daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

I'll meet you halfway. Say one of the words.

[ He is literally on the other side of the door. You're friends with this guy, Ardyn. ]

[What has his life come to.

Ardyn leans in close to the door, because yes, he can totally tell that Jack is just on the other side.

God. Fine.]

Dick. [Immediately followed up by a quip!] Insert remark here about how you're being one, at the moment. [Though he doesn't care enough for the comment to sound even remotely stinging.]

I can live with that.

[ And here's the door swinging open, Jack standing to the side to let him in. The bandaging around his head might have been done nicely, once; he's had to change his own since then, and it officially looks like crap. Some are bloody, but nowhere near as bad as when it first happened. And instead of something smart and snappy, he's wearing a SUN'S OUT GUNS OUT tank and, when he turns around, purple sweats with JUICY across the ass.

Listen. When Jack relaxes, Jack relaxes. ]

C'mon. Got the water boiling.

[ This is the point of no return, Ardyn. It doesn't get any better from here. ]

[Ardyn’s not one to judge when it comes to terrible fashion choices, not to mention that — while amusing — somehow seeing Jack wearing such interesting attire isn’t all that surprising. At least he appears comfortable, which he supposes is a priority when sporting a head injury.

He enters the apartment, and there’s no way that Ardyn cannot eye the state of those bandages around Jack’s head.]

How’s your head? And please tell me that’s not what you consider a proper way to bandage an injury.

[And of course Ardyn’s brought the requested ingredients for this very expensive dinner, offering the bags to his friend.]

Ehhh. [ SHRUG. Jack accepts the bags in one hand and touches the sloppy bandaging with the other, applying light pressure to certain spots. ] Couldn't remember how they showed me to do it in the ER, so I just kinda... winged it. They're just stitches.

[ Granted, it's a fair amount of stitches, but still. Jack hauls it all to the counter of a surprisingly nice kitchen, dragging out both live lobsters and laying them across a cutting board. They get the tip of a filet knife through their heads before he cuts the rubber bands and drops them into the water, his attention shifting to the steaks after. ]

How d'you take your steak, pal?

["Just stitches". He's not quite sure anyone should describe stitches as just stitches, but maybe Ardyn is a little more concerned than he should be at Jack's flippant treatment of them. (As ironic as that is, given that it's Ardyn of all people.)

If he looks away briefly while Jack prepares the lobster, he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he answers with:]

Medium rare.

[A beat.]

Also, I don't think "winging it" is regarded as an acceptable way to treat an injury. I'm no medic, but why don't we re-bandage it when you have a chance?

[He's also curious just how badly Bigby had glassed him.]

Figured you might say something like that. [ A laugh, another shrug. He's got a massive cast-iron skillet out now, setting an egg timer for the lobsters and opening a cabinet absolutely stuffed with spices. ] Hell, I don't mind - take a crack at it. Doubt you could make it any worse. Sorry I can't grill these, the grill's on the roof.

[ But at least it looks like he knows what he's doing? Surprise, his tragic childhood gave him enough exp to unlock the Mary Sue Cooking Skills talent. ]

It's just stitches, by the way. In case you were worried I had brain damage or some crap.

[ pictured: last night. ]

[Again with the just stitches. It’s not like Ardyn doesn’t believe him, but that doesn’t make him any less dubious (or curious) about the injury.]

Still, I’ll feel better about the state of your head if it doesn’t look like a half-blind madman dressed your wound.

[But in the meantime—] I didn’t know you were handy in the kitchen. Is it out of enjoyment, or necessity?

Ouch.

[ But yeah, meantime. Oil in the pan, patting the steaks dry, etc. ]

Eh, I have fun with it. You go your whole life eating shitty take-out and pizza - when someone hands you a kitchen, you go kinda nuts with it. Guess you could say it's a hobby.

[ The steaks get seasoned immediately before going on the pan, and Jack turns to the fridge, leaning in the open doorway. ]

Plus, gotta say, I try to be perfect husband material. Makes it more fun when nobody can catch me. What d'you take? Beer, water, wine? Chocolate milk?

