roommate isnt here so tried to clean this up but shes gonna think i died
woke up with a knife in me
cant reach it but i tried to splnt my hsoulder and mbe made it worse?
[Pratt will helpfully open the door! Oh no wait, he will lurch towards it and then kinda slam against it with his good shoulder with a loud thud because he's disoriented and pretty bloody. At least if Sharky doesn't remember what room is his that'll help.]
[Yeah not even bothering with texting, he just heads straight to the room. Obviously, he memorized 141 the same way he memorized 131, in case he ever got blackout drunk and needed to help Pratt... well, you know, with this exact thing.
The thumping sure does help, but Sharky's gonna need a little more than that to get in. He gives the door a try, but even if it isn't locked, Pratt's kinda barricaded himself in. At least this time it seems to be an accident?]
Pratt, you needa let me in. I got you, okay? [He's already thinking about how far they are to the infirmary, and how likely it is he'll find a doctor just like, vibing down there. If it's just stitches that Pratt needs, then hey, Sharky's got that! But if he's fucked himself up something good, they're gonna need a professional.
He's not thinking about why there's a knife sticking out of the guy. That can come second.]
[Right. Right. Sharky can't open the door with 120 pounds of Deputy against it. He backs up and does open the door and well... at least he's not covered in blood so that's good.]
I uhm.... hey
[Fantastic greeting. Nailed it.
For all the nervous cowering he's doing and the way his eyes are darting everywhere he doesn't actually look very injured. Not from the front anyway. He's still wearing that damn jacket which is now bloodier and has some black almost ichor around the bottom.]
Okay so.. I just woke up and I can't move this arm and uh... I don't.. I don't know what I did.
[He backs up to let Sharky in the room and turns out the reason he can't move that arm is because there's a knife wedged in his shoulder socket.
It doesn't feel nice at all.]
And it's not my knife.
[He found that out by trying to pull it out like a dumbass and being super confused by it's weird shape. ]
[Sharky ignores his thoughts of what the fuck did you do and who did you kill and who's knife is it, then??? Those are things he can freak out about later, once they've dealt with the gnarly-looking knife sticking out of Pratt's shoulder.]
It's gonna be okay. Let me look. [Despite how fucking freaked out he had been seconds ago, Sharky's voice comes out even and firm, and his hands don't shake as he examines the knife.] Take a deep breath, man, you feel any pinching? Shit can get your lungs if it goes too deep. Fuck, this thing is nasty-looking. [He definitely doesn't want to take it out until he knows that it hasn't pierced any organs. The last thing he wants to do is collapse Pratt's lung...]
[Okay, orders. Just obey orders, easy, he can do that. He stands still while Sharky inspects the knife. Breathing deep as directed.]
No, I dunno what it hit, but I think my shoulderblade can't rotate? I [He grimaces as he tries to move his shoulder and realizes quickly what a terrible idea that is.] I don't remember what happened. There was someone on the deck and she...
She said something about.. Everyone trying to be peaceful? I think she was trying to talk me down from.. something. And then Jacob.. said she was weak. I attacked her, I remember that. I tried to stab her and she... [Fuck what did she do... Everything is so distorted, like his memories are out of focus and under water. It's so so hard to even try to recall, and his head starts to pound just trying to think about it.] She stabbed me, but not where the knife is now. In the front of my shoulder and then she tried to kick me over the railing.
I don't.. [He groans and holds his head with his good hand.] I don't remember.
[Sharky puts his hands on Pratt without thinking twice, grabbing his arm and bracing another at the base of his neck.] Don't do that, stop moving. You're gonna fuck it up worse.
[He really doesn't want to hear about whatever good-guy shit was getting spewed at Pratt right before he murdered somebody. Doesn't want to hear about Jacob or think about this stupid fucking jacket or how fucked up all of this actually is. Fuck. Son of a bitch. Pratt fucking murdered some chick and now they're going to have to run serious damage control before people start hearing about the psycho deputy from Montana.]
Fuck.
