Theodore

Lore made by gay4dragonz

Clavier's recent ailments had worn off, the tugging at the back of his throat ever-present as the doting fluffy cat that had once been a beloved followed him down the corridor. He had been living in the shade lands for what felt like ages, in the company of the skydancer that had been born into the duty of his partner for life - despite all, Clavier liked to think it was a good decision, for never had the Baltimores and Vinheteiros of the same generation not gotten along, fitting together like perfect pieces of a puzzle.

Still, he raised his claws to wipe the wetness out of his nose, bristling at the cool breeze and clinking of machinery, electric lights vaguely buzzing as he made his way down the hall, the cat pawing behind the necromancer. Just a few weeks prior he hadn't been so steady on his feet, sauntering into bed, fur discoloured from the usual pale white and wings looking shriveled from their usual hypnotic beauty.

While originally on his way to the dining hall to have his first normal meal in a while, presumably something fresh and delicious, the dragon faltered, the sounds of machinery and steam being particularly strong from a singular door, the only one in the hallway, the space behind it presumably large. The sign said, 'Only for Entrusted Personnel', with sign-off 'Theodore'. Ah, his partner's magic lab. He liked to call it magic only because it made Theodore slightly ticked off, for he would do anything than let his mechanical prowess and medicinal efforts be reduced to something as easy and unexplainable as magic. In reality the things done inside were the pinnacle of modern science, physics and mechanics, where Theodore would work for days at a time and come out looking as unscathed as he always was, calculating, careful.

Clavier blinked at the door, halting his steps. Ah, well. Wasn't he trusted personnel, the Vinheteiro counterpart of the Baltimore clan? It wasn't like he would wreak havoc and destroy all he would see, or bring back potential corpses inside. Just take a look. Go in, go out, no trace other than a soft scent of incense that would be burnt out by the smell of motor oil and combustion. Perhaps he could converse with the patient that Theodore was treating, see what his partner did behind closed doors that gave him the reputation of the effective doctor that would never once waver. Without a second doubt, ignoring Formaldehyde's light keen, he turned the knob and the door slid open with a hiss of steam.

The workshop was underwhelmingly ordinary. No odd substances he could not identify, no bones strung on the walls, just neat circuits and steampunk toolkits disinfected in massive kilns on the wall - Clavier was thankful for the heat they radiated - organized neatly in many boxes, with a singular bedtable in the center of the room. Just one anomaly from a standard workplace of a medicinal fanatic; instead of an ordinary dragon dressed in hospital sheets, the individual on the table was neither dragon nor machine, an abomination somewhere in the middle - the wing joints were completely mechanical, half of their face covered with a bronze plate, torso and leg, also metal on metal, no life to be found within. Yet still their chest rose and fell, evenly, presumably narcosis, the door softly clicking shut behind Clavier as the tundra made his way inside. Quite unordinary, if he'd say so himself. How odd, he had not known that such cyborg dragons were treatable - however with every passing moment it made more sense, with Theodore's own metallic shine on the outside layers of his plumage, he may be the only dragon really qualified to treat their kind. Usually there was an even divide between mechanics and medicine, but here the lines were blurred, the tundra creeping closer to look at the cyborg creature in curious half-wonder.

He thought if their face plating would clink, if when they awoke they would whirr to life like a cog toy, how their living counterparts corresponded with the machinery replacing flesh and bone. Clavier leaned over the subject, reaching out an arm to respectfully touch where the metal ended and rubbery hide began on the edge of the jaw, before the door hissed once more, Formaldehyde shivering and hiding beneath his long cloak, still not quite used to the artificial sounds of it all.

"I would appreciate it if you would kindly refrain from tampering with my patients." Came the voice, cold. The door clicked shut again, Clavier caught red-handed, pulling the arm away and going as far as to take a step back, glancing at Theodore with a peculiar smile.

The skydancer eyed him, carefully. "Thank you." He made it a point to be needlessly polite, no matter what.

Clavier cleared his throat, now somehow feeling fuller than before. "I didn't know you widened your area of expertise in machinery." The neutral expression of his partner turned vaguely deadpan, confirming the necromancer's earlier train of reasoning. "I am part cyborg myself. The machines are a part of me, without maintenance, I will be dead. It would make sense for me to know how my own body works, does it not?" Clavier could only nod, turning back to look at the body on the bed, Theodore taking his time walking over to the opposite side of the table.

