"Present company included," he says as he continues to follow the basic idea of what Trevor seemed to be doing. For all that his fingers don't show calluses, he doesn't seem like he's unpracticed at such work: quite the contrary.
"I was asking since I'd like to apologize. But I can hardly do that when I'm not sure what part of it you're still pissed off about."
"I can apologize about how I've-" he swallows, "how I've hurt you even if I still believe the same things. Especially since words became heated eventually."
He keeps working.
"So you're content to just... hate me. All right. Do I get to know why?"
He exhales a little, but doesn't seem intent on looking up at Jon.
"I'm annoyed that first I can't have a different opinion without someone losing their shit at me and telling me how wrong I am, and then when I go to leave the conversation, having them fucking follow and corner me. Like you're doing right now. And I don't like that you use your fucking powers on me when I told you no, either."
Trevor stabs at the canvas with his needle, vicious.
"I asked you to leave. You're not fucking off. And if I leave, you'll probably use your powers again, so I'm not going to accept an apology I think is worthless. I like watching you stew in your fucking guilt; it's the only power I have over you."
"I used my powers because you'd just spent the last ten minutes calling me a piece of shit and implying that it's the 'natural order' for myself and everyone I care about to die a horrible death and then disappear into the void," comes the snap back, "and I made a stupid, petty mistake that apparently made me the bloody devil in your eyes."
He looks down at his sewing because he can't even look at Trevor. But that doesn't work, doesn't make him feel any less. So he makes a decision, putting the sewing kit down, leaving it with the work, and pushes himself up, looking at Trevor now.
"You once shamed me for assuming you'd have an issue with my relationship with another man, because it would take a real piece of shit to do something like that even though" and he chuckles ruefully, "you'd made it clear that you believed in God and in my time, those two far too often go hand in hand. But I suppose an eldritch abomination doesn't get a second chance. One show of temper and I'm an abusive fuck unworthy of even the chance to apologize when we might all be dead in the next-"
And that's when the words stop, the strange feeling around Jon stops, Jon stops...
"No, they don't get-" He starts to say, hotly, flushing red and finally throwing down his own work. But the words die in his throat as he watches Jon topple to the ground.
Confused and stricken, Trevor doesn't think this is a trick. He's up and moving after a split second of astonishment, kneeling down.
"Jon." He says, urgent, checking pulse, pushing his lids back, checking eyes.
Fuck. Fuck.
Trevor sits Jon up and starts beating his chest with the flat of his hand - one, two, one, two - in a rhythm, a much older version of chest compressions.
It is most certainly not a trick, as Jon's body (because it is most certainly a body) begins to go cold. There's no response to the questions either.
There's no heartbeat under his hands.
If he looks in Jon's pockets, he'll find Jon's communicator, his personal tape recorder (which Trevor is familiar with since it's his item), and a small notebook with a ribbon.
[The next thing he can think of is maybe a heart condition? A stroke? Something that would explain a sudden drop like that.
He tries to rouse him a few more times, increasingly concerned. He messages Warren quickly but doesn't think to check Jon's pockets just yet. Instead he lays him down on the floor of the dining room, swearing to himself. There's no warden to call - should he get him to an infirmary? Wait for Warren to show?
He pats the man down, wondering if he might have been stuck with something poisonous]
[ Despite sharing a birthday with the man (or god? or god in man?), Jon does not rouse. There doesn't appear to be any darts or attacks anywhere, no open wou-
Oh. His finger slices itself off, dropping away, sluggish blood dripping from it.
A dark spot starts under his shirt, under his ribs. Or where there should be ribs and aren't. ]
[Trevor's seen a lot of shit in his time as a monster hunter, but this is...really terrifying, now that he kneels beside him, watching this shit.
He compartmentalizes that thought expertly and starts undoing Jon's shirt, using a knife to slice it open rather than try to fight arms through the armholes when a finger just fell off like Jon's got leprosy]
[ There's no disease around the finger, or around the wound. In fact, it looks like a clean slice, like a cleaver from the kitchen. Under the shirt, there's two messy, uneven wounds that have stopped bleeding, but it almost looks as if it's more to do with gravity than anything else. The hollows where his ribs haven't been for years now are black and blue.
But uncovering more of his skin shows more of his scars, so so many circular holes all over him. ]
sorry don't know why I went brackets there for a few tags.
