Dr. John H. Watson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theblogger) wrote2012-03-11 04:33 am
theblogger) wrote2012-03-11 04:33 am
Keep Calm and...
CHARACTERS: John Watson (theblogger), Greg Lestrade (consultsdetective), Sally Donovan (cop_an_attitude), and Jilly Coppercorn (theoniongirl)
LOCATION: Community Housing 2, Flat 21
WARNINGS: None yet.
SUMMARY: They've all at least watched people solve crimes before? Surely they can make sense of this.
NOTES: None!
Flat 21 was nothing much to look at. It was empty, not just for lack of previous resident, but achingly plain. White-walled, sparsely furnished; the ambience reminded John of the one-room residence the RAMC had provided for him shortly after the war. He hated it.
Nevertheless, there was sentiment in the address 2-21, and if the prospect turned out to be that John was due to stay in this village tomorrow and for an indeterminable amount of days thereafter (and it was starting to look like that might be the case), this was where he was going to choose to spend it. If nothing else, it would remind both officers of where his loyalty laid, before this and ever after. In London, he had left behind the overflow of clutter, prepared to settle into a new life without the implication of odd hours and the saccharine stench of formaldehyde that seemed ever lurking behind an otherwise unassuming cupboard. But this wasn't London - this was an unknown territory where he wasn't certain of his status of civilian anymore. And in a crisis situation like this, this number was John's safe haven. It was a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
John waited by the window, sitting on the edge of the sofa he'd shoved close to it. The outside world seemed so simplistic, so rural, but considering the fact that John had never asked for the vacation, he couldn't help but view it with some suspicion. A part of him knew that he was acting too on-edge about it all, that this was not the same as sitting in a bunker watching the gates in the desert, but he didn't know quite how else to act. True, there wasn't much for him back in London beyond his sister, who was beginning to show some signs of promise now that John had begun to come by and sit on her sofa every once in a while. She talked, he listened, nodded, smiled when it was appropriate. They were working on it. She'd be alright without him.
Nevertheless, he was brought here against his will, woken up unclothed and aching with a weight on his shoulders he'd never had before. John was rather sensitive about his chest, which was why he tended to keep so many layers over it - he knew something was off right away. There were wings on his back and a barcode on his neck; neither of these were very settling to find on his examination at the nearest private mirror. The wings were startling, certainly, but that barcode... that was a mark that indicated property. At least when he'd wore his tags in Afghanistan, he knew what master he was serving, and had elected for it. This was different.
John sat sentinel over the window, hoping to see a familiar face pass by or a knock on the door to indicate that he was not, in fact, alone here. His wings poked through several layers of undershirt and corded jumper, making themselves just another part of the armor as they flexed and fell tight around the curve of each shoulder, grimly consoling. As off-putting as it was to be in this situation, John didn't want to have to be by himself.
(( OOC: This is a private thread between John, Sally Donovan, DI Lestrade, and Jilly unless you have otherwise been invited in! ))
theblogger), Greg Lestrade (consultsdetective), Sally Donovan (cop_an_attitude), and Jilly Coppercorn (theoniongirl)LOCATION: Community Housing 2, Flat 21
WARNINGS: None yet.
SUMMARY: They've all at least watched people solve crimes before? Surely they can make sense of this.
NOTES: None!
Flat 21 was nothing much to look at. It was empty, not just for lack of previous resident, but achingly plain. White-walled, sparsely furnished; the ambience reminded John of the one-room residence the RAMC had provided for him shortly after the war. He hated it.
Nevertheless, there was sentiment in the address 2-21, and if the prospect turned out to be that John was due to stay in this village tomorrow and for an indeterminable amount of days thereafter (and it was starting to look like that might be the case), this was where he was going to choose to spend it. If nothing else, it would remind both officers of where his loyalty laid, before this and ever after. In London, he had left behind the overflow of clutter, prepared to settle into a new life without the implication of odd hours and the saccharine stench of formaldehyde that seemed ever lurking behind an otherwise unassuming cupboard. But this wasn't London - this was an unknown territory where he wasn't certain of his status of civilian anymore. And in a crisis situation like this, this number was John's safe haven. It was a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
John waited by the window, sitting on the edge of the sofa he'd shoved close to it. The outside world seemed so simplistic, so rural, but considering the fact that John had never asked for the vacation, he couldn't help but view it with some suspicion. A part of him knew that he was acting too on-edge about it all, that this was not the same as sitting in a bunker watching the gates in the desert, but he didn't know quite how else to act. True, there wasn't much for him back in London beyond his sister, who was beginning to show some signs of promise now that John had begun to come by and sit on her sofa every once in a while. She talked, he listened, nodded, smiled when it was appropriate. They were working on it. She'd be alright without him.
