You'd be surprised, dude. Shit, Kim found an old deputy uniform, had it in the "not totally trashed" clothing pile back at Prosperity. Totally ragged and shit, but at least it had all its buttons! And who gives a shit about blood? I just throw out these clothes when I'm done with them anyway.
[He's rambling, but he can't help it. He's never been in, like, a nice joint like this, with sterilized suture kits, bandages, and all that shit. It makes everything feel way more, like, important? Serious? Whatever. The point is, he's a little nervous, and like a kettle, he's got to whistle a little to keep from exploding.
While he talks, he grabs up the necessary supplies, towels, etcetera. After that, it's a pretty quick procedure.] Alright. Knife's comin' out, your shirt's comin' off, and I'm patchin' you up. [It seems especially important to keep Pratt completely informed about what's about to happen -- Sharky doesn't want to accidentally trigger some fucked up fight response.
No point in counting, he figures; the only warning Pratt gets is the feeling of Sharky's hand around the knife before he yanks it out with one hand, the other pulling Pratt's shirt and the godawful jacket off. There are only a few seconds there before Sharky's got pressure on the wound, pressing down hard.]
Man, didn't even think of that. Might never have to do laundry again and just keep getting new shit? Damn, that's the high life there.
[That's extravagance he's never even IMAGINED.]
Yeah. Just get it over with.
[He doesn't scream, or even cry out, but the way his breath hitches and his fingers dig into the table show the effort that takes. Not that Sharky would even care especially since he broke down crying about ten minutes earlier. But that's just so ingrained in him that he can't shake it.
Because fucking hell this hurts. Somehow it's even more painful now that the knife isn't in there, probably because Sharky is pushing on the injury to get it to stop bleeding.]
Affirmative. [Deep shuddering breath.] Fuck. How bad is it?
[The silence isn't surprising but it does make Sharky sad, in a way that's deeper than he's willing to process this early and without alcohol. He keeps the towel pressed hard down on the wound, patting Pratt's shoulder with his free hand.]
The knife ain't too big and the blade's pretty sharp. [It's one hell of a shiv, that's for sure. Pratt's lucky -- the knife could have been serrated, or dull, or some weird fuckin' shape designed to tear out the muscle.] Gonna wanna keep from usin' your arm for a bit, though.
[Hopefully it'll heal clean, and he'll have full use of his arm again before long.]
Just stay still and we'll stitch you up World Series style.
[His destroyed voice sounds even more strained, fighting for every word in between pained gasps.]
Good, good. I don't really want to use anything, gonna stay in my room curled into a ball for the next week. It'll heal real nice that way.
[Turning into a depressed sack of potatoes might be good for healing, but will be terrible for his mental health. But it's hard to think clearly when he genuinely thinks he just murdered someone.]
Least you don't have to worry about doing even stitches, I'm already a fucking mess. Just another shitty scar.
[His back is a disaster of old lacerations and healing bruises. It's obvious at some point his ribs were broken and healed slightly thicker in places. Jacob hadn't been big on medical treatment, especially after the helicopter crash. A few of the long puckered scars do have dotted bits above and below indicating where some stitch work had been done, but most have healed badly due to lack of care.
There's also a pretty gnarly scar down his front from chest to naval where it looks like someone might have tried to split him open like a baked potato.]
I think I need to be fucking leashed to my room. So I can't get out.
Okay, good, good. [Sharky's just hoping that Pratt keeps to his word on that one. Otherwise, he's gonna have to force Pratt into a sling, and the guy won't use that.
The scars are... um. A lot. Sharky tries not to focus too hard on them, already angry enough at Jacob Seed without needing to catalog every single thing that Pratt went through. Worst of all, they're not even unfamiliar injuries. John's scars had been singular and obvious, but Jacob's always had been recognizable more by quantity than quality.
He doesn't have any way of really helping Pratt out emotionally, though. All he can do is do his absolute best job on these fucking stitches. Seriously, he's going to try harder here than he probably has on anything in years.]
Man, I dunno. Tyin' you down doesn't seem like the right response. ...I dunno, maybe what you need is, like. Enrichment or somethin'? Like... a chew toy? [...Yeah he's realizing he's treating Pratt like a wild dog, but you know what? It's practically his fursona.]
