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

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

[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.]

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[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.

[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.

[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.]

[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.]

[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!]

[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.

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.

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.]

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.]

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?

[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.

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.]

[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...]

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.

[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.]

[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.]

Yeah. Maybe. [England decides it would be best to sit down too, but he can't just sit on the floor, and he can't be arsed to go fetch a chair. So he makes peace with the rudeness of it and hops up onto the counter next to John. He takes a gulp of the wine and then sets it down on the counter space between them.] I don't know. Perhaps that's worse. But I've got-- there are things-- [His loosened tongue lets those slip, but what's left of his brain catches it.

He discontinues the sentence with a sigh.] It feels more insulting if it's someone who knows we're living people going through hell, I suppose.

[John doesn't particularly mind the proximity, especially not right at this moment when he'd like a little physical comfort, if he's being honest. He picks up the bottle of wine and leans toward England enough to give him a gentle shoulder bump. Then it's another swig. There are maybe two or three more of those left.]

People are arseholes sometimes. [Wisdom of the ages right here.] God knows I've run into enough of them. Lived with one of them. Helped Sherlock catch plenty of them. [John gestures vaguely as he returns the bottle to its place.]

You, though. Yeah, you've got America. Me'n Mary... can't really have a go at it right now. Just... I dunno? Every time I look at her, it's that night in the aquarium again. Blood. Should've done something more. Didn't do anything. Could barely think. Didn't even lie her down and put pressure on it.

[A pause as John blinks and then clears his throat.] Sorry, that's... S'not important here. You and America, right? That's a good thing, even if Eve and Miller make it a weird thing.

Edited 2017-07-10 04:39 (UTC)

[There are a lot of words that John just said and some of them seemed awfully important. Like "that night" and "blood" and "put pressure on it," those are all pretty key. England doesn't want to just gloss over that, even if it seems like John does. He tries to organise it all in his mind and set it down somewhere to revisit in the near future, preferably in the next few moments.

He glances down at his own shoulder, lingering on the imprint of camaraderie.] ...it was a weird thing long before Eve and Miller. Long before this town. We — nations, I mean — we can date all we like, but. [He reaches for the wine bottle.] But...

[Distantly, England hears rain and the sound of a musket falling to the ground as he stares down into the nearly empty bottle.] Our people have to come first. Always. If I had to hurt him to protect my own people, I couldn't hesitate. And the same goes for him. We can't ever have what humans can have.

[He has had too much alcohol, but also not nearly enough.]

[John's brows furrow and he looks down at the bottle of wine, as well.]

But you're not human. Is it okay, what you do have? Are you okay with it?

Sometimes. [England takes a long pull of the wine, though he makes sure to leave John's share. He gingerly sets the bottle back on the counter.] But sometimes whenever our citizens get into a row here — sometimes when I think about Winter and Andromeda — I wonder what it must be like. To be able to choose something else.

[Would he want to? Not exactly. It goes against his very nature. That's why he has to wonder; he can't even begin to imagine.]

Mm...

[John polishes off the bottle before setting it to one side.]

At least you can have something like it here, right? I know it's hard for you, for the both of you, being separated from your citizens. You can usually feel us, right? Without that... does it help? Between you two, I mean.

I don't think I'd call it help. A nation who would turn their back on their people— there's something wrong with them. Something... [Russia's eerie smile comes to mind. England frowns.] ...deeply wrong.

[That can't happen to him. He can't make the mistakes that Russia has.

But he's afraid that this town is getting to him.]

Hey, I don't think you're gonna do that.

[John leans into the other man again, tipping a little farther than he means to and ending up half-slumped against England before he can pull himself back.]

I'm the most paranoid bloke in town short of Bucky, and I trust you. I was even starting to trust you there without my memories.

[England lets out a breath that's almost a laugh as John leans into him.] Yeah. Didn't figure it would help to act like we were best mates. You seemed pretty cross with everyone else.

[Maybe not the most tactful observation, but England breezes past it with the aid of the wine.] I was surprised that you let us help you.

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