"It's one of my first times treating someone other than myself with this, actually." He confessed after a moment, unable to stay quiet under Clavier's curious stare.

"Oh, really." It was not posed as a question, more of a confirming statement. The tundra had not seen many cyborgs here aside from his partner's entire Baltimore lineage.

"There's been a virus outbreak, in the shadow lands." Theodore spoke slowly, not quite wanting to misstep, sure in his own wording. The pale eyes on him prompted him to go on. "It turns dragons - ordinary dragons, like you - into those like me."

"Is it a recent thing? You must already have it."

Theodore winced. "A recent thing for anyone outside the Baltimore family. It originated with Dendril Baltimore, five generations past, a fluke of an experiment. It only gets passed down from father to son, though."

Clavier's toolbox baubles clinked as he stood more comfortably, leaning against a worktable. "So how did the common folk get a hold of the oh-so-exclusive virus that's only for the elite?" He was poking at the Baltimore family's excusivity, evidently, light smirk on his face, though he meant no ill will.

Theodore inhaled, then sighed. "It either passes through paternity or through blood transfusions from an infected specimen. Dragons born with the virus - the paternity results - are carriers but not affected, unless their systems shut down and the virus eats away at their dying tissue to save the host."

"That's you." Clavier identified. "What of the transfusions?"

Theodore sighed. "Transfusions must be done manually in case of emergency. The metamorphosis is immediate, not.. not a sight for the weak. A cruel fate, it gives, the virus breaks the mind and devotes the cyborg body to the one whose blood saved them." Quite intense, in short. Clavier stared at the body on the bed, blinking. He wondered if it was oddly devoted to Theodore or another carrier or was a long lost descendant of the Baltimores. Likely the former. It made his stomach twist in displeasure. He much rather preferred bringing back dragons with the help of the dead, not letting one's body get eaten away by machinery, cogs and metal spawn filling up the mind enough to erase all free will.

"Did your great-great-grandfather know of his creations' danger? The consequences?" Clavier inquired. It was only natural. Formaldehyde rubbed against his ankle.

Theodore shrugged, staring down at the figure on the bed. "He likely did. Even transfused the virus directly into himself, so I've heard."

"Why did he do it?"

"For the good of his family, of course. The first Baltimore wanted nothing but prosperity for his descendants, leaving a fortune behind for my great-grandfather as well as a blessing of added strength and immunity." Clavier wasn't very jealous, although the immunity sounded nice. He'd rather keep working than stay sick in his chambers for three weeks from a cold. It made sense, really, to want health for one's offspring.

The tundra tilted his head. "Then how did he not lose his mind, at the sudden changes?"

Theodore chuckled, the smile fading as he shook his head. "He took that secret to his grave."

Clavier leaned forward, playful smile dancing across his features. "You know how little a simple grave does to stop me." The skydancer waved him off, able to get a chuckle out of his partner. "He likely won't tell either way, you know. Experiment first, then find out. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Ah, Theodore's favorite phrase that he used at any given moment even though it did not fit nearly as much as he thought it did.

"The virus made him stronger, then." Said the Tundra, stating the obvious. Theodore laughed again, at that, tired features lifted with a bright smile. "It certainly didn't kill him."

Soon enough, like all of Theodore's smiles, it was gone. "With the virus come the upsides and downsides. While it can heal sickness in a moment's time, the process is arduous; the subject loses all sense of self within minutes, the mind wiped blank as if it were never there."

Clavier furrowed his eyebrows, "Why bring that back up again?"

Theodore stopped, orange eyes glancing at pale white, then sighed. "Do you not remember the time during your illness?" Now the tundra was even more intrigued, shaking his head and digging around his memories. All he could remember was Formaldehyde's tail in his face as comfort, the dragon convulsing in pain. "Not expressly, no."

The look Theodore gave his own hands was daunting. Talons polished to perfection, palms sterilized for medicinal use, ever-so-steady for any job required, yet now they shook. Clavier's look of evident concern was not replied to - he was too ashamed to look at him, it seemed - the skydancer pursing his face into a neat bundle.

"You weren't looking good. Bad, really. Very bad, poor enough for me to unable to fix. I had no choice, really, it was a last resort that I promised myself I'd do it." He was justifying himself, helplessly, voice shaking.

