[ From the moments bullets start raining down on them, to the time they get to go back to the Frost's mansion, John doesn't think. He doesn't have time for it, doesn't get to, working on autopilot throughout the whole escape and drive back. If he allows himself to think, he'll just start spiraling - he needs some time to afford himself to put his thoughts in order.
It's not until the house has gone quiet, darkness descended upon it all, people scattered in their rooms for some time alone that John can give in, shoulders dropping forward as a loud, long sigh escapes him. He reaches up, rubbing his eyes with two fingers as flashes of the day rush past his mind. The mission was a total failure, and now the Frosts are on the warpath. Ready to kill for their ideals, to stoop as low as Campbell is.
And then there was... Clarice. Through it all, through his reluctance and his complicated feelings and his desire for vengeance, thinking of her makes him smile, if only a little. He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, sitting on the edge of his bed, running his hands over his face, pressing his thumb to his bottom lip, the ghost of her kiss lingering there. There are so many reasons not to do this, especially now, but at the same time, words replay in his head, words from months ago, from Sonia herself. We've got here and now. Especially after a day like today, it feels more significant than ever.
He goes to lie on his back when the discomfort makes itself felt - flashes of dull pain along his back. Not unexpected considering the amount of bullets he's taken earlier, but still surprising - by now, it should all be gone. He frowns, standing up and walking to the mirror in the room he's occupying and turning around to it, seeing gleams of metal through the torn material of his clothes. ]
Damn it.
[ John is a lot of things, but flexible is not one. Most of the bullets fell after impact, but a few of them seem to be embedded in his skin, lodged in tight, and he's never going to be able to get them out by himself.
Well. Fine. His mind is rapidly made.
He walks as quietly as he can through the house - he doesn't really want to talk to anyone, besides Clarice, until he gets to her room, knocking lightly before pushing the door open. He could see light from underneath, and guessed she wasn't yet asleep. Just in case - because he is a respectful kind of guy, and he's not exactly waited for her to tell him to come in, he keeps his eyes down, leaning against the door frame. ]
>> action
It's not until the house has gone quiet, darkness descended upon it all, people scattered in their rooms for some time alone that John can give in, shoulders dropping forward as a loud, long sigh escapes him. He reaches up, rubbing his eyes with two fingers as flashes of the day rush past his mind. The mission was a total failure, and now the Frosts are on the warpath. Ready to kill for their ideals, to stoop as low as Campbell is.
And then there was... Clarice. Through it all, through his reluctance and his complicated feelings and his desire for vengeance, thinking of her makes him smile, if only a little. He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, sitting on the edge of his bed, running his hands over his face, pressing his thumb to his bottom lip, the ghost of her kiss lingering there. There are so many reasons not to do this, especially now, but at the same time, words replay in his head, words from months ago, from Sonia herself. We've got here and now. Especially after a day like today, it feels more significant than ever.
He goes to lie on his back when the discomfort makes itself felt - flashes of dull pain along his back. Not unexpected considering the amount of bullets he's taken earlier, but still surprising - by now, it should all be gone. He frowns, standing up and walking to the mirror in the room he's occupying and turning around to it, seeing gleams of metal through the torn material of his clothes. ]
Damn it.
[ John is a lot of things, but flexible is not one. Most of the bullets fell after impact, but a few of them seem to be embedded in his skin, lodged in tight, and he's never going to be able to get them out by himself.
Well. Fine. His mind is rapidly made.
He walks as quietly as he can through the house - he doesn't really want to talk to anyone, besides Clarice, until he gets to her room, knocking lightly before pushing the door open. He could see light from underneath, and guessed she wasn't yet asleep. Just in case - because he is a respectful kind of guy, and he's not exactly waited for her to tell him to come in, he keeps his eyes down, leaning against the door frame. ]
I need your help.