bleak_midwinter | IC inbox / contact

From:

"Alright- fuck. Shirt off, Tennant, let's see if it needs work." He's standing up, lighting a cigarette and getting some vodka from a high, unused shelf (because who fucking drinks vodka?), bandages from a drawer in the cabinet.

It also lets him avert his eyes, because he doesn't know what to make of it just yet- he doesn't know exactly what's been going on between the two of them, but Tommy never offered to fuck him, so he quite honestly shouldn't be closer to Lark than Alec.

From:

ukan

Lark pushes himself up with a groan. It takes some work to get the shirt off; it's hard to move his arms, and blood has started to dry and cement it to his skin.

"Where do you want me, Shelby?" He's standing but he really doesn't want to be for any longer than necessary.

From:

bleak_midwinter

He's getting out some other things when he glances at his back- needle, thread, most of all. He lights one of the lanterns standing on the counter and puts the needle in the flame while he looks him over.

"You think I want you gettin' blood on my aunt's fake fucking upholstery? Sit on the table, Lark, it wipes clean."

Clean...ish. There are some stains on this table that you should probably not think about.

From:

ukan

"Too late for that chair then." He knows he left some blood on it when he was getting up. And he tries sitting on the table but he's dizzy, and he has to grip the edges to keep from toppling one way or another. At least that's how it feels.

"If you have cuts on your hands, just- be careful. Don't get my blood in you. You'd be a really terrible dog."

From:

bleak_midwinter

"Oh- Jesus, thanks for reminding me."

He looks at his own hands- clean, luckily, so he can take that needle out and pour some vodka on it for good measure. He gives Lark a slightly concerned frown, but urges him to stay still, breathe deep.

"I'd make a great dog, for the record."

From:

ukan

"Nothing would be safe. You'd either charm your way in and steal everything, or you'd start chaos by pissing on someone's leg. You'd be just like-" a sharp hiss when he moves and rib protests "-me."

Yeah, talking is going to be difficult during this. But he needs voices to focus on. "Tell me about your breach."

From:

bleak_midwinter

"Ah, that'd be annoying, wouldn't it? Gonna disinfect you now, hold on," he warns, barely, before splashing the liquor into the worst of the wounds that'll need stitching.

"Rosethorn was my aunt," he starts, because he's not starting with I was almost engaged to Nina.

From:

ukan

Lark is too drained to be stoic, so he yelps and hits the table with a fist. In his defense, those cuts are deep.

"Yeah?" His voice is high, tight. "How was it?"

From:

bleak_midwinter

He claps him on the good shoulder- stay strong, pal- and then threads the needle.

"Weird. She's a lot like Polly, and some things don't change. I uh- run-- ran some cons."

From:

ukan

Lark chuckles as much as his injuries allow. "You do me proud, Tommy. Tell me about them-"

Please. He needs a good con to think about and a soothing voice to hold onto if he's going to get all the stitches he needs.

From:

bleak_midwinter

"Alright," he mutters, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray a few feet away, and then setting the needle to his skin. No preamble- Lark knows what's coming, no way to make that better for him.

"The years earlier, uh- I had a partner, so we got-" He huffs every now and then, squinting to get a good view of the wounds.

"We got some people, fresh off the boat, settled on horses, in wagons, tellin' 'em we knew exactly where the good new plots were."

From:

ukan

Lark groans, finding that doing so helps to alleviate some of the pain. Or at least it makes it less all-consuming.

"Good plots, huh-? For- shit, for gold?"

From:

bleak_midwinter

"Gold, farming, who fucking cared. Of course- you know, we had to ask for a downpayment. Just for our troubles."

From:

ukan

"You'd be a-" Ow, fuck. "-terrible businessman if you didn't."

But he's thinking about how he couldn't go to the infirmary, about how he can't reach the wounds Tommy is cleaning, about how there is no one else on board he'd trust to patch him up. "What am I going to do when you leave?"

Edited Date: 2015-12-07 01:04 pm (UTC)

From:

bleak_midwinter

He moves on to the next wound and pierces his skin with the needle- this one is deeper, harder to stitch, and Lark's skin is slippery with blood, and whiskey, and sweat.

"Ask someone else. Avoid Cambridge, he has shitty bedside manners and no whiskey."

From:

ukan

"Are you really going after this deal?"

This is a job, Lark knows that. But it's a job with incredible gains at the end, surely someone could find multiple wishes to have granted.

And then he has to bite down on his arm to keep from crying out, and he tells himself he's being childish.

From:

bleak_midwinter

He falters a little, just halting after having pushed the needle through. He shakes his head at himself, then keeps going, pushing again, criss-crossing.

"I am," he says, but his voice is softer than before. "I have my family, Lark. Things to take care of."

From:

ukan

"I know. I know, and I'm glad you do." It's just going to be different without Tommy. A lot harder than Lark is willing to admit out loud. The solution to that is easy enough (quit being so dependent on Tommy's friendship), but Lark has already decided it's a solution that's worse than the problem. He'll just have to brace himself for when this is over.

From:

bleak_midwinter

"Told myself I wouldn't get attached to anyone here," he comments lightly, before leaning in just a little closer to get to the last parts of the wound.

"Make it just about the job, the goal. Keep focus."

From:

ukan

"Yeah? How long did that last," he exhales in a hiss and finishes speaking with a little strain, "A day or a week?"

Tommy may not have a lot of trusted friends but those Lark has seen are incredibly loyal.

From:

bleak_midwinter

"Twenty minutes," he says, with a soft laugh as he finishes and starts tying a knot in the thread.

"Furiosa saw me in the hallway. We nearly fought each other, until she asked me who I was- who I was."

From:

ukan

Lark laughs raggedly and rests his head on his hands, now that the sewing is over and it's just the hot after-pain.

"What did you tell her?"

From:

bleak_midwinter

Tommy grabs the bottle of vodka and pours it over the wounds just one last time, disinfecting him the best he can, and then he goes to the kitchen to make him a very strong cup of coffee.

"I-" This is strange, out of context, but he remembers how intense the meeting had been, how strongly they'd connected.

"That I wasn't a good man, but that I tried to be the best I could be."

From:

ukan

"Did she believe you?" About trying to be a good man but more importantly, "About why you aren't good?"

From:

bleak_midwinter

"She believed me on my word."

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