At least whatever's killed him got him quick rather than let him suffer through this while living. Trevor knows of some of the Fears - not all - and figures this might be them at work at the body. Or maybe if whatever's tying Jon to the ship is dying also.
He grabs his cape and wraps the body in it to prevent blood from escaping and staining the floor, freeing up Jon's item, the communicator, and the diary, figuring he might need to safeguard some effects. Especially when the last time Jon was incapacitated, someone needed to look after Daniel.
This is such a shitshow, he thinks.
"Couldn't have picked a worse time, could you?" He asks, quiet in the face of this very sudden, strange death. "Fucksake, Jon. You'd better come back so we can finish screaming at each other."
The voice slips out from the bundle, and Trevor will watch any stains, any blood, slowly seeping out of the fabric and unstaining as the bundle starts to shift a little, wobbling and unstable.
Trevor will get a choked whimper, Jon still woozy, his finger still bloody but apparently reattached. His shirt is still in tatters, but while the blood is still there, the wounds are not. The scars, however, remain.
He drops back for the moment, but doesn't seem to be attacking. Instead, he'll grab at his throat because fucking ouch. When he can think, he'll hold up a hand in the silent, universal request for 'please stop hitting me'.
"Shit! Shit shit shit." He swear-chants, apologetic as he starts peeling away his cape at the top to stare Jon full in the face. "Sorry! Fucking - never seen a man do that yet."
"Jon, what the fuck. You just - are you death-tolling?!"
The noise of confused 'I don't know' that comes out of Jon is almost drowned out by the door opening and Warren... pausing in the doorway with a raised eyebrow.
"...soooooo not dead?"
Depending on where Trevor is looking, he might see Jon shake his head emphatically... and then wobble a hand. He might not. Warren, on the other hand, is holding out a hand as if to say '...shooooould I stick around or you got this?'
Far too long with Douglas Eiffel has his 'farce' detector going off, but he's not going to assume.
"That I can do. I know it threw me for a bit of a loop on my way up here? And he's definitely been at this longer. Want me to ping Jacobi to come up and help?"
Warren will grunt as he nods, and give a thumbs up before departing, closing the door after him.
Jon, who'd been watching the whole time, finally lets out a cough he'd been feeling as he tries to swallow and get out a word. It's clear he's... a little wobbly.
"Not... sure. I- feel? Like I died again?"
He wobbles and doesn't even try to do anything but stay sitting up.
"Not... like here. Like- like when I was in the coma. Back at home."
He blinks a little like an owl before looking down at his clothing and then over at Trevor.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: As the fluctuations start
"For fuck's sake. No one can take no for an answer."
Re: As the fluctuations start
"I was asking since I'd like to apologize. But I can hardly do that when I'm not sure what part of it you're still pissed off about."
Re: As the fluctuations start
"I don't want your apology anyway."
Re: As the fluctuations start
He keeps working.
"So you're content to just... hate me. All right. Do I get to know why?"
Re: As the fluctuations start
Trevor eyes Jon, annoyed and now showing it.
"If I get up from this table, are you going to stop me with a word? Stalk me around the ship until I give in?"
Re: As the fluctuations start
He looks up and looks very confused for a moment before settling a little.
"No. I wouldn't. That's... no. Never."
A pause.
"The trip? That's what you're mad about?"
Re: As the fluctuations start
"I'm annoyed that first I can't have a different opinion without someone losing their shit at me and telling me how wrong I am, and then when I go to leave the conversation, having them fucking follow and corner me. Like you're doing right now. And I don't like that you use your fucking powers on me when I told you no, either."
Trevor stabs at the canvas with his needle, vicious.
"I asked you to leave. You're not fucking off. And if I leave, you'll probably use your powers again, so I'm not going to accept an apology I think is worthless. I like watching you stew in your fucking guilt; it's the only power I have over you."
Re: As the fluctuations start
He looks down at his sewing because he can't even look at Trevor. But that doesn't work, doesn't make him feel any less. So he makes a decision, putting the sewing kit down, leaving it with the work, and pushes himself up, looking at Trevor now.
"You once shamed me for assuming you'd have an issue with my relationship with another man, because it would take a real piece of shit to do something like that even though" and he chuckles ruefully, "you'd made it clear that you believed in God and in my time, those two far too often go hand in hand. But I suppose an eldritch abomination doesn't get a second chance. One show of temper and I'm an abusive fuck unworthy of even the chance to apologize when we might all be dead in the next-"
And that's when the words stop, the strange feeling around Jon stops, Jon stops...
