He mumbles something quiet, only faintly stirring, registering 'person' but not who or where, or how this isn't the first time this has happened -- overtime's a killer.
RNG gave me 11 luciendaskyMay 19 2013, 14:24:56 UTC
It wasn't exactly how he planned their time together to go: Their lazy afternoon sitting on the sofa and watching a film had been interrupted by the creak of the catflap and minutes later Zirconia creeping into the room and just laying down in front of the coffee table. Lucien had felt a bit foolish, fussing over his cat in front of John like that, but it he hadn't even paused to try to push down the worry in the back of his mind at his pet's out of character lethargy. As soon as he leaned forwards in his seat, gently untangling himself from the other man, he'd caught the unmistakable scent of fresh meat and blood, and then panic hit him as he rushed to the floor to check his cat
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aw poor kitty <3 :(crimebloggerMay 19 2013, 19:09:16 UTC
John, in the meantime, had tried to be a calm, steady presence around Lucien, someone for him to lean on, to reassure him that Zirconia would be alright, he was a stubborn cat, as stubborn as the man who kept him, if not moreso, and would come out of this just fine. Of course, John had no real way of knowing that, but it seemed the right thing to say.
Returning to the flat, John could tell his words had not quite registered. Lucien looked as white as a sheet, and the air surrounding him was jittery and heavy with nerves, worry, fear, anxiety...
"D'you want me to make you some tea?" John asked quietly as he gently guided Lucien over to the sofa, having him sit down. After another moment, John sat down beside him, throwing an arm around Lucien's shoulder. "He'll be fine, Lucien. The vet hasn't gotten back to us yet, which is good, means they're still working on him, yeah? We were told this would take a while, so that's good. Zirconia is going to be just fine, and he'll get to come home and we'll spoil him rotten. Alright?"
"You don't know that. You can't," the words were bitten out, trying not to take anything out on John, because he knew that he was only trying to comfort him. And he was glad that he was here. He was glad for someone to lean on, which he did right now, pressing into the other man to lean against his chest.
He felt like something had been scooped out of his torso and now where it should hurt it was just numb because there was nothing there to hurt. Weak. He was so weak and showing a side of himself that he felt ashamed to bare, especially so early on, but it was bared and John was all he had to cling on to, so he did. Turning more against the doctor, he fisted his hand tightly in John's sweater, pulling on it as an ache rose in his throat and hitched his breath. "God. I'm sorry..."
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"Jude?" River asks, soft, because if he really is out cold where he's sitting like it appears he might be, she almost doesn't want to wake him up.
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He mumbles something quiet, only faintly stirring, registering 'person' but not who or where, or how this isn't the first time this has happened -- overtime's a killer.
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Returning to the flat, John could tell his words had not quite registered. Lucien looked as white as a sheet, and the air surrounding him was jittery and heavy with nerves, worry, fear, anxiety...
"D'you want me to make you some tea?" John asked quietly as he gently guided Lucien over to the sofa, having him sit down. After another moment, John sat down beside him, throwing an arm around Lucien's shoulder. "He'll be fine, Lucien. The vet hasn't gotten back to us yet, which is good, means they're still working on him, yeah? We were told this would take a while, so that's good. Zirconia is going to be just fine, and he'll get to come home and we'll spoil him rotten. Alright?"
[ ooc: ( ... )
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He felt like something had been scooped out of his torso and now where it should hurt it was just numb because there was nothing there to hurt. Weak. He was so weak and showing a side of himself that he felt ashamed to bare, especially so early on, but it was bared and John was all he had to cling on to, so he did. Turning more against the doctor, he fisted his hand tightly in John's sweater, pulling on it as an ache rose in his throat and hitched his breath. "God. I'm sorry..."
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