[Okay.] Okay. I'm. Gonna grab a towel. We're gonna go down to the infirmary. I, uh. I think I could probably stitch this up but if your shoulder's fucked, we're... Gonna need a doctor. Fuuuuuuck. [Despite how fucking wildly upsetting the situation is, he finds himself patting the back of Pratt's head.] Whatever happened, happened. We'll figure out who she was and... deal with that later. You're gonna have to make it to the elevator, first.
[He stiffens but he lets Sharky manhandle him because he's too confused and pre-occupied to really react to much of anything right now. Strangely that might be a blessing. ]
Shit. I'm sorry Sharky. I'm... I didn't.. mean to. I .. fuck. I'm sorry.
[He is definitely going to cry before they get to the infirmary. Also the fact that he doesn't even know who he killed is really weighing on him. Sure that's normal for when he flips out, but also in this place everyone knows everyone and someone is definitely going to notice a murder victim especially if he left her out on the deck. Unless she's respawned already.]
Yeah, I can do that. Elevator. Infirmary. I was there before when.. I got stabbed. [He manages a very crazed laugh because wow guess he's just gonna get stabbed a bunch here.] I fucking deserve it. He was right, he was fucking right I deserve this shit.
[He goes to curl up again because he's making good decisions right now, but he pauses mid-way, looking down at his palm.]
She sliced my hand open, I remember that. My fingers didn't work. I couldn't... grab my knife. What...
[He flexes his hand, because it sure looks fine now.]
[The internal screaming picks up as he hears Pratt barrelling towards a full-on breakdown, but Sharky manages to grit his teeth against voicing any of it. Him freaking out isn't gonna help, not when Pratt has already lost it, like, so far gone that he's already gotten stabbed multiple times --
He's so busy trying to keep the internal screaming internal that he almost doesn't catch what Pratt's saying, just that he's staring at his hand like he's never seen it before. It doesn't even register, really, until he's gone and gotten a towel; he's halfway back to Pratt when the record abruptly scratches.]
You -- [Shit. Shit. SHIT.] Ahhhh, fuck, dude. Did you -- I mean, do you... remember, uhhh, how it went down? 'Cos, uh... [It sounds like you mighta lost, man...]
I sliced her across the side... Deep too but her blood was.. wrong. Weird. It was... [He picks up the edge of Jacob's jacket where there's some new jet black stains] Black. Kind of like oil. And she stabbed me in the shoulder with the knife that's in my back now.
And... I uh... [He makes a pained noise and rubs his head because it hurts to try and think through the fog of distorted memories.] tackled her down onto her back, I was going to slit her throat.
[Having no idea how death really works here he doesn't get why he might be healed now. He woke up in bed with a knife in him, and he doesn't remember anything after going to slit the throat of a blonde woman he's never even seen before. He assumes he killed her. But there's not a lethal amount of blood on him, from either of them.]
I don't remember anything after that. I woke up here, tried to roll over and ... knife.
[He abruptly straightens.]
I need to apologize to Stede too.. I .. I tried to fight him ... fucking fuck. What the fuck is wrong with me?
[He falls to his knees holding his face in his one good arm, trying to not move the other. Apparently he needs to walk around with a notebook so he can remember everyone he needs to apologize to.
Also from the way his breathing is starting to gasp and wheeze he's uh... yeah he's crying. Which would be a fantastic time for Jacob to show up and berate him but there's nothing. Which actually makes Pratt more upset because maybe he's not even hallucinating and that's just an excuse he's made up because he's a violent psychopath.]
[Aaah, shit, there he goes. Pratt crumples to the ground and Sharky just sort of stands there, feeling stupidly out of his depth and also just really, hella stupid. Fuck, man, he should be keeping such a better eye on this shit. He's got to be the responsible one here because Pratt is straight up fucking Looney Tunes, like a gritty reboot of the Tasmanian Devil.
More than that, he's gotta keep his shit together because otherwise, he's gonna start crying, too. He can already feel his eyes getting all stingy as he circles around, crouching down in front of Pratt. He's risking getting his ass beat by putting his hands on him again, but the guy needs something, right? Sharky can't just fuckin' sit here.
