Jean Prouvaire (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vivelavenir) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2013-07-16 09:26 pm
vivelavenir) wrote in ataraxionlogs2013-07-16 09:26 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
CHARACTERS: Jehan & Courfeyrac {Open to any of Jehan's friends}
LOCATION: Jehan & Courfeyrac's room
WARNINGS: May be some TW about violence/death
SUMMARY: Jehan is back froma two week hiatus getting very, very lost on board the ship, and is returning home to a worried room mate, who will inform anyone else who was in the search party that he's back.
NOTES: Opening post is locked to Courfeyrac; I'll have a comment below it that's open to any friends!
The level of exhaustion he felt was beyond visceral; Jehan was almost sure, at the moment he finally found himself at his front door, that he felt tired down to his absolute core. Down past his soul, which had been weary for months now, and into the deeper stuff of a human. Layers of himself he didn't even know existed, much less could be so exhausted.
Two weeks ago, he had succumbed to being dejected. Over absolutely everything. It was a conflagration of melancholy that was usually a slow burn for him, but that had gotten out of hand as he pushed it off through busying himself, caring for his friends, attempting to be social beyond his usual scope-- pretending that this unnatural and sterile environment, that this scope of outdatedness and new knowledge, would all be fine. Because they were together; his friends who had died, himself who had died, they were here.
And then Marius was gone, shortly after those public executions, and his ability to rally himself deflated. With Courfeyrac out of the rooms for a week, he found excuses to wander out to the gardens. To anywhere. To skip meals, to stop checking his device, to cease in any and all company and visits, to lose himself in thinking, or writing, or reading, or simply sitting.
Then the Jump had come, and it had pushed him past his last limit. That tube down his throat, and the piercing fear of who wouldn't be there this time, or of what man would show up stumbling in his own blood stains and asking why, and how? He'd dressed quickly and left quickly. He hadn't taken the device. He was about midway to his rooms when he'd realized... he wasn't midway to his rooms. He was quite lost.
That had been a week ago now.
Putting his head to the door and taking a grateful breath, eyes closed for a moment, he then let himself in.
He doubted that anyone would be there. Selfish though it was, and eager for companionship though he now was, he was equally hungry, dirty and so, so tired... informing anyone that he was back might be an extra hour or two. He wanted to close his eyes and square himself for the lecture he felt sure was coming, and to face any annoyances he might have caused.
LOCATION: Jehan & Courfeyrac's room
WARNINGS: May be some TW about violence/death
SUMMARY: Jehan is back from
NOTES: Opening post is locked to Courfeyrac; I'll have a comment below it that's open to any friends!
The level of exhaustion he felt was beyond visceral; Jehan was almost sure, at the moment he finally found himself at his front door, that he felt tired down to his absolute core. Down past his soul, which had been weary for months now, and into the deeper stuff of a human. Layers of himself he didn't even know existed, much less could be so exhausted.
Two weeks ago, he had succumbed to being dejected. Over absolutely everything. It was a conflagration of melancholy that was usually a slow burn for him, but that had gotten out of hand as he pushed it off through busying himself, caring for his friends, attempting to be social beyond his usual scope-- pretending that this unnatural and sterile environment, that this scope of outdatedness and new knowledge, would all be fine. Because they were together; his friends who had died, himself who had died, they were here.
And then Marius was gone, shortly after those public executions, and his ability to rally himself deflated. With Courfeyrac out of the rooms for a week, he found excuses to wander out to the gardens. To anywhere. To skip meals, to stop checking his device, to cease in any and all company and visits, to lose himself in thinking, or writing, or reading, or simply sitting.
Then the Jump had come, and it had pushed him past his last limit. That tube down his throat, and the piercing fear of who wouldn't be there this time, or of what man would show up stumbling in his own blood stains and asking why, and how? He'd dressed quickly and left quickly. He hadn't taken the device. He was about midway to his rooms when he'd realized... he wasn't midway to his rooms. He was quite lost.
That had been a week ago now.
Putting his head to the door and taking a grateful breath, eyes closed for a moment, he then let himself in.
He doubted that anyone would be there. Selfish though it was, and eager for companionship though he now was, he was equally hungry, dirty and so, so tired... informing anyone that he was back might be an extra hour or two. He wanted to close his eyes and square himself for the lecture he felt sure was coming, and to face any annoyances he might have caused.