Freedom (4/?)
Apr. 8th, 2005 04:56 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
rainweaver13.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
vigorliTitle: Freedom 4/?
Author: Rainweaver13
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando/some Sean
Summary: A highly trained empath's first case is a shattered mystery man.
Rating/Warnings: Slightly sci-fi AU. Suitable for adults who can deal with adult language.
Disclaimer: This is complete fiction. To the best of my knowledge, neither Orlando nor Sean Bean are empaths, nor has Viggo ever been a battered amnesiac. It's something I dreamed up. It has no relation to reality, and I'm not making any money from it.
Bloom, Orlando, Emp. C1
Case #723, John Doe 439
Personal notes: Don't append to case notes
Last night I raided my small cache of hoarded minutes and stopped by the Communicafe on the way home. Finding a console empty in a mostly abandoned corner, I keyed in my access and routing and drummed my fingers while it decided whether I had enough minutes to complete. Finally, with a hissing click, the connection opened and I spoke Dominic's code and password, low and clear, into the speaker. Another wait, during which I picked up the headphones and put them in place, then Dom's voice crackled, "Dom. Tell me."
"Dom. It's Orli." I spoke as clearly as I could without raising my voice, not wanting anyone else to hear me. "I need a portable keyboard, as close to full-size as possible, with rechargeable battery pack. I can go as high as two gold." I was glad he couldn't see me wince. Two gold would put a serious dent in my savings. "Lower is better. Leave a message here. I'll check in three days. Thanks." And disconnect.
The receipt rattled out, showing that I'd spent four of my 47 minutes, so I was down to 43. That shouldn't be a problem. It wasn't like I had a lot of people outside the Empath Center to be calling, after all. Really, beyond Dominic and sometimes Lijah, I didn't talk to anyone on the Outside any more. Just like I didn't go on the Outside any more.
I knew I was incredibly lucky to have been ID'd as a trainable empath during one of the biennial sweeps. Otherwise, I'd just be another Outside scrounger, trying to get by however I could. Lijah, Dom and I had tested the same day. I'd tested empath 5 and telepath 1, enough to get me taken straight to the Center. Lijah had tested empath 4 and was also taken to the Center, but turned out to have deep psychological damage that made him untrainable. Sean had argued that to return him Outside was good as a death sentence, but he'd been overruled. Lijah lived now, most of the time, with Dom, who had tested telekinetic 2, not enough to get him chosen but enough to make him a pretty good thief.
Sometimes I felt bad for leaving them, but Dom would never let me stay that way. He said it was our duty to get out however we could, and if I didn't take my chance and make the most of it, I'd be letting him and Lijah down.
Sometimes I miss them, my street brothers. But I live in a different world now, and I have different things to worry about.
-----
Bloom, Orlando, Emp. C1
Case #723, John Doe 439
Session 4.2
... He's becoming accustomed to my presence here for meals. I think he likes the small table, too. His mind settles when he sits cross-legged across from me. It's still a jumble of cluttered swirls, but it's lying more still at least.
Today we're eating small pieces of roasted meat, with chunks of carrots and potatoes and small green peas. He's grown more easy with eating, now that he trusts the food not to be drugged, but I note that he keeps a close eye on my plate, not eating any one kind of food until after I do. When I open to him, I find myself in a wash of trembling fear and hope that threatens to overwhelm me. He wants to trust me, but is terrified.
The nightmares took him again last night. He thrashed half-awake, screaming, and ran for the door, slamming hard into it. Today he has a dark bruise on one half of his forehead, with a cut at its center.
I indicate the bruise, carefully not to make a sudden move or invade his space. "Does it hurt?"
He listens carefully, and I can feel him trying to sort out the sounds. He frowns, raises his eyebrows - one of them, at least - and vaguely cups his ear. Ah... say again.
"Does it hurt?" I point toward the bruise, and he reaches up to touch it gingerly.
"Hurr." He touches the bruise and frowns, licking his dry lips. "Hurr." And nods, once.
I give him a smile. "We'll get there, John."
He frowns. He missed that entirely, I can tell. He licks his lips again and leans slightly forward. "Bleesch. No. Hurr."
