Supression Request: These Feelings [November Open]

[restingslasherface]

Who: "Slasher Face" Jean and YOU + 1 Closed
What: Jean fuckin' died y'all
When: Early November (before Voyage of the Hollow Men)
Where: Oak & Iron, the Community Board, Around Town, the Temple
Warnings: Discussion of death, Bad Feelings, likely shit from Jean's dark-ass canon, traumatic flashbacks, burning/scarring
Notes: Just getting on this early while I have spoons

Containment Breach [Oak & Iron | Closed to Zelda | CW Traumatic Flashbacks, Burning/Scarring]

Jean wakes with a start, and the phantom feeling of cold. Their clothes are ill-fitting butcher's slops, smelling incongruously of wet dog, and the uncomfortable sensation is almost enough for them to center themself.

Almost.

The sensation of burning starts immediately, and the contrast between their mind's insistence that they are freezing to death and the reality of the crawling heat against their left cheek draws a gritted sound of pain from their throat. Over the course of nearly a minute, a skull and crossbones is scorched into their face, and they have to take awhile to just breathe.

It's in vain. The tally mark comes next.

Jean has no idea that it's been exactly 24 hours, which means they're trapped in the inn; after all, it's well after dark. A familiar face might be needed to coax them out from under the table. Goddesses know the staff don't want anything to do with this.

Org Chart [Community Board]

Signup sheets go up on the community board, asking for volunteers for three emergency teams, just beneath a note explaining the idea.

To better effect emergency responses to the ongoing siege of Marrow Island, Comrade Jean (Pumpkin Hollow Recovery Task Force) is seeking volunteers to staff and lead response teams which will coordinate on own initiative during notable crises. The teams are as follows:

COMBAT TEAM: Directly combat curse incursions with a focus on harm reduction and pro-active containment; protect citizens and infrastructure through violent force.

MEDICAL TEAM: First aid and triage, preventative care, bodymen. The grim work of aid during a disaster or surprise attack.

COMMUNICATIONS TEAM: Detect and report emergencies, coordinate activities between all teams and citizens, swiftly and effectively transmit information on the disaster in a concise manner.

Volunteers are encouraged to leave their names and phone numbers on the forms provided below, or to contact JEAN or MADAM PRINCESS ZELDA directly at their homes or anywhere in town. These teams are not sanctioned or sponsored by any existing organization on MARROW ISLAND and are strictly voluntary; however, JEAN is offering combat training to any citizen or Task Force member that desires it, regardless of volunteer status, during their shore leave between the hours of 6 AM and 1 PM.

[OOC Note: Feel free to leave a drive-by to just handwave volunteering, to seek Jean out in person for a thread, or even to attend training!]

This Meeting Could Have Been An Email [Around Town]

With the events of the festival heavy on their mind, Jean is making an effort to check in on friends, peers, and potential assets, not that those divisions are particularly clear in their mind right now. Did you make plans with Jean before the catastrophe? Here they are to follow up. Consider this the catch-all for That Thing That Was Plotted, but it's also the chance to catch Jean at the Oak & Iron getting their coffee, haunting the tailoring shops again with a distinct thought towards actually spending money on clothes, interrupt them grocery shopping, or otherwise gently find (and possibly hold) the nugget.

Fuck You, Pay Me [The Temple]

At some point when Jean feels like they've got ducks in a row, they come into the Temple of a morning to provide a strong contender for least reverent prayer in recent history. Curiously, they've washed up extra hard first, combed their messy hair and even shined their shoes, but...

Well. Jean doesn't kneel before the altar, and while their tone is quiet respect, the words...

"Your enemy seems to think you exist, Manager Kora, and that you have some manner of power, some stake in me. I fought too hard and too long to choose for myself only to end up here for reasons I couldn't control, and as amazing as that is...I don't work for free. Not ever again, not after the Library. I am not your plaything. If you want me as your employee...then we need to talk. And if you won't, kindly stop by the City, make an appointment with R-Corp to rent their cloning vats, and use them to go fuck yourself."

