returnjourneylogs | action

Passengers: Waver & You
Location: Infirmary/Loading Bay
Date: Backdated to Feb. 14th. Happy Valentine's?
Summary: Post-outing scuffle fallout
Warnings: Just one big nerd feeling sorry for himself.

Infirmary

[A shoulder sprain, a cracked rib, head and neck contusions, and a rather burned right hand. All in all, it could have been a lot worse for Waver, and it’s not long before the autodoc has him patched up. He sleeps through the process, desperately in need of rest in a safe place. His dreams are vague but tense; trapped at the edge of a desert cliff, the ocean impossibly far below, a charging army on the horizon.

There’s the beeping of machinery alerting anyone nearby as Waver comes to, good as new. He doesn’t move at first, staring blankly at the sterile ceiling above, letting the reality rush back in. He doesn’t seem awake until he picks up his right arm to look at his hand, which he burned twice in the fight, using the fire as a catalyst for magic. He flexes his long fingers, now unblemished and whole, before laying his hand on his chest. It’s another moment until he sits up, eyes scanning the room. Part of him was hoping he was alone, so he didn’t have to talk yet. Luckily for him, he was not.]

I, ah. I guess I’m all better now.

–

Loading Bay Observatory

[Before he can retreat back to his room and hide for a while to ~~sulk~~ write a very long, very detailed report of the incident, Waver stops at the designated smoking area inside the loading bay. It was cold, but right now that’s what he felt like he needed. It had a way of making you feel awake. Alive.

He’s in there for a long time, blankly watching the equipment mindlessly roll back and forth. As you approach, he’s finishing up one cigarette, which he stubs out on a nearby railing, before immediately taking another from his pack. He lights it up with a spell, using two fingers not unlike an old car lighter, holding them to the end until it begins to smolder. He pokes sadly at his nearly empty packet, sighing deeply, a quick cloud of smoke emanating from him. Only two left after this.]

Not good.

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[Waver reflects on that a moment, looking at his hand again, opening and closing it slowly a few times.]

Not Rhys. I thought I might convince him to my side, but it's not surprising he chose his fellow inmates. Jack, maybe not. Travis, though.

[Waver shakes his head before looking to William again.]

He took my gun. I am fairly certain he would have used it on me, then to ambush any wardens who showed up to help.

[Waver's having difficulty suppressing the guilt sweeping over him, but he makes a very good attempt in the name of professionalism.]

I owe you and all the wardens an apology. I was being very shortsighted, and as a result, put a lot of people in danger.

[ He steps back, giving the other man some room (and yet: he doesn't suggest leaving the infirmary). At mention of Rhys his expression constricts, his gaze sharpening as he studies Waver. ] Nobody died. The people living in those places—they don't get to come back. [ He allows that a moment to sink in. ]

I don't know Jack hardly at all. Smart, I guess. [ Stay off everyone's radar, literally and figuratively; leap at the first chance of escape. ] How were they together? Friendly, squabbling? Travis broke Rhys' fucking nose a few weeks back.

[That comment obviously stings him. That guilt now manifests as a deep frown now.]

I-I know. This is why I at least had us camp quite far from the village.

[At the mentioning of Rhys, Waver does manage to raise an eyebrow.]

That so. Bad luck for him, then, I think Jack broke it on him again.

[He takes a moment to think on their behavior. Other complaining about Waver's driving, everything had gone pretty uneventfully. He shrugs lightly.]

They must have been in on it since the beginning, but if so, the alliance didn't last long. None of them seemed surprised by what was happening, but they also weren't about to help each other either. Rhys got his nose broken because Jack wanted the ATV to herself, I think.

[He absently rubbed the back of his neck, looking around at anything that wasn't William.]

They're in it together in as much as they're against us. I think that's about it.

[ He looks to the side, his face carefully blank. There's a hysterical laugh buried deep down somewhere: Rhys, pissed at him for not stopping Travis from breaking his nose; Rhys, knocking him unconscious and driving off with none other than Travis only to get his nose broken again.

God, it'd be nice to fucking scream. He wonders if Waver Velvet's experiencing the same urge.

His voice, however, comes out soft and even. Considering. ] Who did all that damage? [ He trails a hand along his own collar. ] Travis?

[In retrospect? Yeah, it's a little funny, even to Waver.

He gives William a light nod.]

Yeah. Never in my life did I ever think anyone would be pulling WWE moves on me, let alone twice in one night.

[He looks at his hand again for a moment.]

The burn was my fault, though. Fire expels enough energy in an emergency good for casting. That's how I got that flare off. Called in the cavalry. I'm still a little shocked anyone saw it.

[Waver folds his arms, that frown returning as he keeps his eyes on the floor.]

I... I owe you all an apology. I foolishly thought that taking them on a quiet trip in the middle of nowhere wouldn't lead to anything. That they wouldn't be interested in running off in a place like this. I underestimated how desperate they really are.

[ William scratches at the back of his head—low, behind his ear. There's no reaction to the apology. No visceral response, anyway: warden apologies are hard to come by, and his inclination is to scrutinize. Hold it up to the light, see where the cracks are. ] You feel it still? [ His hand, the burn.

He decides he doesn't like the way I'm sorry comes with excuses on its heels. ] It's not personal. [ One of the things that bothers him most about Rhys—that he would have done it to anyone, that William was just an impediment, a body in the way. He waits for Waver to look up, ready to catch his eye. ] Have you ever been locked up? [ No. ] Cut off?

[He shakes his head.] No, it's fine. Healed up better than any spell I could have used on it. [Feels a little strange to be shown up by a machine, but Waver is fairly certain that the time and place they're in is a completely post-magic society. Technology so precise, it might as well be magic.]

Right, I know that they would have done the same to any warden. I just happened to be the unlucky one that day.

[When Waver finally does catch William's look, he gives his head a slow shake.] No. So I can only imagine how they feel. I'm trying to understand. To be on their side. But they're never going to see it that way.

[ That's interesting—and maybe unfortunate. Even on the Barge there'd been the death toll, a phantom reminder that a resurrected body still kept score. ] You're taking it personally. [ It's curt, the irritation William's kept from his voice emerging in his posture, the cut of his gaze. He flicks a look around the room, wanting to pace.

Martyrs. ]

What happened—that's not the important part. What's important's what you do now. You gonna talk to them?

[Waver lets out a quiet, annoyed noise at that. But only because William is right.]

Sorry. I guess I am. I'm trying not to.

[At the thought of having to talk to the culprits, Waver folds his arms, frowning in thought.]

Yes. I have to. I... really have no idea what to say., though. I'm sure they don't really care about how I feel about the whole thing. [Not self-deprecation, but stated as fact.]

[ William shrugs—the movement paradoxically heavy—and for the first time wishes they were surrounded by something other than the sterility of the infirmary. But where would they go? For a drink? He can't even imagine it—joining the ranks of wardens who responded to everything by crawling into a bottle, wardens with their post-breach binges. ]

How do you feel? [ Not hard to guess, but it's in the telling. ]

[Waver had been trying very hard not to fall back on alcohol, but he's already spent a good portion of his stipend on that tempting warden's lounge liquor cabinet. He's not proud of his inability to handle stress.

His head tilts as he considers that question.]

Embarrassed. Unprofessional. [A light shrug.] Mostly unhappy about the use of violence, both from them and myself.

[Waver had only done what he needed to defend himself, but Travis did come back unconscious from a stun gun shot.]

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