sirenspull_logs | late night date

Entry tags:

late night date

Who: judge (

iudex), jury (

littlest_lord) and executioner (

psychopath)
When: oct 15th, wee hours of morning
Where: all over the port right up into Phantomhive manor
Summary: A romantic walk in the Port! Featuring gross flesh wounds and broken curfews. (Oswald goes to pick Jack up for being truant, horrible things ensue.)
Warnings: said gross flesh wounds. Cursing. Gratuitous angst. Possibility of pie gallows.

[jack, all in all, was having a fairly good day. Enjolras was in AGI's hands, he still had til sunrise to sneak back into Phantomhive manor, and hey, no amount of Chain-induced weakness would bring his mood down.

Instead it does, and he's lying on his back on some sidewalk in the middle of Sector 4. His motorcycle's parked across the street, and so is his helmet; Jack's just preoccupied with catching his breath because holy shit, using B. Rabbit was an endeavor in endurance. He couldn't remember it being this hard to use him.

Belatedly, he thinks, he should check up on Oz later. But for now, he'll just lie down on cobblestone at one in the morning and watch the stars. Hopefully he has at least five minutes before any sort of monster approaches (again).]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hey, I can cook! I can make you breakfast too, lord sleepyhead.

[He sounds affronted that Oswald would ever question his cooking skills (however nobody will ever hold a candle to Gil's cooking), and makes a disparaging sound once they reach Oswald's rooms. Well. How would this work.

Jack's oblivious to the severity of his arm's injury, a gash of a thing crossing the inside of his elbow from bicep to forearm, that probably needs stitches-- well! He'd been thinking it was just some cut.]

Mm, I think you should have the bathroom first. [LIKE HE'S THE ROOM'S INTENDED OCCUPANT, YES.] How's the bleeding?

I'll look forward to it.

[no, really, he will. master glen couldn't cook to save his life and lacie would forget everything, so this outta be.. fun... whatever that is, of course.

and then that's said and NOPE. staring staring staring.]

You're the one with pie on you - go. I can wait. [doesn't.. answer.... the question, nope, he doesn't want to think about it bc it's actually pretty bad. waiting for wounds to heal is a bitch.

- oh wait. that's right. out loud after thought:] - I have to wash your hair. [whelp guess he's going, too.]

[Jack glares at him suspiciously, but he- well, Oswald still looks as right as bloody rain, maybe his wounds are healing faster...? He hmphs and stomps into the bathroom, waiting for Oswald to get in.]

Can you unplait it for me, then? [Wow he's really going to wash Jack's hair, this is weird. He unzips his jacket (pie and cream going splat on tile) and steps out of his boots,] I'll just-

[oops oh shit he forgot about - the jacket drops to the floor in a pile of bloody cream and oh, wow, his sleeve's stuck to his arm. He tugs at it tentatively and rips the clotting blood off, hand starting to drip drip drip blood on the tiles.

There's a pause, an awkward one.]

I- think I'll just wash my own hair, you can wait outside.

[He says cheerfully, lifting his good arm and proceeding to try and herd Oswald out! Yep. Nothing to see here!!]

I'll be done in ten!

[just kind of follows jack in like he usually does, passively listening to him talk - he likes the sound of jack's voice after six months without (this won't change, he feels) - eyes glued to his arm as jack starts shedding -] Of course.

[and then -]

[son of a-

he's going to hang him by his plait.]

[no, no, calm down, jack is human and stupid and he should have expected this from the beginning. and then jack tugs at his sleeve and

more

blood.

a h.]

[no, he is definitely not letting himself be herded out of the bathroom! as a matter of fact he remains an unmovable statue short of lashing out to grab jack's good arm and a towel from elsewhere and- how dare you try to herd me out of the bathroom!!]

You will not! [he might be mad. who knows. wooooosaaaaah calm down--]

Raise your arm. [look he's already moving to help and he doesn't seem to be in a good enough mood to start handing out free will as he turns on jack quick and lets his arm go in his frustration so that he can tie the towel around the wounded arm.]

