John (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greatoldjohn) wrote2022-10-31 02:46 am
greatoldjohn) wrote2022-10-31 02:46 am
Entry tags:
TLV Inbox
[in a rather deep voice] "This is John Doe. Please leave your message. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I may respond in text if I'm currently with Arthur. Apologies."
Now Moved To: Inbox: Act II - please tag in there!
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No one entered the room while you were sleeping, so I don't think it was taken. But while your coat appears undisturbed, the holster, and your gun, are gone.]
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He cracks his knuckles against the rack in his desperation to search it, trying to find the comfortable, faded leather and getting nothing, until he just grips it white-knuckled like it's the one to blame. "Fuck. What about my cane--?"
But he's already reaching lower where he normally keeps it rested in the corner, within reach of the door, and his gut instinct tells him it won't be there.
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[ A little to your left, Arthur. ...thank fucking Christ.
Oh. One moment.]
He reaches into Arthur's left pocket to check his communicator, seeing the message from Natalie and-
[ ...it appears Natalie is my warden, at the moment. Complete with a file. Which means- ]
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Well, there's a horrible chill that settles low in his stomach.
"Ah. Then- for this flood, we are... inmates."
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A longer pause.
[Natalie has a rifle. And she's offering to come get us. Do you want us to take her up on that offer?
Or shall we try and make it there on our own?]
The Patreon doesn't get to decide this one.no subject
"We should leave now. It's still early, right? So we'll have the chance to do it safely before any of the really dangerous inmates get the realisation as well. Let's grab some things, first."
He hangs the cane by its wrist strap for a moment so he can take his jacket instead to slip on, movements hasty but confident. "Mind your mask."
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I'll let her know.]
John will secure his mask on the inside of his jacket, a much harder spot to pop out and hopefully, provide some protection for Arthur. He's not unaware that he's stationed right over his heart.
[Thankfully, we're heading down into the less-populated areas. Elevator or stairs?]
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Fuck elevators.
The satchel goes over his shoulder, and in goes his communicator first, since John can use his, but then he's patting the pockets of his pyjamas.
"Shit- where's my...?" His coat next, and his hand dives into his inside pocket, where John's mask is, and finds it. "My lighter- alright."
He doesn't waste time thinking about why it's there, but grabs his cane instead and moves to the door, opening it carefully so John can see without exposing their body. "Anything?"
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He considers for a moment whether there's anything else they should bring, eyes scanning the room. Then he pauses.
[Scissors. There's some on the desk. I'll keep them in the left pocket.]
If he needs to, he'll stab the fuck out of something. It's not much, but it's something.
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"Better than nothing." He'll move back over to the desk, finding the couch with his arm so he doesn't crack his shin against it, and lets John grab them before he makes his way out the door - and makes sure to lock it behind him.
"Is there anything you want from yours, John?" he asks quietly, already on alert with a tight grip on his cane, though he won't necessarily need to use it with John here.
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He remembers his manners a moment later.
[Thank you for asking, however.]
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"Right." And he'll head for the stairs. Six flights is a ways to go.
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