snowblindrpg | [log] Event: Howl [open]

[There's another blue light tonight, and John is drawn toward it as surely as a moth to a flame. Blue is safety, protection, a partner to trust, and someone who will help him stay away from the other red lights. Unfortunately for John, his direct line to the blue that happens to be Mary, unbeknownst to him, is directly across a pit filled with something oozing and green at the bottom. He raises a hand to draw attention and calls out.]

Alfie, is that you?

[He'd met the man one night. Maybe he'll get lucky a second time.]

[Mary turns immediately towards the familiar voice, her back having been towards him a moment before. She recognizes the stilted movements of blindness and even had she not was immediately drawn to him the way she'd been to others who had met the same fate the night before. Relief flooded her, that she found him and he was safe--replaced by dread when she saw the pit directly in his path.]

John, don't move!

[She quickly skirts the edge of the pit; it's wide enough to slow her down but not so much that she loses sight of him. When she's within reaching distance her fingertips just grace the edge of his shoulder and linger, her other hand tightly curled into a fist. Her gaze searches him for any hair out of place, stomach in her throat.] You're all right? Not hurt anywhere I can't see?

Edited (Broke my html whoops) 2017-02-22 03:37 (UTC)

[John freezes at the command and snaps his head in Mary's direction. His Mary's direction. The one he can see.

She holds up her hands, and then points in the direction the voice actually came from. It wasn't me.

Oh, Christ. This is... bad. He feels the brush of her touch, so like and unlike the phantom touches he's felt since her loss. His expression is pure confusion and a tinge of alarm, but John forces himself to smooth it out. He has to deal with this now. He'd been hoping to prepare himself a little more for this and not be blind at their first meeting. But... well.

He reaches out to her, making sure she's real. Well, she's a real blue dot, and his hand feels along familiar curves. And then he leaves off, steps back. He doesn't deserve this. He wants it, so much. he wants to grab her and kiss her and... god.

Oh, my god. Are you serious? Kiss me, John Watson.]

No, I'm not hurt. Are you? [Mostly he's not hurt. The scuffle with the Joker had been a rather brief affair before he'd scuttled off, and John and Amber had gotten Sherlock out of the school.]

[He moves just slightly away, her fingers losing their feather-light touch against his shoulder--and Mary doesn't wait but ten seconds before closing the gap between them and taking his hand in hers.

She would very much like to kiss her husband now, but she'd abandoned him. She'd run away. She didn't rightly deserve the chance, even if she did it in his best interest.

Her fingers tighten around his hand.] I'm fine. A bit cold but that's the norm about here, I've been told.

Oh-- [She exhales, and the gloved hand that isn't wrapped around his very gently touches his closed eyes, then resting against his cheek. There's no questioning in her whispered voice, no uncertainty--she already knows the answer.] You've been blinded too.

[He lets himself be selfish, lets himself shift their hands so that he can thread their fingers together. When she touches his eye, though, there's a surge of intense panic, the flash of a scalpel and Stein's manic grin behind rounded spectacles, his own screaming muffled as he bit down onto his jacket, the smell of blood and the feel of rope binding him.

John's expression flattens as his free hand shoots up, trying to grab Mary's wrist and yank it away, hard. His other hand, twined with hers, tightens to a vice-like grip, trying to keep that hand down and out of the fray. His eyes open, and he stares at her with an unfocused gaze for several seconds, heart pounding.

John, let go of me. Mary's voice breaks through to an extent, and he blinks at the blue dot of light in front of him, realizing what he's just done.

He lets go again, this time taking a full two steps back. This is wrong. What the hell is he doing? He was about a step away from trying to break Mary's arm.]

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Not... please don't touch my eyes. God, Mary, I'm sorry. Did I...? I'm sorry.

[The doctor holds his hands up, expression breaking to something intensely apologetic. She hadn't known. How could she know? How could he know it would still feel as fresh as a couple of weeks ago when it's also been five years? How nice that old/current traumas linger in his bloody awful mess of a timeline.]

Edited 2017-02-22 05:46 (UTC)

[She feels him stiffen before he moves, and her heart sinks. Mary knows what will trigger the most intense reactions in her husband. Some she'd been told and others she'd figured out, but what was important was that she knew--and this was never one of them. Never.

He pulls away from her and she stays exactly where she was left, her wrist and fingers acing slightly where they'd been gripped so tightly. Mary is careful to level her voice before she speaks, to smooth her expression to something concerned and not frightened.

Never frightened of him. But frightened for him, that she was sure of. What horrors has he endured here?]

It's fine. I'm fine, John. It's all right, not a scratch. [Mary folds her hands in front of her, despite how desperately she wanted to hold him.] No harm done. I'm so sorry. I'd no idea.

[She inches forward, just a fraction of a step. It's enough distance that he has space; she's close enough that she could reach out to him again. This time, though, she keeps her hands to herself.]