Yeah, yeah, it's some furry bullshit but I'm serious, man. Gotta find you a productive outlet for your shit before you get murked.
[...um.]
...Aaaand that's, uh, the other thing. You, uh. You don't remember what happened at all after you tried to jump the chick? Or, like, what you were doin' before she talked to you?
[All to keep him distracted from Sharky's quick and surprisingly efficient stitching. He's had plenty of practice between the cult, the apocalypse, and the raiders.]
[He winces, because even having been recently stabbed, and having experienced a whole host of awful at the Veteran's Center, there's still something just viscerally uncomfortable about the sensation of thread being pulled through skin. But Sharky is making quick work of it, which is appreciated.]
No, but that's not... [Hn.] I don't remember a lot of shit. Most stuff actually. I might randomly remember in a few weeks, but not right now. My brain doesn't... work right anymore. Everything is distorted and wrong, almost like when you try to remember dreams where the more you try the further it slips away.
[But he does try. Closing his eyes and focusing on that instead of the stitchwork happening behind him.]
I remember leaving my room. I was going to go on a patrol because.. there was something. Something. I thought something was going to attack the boat? Jacob said I wouldn't be able to tell a threat from a sacrifice. I don't know what the fuck that means. And I didn't want to be yelling at a fucking hallucination if my roommate came back, so I left.
Went out on the deck, and I kept hearing gunshots, but I knew they weren't real. It was sunny when I first went out there, but when I attacked whoever that was it was dark. So hours later probably, and I don't know what I did during that time. [He's imagining the worst, but the reality is he walked about 20 miles in a circle round and round the deck dozens of times.] She said..What did she say... I didn't even know she was there and she asked me who I killed.
I think I threatened her. Or at least said some crazy fucking shit. And she tried to tell me that we didn't have to fight, that the people here didn't do that. That they were trying to... [Fuck what had she said?] Trying to be better than killing each other.
Then I called her weak.
Everything after that is... all fragmented. I tried to disembowel her, but she wasn't - I dunno she bled wrong. It was like oil. She stabbed me in the shoulder, right in the joint, and I remember thinking about when Jacob did that to me, and then she tried to punch me. But I don't remember anything after that.
[The first thing Sharky wonders is if this is what they mean when they talk about cult programming. That's the whole point of the shit, right? To fuck up the way you think, until you think you can't think right ever again, unless Joseph's around to plop you on the path or whatever?
Trying to retrain Pratt's brain to not work so shitty isn't really in Sharky's wheelhouse, though, so he has to focus on the more important bits.]
Okay. So... you and her argued, and you lost your shit on her when she, like, triggered that Jacob bullshit in your brain. Got it. You said, uh, she got your hand real bad, but it looks okay now. And, uh. I don't see any injury on the other side of your shoulder, here, buddy. ...Promise you won't, uh, freak out if I tell you what I think happened?
[Yeah he sees the writing on the wall. At least he's close to finished -- it's a narrow wound, all things considered, and it doesn't take that many stitches to close. Honestly, Sharky probably was too thorough.]
Yeah she, sliced my fingers open. Hurt something terrible which is... weird. [He blinks, thinking about the fact he remembered any of this at all, and that he could still feel it. That means he hadn't completely flipped out. Which means he did this consciously? And like... knew what he was doing the whole time?
Fuck.]
You know I can't promise that, I nearly punched you for trying to hug me - I don't even know what makes me go nuts most of the time.
[He looks down at his hand, the vague memory of being able to see tendons and muscle in every finger. Maybe that didn't happen, did he hallucinate an injury? Or maybe the whole damn thing?]
[Sharky takes a deep breath, finishes the last of his stitches, and jumps in head-first.]
So, like... I don't know if you won that particular round, dude. I think maybe she got you good in the chest, or maybe somewhere else you can't remember, and uh. Youuuuu, probably didn't survive? 'Cos, uh, people don't just... heal... overnight?
[Definitely trailing off as he tries to gauge Pratt's response to this news.]
[There's a pause, Pratt looking down at himself. The stab wound from where Izzy ran him through that had been mostly healed, sure isn't there anymore. The bruises from being launched into the railing during the fight that should have been forming aren't there either. ]
Good.
[That's the cue for Jacob to reappear and say something shitty about how weak Pratt was, but as soon as there's the barest flicker in Pratt's peripheral vision he's making a dismissive hand gesture at it.]
