Project Tanellis

Pitter Patter

Number Eight was in the tenth stage now, marking almost six whole months of their first trial. It was very distinguishably human now; a nose, a mouth, closed eyes, ears, legs. There was nothing abnormal about it, nothing to suggest that it wasn't quite the same as anyone else. No organs jutting outside, no limbs twisted inwards. It even almost had a neck.

Harper nervously tapped the end of her pencil against her clipboard. It was still alive, even though it probably shouldn't be. Number Zero had only lasted a week, and there had certainly been some others- Number Four and Six most notably- that had made it up to the tenth stage. Neither had survived extraction, and Harper wasn't willing to let herself be hopeful enough that Number Eight would either. Not on their first try. The first try never worked.

But maybe... maybe it would be possible. Maybe.

She just hoped Mevia didn't try to make her be the one to discard the carcass again if otherwise.

Harper grimaced at the thought and forced herself to turn to Eight's monitoring station, tucking the rubber of her pencil between her teeth so she had a hand free to start fiddling with the dials. She watched as the redstone wiring blinked and the nutrients were distributed into the pink jelly. Eight gave a slight wiggle in its tank, stubby legs kicking. Nausea curled in her stomach and stung the back of her throat. It was alive, and seemed to be growing well at least semi-regularly, despite the occasional flunks in its vitals (and the time a few weeks back, where its heart hadn't been beating for almost a full minute), but it was so likely to just... die. It would've been easier had it not developed so far. Would've been easier had she just not agreed to do another one-

There was a snap and a sudden weight as her pencil slackened, little bits of wood prodding her lips and gums. Harper pulled it out her mouth, spitting the end into her other hand. The metal was dented, the eraser scarred with teeth marks, and just below that was the broken wood that had caused the split. She sighed and set both ends on the counter, just glad she hadn't given herself a splinter this time. She scrubbed at her face tiredly. She really needed to stop using her pencils as chew toys...

"How much coffee have you had today?"

Harper dragged her head up to where Soren was sitting near the back at one of the other tables, surrounded by various books and notepads with illegible scribbles in small, cramped handwriting. He was watching her with a slightly cocked head, the tip of his quill still pressed to the page of his book. Harper fiddled with the button on her lab coat.

"Not much," she muttered, and glanced back at Eight, nestled securely within its puffy pink gel, "Why?"

"You're a bit jittery," Soren said, slipping his quill back into its inkwell. He stretched his arms above his head, grimacing a little when his back gave a series of cracks and pops. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," Harper said, perhaps a bit too firmly, "No, just... I'm fine."

Soren looked at her for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and settled back in his chair. "Things have been... rather tense since Isa left."

Harper went quiet. Finally, she blew out a breath and tugged her orange chewlery out of her pocket, "Yeah."

"I know you've been stressed lately," he continued, "Perhaps you should take a break from monitoring Eight."

"I'm fine, Soren," she insisted, biting on her chewie absently as she started to clean up her station. Soren's brow creased and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his table.

"Harper," he said, slowly, almost carefully, "I don't think you've been sleeping well. Have Mevia take over for a little while. At least a day or two. I'm sure Eight will be fine."