wilderlogs | THE SQUAD GETS BUFFED: POST-PLOT HEALING LOG

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THE SQUAD GETS BUFFED: POST-PLOT HEALING LOG

THE SQUAD GETS BUFFED: POST-PLOT HEALING LOG
OOC POST
Refuge can be found in the forest beyond Weathertop. No matter what path they all take, everyone somehow finds their way to the ruins of the long-lost mystical city of...

Philadelphia?

Wait, what?

The forest gives way to ruins that are clearly a chunk of Center City from the US city of Philadelphia. The ruins are very strange due to their placement: the trees of the forest are large and ancient but not large enough to hide the chunk of city, yet here it is, cradled in a secret place in the forest's center even though it wasn't visible from a distance.

Many of the buildings are overgrown with massive vines that have threaded in and around their structures. Most of the streets are broken up, with plants growing between cracks of asphalt. A long stretch of Market Street is now one long grass-filled path.

The sky seems caught in a strange eternal twilight, forever early evening, as if the city has decided it will be rush hour until the end of time. There's always enough light to move around in but the sun never sets or rises or any higher. The crescent moon is always just slightly visible in the sky above, never shifting its place. An effect that looks like a green aurora can always be seen in the sky ahead. This is the only part of the sky that moves, shifting like a normal aurora. Sometimes it crackles slightly and briefly changes blue or red.

Something calls out to them, urging them to the Parkway Central Branch of the Philly Free Library. Stragglers may find the quest magic teleporting them here after the majority arrives. Here, they'll be able to help each other out, heal each other and offer first aid or any food/water that was salvaged, and comfort each other after what happened.

NOTES
✦ Setup: Please only do top-levels either with characters that require some kind of care, first aid/conventional medical treatment, healing, food/water, psychological comfort OR with characters that are capable of offering it. All other characters can tag around and meet/visit people.

✦ General open logs: For general open logs, do not use this log, instead do your own open posts set in the area. This log is purely to provide a centralized place for healing since so many characters were injured or made ill.

✦ Background Info: Please see the related camp OOC post for any background info about the library and area.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Guilt is Dixon's new lot in life. It has been since he got set on fire a few weeks before the Green, so he's starting to get refined in the skill of beating himself up. It's taken him about seven hours to get together the courage to go talk to Shuichi, to check in on him, to follow-up on his disastrous attempt to get5 Shuichi and Impulse off the battlefield.

He shuffles instead of walks up, trying not to aggravate the cursed wound on his back. It feels like an icepick, with freezing cold radiating up under his shoulderblade, exacerbating the old injury he got there when he drunkenly wrapped his car around a tree a few years ago. Trance told him the wound looked both bad and evil, that it already was necrotizing and blackened. He believes it.

He brings Shuichi a blanket from one of the packs people were carrying. He's pretty sure what happened to Shuichi is the same thing that happened to Sothe, and Sothe felt cold, so after a while of thinking what to say or do Dixon finally a logical conclusion.]

You okay? [Shuichi definitely does not look okay. He looks vacant and lost.

Dixon gingerly sits down next to him and puts the blanket in Shuichi's lap.]

[He's so zoned out that he doesn't notice Dixon until the man is already beside him and dropping the blanket on him. Shuichi startles a little, blinking up at Dixon for a moment, before he collects himself and diverts his gaze back to his now-blanket-covered lap.]

'M fine...

[Maybe someone being worried about him should make him feel a little better. And this is Dixon of all people too, who hadn't seemd very interested or concerned with him when they first met, beyond the basic human decency of making sure he didn't die lost in the woods. People care. That should be nice.

But it just makes him feel vaguely nauseous, hyper-aware of how burdensome he must be. It's bad enough that he's in such a mood himself, surely no one else needs to be dragged down with him.

He fusses idly with the edge of the blanket in his lap. It's a thin bit of warmth but comforting all the same, and he'd like to wrap himself in it entirely. But he resists the urge, afraid that would look even more worrisome. He's not sick, so he shouldn't be giving anyone reason for concern.]

I'm fine, so...you don't have to waste your time worrying.

[Dixon doesn't get up and go anywhere; part of it's that he's still making sure Shuichi is okay (Shuichi's response is the least convincing Dixon's ever heard, and he used to bust pre-teens for skateboarding on public property, so that's saying a lot); part it's that now that he's sitting, he doesn't particularly want to stand for a few moments so he can steel himself against the pain that standing up with this stupid knifewound will cause.