To topple over. Dead.
Re: As the fluctuations start
Confused and stricken, Trevor doesn't think this is a trick. He's up and moving after a split second of astonishment, kneeling down.
"Jon." He says, urgent, checking pulse, pushing his lids back, checking eyes.
Fuck. Fuck.
Trevor sits Jon up and starts beating his chest with the flat of his hand - one, two, one, two - in a rhythm, a much older version of chest compressions.
"Jon!"
What the fuck just happened?
Re: As the fluctuations start
There's no heartbeat under his hands.
If he looks in Jon's pockets, he'll find Jon's communicator, his personal tape recorder (which Trevor is familiar with since it's his item), and a small notebook with a ribbon.
Re: As the fluctuations start
He tries to rouse him a few more times, increasingly concerned. He messages Warren quickly but doesn't think to check Jon's pockets just yet. Instead he lays him down on the floor of the dining room, swearing to himself. There's no warden to call - should he get him to an infirmary? Wait for Warren to show?
He pats the man down, wondering if he might have been stuck with something poisonous]
Fucking christ, Jon.
cw finger harm, blood
Oh. His finger slices itself off, dropping away, sluggish blood dripping from it.
A dark spot starts under his shirt, under his ribs. Or where there should be ribs and aren't. ]
Re: cw finger harm, blood
He compartmentalizes that thought expertly and starts undoing Jon's shirt, using a knife to slice it open rather than try to fight arms through the armholes when a finger just fell off like Jon's got leprosy]
cw body horror, blood
But uncovering more of his skin shows more of his scars, so so many circular holes all over him. ]
sorry don't know why I went brackets there for a few tags.
At least whatever's killed him got him quick rather than let him suffer through this while living. Trevor knows of some of the Fears - not all - and figures this might be them at work at the body. Or maybe if whatever's tying Jon to the ship is dying also.
He grabs his cape and wraps the body in it to prevent blood from escaping and staining the floor, freeing up Jon's item, the communicator, and the diary, figuring he might need to safeguard some effects. Especially when the last time Jon was incapacitated, someone needed to look after Daniel.
This is such a shitshow, he thinks.
"Couldn't have picked a worse time, could you?" He asks, quiet in the face of this very sudden, strange death. "Fucksake, Jon. You'd better come back so we can finish screaming at each other."
no worries!
The voice slips out from the bundle, and Trevor will watch any stains, any blood, slowly seeping out of the fabric and unstaining as the bundle starts to shift a little, wobbling and unstable.
Re: no worries!
Re: no worries!
He drops back for the moment, but doesn't seem to be attacking. Instead, he'll grab at his throat because fucking ouch. When he can think, he'll hold up a hand in the silent, universal request for 'please stop hitting me'.
Re: no worries!
"Jon, what the fuck. You just - are you death-tolling?!"
Re: no worries!
"...soooooo not dead?"
Depending on where Trevor is looking, he might see Jon shake his head emphatically... and then wobble a hand. He might not. Warren, on the other hand, is holding out a hand as if to say '...shooooould I stick around or you got this?'
Far too long with Douglas Eiffel has his 'farce' detector going off, but he's not going to assume.
Re: no worries!
"I guess we've got this."
He says, sitting on the floor after this actual death experience.
"Sorry, Warren. Thanks. Here, can you check on Lark for me? If this shit happened to Jon, I want someone looking in on him for me."
Re: no worries!
"That I can do. I know it threw me for a bit of a loop on my way up here? And he's definitely been at this longer. Want me to ping Jacobi to come up and help?"
Re: no worries!
"Couldn't hurt. I want to get Jon to the infirmary."
Re: no worries!
Jon, who'd been watching the whole time, finally lets out a cough he'd been feeling as he tries to swallow and get out a word. It's clear he's... a little wobbly.
"Not... sure. I- feel? Like I died again?"
He wobbles and doesn't even try to do anything but stay sitting up.
"Not... like here. Like- like when I was in the coma. Back at home."
He blinks a little like an owl before looking down at his clothing and then over at Trevor.
"...what happened to my shirt?"
Re: no worries!
"Sorry. That was me - I thought you had been stabbed or something."
Re: no worries!
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