[nope, absolutely not handing out free will today too buttmad STUPID HUMANS STUPID JACK STUPID NIGHT!!]

And you call me a prat. [INTERNAL ANGRY GRUMBLING AS HE TIES.]

It's just a scratch, silly, it doesn't matter. You're more injured than I am, thusly- prat.

[But the pie and the-- stickiness, and Jack lets out a breath as he reclaims his arm long enough to remove his shirt. It's gross and it's bleeding angrily because Jack is an idiot; it absolutely needs stitches.

Jack looks very unconcerned about this and tries tugging his arm back GIVE IT BACK IT'S FINE COME ON. To be honest, at this point, he's more concerned about getting himself unsticky enough so that Oswald can be properly tended to.]

I'll- take care of it before I clean the kitchen, all right? Let me go-

[He's fascinated, really, wow, why is Oswald so angry, he was the one who had a gazillion wounds! Jack should be pissed at him, not the other way around.]

I heal and you do not - [do we have to go through this again really?? he's making grabby hands for jack's other hand already, moving it over the towel and jack can shut up really.

jack's yandere vision makes - well, a few (... right. he's healing shut up) into a gazillion and oswald easily forgets the pain, jack's shirtlessness, and that fatigue for this. a scratch it may be in jack's head, but oswald's so caught up in what to do next that he just doesn't compute it to that.]

Apply pressure to it- no, that's not all right and I'll absolutely not let you go, Jack. [if oswald could sneer, that would almost be it right there. he only barely manages to calm his shit before he snaps his head up and ends up probably nosebumping jack again. too close, too close, too close for his anger to keep up- gosh.

breathe.

right. (he thinks he has jack's blood on his hands and he really doesn't want to think about that.) stitches, he needs thread–]

Where can I find thread? [–ah!] —a needle as well.

[y u p sure is thinking of stitching jack up. :T]

I'll not bleed out.

[Jack startles when Oswald looks up, and he quickly looks down at his arm and dutifully presses the towel against it. It's not an artery; he'll live, and he wants to tell Oswald this, but the other man looks so...intent on patching him up and Jack realises that he likes it.

Oswald cares and is his best friend and he's- tending to Jack even when he's injured, himself, and it makes his chest ache. Jack breathes out.]

Drawers over there, I think? [Every bathroom here has a first-aid kit underneath the mirror, drawers under the sink and the countertop.]

Hey, maybe you can cross-stitch me. [He quirks, half-smile in an attempt to lighten the situation up.]

[jack is lucky he has a hold on that towel or oswald would have snapped it back and squeezed it around jack's wound until it really hurt so that he would see the severity of the situation. ....except no he wouldn't have, but it's a very tempting thought. very, very tempting, but he opts for a glare and to stop thinking about violent things.

he is not violent and jack's already hurt (and suicidal, as he's heard, and that puts a cap on his anger and shuts it off).

there's no need to make it worse, and he tells himself this as he shuffles about to snatch what he needs from the drawers and set it- somewhere, oswald doesn't care as long as it's within reach.

a pause. he has the thread and the needle and- and there's not enough time to boil it is.. there.... shit he didn't hesitate to knock jack out, but when it comes to asking jack to pinch the injured skin together so that he can stitch it up... setting a hand over jack's on the towel. he's steady, but -]

...do you want it to hurt more than it already will? [bland, unimpressed, and worried above all else.]

[jack's already holding the edges of the wound together, blinking up at him through watery eyes because, it stings. It hurts, actually, now that Oswald's said it, and he sighs out.]

Why are you even asking? Goodness.

[he smiles at the bathroom tile. It's a pleasant thought that Oswald could theoretically make him pay for his sins, here in the port; whatever pain the man would give him, jack would take it and cherish it. Perhaps it could be the only thing that is his.]

Just do it. It's just me.