No. Not now. Fuck off.
[He rubs his side where that sword wound should be, can't even feel a scar beneath his fingers.]
That's good, means I didn't kill her. [He's still not sure what else he might have done, but that's a start.] And I fucking deserved it. So... Good. Maybe she won't stab me again when I try and give the knife back? Depending on how much of a fight I put up.
[...Yeah, that's actually the best reaction Sharky could've hoped for.] Okay, yeah.
[He hesitates when Pratt snaps at seemingly nothing, realizing after a beat that he's definitely talking to someone who isn't actually there. That's cool, that's fine. Sharky's dealt with that kind of shit before -- it's normal with people who got stuck in their bunkers alone for too long. Pratt's just imagining something way worse than dead family members...]
...You don't, like. Deserve this shit, man. Like, I'm with you, dude, I'm glad you didn't kill anyone, but... [Ugh. This isn't the time to try and pep-talk the dude.] At least we were right, and people here can definitely handle themselves. I'd say fuck giving her the knife back, but she probably needs it. It looks custom. [And he knows how hard it is to get weapons around here. Still...]
I dunno. I don't like that people are walkin' around fully fuckin' armed. Seems kinda counter-productive to the whole not killin' people thing.
[Sometimes it's even obvious to Pratt that he's hallucinating, especially when Jacob actually listens to him and fucks off back into nothingness. But he's not going to remark on that, especially not right now. He's just glad he's gone.
The other thing he's not going to mention is that Jacob actually seems to have faded out a lot more since Pratt started walking around in his jacket. That's gotta be a bad sign but Pratt sure doesn't have the mental capacity to deal with it right now. Time to schedule that breakdown for like.. October or something. He's booked up til then.]
I mean.. I did attack some random stranger for no fucking reason, I totally deserve to get stabbed for that.
[Sure he didn't deserve everything that led up to why he might be running around attacking people. But that's a deeper conversation that he needs to have when extremely drunk or knows he won't remember in the morning.]
Probably cuz no one is listening to it. Some people like killing each other, makes 'em feel powerful. Strong. In charge. They're not gonna listen to anything other than that.
Also like... kinda glad it's not a ship full of pacifists because that would have gone terribly.
...Yeah, I guess. [Man, he was really enjoying the whole "nothing actually happens on the boat, it's all off-shore shit you gotta worry about" vibe. The ship-based anarchy had been pretty great, honestly, up until now. Sort of like life before the Highwaymen showed up. Everyone helpin' each other, fights mediating themselves... Man. Would'a been nice.]
Seems like kind of a dumb thing to be empowered by around here, is all. Since, like, nobody can die, so... can't really prove you're better than anybody else. Even the weakest dude here's still gonna wake up the next morning. [probably.] Ugh, I dunno, man. Fuckin' blows. Don't move, we got sterilized bandages here and we're gonna use 'em.
[Modern amenities for modern men! Absolutely not using this as a distraction from the increasingly bloodthirsty nature of their situation...]
[Pratt is out here upping the 'things happening' scale by like 40%.]
I dunno, think that's human nature. People being awful to each other. It's what they do. [He winces at the bandaging, focusing on that instead of the spiral of Jacob-induced propaganda he could be spouting right now..] Pretty sure I could go on a good rant about animal urges and strength and shows of superiority but.. not feeling it right now.
[What he is feeling is a whole lot of pain.] Is there morphine? Maybe we can just drug me into a stupor.
[That might help, or it might make it worse, kind of hard to tell. Actually, Pratt straightens up a bit because that sparks a sudden memory.]
When I was patrolling the deck I met someone who knows you. Said something about finding Bliss ice-cream? Please tell me I hallucinated that too?
Yeah, uhhhh, don't start with me on that one, man. [Having lived through the Collapse long enough to see what people got up to afterward, Sharky is... ugh, super torn on the "people bad" sentiment. On the one hand, obviously, the Highwaymen prove that point, being baby-stealing dickheads with no goal but literal highway robbery. But on the other hand, man, he's seen some real stand-up shit from the survivors in Prosperity. Helping out ex-Peggies, opening their places up to total weirdo strangers, barely any fighting after the first couple years...
Man. People are fuckin' complicated, that's what he's learned.]
