here we go, wick, you've gone off the deep end now

[withafnpencil]

WHO: John Wick
WHERE: Clinic, Inn, here and there
WHEN: Feb 2nd to 6th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Blood, open wounds just about everywhere on the guy

---

[ Arrival, Clinic ]

He doesn't remember passing out after talking to Winston. There was no way, John wouldn't let himself. Not with forty-five minutes still on the clock before the contract on him went live. But once the water was rubbed away from dark eyes and he could see, it didn't take much longer than a second to know he wasn't in New York. Hell, he wasn't anywhere that he ever remembered visiting and John had been to a lot of places. Nothing was right; his clothes, the backpack on his back, even the device on his wrist made no sense.

Once he got himself out of the fountain, he felt the sting of open cuts on his face and then the white-hot pain radiating from low down on his torso as well as the knife wound on his upper thigh courtesy of Cassian. He needed some bandages, maybe a suture kit and one of these places had to have one. So he limped his way over and peered through doors until he found what looked like a clinic, with no one around. Or so it seemed. In fact, he hadn't seen anyone yet.

John moved quickly, rummaging for only a short minute before finding gauze, tape and a number of suture kits so he grabbed what he needed and glanced down where at the hand he had pressed to his side, blood and water seeped between his fingers. He knew they needed to be dealt with now so he dropped the bag slung over his shoulder onto the floor and started peeling the wet scrub shirt off.


[ Inn, Here and There ]

He was told if there was an empty house it was free to take, so when he did, John spent the first day trying to make sense out of what was going on. Getting plucked by someone or something and brought to a completely different universe than his own sounded batshit crazy. But no one had tried coming at him and he didn't feel eyes or any other threat, so to anyone noticing the new guy, he was taking this all rather well. Even without the lack of answers to the questions that apparently everyone asked when they arrived.

Perhaps someone needed to make up a brochure then.

After sleeping a little bit, he inspected the bag a little more thoroughly, as well as the device before heading out toward the inn where he was told there was some food.

Comments

Inn - Food Time

[duel_wielding]

It had been a while since he'd done something like this. He'd enjoyed the meal yesterday, his first day around, and the idea that people were willing to contribute to other people's needs like this was a wonderful thing. Which was why North was here now, helping in the kitchen to prepare the day's lunch.

Give him credit, he melded into places like this easily. Perhaps because he used to sneak into the mess after hours to make small treats from back home.

"Afternoon," he said as someone entered, not even looking up from chopping the meat that had been brought by for stew. He was actually sort of good with cutting this stuff down, and soon he'd move on to a light sear for locking in flavor. What? It's fun.

That last cube wasn't an inch square.

Theta, it doesn't have to be perfect, North smiles to himself as he responds to his AI.

[withafnpencil]

Being new meant sticking out like a sore thumb and he'd stick out with healing cuts all over his face and hands. Thankfully, the guy preparing whatever he was didn't look up. It meant maybe John could grab something quick and be on his way.

In a low but even tone, John gave a nod. "Afternoon," he returned, glancing over to a table with some bread. He walked over to it, giving his back to the other.

"Mind if I take some of this?"

Being new also meant he had no idea who was running the kitchen. He's assuming it's the guy doing the chopping.

[duel_wielding]

"Seems reasonable," North agreed, still smiling as he looked at his work. But then he looked up and saw the man and frowned. Oh dear. He calmly put the blade aside, wiped his hands off on a towel, and approached the man.

"Are you okay?"

The cuts seem shallow, but that would sting, Theta mumbled in concern.

[withafnpencil]

John gives a nod, eyes scanning the area for a bread knife to cut off a piece. Eventually, he'll plan his visits to the inn when the more filling food has been made and stored for people to help themselves to.

The question gets a narrowed brow of confusion until John realizes why he's being asked.

"Oh, yeah, fine," he starts, deciding how to explain why exactly he looks the way he does. "Work injuries."

It wasn't a lie.

clinic

[whipshots]

It's good for him, really, that it was possible to follow the almost-universal symbol for medical aid: red cross daubed on a background. (It was fascinating how many worlds that recurred in, no matter how different they could be.)

People had finally been trickling back into the village lately, some of them with injuries, so Brigitte had redirected more of her attention towards the clinic than the forge, at least for a while -- the smithy fires extinguished, instead ensuring that the clinic was well-stocked and ready to field whatever came its way.

