cactusy | IC contact for lastvoyages

You're either really weird or really naive.

[She says it with a tired eyeroll, but she doesn't sound particularly annoyed or offended by it. She flops backwards in the hammock, staring up at the stars.]

Whatever. Just don't say I didn't warn you. You're right about the marriage thing, though; that society sucked.

[Instead of bristling or even trying to argue the point, John just smiles. She has no idea how…nice that is. Maybe she sees it as dispassion, but to him it just feels steady. Honest, true. She lacks feeling? Fine. She’s not clouded by it either.]

Consider me warned.

[For a second he just sits there, watching her lay staring up at the stars…then hesitantly, as if not sure he’s still welcome, settles back into his spot beside her, not touching and still feeling like he’s burning alive.]

Society in general sucks…that one could’ve been worse in some respects.

[He falls quiet for a long moment.]

I inherited my wealth back there by killing my father. I didn’t…kill him for money. But there were rumors I killed him…they were true. If I hadn’t, he would’ve killed me.

[Another beat…]

Happened the same way in real life. Only he survived, and I was sixteen. Shot him with a bow and arrow ‘stead of a pistol. He was drunk, he was always drunk, but that night was worse ‘n most. Sometimes think it would have been better if I did kill him. Least in that world, it was. A little.

-- Okay, you know what, I take it back. You're gonna fit in here just fine.

My dad was a better man than the breach made him into.

[Her jaw works, and a cloud of darker gray rolls across the surface of the orb that she still clutches in her hands.]

Your dad - is he still around now, in the real world?

[John glances over at the remark, and he sees the cloud of darker gray swarm the orb. He doesn’t smile, but his expression softens to see it.

He decided, right then, that she’s wrong. And he wants to hang on to her, to this. Only here, he knows he doesn’t have to marry someone to keep their friendship.]

I don’t know. Never thought to check. Got drafted a couple years after the incident…

[He trails off, folding his arms under his head as he looks up at the stars, and thinks of Delmar.]

Didn’t go home after I got discharged. Honestly, not sure where I went for a while. Just…all over. Finally thought to look up a friend from my unit who made it out, too…found out he got killed in ‘Nam and didn’t know it. I’m the last member of my unit left, not counting my CO. My dad…

[He trails off, feeling that cold, hard thing from that night that he hates.

The thing that came back up when the cops in Hope came after him.

The thing that didn’t care if a human being lived or died.]

He isn't worth counting?

[Shaw guesses, giving him a brief glance. She respects family ties, but not to a fault; while she wouldn't respect someone who abandoned their father under ordinary circumstances, abuse is a whole different ballgame.]

…no. I’m not.

[The words are only just audible, and he’s been learning over the last year-plus just how true they are. He wasn’t worth counting until he proved he could fight, until he was a suitable weapon—and now he’s a broken one.

And the war is over, so it’s possible that’s okay. Maybe he can learn to find some solace in that—being here is part of it. Making it all count for something to help somebody who needs it. Maybe even forego the deal he was asked for, it seems selfish anyway.

How can a weapon find a new life? A new function? A gun is a gun, a sword is a sword, and a soldier is a soldier.

So while the words are soft, they come not unlike Sameen’s. They’re simple, matter of fact, lacking in feeling. They’re simply true, and there isn’t a lot of emotion tied up in simple truths like water being wet or stars twinkling.

Dad wouldn’t care he’s alive, because he doesn’t matter…and John is tired of hurting people. Even those who deserve it.

So…he doesn’t want to go home.]

Thank you.

[Does it mean he's a crazy in a field of crazies? Maybe!]

[Shaw studies him for a long moment, her expression serious but impassive. Eventually she decides that, fuck it, she's just going to voice the thought she'd had when she'd first met him, injured and bleeding in the hallway.]

This place is gonna eat you up like catnip.

[-- Hm. On second thought, clarity of phrasing might be in order.]

I mean, you're going to end up with a lot of friends.

[And people who want to take care of him, but she knows better than to say that out loud to a military man.]

[John looks at her, not sharply but suddenly at the 'catnip' remark, but when she elaborates he blushes and smiles sheepishly, shrugging.]

S' nice of you to say.

[He's pretty sure she's wrong, but--yeah. God, that would be nice. To not be alone anymore. And it feels really dangerous to hope, but...

He peers at her, unable to hide that hope in his eyes as his smile brightens just a little.]

And, I mean...I got at least one so far.

[...right?...]

I guess.

[Sorry for the lack of enthusiasm, John - but to be fair, if Shaw herself is used as the measuring stick, that counts as an enthusiastic reaction. Without a previous relationship dynamic to fall back on, a significant chunk of her brain keeps reaching for the breach. She might as well get used to him, because they're getting married, they're going to America, they're going to settle in the west--

Except they're not.

She makes a small noise of frustration in the back of her throat, though it's not really directed at him.]

Is your mom really Navajo?

You're still one of the doctors here, yeah?

Got a minute to do a check?

Yeah; what kind of check, and where?

My head. I got knocked out.

Concussion check, okay. Is there blood, is anyone with you, and is whoever attacked you still at large?

Nah, it happened when Varker went batshit. I checked it out and dressed it, but I'm being pressed into getting someone to look at it.

[Dryly:]

You've got smart friends.

Your cabin?

Yeah, no shit.

No, infirmary. I need some ibuprofen anyway.

Shaw, you're my only hope.

What's a whiskey that's nice enough that people who like whiskey will like it, but not so nice they'd feel bad drinking a whole bottle or two in one night if they happened to be the kind of non-human who could survive that?

Uh--

[Jedao, she is not the whiskey expert you clearly think she is.]

You want to see what I've got in my cabin? I can give opinions.

Not if you're concussed. Acetaminophen's fine, though. I can meet you in the infirmary, but where are you now?

Heading up.

I'm not concussed.

Don't make me drag in one of your friends to give me their opinion of the situation. Heading up from where?

IC contact for lastvoyages

no subject

CW: mentions of child abuse & alcoholism

audio

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Re: audio

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