I wonder why he's so concerned with hurting. Abruptly, on a whim, I open myself to him completely, against all regulations, and am hit by an absolute barrage of physical pain. Saints, saints, my head hurts, my shoulder hurts, my inside aches, my hips hurt, my left shin is like fire, my back throbs....
The faintest possible touch whispers across the back of my hand. "Bleesch," he says, with some urgency. "No hurr."
The touch is enough to anchor me back into my own body and out of his. But I look at him with new understanding and more than a little horror. Have the medics not been treating this man's basic physical pain?
His fingertips are patting the back of my hand and I look at him, astonished. He is the fractured one. I am the healer. And yet I am reading worry from him, worry and uncertainty and the ever-present fear.
It's time he has something to call me. I take a deep breath and touch my own chest. Orlando is too much name for the way he struggles with words. "Orli," I say. "Me," pointing to myself. "Orli."
He's snapped to attention. With even part of the tranquilizers gone, his innate intelligence is beginning to show. He looks at my hand, then up at my face. "Ahrri."
I give him a wide smile. "That's right." And a nod. "Orli."
"Ahrri. No hurr. I." And tentatively he presses his outspread hand against his chest.
I have to shut my empathy down entirely. "Yes," I say. "Orli no hurt."
I gesture toward the food between us. "Keep eating," miming the action. "Eat."
He nods and grimly forges ahead on the food, watching warily as I stand and move to the door, knocking and speaking to the watcher who opens it carefully.
"I want a medic here right away. They'll need penicillin and aspirin."
"Medics won't come in here when he's awake."
"They will this time. They can bring two watchers if they must."
"As you say."
The door closes and snicks locked and I look back at John. He is chewing doggedly, probably trying to work out anything he understood from that exchange. I move back to the small table and this time sit on an angle from him rather than across. He darts a look at the door and back to me.
"No hurr?"
"I've asked for medicine. You understand medicine?" I touch his mind and feel only confusion. "Something to help. Help?" A flicker of recognition.
"Hell."
"Yes. Help you," slowly I touch the back of his hand. "Not hurt."
"Ahrri hell I no hurr." The frustration he feels at having to wrestle so hard with simple words is a rumbling fire in the background of his mind.
"Yes," I say, and smile, broadcasting as much calm reassurance as I'm certain I can without his feeling it.
He smiles, just a fraction, back at me, and picks up a pea. "Ahrri eee?" He offers me the pea. It's such a ludicrous thing under the circumstances that I find myself chuckling as I lean forward to nip the pea from his fingers. He's still apparently battling the watchers over shaving, and his stubble is growing thick. In a few days he'll have a small beard. I wonder if he intends that. Did he have a beard, before? Before whatever happened to him that left him near death in the desert?
A soft tap announces the arrival of the medic. I stand to let him in, and John stands as well. The abrupt wash of anxiety from him is not unexpected, but I'm glad to feel that it isn't outright fear. Not yet, anyway.
The medic enters warily with a small tray, flanked by two burly watchers, and immediately John is backed into a corner, flattening himself against the padding. The medic puts the tray down on the floor near the door and picks up a bottle, shaking out three tablets.
"Here's the aspirin," she says.
John doesn't move. The medic doesn't move. With a small huff, I take the tablets from her hand and pick up a water cup from the table.
"John," I say, broadcasting a wash of calm and goodwill. "Help." I nod at the three tablets and mime putting them in my mouth and swallowing. "Help no hurt."
He has retreated far into fear, far into distrust, eyeing the white pills as if they were death guaranteed. He makes no move to take them, his hands curled into fists, buried against the padding of the wall. I consider him for a moment, then, remembering what worked with the food, I take one of the pills between my fingers and hold it up for him to see. Then I put it slowly, carefully and obviously into my mouth, and take a sip of water to swallow it down.
"See? No hurt. It's called aspirin. It will help you not hurt so much."
He steps slightly away from the wall, looking past me at the medic and watchers, and reaches out to touch my mouth. He's afraid he's being fooled. So I open my mouth and let him look inside, moving my tongue around to show that nothing's hidden.
"Ahrri hell?" he says finally. He wants to believe me so much it's almost painful to feel.
"Yes. Orli help." I hold the remaining two tablets out. He wavers one more moment, then picks them up abruptly, takes the water and swallows them down.
"One more," I say to the medic without moving, and she comes over slowly to put another tablet on my palm. I offer it to John and this time he takes it without hesitation.