The only other thing he can do is shush him, though, which he tries to do gently.] I know, man, I know. Shit is fucked. Like, really, really fucked. We'll figure it out. We'll figure out who the chick was, talk to Stede, the whole nine. Start tying your leg to the couch, if we gotta. [Get rid of the jacket, for sure. But that has to wait until the knife comes out. And that can't happen until they're somewhere he can stitch up the wound. Or at least until he knows they can staunch the blood flow...]
[It never feels good to cry, the way it's impossible to breathe, the scratchy throat feeling, all of it sucks. But it sucks even more when there's a blade buried in muscle that's trying to move with each heaving breath. Pratt is starting to bleed now that he's jostling the blade, and that's causing him to cry more because he's in pain and distraught and fuck he hates this. He hates all of this.]
Should keep me in a cage again. Maybe... maybe that's the way it always should have been.
[He's a dangerous feral animal and can't be trusted around people. He should be muzzled and on a leash at all times.]
Was stupid thinking it would be different here. [Wipes his nose on the sleeve of this disgusting jacket as he sniffles.] Thought I could handle it. And.. I can't. I'm weak.
I'm sorry Sharky.
[As if he personally let Sharky down. Which he feels like he did.]
[Sharky's got a towel, and he's got a plan, and... that plan is starting to feel like a bad one, because they're going to have to move Pratt down to the infirmary and the more he moves, the more the knife jostles, and he really just wants to pull the fuckin' thing out and be done with it but that will just lead to a bleed-out and if Pratt's already been murdered once, Sharky really doesn't want to be the guy who accidentally murks him a second time!
He really wishes Rook were here. The good version of 'em, though, not, like, the one with the mask and the selective mutism.]
Fffuck. Buddy, I appreciate your apology and I'm, like, super down to accept it, but we gotta deal with the knife in your back. You're literally going to bleed out all over again if we don't. So I'm gonna get you up to your feet and we're gonna get you down there, okay?
[His tone is the same firm kind he'd use whenever Hurk started to come down in the bunker, sobbing and talkin' about how shitty his life was. It may or may not also be the voice he used to use whenever coaching someone through a drunk order at the McDonald's drive-thru.]
[He nods miserably. Sharky is right because he can't just lay on the floor crying with a knife sticking out of him. Not only is that dumb; that's some shit that would have gotten his ass kicked at the Veteran's Center. ]
Yeah. I guess. Okay.
[That's a very manly whimper he let's out as he gets up because this hurts really fucking bad and he can only ignore pain for so long before he succumbs to some of it. Because he's weak. Doesn't even need Jacob around to remind him of that.]
[Sharky wants to shout that it isn't Pratt who reeks, it's the fucking jacket, but the last thing he wants is for Pratt to flip out over Jacob right this second. Later, for sure, but now...
Now, he helps Pratt to his feet, bracing him on his uninjured side as best he can. Pratt might feel weak, but all Sharky can think is that it's a miracle he hasn't outright fainted by now.]
I'm so not givin' you a sponge-bath after this, that's all I'm saying. [Because jokes are the easiest way to keep sane in the face of something absolutely fucking horrendous. Like the fact that Pratt's already attacked other passengers and Sharky did nothing to stop it. Or the fact that Pratt might not have survived the fight, even if he did manage to kill someone in the process.]
Just don't move your arm. [He's going to try and make the trip to the infirmary as short and painless as possible.]
[ He gets to his feet finally, leaning heavily on Sharky because he's a lot more unsteady than he realized. The good news is he's not thinking about Jacob right now, even while wearing this disgusting jacket. So that's something. ]
Right. Elevator. Gotta...gotta get to the elevator. 'S only way out.
[ A few false starts and he's finally moving. Look at him actually making it out of his cabin to the hallway. He deserves a medal.]
Be better for you if Rook showed up instead of me. Shoulda never been me. They'd know what to do...and not...
