|
|
Post by Pyro on Oct 29, 2006 17:33:52 GMT
He shrugs and sits down, inwardly grateful because he’s not sure he could make it to that side of the room without either collapsing from the effort or exploding from the weird manic-hyperness of oh-my-god-this-is-really-happening, swinging his legs up so he’s sat cross-legged atop the covers.
”I’ll count” Again he’s so casual, sounding as if yeah, that’s obviously the logical route, how did she miss it?.. although, if you listen carefully enough (which he doubts she’ll do, given how she’s almost as spun out as he is… no, make that more spun out), it’s getting more ragged around the edges as the realization that he’s not merely thinking of excuses and ways to convince her but tricks to keep him alive while they play this latest mad game ”It’ll give me something to focus on, stop me freaking out… because I reckon that’ll help, not freaking. The others did and…” … and he’s waffling. Time to cut that out and get back on track, because he knows he’s going to have to be sharp now, and that’s darkly exciting, the prospect of a proper challenge.
”All you have to worry about is if I stop counting… which isn’t going to happen” He’s quick to tag the assurance on the end there as well, though it’s becoming less and less clear who’s benefit it’s really for.
|
|
|
|
Post by Rogue on Oct 29, 2006 18:00:41 GMT
As he sits, she moves over and sits down nearby,but she's still fidgeting, pic,king at the fabric of her gloves, reluctant to remove the cloth that's preventing this insanity.
"I’ll count. It’ll give me something to focus on, stop me freaking out… because I reckon that’ll help, not freaking. The others did and…All you have to worry about is if I stop counting… which isn’t going to happen”[/color]
He's trying to sound like he's utterly unphased by this but she's pretty sure she can hear something in his tone that's to the contrary. He's almost as scared as she is. So, then, why is he still going along with it? Why is she?
After a moment's hesitation, she nods a little, one hand still fiddling with the end of her glove, hesitating in removing it."'Kay. But...y'gotta pull 'way if I hurt y'. 'Cause...I migh' not realize..."
|
|
|
|
Post by Pyro on Oct 29, 2006 20:07:24 GMT
”If you hurt me, you’ll know”
Another dark grin, another seeming lie – since that would be admitting weakness, wouldn’t it? And that’s never going to happen – until you scratch the surface, because he thinks that there would be something there telling her instinctively that he wasn’t okay… he thinks he has that with her the other way, at least he’d kick and scream and generally be a nightmare purely to get some seeming payback.
His tone and expression remain confident, and though he can no longer meet her eye this act makes it seem so much more like merely being distracted than any sort of awkwardness as, like she, he’s tugging at the last few vestiges of protection, rolling his sleeve back away from his wrist, fingering both fabric and skin as if to make sure of their reality and acknowledging their fragility. That done, he flexes as if preparing for an injection and sticks out a hand towards her. Time to roll. He sure as hell hopes he knows what he's doing, though all the evidence is, erm, somewhat to the contrary.
|
|
|
|
Post by Rogue on Oct 30, 2006 2:07:47 GMT
”If you hurt me, you’ll know”
She sighs, mutters an "Ah guess", her accent more pronnounced due to being about ready to freak out, and finishes removing the glove, after only a bit more fidgeting.
He's already got a hand out, she notes, and glances from his hand to his eyes a moment. She doesn't want to just touch him - doesn't really want to be the one to initiate contact, because it seems too much like doing it on purpose, and she can't do that. But...it's not sometihng she's doing in a horrible, desire to harm kind of way, so it's okay, right?
She hesitates only a moment longer, then lightly touches his hand, still eyeing him, and ready to pull away at any second, if he seems to be taking it harder than seems safe.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pyro on Oct 30, 2006 2:58:49 GMT
He can be forgiven for tensing slightly as contact is finally made, especially given how well he’s been holding things together in the run up to it… but that tension collapses when Nothing’s Happening! And after a moment or two – which feels like forever but is probably barely a second – there’s still nothing…
… and he realizes he should have started counting, because that’s how they agreed he’d signal he was okay, that she’d only have to worry if he stopped. And sitting staring in astonished silence isn’t going to keep her from worrying. ”Oh. Oops. Sorry.” John flashes her a quick grin (see, everything’s fine) before going back to intense concentration. ”One… T”
Okay, that would be it kicking in, then,
No need to panic. It’s just… pins and needles. Like part of him is dissolving. Everything’s fine. Totally fine.
”Two… Three…”
|
|
|
|
Post by Rogue on Oct 30, 2006 3:12:05 GMT
She can't feel anything.
