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A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Star Lin - 04-27-2015
(ooc: So, this take place a hour or so from this post. Open to any members of the Immortal Flames that wish to give their condolences to John's Captain, offers to take Sam out to get good and drunk after he's finish with writing letters to the mens families, looking for John, or to check on how the injury Captain is doing.)
Sam Robinton stares at the first of the three letters that he would be writing to the families today. This was probably the hardest part of the job, expressing the sorrow and lost that they would...that all of them were experiencing today and over the coming weeks. He already made sure that barring the world ending, his own men would have the time to grieve for the lost of their brothers, and the three healers from his unit were resting...
He look over the miqo'te sleeping in the chair, though the sleep wasn't restful, if the whimpers coming from the sleeping figure was right. "John," he said, watching one ear turn to his direction. "I'm ok, John...I'm right here..."
John's face relax though it still show pain from the injuries that he took. He turn his head, the left side still bandage from the sword that try to take the kid's eye. Sam found it a bit ironic that he took the wound on the same side as he taken the slap from Mrs. Waterstrike. The boot was remove to show off the bandage that was wrap around the calf, where an arrow had hit home. He should pull rank and send the kid to a healer. He snort to himself, John wasn't a kid anymore, not after being bath in the fire of battle. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to do that at the moment.
"Still, love," Sam said, turning to one of the two pictures on his desk. His finger ran across face of the young red hair woman. "Can't help but still think of him as that kid that follow us everywhere, asking the others for stories of their adventures." He let his eyes slid over to the other picture, a picture of two lalafells, a Hellsguard, himself, the young woman from the other picture, and a younger John, grinning as he sat in front of their group. "We're the last of our group, Tanya. And as much as I love you, I'm not ready yet to sit at Thal's table with you."
Sam stretch, wincing himself as his half heal leg shifted, reminding him that he still had letters to finish and send out. Picking up the quail again he bent back over the letters that he was writing.
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Star Lin - 05-07-2015
(ooc: You know, I was actually planing to post for John. Well this morning Captain Robinton highjack my brain. I'll say this though, Warren, Howl, and Berrod, you can jump into this one if you want. Perhaps stop the kid from making a foolish mistake.)
Samuel Robinton limp out of the gate, inhaling the cooling night air. Though his leg would never be completely heal, the healers recommend him to keep exercising it. Well, wasn't going to go against a healer's advice, especially if it meant that the injury wouldn't effect his use of Sword and board. He blink as he drew near the bridge, "Speaking of healers," he mutter, seeing John standing in front of the large stone. He frown, noticing that the boy was in full robs. He remember that John hated robs, complaining many times to him about how the hood made his ears hurt from the wait of the fabric. "John," he said, "what are you doing down here? You should be getting some rest since I'm planning drills in the morning."
He watch John turn his head slightly in his direction, which set off the first small warning bell, because John was trying to hide his face. "oh, hi sam..." came the listless voice, which pretty much second louder warning bell go off in his head.
He rack his brain, trying to think what could set off this. The only thing that came to mind was Rendel's family showing up to claim his body. He remember the glares that had been shot in the miqo'te's direction. He excuse himself, claiming to work on research for his father. "Look, John, they...they were upset and he was their only son," he said, limping up behind his friend. "I'm sure that Warren and the other won't see any worst for you..." And it look like John wasn't listening. Sam's face took on a puzzle look, as he watch glove fingers trace against the scar at the corner of his mouth. He let a smile grace his lips. "So..." he said, knowing that move. He had done it enough times when Tanya had kissed him. "Who kissed you?"
"howl..." was the sad, heartbroken voice, and his fingers jerk ways from his lips like he had been burn.
The 3 and 4 bells didn't even go off, going straight to the siren. "Wait if this Howl kiss you why..." he began to ask, reaching out to place a hand on the miqo'te's shoulder, only to have John shield away from his touch. "You didn't..."
"He think's I hate him...at least I hope he thinks I hate him," was the quiet reply. "That way, I can't hurt him..."
"John," catching the miqo'te by his shoulders, he spins the other around, the hood falling back to reveal tear stain cheeks, "at least explain to him why..."