The look he gives Shuichi is pure concern. He's concerned for Shuichi, and he's worried for himself, what he's going to do if his slow response to the danger and inability to protect the teenagers has had long-term consequences. He's worried about them and he's concerned that he, too, is on some kind of emotional chopping block, waiting for the hatchet of actual consequences to come down.]

That's what I been telling everyone about me all day. [He pulls out his pack of cigarettes but doesn't take one out. He's trying to stretch this one after the living hell that was the first week without nicotine. He just taps it against his palm in a meditative fidget.]

He got you pretty bad, though. You went down like a sack of potatoes. Glad you're conscience and stuff.

Edited 2018-05-08 05:12 (UTC)

Uh. "Conscious".

[Awesome, Shuichi. That's definitely how you get people to like you. By being a pedantic asshole correcting harmless mistakes. Good job.

Frowning, he curls in on himself a bit more, quickly trying to change the subject.]

Did you get hurt...?

[He didn't really register much after he got Nazgul-whammied, even once he was "conscience" again.]

That's what I said. [It's not what Dixon said, and he knows it, and it stings, but the defensive combativeness that usually radiates off him has been seriously dampened by the encounter with the Dementors and the presence of a not-all-there teenager. Not that he's above returning fire at a teenager, but still.

He shakes his head.] Just stabbed. It's not a big deal, actually. [It feels like a big deal, but Dixon's about had it with people fretting over it and then not being able to do anything to fix it. It's not killing him, it's not going to stop hurting, and with these two facts as constants he doesn't care to talk about it any further.

He figures, by Shuichi's reaction, that the kid doesn't particularly want to discuss the particulars of his condition either. He doesn't want to up and leave the kid in what looks like a less than stellar state, but he's at a lack of other topics.]

Seen any good movies lately? [He pauses.] I mean, before this.

[That sure sounds like a big deal, and it isn't exactly subtle that he thinks so given the shocked grimace that crosses his face. But Dixon's clearly trying to brush it off, and he was walking around and everything just fine and not obviously bleeding out or anything so...maybe it's been taken care of already...?

He's still worried regardless. But he's hesitant to pry and be even more of a bother, and then Dixon's very obviously trying to change the subject, so Shuichi's awkwardly silent for a few beats too long, internally debating for a bit before reluctantly letting the subject drop for the time being.

And as for movies, well... Not in the time he spent at the school, definitely. He could have, maybe, there was definitely the time for it and a pretty sizable collection and people to watch with. It just hadn't come up beyond that one awkward moment in the A/V room with Kaede and the extremely questionable movie she'd found.

...He really doesn't want to think about Kaede right now.]

Uh...not recently, really. And I don't really watch a lot of foreign movies, so I don't know if you'd know any of them...

[Assuming what he remembers seeing even actually exist, given...

Uh. That's probably not a good train of thought either.]

Probably not. [Dixon's never seen a movie with subtitles all the way through. It would be a point of pride in his backwater little hometown, except the real reason is only somewhat closemindedness and mostly that he just can't read that fast.]

I heard there were some good ones coming out, but my town only gets one movie at a time. Sometimes two if they stagger the showings. It's easier to just try and catch them on TV stations a few months later, unless you're one of those people can afford cable.

[He's chatting to just fill the air with something, figuring if he can keep Shuichi talking or at least listening, it's better than watching the kid stare into space looking like a prop-up mannequin. Besides, it keeps his own mind off things. It holds at bay that dark suspicion that this is his fault.

He keeps tap-tapping the cigarette pack against his palm, then lightly tosses it so it flips, and catches it. It's a practiced motion, an I've-spent-a-lot-of-time-doing-nothing motion. He keeps failing to hide that he's giving Shuichi little concerned glances.

Dixon only got a taste from the Dementors of what really getting back into his own head was like. He's figured by now, piecing together bits of conversations, a dim recollection of the Harry Potter books and what he saw on the battlefield, that people were reliving some terrible things when they got got by Dementors or Nazgul both. Memories, nightmares, probably some stitching of the two.

Whatever most of the people who got it saw, it towers over and eradicates the feeble efforts he's been able to make at cheer. He's not surprised that Shuichi isn't feeling very talkative right now.]

I found a pack of cards, if you're bored. Don't know if they have the same kind in Asia.

[He bites back the bemused comment of "people don't have cable where you're from?" before it can actually escape him, thank god. He's never lived anywhere more rural than a moderately-sized town and he doesn't think he's ever even heard of anywhere so middle-of-nowhere that cable is a luxury, but he really doubts his disbelief would come across as anything but insulting.

And as much as a uncharacteristically bitter part of him notes that same tendency for carelessness Dixon had demonstrated when Shuichi first arrived, it's...still a thoughtful gesture, more of less. Shuichi frowns, not quite making eye contact.]

