04 | [Action] (forward-dated to Monday!)

[thebetterhalf]

[The first thing Marco becomes consciously aware of is that he's cold. No, freezing, even. The next thing he notices is a nausea that’d settled in the pit of his stomach, then that nausea turns into mild panic when a string of odd, blurry memories hits him and he gets the strong sense that he's in danger. That his life is in danger.

He awakes with a start, moving straight into a sitting position. Both hands shoot up to his throat, even if he isn’t sure exactly why he’d felt the need to do so. He's groggy, exhausted and disoriented. Where is he? What’d happened? What day is it, even? Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? In the back of his head, a few hazy memories are trickling away. Dreams, perhaps. Dreams of a crowded village and glowing green balls surrounding him. Dreams of pain shooting up his leg and his hand getting crushed. It’d seemed so real, but his hand is fine so there was no way it could’ve happened. He’d know if his hand had gotten crushed for some reason. …Just another nightmare.

His eyes scrunch shut for a moment, then open again to try and survey the area. Forest, with the moon high up in the sky. It's hard to tell exactly what time it is- likely somewhere early in the morning. Past the trees he can see distant lights, presumably from the village. His gaze moves down to his legs, noticing the odd pair of pants he's wearing. The standard type that New Feathers would wear upon arrival. His mind's unable to really piece everything together. Is he a new arrival again? …He still remembers the village. He can’t recall being sent home. A quick check confirms that his pockets hold the keys to his apartment and his journal.

What’d happened to him?

He manages to scuttle into a crouching position just in time to start retching. His stomach's roiling and the confusion only serves to fuel his nausea further. Not that he ends up spewing more than a bit of bile. Apparently, he hasn’t eaten recently. Retching turns to desperate gasping and shaking, both from the stress inflicted on his body and the cold. He has no idea how long it takes him to calm down again. Five minutes, maybe ten. During that time, he notices something else. No sounds are coming from him. Nothing vocal, anyway. His suspicions are confirmed when he tries to speak, but produces no words. Carefully, he raises a hand to his throat again. His vocal chords aren’t working. Why?

Despite the protest coming from his muscles, he manages to push himself to his feet and turns his attention to what’d been lying beside him. The 3D Maneuver Gear- all of it. The canisters, the blades, even the body harness is attached to it. Putting it on is too much trouble, but he can’t just leave it out here, so he grabs the leather straps and slings them over his shoulder. This way, he can support the gear’s weight with his back. He’ll have to be careful with his wings, though. Once he's sure he can keep his balance, he begins his trek towards the village. His whole body's still shaking, but he has to get home. Jean's going to kill him for this.]


[Action]

[By the time Marco’s up and about again, it’s late in the afternoon. He’s wearing a spare set of clothes from his wardrobe, but the absence of his uniform just stings something awful. That’s why he hopes he’ll be able to find a replacement in the store. After having a few bites to eat and assuring Jean that he’ll be fine, he’s off to run some errands. There’s a notebook under his arm, because now that he can’t speak, he’ll have to write his responses down.

First he needs to stop by the apartment belonging to Commander Smith and Captain Levi to let them know he’s back. Then, he’ll leave the flame building and head over to the plaza. He stops by the school to see if Professor Sage is still there, so he can apologize for missing over a week of classes. Then, the clothing store, where he ends up finding a replacement uniform just like he’d hoped. However, there’s just one problem with it. The insignia. It’s clearly his size, but it’s designated as Military Police. Are the Malnosso just messing with him, or is it meant for someone else? Until he’s decided on either, he’ll just stand there with the jacket in both hands, giving it a conflicted stare.

Finally, he’ll take a detour to the wind building to pay a visit to Ginia. He feels that after everything that’s happened, she’s the best person to talk to. Or uh… write to, now that they’re both in the same position.]

Comments

[thebetterhalf]

[He gives a stiff nod of the head because that much, at the very least, he can grasp. Jean is here for him. The only other person from their trainee corps- his closest friend. He's not sure what he would've done if Jean hadn't arrived in Luceti a few months ago. He would've had to sit here by himself. That might've been unbearable.]

[wipesfaith]

[That's the first time Marco has answered him with a nod. They're taking a step in the right direction, at least.]

Right...I'm here, Marco... You're going to be okay. [He's never thought of himself as much of a source of comfort - too abrasive for that. And even though he can't help but be honest with his feelings most of the time, being so direct in this way is a little awkward. But this is what he needs to do right now.]

[thebetterhalf]

[He nods again, his eyes still scrunched shut. His breathing is starting to even out now, at least, even if his throat still feels like it's being wrung shut.