[He can't actually see her to know what she's doing, but he can hear her, feel her physical presence to an extent, his other senses keying up in response to the loss of sight. A part of him hates that they're doing this. He's seeing Mary for the first time in months--'seeing.' There should be joy, there should be a kiss, there should be so much more. But instead, they're doing this, a familiar game of humiliation that she's always been understanding for, that she has never judged him for. John raises a hand to cover his face for a moment and takes a deep, shuddering breath as he fights down the panic, crushes it back into the darker recesses of his mind to be dealt with not now.]

No, of course you didn't. I know. I know. I'm sorry. Just give me a minute. I'll be fine in a minute.

[John, you weren't fine even before that. You really think I'm not going to notice?

Granted, it's very wishful thinking. He takes deep breaths, wrapping his other arm around his waist and digging his fingers into his coat. If he gets his breathing under control, he can get his heart under control. It's not perfect when he drops his hand away, but it's tolerable. Conversation is possible again, and there isn't the roar of blood in his ears.

When opens his eyes, there's a monstrous hound maybe 20 yards behind, it's body covered in glowing green eyes and its teeth like daggers.]

There's one that way. One of the creatures. It's the hound. A hound. Too many eyes. I can see the light in its mouth.

[They're either going to need to deal with that first (and quickly, as the thing is closing), or they're going to need to run. John knows what they need to do, but the thought of letting that thing anywhere near Mary...]

We should run.

[Mary waits as he breathes, watching for signs that he is only growing more anxious. The hand digging into his side is an old habit--a physical pain to ground him--and she's never liked it, but she lets him.] Breathe, John. It's all right. Don't have to apologize. Just take your time and breathe.

[She wants to hold him, but knows how wrong that is and stays back. When his breathing has evened, when he relays the location of the creature behind her, she takes a deep breath and carefully paves her hand on his wrist.]

We can't run from this, John. You know what we have to do. [Voice level, calm. She turns, searching for obstacles in their path.] We collect the light.

[He wants to snap at her that he knows how to breathe, but manages to refrain. That's not going to help. When she touches him again, his lips twist into a mild grimace. The Prophet's fear is overlaid on his own concern for her safety. That thing could take her arm off. In the end, though, John's well aware that telling Mary to do something she doesn't want to is a futile effort. He'll just have to do this the best he can.

He has to be a soldier right now. His voice is calm once more as he focuses on the task at hand. Other things can wait until the danger has passed.]

I'll distract it, go for the eyes. Managed to get one screaming before when we did that.

[Having to focus on eyes and injuring them isn't doing wonders for his anxiety, but needs must.]

15 yards and closing. It's about the size of the draft horse, but it's keeping its head down. I can see the light between its teeth. Where's that pit? We'll want away from the edge.

The pit is behind me now. A few more steps forward to meet our friend and we've plenty of space.

[Her fingers lace with his as they turn. She can't see the monster, but she can see where he's looking and that's good enough for her.]

The light between its teeth. That's about chest-level for me. Are you sure you're all right going for the eyes? I can't see it, but I'm sure I can guess well enough. [The fingers she's laced with his hold tighter, and she gently pulls him forward a quarter-step.] But we'll have to move--to get away from that ledge.

You'll have to tell me when, but I'll move fast.

Yes. [It's said with the sort of determination of someone steeling themself.] You'll see it when it's on top of us. [He's not sure which side of this is worse. John definitely doesn't like being blind to the world, but at least he can see the creatures to direct others.

John lets himself be pulled with Mary, his eyes turned toward the hound. It's picking up speed, starting to lope.] Ten seconds it'll be on us. Move. [He's ready to follow her direction, wherever it might be, to get them away from the immediate falling hazard.]

[She moves when he gives the order, bringing him forward and away from the ledge and towards the presumed hound. She's careful to keep her hand carefully wrapped around his, her eyes watching where she can see flashes of bright light. She feels hot breath against her before she can make anything else, and her heart is in her throat, breathing hard.

The hand around John's squeezes tight.]

John--I can feel it breathing. Go! As soon as the mouth is open--

[He squeezes back for just a moment, then pulls free. John lunges forward just as the hound it about to leap onto Mary. His first connects with one of the wide, staring red eyes on its shoulder. It's like punching into hot jelly and John has to tamp down on the urge to vomit. The creature snarls and jerks, but its momentum is already in place. John's arm is in its eye and he's carried back, then knocked down when he slips free with a sickening squelch. He has to roll to the side to avoid having the thing's hindquarters come down on him.

Mary will be able to see it now that it's so close. It's body is shifting to turn toward John, but the eyes, wide bulbous things dart around wildly. They're all along the creature's body. Luckily, it only has one head and the light glows in its gaping maw as it pants and whines.]

[log] Event: Howl [open]

For Mary

/reaches for

no subject

no subject

cw: PTSD/reference to eye injury/removal

cw: PTSD/reference to eye injury/removal

cw: PTSD

cw: PTSD

cw: PTSD

cw: PTSD

cw: PTSD

cw: PTSD

cw: eye gore/injury