Uh...sure.

[Playing cards bring yet more unhappy thoughts to mind, time spent with Ouma that he can't possibly look back on fondly right now when the guilt and despair is so overpowering. But he just has to...not think about it. He can do that. Totally.]

[Dixon's haul from the Dollar Store is likely to be less useful than what some other people rummage up, but he made off with sunglasses, a pen, a lighter and this deck of cards, which he figures somewhere down the line will have some value among the group. One of the many trying parts of being at the temple was how goddamn boring it was. He ran his phone battery near down playing some app, then invented a whole mindless game of throwing the magical mirror into the lake and taking guesses where it would pop up next to him. Dull as it was, it was somehow preferable to doing actual work around the camp.

He takes the deck from his jacket pocket - the jacket has seen better days, and is covered in bloodstains and tattered - and pulls out the cards, peels off the jokers, and clumsily shuffles.]

What do you know how to play? I don't know I'm up to playing speed, [and Shuichi doesn't look it either] but I know war and gin. Or blackjack, but that's no good with two.

[He breathes a sigh out his nose and watches Shuichi's face. He's trying really hard to pull a smile or something out, but he'd settle for something bitchy or anything lively at all, just something not kind of zoned-out, uncertain and sad.]

[Unfortunate, given blackjack is probably one of the more internationally recognizable ones. Shuichi stares are the cards as Dixon shuffles, fighting down the memories they stir and the resulting hollow feeling in his chest.]

I think I've played something like gin.

[Not very often, since. Y'know. He was kind of a quiet kid without many friends. But he played a little with his uncle and other coworkers and their friends within the police on occasion. It's mostly being due to being well-read that he even knows gin is a rummy game like seven bridge. It's probably not exactly the same, though.

And there's that uncertain look again.]

Ah, it's...probably pretty different though. I can try, if you don't mind going through it quickly...?

[Of course he can't even provide such a simple distraction without being a bother.]

Sure. I probably need to brush up too.

[Oh boy, Shuichi's given Dixon a serious, possibly insurmountable challenge: explaining how to do something. A crinkle works its way into the middle of his brow. He takes a deep breath and steels himself to feel pretty incompetent.

But there's nothing you can do but try. His momma taught him that. She taught him math, too, when it became clear at a young age that he wasn't going to keep up in school, and games of war, and then blackjack with both parents, and then gin, and then it became a pastime into his adulthood, a skill set brought up to par through hundreds of hours of Momma shuffling and dealing cards on the front porch until the sun set.

Whatever the Dementors got, he's glad they didn't get that.

He tries to waterfall and nearly drops the cards, thinking how tired he is, how foggy, how that seems to leak down into muscle memory too. Trance's magic fixed up most of the damage from the hiking and the magic binge, but he just feels deep fatigue, and it seems to radiate out of the wound and his back on down.]

Seven cards each. [He deals to each of them, then lays out draw pile, takes a card off the top and flips it over to create the discard.] Let's do the straightforward version, no counting, just sets and runs. You're looking for three-of-a-kind, four-of-a-kind and straight flushes. You know what those are?

[He gathers up his hand and taps it idly against the ground, still watching Shuichi, starting to chew the inside of his mouth in concern. Playing a card game is a good sign, right?

All he can really see is Shuichi collapsing under that wraith touch. It replays in his head over and over, alongside a clutter of other ugly things from the battlefield. It all weighs heavier and heavier, sinking from his heart to his stomach, from worry to regret.]

Yes, I know.

[Shuichi gathers up his hand, dispassionately looking them over. It feels like such a worthless thing to be doing right now -- insignificant, unhelpful to anyone when everything's gone to hell, too much time wasted on him when all he's ever done is make others look after him and figure things out after its too late and people are already dead--

He frowns, and tries to focus on the cards in his hand. It sounds similar enough to what he knows, maybe simpler. Looking at it that way, he hesitates a moment and then draws a new card, giving up instead a seven to the discard pile.

The distraction is probably good. Being left to his thoughts is definitely bad when he can't close his eyes without seeing bodies and blood.]

Okay, so... [Dixon reaches up and starts chewing his fingernails as he tries to figure out how to explain the next part - but then Shuichi already seems to have it, somehow leaving Dixon feel both relieved and embarrassed.

He takes the seven from the discard pile.]

You play things like this where you're from? You're picking this up fast. [He rearranges his hand into order, a habit he picked up since childhood, trying to sort things into a place he can manage them. Control freakery, maybe. Trying to sort things that don't seem to sit easily or naturally in his head.]