[ Not killing people who aren't Eli? Something. He's not even sure what he's saying right now but he's trying to focus so he doesn't pass out like he did with Izzy.
The elevator might as well be a million miles away. The hallway seems to twist and extend indefinitely. He pauses to stare at it before wiping his nose on his sleeve and stubbornly walking again. He may be weak and insane but he's definitely a survivor, probably the only reason Jacob didn't flat out kill him.]
[He thinks. He fuckin' hopes, anyway. He's sturdy enough to take all of Pratt's unsteady weight, and he keeps one arm around his waist so he can't stagger too far forward or list too far back. This is basically the same as walking someone home after a black-out barfight, right down to the stab wound. He's got to have this.
Every time Pratt slows down, Sharky stops, unwilling to rush him even when he thinks the dude might collapse and need to be dragged. That... would be bad, probably, but Sharky knows he could probably lift Pratt if necessary. He reallllllly hopes it won't be.]
Okay, see? The elevator's right there. Quick trip down, I'll stitch ya up like a fuckin' pigskin, it'll be great.
["We Got This" the famous mantra from people who do not in fact, have it. But he's definitely headed that way, and he will absolutely keep going until he collapses. So.. thanks Jacob?]
Yeah. Least we're not using the stairs... [WOW. Wow.] Sharky... When I'm not bleeding out I'm gonna groan about that properly.
[He can't groan now because he's pretty sure if he does his lungs might fill with blood instead of air. But the death might be worth it for that horrible joke. Instead he gets into the elevator leaning against the wall on his good shoulder, hopefully not leaving any bloody smears anywhere.]
[Nahhh, Sharky's gonna laugh at that one because it was fucking great. He's also glad that it's Pratt here, not Rook, exclusively because Pratt can at least appreciate a bad pun. Rook just never fucking got 'em.]
Man. Some fucked up Cindarella shit right there. [He's just gonna hover annoyingly at Pratt's injured side, checking the wound as if he could see it getting infected in real-time.] We gotta make sure she ain't gonna stab you as soon as you hand it over. Figure out what happened so we can try and keep it from happenin' again. [Like troubleshooting where a gas leak is, only hopefully with less explosions!]
But first, we gotta get it outta you. [Which will be easy to do once they reach the infirmary, the elevator trip thankfully short from the passenger deck.]
[ Pratt's penance for all his mental breakdown tendancies is that he has to acknowledge every single one of Sharky's jokes. The true suffering hasn't even begun. ]
Probably should let her stab me? I attacked her like a fucking psychopath.
[ Deep breath because he's starting to get dizzy. ]
After this, the pirate with the sword, and Jacob's nasty fucking center where half the shit was rusty, I'm really testing the strength of my last tetanus shot.
[ He closes his eyes, waiting for the elevator to beep before he moves again.]
Nah, man, I'm not gonna let anybody stab you. We're tryin' to avoid that, remember? Though, we're really gonna have to like, update your vaccines or somethin'... I wonder if you even need those here, or like, if there's some kinda magic anti-bacterial air sanitizing going on...
[Sharky is a permanent fixture at Pratt's side, ready to drag him if he has to as they mutually stagger from the elevator to the infirmary. Thank christ it's a short walk, and Sharky can fill it entirely with dumbass banter.]
Alright, man, you're almost there. Just gotta get the knife out, then we can stitch you up. I don't think it's super bad [yet] so it should be an easy job.
There might be, other stab wound didn't get infected and I got a sword straight through.
[He rubs that wound, not yet noticing that hey! It's gone! He's a little more preoccupied with the current stab wound, which isn't even a wound yet, it's just a 'stab' at this point.]
I've had worse. Jacob stabbed me in the socket of my shoulder and then left the knife there. For hours. So this is.. [A laugh that turns into a cough.] was gonna say better but that's fucked up. Cuz.. it's still a knife in me. People shouldn't have knives in them.
[He may second guess everything and be mentally fucked but he's sure of that one. Knives belong outside of people. Getting off the elevator he heads for the bright light at the end of the tunnel side of the hall that he's pretty sure is either the infirmary or the morgue - either would work in this case.]