John jerk out from his grip. "NO!" he yelled. "I'm not going to stain them in that manner."
"That just it," Sam said. "You worry about what your touch would do to others yet it killing you too."
"I'll get over it...so long as there's not a chance of me raping them." He watch John pull the hood back over his head, hiding his face, himself from everyone else. "I'm going to Gridania."
"What?"
"Please tell Sir Warren, Lady Sei, Sir Berrod, and How...Sir Howl that I need to focus on my conjury studies."Â He took a couple of steps forward, "So I won't be able to attend any more Grind..." and Sam heard to chocking sob escape from the other before John took off.
"Wait....John stop..." Sam yelled, limping as quickly as he could after the miqo'te. "Private Waterstrike, stop this instant." If John got to the airship before he could catch him...Tanya's brother would disappear from his, no, their lives...
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Warren Castille - 05-07-2015
If there was any single word or phrase that Warren Castille could attribute to John Waterstrike, it would be well-intentioned. The miqo'te had volunteered his services to the Grindstone time and time again, and Warren had seen the sorrow in his eyes whenever someone would act hard and walk off a losing round without being healed. The same boy who might wonder why someone would do that, however, had similarly refused treatment at the hands of another. John didn't want to be an inconvenience, or slow anything down. Good intention. Bad idea.
Warren had his suspicions of the miqo'te's designs when he was first cowed into healing Howl. Those suspicions were confirmed when the man ran off and left his notes behind. Warren read them, of course. They outlined plans and risks, and Warren wasn't about to turn a blind eye to the circumstances. While John and Sam were having their decidedly-one-sided conversation, the Arbiter was going looking for Waterstrike. There was one certainty; The airship flight was canceled.
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Star Lin - 05-07-2015
Sam pause just long enough to search the sea of people around the enterance to the Quicksand. No hooded miqo'te so Sam quickly rush through the crowd, touching the aethernet crystal and teleported up to the enterance to the airship deck. He didn't even wait to reorient himself, throwing himself in a stumble up the stairs. He caught himself against the wall as his bad leg try to go out on him.
"Did a miqo'te in robs pass by here?" he asked. Seeing the sworn nod. "I need to get up there now. He's trying to go awol."
"Of course sir. But it's been a few minutes since he went up the elevator."
He understood what the sworn wasn't saying. That Sam may be too late to catch John. 'Yet,' he thought, diving into the elevator, 'that the ship hasn't left.' He didn't wait for the door to open fully, stumbling out just as he hear the ship pulling away. "No, no, no," he whisper. Still he might be able to catch him on the next airship. He rush up the short hall, mind trying to puzzle out why the attendant was staring into a corner. It was only when he came into the main area that he realize why the attendant was staring at and for that moment, Captain Samuel Robinton allow himself to collapse in relief.
****
Several minutes earlier
John stood for a second, allowing himself to reorient himself, and search his small pouch for the gil he would need for the airship. He ignore the burn in his eyes as new tears threaten to fall. 'It better this way...' he thought to himself, trying to push away the needy ache in his soul, to forget the way Howl's lips had felt on his own. 'I can't help anyone...and I can't allow myself to be a threat to them...' He ran up to the Sworn guarding the gate to the airships, pulling the hood down farther over his face. "I need to get to the airship, now," he said, glad that his voice was at least holding steady even if it still sounded heartbroken.
Stepping out of the elevator, he rush up to the counter. "I need a ticket to Grindania..." he said, voice quiet. It would be a moment later that he realize the pro and cons of hooded robs. Yes, the hood hided his face but it also block his side vision as well. So as he waited for the attendant to let him through the gate, he didn't realize that the Arbiter was already there, waiting on him.
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Warren Castille - 05-07-2015
It was largely a matter of luck. Given what he knew about John Waterstrike and the situation at hand, Warren had gambled that drastic action would be the natural recourse. It would have been easy to pursue him across Thanalan, after all. Numerous outposts, plus the personal measure of his chocobo not being the most compatible beast of burden. The most logical escape plan he could come up with was the furthest reaching one, and that meant air travel.
