[network] @jwatson; text; Bite the Bullet [Night 250]

[jumpthegun]

[This is an incredibly embarrassing post to have to make, especially after the one he'd put out a few days earlier. Reading through those replies makes him want to curl up and hide from the world for people seeing what he'd been like straight out of the Army. The messages to his friends are a particular humiliation. But it is what it is and he has to deal with this now. Man up, Watson.]

I'd like to apologize to everyone for my attitude and behavior the last several days. My death price has ended and my memories have returned. I can't take back the things I said to any of you, but I'm really very sorry. I was in a bit of a bad place where I was set at.

For anyone who was asking me, I'm in the Entrance area with America, England, and Ginger.

I'm also sorry to report that the cause for Clint Barton's death was the Joker. He mortally wounded Clint, but I'm pretty sure Clint was able to escape the situation along with Harley Quinn. Clint was able to mortally wound the Joker, as well. I'm not sure where the Joker is right now, but please be on your absolute guard. He is well-armed and he'll have been healed up after his revival, even if he might still have severe MN Poisoning.


Action for Team Blonde
[Prior to sending out the message, John is rummaging around the new building they'd made it to for the night. He thinks he's getting the hang of this and he's relaxed a little more around his companions since they've not attacked him suddenly or stolen from him for several consecutive days.

He opens a cabinet in the kitchen and discovers a bottle of white wine, which is surprising, but not unwelcome when everything returns to him in a flash. It's like someone turning on the lights, full power when he's been completely in dark. It hurts.

John squeezes his eyes shut as the swirl of memories pours in, mixing, jumbling, resorting into the proper order and finally stopping when everything is settled. He's clutching his head, breathing hard. One memory in particular sticks out, though, the last one he'd had before dying...]

Fuck!

[Hope the rest of the house doesn't mind swearing.]

Comments

[jumpthegun]

[It's very rarely that they do, but John and Sherlock have always been united in wanting to protect Mary.]

Thanks. God, I need a drink. [He looks to the wine bottle.] You up to share?

[keepscalm]

[Following John's gaze to the bottle, England can't help but scoff out a bit of a laugh.] Of course.

Got a bit of whiskey in my pack, as well, if you're interested. Been rationing it for special occasions. [Like people he cares about dying!]

[jumpthegun]

We can do the wine. Don't wanna take your whiskey, mate. [John reaches for the pack he's set on the nearby counter.]

Any chance you've got a corkscrew, though?

[He can get creative if he needs to, but he'd rather not.]

[keepscalm]

[What luck that he'd picked up a corkscrew not too long ago!] I do, actually. One moment. [He left his pack in the living room, so he'll have to step out to get it, but he still speaks to John in the kitchen from the room over.] You're sure you don't want anything else? I've got enough to spare a drink.

[He anticipates that John will continue to turn him down, but his English politeness persists.]

[jumpthegun]

[As does John's English politeness.]

No, thank you. If you put whiskey in front of me, I'm not liable to stop 'til it's gone or I'm passed out.

[The way he says it is light, a forced sort of joking. He knows how he is with whiskey. It had been the thing to get him to sleep some nights after Mary had died. Most nights, more recently.]

I appreciate the thought, though.

[keepscalm]

[Ah. England grimaces a little, grateful the expression is hidden as he digs through his pack.] Right. Sorry. I know that feeling. [Different as England's circumstances are, it's not exactly like the human experience of addiction, but it's not unfamiliar.

He finds the corkscrew and leaves the whiskey and scattered other sources of booze. The sharp noise of England zipping the pack back up precedes his return to the kitchen, and he holds out the corkscrew to John.] Here.

[jumpthegun]

[John doesn't have much to say about it beyond that, so he just falls silent until England offers him the corkscrew.]

Thanks.

[There aren't any glasses, so they'll have to just pass the bottle between them. Once he has the cork out, he offers England the first sip. John puts on a faux-French accent.]

May I interest monsieur in our house chardonnay?

[keepscalm]

[Despite everything, John's ridiculous accent drags a laugh out of England, short but genuine. France would hate to hear that; the thought reminds him of home, in a comfortably familiar but bittersweet way.

He graciously takes the bottle, mimicking the accent right back (and doing it far worse than he's actually capable of).] Why, I would be delighted, monsieur. [So he goes ahead and takes a swig before passing the bottle back to John.]

[jumpthegun]

[John raises the bottle to England when he takes it back.]

To dear Old Blighty. Long may he reign.

[keepscalm]

[England feels a creep of embarrassment, though he can't help but smile as he leans back against the counter next to John. He hasn't got a glass to raise, but, you know, in spirit:] And to the people that keep him strong.

[jumpthegun]

[The doctor takes a pull off the bottle and offers it to England once more.]

Christ, I'd forgotten what wine actually tastes like. Watch that be something like a three pound bottle of the worst tripe. Best thing I've tasted in ages.

