They had lights inside their eyes, they had lights inside their eyes.

[notaparker]

Not that the clinic isn't a marvel of coconut-radio-esque science, but it's a relief to be out of there. Lying around with no company but my own thoughts -- and, okay, a reasonably steady stream of visitors bringing snacks and episodes of Archer -- isn't really my idea of a good time. I'm not always the biggest fan of my own company

Comments

[floozyfacade]

"Jessica?" Olive walks a little faster when she sees her, hurrying over to stand near her, a hand going automatically to her elbow. "Hey," she says, "what are you doing?" It's a dumb question, she's obviously going somewhere. Scratch that, she's obviously trying to go somewhere, and Olive didn't even realize today was supposed to be the day she gets out of the clinic. Some friend she is, losing track of these things. She's on the way to the Compound herself with a ways yet to go, but not even with the intention of visiting Jess, just the bookshelf, but God, it seems like everything's crazy this week, everyone's hurting, and she has no way to fix it or, apparently, any ability to remember what's going on.

[notaparker]

Chase would call this the product of my psychotic one woman wolf pack thing. I don't think I have such a thing, and I wouldn't call it... no, actually, if I did, I would call it that, it's the kind of thing I would say, too. Still, that's not why I didn't exactly advertise that I was allowed out and about now. I just didn't want a fuss. I don't feel like I've earned one.

"Walking?" I venture, one arm around my stomach and the other on the tree. "Not right now, obviously, but sort of... generally, that's what we're going for."

[floozyfacade]

"No offense," Olive says, raising a hand and wincing slightly, "but that kind of looks like it's not really... happening." Obviously it must have at some point, seeing as how Jessica's some distance from the Compound, let alone the clinic, but it seems to her like strenuous exercise is really not what's needed here. Although it's strange to think of walking as strenuous exercise. "At the moment."

[notaparker]

"It hasn't... not been happening," I say, although my protest is kind of mild, and not just because I've learned better than to try and say things in a way that requires a lot of breath at the moment. "It just happens in fits and starts. Mostly fits, admittedly. Occasional starts."

And what's the alternative? If I can't make it to the graveyard, I'm hardly going to make it to my hut, twice as far away, and if I can't do that, I might as well stay in the clinic. You better believe that's not happening.

[floozyfacade]

On an impulse, Olive moves around to Jessica's side, reaching to slip an arm around her - gingerly, not sure if she's going to hurt her. "Come on," she says, "let me help with the start. Where are you headed?" It's not ideal, she's sure, and there's no way Jess is going to want to rely on her for long, which she really can't blame her for, but maybe it'll help a little, and it isn't like she has anything important to do right now.

[notaparker]

"Hey, you don't have to... um," I say, because maybe that's the one woman wolfpack thing, again. I'm certainly not making good time on my own, here.

Stupid Chase and his stupid catchy 'one woman wolfpack' expression.

"...the graveyard?"

Which, as it comes out, seems an odd destination. I probably should have said something else, claimed I was heading home. Which is even down the same path, I could have sold it. But suddenly there was a solicitous arm around me and I wasn't sure whether to claim I don't need the help, or accept it, or I don't know what, and bam, the actual destination slipped out.

[floozyfacade]

"The gr-" Olive's brow raises, but she just shrugs. "The graveyard it is, madame," she says, startling slowly, cautiously, forward. She can always pick up speed if she needs to, if Jessica is up to it, but she's not going to push her. Better to let Jessica do the pushing. There's a reason for the destination, she's sure enough of that - no one goes there for kicks. That she doesn't know what that reason is doesn't matter so much. Or, well, it does, but only because Olive can't wholly contain her curiosity at the best of times.

[notaparker]

It's not the fastest pace, but even with my arm around Olive's shoulders for support, it's probably for the best. I mean, my legs are fine, it's just that I'm prone to getting out of breath and shaky on my feet, and then whenever I try to take deep breaths to compensate, it is a less than joyous experience.

Also the burns itch, but that's not actually relevant so much as, you know, annoying and uncomfortable. Another reminder to maybe not get blown up and thrown around like a ragdoll in future.

"Thanks," I say, as much for the fact she didn't come out and ask right away as for the supporting hand. I mean, chances are she will, or I should say something anyway, because otherwise it's a little off. But let's work up to it. "Someone tell Tony Stark to invent a hovertram or something, am I right?"

It's a little weak, in several senses of the word.

[floozyfacade]

"So right," Olive says, nodding. Actually, it's not a terrible idea, not just for situations like these (or the fact it would be completely awesome). She has a tendency to wander pretty far before she realizes she actually has to walk back at some point, which is, on one hand, tiring, and on the other, doing wonders for her athleticism, which is probably a good thing, considering those self-defense lessons she bid on have turned out to be pretty intense and more than she originally signed on for. It's certainly coming in handy now. "Just floating around like the Jetsons or something. And, like, what happens if someone gets hurt out in the middle of nowhere? It could be like an ambulance for the clinic."