"I tried to prevent it, I really did, but as the prophecies foretell every single time, with every generation the Vinheteiro dragon must receive a transfusion with the virus from his partner. I tried to keep you from illness, death, but it was the only way." Clavier raised his eyebrows. "Like my father and his father and the fathers before him." He repeated the mantra.

The silence stilled, falling upon the room in a heavy cloud of mist. The tundra was the first to break it.

"How come my mind's still there, then?"

Theodore had no answer to it, rather shocked his partner would ask such a light-hearted question in a time like this.

The pale dragon shrugged with a light smile, mildly awkward. "Guess I am devoted to you already." The virus had not taken over, perhaps, because he was already once-dead. His ancestors had not passed the virus down to him either due to the Arkon being proficient in self-cleansing, growing to suit their habitat's cold environment. He glanced up at the skydancer, frowning slightly as he felt little fingers probing at his mind, a sensation he had experienced for a few days at the least now.

"It has a lesser effect on your mind, although I have a connection with you now. From the host, to the periphery."

"What kind of connection? Can you assume my thoughts better and such?" It was a predetermined ability for all skydancers, Clavier was not very surprised.

"Not quite. It gives me more of a clinical run-down of your emotional stability and location. Excuses about your apparent lack of privacy; I try to keep away from that knowledge." The tundra shrugged. "I do not have much to hide, from you, if anything." Theodore knew him inside and out.

"If you're the host, you can command me, then. Control me, my emotions. No?" He asked, carefully, checking in with himself to figure out if the calm he was experiencing was manufactured by the skydancer in front of him or a product of his real soul.

Theodore took a while to answer, staring off into space. "I can. But I wouldn't dare do it to you, know this, please. The filthy blood I transferred into you is all my fault." The desperation in his eyes did not go unnoticed, unsure of his decision yet also knowing there had been no other choice.

Clavier, sighing softly, pushed himself off the table, taking a few hesitant steps to his trusty partner's side, icy eyes losing their cool in favor of a trustful warmth for once, around his dearest partner and friend. He reached for Theodore's hand, which the skydancer hesitantly let him take, black talons atop red, a comforting gesture.

"I know you'd never mean to hurt me, Theodore." He said, voice a candid whisper. They had been through too much together for that. "My blood is mixed now, sure, but why call your own lineage's blood filthy?" Theodore had no answer to that, only turning his head away, fiery eyes focused on something far in the distance only he could see. He swallowed, nervous still.

"I feel nothing but honor and appreciation for you, that you'd offer up the noble blood in your veins to merge with mine, to strengthen our connection, to bind us so that you may help me once more in a time of need." Another silence came and went, the skydancer hesitantly glancing at the smiling tundra, daring to let the corners of his maw quirk up just slightly.

"You should be proud of your blood, of the cure for ailments that Dendril Baltimore invented."

Theodore's smile was gone in an instant. "I am not ashamed of my lineage, not in the slightest. I just wouldn't want its complications anywhere near your health, your life - I worked so hard to prevent this, yet could not, else I'd lose you."

Clavier's reassuring smile, same as his trust in his partner, would prevail. "Maybe some things just shouldn't be prevented, yes? You'll overwork yourself." With a soft stroke of the shoulder, they exchanged soft smiles once more.

"All is well that ends well," the necromancer concluded, grabbing the other's arm to gently ease him toward the door, mimicking the other dragon's soft accent. "Dinner will get cold if you lounge in your mind palace all day."

Theodore let himself get pulled along with a light chuckle, nodding as his only reply, barely having time to glance at the patient on the bed before the steam-operated door shut behind them and the delicious smell of roasted fowl floated through the hall.

