable? For-- the pain."

"I mean—" He makes the familiar motion of running his hands through his hair. There's fur on top, but it's not quite as voluminous as a head of hair would be. "I know what they were checking for. They were making sure the Givanium is running through my system fine. It's delicate, they need to make sure everything works periodically before they can say their replication of circulation is functional." A pause.

"And... ah, they're trying to see if they can find a clue as to why the Cases... and I, are in constant pain." He can't recall if he told Steven about that, or if anyone else would have. He's here to "socialize" with him, not monitor his physical health.

"I guess I'm just not sure... why they want me to stop..." He thinks on how to word this. He gestures aimlessly. "Acting like I was someone else before. I'm not Banban, I'm still Uthman—I was on the science team as recent as three months ago. I can pretend, but that's how it is. Something went wrong, clearly." He's right about that. He knows the truth; someone as smart as him would. He just doesn't want to acknowledge it.

He's quiet for a moment, listening to him prattle on about Fritz and intentionally distracting himself with it. He's sincerely glad he could relieve his worries, at least. If only someone could do the same for him. Tell him that he's real.

He tries to smiles warmly back. "No problem, Mr. Bell. Yeah, a pet is a huge commitment—I'm sure there's books he could read about that to understand why that is, too. Or if it just encourages him to ask more, maybe he could read about wild dogs—" He's interrupted by the touch. His eyes visibly widen, he almost looks startled.

He stares down at their hands.

Red. It's red. It's a paw. Not a hand. You know. You're looking at it. Stop pretending. Stop

A practiced, careful breath is taken in, and he averts his eyes, focusing instead on the sensation. He can't remember how long it's been since he was touched other than by other doctors to perform tests. He could honestly cry right now. It's embarrassing.

But, thankfully, he doesn't even have tear ducts.

He can still hear Mr. Bell talk through his raging mind. Telling him the benefits of this situation. He's right. He should look at the bright side of things. He's right. "...Yeah... I suppose that's right. It's what I ultimately wanted. This doesn't change that." His tone is careful. A doctor knows how to keep emotion out of their voice.

But his tail is tucked. A sign of distress in animals, like dogs. He can't even feel it.