"And now you need an injection," I say lightly.
Blue eyes widen.
"You have some sort of infection inside, and you need medicine for it. Antibiotics. Understand?"
"No."
I look over at the medic. "Bring it over, slowly. For pity's sake, don't all three swoop down on him and scare him."
The medic picks up the loaded syringe from the floor and starts slowly toward our little tableau.
John catches sight of her the moment she clears my shoulder and every drop of blood appears to drain from his face. He turns a white-rimmed look of sheer terror at me then makes a break around me for the door.
The door is locked, of course. He can't get out. But that doesn't stop him from battering it, screaming wordlessly. The medic looks at me, unnerved, and I signal her to stay put, along with the watchers.
"John," I say, opening myself to him and broadcasting calm, peace, restraint. "John, go easy. There's nothing to fear. John-"
"I'm not John, goddammit!" he shrieks at me, pelting across the room and hitting the window so hard I'm almost sure I heard a bone break. "Let us go just let us go we don't have anything please oh shit oh god oh god oh-" He falls to the floor with a inhuman screech and his body torques into shapes human bodies were not meant to have.
I grab the closest stunned watcher. "Get the sedative. NOW. Heavy dose."
I shove him toward the door and he stumbles but then he's out as that ear-piercing shrieking goes on and on. I move as close to him as I dare and hesitantly open myself to him.
The roomtentvanplace is dark smoky dust smell dust smells like pain pain pain is everything pain pain pain open try see see Manda fingertip touch scream sorry sorry sorry Manda sorry wake wake Manda? blood so much much blood smells thick copper help help pain help Karl? 'here' 'dying' 'wish' god god pain no no no NO NO NONONONONO
-----
I wake in the medic hall, with an attentive watcher wiping my face with a cool cloth. For a moment, I'm at a loss. Why am I here? Then I remember. Saints. I remember.
-----
He is heavily asleep on his back, blood spatters on his pajama top from where he bit his lips. A new cast covers his rebroken arm. He was given a strong dose of penicillin after sedation, and the medic wants to keep him sedated until tomorrow morning.
I don't feel I can argue.
I sit beside his mattress, my head in my hands, and try to wipe that choking wad of memory from my mind. It won't go. He has something horrific blocked, and the block is either causing or contributing to all his other problems. I heard him speak. I have names, tiny bits of information with which to pry at his mind.
But right now I can't imagine it. Right now I feel I was given something precious and I broke it. I hold his hand and apologize, but I know he can't hear me.
I wonder if he ever will.
Author: Rainweaver13
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando/some Sean
Summary: A highly trained empath's first case is a shattered mystery man.
Rating/Warnings: Slightly sci-fi AU. Suitable for adults who can deal with adult language.
Disclaimer: This is complete fiction. To the best of my knowledge, neither Orlando nor Sean Bean are empaths, nor has Viggo ever been a battered amnesiac. It's something I dreamed up. It has no relation to reality, and I'm not making any money from it.
Bloom, Orlando, Emp. C1
Case #723, John Doe 439
Personal notes: Don't append to case notes
Last night I raided my small cache of hoarded minutes and stopped by the Communicafe on the way home. Finding a console empty in a mostly abandoned corner, I keyed in my access and routing and drummed my fingers while it decided whether I had enough minutes to complete. Finally, with a hissing click, the connection opened and I spoke Dominic's code and password, low and clear, into the speaker. Another wait, during which I picked up the headphones and put them in place, then Dom's voice crackled, "Dom. Tell me."
"Dom. It's Orli." I spoke as clearly as I could without raising my voice, not wanting anyone else to hear me. "I need a portable keyboard, as close to full-size as possible, with rechargeable battery pack. I can go as high as two gold." I was glad he couldn't see me wince. Two gold would put a serious dent in my savings. "Lower is better. Leave a message here. I'll check in three days. Thanks." And disconnect.
The receipt rattled out, showing that I'd spent four of my 47 minutes, so I was down to 43. That shouldn't be a problem. It wasn't like I had a lot of people outside the Empath Center to be calling, after all. Really, beyond Dominic and sometimes Lijah, I didn't talk to anyone on the Outside any more. Just like I didn't go on the Outside any more.
