(Untitled)

[rompot_iisous]

WHO: John Connor, maybe Sarah? If anyone else wants in, pm me.
WHERE: Atatla Hotel, Connor Rooms
WHEN: Thursday morning.
WARNINGS: No?
SUMMARY: This is what happens when you push yourself too hard.
FORMAT: Para.

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[terminatefate]

The orange juice came from the left along with scrambled eggs and some toast--with bacon. Because she could. Coffee didn't come with it, mostly because Sarah knew how much he'd had. Her own head hurt for more than a few reasons, none of which she felt like sharing.

She peered at John's face for a moment and almost knocked the damn glass of juice over. Blood. Fuck the food.

"Jesus fucking Christ, John." Her hands were on a towel and her tongue on obscenity automatic. "You're bleeding," she growled, because someone had to state the fucking obvious.

[rompot_iisous]

His reply was all sorts of out of it, light and distracted. "What?" It's entirely possible that he's not even reacting to her, so much as the fact there's a voice in the room, and it's not his.

[terminatefate]

"John," she said, this time with greater urgency, "look at me." Her fingers were gentle but firm as she attempted to clean up his nose (a bit like the time when he was five and nearly broke his nose from a 9mm kickback). John bleeding was an instant red alert, and ever instinct to...fix him went off all at once.

She grit her teeth. It's a nosebleed. It's not a gunshot wound. BUT HE'S BLEEDING. Sarah forced herself to calm and shoved the irrational mother reaction to the side as she cupped his chin.

[rompot_iisous]

A glance at the computer at the screens scrolling by, at how fast they're scrolling by might give some indication of how fast data is going in and out of his head. If you've ever had your browser stuck opening tab after tab after tab, you might get the idea.

People don't have force quit, however.

First a nosebleed, and then his ears aching. His eyes burning, no doubt a stress vessel or two popping in that aspect. There's still no real response.