Which led to today: the woman entering and pushing the door open with one shoulder, carrying more freshly-gathered gauze from people's scrabs of fabric, and Brigitte came to an abrupt halt in the doorway when she saw someone. A man, a stranger, still dripping wet from the fountain, water and blood slick on the floor as he rummaged through the supplies.

The sight of the blood was what did it: it slammed right past Brigitte's surprise, clicked her mind into crisis mode and made her step forward. "What are your injuries?" she asked; cutting straight to the point, jumping to practicalities as she sized him up and the state of him.

[withafnpencil]

Being that she's the first person he's seen there, so, of course, he stares as she approaches, hand still clenched to the wound on his side. The woman doesn't feel much like a threat but that doesn't stop John from being wary of her or of the door behind her and who might walk through it next.

"Gunshot wound," John says in regards to the obvious one. "I think I ripped the stitches out."

But there were the cuts on his face, too, as well as plenty of bruises that she would see clearly enough of on his exposed arms.

"Who are you and where am I?"

[whipshots]

There were nicks and flecks of blood all over his face, as if he'd weathered a thousand small cuts, or perhaps an explosion of shrapnel or glass. It's hard to tell exactly how the man became so hard-up, and she found herself belatedly thankful that she came through the fountain unharmed.

She set the gauze down on a nearby table, hands raised to show that she's unarmed. Practicalities first, then, her voice steady: "My name is Brigitte. We don't know where we are, but it's an island and we've all woken up here, or been transported here. But it's safe inside the village."

She was trying, desperately, to remember how Anne had described the situation to her -- but her memory of her own arrival was muffled and vague, glazed-over with shock. She could only hope she wasn't rattling him even more; it was like approaching a wounded, skittish dog.

"Can I take a look at that gunshot wound? I'm a medic."

[withafnpencil]

The presentation of her hands helps, but it doesn't stop John from watching her approach. His eyes anticipate, looking for the tell-tale signs of someone working out a plan to get closer. She's the first one in this place he's come across and until he knows what he needs to know, John is on guard.

Even while slowly bleeding to death.

The explanation sounds crazy and unbelievable. Not exactly a great way to earn the trust of a guy who has killed some 200 people in the span of a week. Only once the woman does approach, he gets a feeling that she can help and if she tried anything, well...

He gently lifts the bottom of his shirt and where there once was bandages from being treated by the Bowery King's people, there's a pretty torn up hole that needs to be closed quickly.

"Transported by who?" John questions next.

[oorah]

Frank spots a shadow duck into the clinic and knows it has to be someone new. It's been cold as balls out here and no one else would be crazy enough to walk around in just those scrubs. He doesn't mean to creep around, but rather, it just comes naturally. That and he's received his soundproofed boots from the Observers. Something he finds outrageously suspicious, but he hadn't had the time to process it really before being whisked off to the shrine with all the others. If only they could take that back. The point is, even a man with John's capabilities won't be able to hear him until he's there beside him — and man, isn't this a familiar picture? Except usually he's the dumbass bleeding out and trying to plug the holes before he passes the fuck out.

"At least let me help you," he murmurs in that gruff, gravelly way of his, expecting resistance but ready to fight for it. The backs of his arms tingle tellingly, his given ability letting him know this man could be dangerous, but that wasn't an assessment he needed from his superpowers, this time. It really is like looking into a goddamn mirror.

[withafnpencil]

It works in Frank's favour that John isn't usually the type to strike first unless he knows well and good that someone is going to come after him with intent to kill. The soundless boots and mere fact the other man suddenly appears will catch anyone off their guard and John spends the next half second deciding that he's not a threat. In fact, there's something oddly familiar about this guy; a kind of familiar that has him surrender to the help when he otherwise wouldn't.

John hands over a few packages of gauze and slowly lifts the bottom of the black scrub top to show an ugly hole that he'd torn open after it had been repaired a first time. Frank's keen eye or perhaps their shared experience in such injuries would tell him that the large wound was actually from two bullets.

It's only once Frank begins his help that John looks at him and asks, "Who are you?"

[oorah]

He pushes gently at John's shoulder to try and get him to sit on the bed so Frank can see. He helps him strip his scrub shirt off and presses two fingers around the wound. Yeah, that looks nasty and again: super familiar.

"Frank," he grunts, like it means anything. Just a good Samaritan...? Yeah, they can stick with that for now. At least until John is in the clear. "They should at least have the decency to fucking patch people before sending 'em here." It's muttered under his breath, but he's pulling a needle and thread from his pocket. This ought to be fun. From his other pocket, he produces a joint and lifts his eyebrows in an offer.