You know, I... [But then he stops himself. Spilling guilt all over everything would be more about him than Shuichi, and even he knows that.] I'm glad you're alright. You got me scared.

It's similar to a game I've played. We mostly have different rules about the sets you can make, I think.

[Sevens are significant in the version he's used to, capable of being a set on their own. There are a few other rules like that, but Dixon had specified sets of three or four so those probably weren't a thing if he didn't mention it.

It doesn't feel like anything special to him to work little things like that out, but he's always been an observant sort. Piecing together what he can from haphazard bits of information is basically all he's good for. It doesn't feel like much to him, especially given some of his classmates' talents, but it's what he's got.

He'd kind of prefer to just focus entirely on the cards and tune everything else out -- his classmates, that mess on Weathertop (the route he'd supported following, of course), everyone else that was hurt as well -- but Dixon apparently won't let him entirely distract himself so easily. It's a dull weight in his stomach, knowing the trouble he'd caused for the others just by not being competent enough. No one should be scared because of him.

Shuichi keeps his eyes down on his cards, head angled down where he doesn't have to risk Dixon catching his eye.]

I'm sorry.

Not your fault. [Dixon feels that sense of misstep, like he's somehow dumped all that guilt he feels onto Shuichi, and that somehow makes it all worse. He digs deep, trying to find solace in something that's as heavy as what Shuichi's feeling.] You know, I used to worry my momma. Especially a few times.

[He chews another fingernail before taking his card this turn.] I crashed my car into a tree a few years back. Really worried her then. I mean, I was drunk as hell, I barely even remember it.

[Not that it's anything compared to getting your soul fucked by evil wraith magic, but it's all he can dig up. His life has been so painfully mundane by comparison to even the first week here.]

[There's a nasty, bitter part of him that's irritated by the obvious attempt at a heart to heart thing, that wants to just say draw your card and ward off the whole attempt at using the game as an excuse for this shit. He's fine, people should just stop worrying and leave him alone and forget about him entirely.

...He's probably not okay if even a little part of his brain is thinking that.

But at least it's easy to let himself be distracted by a moment of sympathy -- for Dixon's mother, specifically. Shuichi frowns glancing up just to give the man a weakly stern look.]

You shouldn't be driving while drunk.

[ lawful good ]

I know that.

[Which didn't stop him. If anything, the guilt and shame over the first incident sent him into even heavier bingeing and thus, even more dangerous driving. The fact that he hasn't crashed since is more a miracle of heaven than it is any kind of safety precaution.

But it's gotten an expression out of something besides sad apathy out of Shuichi, which means to an extent it's working, this chatting over nothing, this trying so desperately to say something, anything, that cuts past the blank expression.]

I was just saying. You ain't the first person to worry someone. I'd bet you aren't even the millionth. So don't go apologizing.

[...Goddamn. Dixon makes a legitimate good point.

Of course, as he is right now Shuichi just wilts a little, feeling almost scolded for being so self-deprecating, but for real. Good job, Dixon.]

Sor--

[He has to cut himself off, shaking his head a little and already anticipating the scolding over apologizing for apologizing and the endless circle of stupidity that leads to.

The urge is still there to just be curt and point out that it's Dixon's turn. But...god, the dude is clearly trying, and the irritable part of Shuichi will almost always lose to the sympathetic part. He fusses with his cards, spreading them and sliding them back into a thin stack and evening the stack's edges against one palm, hesitating for a long moment before he finally sighs and tosses the man a bone.]

I just...shouldn't be here in the first place. I'm just weighing everyone down. I can't help anyone.

[The only help he's ever been able to give is post-mortem. Whatever this place is, another game or some show or actual magic bullshit or whatever, he doesn't want to play that role again.]

[Dixon finally picks up that it's his turn, but he doesn't try to think or strategize, he just takes the card from the top of the deck in a kind of mindless fashion.]

That's what I told Hiccup before we started hiking. [He chews his nails again and then stops himself, like he's only just realized he's been at it for the last few minutes, bloodying himself up more than he already is.] And he pointed out that he only had one leg, and I swear, nothing makes you feel like shit more than realizing you've been bitching to a guy with only one leg.

[Even recalling it makes Dixon's neck kind of redden up in some sort of embarrassment.]

I told him I'm going to fuck it up and slow everyone down, and he pretty much told me to get over it. Not sure I did, but we're both here. So. [He sorts his brand new five of spades into his hand.] Your turn.

The dragon kind of balances out the leg thing, though...