[ #grownup ]

Well, you certainly seem to know what you're doing. I can at least give you that. [And Ardyn isn't terrible at cooking, either, but that is merely a consequence of living alone for such a long time. You either eat out for life, or you learn to cook. But the fluidity in which Jack seemed to be preparing dinner was something that he never really achieved, not like that.

But then the phrase chocolate milk is uttered, and while not offensive by itself, in the context of what's being prepared...]

Are you really offering me chocolate milk to pair with my lobster? [He has to sincerely laugh at that.]

Lots of burned... hell, I've burned pretty much one of everything at this point, so take your pick. [ He dangles a full gallon of chocolate milk here. ] And hey, I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life. Maybe your taste in food is kinda like your taste in scarves.

[ OOOOOH.

But Jack puts the milk back and comes away with wine instead, working helplessly at the cork. ]

So - I'm betting you have some questions. About the Bigby thing. [ Should he be drinking with painkillers? Probably not, but he's at least pulling a wine glass out for himself. ] Hit it, killer.

[W O W]

You're hilarious. Careful. I may be all smiles, but one scarf joke too many and you never know; I may snap.

[What with the post Iris made to retrospec and everything... Everyone's a critic! (Spoiler: He actually doesn't care.)

Ardyn eyes the wine, glancing at the cork that refuses to budge for now. Sure, Jack shouldn't be drinking with painkillers, but... well. He supposes he'll be here to keep an eye on him for now, if nothing else. Besides, his attention is torn away by the potential of asking for details, re: Bigby and his propensity to glass people over the head.]

My first question would be why he felt the need to do something so careless. A glass to the skull is what I would consider overkill, unless you said something to set him off? In which case, you should honestly know better.

[And NOW a motion to the wine.] Are you going to share?

[ Ardyn gets a shrug and this exact response. The bit about wine gets him grinning a little, though, going up in the cabinet for another glass. ]

Easy, lush, I'll get you your fix. [ There's no dining table, nothing like that - Jack pours them each a glass, his own a little more full than necessary. He hands Ardyn's off, careful not to spill. ] Sit wherever. There's table trays in the corner if you need 'em.

But yeah, I mean - that thing Elizabeth wants me to keep under wraps? Guess Bigby didn't know about it yet. [ A shrug. ] We were drinking, and I got chatty, and... y'know. I accidentally mentioned it. And he smashed a glass over my head.

[ A beat. Unconsciously, Jack scratches at his poorly-done bandaging. ]

I mean, I'm not gonna press charges or anything, but I kinda want to know whether I should talk to anybody in the family ever again. Or if that's gonna get something else smashed over my head.

Like. Like a guitar or something.

[Ardyn takes the glass from Jack, just as carefully. If you think he's not going to take a sip of the stuff before finding a place to sit, then you're very wrong. He's fine for now, just leaning against part of the kitchen counter or something similar, glass in hand.]

You're well in your rights to press charges if that's the case. [-he says, but it has the automatic tone of Something a Lawyer Would Say, because sometimes he can't stop himself. He knows that Jack wouldn't do that, not in this particular case.]

But you know how Bigby is. I'm not saying that he was right to hurt you, but-- well. Surely the man feels even the smallest bit of remorse for injuring you by now? [Surely? Maybe?]

Or maybe he'll see it as penance. A sort of, "here's your punishment, don't ever do it again, and you're forgiven" sort of arrangement?

Well, if he sees it like that, I'll buy a good Chardonnay and rent him a nice room somewhere so he can go fuck himself.

[ Surprisingly vicious?? Don't u play him Bigby. There's another shrug here as he sips his wine, eyes cast off to some distant, inprecise point across the room. ]

Whatever. I work with his wife. Gonna have to get over it at some point, asshole. [ To Ardyn: ] I'm right, right? I didn't do anything wrong by keeping the secret?

[He makes an amused-sounding noise. lips quirking upwards. Ardyn can't pretend to know how Bigby was feeling when he lashed out, but he has a hard time thinking that any of it was deserved. The man really needed to keep a lid on his temper. He can't blame Jack for sounding vicious, and he certainly won't call him out on it.]

It’s always a complicated matter, and it usually depends on the secret itself, but no… I don’t think I would have done anything differently than you. If Elizabeth told you a a secret, and you decided to tell Bigby, you risk shattering her trust in you.

