daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

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 ]

This "crap" won't stop bleeding or oozing if you don't tend to it properly. That's how these things work, you know.

[Still, Ardyn gets to it. Or at least, he tries to. He had been in the process of trying to clean off that extra blood around the sutures, making idle commentary as he does--]

That's less knowledge one would pick up in med school, and more common sen-

[Common sense, he wanted to say, before a regain practically slams into him right there on the spot. His hand freezes, he doesn't bother finishing his quip.

Sorry, Jack, but you're left hanging there in awkward silence for long moment or two while Ardyn's brain tries to parse this sudden memory.]

[ Jack's enjoying their back-and-forth, so Ardyn stopping mid-sentence has him stopping - and then immediately concerned, reaching up to get a hand set lightly on Ardyn's wrist. ]

What? [ UHHHH. ] What? Jesus friggin' - are there worms or something? What's going on back there, A?

[The sensation of touch on his wrist is enough to bring him back to reality, though in the wake of a newly-experienced memory it's also a little jarring, so Ardyn retracts his hand without thinking.]

I, ah...

[Not that Jack can see it, but he forces a smile, an automatic kind of reaction since this hasn't ever happened while in the company of others. He tries to align his words into proper sentences, and the result is more or less successful.]

I've just had another one of those... memories. Just now.

[ Now that is weird, even for Ardyn - Jack pulls away completely, turning in place with a look of concern. ]

Just now? [ He's never seen Ardyn have to force his usual easygoing nature, and so he stands, taking the man by the wrist instead. ] Stay with me, hotshot. You wanna tell me what you saw?

[ It's not a demand, although the steadiness of Jack's stare suggests he would really like to demand it. ]

[He doesn't pull away from Jack's touch this time, and while putting his thoughts together leaves him in a rare position where he's still finding his words, his friend would be one of the first people he'd tell, demand or no.]

It... wasn't an unpleasant memory. [Not at all, it was just confusing and sudden in its arrival.] I used to help people, I think. Heal people.

[He looks down at his hand, the one that Jack has a hold of.] With... something. A strange... power. I have no other way to describe it. There were so many of them, Jack. Sick and dying of some terrible affliction.

Sheezus, finally. Thought you'd never remember anything. [ Jack makes a point to sound reassuring, although now he's glancing down at Ardyn's hand too, brows raised. ] So, what I'm getting here is you doing some kinda biblical layin' hands on the sick thing? That's actually kinda cool.

[ Not as cool as my thing, his tone vaguely implies, but still cool. After a moment, Jack snorts and looks down at Ardyn's hand again. ]

Jesus, tell me you didn't have the fingerless gloves on.

[That comment does earn a wry scoff from him.]

No. I didn't. No gloves, but I did have a ring. [A small detail that somehow feels important, but he can't quite say why. And so, he doesn't dwell on it.

Ardyn flexes his fingers.]

Though when I healed them, I took some of that sickness within me. I do remember that. But I didn't care, I felt selfless and concerned for everyone I helped, I-

[A frown.] I didn't feel that same sort of hate like I did on the train.

You think it could be kinda like my situation? Where sometimes I remember being one way, but remember being different too?

[ Now (reasonably) sure that Ardyn isn't going to pass out or anything, Jack retracts his hand and folds his arms instead, taking a seat. ]

You remember anything else? What the people looked like? Why they were sick?

It must be. The difference was so immense, I can't imagine something very important didn't happen in-between.

[Which, honestly, isn't very comforting. It just means there's more blank spaces to fill.]

But there were countless people, Jack. Old and young, rich and poor. They all needed my help, and I was the only one who could heal them. They were- [He drops his hand to the side, still trying to understand what he had experienced.] -made sick by some kind of plague.

[ Jack catches Ardyn's hand before it drops fully and presses a glass of wine into it, reaching up to touch his stitches. You know, as if that whole "stop doing stupid shit to your head wound" conversation didn't just happen. ]

Saint Izunia sounds a hell of a lot better than Professor, huh? [ Maybe it's the fact that he's dealt with so many of these remembrances on his own, but Jack treats it all casually. ] Seriously, take a second. I'm not dyin' any time soon.

[Well, glass of wine in hand now, he’s not going to reject it. It comes up to his lips as he considers for a moment, though he raises a brow as Jack reaches up to touch his stitches again. A (prolonged) sip, and then he sets the glass back down on the kitchen island.]

Just because I’ve been bombarded with a memory I don’t completely understand doesn’t mean you’re getting out of having your head bandaged properly.

[It says something for his character that his own brand of stubbornness still ekes out, despite everything.]

I can talk and heal at the same time. [He adds with a bit of irony, but makes a little spinny motion with a finger at his friend, indicating for Jack to turn back around so he can continue.]

[ Jack makes a show of rolling his eyes, but does as he's told, turning back around and folding his hands in his lap. ]

So who else are you gonna tell about this... memory thing? Doc Sutcliffe seems to be getting a lot of traction there lately - I hit her up the other day about a new thing I remembered. [ A beat. ] I mean, it's a grandma thing, sooooo apparently my childhood sucks balls in every universe?

[And so Ardyn picks up right back where he left off. Cleaning the wound is a straightforward task, though made more complicated by all the dried blood. Still, when that's done, he moves on to unravelling clean bandages. He works idly, automatically even, as he replies.]

Only a handful of others, I think. The ones who have been telling me their memories, so it's only fair that I do the same. I think it might be time to be more transparent with some of my family, too.

[A slight brow raise, not that Jack would be able to see it.] I didn't know you and Grell were exchanging memory stories. Tell me about this "grandma thing".

Eh, nothing special. [ A slight wave of his hand. ] I remembered some other grandma - I mean, she didn't look like my real grandma, but somehow I knew that's who she was? Different house, different place, never seen any of it before, but she was whipping my ass with the odd end of a friggin' axe. Thing. Like, think of an axe, but instead of the pointy end, it's just a goddamn tetanus-ridden sawblade.

Bitch.

[ He should probably be slightly more solemn and/or traumatized by all of this, he knows, but it gets kind of ridiculous after a certain point.

Abruptly: ]

What was your childhood like?

[He’s right, everything about this was borderline ridiculous, but that doesn’t make the admission of being beaten with a saw blade object any less horrific. Ardyn’s hands hesitate a bit as he begins to wrap the bandages properly this time.

Of course, any comment he was about to make was interrupted by Jack’s question. (Don’t think he’s not going to loop back around to this new, traumatizing memory eventually.)

Another beat, though his hands continue to work again, slowly.]

My childhood was… fine. [He almost laughs at his own words. Fine. How vague. He tries again.] Or rather, I should preface anything I say with, yes, I realize that I have no reason to complain. Countless others have had exponentially worse than I. [He exhales.] My parents placed all of their expectations and aspirations on me, and my eldest siblings hated me because of it. But I somehow managed to weather the storm of daily passive-aggressive sniping without too much injury. Of course, when you're a child, you only think that your parents are strict and your siblings are mean. It isn't until you're older that you gain new... perspective on the matter.

[Don’t sound bitter. Don’t. Sound. Bitter. He moves the focus to another sibling that doesn’t immediately bring up negative associations.]

…My youngest brother, so detached via age difference from everyone else, clung to me like glue. My attentions were scattered, and it was tiring. Exhaustion was a close friend of mine, during my teenaged years.

[Remember that looping around? Here it comes.]

But I never had a hand laid on me.

Ya don't have to keep doing that, you know. [ An idle wave. ] It wasn't that bad, it could've been worse, blah blah. Just sounds like you just dealt with a different flavor of bullshit than I did. At least she never expected anything out of me. Never had to deal with my brother either, he got shuffled off on an aunt or something.

Sounds like hell, though.

[ But who knows - maybe if Jack had been the one with the overbearing parents, he would've turned out differently. Maybe if Ardyn had had the psychotic grandparent, he would've gone the "rebel without a cause" route too. There's no telling. ]

You grow up the way I did, you get to this point where it's just kinda... I dunno. Annoying? Like, ugh, gotta go home and get new clothes, gram's probably gonna whip my ass, maybe I'll crash on Kenny's couch tonight, that kinda thing. You do whatever you want. You get old enough to start hitting her back and she backs the fuck up 'cos she don't wanna get smacked the fuck up, unless you're both kinda drunk and pissed off that night. Then you wake up in the hospital and tell the doctors you got jumped on the way home.

[ #oversharing strikes again. ]

What I'm saying is, your childhood sounds even more ballsack than mine, chief.

[As far as Ardyn's concerned, he does have to say it; because it could have been worse, and he's studied his fair share of family law cases that are legitimate proof of this. Ardyn had a roof over his head, a warm bed to sleep in, was fed and clothed, and money was never an issue. He refuses to turn his childhood into a sob story, which is indicative of three things: 1) Rationalizing it, 2) his own way of coping, or 3) just another shade of denial.

Ardyn often goes for the fourth route, which is just not lingering on the past long enough to make any real assessment of it. Dismissiveness fits his personality better, anyway.

So it should come as no surprise that he doesn't reply immediately, instead focusing on tending to Jack's head. When he's done with the gauze/bandages, he cuts off the excess, making sure it's all going to stay together before he steps back to assess his work. All-in-all, it's definitely better looking than what was there before.

Only then does he reply to what Jack was saying prior.]

Is becoming tired and accepting of it really much better? At least in my case I managed to perfect the art of the verbal back-and-forth, and didn't have to worry about hospital bills.

Annnnnd I learned how to ride a motorcycle. See, we each came out of it with some valuable life skills.

[ But Ardyn's finished, and now Jack sits forward again, immediately... reaching up to touch it. Because of course he does. ]

And we both mastered the fine art of pissing people off. I can touch this, right?

[ Hopefully, because he's touching the shit out of it. ]

RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

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

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)