No, scratch that, she can feel something, but it's not absorbtion, not his mind flooding into hers. For a few moments, it's just simply skin contact, and its...nice. Her eyes moved down to lock on their hands, and she's hoping that maybe...maybe nothing'll happen.
”Oh. Oops. Sorry.” She gives him a slightly blank look, before realizing what he's apologizing for. One… T”
There it is, then. The sudden onrush of imagry, of thoughts, feelings, and impulses, all carrying a decidedly John tone. She wants to move away, but she doesn't, eyes flashingup to his face a moment, before falling closed.
She's not sure if she's willing her powers to stop or what, but the fact that he's still alive and counting is something remarkable, somehow, in her book. Things keep flowing in, and she can only dimly hear him saying ”Two… Three…”[/color]. Almost like she's underwater. Or he is. Or something - it's hard to tell.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pyro on Oct 30, 2006 13:08:19 GMT
At ”Four” the pins and needles turn into something else, so even though they’re barely touching it’s like she’s clawed into his skin, curved blades running under it’s suface and looping back round like a harpoon. It doesn’t exactly hurt, so much as make him aware of every inch of him as it becomes more confining than usual..
... almost as if it’s preparing him for ”F-Five”, where that confinement recedes as if the *him* he’s used to is rushing away, like travelling backwards down a tube tunnel away from the white light with everything whizzing past. His breathing in between the counts first slows to a shudder..
... so ”Six” takes phenomenal effort...
... then by ”Sev… S-Seven” it’s sped up and shallowed out, little panic breaths as if he’s either hyping himself up or just come out of a manic phase... both of which are sort of true but at the same time hopelessly inadequate when it comes to describing exactly what’s going on. Becuase you can’t describe it, not with words.
John jerks backwards before he can get to eight, some primitive survival instinct no doubt kicking in to break contact before he’s dragged totally out of himself. He doesn’t black out, though it looks as if he’s ready to and only jerks away from unconsciosness at the last second, and the wierd little spasms coursing through him aren’t a full-blown fit either, more like a mixture between shivering and a nervous tic. Both points should be sort of comforting, but once he gets over the initial shock of not being dead they’re more irritating, because he wants to be totally okay even though it’s obviously stupid to expect that.
|
|
|
|
Post by Rogue on Oct 30, 2006 13:27:21 GMT
Even though she's barely aware of anything, what she is aware of is like it's right there in her head, like it's almost too close. Like when someone holds a book an inch from your face, and expects you to read what's written inside - it takes effort to focus well enough to understand what you're seeing. Takes effort to process everything.
Her senses are, somehow, heightened right now, because she can hear his breathing loudly. Or is that hers? Hard to say, really. Either way, it's not steady anymore, and it's unnerving. ”Six”[/color].
Six? That's it? This...feels like it's been so much longer, and the floooding sensation's so strong she coudl have sworn they were either darn close to, or past, fifteen seconds already. But no, he's still at six.
She wants to open her eyes, because she can feel how weak he is, and she wants to see that he's okay. His thoughts are carrying through, and there's that hazy quality, and she's trying not to look at them, but they're so close. It's like standing in rising water. It's already reaching well above her waist, and not slowing down any.
"Sev… S-Seven”[/color]
There's no way they're getting to fifteen. She's sure neither could hang on that long - and that's when she feels the contact break, the onrush stop abruptly. For a moment, she can't open her eyes, but finally forces them open, and reguards him. Still alive, breathing. But he's shaking. Not like Cody - that was spasms, and this isn't, so it's different, and that's good, but it's still worrying because she doesn't know what this means, entirely.
She shifts, pulling her glove back on with clumsy, almost jerky movements. "Shit. To'l ya we couldn' get t'fifteen." she mutters. She stands, and pulls the blanket from the spare bed off, sending her packed belongings out of their neat stacks, but not off the bed entirely, then moves over and cautiously puts the blanket over his shoulders. He may not be cold - she doesn't acctually know, really - but it just seems like something she should do, since...she really doesn't know what she should do.
Though, at the moment, an apology keeps bubbling up within her, even though she knows full well she hadn't acctually done anythign wrong - it was his choice, his bet. Still, once she's seated back across from him, she can't help but murmur a quiet "'M sorry."
|
|
|
|
Post by Pyro on Oct 31, 2006 3:03:42 GMT
” ‘said 15 seconds… not 15 count” – Holy cow. He can still get words out (even if they do come in short stabs rather than flowing as speech should). That’s got to be a good sign, right? – ”Besides… gives us a target for next time… get there eventually”
… next time? How come he’s not sure he’s joking about that?
