PHOENIX. [sequel to 067]

02. first movements.

"you failed, dottore," the older male spoke as the man whom he's referring to, dottore, stepped away from your body. that name ... it's so familiar, yet so lost on you. maybe, you'd remember one day and maybe it'd just be a matter of time. the blue haired male being named dottore, left the older man to be pierro - that much you assumed.

"i have done no such thing. it may be fixed, easy," dottore spoke as his hands slammed onto the metal table beside you.

you flinched.

your body had moved so quickly, so slightly, that it wasn't acknowledged at first. though, it did happen. your body could move after all, that small little flinch proves it. so, maybe, it's not something to do with your limbs not being your own - maybe it's something in your brain. like a chemical imbalance. or it could be that your brain's on "flight/fight/freeze" mode, and chose freeze.

you couldn't help but mentally smile at yourself for being able to move. it did have some awfully good timing, however. right when pierro had deemed dottore a failure? how ironic. your body just had to move, slightly, to prove him wrong.

"see! you just have to trust the fucking process, pierro. phoenix's don't come back in one day."

"he's not a bird."

"that's not the.. never-mind. are you going to be watching the whole time?" dottore asks pierro as he walked around the room. it's as if they're ignoring your consciousness, yet are being so ecstatic (dottore) over it at the same time.

"of course, you brought back the dead. it's revolutionary for us, it changes everything that little elixir of yours worked," pierro sighs as his back presses up against something. you could only tell he's pressing himself against something in the room, due to his movement causing something to fall off. just a small glass tube, from the sounds of it. no liquid splashing around seemed to come from the shatter, so maybe it had nothing important in it.

dottore's hand wrapped itself around your wrist. his fingers felt hidden by something, like a rubber glove. they felt too smooth to be skin; meaning they're gloved, right?

he places a cold object to the underside of your wrist and slides said cold object through a vein. it's a blood bag, or a transfusion, however you preferred to refer to it, but he slid it into your wrist as he made his way towards your thigh. his hand brushed over the large and obvious scared that's there, that hurt at his touch. the pain in your body caused your leg to slightly turn, as if it were trying to escape his touch but in a pathetic way.

"the movement wasn't an accident, it's reactive, i see," dottore speaks as he stares down at your wound, "it should've healed by now, though, his neck healed."

"perhaps it may only do one at a time, and it sorts itself out," pierro chimed his idea in.

were they ... talking about healing powers? you did feel quite exhausted, and well, not dead so maybe it's possible. though, if you have them (you do), then the idea that your body ranks them isn't that bad of an idea. it's possible that your body preferred to heal a life threatening wound over a flesh wound, or a deeper wound that could kill you but not immeditately.

"i believe that's the case. however, his thigh partially healed over, see, look here."

"it has, how odd. blood could relate to it, could not?"

"what do you mean?"

"his blood in take."

"no, that can't be related. his wounds healed without him having any access to blood in the past."

"well, i tried, you're his ... doctor, as you say."

dottore didn't reply verbally after what pierro had said. instead, he continued to place small tubes into your arms.

you couldn't do anything beyond lie there. you couldn't move your head to go and see what he was placing into your arms, beyond the blood transfusion that you could see. the little metal stand holding the blood stood in front of you, but a bit to the side, which allowed you to see the liquid.

upon seeing the red liquid, you could feel sharp pains coming from your stomach. one being harmful enough to make a small groan escape from your lips, proving to everyone that your vocal box does  work.

  "and he makes sound! he's practically a living vampire again," dottore chimes as his hands moved quickly. he uses them to hold your chin and press one of his fingers into your windpipe; causing another groan to leave your mouth, "it wasn't an accident, either."

  "hm. his body could be going through a trauma response, it did die, after all," pierro suggests as he moves over to you.

  "that's a possibility. or he could just be trying to refrain from showing what he may be able do."

  "he's not that advanced."

  "point made," dottore sighs before he catches your eyes staring hard at the bag of blood before you, "he's hungry. that's all that was, jesus."

your stomach grumbles in response, as if to prove his point right. your mouth had begun to water at the sight of the blood. the view of it pumping through the small little straw and into your arm. the way it moved quickly and without a sound. it just looks so ... appetizing.

your hand quickly grabs onto the small tube the blood's travelling through and rips it out of your arm. the action alone had caught everyone's attention, as well as yours, as no one thought that you could do that, yet.

and yet, you did.

you managed to grab a hold of the tube of blood, which is still flowing, and watched as it flowed onto your hands. the cold red liquid that you had been craving for so long fell directly into the palm of your hand. normally, you would've thought lowly on how the blood looked on your palm. lowly on how it spread in between the creases in your skin, how it'd get under your nails.

but you're starving.

your arm bends to bring the tube up to your lips. only your upper arms were restrained and that's when you saw your ... "limbs." stitches ran along the joint that'd connect the forearm to the upper arm and on all of your fingers. the skin was a light shade of gray and green, probably bruised and dead tissue.

or ... that really wasn't your arm. yet, your body could control it, proving that little idea of yours to be stupid.

your lips wrapped around the straw of blood and you began to drink it, quickly. the sweet taste of the metallic blood layered itself onto your tongue and the coldness of the drink relaxed your aching throat. it's pure bliss.

  "since when could he do that, dottore?" pierro questions as his arms cross across his, rather large, chest.

  "i have no clue, but how amusing," dottore speaks as  his eyes seem to have a little shine to them. it's as if his eyes were glowing,

"i'll have to look into it."