We're more than carbon and chemicals

[lucetimods]

Who: All Draftees
What: Fighting Third Party
When: 26th, 27th, 28th, 1st, and 2nd
Where: The Southern Farmlands
Summary: See here for overall details.
Rating: Probably gonna be gorey in places :|a

DOESN'T NEED A CUT. People should know how this works, if not, just follow other people's lead. I'm gonna set up some strategist threads at the top, for the four strategists to use if they want to, otherwise people should start their own threads.

((Mod Note: Since this has been asked a few times, just fyi, the livestock do not talk. Happy hunting!))

Comments

[herotypical]

[ impatient and curious and concerned, she lifts the makeshift compress just a bit to check his stomach. muttering to herself: ] I told her the window was closed. Moved on. Greener pastured. I bet there'll be little disposable cameras on the tables to capture all the lovely memories, too.

[ and now she may as well be speaking gibberish though she is really falling back on the bitterness felt towards riley's wife when the ex had finally come back to sunnydale. missed opportunities. ]

[all7seas]

[This finally quiets the pirate, mostly because he has absolutely no idea what she is talking about. All he can sense is the bitterness, and that worries him. Somehow he did something wrong. Somehow he saved her life and then ruined it.]

[herotypical]

[ she grabs the sash of his that had also been part of the splint and ties it around his stomach to keep the blood-staunching fabric in place. she rocks back on her heels. ]

There. [ she rubs her hands like ridding them of dust but actually just smudging blood over her palms. his, wet, over her own dried. and who knows who else's. what a mess. ] God, Jack. Do you ever have me spun.

[all7seas]

[herotypical]

I mean -- me, of all people. Broken, ice-queen Buffy. [ she seems to be starting in on a miniature rant, now. it helps that there is so much silence to talk into. ] It's basically like a curse to fall for me, you know? Men either end up dead or undead or in helicopters and...yeah, I don't fall back very easily but...[ she stands and paces, still clearly favouring her hurt arm. ] But it takes a lot of crazy or a lot of dedication to stay that fallen for that long and I'm beginning to doubt the crazy part.

[ she can't even look at him. ] So broken, ice-queen Buffy might still be broken but at least she's trying to thaw only it's kinda like when you're trying to make supper but you waited too long to take the chicken out of the freezer and now it's five-thirty and everyone's went for stir-fry instead because they'd have to wait too long for the chicken. They all changed their minds.

[all7seas]

[Never doubt the crazy part, Buffy. It is most definitely there. Jack just reaches for her. Stop, please. With the pacing. And the talking about....something. Chicken.] Annie. No.

[herotypical]

[ she stops and turns, shrugging in some kind of faux-helpless way. ] I'm thawed. Defrosted. Done baking. [ this metaphor might actually only make sense to one other person: angel, the recipient of her small-time infamous cookie dough speech. food metaphors in matters of the heart -- her specialty. ]

[all7seas]

Still would like to eat you.

...

NOT a cannibal, me! [He felt it pertinent to add that hoarse amendment, just in case that was as sensitive a topic to Buffy as it was to him.]

[herotypical]

[ it is a very sensitive topic, really. which makes it a little self-destructive that she's so keen on food metaphors. ]

Me too! I mean...okay, that's not what I mean. I mean maybe there's some mutual hunger going on and -- [ she takes a heavy seat next to him. this isn't easy. this isn't easy at all. she doesn't even know if she wants this and the words are tumbling out of her mouth. ] But I'm not looking to be that recipe you try once and never go back to, you know?

[all7seas]

So I keep you, love? [He reaches for her again, this time not shying away from touching the wounded arm. Lightly.]

[herotypical]

Not...not the wording I'd prefer.

[ if his touch hurts, she doesn't show it. ]

[all7seas]

[Blast it. He has plenty of words, normally. Long, lovely ones. They aren't serving him today. Jack manages to rasp out:] What wording you prefer?

[herotypical]

Is it...[ she twists, reaching for his arm. ] Would you be...[ she grips the part of his arm where she thinks the tattoo is. ] Are you settling?

[ there are tears in her eyes; however, she speaks again to preempt him: ] Don't...don't speak. Just -- shake your head, please?

[all7seas]

[Jack shakes his head, his arm completely relaxed in her grip. No.]

[herotypical]

...Oh, thank God.

[ tension leaves her. not all of it, but a lot. ] I thought -- the things you were saying, about us and friends and not wanting...[ still a bit of a frown. ]

[all7seas]

[Jack painfully maneuvers himself in the straw, trying to keep from accidentally bending that knee. Finally, though, he can lay his head in Buffy's lap and close his eyes. He can't argue with her or convince her of anything. Not like this.]

[herotypical]

[ she welcomes the gesture, slipping her hurt arm out of the way and laying the other across him, setting the edge of her hand against his cheek. ]

[all7seas]

[A bloodstained hand, wrapped in rags, soon covers hers. Reassuring.]

[herotypical]

[ she holds firmly onto him. holding instead of being held. ]

Get some rest. We'll...we'll continue on later.

[all7seas]

[Sparrow sighs in contentment and squeezes her hand. He will need water soon, if only to soothe that damaged throat. But for now, he is happy--somehow he fixed things--broken things that he'd broken without even realizing it.]

[herotypical]

[ she carefully takes his coat off of her shoulders and drapes it over him. she is alive right now because of him; this permeates her thoughts as well as the gentleness with which she slowly arranges him for comfort. ]

[all7seas]

Annie. [Jack manages that whisper, at least, before he falls asleep under her care. It won't be a restful sleep by any means; the knee hurts too badly for that. There is too much discomfort, too much thirst, and maybe even too much happiness. But he will take what he can get, as always.]

[herotypical]

[ she should take this chance to lift him carefully up and carry him back to base, but her arm is still in enough pain to dissuade her. she would have to wait. buffy had expected to feel more peaceful about this but...no. no peace for her. perhaps it has something to do with the lack of actual speaking or the argument that had prefaced it or the fact that nothing had truly been decided. and there is still a battlefield out there and her sister is somewhere on it.

and there is the part where she can't even begin to put a name what this might be. certainly, she does not feel prepared to go proclaiming the fact that the window's open to the rest of the army.

buffy reaches across his body and does her best stealthy sleeve rolling, uncovering that tattoo she only briefly saw in good spirits. ]

[all7seas]

[Jack stirs a little but doesn't wake up when she examines his arm.]

[herotypical]

[ she would be lying if she tried to tell herself that seeing it doesn't stir some doubt in the pit of her stomach. but who is she to talk? the girl with one lover's bite-marks on her neck and enough psychological tattoos thanks to him and the rest of them to last her a forever.

still...with a huff, she quickly covers up the arm. the could talk about it later, after jack's better. after they get back to the village and they're done with this draft. jack could stoke up a fire in that big old room and they could talk under minimal lighting. entwined again, perhaps. and none of her people would question her taking a few days off to sort her head out after the fighting; she could devote that time to figuring this out. using real words and clarity and communication and all the things she could be very optimistic about despite the fact that they'll most likely fail her when the time comes.

her senses are standing on metaphorical guard for any third party gatecrashers, but her mind is off imagining that first day back in the village. predicting perfection -- or as near to is as she could ever hope to get, which would still probably always be pretty far away. oh well, a girl could dream. ]