greatoldjohn | Open RP

"Who's Larson?" She's so fucking cold, but at least it's not raining any more. Doesn't keep her from already being soaked through and shivering hard enough to make her teeth rattle. "Wait, what do you mean 'as if I know him'? Jesus Christ, what... what happened? You look like you got eaten by a wolf and shit over a cliff."

The sudden wave of panic tenses Arthur's features into a furious rictus, yet another expression Willa's never had directed at her. He didn't say Larson-- she can hear John. She knows who Arthur is, how are they supposed to--

His lips press as he glances away, turning his face away slightly so he can mutter to John. "John, we can't, it-it's not-- she's..." He takes a deep breath, sighing it out. He needs to, needs to remember to be compassionate, but this-- "She can hear you, that's not good. Is it?"

She stops at that look on his face, as unnerved as she is worried. Wanting to come closer, wanting to see if there's anything she can do, and simultaneously frightened to try. The standing still makes her shiver even harder.

"Yeah, I ca-can hear you too Arthur, what the fuh... fuck." She hugs her arms a little tighter around herself to stop them shaking. "I spent m... m-months making the r-ri-ring work, I should hope I can hear you both. What ha... happened to you? Both of you..."

Oh, the world is tilting slightly sideways. She moves with it, catching herself against a tree. Plaintive and confused and wanting one of them to explain, she says, "Uncle John?"

If she weren't so cold, so tired, so worried for them, she would probably be thinking more clearly. She'd be putting two and two together or at least would have realized there's an equation to be solved here. As it is, she hangs on to the tree and tries not to shudder.

[ She'll freeze out here, Arthur, and so will you! Both of you need to get in the c-

Uncle John?]

He is also, definitely, confused about the fact that she can hear him but he's a great deal more aware of just how fucking weird the universe can be. And remembers the mask, which makes the mention of a 'ring' to hear him reasonable enough.

[Arthur, she's from another timeline! O-o-or from later on in *our* timeline!

Regardless, we need to all get in the car and get *out* of here or you're *both* going to end up in one of those prison cells down below! ]

Edited 2023-10-07 11:46 (UTC)

Yeah honestly that's a wild one for Arthur as well.

"Uncle John?!"

But hey, it's the tipping point in his decision, and he's quick to start moving towards her, stripping off the rainslicker and the double-breasted coat beneath it in one motion, leaving him in just a knit undershirt despite the cold. "Fine, alright, let's- get her in the car - w-where is she-?"

She sounds like she needs the warmth a lot more than him.

Seeing Arthur, battered and traumatized and thinner than anyone should be, shuck his coats and head toward her--well, annoyingly, it makes her cry. She heads for him, too, speaking as she does.

"Right here. What's ha-happening? What happened to you?" She wants so badly to hug him, but the terror in him makes that absolutely a move that's for her, not for him. She keeps talking as she gets closer, though it's quiet nonsense to orient him more than anything, quiet enough for John to easily speak over her.

"I was going h-home, not permanently or anything but I wanted t-to call my dad, I wanted to ta-talk to him, and... it was your idea, so I thought-- It was only supposed to be for the l-length of a plane ride."

John's never had to comfort anyone but Arthur before, but at least he has that experience. He realizes that he hasn't actually talked to her since he realized she can hear him and he'll try that now.

[ We can talk about it in the car. Now, can you get in on the passenger side? Yes. And maybe tell us your name. Perhaps another version of us knows it, but we don't. But first, in the car. Arthur and I will drive.]

His tone gets a little firmer given that Arthur is in the state he's in and just took off his coat.

[Arthur, *both* of you will be warmer in the car. Get in the car! Then you can explain what she means by a 'plane' ride. ]

"C-car Uncle Arthur, and put your fuh-fucking coat back on. Or w-we can use it as a blanket or something. But c... car." It's worried, though, affectionate and afraid rather than a reprimand. She crunches her way through the snow toward the vehicle, trying to figure out how close she should get, what will make Arthur jump and what might actually help.

"It'll be okay," she says softly, as much for him as her. A blast of wind makes her gasp, but she repeats herself all the way to the passenger side: "It will be okay."

She'll make it okay.

"Both of you shut up a minute." His voice is clipped: he's tired, he's sore, he's freezing, and the giant hole in his stomach is bleeding gently into his shirt, so the sooner they move the better.

Willa gets both coats draped over her shoulders. "Keep this on or you'll catch fucking pneumonia." As he opens the car door for her: "Mind the bindle."

And as soon as she's in, he's all but slamming the car door and making his way back to the driver's seat - though as he goes, Willa might notice the massive dark stain across his lower back, and the way the hair on the back of his neck is completely dark with blood.

But he gets into the driver's seat readily, only a soft grunt to mark his discomfort as he sinks into the leather chair. "Right. Let's go. John?"

John will take the time to describe to him the set up of the front area of the house and the path to the road out. His arm will take the steering wheel on the other side as his foot presses the gas. They coordinate between them to back out and start leaving.

[She's scared, Arthur. And... you took some of the bread. Maybe she's hungry too?]

"I'm not scared," Willa insists quietly. Yeah, she's still shaking, but that's got nothing to do with the fear okay. She pulls the layers of coats tighter around herself, her skin grossly clammy along with the chill. "You eat it, I'm fine, I had something earlier. Thank you. Though."

And that is so much blood. "Wh..."

Who, what, where--?

"Willa. My name. Willa Givens."

Edited 2023-10-07 21:23 (UTC)

Arthur gives a dissatisfied hum, but neither face nor eyed turn towards her. "Arthur Lester. And John Doe, of course."

