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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!
no subject
Hey— Listen, Li- Elizabeth. I'm not goin' anywhere.
[ He gives her cheek a little squeeze as a physical encouragement, but a smile finally quirks. ]
I mean, I'm a hero. Heroes never die, y'know? Lots of near brushes with death, I- I mean, hell, technically? Already died once, but I'm here. So-- Listen, you're not gonna lose me, because I'm gonna figure out a way off this ship. I promise. So... It'll be all right. Don't need to cry over me.
no subject
Elizabeth is selfish.
Elizabeth is so naive that she twists his well-being about her. It's not even intentional or with ill-intent. He's one of the few people she's latched onto and it's disgusting in reality that she sees him with a respect akin to an older man. A father figure. Her lip barely was healed from last week but it trembles, bouncing as she begins to softly sob.
Her entire being was in pain, unable to let the frustrations and grief of losing Hancock go. The fear of losing Jack too. Who next? Fiona? Jason? Jessie? Give a girl some companionship for the first time in 18 years and then take it away? It was cruel.
Blinking through tears and sucking the air in as if she's labored to breath, Elizabeth's slouched and completely vulnerable. That's when a brief second of fear washes over her when he jets his hand forward.
The vibration of her voice when she cries his name out - Jack, not Mr. Jack - immediately but carefully snatching her arms around his neck. Luckily, the blood was avoided as she buries her face against his collar and just cries. His words weren't soothing her. They can't. Not when Hancock said the same thing and was gunned down. ]
You need to - uhgn.. [ Elizabeth says with a heavy breath. ] You need to tend to your wound but we can't trust anyone now. Rhys was - how could he do something like that to you? P-Please... please don't die. Please.
[ She can't keep a straight thought, her eyes stinging. ]
We... we have to do something. This can't happen again. I won't allow it!
>:]
Geez-- You gotta be more careful, kiddo. Could've got you with the needle.
[ He's joking and teasing, since he's not sure how else to respond to this. Even as she cries, he's not sure, and the jokes, the smile, they're just masks to cover up that awkward inability he sometimes has to truly feel for other people. He doesn't see it that way, since Jack just sees this as feeling awkward about a girl crying on him, but it runs just a little deeper than that.
But he still knows the right motions. He lets the needle go carefully, trying to shift so that she won't touch that wound on his side, and tenuously, he reaches out to place a hand on her head. It's a heavy, comforting weight, though with some hesitation, he strokes her hair just as he would for Angel. It's all he knows to do. ]
Yeah— Yeah, we can't. Sucks, but that's just a fact of this shitty situation. You can't trust anyone. Not really.
[ :) ]
So-- We'll work it out. Dunno how, not yet, but I think... I think there's a way to do this. So, hey— I promise, for real. I'm not gonna die that easily. You and me, we'll figure this out.