milliways_bar | (no subject)

When he wakes up, it's to find himself lying on a bed in a room he doesn't recognize-- but it's a matter of seconds at most for him to realize that he's in a hospital somewhere.

(gurney bloody hands let me out snarling faces out restraints let me out man with a broken arm let me out let me out out OUT)

No-- not a hospital. Even as every muscle tenses, Frank recognizes the difference-- this is an infirmary. A clinic, somewhere.

(trial drugs let me out screams and blood experiment gone wrong death)

Something's happened, and he's not sure what. He can't remember. Cautiously, Frank turns his head to one side. There are a few other people here, that he can see, and a man-- (nurse?) --with his back toward Frank, talking quietly with one of them.

Frank takes advantage of their distraction to slip from the bed and then out the infirmary door, at which point he realizes two things. First, he's at Milliways. Secondly, the sheer level of sound from the conversations taking place in the bar is for some reason nearly overwhelming.

He takes a steadying breath, and then moves carefully through the room to the lake door.

It's much quieter outside. Frank gives a sigh of relief and starts slowly for the shore.

[Not plotlocked, but any and all threads are automatically millitimed to well in advance of this one right here. Oh, and on that note? Warning for, uh, probable violence in that thread. Thanks!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There is someone (or three someones, if you count the puppies) out by the lake. Two of the three are bedraggled and soaked. The third one is tossing a floating ball into the lake over and over for the amusement of the puppies.

They have a new vote for best game ever.

He stops a reasonable distance away and watches the antics.

It makes him think of Jordan, playing with Benny. The lines in Frank's face deepen.

I should go back. I don't even know how I got here -- how long have I been here?

"Hallo." the man calls out at the scent of another person, turning to match a name to the smell, "Nice day, innit?"

"Looks like."

Frank starts to nod agreement and then winces, raising his hand to his temple.

As he does, he notices that his hands are battered, cut and bruised.

So does Spoon. Damage is something he watches out for. There are dual spikes in his mind; an instinctive predatory interest and a equally rapid no followed by groping around for the meditative techniques he's been learning. "You're hurt, sir."

"I'll be all right."

(wolf blood prey)

His eyes narrow, slightly. Frank holds himself very still.

"Vegetarian." Spoon says absently, following it up with, "Uh. Tensing up like that? Not a good thing to do. Hits the wrong buttons." He nods, though, at being told that Frank is going to be alright, then bends to collect the ball from Raisa.

"Good to know," he says, after a moment.

There's another moment of silence, then Spoon shrugs and taps his nose, "Can smell the tenseness. I'm a werewolf. Vegetarian werewolf. Can't help the instincts, but I don't have to let them control me either. Don't actually like looking at meat." (Too many times the meat was bits of me.)

"Werewolf. Like--"

That's as far as he gets before his eyes widen again.

(blood snarls screams sword flashing people torn apart by tooth and claw needles in veins howling as silver burns)

He has only enough presence of mind left to stuff his own hand in his mouth and bite down, trying to stop the spill of words.

"Uh." Spoon says, eyes going wide. Then he's scrambling (inside) for the flame and void. If nothing else it'll help him deal with the guy who is, apparently, not dealing, "Werewolf. Yeah. Uh. Do you need help?"

Stepan! Come on out of there and shake off, I may need you to run a note for me.

Frank shakes his head, holding up his free hand.

It doesn't take too long for the vision to pass.

"... sorry."

It's taking a lot more out of him today, he finds, and that worries him.

"Why? You didn't do anything to me." Spoon says very slowly, "Uh. Did you?"

"No."

Steadily.

"No, I didn't."

"Then you don't need to apologize to me." Spoon is clear on that, "Got enough apologies I fuckin' deserve, after all. D' you need a drink or sommat? Because you look like shite right now."

"I suppose I do."

It's a little rueful. Frank smiles at him.

"Thanks, but no. It's a bit noisy inside for me."

Especially tonight.

"I know that feeling." the werewolf says to the psychic, "I can leave you alone, or run in and fuckin' bring sommat out to you, if you'd like."

"I appreciate it," Frank tells him. "But I'll be fine."

A beat.

"Frank Black, by the way."

"Spoon." Spoon says in return, "And Stepan and Raisa. Raisa's the one still in the water. Lemme know if you change your mind."

"I will. Thanks."

Frank raises a hand to him, then slowly makes his way off, along the lakeshore.