Comments

[restingslasherface]

Knock knock (OPEN UP THE DOOR IT'S REAL - wait wrong vibe).

Jean's seen better days. They're exhausted, soul-deep, with a certain light gone from their eyes.

But they're here.

[lovinglefthand]

(Wait, this isn't my domino's order!)

"Oh," First Aid says quietly, after he's opened the door. After he's seen Jean's haggard face, with the new mark on their cheek.

Not entirely unlike the white snowflake marring First Aid's own visor, he suspects.

"Please come on," he says gently, and once Jean's come inside and the door's shut he offers, "We need not do this today, if it would contribute more stress to your mental state."

[restingslasherface]

"It's just pain," Jean murmurs. "Once it's passed I'll be able to sleep again. I don't want to wait."

Jean's clothes needed to be mended after the Carnival, and they have been, poorly. The back of their shirt nearly matches their surgical scars.

[lovinglefthand]

"Understood. Please come this way."

He shows Jean back into the exam room, with the privacy screen and the surgical gown set out next to the heater as it was before, and turns away to wash his hands.

"I would prefer not to give you any medication apart from topical painkillers, until we know the new parts have integrated appropriately," he remarks to fill the silence. "But if you're still have trouble sleeping after 48 hours, I can write you a prescription to take to Ms. Boyle at the pharmacy."

[restingslasherface]

"..."

Well First Aid you've succeeded in hauling Jean upwards from the depression by confusing them. In all senses but the literal there are math equations floating around their head (all of them incorrect). At long last, still having not changed because they really need to figure this out, they hesitantly ask: "Why would she...need...your endorsement for that?"

[lovinglefthand]

"Hm? Oh, it's more for my benefit and yours, really. So long as I'm your primary physician, it's better if I'm in the loop about any medication you're taking. That way if you have some kind of negative reaction, it will be more readily apparent what might have caused it -- and I can advise you against taking anything that's known to conflict with your existing prescriptions or condition. Does that make sense?"

He turns around, hands held slightly away from his body to keep them clean, and tilts his head slightly in confusion at Jean. Who hasn't gotten changed. That's probably not a good sign.

"Are you okay?"

[restingslasherface]

"...I am much better now that you've explained, yes, that was going to, hahahaha, ha, hahaha...that was gonna bother me all day." It even slots in which experiences Jean has had, though that mostly took the form of getting long lists of medication to not take after a given procedure. The strongest suggestion was always to get HP Ampules but who the fuck can afford those?

(Lobotomy Corporation could, and Jean had plenty of reason to be grateful for that, later in life.)

They slip behind the privacy screen to get changed, though their usual brisk efficiency is not clocked in for the day.

[lovinglefthand]

"Oh. Then I apologize for the confusion." First Aid leans against the counter with a quiet sigh, waiting patiently while Jean changes. He did it again, even though he hadn't meant to. Why is it that everything he says seems to set Jean off in some way? How can their cultures be so different?

(He still doesn't get that it's his own denial over their similarities that's really setting Jean off.)

"On a related note," he says, raising his voice just a little to be heard clearly behind the privacy screen. "I've been working on a meal plan for you. Based on the documents you gave me, I expect your caloric needs will go up in general once your implant returns to full functionality, with the possibility of a sharp spike in demands every time you use it in combat. It's vitally important that you meet your body's needs, Jean, even if you aren't feeling any discomfort. You may even see an overall increase in your operational efficiency if you do."

[restingslasherface]

There's a pause in the sound of rustling clothing, and then a short and amused laugh. "A clever sales pitch, Doctor. Though at first I thought you meant the overall project...still. The budget may not be there. I need supplies to train the locals with, I may need to fund containment units, analyzing equipment...we have a dangerous lack of both information and armament, and it's punished us all repeatedly! Subsistence eating is a choice of which ball I'm dropping."