You ever play PT? This hallway...
[He's not going to elaborate, but needless to say this level of the ship is creepy.]
[He wishes he could rail on Pratt for being such a nerd that he'd bring up a demo for an unfinished game...
...but then he would have to admit that he also knows what Pratt is talking about, so. You win this time, Pratt.]
Fuckin' creepy, I will give you that. [He keeps expecting to see something big and freaky looming waaaaaay down in the distance. Maybe something will start banging on the creepy bulkhead over there?
Sharky is just glad to know that the infirmary is well-lit and well-stocked. If there are any spooky ghosts in here, they're impossible to see under all the fluorescents.]
Alright, man. You know better'n me what you can handle right now, so sit or lie down, whichever you want. But, uh, don't wanna cut your shirt clean off so... unbutton that first. Then, knife out, shirt off, stitches in.
[Is he going to have to unbutton Pratt's fucking deputy shirt? Please, bro, you have this. Right???]
[ He doesn't acknowledge his awesome victory because instead he's focused on sitting on the table, trying to not drip blood onto it.
Jacob's jacket is so big on him it's almost only being held onto him by the knife itself. Still, he tries to not jostle it as he unbuttons his poor damaged deputy shirt he's wearing under it.]
This uniform was not designed for this much abuse. Gonna fall apart on me.
[ A soft chuckle because if that isn't fucking symbolic.]
Aight, sorry if I... you know, bleed all over you.
[ Like that's something he can control.
Under the uniform he is wearing an actual new shirt and not his gross ass undershirt he wore for 6 straight months back home. Small steps towards his retirement.]
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?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
roommate isnt here so tried to clean this up but
shes gonna think i died
woke up with a knife in me
cant reach it but i tried to splnt my hsoulder and mbe made it worse?
[Pratt will helpfully open the door! Oh no wait, he will lurch towards it and then kinda slam against it with his good shoulder with a loud thud because he's disoriented and pretty bloody. At least if Sharky doesn't remember what room is his that'll help.]
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The thumping sure does help, but Sharky's gonna need a little more than that to get in. He gives the door a try, but even if it isn't locked, Pratt's kinda barricaded himself in. At least this time it seems to be an accident?]
Pratt, you needa let me in. I got you, okay? [He's already thinking about how far they are to the infirmary, and how likely it is he'll find a doctor just like, vibing down there. If it's just stitches that Pratt needs, then hey, Sharky's got that! But if he's fucked himself up something good, they're gonna need a professional.
He's not thinking about why there's a knife sticking out of the guy. That can come second.]
no subject
I uhm.... hey
[Fantastic greeting. Nailed it.
For all the nervous cowering he's doing and the way his eyes are darting everywhere he doesn't actually look very injured. Not from the front anyway. He's still wearing that damn jacket which is now bloodier and has some black almost ichor around the bottom.]
Okay so.. I just woke up and I can't move this arm and uh... I don't.. I don't know what I did.
[He backs up to let Sharky in the room and turns out the reason he can't move that arm is because there's a knife wedged in his shoulder socket.
It doesn't feel nice at all.]
And it's not my knife.
[He found that out by trying to pull it out like a dumbass and being super confused by it's weird shape. ]
no subject
It's gonna be okay. Let me look. [Despite how fucking freaked out he had been seconds ago, Sharky's voice comes out even and firm, and his hands don't shake as he examines the knife.] Take a deep breath, man, you feel any pinching? Shit can get your lungs if it goes too deep. Fuck, this thing is nasty-looking. [He definitely doesn't want to take it out until he knows that it hasn't pierced any organs. The last thing he wants to do is collapse Pratt's lung...]
no subject
No, I dunno what it hit, but I think my shoulderblade can't rotate? I [He grimaces as he tries to move his shoulder and realizes quickly what a terrible idea that is.] I don't remember what happened. There was someone on the deck and she...
