greatoldjohn | TLV Inbox

That gets a quiet groan out of Arthur, and he releases John so he can lift his hand and rub his face instead.

"Christ, Mandrake," he mumbles. "I don't think he's going to do anything that ought to require me checking in right now, but I'll have to be damn thorough about that later."

John takes a moment to move himself into a pocket for the time being. Of all the things, he'd asked for a kettle before his ability to stick to!

Fucking annoying.

[Of course. I just wasn't sure-

You're protective of him. If you wanted to go and check on him, I'd understand.]

When he feels his jacket shift, he pulls it open for John to make the whole affair a bit easier.

"I don't think there's anything I should bother him about at this hour, anyway." He'll push himself to his feet, still. "But I'm not doing anything else before a cup of tea, mind you."

And he tucks his mask back into place before settling his hand back at his side.

[Not at this hour, of course. Really, Arthur.]

But best they get Arthur his tea.

"Fuck off," he says, fond and dry.

At least he feels like he's getting the hang of Natalie's room; his hand reaches out to brush at a chair he remembers being out, and is quietly pleased at the gentle brush against his fingertips, rather than the sharp crack he's accustomed to.

"Now, where are the cups again?" he asks, resting his hand flat on the bench without prompting when he reaches it.

[Oh, now he wants to know where the cups are. What happened to me fucking off?]

Grumpy, but with absolutely no real bite to it and just as obviously fond. It's even clearer when he says, after a moment-

[Off to the left, a few inches up from the counter.]

"Thanks."

And he reaches for it unerringly, finding the handle easily and bringing it down carefully. There's an ease of motion to his movements, as he goes through them to make his tea, that John will certainly notice; not just familiar habit, but almost a sort of awareness, meeting some of John's directions before he can even finish them.

How in sync the are is one of those unspoken comforts (or irritations) that hasn't come up nearly so often on the barge but John can feel himself settling significantly when he feels how smooth their integration is.

[Cho ought to be by tomorrow with some food and some books. I explained why we weren't going much of anywhere.]

That gets a haggard sigh out of him, as he picks up his finished tea and turns to lean against the counter. "Thank you, John," he says still, but John will be able to tell that the exasperation in his voice is directed inwards, not at his partner.

Yeah, he figured.

[ We'll be back to our cabin and how things ought to be soon enough. ]

"My own cabin isn't even the issue," he gripes, though he won't deny that it's certainly a large one, losing that familiar, centring location. "Now more than ever I feel completely out of my depth when it comes to- to my physical capacity to help, in moments like this."

[It's fucking awful.]

Spoken with empathy as opposed to anything snide or sarcastic. Whether that's because of their talk or because he's feeling exactly the same way is hard to say.

[But I'm sure there'll be plenty to do once this is over.]

"Oh, without a fucking doubt." He can't imagine how much damage control he's doing to have to do with Nathaniel.

He crooks his hand across his body, brushing the side of his mug against John's arm in a small gesture of warmth. "But I should be able to handle most of that solo, if you'd like to keep an eye on Natalie."

[Oh, I'm going to have plenty to say to her. Believe me.]

He didn't miss the fact that she decided to get drunk. After everything they'd talked about. After Arthur had put himself out the way he had, and John.

And then fell into a coma.

Oh he's got a lot to say.

[ I'm still fine to escort you there. ]

Edited 2023-02-16 05:21 (UTC)

He can feel the shape of their mask under his jacket, conscious of it when it's on the wrong side than he's used to, and cradles his arm across it for a moment in a soft grip.

"You alright, John?" It's not like he can't tell, but it's the invitation to talk about it that's the important part.

He's quiet for a long moment. Then-

[We tore ourselves open for her. You tore yourself apart, even though she isn't your inmate.]

His tone darkens then-

[And the first fucking thing she decided to do after we'd talked about it, after she promised to try with me, with me right here is get drunk off her ass because she could.

The coma isn't her fault but that is. ]

Edited 2023-02-16 06:37 (UTC)

Arthur doesn't point out how he'd done functionally the same, after John had floated the idea past him to begin with.

Instead his eyes flick up to the empty weight of her bedroom, that seemed to suck his attention like gravity. It wasn't quite the same room, but still too close for real comfort most nights.

"Well, we already knew you standing firm on her substance limits was a good call," he says, and it's an effort to keep his voice from being curt as well. "But it is... it's fucking galling."

[Almost as much as this fucking flood itself.]

Grump grump grump.

"Let's hope she'll be back sooner than later," he says evenly. "So you can give her a good lashing before you lose steam."

He lifts his drink, and he doesn't need to but he mumbles into it like someone will overhear, "Hopefully she comes back with a fucking hangover."

That? Gets one of John's evil little laughs in the back of Arthur's mind.

He lifts his drink so he can, carefully, massage his forehead with the side of his thumb. "I mean, apart from the entire headache this flood has proven itself to be, it certainly could be a lot worse," he comments, shifting his weight to take some pressure off John's foot. "Certainly it's within the parameters a lot of people are expecting from their inmates."

[The King isn't here, so I always consider that it could have been worse.]

Yeah, he can't help but agree there. And given that his hand is free, he'll raise his hand to gently rub where Arthur had been. Let him keep his tea out of it.

[The network has certainly been... interesting. I've been keeping up on things.]

"Christ, the network," he groans, letting John take over the task even if it feels a bit weird (but at the same time he still leans into the touch a little). "I've completely forgotten to keep an eye on the bloody thing. How badly is everyone else going?"

[ We've got at least three people attempting a revolution and the one who fixed your arm has started delivery snack food via skeleton.

Also, Dr. Hilbert has taken over the infirmary. The one from the ledger who puts deadly diseases into people and drugs their food. ]

"Hm. Less revolutions than I might’ve expected," he comments dryly. "I'm glad the one you got to fix me came through, because I don't think anyone in their right mind will be using the infirmary knowing that. Certainly I won't."

(no subject)

greatoldjohn - 2023-02-20 06:46 (UTC) - Expand