Morphine? I dunno about that, but... [There's definitely medication all up in this bitch, that's for sure. Sharky may or may not have, you know, glanced around at one point, just to see what constituted as medication (and security) here, but it's mostly shit that he wouldn't touch.] Plenty of shit to scrounge through.
[oh shit he forgot about the ice cream...] Ughhhh, yeaaaaaaaaah, that's right. Fuckin' sucked, dude, when I showed up the ice cream place was givin' everyone like, these super special custom flavors, like cake an' blood and shit, and you know what I got? Fuckin' Bliss. Like, it was nasty, dude. Hasn't happened again, thank fuckin' God, but I definitely thought I was in hell for a hot minute, there! [Hahahaha... maybe they are? He's not sure!!!]
If I could un-know all this shit, I fucking would.
[Because having his head stuffed with cult nonsense means there's less room for the things he cares about. Like knowing the entire timeline of Halo Reach down to knowing Jorge's conscription date was 2517 and his Spartan tag is 052. What if he forgets the layout of Blood Gulch canyon? He already might have lost muscle memory of going from 360-no scope to tea-bagging with a spray.]
Nah it's fine, just thought maybe keeping me sedated or something would help. But I dunno if it would. Actually might make it worse now that I think about it.
[That is not super reassuring bro.] Fuck. Eating that shit is fucking vile, and I think you'll probably die if you do. Bubble out through your stomach like some Alien shit. Jacob took me to the place where Fenney brewed it once, and there's these big vats. Guess it goes through stages where he's cooking it. Joseph dragged someone in there and tossed him into a vat and the guy melted. Fucking disgusting.
Sedation's a temporary fix, bro. Maybe some mood stabilizers? But there isn't anythin' like that in here. I mean, I think I saw some off-brand anti-depressants? Maybe that'll work. [...for what, Pratt's trauma-induced psychosis?] ...Probably not, though, huh.
And GROSS, man. That fuckin' Roger Rabbit bullshit is exactly why I'm glad that whole goddamn place burned to the ground. Wish I could throw Joseph into a fuckin' vat. Would'a been satisfied with a bonfire, but noooo.
[Some day the Covenant might invade and then it will be Pratt's time to shine.]
I uh.. think depression might be a little mild for what's wrong with me. I'm hallucinating, psychotic, and will kill everyone and try to get back to a place that doesn't exist if a song plays.
[Still, might be a start or something.]
Watching Jacob's bunker blow up was pretty great, no lie. Shooting the fuck out of that place was awesome. [He maybe shouldn't have shot a machine gun at a fucking missile and risked blowing him and Rook up too, but whatever. Having been on the verge of starving to death he wasn't exactly thinking at his best.]
Should I be worried that I like...died? Do I have to do anything? Pay a fee or whatever.
[The Sheriff department benefits were real bad, he's used to the worst of American Healthcare.]
[The second Master Chief shows up, Pratt is gonna go full Otacon.]
Yeah, what you need's probably got like, a list of side-effects as long as the commercial. Real complicated shit that you can't just magic up, I mean. [Obviously the more side-effects there are, the fancier the drug.] Ugh. Who knows, man, it probably wouldn't hurt, right?
[...should??? he worry? Sharky doesn't know for sure, but he figures it can't be a good thing to die.] Maybe? I dunno. It's probably somethin' dumb and weird, like returning the knife or some shit. You could ask Friday? She'd probably know.
[ He likes Master Chief a normal amount. Just a truly average amount. He will squeal like a schoolgirl. ]
My side effects are gonna have side effects.
I dunno, maybe I just need time and to... [ Man, Steven had phrased this all so nice and reassuringly and Pratt is blanking on all the great things he said.] not self sabotage myself by how much I hate myself. Or something like that.
[ Friday. Yeah. About that. ] She creeps me the fuck out.
[...Damn, where the fuck did Pratt hear that? Because it definitely wasn't Sharky, and it definitely wasn't Rook!] Man, that sounds wise as shit. I'd say you gotta listen to your gut if it's tellin' you that!
Yeah, no argument there. Chick is fuckin' bizarre, man. Did I tell you I tried to start a totally harmless, tiny, controlled fire on the athletics deck and she fuckin' poured water on me? I got laid in the end but man, it was literally a buzzkill.
You know I'm way too stupid to think that up myself. [Considering some of the deranged arguments they've gotten into before, Sharky is probably well aware that Pratt is emotionally a complete fucking idiot.]
Nah it was this super British guy. Steven. Was talking to me when I was hiding in the laundry room, cuz I was gonna wash this thing. [Tightens his fingers in the jacket that he's still holding because he's not letting it go yet.] And uh... walked in on me yelling. At Jacob. Which.. I know he isn't there. Isn't real. But to me it looks so real, sounds just like him.
Anyway, he said he used to do that himself so.. I dunno. Someone else who hallucinates. Which was.. I don't wanna say nice cuz no one should experience this. But you know, solidarity or something?
[Sharky may be behind him but know that he is getting the 'are you serious right now' cop stare.] Small and harmless huh? Sure. Bet she..
[Record scratch.]
You fucked the faceless woman? Sharky!
[Please he is begging you to have one single standard and let that be: has an actual head.]
Oh, Steven!!! I know him. He's cool. I like his brother Marc. [That guy can drink!!!
--Wait what]
EWWWW dude, what??? No way! That would be hella weird, man, what the fuck? She doesn't even have a mouth and that's, like, the number one thing I like most about a person. [That and their level of contempt for law enforcement!] No, I was startin' a fire with Giles when she totally fuckin' ruined it, so we had to find something else to... do. Heh.
[hehehehe]
Aaaaanyway, she was like, loosely facilitating a hookup, at most. No way I'd let her get any closer to me than that. [...probably. He hasn't actually talked to her very much??? What if she has like, a really nice personality??? ...Hmmmm]
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[He's rambling, but he can't help it. He's never been in, like, a nice joint like this, with sterilized suture kits, bandages, and all that shit. It makes everything feel way more, like, important? Serious? Whatever. The point is, he's a little nervous, and like a kettle, he's got to whistle a little to keep from exploding.
While he talks, he grabs up the necessary supplies, towels, etcetera. After that, it's a pretty quick procedure.] Alright. Knife's comin' out, your shirt's comin' off, and I'm patchin' you up. [It seems especially important to keep Pratt completely informed about what's about to happen -- Sharky doesn't want to accidentally trigger some fucked up fight response.
No point in counting, he figures; the only warning Pratt gets is the feeling of Sharky's hand around the knife before he yanks it out with one hand, the other pulling Pratt's shirt and the godawful jacket off. There are only a few seconds there before Sharky's got pressure on the wound, pressing down hard.]
All good??
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[That's extravagance he's never even IMAGINED.]
Yeah. Just get it over with.
[He doesn't scream, or even cry out, but the way his breath hitches and his fingers dig into the table show the effort that takes. Not that Sharky would even care especially since he broke down crying about ten minutes earlier. But that's just so ingrained in him that he can't shake it.
Because fucking hell this hurts. Somehow it's even more painful now that the knife isn't in there, probably because Sharky is pushing on the injury to get it to stop bleeding.]
Affirmative. [Deep shuddering breath.] Fuck. How bad is it?
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The knife ain't too big and the blade's pretty sharp. [It's one hell of a shiv, that's for sure. Pratt's lucky -- the knife could have been serrated, or dull, or some weird fuckin' shape designed to tear out the muscle.] Gonna wanna keep from usin' your arm for a bit, though.
[Hopefully it'll heal clean, and he'll have full use of his arm again before long.]
Just stay still and we'll stitch you up World Series style.
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Good, good. I don't really want to use anything, gonna stay in my room curled into a ball for the next week. It'll heal real nice that way.
[Turning into a depressed sack of potatoes might be good for healing, but will be terrible for his mental health. But it's hard to think clearly when he genuinely thinks he just murdered someone.]
Least you don't have to worry about doing even stitches, I'm already a fucking mess. Just another shitty scar.
[His back is a disaster of old lacerations and healing bruises. It's obvious at some point his ribs were broken and healed slightly thicker in places. Jacob hadn't been big on medical treatment, especially after the helicopter crash. A few of the long puckered scars do have dotted bits above and below indicating where some stitch work had been done, but most have healed badly due to lack of care.
There's also a pretty gnarly scar down his front from chest to naval where it looks like someone might have tried to split him open like a baked potato.]
I think I need to be fucking leashed to my room. So I can't get out.
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The scars are... um. A lot. Sharky tries not to focus too hard on them, already angry enough at Jacob Seed without needing to catalog every single thing that Pratt went through. Worst of all, they're not even unfamiliar injuries. John's scars had been singular and obvious, but Jacob's always had been recognizable more by quantity than quality.
He doesn't have any way of really helping Pratt out emotionally, though. All he can do is do his absolute best job on these fucking stitches. Seriously, he's going to try harder here than he probably has on anything in years.]
Man, I dunno. Tyin' you down doesn't seem like the right response. ...I dunno, maybe what you need is, like. Enrichment or somethin'? Like... a chew toy? [...Yeah he's realizing he's treating Pratt like a wild dog, but you know what? It's practically his fursona.]
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[ He actually kind of laughs. Because while that should be insulting it's pretty much true. ]
Considering how much I fucking eat, I don't think I need a chew toy. Though maybe if I like... hide a red bull in a puzzle box.
[ Sorta like peanut butter in a Kong but for Deputies. ]
Something to keep me occupied cuz... pretending to be retired hasn't gone so well. Though I haven't tried sitting by the pool with ice cream.
Maybe after I see if Hallmark makes apology cards for being a fucking psychopath.
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[...um.]
...Aaaand that's, uh, the other thing. You, uh. You don't remember what happened at all after you tried to jump the chick? Or, like, what you were doin' before she talked to you?
[All to keep him distracted from Sharky's quick and surprisingly efficient stitching. He's had plenty of practice between the cult, the apocalypse, and the raiders.]
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[He winces, because even having been recently stabbed, and having experienced a whole host of awful at the Veteran's Center, there's still something just viscerally uncomfortable about the sensation of thread being pulled through skin. But Sharky is making quick work of it, which is appreciated.]
No, but that's not... [Hn.] I don't remember a lot of shit. Most stuff actually. I might randomly remember in a few weeks, but not right now. My brain doesn't... work right anymore. Everything is distorted and wrong, almost like when you try to remember dreams where the more you try the further it slips away.
[But he does try. Closing his eyes and focusing on that instead of the stitchwork happening behind him.]
I remember leaving my room. I was going to go on a patrol because.. there was something. Something. I thought something was going to attack the boat? Jacob said I wouldn't be able to tell a threat from a sacrifice. I don't know what the fuck that means. And I didn't want to be yelling at a fucking hallucination if my roommate came back, so I left.
Went out on the deck, and I kept hearing gunshots, but I knew they weren't real. It was sunny when I first went out there, but when I attacked whoever that was it was dark. So hours later probably, and I don't know what I did during that time. [He's imagining the worst, but the reality is he walked about 20 miles in a circle round and round the deck dozens of times.] She said..What did she say... I didn't even know she was there and she asked me who I killed.
I think I threatened her. Or at least said some crazy fucking shit. And she tried to tell me that we didn't have to fight, that the people here didn't do that. That they were trying to... [Fuck what had she said?] Trying to be better than killing each other.
Then I called her weak.
Everything after that is... all fragmented. I tried to disembowel her, but she wasn't - I dunno she bled wrong. It was like oil. She stabbed me in the shoulder, right in the joint, and I remember thinking about when Jacob did that to me, and then she tried to punch me. But I don't remember anything after that.
It's her knife though, I remember that much.
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Trying to retrain Pratt's brain to not work so shitty isn't really in Sharky's wheelhouse, though, so he has to focus on the more important bits.]
Okay. So... you and her argued, and you lost your shit on her when she, like, triggered that Jacob bullshit in your brain. Got it. You said, uh, she got your hand real bad, but it looks okay now. And, uh. I don't see any injury on the other side of your shoulder, here, buddy. ...Promise you won't, uh, freak out if I tell you what I think happened?
[Yeah he sees the writing on the wall. At least he's close to finished -- it's a narrow wound, all things considered, and it doesn't take that many stitches to close. Honestly, Sharky probably was too thorough.]
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Fuck.]
You know I can't promise that, I nearly punched you for trying to hug me - I don't even know what makes me go nuts most of the time.
[He looks down at his hand, the vague memory of being able to see tendons and muscle in every finger. Maybe that didn't happen, did he hallucinate an injury? Or maybe the whole damn thing?]
Just tell me.