He'd only been waiting a few short moments before the robed miqo'te made his way onto the landing. Warren had seen enough of John coming and going from his time standing on that sun baked rock, and his usual reserved stride was thrown off. The intent to hide made Warren cautious, but there came the staggered voice a moment later as the healer looked for an easy way out.
"Got business then, John?"
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Star Lin - 05-07-2015
John spun around at that familiar voice. "Sir...Sir Warren," he said, voice sounding heartbroken to his own ears. He back away from Warren, keeping him at a distance. As long as he could keep Warren away from him, he was sure the Highlander would be safe from him. "I...I didn't know...you would be here." He found his back against the railing. "I...I'm suppose to be heading to...Gridania, for conjury..." His eyes widen as he saw Sam was here know. They were both here and then that means that he would hurt Sam. He had to get away, had to protect them, all of them. He blindly reach for the aether, doing a blind teleport.
Sam had regain his feet, giving order to the sworn not to let miqo'te out. He slowly came to the highlander. "Thank you for stopping him, sir. He not thinking straight..." his eyes widening as he realize what John. "John, stop. You can't teleport, not in the state your in."
(ooc: short. Have to leave for work)
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Warren Castille - 05-07-2015
Things began to happen quickly. Warren had barely been able to mutter a sentence to the miqo'te when they were joined by a third party. A precursory glance established his unbalanced gait - not a threat, despite John's obvious reticence to being approached. Before Warren could speak anything to that point, John began to focus and was obviously preparing some sort of incantation - He'd watched the miqo'te work the Grindstone many nights and had a feel for his tells.
Unknown party, distrust and disquiet, trying to escape-
Warren did the most logical thing he could do in such a situation. Stepping forward he wrapped an arm around the miqo'te's shoulder and gave him a good, jarring rattle. With a boisterous grin he gestured to the limping man.
"The Shroud's been there longer than the Jewel has, John! Let's have a drink first, introduce me to your friend. No hurry at all."
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Star Lin - 05-08-2015
John lost the tentative hold on the aether the moment that Warren gave him a good rattle. He froze, feeling the highlander's arm around his shoulder, and terror locking up his muscle. "Warren..." he said, shaking badly. He turn to look up at Warren, the hood coming away enough for him to get a good look at the miqo'te's face, the terror alight in purplish eyes, not for himself but for his friend. "You don't know what your doing, putting yourself at risk touching me..."
Sam stop as the Highlander grab, was about to approach closer only to get the feeling that he might be consider a threat to John as well. 'Warren...explain why he sort of look familiar,' he thought, remembering the many times that John would talk about the happening at the Stone. Ok, time to see if he could get through John's panic.
"Please Sam, you got to make him understand that I can't put them at risk..."
Really, if it was Sam choice, he would have probably used a sleep potion at this point. That probably wouldn't have gone over well with Warren. 'Think, Sam. What would Tanya do...' His eyes slid down John's body, alighting on the gloves, knowing now how to work this. "John, you won't hurt them..."
"I will," John said. "I'll take and take and take...and I can't stop it..."
"John, look at your hands. What do you see?"
Look down...glove cover hands trembling. "gloves...but I still..."
"Remember what Tanya told you..." Sam said. "That you won't 'see' as long as you wear gloves."
"But..."
"They'll be fine. I promise, John." He took a caution step forward. "So, let's do as Warren says. Let get something to drink. Been wanting to meet your friends...since that's all you ever talk about." He held his breath, eyes lock on John, and only release it when he saw the faintest of nods. He look over to Warren, letting the other know that for the moment that it seem the panic was under control.
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Warren Castille - 05-08-2015
Body language. It was something Warren had tried to be fluent in since he was a child; The nervous disposition of a thief, the calm demeanor of someone trying to haggle, the wary look of someone with the weight of guilt on their shoulders. Exposure to people throughout society had been a valuable teacher on the kind of things people said without speaking, and the situation - for as much as it seemed a casual happenstance encounter - was anything but. John was trembling, and it seemed to be with fear, but Warren was certain it wasn't fear of the approaching man.