I knew I was incredibly lucky to have been ID'd as a trainable empath during one of the biennial sweeps. Otherwise, I'd just be another Outside scrounger, trying to get by however I could. Lijah, Dom and I had tested the same day. I'd tested empath 5 and telepath 1, enough to get me taken straight to the Center. Lijah had tested empath 4 and was also taken to the Center, but turned out to have deep psychological damage that made him untrainable. Sean had argued that to return him Outside was good as a death sentence, but he'd been overruled. Lijah lived now, most of the time, with Dom, who had tested telekinetic 2, not enough to get him chosen but enough to make him a pretty good thief.
Sometimes I felt bad for leaving them, but Dom would never let me stay that way. He said it was our duty to get out however we could, and if I didn't take my chance and make the most of it, I'd be letting him and Lijah down.
Sometimes I miss them, my street brothers. But I live in a different world now, and I have different things to worry about.
-----
Bloom, Orlando, Emp. C1
Case #723, John Doe 439
Session 4.2
... He's becoming accustomed to my presence here for meals. I think he likes the small table, too. His mind settles when he sits cross-legged across from me. It's still a jumble of cluttered swirls, but it's lying more still at least.
Today we're eating small pieces of roasted meat, with chunks of carrots and potatoes and small green peas. He's grown more easy with eating, now that he trusts the food not to be drugged, but I note that he keeps a close eye on my plate, not eating any one kind of food until after I do. When I open to him, I find myself in a wash of trembling fear and hope that threatens to overwhelm me. He wants to trust me, but is terrified.
The nightmares took him again last night. He thrashed half-awake, screaming, and ran for the door, slamming hard into it. Today he has a dark bruise on one half of his forehead, with a cut at its center.
I indicate the bruise, carefully not to make a sudden move or invade his space. "Does it hurt?"
He listens carefully, and I can feel him trying to sort out the sounds. He frowns, raises his eyebrows - one of them, at least - and vaguely cups his ear. Ah... say again.
"Does it hurt?" I point toward the bruise, and he reaches up to touch it gingerly.
"Hurr." He touches the bruise and frowns, licking his dry lips. "Hurr." And nods, once.
I give him a smile. "We'll get there, John."
He frowns. He missed that entirely, I can tell. He licks his lips again and leans slightly forward. "Bleesch. No. Hurr."
I wonder why he's so concerned with hurting. Abruptly, on a whim, I open myself to him completely, against all regulations, and am hit by an absolute barrage of physical pain. Saints, saints, my head hurts, my shoulder hurts, my inside aches, my hips hurt, my left shin is like fire, my back throbs....
The faintest possible touch whispers across the back of my hand. "Bleesch," he says, with some urgency. "No hurr."
The touch is enough to anchor me back into my own body and out of his. But I look at him with new understanding and more than a little horror. Have the medics not been treating this man's basic physical pain?
His fingertips are patting the back of my hand and I look at him, astonished. He is the fractured one. I am the healer. And yet I am reading worry from him, worry and uncertainty and the ever-present fear.
It's time he has something to call me. I take a deep breath and touch my own chest. Orlando is too much name for the way he struggles with words. "Orli," I say. "Me," pointing to myself. "Orli."
He's snapped to attention. With even part of the tranquilizers gone, his innate intelligence is beginning to show. He looks at my hand, then up at my face. "Ahrri."
I give him a wide smile. "That's right." And a nod. "Orli."
"Ahrri. No hurr. I." And tentatively he presses his outspread hand against his chest.
I have to shut my empathy down entirely. "Yes," I say. "Orli no hurt."
I gesture toward the food between us. "Keep eating," miming the action. "Eat."
He nods and grimly forges ahead on the food, watching warily as I stand and move to the door, knocking and speaking to the watcher who opens it carefully.
"I want a medic here right away. They'll need penicillin and aspirin."
"Medics won't come in here when he's awake."
"They will this time. They can bring two watchers if they must."
"As you say."
The door closes and snicks locked and I look back at John. He is chewing doggedly, probably trying to work out anything he understood from that exchange. I move back to the small table and this time sit on an angle from him rather than across. He darts a look at the door and back to me.
"No hurr?"
"I've asked for medicine. You understand medicine?" I touch his mind and feel only confusion. "Something to help. Help?" A flicker of recognition.
