milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[OOM: Room 75. The Demon in the Bottle.]

Down the stairs from the guest rooms, Wellard catches himself with the bannister on the bottom from a stumble. A deep breath as he straightens with a gritted-teeth wince. He is pale- well, more so than usual. (Months at sea did not even darken his complexion.) Shaking, he sinks into a seat at a booth, head in his hands.

Ivan the wait rat comes by, and just sits silently there until Wellard makes a muffled request for tea. He is not about to try anything else at the moment.

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Jason digs into the carton with his chop sticks and shovels some lo mein into his mouth.

"Liar. Come on, what's up? You don't look so good."

Despite his easy going approach, his eyes bore into Wellard, much like a predator watching its prey.

Wellard's nose wrinkles at the smell of the lo mein, but he hardly glances at the odd box.

"... I'm just a bit under the weather. It will pass." Quietly, biting his lip. His tea arrives, (Ivan gives Jason a glare), and Wellard holds it carefully with shaky hands.

There is an brealy audible growl towards Ivanhoe as a warning before he turns his attention back to Wellard.
He leans forward, nose twitching ever so slightly at the sickening smell coming from the shaking man.

"You're shaking..."

Wellard blinks, and stares at Jason.

"I said I wasn't doing well. It will pass." Teeth clenched slightly.

Jason frowns, eyeing Wellard.

"You're more than not doing well, you're a wreck."

The shaking, his pupils...he'd seen it before. He leans across the table, his voice calm and quiet, but firm.
"Wellard, what are you on."

Panic. Fear. Denial. And shame as well, all flicker across his dark eyes.

"I'm not on-!" Wellard catches himself with a wince, closing his eyes.

"... as much. Not as much. She wouldn't give me as much, sir. "

Jason watches him calmly, nodding softly.

"She's watching out for you, it's her job. She wouldn't let you go cold turkey without someone watching you. What is it that you've been taking?"

His eyes are still closed, and his hands tight on his cup of tea. Good thing the cups are sturdy, here.

"... Laudanum. The doctor aboard ship gave it to me after- ... after I was hurt. It still hurts."

Jason stares off, running the term through his head. Surprisingly there is more in there than he lets on.

"Morphine. That's right, it was pretty well used in your time. They turn it into heroin on the streets in my time. It's a nasty drug."

He reaches over and lays a hand on Wellard's wrist. "It's working it's way out of your system, that's why it hurts. You're taking less than you're used to, aren't you? Feeling shaky? Sick? Eyes and nose watering?"

Far from a doctor. He's seen it all before; in clubs, alleys, in his own bed...

"... She gave me less." He mutters quietly, pulling his hand away from Jason. Wellard finally opens his eyes again, but they're fixed resolutely on his cup of tea.

"Very sick." Quietly. "... and its doubtful to get better, isn't it?"

Jason gives him a sad smile.

"Eventually, but it'll take time. It shouldn't last too long. You need help, come talk to me. Or my friend, Nathaniel. He went through the same thing you are when he got off heroin. It helps to have some support."

He waves Ivanhoe over and whispers something.
"Until then, keep yourself hydrated. It'll help a little bit. Not much, I'll admit, but at least you won't be feeling like complete shit."

He retrieves a bottle of Gatorade from Ivan and passes it to Wellard, still looking concerned.
"This stuff helps a lot if you're dehydrated...it doesn't taste great, but you'll feel a little better after drinking it."

Wellard eyes the bottle of Gatorade. Surely anything such a neon blue in color cannot be safe to drink.

"... If you say so, sir." He sets the bottle down close at hand.

"The same thing?" Wellard glances up at Jason carefully.

Jason nods.

"Worse actually. I don't see you whoring yourself out for your next fix yet."

Wellard blinks, and stares at Jason.

Such a concept was around in his time, and Wellard was a sailor. While he would not talk of such things- he understands the concept.

And thank God that never happened to him.

Jason stares fixedly at Wellard to make his point.

"Just make sure you let someone help you and get off that stuff, ok?"

"... The Bar is helping me, sir." A quiet sigh, and Wellard rubs at his eyes again.

"She did not give me as much, and will continue to give me less. So she said."

"Good. She won't give you more than that. But Wellard, if you really feel like you're losing it, come see me ok? If I can't help, I sure as hell can hold you down so you can't get anything until it passes."

"I left it in my room." He mutters through clenched teeth, eyes closed again.

"Could not stand to be up there still, with the bottle, so I left."

Jason smiles.

"Good man. You're doing really well, Wellard. Just keep it up. And really, say the word and I'll take it away from you and you won't get it back until your next dosage."

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