Nevertheless, he was brought here against his will, woken up unclothed and aching with a weight on his shoulders he'd never had before. John was rather sensitive about his chest, which was why he tended to keep so many layers over it - he knew something was off right away. There were wings on his back and a barcode on his neck; neither of these were very settling to find on his examination at the nearest private mirror. The wings were startling, certainly, but that barcode... that was a mark that indicated property. At least when he'd wore his tags in Afghanistan, he knew what master he was serving, and had elected for it. This was different.
John sat sentinel over the window, hoping to see a familiar face pass by or a knock on the door to indicate that he was not, in fact, alone here. His wings poked through several layers of undershirt and corded jumper, making themselves just another part of the armor as they flexed and fell tight around the curve of each shoulder, grimly consoling. As off-putting as it was to be in this situation, John didn't want to have to be by himself.
(( OOC: This is a private thread between John, Sally Donovan, DI Lestrade, and Jilly unless you have otherwise been invited in! ))
no subject
"I'm not sure there's a usual way, really. But I'll try."
Her smile faded then, eyes going distant with thought as she tried to sort through the most important details. It made her look older, closer to her actual age than her small frame and pixieish features first implied. "The biggest problem is that we don't really have all the answers. There's a newcomer's guide in the journals that has some, but honestly we're still guessing more often than not.
We aren't sure how we get here. As far as we know, the Malnosso aren't actually responsible for that part of it. Really, they might even be like us, rather than being natives of this world. We do know that, somehow, we end up here in the barrier, where the Malnosso are...elsewhere."
She ticked off thoughts on her fingers...not really answering them in the order of John's questions, but as her mind skipped across them. "There's a war going on between the Malnosso and another group we only know as the Third Party. They hate us, but it's impossible to know why. It could be because we're allied with the Malnosso, even if it is only by chance. Or maybe they're the natives and they think we've invaded. I don't know. None of us do. But the Malnosso like to draft people into the war when they need the help." There was no missing the distaste in her voice at that. Jilly might never have been one for politics, but the people who'd assumed she was a hippie back home wouldn't have been far from the truth if she'd bothered with it. "They don't really distinguish between fighters and civilians, or adults and children. And they don't always give warning."
She sighed. She didn't like this part of the new feather initiation. There were good things here. Magical things. But that didn't change the fact that there were terrible injustices in where they'd found themselves. "There are experiments, too. They're usually called shifts. Sometimes they're just silly. I've woken up and found myself only two inches tall, or not human, and those were harmless enough. They were even kind of fun." She gave the briefest of smiles, but it faded quickly. "But some of the experiments mess with your head. They can make you believe you're someone you're not, or change the way you feel about the people around you. It's temporary, but it's an invasion, all the same."
She shook her head. "Supposedly, the shifts are supposed to be the Malnosso trying to find a way home...but when you see how...odd...a lot of them are, it's hard to see how these could really help."
There was more. So much more. But she pauses to catch her breath and to give them a chance to ask questions.
no subject
His eyes made the regular journey from Jilly to John (trying to gauge how he was taking it, what exactly did he look so confused about, telling himself that tension is a pretty natural reaction and at least the man is listening) to Sally (who he thinks he's possibly never seen so reserved; something's going on here, but as long as they've not been sleeping together he thinks he can handle it), and he generally finally got around to noticing exactly how cracked this entire predicament was. When Jilly pauses for breath, he nods, bordering contemplative, and doesn't find anything to question or contribute for the moment.
no subject
"How long have people been being kidnapped here?" she asked when Jilly was done - blurted it out as a first instinct, really. "Some people claim to have been here up to three years; were their victims before then?
no subject
"My housemate has been here for three years, though. Buffy Summers. And I know she wasn't the first one here, so it's been going on for a little bit longer, at least. Still...she could probably give you better details of what they knew, then."