Lore made by gay4dragonz

"You're all clear." He said, dismissively, waving off the pale skydancer. Theodore knew Newton could not see, nor hear him, sending the movement of his mouth and the waves of the sound coming from the other, politely nodding before walking out with precision. The doctor bottled the soft red liquid with a label of his name, putting it in the test tube rack next to four other ones. Goodness was it rough being the only one able to conduct these, the other medical professional unfortunately not blessed with the gifts of sight, speech and hearing, needing guidance during surgeries. Theodore knew he ought not speak ill of his housemates, yet still his mouth spread into a smile when he remembered the very first monthly checkup of the day, the son of the king, the most fearsome of the sins, Wrath himself, flinched away from even the smallest needle Theodore had. It had taken him the first ten minutes to even convince him to sit in the chair, much longer to give his blood up for examination. All the demon sins were held up by their own flaws, Elotsh's proud rejection of all medicine in favor of his own seemingly perfect health - annoyingly backed up by Rutilus - making significantly more sense than Darker's rather odd predicament. Sure, the steampunk clean needles could look scary, but for an age-old demon it was simply absurd. For the incarnations of the seven sins, the demons acted more like children than anyone he had ever met when faced with medical issues. The only two showing no signs of resistance were - as always - Rutilus and Newton, although that was to be expected, for it would take up too much of the sloth's energy to raise concerns and the lust advocate held his head in pure indifference.

Next was, possibly, his favorite. None of the other demons cared enough for friendly chatter in between examinations, either too proud or scared of the equipment or simply unable to talk. Clavier Vinheteiro slid politely into the room, his cat as always at the foot of his robes, nodding politely to the doctor. The skydancer spun around in his chair to gesture to the examination table, looking over his talons. He could use a few-minute break right now but chatting with a friend could always count. The tundra stooped to pick up his cat, cradling her gently in his arms, frowning down at her.

"Would you like to go first, Formaldehyde?" He inquired, holding her at the utmost standard of respect, nodding despite the creature giving no reply. Clavier then, to the neutrality of the doctor, politely set her down onto the table, leaving the skydancer's fiery eyes to stare into the dark ones of the feline. Somewhat helpless, Theodore glanced at her owner. "I..." He starts, but cannot find the words, frowning at the cat once more.

"You are aware I am not well versed in veterinarian experience, yes?" He asked, mild wince on his face, already expecting the other dragon to simply nod. "Yes. Go on." Ah, his stubbornness at it again. Perhaps he was more proud than even Elotsh, refusing to take a cat to a vet simply because once she had been a dragon. Theodore had no clue how to check on a cat's health but could assume the basics, swallowing and pulling on a fresh set of gloves. No blood sample needed from her, he'd assume. The necromancer pulled up a chair to also sit, all heart eyes directed at his cat.

"Let's bet." He smiled. Theodore glanced over. "On what?"

"How long do you figure it will be before your evil timeline clone kidnaps me again." Clavier kept his tone light-hearted, throwing around nicknames for the sake of it. No use referring to Alt Theodore as anything less than evil, although the phrasing was still mostly poking fun at the darker skydancer. It had been, what, four to five times, all evenly spaced, assumed times for the little device he was using to reach into the regular timeline to recharge.

Theodore frowned. "I'd rather not. Would jinx it, would it not?" Clavier rolled his eyes, smile widening. To a certain extent, it would be entertainment, to see how he'd be able to rile up the alternate version of his partner before disappearing back to where he should be. "I fear it'll come soon, again." Theodore blinked at him, going right back to shining a light in the cat's ear - very politely. "I would rather prevent it than get you out." Clavier nodded. "I would prefer if he did not halt my days and work with his futile attempts. He knows inside that you're the one I would always prefer, clinging on to the mythical ranking of the Vinheteiro family instead of looking at me like who I am. It's a shame he doesn't have better ways to spend his days."

Theodore swallowed, politely picking up the cat and setting her down. "She's all clear. Hop on." The tundra complied, putting out his arm for the tourniquet to be applied for the drawing of blood, running the claws of his other arm through his mane. "I have no clue how someone of the Baltimore line, someone supposed to be a direct time copy of you, can turn out that deranged." Theodore tied the armband around the upper arm, preparing the syringe and tube. "Things are different in that timeline. Wretched, evil. My servants - did you know there are almost clear copies of the servants there?"

With a nod from Clavier, he continued, "My family there took over the throne, rule the land with an iron fist. The air is polluted and the biological make-up of all things is altered." The tundra nodded, not even feeling the sting of the needle. "The servants are half metal, cyborgs, the disease you mentioned that transmits with blood transfusions. The two I was forced to interact with.." He snapped the claws of his other hand, struggling to remember - "One was Hector, and the other's name was something similar. I will ask, again, if I come into contact with them again. Either way, they look more like killing machines than servants, all bound so loaylly to their master they will throw themselves off a bridge if he just said the word."