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So, like... I don't know if you won that particular round, dude. I think maybe she got you good in the chest, or maybe somewhere else you can't remember, and uh. Youuuuu, probably didn't survive? 'Cos, uh, people don't just... heal... overnight?
[Definitely trailing off as he tries to gauge Pratt's response to this news.]
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Good.
[That's the cue for Jacob to reappear and say something shitty about how weak Pratt was, but as soon as there's the barest flicker in Pratt's peripheral vision he's making a dismissive hand gesture at it.]
No. Not now. Fuck off.
[He rubs his side where that sword wound should be, can't even feel a scar beneath his fingers.]
That's good, means I didn't kill her. [He's still not sure what else he might have done, but that's a start.] And I fucking deserved it. So... Good. Maybe she won't stab me again when I try and give the knife back? Depending on how much of a fight I put up.
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[He hesitates when Pratt snaps at seemingly nothing, realizing after a beat that he's definitely talking to someone who isn't actually there. That's cool, that's fine. Sharky's dealt with that kind of shit before -- it's normal with people who got stuck in their bunkers alone for too long. Pratt's just imagining something way worse than dead family members...]
...You don't, like. Deserve this shit, man. Like, I'm with you, dude, I'm glad you didn't kill anyone, but... [Ugh. This isn't the time to try and pep-talk the dude.] At least we were right, and people here can definitely handle themselves. I'd say fuck giving her the knife back, but she probably needs it. It looks custom. [And he knows how hard it is to get weapons around here. Still...]
I dunno. I don't like that people are walkin' around fully fuckin' armed. Seems kinda counter-productive to the whole not killin' people thing.
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The other thing he's not going to mention is that Jacob actually seems to have faded out a lot more since Pratt started walking around in his jacket. That's gotta be a bad sign but Pratt sure doesn't have the mental capacity to deal with it right now. Time to schedule that breakdown for like.. October or something. He's booked up til then.]
I mean.. I did attack some random stranger for no fucking reason, I totally deserve to get stabbed for that.
[Sure he didn't deserve everything that led up to why he might be running around attacking people. But that's a deeper conversation that he needs to have when extremely drunk or knows he won't remember in the morning.]
Probably cuz no one is listening to it. Some people like killing each other, makes 'em feel powerful. Strong. In charge. They're not gonna listen to anything other than that.
Also like... kinda glad it's not a ship full of pacifists because that would have gone terribly.
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Seems like kind of a dumb thing to be empowered by around here, is all. Since, like, nobody can die, so... can't really prove you're better than anybody else. Even the weakest dude here's still gonna wake up the next morning. [probably.] Ugh, I dunno, man. Fuckin' blows. Don't move, we got sterilized bandages here and we're gonna use 'em.
[Modern amenities for modern men! Absolutely not using this as a distraction from the increasingly bloodthirsty nature of their situation...]
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I dunno, think that's human nature. People being awful to each other. It's what they do. [He winces at the bandaging, focusing on that instead of the spiral of Jacob-induced propaganda he could be spouting right now..] Pretty sure I could go on a good rant about animal urges and strength and shows of superiority but.. not feeling it right now.
[What he is feeling is a whole lot of pain.] Is there morphine? Maybe we can just drug me into a stupor.
[That might help, or it might make it worse, kind of hard to tell. Actually, Pratt straightens up a bit because that sparks a sudden memory.]
When I was patrolling the deck I met someone who knows you. Said something about finding Bliss ice-cream? Please tell me I hallucinated that too?
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Man. People are fuckin' complicated, that's what he's learned.]
Morphine? I dunno about that, but... [There's definitely medication all up in this bitch, that's for sure. Sharky may or may not have, you know, glanced around at one point, just to see what constituted as medication (and security) here, but it's mostly shit that he wouldn't touch.] Plenty of shit to scrounge through.
[oh shit he forgot about the ice cream...] Ughhhh, yeaaaaaaaaah, that's right. Fuckin' sucked, dude, when I showed up the ice cream place was givin' everyone like, these super special custom flavors, like cake an' blood and shit, and you know what I got? Fuckin' Bliss. Like, it was nasty, dude. Hasn't happened again, thank fuckin' God, but I definitely thought I was in hell for a hot minute, there! [Hahahaha... maybe they are? He's not sure!!!]
