nysalogs | [ ACTIVE / SEMI-OPEN ]

Entry tags:

[ ACTIVE / SEMI-OPEN ]

Who: John Sheppard & various (& maybe you!)
What: Various Stages On The Grief Arc: An illustration of John Sheppard being a disaster
When: Mid to Late November & Early December maybe
Where: Olympia & Dranbu
Warning(s): Some arm injury gore in one thread!

1. OLYMPIA -- Mid November
John is pretty sure he looks a mess to anyone who knows him, but that's precisely why he's avoiding most people who know him.

He's called out of work to give himself a recovery buffer and is taking a walk with Seren, who is completely oblivious to his problems. Seren is still a puppy, and her excitement for everything in their surroundings and for him to play with her is a good distraction -- even if he wishes she understand the word 'chill' on occasion.

The little German Shepherd is starting to grow up quickly, though. She's smart, smart enough John suspects to know exactly when she's just ignoring John's instructions. Old enough to know better, young enough not to care. Off the leash, she's skipping ahead of him with her nose to the ground -- sniffing for traces of other dogs who might have come this way. At this time of day there aren't too many, mostly people, and although she mostly just runs up and down finding things then bringing them to John (or John to them) occasionally she gets curious and bounces toward another human. Either because they smell interesting or have something with them that smells interesting.

Seren shoots toward the new person and bounces curiously while John jogs to catch up, jacket loose and unzipped over his plaid shirt and jeans.

"Hey!" he prompts sharply, and the puppy stops and looks over at him. "We talked about this, manners!"

Apparently bouncing at people is not a good display of puppy manners.

2. DRANBU -- Late November/Early December (specify before or after people change back!)
After having pretty much been holed up in Olympia drowning his sorrows for most of the month, once he finally makes it out to Josa Forest (initially to help Ianto, but then staying to sate his curiosity about what's going on) John realises he does... feel better. He probably should have come out sooner to give himself something to do, instead of just skulking around avoiding everything, but hindsight is 20/20 and all that. At the time he hadn't felt like he wanted to do anything.

Once he's there, though, actually exploring Josa Forest again after his initial trip out with Phoenix helps take his mind off things. The tree villages are interesting, and John picks through them as much to satisfy his own curiosity as to give him a reason to be --

To be away from things that he's absolutely not avoiding but also, is avoiding.

The markets of Dranbu, he notices, are very animal-focused. So after a long moment picking through things he catches the attention of someone and hesitantly asked:

"Do you have anything for dogs...?"

They point him further a long and John lofts an eyebrow curiously, turning and padding in the direction he's been pointed -- bumping into someone near a different stand along the way and setting his good hand on them apologetically to steady them. The marketplace is busy and also, not designed with space in mind. He supposes that's what comes of not normally having this many visitors.

"Sorry," he says with a wince, and bends to try and pick up whatever it is he made them drop. "Here, let me --"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ianto glances around before selecting what he hopes is the straightest branch available, before reaching out and breaking it off at the end. Sorry, tree. He breaks off the other end as well, so there aren’t any leaves to have to contend with either before he glances back over at John again.

And winces as he watches him trying to wash out the wound again. Obviously he’s still able to feel it pretty well. Hell, Ianto can practically feel it just looking at it.

“You can have more if that’s too light,” he says, frowning at the other man as he crosses back over to him and sets his stick down by his pack before resting a (gloved) hand tentatively on the other man’s knee. “It’s supposed to work fairly fast, but that’s hardly a comfort it it hasn’t started working now, is it?”

Edited (ointo wtf.....) 2018-12-13 12:19 (UTC)

John hesitantly eyes Ianto's hand on his knee, then slides his focus back to his arm again.

"Give it a little longer," he says, "quick for painkillers can still be ten minutes."

But Ianto can still carry on cleaning, if he wants. John offers the cloth to him after a moment, frowning slightly.

"Here," he says, "once it's clean you can put some stuff on it."

You know, generally to encourage healing and lack of infection. Stuff.

He glances down at the cloth held out to him, before tentatively taking it from him. John is offering, after all. He wouldn't be offering if he didn't want Ianto to take up the attempt himself once more.

"I got something for that," Ianto replies, shifting to sit forward and join the other man on the bed. "For once it's clean," he adds, after a moment, before reaching for the bowl and setting it aside on the other side of himself. Dipping the cloth in it again to freshen it again.

"Tell me if any of this is too much," he asks softly, before reaching forward to start to clean away some of the dried blood himself. His touch is gentle, but it can only be so much so, given the state of the other man's arm.

