John Blake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oversight) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2015-07-09 08:56 pm
oversight) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-07-09 08:56 pm
Entry tags:
Subterranean Homesick Blues [Open]
CHARACTERS: John Blake (oversight) + Open
LOCATION: Hallways + Various
WARNINGS: N/A at this time - will update as needed
SUMMARY: Events immediately following the disappearance of Dean Winchester.
NOTES: Additional starters in comments. If you'd like a starter of your own, feel free to PM me on this account or send me a private plurk @![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
blakeroo
Adrift in a mire of swirling memories, John's most pressing company as he traverses the ship is the infernal knowledge that his best friend is gone. He tries to tune it all out, but it proves impossible. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he tells himself that he can't let his mind wander, John inevitably feels himself being drawn backwards.
The phantom of his best friend, still so present in his memories that the hunter might as well be walking right beside him, taunts the cop. You gonna angst a while, or...?
John very nearly laughs at the memory, of some impossibly long time ago, at it's starkness in the empty hallway speaks very clearly of his current mental state. His pace slows ever so slightly, he hesitates, and his head dips as he walks. Dean would say that. He has said that, and while very little has changed since the last time, it feels so much... sharper this time around.
"Yeah, right... you're right. Gonna— gonna be fine," John says aloud. Maybe to himself, maybe not. He can cope. He can start right now. He can set his jaw, he can grin and bear it, and he can man up, as Dean liked to say.
I can't have you cracking up on me, man, he hears, and there's no actual voice in his ear, but it's there. Somewhere. In his mind or in his memories or in his imagination. It's maybe the first time he's regretted having such a sharp memory.
Throat tightening, John's fingers clench around his phone and he finally comes to a halt, steadying himself with a palm flat against the bulkhead. "Just gonna— gonna take some time," he reminds himself, one foot in the past, another in the present. "Take some time, figure it out..."
But before he can even consider that, John has some things to clear up first.
oversight) + OpenLOCATION: Hallways + Various
WARNINGS: N/A at this time - will update as needed
SUMMARY: Events immediately following the disappearance of Dean Winchester.
NOTES: Additional starters in comments. If you'd like a starter of your own, feel free to PM me on this account or send me a private plurk @
Adrift in a mire of swirling memories, John's most pressing company as he traverses the ship is the infernal knowledge that his best friend is gone. He tries to tune it all out, but it proves impossible. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he tells himself that he can't let his mind wander, John inevitably feels himself being drawn backwards.
The phantom of his best friend, still so present in his memories that the hunter might as well be walking right beside him, taunts the cop. You gonna angst a while, or...?
John very nearly laughs at the memory, of some impossibly long time ago, at it's starkness in the empty hallway speaks very clearly of his current mental state. His pace slows ever so slightly, he hesitates, and his head dips as he walks. Dean would say that. He has said that, and while very little has changed since the last time, it feels so much... sharper this time around.
"Yeah, right... you're right. Gonna— gonna be fine," John says aloud. Maybe to himself, maybe not. He can cope. He can start right now. He can set his jaw, he can grin and bear it, and he can man up, as Dean liked to say.
I can't have you cracking up on me, man, he hears, and there's no actual voice in his ear, but it's there. Somewhere. In his mind or in his memories or in his imagination. It's maybe the first time he's regretted having such a sharp memory.
Throat tightening, John's fingers clench around his phone and he finally comes to a halt, steadying himself with a palm flat against the bulkhead. "Just gonna— gonna take some time," he reminds himself, one foot in the past, another in the present. "Take some time, figure it out..."
But before he can even consider that, John has some things to clear up first.
Allison [closed]
He hasn't seen Allison in a while — a considerable feat considering how few people they really are aboard Tranquility — but he knows that she resides on the 9th floor. From there, it's only a matter of sending her a message and making himself readily and easily available.
If you have a little time, I'd like to talk. I'm on your floor. I can come to you.
After sending the message, he lingers in the hallway and waits, his back pressed against the wall and his fingers rubbing tiredly at his eyes. This isn't probably going to get much easier for him, but at least he's too numb by now for it to sting so sharply.