[withafnpencil]

John is familiar enough with the pain and has been pretty good at not reacting past the accelerated heart rate and a slight wince that needs someone actually looking at his face to see. But as he got older and spent those years with Helen, he fell out of shape.

He sits down, looking at the hole in his side. "John," he says in return, exhaling a little before shaking his head at the offer. He's too set in his ways, wanting a clear mind at any given moment even if the pain was bad enough.

"Yeah, about that. You got any idea where exactly 'here' is?"

Inn

[fooloftheking]

The image of mountain man hasn't gotten any better since the morning they got swept up to the shrine. Now when he's moving about the village, Bobo is more or less loaded for bear with a leather belt that holds a stone knives as well as other survival items. It's often noticeable beneath the dark brown full length fur coat he wears, though with the dark clothes and the shaggy beard and long hair in shades of midnight and white, he works to cultivate the image of the man, perhaps still revenant, he's becoming.

Of course the flecks of blood on his hand, staining the tip of his hair as he heads for the Inn with two carcasses dangling from his hand, strung up with rope as strolls through the paths of the village and nearly collides with another near the door.

Realizing his thoughts were caught up in the shrine and the images seen there, and not the village around him as he looks the man over. "Welcome to nameless village, where the powers that be stay hidden, and if you're lucky you won't randomly vanish," he says with a snort.

[withafnpencil]

During the couple of days that he's been there already, John has seen a number of people from different places and times; a concept that's rather hard to believe given how possible something like that is in his world. There's no magic, no alternate universes and definitely no time travel.

He's had enough of trying to figure it all out and decides to head back to the house he's claimed to do.. well he's not too sure. There's a real shortage of things to do around the settlement when everyone seems to keep up on the tasks already.

John looks at the man's face and gives a half nod in defeat as he glances at the dead animals. "Thanks," he replies. "Also been told there's the possibility of getting attacked by strange animals, too. You have that problem yet?"

[fooloftheking]

Bobo grins at the man's question, chuckling as he shrugs. "Depends on what you consider a problem he admits. "Worse thing I've run into, and run from, are those damn moths that make you forget shit. Though when I first got here, I was hit by a skunk that apparently makes you forget about inhibitions and just want to bang the first person...s you meet. That said..."

Because it's all fun and games until tiny vampire deer come for you.

"There's a lot of shit out there that isn't as friendly as those demon puppies with the crocodile heads. Large cats, deadly fucking fox, and something those that have been here a long time call a Wendigo that I hope never to encounter."

[withafnpencil]

It's getting a little harder not to have an expression while being told about things in the area. John's spent time in jungles and deserts and places where not many would pay to travel to. That was part of being a Marine and memories, good and bad, a soldier doesn't ever forget. But, moths that make you forget and skunks that make you horny? Yeah, that's reason enough to raise a dubious eye at. Seeing was believing, after all.

"A wendigo," he repeats. "As in of the Native American folktales?"

inn

[blacksky]

Elektra can cook just about anything she catches. She's not in the business of advertising that. That leaves her to get food from the Inn and House Six whenever she can. Today she's going for the Inn if only because House Six has some stocking up and assorted drama to work through. She's in the process of making her picks when she spots John. He'd scream newcomer from the clothes alone. The banged up face is the real tell. If someone got messed up around here, Elektra is positive they'd make a fuss about it.

"Someone is having a rough day." She teases gently as she stands over some potatoes fried in garlic. She pushes it closer helpfully. "The potatoes are heavenly."

[withafnpencil]

"Someone is having a rough month," John admitted, giving a vague smile before dark brown eyes drop to the offer to share. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

He's starving but isn't sure if there's other food like there was the first time he came through. A mental note is made to put his military survival training to use and stop relying so much on other people. That's not something he's used to.

[blacksky]

Elektra grins. She's certainly been there one too many times for her liking. Maybe that's why she's being nice for a change. "Positive. There's always more food to take. That's what I love about this place." She pops one potato into her mouth for good measure. "There's always someone who will feed you one way or another." AKA she doesn't always ask if they're up for sharing.

[digging]

After Claire had gone, Karen had moved into the inn. There had been a room available, and it had just seemed an all-around more practical choice than living alone. She doesn't have to depend on only herself for her stores of firewood or food, and maybe more saliently, she isn't knocking around a whole house alone with silence that makes it impossible to get away from questions like where people actually "go" when they disappear.