If any of it is too much.

All of it is too much, John thinks. Being here is too much. Knowing why he's here is too much. Ianto's touch is too much. The raw, exposed flesh of his arm is too much. The raw, exposed emotional nerve of how recently he reduced himself to dropping to his knees and begging Ianto is too much.

He sets his jaw and flits his eyes away, turning a little so he cant read Ianto's expression as easily out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't worry about it," he says, because it needs doing and John can cope -- although his whole body is projecting tension anyway. It clearly hurts still.

Don't worry about it, John says, but Ianto doesn't know if he could stop worrying even if he wanted to. Worrying about the look on John's face, worrying about the state of John's arm, worrying about -- the state of things between them, if he's being completely honest with himself. He realizes that one moment between them in the forest isn't going to solve everything, but he hopes that it was a start, and not just. A moment of weakness on both their parts. He would give anything for it to be a start towards making amends, at any rate.

Dipping the cloth back in the bowl of water as he applies it to John's arm, he's trying to be as gentle as he can, but it hurts just to look at the wound, never mind the fact that he's touching it. He's saving the worst of it for when he knows the drugs are working, but he'd like to hope that they do soon. For both their sakes.

He's quiet for a long few moments as he works, but in the end the silence gets to him. It's uncomfortable, where once a silence between them would have been anything but.

"I'm sorry," he says, quietly. "This my fault."

"Don't," John says softly. "I didn't have to come, I came because I wanted to."

So it isn't Ianto's fault. Ianto didn't deliberately get himself stuck. He didn't order a wolf to bite him. He hadn't maliciously set all this up. So it isn't, in his opinion, Ianto's fault.

"Maybe if I'd been quicker it wouldn't have got me, yeah? Or maybe if I hadn't tried to stun it while it was attached to me it wouldn't have bit me so hard. So maybe it's all my fault."

So there, Ianto. You can't claim it all for yourself.

"But I could have shot them," Ianto points out. Focusing his attention on John's arm in front of him so that he doesn't have to look the other man in the eye, as he continues. That is provided John will even look at him in the first. "I could have, but I was afraid that, with all this animal business going on, they might not have been wolves after all."

He hesitates, wringing out the cloth again before forcing himself to continue, "I could have tried phoning someone closer. Or I could have kept calling out for help. I'm sure someone else would have come, in the end." Gently working the cloth around the puncture wounds, he points out, "I could have called someone else, but I wanted you."

So you see, John. He rather thinks that he is to blame for at least most of this.

I could have called someone else, but I wanted you.

The meaning in that isn't exactly subtle. Not just I wanted you to rescue me, but I wanted you.

John skims his eyes over the wound on his arm as Ianto cleans it, turning over possible answers to that.

"It'll heal," he says finally, "it's not like it's permanent damage. I've had worse."

So, it's fine. Right?

He's had worse. Of course he has. He was burnt to death by a dragon. This, at least, Ianto knows won't kill him. That doesn't mean he he doesn't feel any better about it.

But John is right, he's forced to admit. It will heal. He should focus on seeing that it does so without getting infected, rather than on his responsibility in its acquisition. He just can't help but blame himself nonetheless.

"Is it feeling any better yet?" Ianto asks, taking John's lead in changing the subject. "You're allowed to want another dose. That wolf did try to do its best to tear your arm off. Whether you've had worse before or not, I'd rather -- I'd rather you were comfortable."

Another dose.

John straightens and curls his fingers with a slight wince, experimentally adjusting his arm.

"Maybe," he admits, gritting his teeth. "I dunno how long it should take to kick in, but I can still pretty much feel all of it."

It's possible it just hasn't been long enough, but John has no idea how long he should really be waiting and his patience is starting to fade in the face of pain. One more dose probably can't hurt, right? Or if it does, at least they'll learn something.

They're definitely well within the safe limits so far, and John doesn't seem to be reacting negatively to it. Ianto sets the water and cloth aside and fetches the little bottle and spoon again. Squeezing out another count of drops into it before carefully holding it out to the other man.

"Not too long. Here, try this," he offers. "I think we'd both prefer it if we could at least take the edge off of it before I start working on the worst of those gashes, yeah?"

Working on those gashes.

Just the thought of it makes his stomach clench in anticipation, and he watches Ianto hold out the spoon for a long few seconds before reaching to take it and feed himself the medicine.

It's just as unpleasant the second time.

He holds it back out with a wince, trying to guess how long it's been since the first dose and calculate how long he should wait for this one.

"Give it a few minutes. If this doesn't work we could also try numbing it topically."

With ice, maybe, or something else. Whatever local equivalents they have to things like aloe plants here.

Ianto nods, taking back the spoon and packing it and the little bottle back away in his pack again, before moving to sit back beside the other man once more. Leaving the water and the cloth where they are, per the other man's request, and folding his hands in his lap for the moment instead.

In the absence of having anything to do with his hands and fuss over John physically, Ianto's mind turns over the past few days instead. This is the first that they've really been speaking to each other in any semblance of the word at all, since before Jack had appeared. It's awkward -- to want to ask after him and to know without even needing to ask that John hasn't exactly been doing well. And that it's all tied back to him once more.

"Is there -- anything else I can do?" he asks, hesitantly. In the absence of any safe conversational topics he can think of, he's back to fussing. Hoping that if at least he leaves it up to John to direct him it'll keep from being too much. Hopefully.

Anything else he can do?

John lets out a slow breath and glances around the room.

"I should probably eat something. I have some -- packaged, dried stuff in my bag but I dunno if you or this room has anything better."

Ot the rest of Dranbu. He flicks his eyes to his arm and carefully gives a test press on the upper section of it, trying to gauge how he feels.

"I'd have packed sandwiches, but I was in a bit of a rush."

So dried things in packets was about the best he could do.

Ianto flicks the other man the ghost of a smile.

“You were,” he agrees, “though for what it’s worth, I’m grateful for it. I shouldn’t have liked to have to spend the night up there. I can’t imagine they would have left if their own accord and even if by some miracle they did, I can’t imagine I would have gotten myself down from there without breaking a leg either, so. Thank you.”

Dried packets of something hardly sound appealing so Ianto determines he’s going to find something better. It’s been hours since he’s eaten either, not that he particularly feels hungry himself in the face of John’s injury but. They should both eat something, he silently agrees, and pushes himself up to stand.

“Right,” he says aloud. “I’ll just. Pop out again to see what I can find us. Wouldn’t want you fainting on me because I’ve neglected you, yeah?” He flicks the other man another half-hearted smile before reaching to shoulder his pack again. “I’m thinking I can do better than dehydrated rations.” Even if it is something simple and light.

In fact, the food of Dranbu is oddly varied, catering to its animal-like citizens. Ianto doubts anything resembling undercooked meat would appeal to either of them just now so he patrons the other section of the city. Being mindful not to be gone for too long, he meanders his way over to secure two portions of some savory broth he spots nearby, the liquid bright and flavorful and peppered with various vegetables and spices from the area. Grabbing that and a chunk of bread, he hurries his way back to their little room. Balancing both mugs of the soup in one hand as he fights the door open with the other.

“Success,” he announces, the smell of the soup wafting in his wake as he shuts the door behind him with his foot.

John has moved a little, and looks more alert as Ianto steps back in. He shifts, restless and fidgety, then his eyes land on the soup as Ianto pushes his way in.

"You found something then," he prompts, and John isn't strictly sure he really feels like eating any more but he probably should. His voice is a little less tight, but equally his eyes are skipping around the room more -- landing on seemingly random points before they direct their way back to Ianto. He does, however, sound more cheerful. "What's the Dranbu special?"

Nothing too fancy, he imagines, given the way it's being delivered -- but maybe that's for the best.

Edited (Early morning repetition correction) 2018-12-19 11:37 (UTC)

"Well, it's no chicken noodle soup," Ianto replies, as he makes his way over to perch on the edge of the bed beside the other man, "but it'll do just as well, in a pinch." He notes the way that John's giving him a little more of his attention than he had before, which is perhaps a sign that the pain reliever has started to do its job. His tone lighter, a little less forced than it had been previously.

Handing one of the cups out to John, he waits until he takes one before precariously balancing his own beside him to tear off a chunk of bread and hand that to the other man as well. "I think it's some sort of a mushroom broth," he replies, after John's received both from him. "Though there are other vegetables in there as well. It smelled good. And bread, of course. There's some sort of herb baked in, but I'll be damned if I can tell what it is."

John takes the broth with his good hand, lifting it to see if he can detect what it is -- and it does smell like mushrooms.

Then Ianto holds out a piece of bread to him and John hesitates a long moment. Right. Maybe he can --

"Well," John says, carefully trying to juggle the broth to his bad hand to see if he can... sort of... steady it, balanced on his knee maybe? "I'd agree it smells good."

Although, honestly, he's not as... hungry as he was. His stomach has started feel a little uneasy and he's pretty sure he's starting to get clammy.

Ianto realizes as he watches John awkwardly juggling the broth and the bread that he should have thought this through a little better. He watches this attempt for a moment before taking pity on the other man and setting his own bread down on his knee so that he can reach with his other hand to brace John's soup on his own.

"Here," he says gently, offering the other man the flick of a smile as he does. "In lieu of a proper table, I've got two good hands. I really don't mind." In fact, he's happy to help in any way he can. Even if it is to take it away if he doesn't really want it, in the end.

"How's...?" he starts to ask, trailing off before simply nodding at John's arm instead. John should understand what he's asking after anyway. The obvious, all things considered.

"Can't feel it as much," John confirms in answer, and hesitantly lets Ianto hold the soup so he can take the bread instead. "It's good stuff! I feel a lot better when I'm not so aware there's chunks missing from my arm. Dunno if I can eat all this though, feel kinda warm and queasy. If I projectile vomit I'll make sure I aim away from you."

He takes a small bite of the bread, eyes skipping around the room idly as if watching for... something, or just -- taking it in?

"Maybe we should sit on the floor since there's no table," he says after a moment, because then Ianto doesn't have to hold his soup. Which means then Ianto will have a free hand to hold his own things and be able to eat too.

Ianto makes a face at him to suggest how pleasant he considers the idea of John projectile vomiting on him to be, but in all honesty he'd bear it. He's been covered in worse, all things considered.

The idea that they should sit on the floor is a good one, if slightly less comfortable. Ianto takes it in for a moment, before nodding.

"Here," he says, taking John's soup with him as he pushes himself to stand. "I'll let you get yourself settled then. This probably isn't as hot as it used to be but the last thing you need is to burn yourself spilling it as well."

John lets Ianto take it, because spilling hot soup on himself isn't really his idea of a good time, and then slides to his feet as well -- moves to a good spot and carefully drops to sit down. With one arm restricted, everything is a lot harder. Even things that don't technically require hands. It's a balance thing.

"Just set it down and eat your own soup," John says, somehow making it both a gentle chide and an instruction all at once. "I'm guessing you were up there long enough to get hungry."

Whereas John was on a train first and came from Olympia, and he brought food with him -- even if it was dried. It's still fine, he has technically eaten. His eyes flick to the bread in his good hand and he takes a small, hesitant bite. Yeah, he definitely is feeling nauseous. Good to know. The question is, is it the painkiller or is it the arm?

He watches the other man for a long moment, pressing his lips together as though he wants to protest -- maybe he should make John eat something, maybe he should insist that he should have something in case he wants something more, that it would be easier on his stomach if he does. But John takes a bite of his bread and he's appeased enough that he sets the mug of soup down within easy reach for the other man before he raises his own mug and takes a sip of his own. It's good. Rather light but still rich and flavorful. He hadn't realized how hungry he is until he tastes it. He really had been up there for a while...

"I wasn't exactly watching the clock," Ianto admits. "I was afraid if I knew how much time was passing I'd be that much more conscious of how much time had passed..."

"That tends to be how time works."

You look at a clock, you're aware of what time it is. Somehow, it all feels slower when you're aware of it. He flicks his eyes around again distractedly, drops them to his sore arm and finds that even despite how bad it looks he doesn't feel quite so worried anymore. Detached from how raw his arm looks, which is weird. He kinda feels fine, good even -- nausea and clamminess aside. Maybe if he just doesn't eat it'll be fine? Setting his bread down carefully he flicks his eyes back to Ianto, then around the room again.

"So, you got a plan? You know, for finding him."

Since John presumes he's being roped into all this now.

Ianto would honestly really rather not talk about Jack with John, especially when things are still so tentative between the pair of them, but he supposes it's an honest question to ask.

"I think I know how to find him," he says, quietly. "He lives out there. In the city somewhere. He thinks he belongs here, that he's lived here all his life. It's a question of how to reverse what's happened to him -- what's happened to all of them -- that's another matter entirely. It's why I'd gone back out into the forest, to try and find..."

Try and find what? Even Ianto's not quite certain exactly. The forest goddess they'd spoken of? That glen that some people had mentioned? He hadn't exactly had the best of plans and perhaps that's why he'd gotten himself lost again. He shakes his head.

"I don't know," he says again. "I don't even know where to begin with... All of this. I mean. It has to be some sort of a spell, but I'll be damned if I know the first thing about magic."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject