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week 6 - friday after murders
[ With all the excitement said and done, Jack had grabbed what he had actually gone to the medical bay to get and bid everyone adieu. At least, metaphorically speaking. It was really much more like a "fuck off and leave me alone," but for once, his foul mood isn't completely unfair.
He hadn't been kidding when he had said it wasn't the first time he had gotten stabbed, but that doesn't exactly make it any more fun. Jack is the type of person to put on a big show when he's actually bleeding, when the knife is still in his gut, but later? Later is when he pisses and moans about it without end. The fact that in the process of this he'd lost his mask only made things worse. It was purely aesthetic and he objectively knows that, but he still can't help but feel incredibly exposed without it. And not in the good, sexy way.
As such, once he had grabbed his tools, he had immediately left the medbay to head towards his room to patch himself up, but each step was a painful jab in his side. He'd opened the damn thing back up like an idiot this morning after all the trouble of trying to roughly bandage it, so he guess he did deserve this. But still. It sucks. And eventually, it sucks enough that he gives up on making it to his room.
The parlor ends up being closer, so Jack heads inside to take a seat somewhere where he's liable to not bleed all over the place. That, and unless someone really did steal all the booze and not return it, it also has alcohol, which will be a very basic, but blissful painkiller. He'll pour himself a tall glass of whatever is the strongest and take a seat, because this isn't exactly going to be fun. He takes off his shirt, then goes through the process of threading the surgical needle, though when he actually looks down at the wound— Okay. It's fine. Totally fine.
At least, until he starts to actually stitch it closed. At that point, anyone that might be wandering by is liable to hear Jack before they even get to the door. ]
Son of a taint!
He hadn't been kidding when he had said it wasn't the first time he had gotten stabbed, but that doesn't exactly make it any more fun. Jack is the type of person to put on a big show when he's actually bleeding, when the knife is still in his gut, but later? Later is when he pisses and moans about it without end. The fact that in the process of this he'd lost his mask only made things worse. It was purely aesthetic and he objectively knows that, but he still can't help but feel incredibly exposed without it. And not in the good, sexy way.
As such, once he had grabbed his tools, he had immediately left the medbay to head towards his room to patch himself up, but each step was a painful jab in his side. He'd opened the damn thing back up like an idiot this morning after all the trouble of trying to roughly bandage it, so he guess he did deserve this. But still. It sucks. And eventually, it sucks enough that he gives up on making it to his room.
The parlor ends up being closer, so Jack heads inside to take a seat somewhere where he's liable to not bleed all over the place. That, and unless someone really did steal all the booze and not return it, it also has alcohol, which will be a very basic, but blissful painkiller. He'll pour himself a tall glass of whatever is the strongest and take a seat, because this isn't exactly going to be fun. He takes off his shirt, then goes through the process of threading the surgical needle, though when he actually looks down at the wound— Okay. It's fine. Totally fine.
At least, until he starts to actually stitch it closed. At that point, anyone that might be wandering by is liable to hear Jack before they even get to the door. ]
Son of a taint!
1/2
Ahhh, shit.
It's all he can think, because he's definitely not sure how to comfort her. He wasn't even good at comforting his own daughter when she cried for chrissake. That had always been something that-- Well. There used to be someone that was better at that than he was. His rage simmers down in the face of her own tears, though it's not quite out of empathy so much as awkwardness. ]
Geez, Liz, that's-- C'mon, y- you think—
[ He starts to interrupt, because it had never quite occurred to him that he could have died. It simply wasn't a possibility, because he was Handsome Jack. And if anyone was going to take out Handsome Jack, it certainly wasn't going to be one of the jackasses that worked for him, and it wasn't going to be Rhys. Even now, after getting stabbed, he doesn't think Rhys was trying to actually kill him.
But he falls silent for the rest. At first, it's just something different to latch onto, a concrete plan of action that he likes, but then... That last little sentiment is different. When he hears something like care, empathy for him it's his immediate instinct to reject it. Jack doesn't trust people. He doesn't trust peoples' intentions, because he has many, many cases in his life where he's seen that words like this were a way to get closer to him. You let people close, and that's always a risk, and it's the one he never felt he could afford to take.
If this were Helios, he would kill her. He could never trust something like that coming out of a Hyperion's mouth, and it may as well be a sign that they've gotten sloppy. Like, good job, asshole, you were too obvious about your clever plan, and now you've gotta die. But. She's not Hyperion. This isn't Helios. So for a solid few moments, his stare turns frighteningly intense, as if she's said exactly the wrong thing. His hands relax at his sides, and the hand that's not holding the needle reaches out to her. ]