"Hell."
"Yes. Help you," slowly I touch the back of his hand. "Not hurt."
"Ahrri hell I no hurr." The frustration he feels at having to wrestle so hard with simple words is a rumbling fire in the background of his mind.
"Yes," I say, and smile, broadcasting as much calm reassurance as I'm certain I can without his feeling it.
He smiles, just a fraction, back at me, and picks up a pea. "Ahrri eee?" He offers me the pea. It's such a ludicrous thing under the circumstances that I find myself chuckling as I lean forward to nip the pea from his fingers. He's still apparently battling the watchers over shaving, and his stubble is growing thick. In a few days he'll have a small beard. I wonder if he intends that. Did he have a beard, before? Before whatever happened to him that left him near death in the desert?
A soft tap announces the arrival of the medic. I stand to let him in, and John stands as well. The abrupt wash of anxiety from him is not unexpected, but I'm glad to feel that it isn't outright fear. Not yet, anyway.
The medic enters warily with a small tray, flanked by two burly watchers, and immediately John is backed into a corner, flattening himself against the padding. The medic puts the tray down on the floor near the door and picks up a bottle, shaking out three tablets.
"Here's the aspirin," she says.
John doesn't move. The medic doesn't move. With a small huff, I take the tablets from her hand and pick up a water cup from the table.
"John," I say, broadcasting a wash of calm and goodwill. "Help." I nod at the three tablets and mime putting them in my mouth and swallowing. "Help no hurt."
He has retreated far into fear, far into distrust, eyeing the white pills as if they were death guaranteed. He makes no move to take them, his hands curled into fists, buried against the padding of the wall. I consider him for a moment, then, remembering what worked with the food, I take one of the pills between my fingers and hold it up for him to see. Then I put it slowly, carefully and obviously into my mouth, and take a sip of water to swallow it down.
"See? No hurt. It's called aspirin. It will help you not hurt so much."
He steps slightly away from the wall, looking past me at the medic and watchers, and reaches out to touch my mouth. He's afraid he's being fooled. So I open my mouth and let him look inside, moving my tongue around to show that nothing's hidden.
"Ahrri hell?" he says finally. He wants to believe me so much it's almost painful to feel.
"Yes. Orli help." I hold the remaining two tablets out. He wavers one more moment, then picks them up abruptly, takes the water and swallows them down.
"One more," I say to the medic without moving, and she comes over slowly to put another tablet on my palm. I offer it to John and this time he takes it without hesitation.
"And now you need an injection," I say lightly.
Blue eyes widen.
"You have some sort of infection inside, and you need medicine for it. Antibiotics. Understand?"
"No."
I look over at the medic. "Bring it over, slowly. For pity's sake, don't all three swoop down on him and scare him."
The medic picks up the loaded syringe from the floor and starts slowly toward our little tableau.
John catches sight of her the moment she clears my shoulder and every drop of blood appears to drain from his face. He turns a white-rimmed look of sheer terror at me then makes a break around me for the door.
The door is locked, of course. He can't get out. But that doesn't stop him from battering it, screaming wordlessly. The medic looks at me, unnerved, and I signal her to stay put, along with the watchers.
"John," I say, opening myself to him and broadcasting calm, peace, restraint. "John, go easy. There's nothing to fear. John-"
"I'm not John, goddammit!" he shrieks at me, pelting across the room and hitting the window so hard I'm almost sure I heard a bone break. "Let us go just let us go we don't have anything please oh shit oh god oh god oh-" He falls to the floor with a inhuman screech and his body torques into shapes human bodies were not meant to have.
I grab the closest stunned watcher. "Get the sedative. NOW. Heavy dose."
I shove him toward the door and he stumbles but then he's out as that ear-piercing shrieking goes on and on. I move as close to him as I dare and hesitantly open myself to him.
The roomtentvanplace is dark smoky dust smell dust smells like pain pain pain is everything pain pain pain open try see see Manda fingertip touch scream sorry sorry sorry Manda sorry wake wake Manda? blood so much much blood smells thick copper help help pain help Karl? 'here' 'dying' 'wish' god god pain no no no NO NO NONONONONO
-----
I wake in the medic hall, with an attentive watcher wiping my face with a cool cloth. For a moment, I'm at a loss. Why am I here? Then I remember. Saints. I remember.