[He almost shrugs.]

Even if it isn’t something that dramatic, it isn’t fair if you really think about it. One was going to be potentially upset with you, either way. Catch-22.

Dick move. [ Shrug! ] Can't blame her, though. Something like that happens, you gotta tell somebody. And I didn't exactly turn her down, either.

[ Blah blah cooking happens, everything is done, and soon enough he's gotten it plated and set on the kitchen island. Thing. ]

Seasoning, butter... you got your whole shebang right here. And you're gonna need these. [ Is there a name for lobster cracking open-ers? That's what he passes over. ] But yeah, I don't blame her or anything. Bigby - guy's a friggin' cop. Don't they pay cops just to deal with bullshit nobody else wants to deal with?

“Protect and serve”, or so it goes. I suppose when it comes to being protective over his family, rational thinking is the first thing to be tossed out the proverbial window. [But he’s not here to make excuses for Bigby, so:] You have a right to be upset. I would be.

[When the food is ready, Ardyn’s actually pretty impressed. He certainly doesn’t eat this well at home, and so he’s quietly grateful for it, even if he was the one who paid for all the expenses.

Time is taken to eat, but of course conversation continues throughout.]

I know you’re on painkillers right now, but does it still hurt badly?

Yeah, kinda - mostly just aches at this point. [ As if to illustrate, Jack reaches up to scratch... at his stitches..... pls help him. He leans forward slightly, as if offering to move. ] I dunno, you wanna take a look? Pretty hard to check out the top of my own head.

Don't scratch at them. [-comes the rather automatic response, because lord, leave them alone, Jack. What is the world coming to, having him fret over everyone he's been interacting with lately??]

But yes, I'd like to take a look. It'll give me a reason to change out those bandages of yours. Where do you keep them?

Can't whip me.

[ SCRATCHES. Although much lighter this time, more screwing around than anything. ]

They're on the bathroom counter - down the hall, first door on the left. [ Second glass of wine is a go. ] Didn't know you were a doctor type, Ardyn.

[what a problem child

He exhales, and it might as well be a light sigh.] I'm not. But if I have to stare at the state of those current bandages for much longer, I may actually go mad.

[With that, he's going to find said bandages, no matter if they haven't even finished eating yet. He doubts Jack would care either way, and seeing fresh stitches isn't enough to make him lose his appetite anyway.

And he returns only moments later, bandages in tow. He moves close to Jack, right adjacent to him, and without much fanfare, begins to remove the old dressing.] ...I shouldn't have to tell you this, but don't move.

[ By the time Ardyn is back with the bandages (which come with a bottle of peroxide and a small pair of scissors), Jack has moved to the couch - for all his shitheadedness, he's alright with putting food aside to make it easier for Ardyn to do this. The old dressing is even sloppier than it looked at first glance - he at least started in earnest, but seems to have gotten bored and just wildly wrapped bandages around his head and called it a day. At least part of it seems to have been to hide the dried blood in his hair. Or the fact that to him, cleaning his wounds means dumping peroxide on his head. ]

Yeah, yeah, I'll sit pretty for you.

[ The injury could be worse - only a couple of the lacerations are bad enough to merit stitches. ]

Nobody's seen me look this shitty in years. [ Jack goes to turn his head, but thinks better of it. ] You tell anybody and I'll hafta kill you, pal.

[Removing the dressing is the easy part, and though it peels away easily enough after Ardyn's removed the cloth tape that's haphazardly keeping it together, he can't help but frown at the sight. It's true that the injury itself isn't terrible, but it's everything else around it that Ardyn feels is absolutely unsatisfactory.]

I'm frozen in terror.

[But it sounds dismissive, because- Must not. Sound like. A mother hen.] ...You should really take better care of this, Jack. [#nailedit] You have dried blood in your hair.

If this crap would just stop bleeding, there wouldn't be.

[ This is entirely the injury's fault, see. Jack is a flawless paragon of self-care. Then, more exasperated than anything: ]

Bitch-ass head wound is crampin' my style. My hair looks like crap.

[ #priorities ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject