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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 --"

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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."

Where to begin.

John considers that a long moment, turning over possibilities.

"What if it's environmental? Maybe if we try removing him from the forest. You know, see if away from everything it starts to wear off."

Sometimes it's like that, John knows. Some weird thing on an alien planet makes everyone behave differently, or lost their memories, or start seeing things -- only this time it's people in a forest and they're growing animal ears and living alternative lives. Not the absolute weirdest thing he's ever seen if he... really thinks about it, begrudgingly.

Ianto doesn't miss the fact that John is using the word 'we' in his musing about how to proceed from here, instead of simply suggesting how Ianto should proceed on his own instead.

He takes another sip of his soup, contemplating the idea of it and whether or not it's even possible, given the Jack he had met in Dranbu. Would be be amenable to the idea of leaving his home for any reason at all, never mind at the request of a stranger he's met just the once.

"We might have to kidnap him, if that's what it comes down to," Ianto admits aloud. "He's stubborn at the best of times, and now... It's not as though I can explain the truth and hope he'll come willingly."

"Well," John reasons, "we can try explaining and if that doesn't work -- I can stun him."

Simple, right? His gun has a stun setting! Shifting, still restless and fidgety, John abandons his piece of bread to tug at his short-sleeve t-shirt. It's mercifully nowhere long enough to be near his arm injury, but right at that moment it's making John feel warm and a little itchy. Or at least, he does feel both of those things. It may not really be the t-shirt making him feel them, though.

Ianto can't help but let out a huff of laughter at the thought of it. The idea of John wrestling Jack to the ground and stunning him so that they might drag him out of the forest by force is -- comical at best, though probably not the best idea, considering the state of the other man's arm at the moment. He has to concede that it probably would help him relieve some of that tension, however.

He glances aside at the other man again, as he dunks his chunk of bread into his soup and chews on it thoughtfully. He seems -- restless, to say the least. Not uncomfortable in the way he might have been before, but certainly not comfortable in the way that Ianto would like for him to be.

"Are you all right?" he asks again, gently. "Listen, I can... The soup will keep, if you'd rather we just... Get this over with." The sooner they clean up that wound, the sooner it can be bandaged and splinted in place, after all. Or is there something else he can do? He feels wrong, guilty, to be sitting there eating while John fidgets beside him. And truth be told it's making him more than a little antsy too.

Is he all right?

It's a weirdly loaded question, truth be told, the answer to which is overall no. Ianto's question is more specific, though, and John tries to focus past the whirl of pain and soreness and slightly-too-warm clamminess and twitchy awareness of every little sound -- tries to focus on an actual answer.

"Yeah," he offers mildly, "think it's just that stuff you gave me finally working."

He blinks a few times as if to force focus, winces.

"Is it warm in here, or is it just me?"

John suspects it might just be him, since he didn't feel that warm earlier, but he can't be sure unless he asks.

Ianto glances up to look around the room, contemplating the question. Is it warm in the room? Not particularly, he concludes. He's drinking soup, which is of course warm, and he's yet to take off some of the layers he had put on to go outside. But no, it is winter, and there is no fire or anything else he can see besides the natural insulation of the tree to keep the warmth of the room. A room that is not particularly hot, in any sense of the word.

He shakes his head in response, moving to take another sip of his soup before setting it down beside him.

"Not really," he replies. "A little stuffy, perhaps, but tolerable."

Out of reflex, without really thinking about the gesture until he can't take it back, he reaches out towards the other man to test his temperature with his hand -- is he feverish, perhaps?

John moves as if to dodge the touch, but it's too slow and too late anyway. He's warm to the touch, although not burning hot, and a little clammy.

"It's fine," John says in preemptive protest, "probably just a side-effect of the stuff. At least my arm isn't hurting as much."

Nothing in life is free. He picks off a small amount of the bread to try and eat again, because he figures if he eats some more then maybe Ianto will feel less inclined to keep fussing over him so much. It's worth a try, anyway.

John tries his best to avoid his touch but Ianto presses the back of his hand to John's forehead regardless. Pleased that he isn't too warm -- not that he supposes an infection would work quite that fast but then one never knows, in a place like this.

Removing his hand, Ianto sits back with a frown to watch as the other man picks at his bread again. He supposes it's good that his arm is feeling better. Ianto would prefer to have the whole matter done with, personally, but he supposes they can handle this on John's time. It is his arm, after all.

"So long as you're feeling better," Ianto fusses gently. "Please do warn me if you start feeling heart palpitations or something, though. I think we've both had enough surprises for one day as it is."

Heart palpitations or something. John offers a wincing smile at that, picking at another bit of his bread.

"Yeah. I'll let you know."

He glances down at his arm, then hesitates as he looks between it and the food.

"If this is putting you off let me know."

You know, his gross arm. That would be... fair.

"We can bind it first so you don't have to look at it -- unless you won't want to eat at all after touching it."

Which is... probably also fair. There's nothing particularly appetising about exposed flesh.

Ianto flicks the other man something of a smile -- it's meant to be reassuring, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"It's not -- it's not that," he says, awkwardly. "It's just. Isn't it -- I mean, better to take care of it first? The longer it's left untended, the more risk there is of infection?"

That's what he's assuming, anyway. John's the medic though, not him. He would know better than Ianto himself. Still -- if the choice is left up to him...

"I can wait to finish this," he offers, gesturing at the soup. "I'd rather make sure that we did this properly -- while we still knew you wouldn't be able to feel it, yeah?" Who knows how much longer those drugs will last, or whether the other man will want to take more when they wear off. Better make the most of them while they're in effect.

John wrinkles his nose at that, gives a non-committal shrug.

"That's what disinfectant is for."

You know, stopping the infection. Still, he gently pushes aside his soup and bread and ignores a faint wave of nausea as he re-arranges himself carefully to be a little closer to Ianto.

"But, if you want to get on it go ahead. My arm isn't exactly going anywhere."

Also, he's not really eating anyway.

Ianto nods, shifting for a moment to set the food aside and take up the bowl and cloth again. Hesitating for a moment with the cloth in hand before he offers, "I know that the drugs are taking most of the edge off of it but let me know if -- you know. Any of this bothers you and I can adjust. Or we can stop, yeah? Here..."

He swallows, a little thickly, before tentatively reaching out and making his first attempt to clean the wound again. It had definitely caused the other man discomfort earlier, and he can hardly blame him for it. But the sooner they get it cleaned out, the sooner they can get that disinfectant on it, bandage it up, brace it, and then he'll never have to see under the other man's skin (literally) again, if he has anything to say about the matter.

"Gloves," John prompts quickly, leaning slightly back away from Ianto. The painkillers might be dulling things but once Ianto starts touching him he's pretty sure it'll hurt again, or at least be more uncomfortable. Touching him to gauge his temperature is one thing, cleaning an exposed, raw bite is something else entirely.

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