[lovinglefthand]

"I was speaking of both, though as your physician your individuals needs must take precedence when I make recommendations."

First Aid pauses for a moment, reconsidering his angle of attack. He still believes Jean is drastically underestimating their own body's requirements, due to what sounds like a lifetime spent at subsistence levels or below, but if it's a choice they're consciously making it seems fruitless to argue with them further...

"I've received payment for last month's services in excess of my material needs," he finally says carefully. "I would be willing to pass some of the surplus on to you, on the condition that you promise to follow your meal plan before allocating any more funds to the town's welfare. Would this be acceptable to you?"

[restingslasherface]

"That sounds like the sort of organized support I'd cut my foot off for, hahaha, ha..."

Jean steps back out, stone faced, and their voice lowers. "There are people here who, by their treatment of me, seem to believe that I am irrational. Maybe insane, which, haha, ha...sanity is a secondary objective. I will ask that you consider that I am a professional in my own fields, Doctor. There are many objectives in this project for which I am not currently competent to contribute. Say that I somehow hypothesize a solution to the island's economy; I can't competently test it, or root out sabotage from agents of Mendel. I do not know what other natural or supernatural factions may object, or their motives in doing so. But I can kill things, and imprison them."

"I work with my strengths while I am broadening my education. I am not some mad dog to be given veterinary care."

[lovinglefthand]

"I don't believe that you are," First Aid says, offended, before exerting himself to moderate his voice. "I'm aware that I've made some missteps in our dealings, and thereby done harm to our working relationship. For this I apologize. But Jean...Agent..."

He pauses for a moment, considering his words, before huffing quietly through his vents.

"To be blunt, I think you're a competent operative who has been used poorly in the past. This is a type of person I'm used to treating, though I will obviously have to adjust some of my expectations to accomodate the differences in our cultural backgrounds. But your competency is not in question to me; what is in question is your ability to carry out your plans without causing yourself further physical and mental damage. I understand that you have your own priority tree, but my priority is ensuring the welfare of my patients first, and the overall welfare of the community second. As you are, to the best of my present knowledge, one of this community's best fighters and tacticians, I believe that I can serve both priorities by helping you improve your overall health. Does this make my position clear?"

[restingslasherface]

"It's strange to me to hear the project placed second. Are the people of Marrow Island not also your clients?" Onto the table with Jean; no two ways about it, recovery will be days to be safe, though with Doctor Boyle here at least Jean can anticipate painkillers. "We're certainly being paid enough. To live again..."

They frown. But the point stands.

[lovinglefthand]

"They are, but like you there are certain limitations on my ability to help." Taking Jean's movements as his cue, First Aid approaches the table and picks up a square of cotton batting to begin sterilizing the surgical site. "I can't ensure that everyone in town always has enough to eat, much as I would like to. I don't know anything about farming or fishing, except for how to treat common injuries associated with those professions. But my patient -- who I must admit occupies a strategically valuable position within the community, and who moreover came specifically to me for help -- says that they are underfunded and cannot meet their desired operational goals without reducing their food budget. This is something I can fix, if you allow me to do so."

There's a guilty pause. "I would offer this assistance to everyone if I could," he says quietly. "But I can't. And in my own native hierarchy, you would be an officer. In any situation where resources cannot be allocated equally, I must prioritize the overall strategic needs of my faction."

By Tradition I Declare: Damn OCs And Their One Liners

[restingslasherface]

"Your faction, Doctor?"

cw: hyperbolic suicide ideation

[lovinglefthand]

Just drive him out to the interstate and let him throw himself under a truck.

"Autobot," he says quietly. "I was created to serve in a medical capacity under the command of Optimus Prime, the rightful leader of Cybertron. But," he quickly adds, "In the absense of any Autobot officers or a Decepticon presence, my mandate to provide medical services to human allies and civilians takes precedence. Indeed, that would most likely be the case even if there were any other Autobots or Decepticons here. I am not a combatant."