… ouch. Mental note (though something of a paradox to make); thought is not a good idea right now, because his brain hurts. It’s not a headache, but something else, as if the space usually filled with thinking has been clawed out… and then collapsed in on itself, simultaneously too big and far too small. And getting that image straight isn’t helping any, so he stops and does the blink-shake-thing people do to clear their heads… until it makes him feel dizzy and faint again. Not fun.
Everything’s sort of hazy even when the spinning slows to an acceptable level (he’s resigned himself to the fact it’s not going to stop) and it takes a moment or two for him to realise that she’s tucked the blanket around him… which is a sweet gesture. But totally not what he needs right now, and it’s a mark of how out of sorts he is – though he’s of course refusing to admit as much out loud – that he shrugs it off with a seemingly contradictory shiver ”Too hot”. Because he’s never too hot. The radiator wars are testimony to that fact.
… shit. If he’s started feeling hot again… something’s up. Really up. Like he’s burnt out his powers or something…
Fuck.
No, hang on, that’s stupid. And he hasn’t got the brainpower to panic just now, even if he could allow himself to without freaking her out. Instead he…
… needs to stop doing anything. Because it’s all taking so much effort and he just wants to curl up somewhere dark and quiet and re-acquaint himself with John, because it feels like he’s been displaced slightly within himself, like a picture hanging just off-straight enough to annoy.
|
|
|
|
Post by Rogue on Oct 31, 2006 3:20:52 GMT
"‘said 15 seconds… not 15 count.”
She stares at him a moment, trying to figure out his meaning. Collective time? As in, doing this again? He couldn't be that crazy. She'd hoped that maybe this would make him stop with the odd 'wanting to touch her' thing...
”Besides… gives us a target for next time… get there eventually”[/color]
Apparently not. She shakes her head a little. "Y'crazy, John." she says simply. She's fidgeting with her gloves, and watches, a little confused, as he shrugs off the blanket.
"Too hot.”
He's never too hot. Heck, he's never complained about the heat ever, that she can recall. The cold, sure, but never the heat. It's unsettling to think that she'd done that. Hopefully she hadn't broken him for good, though, because that thought is even worse - thinking that she'd somehow damaged something in him, and that he wasn't going to be the same, and that it would be her fault...
"N'more." she murmurs to him, shaking her head. "Thare's n'way tha' c'n be good for ya."
|
|
|
|
Post by Pyro on Oct 31, 2006 3:37:27 GMT
< ”Y’crazy, John”[/color]
”Sure” he raises as much of a smile as he can – that is, pained but definitely genuine – hugging his knees up to his chest as he does so, still sounding shivery though the actual spasms have slowed to just the occasional shock running down his spine which he can almost not react to. ”That’s why y’love me, though.”
< ”Thare’s n’way tha’ c’n be good for ya”[/color]
Way to point out the bleeding obvious. It’s about as far from good as you can get, and there’s a child’s fear lurking behind that, the desperate I’m not scared obstinacy which reveals as much about the fear as it tries to mask… though he’s not going to think about that.
He tosses her a lighter – not his lighter, that’s still got to be close, a childish comfort drawn just it’s dull weight and obvious proximity even if it’s now sort-of-taunting beneath that because of the thing he’s not thinking about, but one of the spares – hoping both to remove the temptation to play with it incase he tries and finds he can’t (which isn’t going to happen… but if it is, he’s going to ignore the possibility until he’s recovered) and to distract her, remembering how she enjoyed playing last time. ”Best enjoy it while it lasts then, eh?”
He’s not going to stick around and watch her, though, because ignoring that would be too much of a challenge… time to make his exit. ”I’m gonna…”
Or at least that’s the plan. Standing seems too much of a challenge, and he makes it halfway before dropping back to the bed, quickly re-arranging himself so it looks like he moved only to reposition and therefore didn’t fail at anything. ”I’m gonna take 5. Knock yourself out” John curls up, knees to chest, head shielded under one arm, around the mass of discarded blanket… because surrendering to the blackness seems the only sensible option.
|
|
|
|
Post by Rogue on Oct 31, 2006 3:59:30 GMT
”Sure. That’s why y’love me, though.”
She shakes her head slghtly, almost wearilly. No, not almost, she's genuinely, yet simultaneously, exausted, yet jittery and awake, as if...as if she's been force-fed energy suppliments, or something. In a way, she has, what with his energy being transferred to her.
”Best enjoy it while it lasts then, eh?”, and a lighter to and ssed her way, are his only responses to her worry, and she eyes him a moment.
”I’m gonna…I’m gonna take 5. Knock yourself out” He curls in on himself, and she watches with a combined feeling of concern and guilt for a moment.
"If y'need anythin', l'me know." she murmurs, tilting her head a little to get a better angle of his face, covered by his arm, then sits back, her legs crossed indian-style as she leans against her headboard.
