Dr. John H. Watson, M.D. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lightconductor) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-09-04 12:56 pm
lightconductor) wrote in come_sailaway2022-09-04 12:56 pm
Entry tags:
Rest and Recuperation
Who: Watson and you. Hopefully.
When: vaguely backdated to after the event, and further on.
Where here and there. Definitely a spa day if you want a spa day.
Spa Day
Zombie hordes are not very pleasant, it turns out. Watson, for his part, can't shake the feeling that he still needs a bath from all the dust and grit from unthinkable sources, and he really spent a good amount of time overreaching himself. He's decently mobile, after all, but he did some running around without his cane, and some hauling around of people, and while he can put that sort of pain on the backburner for a little while, he can't do it indefinitely. He knew there would be a cost when he did it, and now it's here, and he aches.
The stiffness in his shoulder is easier to hide than the pain in his leg, but either way he just wants to let it soak in the soothing heat for a while. As such, he can be found in the sauna, a towel draped modestly over his lap, or soaking in the hot tub in lieu of a bath. He wears a t-shirt in the hot tub, for the sake of it being moderately a public place, but in the sauna, at least, not only do you have the full view of a scarred-up right leg, but the sort of wreckage that a bullet wound to the left clavicle leaves, even when you're lucky enough to somehow survive that.
And if someone should join him in either place, well, Watson will give a faintly embarrassed little smile.
Research of a sort
But if there's a pattern to these events, Watson needs to figure them out. Fortunately, He Is A Writer, and is well-equipped to work out narrative threads. There's just, you know, the whole "more than a century of fiction" to catch up on.
He settles in at a desk in the library, cup of coffee at his elbow, frowning extremely seriously at the top book in the stack he's working on.
From the cover, it involves zombies.
When: vaguely backdated to after the event, and further on.
Where here and there. Definitely a spa day if you want a spa day.
Spa Day
Zombie hordes are not very pleasant, it turns out. Watson, for his part, can't shake the feeling that he still needs a bath from all the dust and grit from unthinkable sources, and he really spent a good amount of time overreaching himself. He's decently mobile, after all, but he did some running around without his cane, and some hauling around of people, and while he can put that sort of pain on the backburner for a little while, he can't do it indefinitely. He knew there would be a cost when he did it, and now it's here, and he aches.
The stiffness in his shoulder is easier to hide than the pain in his leg, but either way he just wants to let it soak in the soothing heat for a while. As such, he can be found in the sauna, a towel draped modestly over his lap, or soaking in the hot tub in lieu of a bath. He wears a t-shirt in the hot tub, for the sake of it being moderately a public place, but in the sauna, at least, not only do you have the full view of a scarred-up right leg, but the sort of wreckage that a bullet wound to the left clavicle leaves, even when you're lucky enough to somehow survive that.
And if someone should join him in either place, well, Watson will give a faintly embarrassed little smile.
Research of a sort
But if there's a pattern to these events, Watson needs to figure them out. Fortunately, He Is A Writer, and is well-equipped to work out narrative threads. There's just, you know, the whole "more than a century of fiction" to catch up on.
He settles in at a desk in the library, cup of coffee at his elbow, frowning extremely seriously at the top book in the stack he's working on.
From the cover, it involves zombies.