[keepscalm]

[Another laugh, this time a more subdued chuckle. England takes another sip, savouring it a bit longer this time. It doesn't taste expensive, but there are still people who'd trade something very valuable for this, which makes it all the sweeter.] "Three pounds" doesn't mean much now, anyway. Not as if our money is worth anything here.

[And back to John.]

[jumpthegun]

[John snorts right back as he takes another swig. He should be more careful, but he's upset and this is much more pleasant than thinking about his memories being mucked around, about how he'd hurt Mary, Bucky, Alfie, and Sherlock, all the people he cares about most.]

What's the going currency around here? Cigarettes, condoms, and matches? I'd put us at... mm... a two-cigarette bottle.

[Over said bottle goes to England.]

[keepscalm]

[England makes the driest addition he possibly can:] Don't forget Vicodin.

[As he lifts the bottle, suddenly something in his brain ticks, and he pauses mid-lift.] Wait, you weren't here for that. [His joke is lost!]

[jumpthegun]

[John raises a brow and leans back on the counter.]

Something more than the usual Vicodin theft? I know Alfie stole some from House. Rhys and Angel, too.

[keepscalm]

I think it was a few days before you showed up--perhaps you read the post? It was a much bigger event than just theft when Rhys and Angel stole it. [England takes his turn and courteously gives the bottle back, partially so that he can gesture dismissively with that hand.] Pretty sure the entire bloody town got involved.

[jumpthegun]

Oh, that's where Beckett punched the bastard, right?

[It's not that he's not sympathetic to House, but...

He's not all that sympathetic. He's like Sherlock, but infinitely more selfish and intolerable. John takes the bottle back and taps the rim to his lips for a moment in thought.]

Yeah, I read through all that. Right mess. Seems like it sorted whatever fight was going on between Angel and Steph, at least.

[He takes another swig and they're down to half a bottle as he passes it back. John can feel the edges of the alcohol hitting at his system. He hasn't eaten anything yet tonight. Empty stomach isn't going to help getting drunk.]

[keepscalm]

Indeed. "Right mess" is a good way to put it. [Though no one got murdered, so maybe it isn't as much of a mess when compared to other things that have happened since then...

England notes the weight of the bottle as he takes it back. They're going through this awfully fast. Maybe it's a good thing that John turned down the hard liquor. The realisation doesn't stop England from taking a generous pull of what remains, though.] But I digress. This certainly isn't a Vicodin bottle of wine. [He holds it out in offering as he makes this judgment.]

[jumpthegun]

Nah, but it was a good find. More than a few decent finds down here. [John's next swig is slower, but just as deep before he hands it back to England.]

Think Eve's putting all the best stuff in places people aren't coming to for a reason?

[keepscalm]

[England makes a thoughtful noise as he stares past the lip of the bottle.] Well, this town had very strict population control. Perhaps it's an effort to better distribute the population so we aren't constantly draining the resources in one area.

[This is a very thoughtful analysis for someone who is starting to feel the creeping effects of the wine. That probably means he hasn't imbibed enough of it yet, so he tries to fix that with his next sip before John's turn.] If it isn't all random, anyway.

[jumpthegun]

No, no. Can't be random. That one house, right? With the porn. That's always got weird sex things in it. We found a bunch of books there that were all about anal sex. Been there before and there are, like... like pornos about us. But not us. Themed on our jobs or important things about us. S'weird, right?

[He's feeling a little looser as he takes another swig for himself and hands it back to the other man.]

[keepscalm]

[This conversation got very odd very quickly. England's face also got very red very quickly. He hopes he has never been in one of those books.

Maybe more wine will remedy this. Yes. Definitely. England is going to do that.]

Maybe it's like that-- infinite monkeys on infinite typewriters thing. Eventually they'd produce pornography about us. [This is a much less insightful analysis than the previous one.] I mean-- Eve can't be writing them all. [Or, rather, he really doesn't want her to be writing them...]

[jumpthegun]

Who else is watching us, mate? Miller? [John thinks he'd prefer Eve.] Probably have plenty of material, us all huddling up together for body heat, right?

[Another swig and it's down to a quarter of a bottle of wine as it's handed back to England. After a moment, John pushes himself up so that he can sit on the counter.] They make those dolls of us, too.

[keepscalm]

[They'd have a lot more material than that in England's case. He has to suppress a noise that bubbles up in his chest at the realisation.

He is still far too sober for this, and he's not even entirely sober. He's grateful for the support of the counter as he leans back like a Victorian girl with her corset laced too tightly.] Maybe-- maybe they're originally from Norfinbury. Some of us here have got, you know, movies about us, right? Maybe we're all like that on this Earth.

[This is still less horrifying to England than the idea of Eve or Robert Miller writing porn of them.]

[jumpthegun]

[That's a rather horrifying thought to John, and he's not sure if that's worse than the constant surveillance.]

And the stories are... what? Expy fanfiction like that... Mm. They colors book. Shades of Grey. Yeah, that one. The sexy bondage thing they got off that vampire series.

[Things are settling into a comforting haze.]