She said something about.. Everyone trying to be peaceful? I think she was trying to talk me down from.. something. And then Jacob.. said she was weak. I attacked her, I remember that. I tried to stab her and she... [Fuck what did she do... Everything is so distorted, like his memories are out of focus and under water. It's so so hard to even try to recall, and his head starts to pound just trying to think about it.] She stabbed me, but not where the knife is now. In the front of my shoulder and then she tried to kick me over the railing.
I don't.. [He groans and holds his head with his good hand.] I don't remember.
Fuck. FUCK! Why the hell...
Jesus this fucking hurts.
no subject
[He really doesn't want to hear about whatever good-guy shit was getting spewed at Pratt right before he murdered somebody. Doesn't want to hear about Jacob or think about this stupid fucking jacket or how fucked up all of this actually is. Fuck. Son of a bitch. Pratt fucking murdered some chick and now they're going to have to run serious damage control before people start hearing about the psycho deputy from Montana.]
Fuck.
[Okay.] Okay. I'm. Gonna grab a towel. We're gonna go down to the infirmary. I, uh. I think I could probably stitch this up but if your shoulder's fucked, we're... Gonna need a doctor. Fuuuuuuck. [Despite how fucking wildly upsetting the situation is, he finds himself patting the back of Pratt's head.] Whatever happened, happened. We'll figure out who she was and... deal with that later. You're gonna have to make it to the elevator, first.
no subject
Shit. I'm sorry Sharky. I'm... I didn't.. mean to. I .. fuck. I'm sorry.
[He is definitely going to cry before they get to the infirmary. Also the fact that he doesn't even know who he killed is really weighing on him. Sure that's normal for when he flips out, but also in this place everyone knows everyone and someone is definitely going to notice a murder victim especially if he left her out on the deck. Unless she's respawned already.]
Yeah, I can do that. Elevator. Infirmary. I was there before when.. I got stabbed. [He manages a very crazed laugh because wow guess he's just gonna get stabbed a bunch here.] I fucking deserve it. He was right, he was fucking right I deserve this shit.
[He goes to curl up again because he's making good decisions right now, but he pauses mid-way, looking down at his palm.]
She sliced my hand open, I remember that. My fingers didn't work. I couldn't... grab my knife. What...
[He flexes his hand, because it sure looks fine now.]
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He's so busy trying to keep the internal screaming internal that he almost doesn't catch what Pratt's saying, just that he's staring at his hand like he's never seen it before. It doesn't even register, really, until he's gone and gotten a towel; he's halfway back to Pratt when the record abruptly scratches.]
You -- [Shit. Shit. SHIT.] Ahhhh, fuck, dude. Did you -- I mean, do you... remember, uhhh, how it went down? 'Cos, uh... [It sounds like you mighta lost, man...]
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And... I uh... [He makes a pained noise and rubs his head because it hurts to try and think through the fog of distorted memories.] tackled her down onto her back, I was going to slit her throat.
[Having no idea how death really works here he doesn't get why he might be healed now. He woke up in bed with a knife in him, and he doesn't remember anything after going to slit the throat of a blonde woman he's never even seen before. He assumes he killed her. But there's not a lethal amount of blood on him, from either of them.]
I don't remember anything after that. I woke up here, tried to roll over and ... knife.
[He abruptly straightens.]
I need to apologize to Stede too.. I .. I tried to fight him ... fucking fuck. What the fuck is wrong with me?
[He falls to his knees holding his face in his one good arm, trying to not move the other. Apparently he needs to walk around with a notebook so he can remember everyone he needs to apologize to.
Also from the way his breathing is starting to gasp and wheeze he's uh... yeah he's crying. Which would be a fantastic time for Jacob to show up and berate him but there's nothing. Which actually makes Pratt more upset because maybe he's not even hallucinating and that's just an excuse he's made up because he's a violent psychopath.]
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[Aaah, shit, there he goes. Pratt crumples to the ground and Sharky just sort of stands there, feeling stupidly out of his depth and also just really, hella stupid. Fuck, man, he should be keeping such a better eye on this shit. He's got to be the responsible one here because Pratt is straight up fucking Looney Tunes, like a gritty reboot of the Tasmanian Devil.