So the inn is better, and overall, she's satisfied with the change. She still gets up early most mornings, though, and sets or checks snares, brings back whatever she can. Technically she doesn't have to, but freeloading would just exacerbate the fathomless well of guilt she carries around 24/7.

Today, she's even quieter than normal, still in her head over what she saw up on the mountain with Bobo and Eddie (and Eddie's dubious friend), and once she's stepped back through the inn's front door, the way she draws up short at the sight of an unfamiliar face is more stilted and awkward than it might normally be. Usually, she tries to keep up with these things for the records, and she feels briefly unsteadied by the realization of shirking her duties.

This guy looks settled. Did he come in while she was gone?

"Hi," she says, the syllable softly astonished, a brace of rabbits dangling from one hand.

[withafnpencil]

Well, John is as settled as anyone can be given the circumstances. Without the answers to the inner workings of the place, he's decided to limit the questions to ones that can actually be answered. Ones like 'may I have some of that soup in the pot?' or 'mind if I grab some of that wood so I don't freeze tonight". It seems best for now and he's sure something will give eventually. Frankly, he's pretty comfortable, all things considered. No one's tried killing him and he's pretty sure that would have happened by now.

Still, he moves around quietly; his presence noticed more at the inn than anywhere else because mobility is a bit more limited without any painkillers or bourbon. But he's been to the spring once and admits to it helping a lot.

He's about to take a sip of some very hot water with a sprig of spearmint (what he'd give for a lemon right about now) when he hears the greeting. Her sudden presence and clear sound of surprise has him wondering if she was mistaking him for someone she thinks she knows.

"Hi," John replies, setting the mug back down.

Oh.

"Sorry, is this yours?" he adds, gesturing to it.

[digging]

And then, naturally, she feels like an idiot, and stands there a moment faltering before her expression briefly pinches with a pained smile and a shake of her head. "No, I'm sorry— That was weird of me." Another faint wince. "It's been kind of a long week," she offers, understatement of the century and about as much explanation as she's willing to give to anyone who hadn't been up in the temple.

"You're new," she adds, motioning his way with the non-rabbit hand. It isn't a question. "But you've been here at least..." She squints, then slowly continues, "A couple of days?"

Clinic!

[notsoangry]

There were a few doctors in the village that stopped by the clinic, especially with there being electricity there now, and Bruce had been getting some notes down to possibly start his blood experiment soon. He needed volunteers but that was a problem for another day. He came in and out of the clinic frequently, which was why he seemed completely at home when he wandered in, his glasses on, writing on a notebook without looking where he was going. He also made plenty of noise so it was easy to know he was there.

Bruce glanced up to make certain he didn't run into anything, and instead turned a corner to see a strange man in what was normally his personal part of the clinic. "Sir? Are you ----" Bruce made a quick look to see blood clearly on him, and he immediately set his notebook down. This wasn't the first time someone came in injured and he tried to help them, John just got ahead of the gam by going directly to the clinic first.

"I'm Doctor Banner," he said, cutting to the chase. "Can I help?"

[withafnpencil]

Luckily for him, the red cross outside gave away to what was on the inside of the building when John approached it after arriving in the fountain. Small blessings. And even more when he found the medical supplies that would help him stay alive, past the slowly fading adrenaline rush that kept him running through the streets of New York after Winston set the timer for one hour.

Trudging through some freshly fallen snow had John thinking that hour had expired a long time ago.

John's head jerked upwards, dark eyes wide and suspicious as they watched the Doctor for a long moment. He's waiting for the man to show his gun or brandish a knife so he can advance and defend himself.

[notsoangry]

Bruce has been around enough competent fighters to know one when he sees them. He quickly shows him his hands so he can see there's nothing dangerous in them. His appearance in general rarely elicits concern from the competent, since he's of average height and weight and nothing about him stands out. He has no fighting skills to speak of and he doesn't walk or hold himself like someone who does.

"I don't actually have any identification because we don't have any identification here." He has a feeling this may be a new recruit of some kind, because usually by now he'd be healed or know that not everyone was a threat if he'd been there long enough. "There is a location here, a hot springs, that has healing qualities that can help you aren't comfortable with me stitching you up. It's not that far of a walk."

He really doesn't think the man should walk, now getting a slightly better look at his injury. "Or you can let me do it. You're losing blood. If you pass out I'll have to do it anyway."