-----
He is heavily asleep on his back, blood spatters on his pajama top from where he bit his lips. A new cast covers his rebroken arm. He was given a strong dose of penicillin after sedation, and the medic wants to keep him sedated until tomorrow morning.
I don't feel I can argue.
I sit beside his mattress, my head in my hands, and try to wipe that choking wad of memory from my mind. It won't go. He has something horrific blocked, and the block is either causing or contributing to all his other problems. I heard him speak. I have names, tiny bits of information with which to pry at his mind.
But right now I can't imagine it. Right now I feel I was given something precious and I broke it. I hold his hand and apologize, but I know he can't hear me.
I wonder if he ever will.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-04-08 10:46 pm (UTC)Poor Orli, he really should have held off on the penicillin until he was asleep, specially when they were breaking ground so tremendously and he knew his fears. *sighs* But then he wouldn't have screamed in clarity. Oh, the conundrum. One step forward, two back they say.
I so want to know what is going on. I love how you are revealing this in broken pieces. I am amazed.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-08 11:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-09 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-09 03:11 am (UTC)Your glimpses of the world 'Oustside' are fascinating. Hope you'll share more of 'Lij and Dom's lives with us as the story continues to unfold. But for now, I just want Viggo to wake up and keep remembering, so Orlando can help him heal.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-09 06:41 am (UTC)I'm seriously addicted to this story. It's amazing. I love the introduction of the Hobbits. I hope we get to see more of them. and this 'Outsiders' thing is a fascinating twist.
And he spoke! Real words, that is. Orli's done so much so quickly. I hope the mistake of the injection didn't damage 'John' too much. He's come so far with Orli.
And see, now I'm talking like they're real people. That only happens when I get really into a story. Which means I'm attached now. Which means you're not allowed to kill anyone, you hear?
*waits patiently for more*
Adrienne
no subject
Date: 2005-04-09 09:20 am (UTC)but he spoke, it's a progress in some way, so i'll be hoping
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 01:48 am (UTC)To be honest, I suspect his superiors may consider John/Viggo somewhat expendable. He is a critical test for Orlando, but if Orlando fails and Viggo is irretrievably lost, well... it's not like any family is going to show up to complain. Harsh, maybe. But practical.
I'm delighted that you're enjoying the story. More in a few days, I hope.
Rain
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 01:49 am (UTC)Rain
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 01:53 am (UTC)Haha! I'm a tease. I shall taunt you yet again!!
Rain
Needs sleep
P.S. Why is there rain on your Archer? Just curious. Cool icon.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 01:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 01:56 am (UTC)More looks at the Outside will probably sneak in now and then, but the main focus is on Orlando and John/Viggo.
Two steps forward and one back. That's how it usually goes. :/
Rain
Glad you're hanging in there
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 02:02 am (UTC)The hobbits might show up a little on the sidelines, but the story's mostly Orlando and John/Viggo.
And... what do you mean you're talking about them like they're real people? They are real, aren't they? ::looking around shiftily:: I mean, I see them in my head. Doesn't everybody? ::refusing to consider medication:: No no ... I *like* them in my head. So they are real. So talk about them to your heart's content. ::grin:: And I'll believe they're real.
Rain
::laughing because I've probably scared the shit out of you now, and I didn't mean to::
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 02:04 am (UTC)Rain
More in a few days, with luck ::fingers crossed::
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 04:52 pm (UTC)In a way I'm thankful for Orli's mistake but at the same time sad 'cos the trust barrier has just been torn down :(
Really can't wait for more!
<333
no subject
Date: 2005-04-10 06:14 pm (UTC)The trust barrier has been damaged, but maybe not destroyed. Because realistically, who else does John-not-John have? Nobody. He can't afford to lose his one connection to what's left of a world.
Want to know something embarrassing? I've been looking at comments and such for about eight months now and I finally had to give up and ask my teen-ager "What does <3 mean?" ::facepalm:: What a dork. ::laughing:: And I was there when emoticons were born, for god's sake.
Rain
Feeling old and stupid
no subject
Date: 2005-04-11 06:03 am (UTC)Why is there rain on your Archer?
Erm... grey day in Middle-Earth? :D I have no idea, it was made by