More than that, he's gotta keep his shit together because otherwise, he's gonna start crying, too. He can already feel his eyes getting all stingy as he circles around, crouching down in front of Pratt. He's risking getting his ass beat by putting his hands on him again, but the guy needs something, right? Sharky can't just fuckin' sit here.
The only other thing he can do is shush him, though, which he tries to do gently.] I know, man, I know. Shit is fucked. Like, really, really fucked. We'll figure it out. We'll figure out who the chick was, talk to Stede, the whole nine. Start tying your leg to the couch, if we gotta. [Get rid of the jacket, for sure. But that has to wait until the knife comes out. And that can't happen until they're somewhere he can stitch up the wound. Or at least until he knows they can staunch the blood flow...]
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Should keep me in a cage again. Maybe... maybe that's the way it always should have been.
[He's a dangerous feral animal and can't be trusted around people. He should be muzzled and on a leash at all times.]
Was stupid thinking it would be different here. [Wipes his nose on the sleeve of this disgusting jacket as he sniffles.] Thought I could handle it. And.. I can't. I'm weak.
I'm sorry Sharky.
[As if he personally let Sharky down. Which he feels like he did.]
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He really wishes Rook were here. The good version of 'em, though, not, like, the one with the mask and the selective mutism.]
Fffuck. Buddy, I appreciate your apology and I'm, like, super down to accept it, but we gotta deal with the knife in your back. You're literally going to bleed out all over again if we don't. So I'm gonna get you up to your feet and we're gonna get you down there, okay?
[His tone is the same firm kind he'd use whenever Hurk started to come down in the bunker, sobbing and talkin' about how shitty his life was. It may or may not also be the voice he used to use whenever coaching someone through a drunk order at the McDonald's drive-thru.]
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Yeah. I guess. Okay.
[That's a very manly whimper he let's out as he gets up because this hurts really fucking bad and he can only ignore pain for so long before he succumbs to some of it. Because he's weak. Doesn't even need Jacob around to remind him of that.]
I smell fucking atrocious.
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Now, he helps Pratt to his feet, bracing him on his uninjured side as best he can. Pratt might feel weak, but all Sharky can think is that it's a miracle he hasn't outright fainted by now.]
I'm so not givin' you a sponge-bath after this, that's all I'm saying. [Because jokes are the easiest way to keep sane in the face of something absolutely fucking horrendous. Like the fact that Pratt's already attacked other passengers and Sharky did nothing to stop it. Or the fact that Pratt might not have survived the fight, even if he did manage to kill someone in the process.]
Just don't move your arm. [He's going to try and make the trip to the infirmary as short and painless as possible.]
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[ He gets to his feet finally, leaning heavily on Sharky because he's a lot more unsteady than he realized. The good news is he's not thinking about Jacob right now, even while wearing this disgusting jacket. So that's something. ]
Right. Elevator. Gotta...gotta get to the elevator. 'S only way out.
[ A few false starts and he's finally moving. Look at him actually making it out of his cabin to the hallway. He deserves a medal.]
Be better for you if Rook showed up instead of me. Shoulda never been me. They'd know what to do...and not...
[ Not killing people who aren't Eli? Something. He's not even sure what he's saying right now but he's trying to focus so he doesn't pass out like he did with Izzy.
The elevator might as well be a million miles away. The hallway seems to twist and extend indefinitely. He pauses to stare at it before wiping his nose on his sleeve and stubbornly walking again. He may be weak and insane but he's definitely a survivor, probably the only reason Jacob didn't flat out kill him.]
Elevator. Yeah. Got this.
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[He thinks. He fuckin' hopes, anyway. He's sturdy enough to take all of Pratt's unsteady weight, and he keeps one arm around his waist so he can't stagger too far forward or list too far back. This is basically the same as walking someone home after a black-out barfight, right down to the stab wound. He's got to have this.