["Dragon". He still feels stupid just saying it. This sure as fuck isn't his genre and he doesn't know what to believe about any of it, but he can't bring himself to just accepting all the ridiculous and explainable things as "magic fantasy stuff". There has to be a more logical explanation. If there isn't, then what's he even good for? A detective can't deduce shit if he doesn't understand the basic rules of the universe that everything has to adhere to.

Admittedly, he feels a little shitty brushing off someone's disability so easily like that. But seriously. Dragon. In the usefulness hierarchy of this group, he knows he sure as hell doesn't rank above the guy with the dragon despite all his limbs still being attached.

Frowning, he draws a card, thinking for a few moments before swapping it out for an ace.]

And no one had to practically carry you away from that mess.

I tried to punch that dragon. [Dixon chews the corner of his tongue as he takes a card and tries to make something of his hand, realizes too late he should have gone for something in the discard pile.] I probably could have thought that through more.

[He's not a fan of the fantasy stuff either. It's less a matter of identity - unlike Shuichi, Dixon's never considered himself observant, and the presence of new hell has just accommodated itself right into his world. Why should he expect to know what's going on with magic when he barely knows what's going on in the real world?

It's more a matter of feeling like everyone's got this magic sorcerer bullshit more figured out than he does.]

Nah, people just had to practically carry me up the whole hill. I couldn't even carry a pack past the first day. Everyone else had to do it for me. [It's not that he hadn't been trying. That's the only comfort that helps him sleep at night. He had tried and failed and thrown up in a bush and passed out, but it was lack of capability, not lack of effort, when it came to keeping up with the rest of the group.] Besides, you and Impulse gave me an excuse to punch that bitch in the face.

[Highlight, honestly.]

[Shuichi isn't trying super hard -- he's hardly in the right mindset for it, and, well...Dixon doesn't seem like he would take that much effort to beat anyway, even in a game he's still learning. But strategy and careful thinking comes naturally to him, so he still takes his time with his moves, noting the cards in the discard pile and what potential possibilities that leaves him with.

He takes the card Dixon abandons and tosses an eight out.]

You punched someone?

[He was unconscious at that point. And pretty out of it immediately afterwards. In hindsight, he really didn't know what exactly went down to facilitate their escape from what had seemed like a hopeless situation at the time of him going down.]

Edited 2018-05-12 06:07 (UTC)

[Dixon takes time with his cards too, but it's less strategizing than trying to do two things at once, another one of those many skills he never totally got a handle on. He figures Shuichi's going to beat him. The kid seems quick, even underneath the pall. Did even when they first met.]

Some goth bitch cursing Impulse. You were out of it by then. I don't...

[he doesn't totally remember what happened either, truthfully. He was pretty shitfaced on magic at that point; everything's a bunch of individual images patched together with little throughline of context. He's pretty sure he punched a woman, but the more he thinks about it the less he's certain when in the whole scramble of events it was.]

You know how I said I was trying to babysit all you teenagers? Turns out I was really bad at that. So that's on me, not you.

[Ugh. Impulse got hurt too? Or "cursed" or whatever. He hopes that isn't his fault, even just in the way of having distracted him or something.]

It's not your fault. You weren't even there yet when...that happened.

[The fact that he glances up from his cards to say that, however briefly, does add to the sincerity of it. Fuck, he doesn't want anyone else feeling guilty over him getting knocked out, especially someone who couldn't have done anything to stop it. He's not worth that much concern.]

You're right. [It's not that Dixon believes for a moment Shuichi's right. He saw the whole thing, and even though he doesn't remember it all well, he knows if he'd just been a little faster to get to them things might have turned out different.

It's that enlisting Shuichi in his guilt spree doesn't seem to be helping the kid at all. Some people are always hungry for someone to blame, but Shuichi isn't the type, and in the balance between Dixon's concern and his self-absorption, this time concern comes out ahead.

So time to switch. Shuichi doesn't seem particularly happy about talking about the past prior to this quest, so Dixon scrounges around for any sort of hook. Mentally, he crosses things out as he takes from the discard pile. Probably shouldn't ask Shuichi if he's got a girlfriend - for all he knows she's back home and Shuichi misses her (the idea that she might be dead or worse doesn't cross Dixon's mind); the same goes for family. The battle's an awful topic of conversation, and it's not that the future is bleak, but that it's so unpredictable.]

You going to be reading many of the books out here? You seem like you'd be a reader. [Shockingly, Dixon isn't, but he'll try and find something about them to talk about if it fills the time with something besides that heavy, anxious, smothering feeling in the air.]

THE SQUAD GETS BUFFED: POST-PLOT HEALING LOG

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