John Crichton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ss_buttcrack) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2023-12-25 05:45 pm
ss_buttcrack) wrote in come_sailaway2023-12-25 05:45 pm
Event Aftermath
Who: John Crichton & Open
What: Processing the aftermath of the excursion
When: Last week of December
Where: Cabin, stan the man, other places as needed
Warning: Alcoholism/Drugs in the context of struggling with/losing sobriety, topics of the torture he experienced in The Village, grief, light mention of throwing up
Kllin' me, killin' me but I don't feel the pain [In The Cabin]
He startles awake at 6:00 with a big gasping breath. Holy shit. Is he back? That's the crappy cruise-bed mattress he feels under him. For just a few seconds, he doesn't open his eyes. He lays there with his head swimming through a mix of relief and regret, anguish and remorse. They got him. They actually got him. They made him... Frell! He swore no one would ever get inside his head again and they...
"FRELL!" he yells to the ceiling, slamming his fists on the bed beside him (sorry, not sorry Arthur). "Son of a bitch!"
Part of him still misses it. Part of him still hurts because he couldn't complete his mission. Part of him still wants to save Number 2.
He looks down at the badge pinned to his chest and a wave of nausea rises to the back of his throat. He rips that off and hurls it across the room, then he leaps out of bed and sprints to the sink to be sick.
Sold you a lie and you bought it [Various texts]
A few hours later, once he's had some time to pull himself together, he pulls out his phone and starts going down the short list of people he needs to check on. (If you have positive CR, that's you.) He can't muster much more than a quick text to each that says some variation of:
Still alive. Still here. Not doing so hot. If you need someone to sit quietly with and be not so hot together, give me a shout. I'll be in a dark corner until then.
- Cmdr. Crichton
Running from something that I can't really explain [Stan The Man - Come Bother Him]
Crichton is slumped in front of the bar. After walking by about a bajillion times in one day, he finally broke down and just went in to sit. Because it feels like something is missing from his after-trauma sulking experience if he can't be slumped over a bar.
In front of him sits a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. No alcohol. He's playing lightly with the button on a gingerbread man, picking at it. None of the cookies have been bitten into and the glass of milk is still full.
"I guess this is day one again," he mutters to himself. The Village pumped him full of drugs, so technically that broke his sobriety streak. Just one more way they frelled it all up for him.
Show me where it hurts, I'll show you how it works [Wildcard]
Hit me!
What: Processing the aftermath of the excursion
When: Last week of December
Where: Cabin, stan the man, other places as needed
Warning: Alcoholism/Drugs in the context of struggling with/losing sobriety, topics of the torture he experienced in The Village, grief, light mention of throwing up
Kllin' me, killin' me but I don't feel the pain [In The Cabin]
He startles awake at 6:00 with a big gasping breath. Holy shit. Is he back? That's the crappy cruise-bed mattress he feels under him. For just a few seconds, he doesn't open his eyes. He lays there with his head swimming through a mix of relief and regret, anguish and remorse. They got him. They actually got him. They made him... Frell! He swore no one would ever get inside his head again and they...
"FRELL!" he yells to the ceiling, slamming his fists on the bed beside him (sorry, not sorry Arthur). "Son of a bitch!"
Part of him still misses it. Part of him still hurts because he couldn't complete his mission. Part of him still wants to save Number 2.
He looks down at the badge pinned to his chest and a wave of nausea rises to the back of his throat. He rips that off and hurls it across the room, then he leaps out of bed and sprints to the sink to be sick.
Sold you a lie and you bought it [Various texts]
A few hours later, once he's had some time to pull himself together, he pulls out his phone and starts going down the short list of people he needs to check on. (If you have positive CR, that's you.) He can't muster much more than a quick text to each that says some variation of:
Still alive. Still here. Not doing so hot. If you need someone to sit quietly with and be not so hot together, give me a shout. I'll be in a dark corner until then.
- Cmdr. Crichton
Running from something that I can't really explain [Stan The Man - Come Bother Him]
Crichton is slumped in front of the bar. After walking by about a bajillion times in one day, he finally broke down and just went in to sit. Because it feels like something is missing from his after-trauma sulking experience if he can't be slumped over a bar.
In front of him sits a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. No alcohol. He's playing lightly with the button on a gingerbread man, picking at it. None of the cookies have been bitten into and the glass of milk is still full.
"I guess this is day one again," he mutters to himself. The Village pumped him full of drugs, so technically that broke his sobriety streak. Just one more way they frelled it all up for him.
Show me where it hurts, I'll show you how it works [Wildcard]
Hit me!