(no subject)

[drpsychosomatic]

Who| John and OTA~
What| With Joan immobilised, John's scouting for much needed supplies. I'm up for run-ins with friends and foes alike, more than happy to have a skirmish or two though I'd like to stay away from serious injury, please! Small ones are A-OK.
Where| Couple of options inside- just specify which :)
When| Week 1
Warnings/Notes| None yet.

1. Sixth Floor

He didn't like to stray too far from Joan unless it was necessary. Having found materials sufficient for her splint and discovered the drinking fountains perfectly usable, John's mind turned next to Sherlock- his scheme that had him tearing off all over the damned place. It was good, in a way- he'd missed seeing Sherlock so clearly focused on solving a specific problem. What it did do, however, was pull into sharp contrast just how aimless his patrolling of the floor they'd holed up on was.
It never got much less creepy walking past the wax statues of Tributes long gone, either, particularly when he could never be absolutely certain they'd been posed just like that last time he'd looked at them. Still, there was plenty of material to rip off the statues and tie into makeshift backpacks for transporting found supplies, or use as blankets and the like. He picked an effigy at random and began to carefully ease its jacket off.


2. Third Floor

The cafeteria was almost an embarrassingly obvious trap- but they needed food, and John suspected there might have once been a first aid kit in the kitchen. Whether it was still there or not, he had no way of knowing without checking, but either way it warranted a look. Light on his surprisingly steady feet, he slipped past the counter towards the kitchens, keeping his ears pricked for the approach of other Tributes. Perhaps they were already inside...

Comments

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard made it out of the Cornucopia relatively unscathed with the first aid kit, and has found himself a knife from the second floor, and is now searching the first floor for a stash of food. He isn't worried this time, given that last Arena they starved, but Howard's version of not worrying about food is still twice the stress a normal person puts into it. When he finds the cafeteria, he starts loading his shell-shaped backpack up with cans of fruit in syrups.

The third floor is fairly silent, making footsteps easy to hear. The practically clatter through the dark.

When he hears someone coming, he hides in a cabinet in the cafeteria, closing it quietly behind him. Hopefully the intruder won't have any reason to look under the counter, where pots and pans are usually stashed. Howard lays on his back on the metal, looking up through the small slit of light to see who it is, and relaxes significantly when he sees a familiar chin and nostrils.

"John," he whispers. "In here."

[drpsychosomatic]

John span round rapidly- though he was sure he recognised the voice. It took a moment to filter through, just enough for the adrenalin to slam through his system- making him feel sharper than he really was.

"Howard?" he whispered back, trying to find the source of the sound. "Is that you?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard cricks open the cupboard door and unfolds himself and his backpack out. He still sits inside it, but at least now his head is visible and he has his feet under him.

"Hey. Look." He holds his hands out and lifts his feet slightly. "No injuries."

He runs his eyes over John to see if it's the same.

[drpsychosomatic]

He was glad to see Howard uninjured, though he couldn't help the thought that followed- of course he was. Because he'd injured Joan instead.

"I'm fine so far," he told him a little coolly, his expression more on the stern side than usual. The emphasis he'd placed on his personal pronoun probably gave more than enough clue as to his reasons. "It's good to see you up and about. There's food left in here?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

And just like that, Howard's face falls, concern writing over the relief that he'd found a friend. And worse than that, defensiveness. And hurt.

"Yeah. There's food." He points to a shelf above John's head. "Dry goods in there, meat in the freezer. Canned veggies in the bottom shelf."

[drpsychosomatic]

He nodded, pulling the makeshift backpack he'd knotted together from clothing that used to belong to sixth floor wax models off his shoulder and laying it on the counter- he'd load it up with as much as he could carry, favouring things Joan could feed herself. Dry food, vegetables- was there a can opener around here somewhere, or would they have to improvise?

"Thanks. I don't suppose they left the first aid kit here? There's usually one in a canteen, in case of injury..."

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"I have one." Howard pats at the backpack on his stomach and hugs it a bit closer, watching for what John will say and do.

He wants John to buy it with the magic words, it's okay. I'm not angry at you. We're alright. And he wants to just fork it over as if that will patch a bridge over that pit of dread in his stomach.

sixth floor

[designatedfreak]

She left Don in order to explore her surroundings more; survival meant knowing your surroundings. Armed with a few knives and bags of something that was suppose to be edible Max decided to use the locked stairwell instead of the noisy elevator.

It had been the sight of natural light that drew her to the sixth floor; the tease of freedom once more. This floor also held those strange dummies, although these were more realistic and unsettling than the ones she had encountered before. Slowly she reached out a hand to touch one, curious about its strange skin, but she stopped as her ears picked up the sound of movement. Pulling the knife from her holder Max circled around in order to find out where the noise came from.

She tried to keep to the shadows as she observed the man stripping one of the dummies. Curiosity pulled her closer to him, a nearby pillar making the perfect shield.

"Your six is vulnerable." Later she would wonder why she had even spoken up to warn him. Wasn't this about killing your opponents?

[drpsychosomatic]

John stiffened, turning slowly. "Feeling generous?" he called out, trying to ascertain exactly where the voice had come from. Directly behind him seemed a logical answer, considering the warning he'd been given, but who knew? He couldn't see the speaker immediately.

"I suppose I was relying a little too much on hearing the elevator."