Their dialogue was mostly one-sided, with the stranger talking John down. He latched onto Warren's idea of sitting down and talking, which landed the newcomer firmly on Warren's good side. Without waiting for permission, the highlander began to lead John around to the cozy portside bar that adorned the landing deck. His armor rattled, slightly as he reeled John in, or at least attempted to.
"There's enough ilms of tempered steel between you and me, John. I'm not worried."
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - No Longer Exists - 05-08-2015
Doctor Oak lived in his own little world most of the time, it was a world full of reading. Sometimes, in his brief free moments, he considered just how much a curse it was to be literate.Â
The stalwart physician in his white and red robe, Red Wings patches on the shoulders, traipsed along the exchange with a stack of parchments that could have been a book if they'd been bound together. His reading glasses, yellow framed, sat on his nose and contrasted brilliantly with his dark complexion and darker, verdant hair. Occasionally, he was greeted by commonfolk in passing and generally smiled their way, but was otherwise distracted.
As he walked, peripherally aware of his surroundings, his eyes scanned document after document until one wide, booted foot tripped over another. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the streets of Ul'dah, Oak stood still and stared down at the casualty list in his thick fingered hand. Wasn't that....John's regiment?
Great big lungs blew a great big sigh, he hadn't realized how hard they'd been hit and John had tried to hide it from him just like he tried to play off the wound he'd suffered. Doc was no stranger to death and loss, like anyone else who'd dedicated themselves to a cause, military or personally or companywide. He quietly resolved to have a conversation with the Private one day, feeling grief for what he knew the young miqo'te felt.
What happened was kismet though, a strange coincidence that the big Roe would only attribute to the mysterious workings of the Twelve when he realized it. While he wandered his way into the lift to the airship landing, reading through more and more field reports of injuries and casualties in the ever growing conflicts; Oak noticed discrepancies and his brows furrowed. Flamesmen stationed in Ul'dah with recent war wounds? How odd.
All this was lost though when he stepped out of the lift and glanced up from the pile to see an unfamiliar man, the back of Warren Castille (For who wouldn't recognize him?), and a robed individual, all heading for the portside eatery. Warren was exactly whom the Doctor could ally with in regards to seeking out John and checking on him, so he followed the three quietly in hopes of having a moment to spare with the Arbiter.
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Star Lin - 05-08-2015
Sam slowly edge over to the other side of John, flanking the miqo'te, though not touching him just yet. 'Not until we actually have him sitting,' he thinks, limping over to the other chair. Taking a moment to pull out some gil, he call the bar keep over. "Three beers...and..." he added an extra 100 gil, "you didn't hear anything at all." He settle down on the chair, missing the larger Roe that had enter the flight deck. Ok, so now that they had him sitting, time to see if they could get him off edge.
The beers were place in front of them and Sam took a long pull on his. "Kid, I know that the healers said that I should exercise but I don't think they were planning on me chasing you all over Ul'dah." He look over to Warren. "Names Samuel Robinton, current Captain of Dagger unit, his CO, and acting brother since my girl's death." His eyes glance down at John, glad to see that he hadn't pull in on himself. "So, you're going to official introduce me to Warren, John?"
Glove hands reach out, taking hold of the tankard but not lifting it to his lips. "how..." came the broken voice, "how did you know...know I would be here?" He hadn't even thought of just disappearing until Sam had ask him who had kiss him. "eleven years..." came the whisper words. Eleven years since he had touch anyone, the lost of contact eating at his soul, little by little. He thought he could stand it, until Howl made him realize alone he was. 'If I could disappear, I wouldn't hurt them...wouldn't hurt Howl.'
Sam frown, 'If he hadn't come in on a returning airship...why was he up here then?' Sam almost miss the words that John had whisper. Had it really been eleven years since the night of the fever, when Tanya found out what exactly John could do.
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Warren Castille - 05-08-2015
They took one of the tables nearest to the wall of the little bar and Warren helped himself to the one facing the doorway. It was more force of habit than anything else, though it had the small fortune of granting him line of sight on the good doctor. Warren didn't make any sort of outward acknowledgment short of eye contact as he turned to sit in the chair, taking mental note that their conversation was to be off the record. John's comrade was making certain to provide comfort.