[notaparker]

"Which is basically everywhere," I say, nodding slightly. I'm talking slower than I usually do, which is generally more around Olive's speed, but I'm pacing myself in both the walking and the talking, here. Basically anything that requires air.

I'll be really glad when I have full use of my lungs again. For both the talking and the walking. Bad enough that I wasn't up to fighting par with both lungs operational, now I'm dealing with this. ...as a result of the first, actually, admittedly.

"Since we don't have a whole lot of somewhere to go around."

[floozyfacade]

"Yeah, but I kinda like nowhere," Olive admits. After seeing her in the clinic a few times, she's a little more accustomed to Jessica's new, slower pace, speech-wise, but it's still unsettling at times. She almost wants to tell her it's okay, they don't have to talk, except that they're them and talking is what they're good at, and anyway, if she were in Jessica's shoes, she probably wouldn't listen.

"There's a surprising lot of something in nowhere. Keeps things interesting." She scoffs. "Hover-ambulances - for when life stops being boring."

[notaparker]

"I think I'm full up on interesting, just for now," I say, which isn't entirely an exaggeration. Oh, the clinic was boring, but I had company, and if I hadn't been dwelling in my own head I could have used the time to try and invent something, or work on something for Bones. And some of the time I managed, but at others...

It's part of the reason I'm heading for the graveyard. Maybe I'll be able to put something to rest, just a little bit.

Or maybe not, but even so, I should go. I need to.

And the fact there's something extra to go see there is why I'm done with interesting. As much as I want something to punch, wanted something to punch, something to do, this... wasn't it. The urge will come around again, I'm sure, and it'll do it fast -- it hasn't even been entirely absent the last week or so, just dampened -- but right now, quiet is just fine.

"If boring means no need for a hover-ambulance, I'll take boring. As cool as a ride in one would be."

[floozyfacade]

"I think I'd rather drive one," Olive muses. She's had enough excitement just secondhand, she doesn't want to tempt fate to ask for some of her own (not counting the whole turning into a soccer mom thing that was going on for a few days there, because does it really count if it's happening to almost everyone? Well, maybe, she figures, but no one was actually getting hurt, so it qualifies as something different).

"Just go speeding around for no reason. I think we could do with boring for a while, though. Actually I think we're due some boring. It's like it cycles, doesn't it?" She wonders if they could chart that, predict how long until the next ridiculous thing by plotting out when other things occurred and how long they lasted and the nature of them. Maybe that's something she and Mark can do on the side, probably faster than the project once they figure out just how to calculate it.

[notaparker]

"No one's ten two weekends in a row," I agree. It's a good point, actually. "Or one weekend and then in the middle of the week. It's like full moons. As if everyone's a werechild. Or a were-opposite-sex."

Which many people seemed to cope with surprisingly well. I'm going to put it down to it only being a weekend rather than an entire life, because that was not a thing I shrugged off and went about my slightly embarrassed business. It was a whole thing.

I mean, and then I did, with the escaping and the rescuing Pete and all, but that's because that was pressing distracting business.

Which would be an argument in favor of the non-boring, if it weren't for the fact that I'm not up to that, and the complete horror that was the non-boring events of the last month.

[floozyfacade]

"Or a were-cougar," Olive says, pulling a face. "Actually that almost sounds like it could actually be a thing at the zoo." Now that it's all over, it seems a lot more harrying than it was at the time, although that's mostly because she refused to let herself believe it could last for long than the short-term until at least a week had passed, and anyway, try taking care of Chris Miles when he's a child and having a fifteen-year-old boyfriend (she neither recommends nor endorses this for those over the age of sixteen) and see if something doesn't fall by the wayside, like panicking.

It's like she's doing all her freaking out retroactively this week.

"But yeah, it... alternates and moves around, and it's never more than what, twice in a month? Once even. It's... plottable on a calendar or chart or something."

[notaparker]

I probably shouldn't laugh, given the fact that waking up with one's body drastically altered from what you remember it being is an unsettling experience that I deeply sympathize with, but... were-cougar. The laugh just kind of slips out.

And then I'm reminded of the other reason I shouldn't laugh so much, because, ow. Not a lot of ow, just a twinge, really, but enough to give me pause.

"Damn your bon mots, Penderghast," I say, as I start moving again. "Were-Cougar Town, starring Courtney Fox." Get it? Because a fox is an animal. Ha ha. Just don't laugh again, self, give it about a minute before laughing again. "Um, but, yeah. Someone should do that. Pull back issues of the Times, run some numbers."