Click - and there's the flame, and it's calling in a stronger way than she's felt before. Must be because she's go so much more of his power than last time. A small tendril of flame draws out of the lighter, almost as if it's just pouring out of it, and it's forming a small sphere that's hovering just above her hand.
The control, the warm sensation, the simple joy of it all...it's almost like a drug. No, no addiction references, she insists to herself, and forcably pushes the thought from her mind.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pyro on Oct 31, 2006 4:15:10 GMT
The dark is good for a little while… up until it stops feeling like he’s just got his eyes closed, and starts to become the bigger darkness of falling asleep. Because that’s altogether too reminiscent of the weird receding thing her powers provoked, and he feels like he’s losing himself again and doesn’t like it, and blinks back awake…
… only he’s too drained to be awake, and the dark descends again… and gets big… and he jumps.. and slips… and so on, and it’s almost like sleep, or close enough, some weird trance-y thing. Acceptable.
… click…
… that noise should never, ever take him by surprise. This is John, after all, who knows instantly if there’s a smoldering cigarette stub within 200 meters, who can feel the pre-flame inside hairdryers begging to be nudged (hence why he can’t be trusted with one). Fire talks, after all.... An actual flame, this close, should be screaming out to him… and it’s not. And now he’s awake enough to care...
Shit. Oh fuck oh fuck oh bloody fucking…
No. He’s not going to panic. He can’t have lost his powers – he’d know, it would be like dying, he’s sure of it, because regardless of whether or not he has anything to allow him to make use of them he can’t not believe that he’s always somehow different enough from a flatliner that he’d just… know (facing the realization that being human wouldn’t be that astounding a change is almost scarier than the loss itself… almost). He just… needs more time.
|
|
|
|
Post by Rogue on Oct 31, 2006 4:35:07 GMT
A quick glance at John reveals he hasn't moved much, if at all. Is he even awake anymore? She doesn't know. It's likely best if he sleeps, she reasons, because he'll feel better. That doesn't mean it's so much of a good idea for him to be sleeping on her bed come morning, however.
Ah well. There're two beds in the room, so if he's still there when she gets too tired, she can always just go lay down on the other one.
The flames are starting to shape themselves as she wants. At first, it's clumsy and ragged, but eventually, it's recognizably, albeit imperfectly, a small flaming kitten. She smiles a little to herself, then lets it return to a more natural state, taking another glance at John to make sure he's still okay - still breathing, she finds herself oddly relieved to note, as if stopping was a serious risk for him right now. Which...for all she knew, it was.
She wants to touch the fire, and see what happens - if his powers would keep her safe. But that means taking off a glove, and right now, she doesn't feel right doing that. Besides, she'd feel stupid if she touched it and burned herself. John would surely be amused by that.
She could look to his memories to see just what the limits of the powers were, though, but she doesn't, she simply contents herself with watching the flames that hover just-barely above her gloved hands, mostly-unaltered, just burning at nothing. Maybe once he's feeling better she'll just ask him.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pyro on Oct 31, 2006 4:55:55 GMT
It’s… not working.
Why isn’t it working? Surely force of will alone should be enough – because hell, he’s never been lacking in that before. But nothing’s happening… and that’s truly terrifying, because time’s dragging on and he hasn’t died and there aren’t many more excuses left. He’s… broken.
Shit. She really has stolen everything, it seems, not just his powers but everything, because he is – or was, but it’s too painful to think like that yet… shit, he can’t make himself think like that – indestructible. Untouchable. Definitely not terrified and helpless. It’s the second time she’s reduced him to that tonight, of course, and the fact that the only other time he’s felt anywhere near this useless was the first of those – where he couldn’t use his powers through technicality rather than physicality – only drives the point home…
But she’s never done anything like this before, has she? Never broken anyone irreparably (isn’t it so bloody ironic that he was celebrating being the *different* one?)… shit, no, he’s not going to use that word. There’s still some hope, right?
”Mar-Rogue?” he asks, his voice younger than it’s ever sounded, less certain. He doesn’t uncurl because he doesn’t want her to see him like this (whether *like this* means spinning out, or flatlining, is uncertain… maybe both, most likely) but his tone says it all. ”Y’just borrow powers, right?”
The obvious way to find out, of course, is to experiment… but he’s holding back from that until all other possible escape routes are closed… because that’s the only one that can really trap him. This is a fairly desperate last-ditch attempt, all things considered; she doesn’t know all her power can do, does she? Circumstance prevents the casual experimentation with which he’s (he’d? Stop it) mapped his. But something in him trusts that she’d know.
|
|