[oswald doesn't shake; watery eyes embed themselves into his memory, and he doesn't whine or shake not even on the inside where everything is cobwebs of emotion and the memories of glen baskerville. he's too old for things like this now, but he still feels the pinpricks of despair crawling over his skin and -

he has to shut this down and reboot on safety mode. this is ridiculous, but he does so hate seeing jack in pain longer than he has to be.

'it's just me.']

[—oh. oh, because that makes it any better?

it's all grit and ground when he frowns.] -that's all that matters to me. [but he finally, steadily, presses the needle through skin - rinse and repeat, his stomach tosses and turns - and he hates this he hates this hehatesthis hehatesthis--]

Just you.

[here, where he's able to say that and have it be complete and utter truth.]

[he flinches and flinches and clenches a hand on Oswald's shoulder; getting stitches is not a fun thing, but if it's Oswald who does it then it's fine.]

You're silly.

[he's dreamt of oswald's hair, many times, of the top of his head. Of his hands. They're as frequent as the ones that have lacie in it; but not all of them are nightmares. He can't comprehend how the other man can say something so-

Silly.]

Y'know, you deserve someone better. [he says it matter-of-factly. w e l l it's not like he's letting oswald go though.] Also, you already smell of blood.

[he's sorry and sorry some more, but it must be done and he can't wait to finish and be done with this so that he can curl up and maybe die. dying sounds like a grand idea right now. it's such a lovely night.

he'd scowl if he weren't so focused on finishing the task at hand. absent-mindedly:]

I'm an idiot. [not silly. master glen called him an idiot, so an idiot he must be.

and even though he... honestly doesn't get that (jack doesn't know what oswald deserves- he just barely knows himself), doesn't catch on immediately, he still manages to give something coherent that it isn't "i don't deserve to exist, honestly".]

I don't know what you're talking about. [he doesn't. (kind of. again, focused on this.) one. last. stitch. unconcerned about himself as he finishes:] -and that's because there is blood on my clothes.

[they soaked it all up like a sponge!]

My Romeo is an idiot.

[softly, and he pulls away, as soon as the thread is cut, and he just- picks at oswald's jacket and tries to push it off. Because he really is a massive idiot because dude why. The cream in his hair is drying out and the blood on oswald's shirt is drying out and- ]

Well, since I sat still for this, you should sit still while I clean you up!

[??] 'Romeo'?

[his name is oswald, not romeo!! you mean the blood on oswald's once white shirt--? he's panicking briefly on the inside as he sets the needle back down, but not pulling himself away even if he might want to throw his hands up like slow down dude you don't want to see the damage.

he feels like he needs to cover his ears, especially with the way that jack reacted to him being hurt in the first place. or jump out of a window. or die. the pain is coming back to him as he moves that shoulder (or, honestly, that side in general).

fight or flight, on! jacket.. off... darting his eyes down and wow that does look like it was life threatening once, doesn't it? aaa well.]

...are you sure? [if jack lets him do it, he'll honestly just sit out shirtless the entire night and let the wound heal like that. but, hm.]

[and jack hopes Oswald will never find out what the reference is for!! He can settle for watching Jack's expressions chase themselves all over his face.

First is surprise.]

[horror, as shaking fingers drift down to the front of his bloody gross blood-crusted oh god why is there so much blood, why- jack states at him and his wounds and he wants to throw up.]

[and here is where Oswald should cover his ears because he opens his mouth to yell and wail and scream at his idiot of a best friend and

nothing comes out. Words won't. Sounds won't. He chokes on air and guilt and he's like a fallen man in his death throes.]

[he clutches with pale sticky fingers at oswald's arms, curling into his sleeves, and he curls up into himself like he's ashamed to look at oswald in the face. (he is.)]

I-I--

I'm sorry.

[this was his fault. Tears drip into the blood pooling on floor, ink in water, and jack wants to die.]

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--

YES GOOD LOVE ME FOREVER X-(

how did that translate to love in your oswald to normal person dictionary (unsure)!!

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[3/3] yan lyfe you can't stop me!!

[1/a day in the yan lyfe]

[2/can so totally stop you]

[3/5?] except when i can't FML

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done flies into space bye