[restingslasherface]

"There's some obvious flaws in that set of priorities, not least that we have peers that are not human. Have you considered the social fallout of your proposal?" Jean's voice softens. "...There are tensions among the clients. I've aligned myself with the Ocularum, and by paying for my upkeep you may be seen as associated. You'll make enemies of people who don't understand your dedication or perspective, enemies that may make it difficult for you to offer treatment where it's needed most."

Jean sighs heavily. "...If we're talking strategy, anyway."

[lovinglefthand]

"You're correct that I need to update my phrasing. That should have been, 'sapient allies and civilians.' It wasn't my intention to imply I'd exclude anyone on the basis of species."

He sighs heavily, reaching for the anesthetic. "Should I understand that there is no way to keep my contributions to your efforts secret? I wasn't aware tensions within the town were so high."

[restingslasherface]

"One person owns the mint, and there's no cooperation between her faction and my allies. Ms. Leeds may be a nepotism hire but she owns the relevant infrastructure - and I don't cut corners on job safety." Jean only doesn't shrug because the surgery prep is underway. "Your skills are a rare and vital resource. As much as I, hahaha, hahaha, ha, FUCKING CRAVE a central command, we don't have one. Being this cautious is annoying! And bothersome!"

[lovinglefthand]

"Oh dear."

Yeah, understatement. First Aid falls silent until the anesthetic is fully applied, thinking it over.

"Protocol dictates that I defer to local authority, except when acting to prevent immediate harm to a civilian or a fellow Autobot," he says slowly, unhappy with the answer even as he gives it voice. A few seconds later, he realizes why.

"However, that command was written to accommodate the situation on the ground, where we Autobots were uninvited guests. *We* -- that is, we newcomers -- are not uninvited. We were summoned by a higher power to provide assistance where civilian authority had already failed. Is in the process of failing."

Yes. This makes perfect sense to him. The locals couldn't lift the curse themselves, they need extra-dimensional help to do it. Therefore, where local authority interferes with newcomer efforts...

[restingslasherface]

"We need more information," Jean agrees. "About everything. I've recently received evidence that at least one of the entities identified as goddesses exists, or that a force acting in her name does." Professional caution only, Kora; they're still wearing the ring. "The Temple founds its legitimacy on this idea, but hasn't previously attempted to assert formal control. Nor has Ms. Leeds, to her credit, though her wealth gives her a great deal of de facto power. My own allies are unknown to me in many ways, which, hate that! Hate that a lot! So...caution."

[lovinglefthand]

"What sort of evidence?" First Aid immediately asks. "And, if I might ask, why did you ally yourself with the Ocularum? I know nothing about them, except for what I saw at Dr. West's seance -- and I was only there in a medical capacity."

Meaning that while he didn't precisely ignore the chatter and exposition, it wasn't a priority.

[restingslasherface]

"Appropriate support was offered in a managerial capacity." There's that numbness. Jean prepares emotionally for some strange sensations. "As for the Ocularum, they have the technical knowledge needed to contain entities alive, which is better for research. The Madam Princess and I are placing our trust in the goodwill of our fellows for other vital operations."

[lovinglefthand]

"I see..." It suddenly seems ludicrous that they're having this conversation while First Aid stares at Jean's back -- but of course, the surgery takes precedence. Finish the task in front of you, medic; worry about everything else once the job's done. First Aid picks up the scalpel and begins to cut.

But he's still thinking about it. And what he's thinking is...

"I too would prefer to work with a central authority, if one could be found. Or brought into being."

[restingslasherface]

"Mmm." Jean sits with that fantasy for a moment before proceeding to disappoint themself and, likely, First Aid: "I can't see a scenario where seizing or propping up such an authority isn't instantly destroyed by the success of the project, ironically creating immediate conditions of failure. Once the employees of the white-haired lady start choosing to return to life..."