He rubs down his jaw, grimacing at the stubble but too tired to care. "Look, I'm sorry, but- the fact you know my name already is suspicious enough, but being able to hear John is... what did you mean, before, a ring?"

John is focused on the driving, since the vast majority of it falls to him and it's not as if the country road is easy to manage. But all the same-

[You're not from this time, are you?]

He's going to keep his eye on the road especially if she says yes.

"Yeah, duh, I already know your names. Kind of thought that was obvious." She's the same kind of clipped Arthur was when he told them to shut up. A prolonged shiver interrupts her, but after a second, she adds, "I don't think I am but I don't even know what this t-time is."

She reaches out of her coat cocoon to fiddle with the sparse but unfamiliar controls on the dash, briefly and accidentally turning on the radio before she finds the heat. She turns it up full bore, then holds up her hand and wriggles her fingers, showing the black ring around her middle one. "Glance at me so John can see it. The ring."

It's dull, looks metallic, and Willa is very careful not to look at the symbols carved across it. They're not the King in Yellow's mark, exactly, but they're incomplete versions, inlaid with purplish-black sand that seems to shift like mist. It gives off an inescapable feeling of a place John knows, knows but hasn't seen in lifetimes. Not as himself, anyway.

Edited 2023-10-07 21:53 (UTC)

The sudden burst of static makes Arthur flinch, and automatically he goes to slap his hand to the controls to slap Willa away. Though he can't complain when he misses and she manages to turn the heat on. He hadn't even realised the car had any: Larson really was fucking rich.

(Still no seatbelts, but that's a Willa concern.)

"Well right now it's 1934. I-I think," he adds, quiet in his uncertainty. "Maybe '35, b-but still."

But he supposes he can spare a quick glance in her direction for their sake. "John?"

He almost yells, but Arthur just got startled by the static and he doesn't want the car going off the road. So he grumbles a little-

[Keep your eyes on the road, please. This isn't an easy drive.]

And after a few moments, he'll admit-

[She has a ring on with... that has things I don't know how she'd obtain. She doesn't-

I don't think she's working with the King. There's... almost like a haze around such people. She doesn't have it.]

"Of course I'm not working for the King." The absolute indignation in her feathery voice, how dare. She wants so much to swat back at Arthur's hand but experience and worry curb the impulse.

God, what the fuck is going on. She's in 1935, they don't know who she is, Arthur is covered in blood, and John is out a body again. If she weren't a bit in shock she would be freaking out more profoundly, but as it is, the numbness is working in her favor.

Willa pulls her hand back into the coats and draws them up higher until they're over her head like a hood. "W-we were all working for this... person, being, whatever who just called himself the Admiral. Themself. I don't know. We were on this--Jesus if you don't remember I'm going to sound absolutely insane."

"Right, yes," is the idle murnur John gets as Arthur turns his eyes back to the road. He keeps his right hand on the wheel, but John's steering. It's mostly just comfort, so he can feel where the car is turning.

He listens to Willa with as much patience as he has the capacity for, but honestly it's not much.

"Miss Willa, if you're aware of who we are, then I'm sure you must know at least some of what's happened to us. Your being from the future is..." He flexes his fingers with a shrug. "Unusual, certainly. But it can't be as mad as some of the stuff we've told you."

Edited 2023-10-08 00:26 (UTC)

"It's not Miss Willa," she says softly, pulling the coats even tighter. She shudders, wishing it would hurry up and get warmer in the car. "It's just Willa."

God, her brain feels like it's been left in a freezer, which maybe it kind of has. "I don't think I'm from your future. I mean, I'm from the future. Not... I think I'm from your past? The Barge is kind of outside of time and... stuff." The world is doing that sideways tilt thing again. She closes her eyes to try and focus, only half-noticing the shivers any more.

"Dad," it's plaintive, and she muzzily corrects herself. "Uncle Arthur. ...What was I saying?"

Right. "We were on the Barge, that's the only name it has that I know, a living ship, where people-- There's wardens and inmates and we were wardens."

Arthur flinches again. John was fine, Uncle John was... insane, but Dad--

It's lucky he's not actually steering or they definitely would have slid off the road.

John is driving and thankfully is a little more even-keeled when Arthur is a wreck (aka the last day or so). He keeps his hand steady and he keeps his voice soft inside Arthur's mind.

[Arthur, do you think she might be sick from the cold? The things she's saying...]

"I'm okay." It's more rote and less confident at the moment. She can't pull the coats any tighter. Her fingers and face feel like they're starting to burn in the warm air from the heater. She's fine. It's fine. She's going to be okay, and she's going to get these two back to the Barge somehow, and they'll be fine too.

That answer isn't particularly reassuring, and Arthur lifts his hand to find her; gently groping blindly for her shoulder, and when he finds it pushing her beanie back a little so he can press the back of his hand to Willa's forehead; though with it comes the lingering, unpleasant smell of bodily fluids, something in it utterly foreign to Willa under the rusty tang of blood.

"You're warm," he says, concern unsubtle in his voice. "Hopefully it settles, but if she's been out there for too long we might need to watch for a fever."

[Should I try to find a road towards the town? Do you think they have a doctor there?]

He's worried about both of them, considering, but this is so far out of the realm of things he knows how to deal with. She's clearly young. He doesn't know what to do with young.

He doesn't want to think about what he did once upon a time.

Without really thinking about it, she reaches up and takes Arthur's hand gently, turning it over. Her stomach churns a little at the smell. Willa presses Arthur's palm against her too-warm cheek, heedless of any smears left on his skin.

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