The captain introduced himself and Warren filed the rank and title away - It was unknown to him now but could come in handy in the future. He smiled as the man pressed John to introduce him by name, momentarily aware that his own reputation likely preceded him. John wasn't put off by the small talk, so there wasn't any reason to play ignorant with him.
"Found your notes. Wondered if you might cut and run like you did with Howl. Decided to work my way around from the exits." John wasn't exactly listening, though, and Warren's eyebrow and curiosity piqued at the mention of hurting Howl.
"You're worried a lot about him, huh? I'm sure he appreciates it, John. Hells, I appreciate it. But trust me on this, alright? Running away from people who are reaching out to you hurts a lot more than anything that could happen otherwise."
The highlander's tone is steady and solid; He's speaking from experience, from the heart. For this conversation to be happening now of all times, still in the shadow of the wasteland of the prior year, seemed like some sort of twisted echo.
"Running hasn't ever helped."
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - No Longer Exists - 05-08-2015
Eye contact with Warren achieved and to Oak's mind, a message had passed between the two men briefly which prompted the doctor to approach the three and he was truly glad that he did. For as he drew nearer, he clearly heard John's voice questioning something.Â
Oak was not privy to the conversation at hand, but he had a sense that there was great weight to the three who were talking and with that in mind, coupled with the documents in hand, he chose to greet the three men. And why not? He knew two of them. "This appears to be the popular gathering place for good drink and better companions." He began by way of announcing himself, though instead of glancing at Warren or the unknown; he settled his eyes on John and asked HIM the question. "Mind if I join you? It seems to be the right time for a drink, but not the time for the Quicksand's noise."
As if to explain why, he held up the stack of parchment in his large hand and smiled somberly. "Casualty reports."
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - Star Lin - 05-09-2015
Maybe it was years on the field of battle or it could have been just the six years he had taken it upon himself to keep an eye out on his girl's brother. He was on his feet, placing himself between John and the stranger, and wishing that he had brought his sword with him. He ignore the tremble of the muscle as it protest the sudden movement. There was something familiar about the patch design on the other's white and red robs.
"Sir Oak..." John didn't quite lift his head up. Seeing the look Sam was giving him, "He's part of Captain Erik's unit and he helps out at the Grindstone as well." John push the tankard over the other seat. "You can have mine, sir."
"Sorry, Sir. Didn't know you were John's friend as well." He sat down, hand trying to rub out the protesting muscle. "Casualty reports... yeah, still dealing with my unit own reports." He saw John lean down a little, hand glowing a little. "It's already heal, John. Don't think that even you can fix it." He narrow his eyes, "Now are you going to explain about these notes that Warren is talking about?"
"He heal it wrong," John said.
"Of course it didn't heal right. Black Jack said it was shatter, had to sleep me to try and reset it."
"No, I see a couple of clean break but he heal them out of alignment."
Sam frown about to ask what he meant, decide that John might try to use this as an out. "John...worry about my leg later." He pointed at John, "All you told me is that you were doing some research for Thomas. I'm getting the feeling that their more to it then that. Explain now, John."
John turn to Warren, to Oak, and then to Sam. He couldn't tell them. He couldn't breaks Howl trust in what he been told.
(ooc: Would have done more but it's late. Go ahead and post and I'll try to get John talking more in the morning.)
RE: A Captain's shoulder the grief (Open) - No Longer Exists - 05-10-2015
"Sergeant Zealous Oak, 88th Regiment. Chief Medical Officer of the Red Wings." He said to Sam as he pulled up a chair and sat down. The stack of reports was placed down lightly so he could drink John's ale. It was improper to deny a gift, after all.
"You know, if John's right then we could fix the leg properly. If you have time, I would be glad to use my medical equipment to determine its possible success." Oak said to Sam, head tilted slightly. "Unless you prefer your current physiological state."
While Sam sorted out his feelings on the subject of his limb, Doc turned his attention back toward John who seemed truly distraught. "Is aught alright, John? You seem melancholy." With the question hanging in the air, Oak took a long swig from the tankard of ale.