Theodore sighed. "He does seem the type not to value any life. His appearance, his mind - it stumps me. When I gaze into it, the only thing I see is fog."

"Perhaps a security measure."

"Perhaps." Theodore's feathery sigh said it all. It wasn't necessarily a good subject to upkeep, so subject to annoyance at the situation he was not able to do anything about other than hope it does not happen again.

A pause, a clink of a glass tube as blood was deposited inside, sealed, and placed next to the others. Clavier had not even noticed it, now getting the small incision wrapped up in some gauze.

"That thing you use to travel timelines.. the name of it, what was..?"

"Chronoscope." Came the mechanic reply, Theodore putting his hand out so Clavier could pull his other one forward to slip on the slim device, pressuring the arm, pressing on the bubble to blow it up.

"Ah. Chronoscope. Wasn't there only one, that Alberto Baltimore took with him to the alternate timeline?" Theodore winced, lightly shaking his head, the master of multitasking, already noting down measurements and checking back for the standardized results. "The one my alternate uses, yes." Said the skydancer, perking up now that they were talking about machines again. Ah, that good old Baltimore blood at it again, the obsession with clicking and screws and tinkering around with cogs and wheels. Clavier nodded. Formaldehyde jumped back up on the table on his lap, immediately getting fondly petted.

"Well, when Alberto and Ragnar were prototyping the Chronoscope, there had been many false drafts. Naturally they took the functioning one with them when they split the timeline, leaving one behind, displayed in a case somewhere in the cluttered wings back at the mansion." Clavier had been in enough alternate and non-alternate Baltimore mansions to know exactly which museum wing it was, an offset to a dusty library seldom used these days.

"My father and I, we came across it. There were notes on how to fix it, so we did, but it never came to use until you were torn from his place and I had to get you back." Clavier kept listening, silently tilting his head. Sometimes it was best to let Theodore speak, for he didn't do so with such passion very often.

"It.. well, it works good enough, as a prototype. Not perfect, by far, but gets the job done, gets me and you back to where we should be. The issue lies in the fact that it has a massive cooldown - I have to spend days fixing it before it can be used again. The mechanisms wear out, the bond of time on the hands of the clock lessens. It takes longer to transport me, has difficulty taking both of us over the line. I can't make a new one, whatever old skill Alberto put into it cannot be replicated." There was a pause. "Perhaps there soon will come a day where it stops functioning entirely. When it will either stop me from traveling to the other timeline, or trap me in it." He did not know which is worse.

Clavier put a hand on top of his partner's, catching the fiery eyes with his own pale pair, light concern in his features.

"Alt Theodore... does he know of this?"

With a bitter smile and nod, Theodore Baltimore pursed his composure.

"He knows it. Very, very well."

Chapter 1: Theodore wrote:

By the time Clavier has decided it is fit for him to arrive, I am done with the preparations. I am quite proud of myself, if I may say so. The display is just as it should be; plates and cutlery arranged on a pristine white tablecloth with a red candle sitting in a golden candleholder right in the middle of the dinner table.

Maybe the candle is a bit unnecessary, but I felt like it was appropriate. A celebratory dinner, that I was aware of, demanded candles to be lit. Clavier eyes the candle with a hint of disdain in his eyes, so he does not seem to share my opinion. Then again, he has never had much of a taste for romantic dinners, for as long as I have known him. I give him credit for agreeing to my occasional invites anyway. I cannot help that this is my favourite kind of date. After all, it is about the only time I get to see Clavier eat properly for once. He, of course, knows exactly that this is the reason why I invite him to dinner, so he glares at me every time he steps through the door.

"That is very nice cutlery. Are those heirlooms?", he asks as he sits down. I can tell that the sight of knife and fork placates him a bit, because that means I will indulge him for once and give him meat to eat. I smile wryly. "No. I have bought it quite a while ago, but only now do I get to use it. I am glad that you seem to like it."

"I do," he answers and looks at me with that smirk and slight twinkle in his eyes that resembles insanity. I have learned that it is love instead. Not that there is that much of a difference between the two.

I know that the look on my face must be quite similar to his. "Shall we begin our feast, then?" I wave over the servant who brings two plates to the table, bowing his head and scuttling away as soon as his task is done.