Every time Pratt slows down, Sharky stops, unwilling to rush him even when he thinks the dude might collapse and need to be dragged. That... would be bad, probably, but Sharky knows he could probably lift Pratt if necessary. He reallllllly hopes it won't be.]
Okay, see? The elevator's right there. Quick trip down, I'll stitch ya up like a fuckin' pigskin, it'll be great.
[WAIT]
Hahaha, "pigskin." Get it???
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Yeah. Least we're not using the stairs... [WOW. Wow.] Sharky... When I'm not bleeding out I'm gonna groan about that properly.
[He can't groan now because he's pretty sure if he does his lungs might fill with blood instead of air. But the death might be worth it for that horrible joke. Instead he gets into the elevator leaning against the wall on his good shoulder, hopefully not leaving any bloody smears anywhere.]
I'm gonna need to give her the knife back.
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Man. Some fucked up Cindarella shit right there. [He's just gonna hover annoyingly at Pratt's injured side, checking the wound as if he could see it getting infected in real-time.] We gotta make sure she ain't gonna stab you as soon as you hand it over. Figure out what happened so we can try and keep it from happenin' again. [Like troubleshooting where a gas leak is, only hopefully with less explosions!]
But first, we gotta get it outta you. [Which will be easy to do once they reach the infirmary, the elevator trip thankfully short from the passenger deck.]
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Probably should let her stab me? I attacked her like a fucking psychopath.
[ Deep breath because he's starting to get dizzy. ]
After this, the pirate with the sword, and Jacob's nasty fucking center where half the shit was rusty, I'm really testing the strength of my last tetanus shot.
[ He closes his eyes, waiting for the elevator to beep before he moves again.]
This is gonna suck.
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[Sharky is a permanent fixture at Pratt's side, ready to drag him if he has to as they mutually stagger from the elevator to the infirmary. Thank christ it's a short walk, and Sharky can fill it entirely with dumbass banter.]
Alright, man, you're almost there. Just gotta get the knife out, then we can stitch you up. I don't think it's super bad [yet] so it should be an easy job.
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[He rubs that wound, not yet noticing that hey! It's gone! He's a little more preoccupied with the current stab wound, which isn't even a wound yet, it's just a 'stab' at this point.]
I've had worse. Jacob stabbed me in the socket of my shoulder and then left the knife there. For hours. So this is.. [A laugh that turns into a cough.] was gonna say better but that's fucked up. Cuz.. it's still a knife in me. People shouldn't have knives in them.
[He may second guess everything and be mentally fucked but he's sure of that one. Knives belong outside of people. Getting off the elevator he heads for the bright light at the
end of the tunnelside of the hall that he's pretty sure is either the infirmary or the morgue - either would work in this case.]You ever play PT? This hallway...
[He's not going to elaborate, but needless to say this level of the ship is creepy.]
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...but then he would have to admit that he also knows what Pratt is talking about, so. You win this time, Pratt.]
Fuckin' creepy, I will give you that. [He keeps expecting to see something big and freaky looming waaaaaay down in the distance. Maybe something will start banging on the creepy bulkhead over there?
Sharky is just glad to know that the infirmary is well-lit and well-stocked. If there are any spooky ghosts in here, they're impossible to see under all the fluorescents.]
Alright, man. You know better'n me what you can handle right now, so sit or lie down, whichever you want. But, uh, don't wanna cut your shirt clean off so... unbutton that first. Then, knife out, shirt off, stitches in.
[Is he going to have to unbutton Pratt's fucking deputy shirt? Please, bro, you have this. Right???]
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Jacob's jacket is so big on him it's almost only being held onto him by the knife itself. Still, he tries to not jostle it as he unbuttons his poor damaged deputy shirt he's wearing under it.]
This uniform was not designed for this much abuse. Gonna fall apart on me.
[ A soft chuckle because if that isn't fucking symbolic.]
Aight, sorry if I... you know, bleed all over you.
[ Like that's something he can control.
Under the uniform he is wearing an actual new shirt and not his gross ass undershirt he wore for 6 straight months back home. Small steps towards his retirement.]
Go ahead. M' ready.
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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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