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[Because having his head stuffed with cult nonsense means there's less room for the things he cares about. Like knowing the entire timeline of Halo Reach down to knowing Jorge's conscription date was 2517 and his Spartan tag is 052. What if he forgets the layout of Blood Gulch canyon? He already might have lost muscle memory of going from 360-no scope to tea-bagging with a spray.]
Nah it's fine, just thought maybe keeping me sedated or something would help. But I dunno if it would. Actually might make it worse now that I think about it.
[That is not super reassuring bro.] Fuck. Eating that shit is fucking vile, and I think you'll probably die if you do. Bubble out through your stomach like some Alien shit. Jacob took me to the place where Fenney brewed it once, and there's these big vats. Guess it goes through stages where he's cooking it. Joseph dragged someone in there and tossed him into a vat and the guy melted. Fucking disgusting.
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Sedation's a temporary fix, bro. Maybe some mood stabilizers? But there isn't anythin' like that in here. I mean, I think I saw some off-brand anti-depressants? Maybe that'll work. [...for what, Pratt's trauma-induced psychosis?] ...Probably not, though, huh.
And GROSS, man. That fuckin' Roger Rabbit bullshit is exactly why I'm glad that whole goddamn place burned to the ground. Wish I could throw Joseph into a fuckin' vat. Would'a been satisfied with a bonfire, but noooo.
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I uh.. think depression might be a little mild for what's wrong with me. I'm hallucinating, psychotic, and will kill everyone and try to get back to a place that doesn't exist if a song plays.
[Still, might be a start or something.]
Watching Jacob's bunker blow up was pretty great, no lie. Shooting the fuck out of that place was awesome. [He maybe shouldn't have shot a machine gun at a fucking missile and risked blowing him and Rook up too, but whatever. Having been on the verge of starving to death he wasn't exactly thinking at his best.]
Should I be worried that I like...died? Do I have to do anything? Pay a fee or whatever.
[The Sheriff department benefits were real bad, he's used to the worst of American Healthcare.]
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Yeah, what you need's probably got like, a list of side-effects as long as the commercial. Real complicated shit that you can't just magic up, I mean. [Obviously the more side-effects there are, the fancier the drug.] Ugh. Who knows, man, it probably wouldn't hurt, right?
[...should??? he worry? Sharky doesn't know for sure, but he figures it can't be a good thing to die.] Maybe? I dunno. It's probably somethin' dumb and weird, like returning the knife or some shit. You could ask Friday? She'd probably know.
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He will squeal like a schoolgirl.]My side effects are gonna have side effects.
I dunno, maybe I just need time and to... [ Man, Steven had phrased this all so nice and reassuringly and Pratt is blanking on all the great things he said.] not self sabotage myself by how much I hate myself. Or something like that.
[ Friday. Yeah. About that. ] She creeps me the fuck out.
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Yeah, no argument there. Chick is fuckin' bizarre, man. Did I tell you I tried to start a totally harmless, tiny, controlled fire on the athletics deck and she fuckin' poured water on me? I got laid in the end but man, it was literally a buzzkill.
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Nah it was this super British guy. Steven. Was talking to me when I was hiding in the laundry room, cuz I was gonna wash this thing. [Tightens his fingers in the jacket that he's still holding because he's not letting it go yet.] And uh... walked in on me yelling. At Jacob. Which.. I know he isn't there. Isn't real. But to me it looks so real, sounds just like him.
Anyway, he said he used to do that himself so.. I dunno. Someone else who hallucinates. Which was.. I don't wanna say nice cuz no one should experience this. But you know, solidarity or something?
[Sharky may be behind him but know that he is getting the 'are you serious right now' cop stare.] Small and harmless huh? Sure. Bet she..
[Record scratch.]
You fucked the faceless woman? Sharky!
[Please he is begging you to have one single standard and let that be: has an actual head.]
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--Wait what]
EWWWW dude, what??? No way! That would be hella weird, man, what the fuck? She doesn't even have a mouth and that's, like, the number one thing I like most about a person. [That and their level of contempt for law enforcement!] No, I was startin' a fire with Giles when she totally fuckin' ruined it, so we had to find something else to... do. Heh.
[hehehehe]
Aaaaanyway, she was like, loosely facilitating a hookup, at most. No way I'd let her get any closer to me than that. [...probably. He hasn't actually talked to her very much??? What if she has like, a really nice personality??? ...Hmmmm]
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