"With pleasure," Clavier almost-purrs and raises his glass of red wine for a toast.

Chapter 2: Clavier wrote

It is a fine arrangement that Theodore has prepared for us, that much is true. The decorations, the conversation, the atmosphere is just right, and I bet that no fumbling village dragon could have resisted his charms if presented with this.

I make no secret of my distaste for being pressured to eat as usual, but I am not going to pretend that I do not appreciate the time I spend with Theodore.
There is no need to pretend around him. Not as if I often choose to pretend around anyone else, but Theodore seems to appreciate me being as straightforward as I am. It makes him both interesting and sort of annoying because he is never fazed by anything I throw at him. I guess that is why we ended up together; because he was always unimpressed by my hostility. If I am honest, I appreciate him for it. I won't tell him that though.

What I appreciate less is the fact that his idea of a perfect date is a quiet dinner. My idea of a perfect date consists more of spending quality time dissecting something together, but what can you do. Tonight was his choice.

I halfheartedly push my portion of vegetables from one side of the plate to the other. I should have eaten that before the meat so I would have something to get the taste out of my mouth. I knew that Theodore will not let me get away with not eating them even before I felt his expectant gaze on me.

"Fine," I growl and shovel the limp green things into my mouth, swallowing them as quickly as I can so I don't have to taste them. Theodore chuckles at me, making me feel a bit like an insolent child.

I glower at him. "Are you happy now?"

"Very," he affirms and smiles a smile that looks quite honest. I imagine that kissing him right now would have a very pleasant taste.

Time to put my theory to the test.

Chapter 1
"Again?"

Theodore swivels around in his chair upon hearing my voice, eyes narrowed and shoulders tense until he realises that it is me who has just interrupted him in whatever he was doing. He still looks cross as he hates being disturbed when he is working, but I am in the right today. He had been supposed to appear in my laboratory half an hour ago.

"What do you want?", he snaps at me, and I only huff.

"I want to remind you that we had agreed to have a date today. It seems, though, like you would rather collect dust up in here." I turned up my nose, looking around Theodore's study with a slight frown. It is true, I feel a bit insulted.

Fortunately, I can spot the remembrance flicker across his face. He rises from his chair, finally convinced that this is time he should spend with me. It worked a bit more easily than I expected. Knowing him, it usually needs all the forces of hell to tear him away from his desk when he has his door closed. I suspect he feels a bit guilty now that he remembers his promise.

"I have a very interesting specimen today," I tell him as he follows me out of his study.

"I know," he mumbles as he locks the door behind us. "Gembond, wasn't it?"

Of course, I have already told him. It was the one thing that convinced him to abandon his work for me today in the first place. I smirk. "Correct," I say, watching the intrigued expression on his face with satisfaction. We still don't know the exact cause of Gembond, and we never had one with that condition to dissect. The beckon of scientific discovery is the best way to lure Theodore away from his work. It's only good that I like it just as much as him.

Chapter 2
I have to admit that it is indeed a very fascinating specimen Clavier has found here. Gembond in an especially violent form: Almost the entire flank of the Coatl is covered in large green gemstones, and his feathered wings look like they are way too heavy to ever take flight. Not that the dragon will ever have the chance to do that again. Currently, Clavier is concentratedly sawing off the ribs so we can access the lungs; it is highly unlikely that the condition is transported through air, but Clavier and I are nothing if not thorough. Especially when we may never find such a useful subject like this one again.

Clavier does his work with a sullen, unamused look on his face. Understandable, since the light and hollow Coatl bones in particular like to break and splinter when you try to saw them in half; and ruining your tissue samples with bone splinters is not what one would want.

I watch Clavier work with fascination. He is so concentrated and devoted to his task. I love seeing him like this, even if I know that this tendency is exactly what keeps him from eating on most days. Sometimes it's what's keeping him from seeing me as well, although today it has been the other way around. We are similar in that way, I suppose.

"Done," he finally huffs and puts the bones and bone saw away for now. I nod in approval; he has done a good job. It is always tricky not to damage the lungs while sawing off the ribs, Coatl or not.

"Now comes the fun part," I say and sense his frustration and impatience vanish. He licks his lips. "Give me a scalpel."

I hand him the demanded tool. Although I dislike his commanding tone, I still feel like I have to make up my mistake from earlier. Today, he may do the fun stuff.