[designatedfreak]

"Stair locks are weak allowing for an alternate point of entry." Slowly Max stepped way from the pillar. There was something familiar in the man's stance, something that reminded her of home and her scattered brothers and sisters.

Her knife remained in her hand, but she kept her hand down as she took at better look at the man now that he had turned. He looked kind even though Max wasn't entirely sure what kind looked like.

[drpsychosomatic]

He wet his lips, watching the stranger emerge from her hiding place- his posture entirely steady. That he didn't recognise her wasn't a complete shock, but it did mean he had absolutely no way to gauge her intentions beyond what he could observe.
His pocket felt artificially heavy, as if it were trying to remind him of its contents- the knife he would have to use to defend himself, if things went badly.

"I'll keep it in mind in future," he assured her carefully. "New? I don't recognise you. I'm John- John Watson. I'm a doctor."

[designatedfreak]

"I'm a doctor." Her heart seemed to beat a little harder at that statement. Doctor. It was like he was saying he was the Boogeyman. She wanted to run, but fear and, maybe, the determination to prove she was a good soldier held her firm. Her small fist tightened around the knife. She was sure she could take him. Maybe.

Bravery or stupidity made her speak, although her voice was even quieter than before. "Max. I'm Max," she says, as though she confirming her identity to herself.

[drpsychosomatic]

"Max. Okay. I'm not going to hurt you, Max," he said, noting her reluctance, a certain stiffening to her posture. His own relaxed slightly, as he did his best to radiate calm. "It's fine. I'm just collecting a few things, that's all, and there's plenty to go around if you need them too. We don't have to hurt each other."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock had gotten very good at pretending he was not in pain, considering that he was in staggering amounts of it nearly constantly. But he had a plan, and he was determined to see it through, which is why he was carrying computer parts back up the stairs to the sixth floor. He relaxed when he saw John, a smile flickering to his lips, though perhaps he should have done a better job of announcing himself than simply walking up silently behind him.

"Anything useful?"

[drpsychosomatic]

John startled- but Sherlock walked up behind him all the time. It didn't take long for his shoulders to drop.

"Nothing on your list so far," he told him with a wry smile. "Just material for blankets and clothing a little more sensible than pajamas, if you fancy stripping a statue for it. Looks like you found something, though?"

[alldeduction]

"I think I'll pass on the stripping," Sherlock said mildly. He was actually fairly fond of his silk pajamas and robe, and since the entire arena was inside he didn't see it as a complete necessity to change.

He raised what was in his hands, though he winced slightly as the muscles pulled on his chest.

"Hard drive." He said, turning it in his hands. "Who knows if it's readable, but may come in useful."

[drpsychosomatic]

John winced in sympathy as he watched the pain shoot through Sherlock's chest- quite aside from having treated several cases, he'd cracked a rib or two of his own in his time and knew exactly how painful it could be.

"We're trapped in a nightmare museum with god knows how many other people all desperate to survive, and you're building a computer," he joked. "Hope it's going to have some good games, at least. Spider solitaire, Freecell..."

[alldeduction]

"Well, what else is there to do?" Sherlock asked mildly as he tucked it back under his arm.

"Death traps and killers can hardly keep one completely occupied." Speaking of, "Anyone else dared to show their face so far?"

[drpsychosomatic]

He held out the strips of thick leather he'd traded for earlier. "A kid. Not from anywhere we'd recognise, I don't think- a lot of military training, and seemingly terrified of doctors- apparently doctors 'break' people? I traded these for some of those little cheeses we found- they should be useful for splints, things like that."

[formersurgeon]

Joan hadn't been entirely honest with Sherlock. She was taking the painkillers Zelos gave her in exchange for her medical help, but only so much to take the edge off of the pain. She was worried about Sherlock. He was obviously in far more pain than he was willing to admit, and a fever was not a good sign. She counted out the number of pills, decided how many she would give Sherlock (despite his protests) and decided how to ration out the rest for herself. It wasn't enough to take the pain away completely. But it was something, and even that something was wonderful.

She was sleeping when John returned from his latest trip, sitting with her back against the side of the desk, head back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted with slow breath slipping over them.

[drpsychosomatic]

Fresh from his unsettling but surprisingly pleasant encounter with Howard and weighed down with the fruits of his labour, John approached the little nest behind the information desk where they'd deposited Joan. He crouched beside her- not too close, he was all too aware of how badly that could set someone off- and cleared his throat softly as he placed the first aid kit down and let his pack slide off his shoulder.

"Joan? Joan, it's me. Wake up?"

[formersurgeon]

She hadn't been sleeping very deeply, so it only took her a moment of blinking to wake up, bring things back into focus. She turned her head, gave him a faint smile.

"Hey," she answered softly. "Everything okay?"

[drpsychosomatic]

He nodded, offering her a carefully optimistic smile. "Yeah. All good. I've got you some painkillers, and I found some ice, too, to help bring some of the swelling down. How are you feeling? Did Sherlock drop by?"

[formersurgeon]

She smiled. "Ice. Nice find." She shifted a little, stretched, closed her eyes and grimaced. "Yeah, he was here a little while ago." She sighed, looked up at John. "He has a fever. A small one, but still more than I'd like."

[drpsychosomatic]

He sighed, opening up the first aid kit and checking through the contents.

"He's trying to hide it from me. He's a complete and utter prick, and he's got an infection that I have no way of treating in here, most likely. How's the pain- I have some pretty heavy duty stuff in here..."