Part of him wishes he could express his gratitude to Jean for being so understanding about this whole thing, but he wouldn't know how to put it into words. Now that he doesn't even have that much, the faintest idea of how to make clear on his feelings has gone out the window. Why did he have to lose his voice now? He hopes it'll come back soon.]

[wipesfaith]

[He'll stay like this as long as Marco needs him to, stroking his shoulder, fingers spreading to reach a little bit of his back and upper arm, repeating the same refrains over and over again, working the words into him.]

Whatever happened...it's done. You're home now, alright?

[He wishes payback could be as simple as walking up to the bastards who caused all this and punching them in the face, but "simple" is far out of reach. He only has control over this moment.]

[thebetterhalf]

[Home? He can't help but be skeptical of that statement. He's in the only place remotely close to a home he can still have. He can never go back to his real home. Not that he can blame Jean for the way he feels about that statement. His friend means well.

He spends a few more moments focusing on swallowing and easing up his throat, then his eyes open again. That's when he realizes they're burning with tears that he's been holding back, but he refuses to shed them, so instead he raises a hand to rub at his eyes with his palm. Hopefully, Jean won't notice.]

[wipesfaith]

[He doesn't have any strong attachments to the word "home" - when he had stopped thinking of his hometown as that shitty border town he wanted to leave without looking back, it was only because it became stained with memories of loss as if with blood - so he uses it loosely. This is where they live now; it's as much of a home as anywhere else.

As tuned in to Marco as he is right now, Jean can't help but catch the movement of his hand across his eyes, and he can't help but realize what he's trying to rub away. But he won't say anything about that.]

You're okay... I'm here, Marco.

[thebetterhalf]

[He nods again, because he's at a loss for what else to do. What else to try and communicate. Maybe it'd be best for him to just go to sleep now. Maybe, when he wakes up tomorrow, he'll feel better and his voice will have returned. Or maybe he'll find none of this happened at all.

There's a barely audible sniff, then he raises his head to glance up at Jean again. He won't attempt to smile- there's very little point in that. He will, however, raise his right hand to mimic something. A gesture similar to holding a glass and tilting it towards his lips. He still doesn't know if he can hold water down, but he'd like to try, if only to get the bad taste out of his mouth.]

[wipesfaith]

[Marco, if you tried smiling now, he just might be tempted to smack you.

The gesture registers immediately and he nods, letting his hand linger on Marco's shoulder as he stands, withdrawing only when he steps away from the bed. He's gone for a moment, returning with a glass of water and shuffling back to Marco.]

Here. [Holding the glass out to him.]

[thebetterhalf]

[The brief moment where Jean's out of the room is a bit of a reprieve for Marco. It's enough time for him to quickly rub at his eyes again and sit up straight, spreading the sweater across his lap.

The glass is accepted with a quick smile. Nothing genuine, just a reflex of common courtesy, and it disappears as soon as Marco raises the glass to his lips. As expected, he does have a bit of trouble swallowing the water, but at least it feels nice against his throat.]

[wipesfaith]

[He remains standing, watching Marco carefully. He's sitting up straighter; he isn't shaking anymore, and he isn't gasping for breath like he's drowning, or suffocating. He's doing better.]

...Need anything else?

[thebetterhalf]

[Once he's had all the water he thinks he can stomach, he sets the glass down on his nightstand. Then he turns back to Jean to shake his head. He wouldn't know what else to ask for, but even if he did, he wouldn't want to keep his friend up any longer. Sleep is probably best for both of them, right now.]

[wipesfaith]

You should get some sleep... You probably need it.

[He doubts he needed to say this. Marco is doing better than before, but he still looks like he's been dragged through hell.]

[thebetterhalf]

[Wow Jean, it's like you read his mind. Or maybe it's just that obvious that he needs sleep. The latter option is more likely.

He gives Jean another nod of the head, then leans down to remove the shoes that the Malnosso left him with. They're really very simple loafers, but it's better than having to walk home barefoot.]

[wipesfaith]

[Painfully obvious.

He hovers for a moment longer, eyes lingering on Marco, before retreating back across the room and sitting down on his own bed.]

Don't even think about trying to wake up early tomorrow. Sleep as much as you need.

[thebetterhalf]

[The thought of waking up early hadn't crossed Marco's mind until Jean brings it up, but it's dismissed just as quickly. He's pretty sure he could sleep until well into the afternoon hours.

He doesn't even bother to remove the New Feather pants. He just sends one last nod Jean's way as he crawls across the bed to nestle himself under the blankets. Oh man, blankets. Blankets are the best invention ever right now.]

[wipesfaith]

[As soon as Marco is settled in, he flips the light off and burrows underneath the blankets again.]

...Good night, Marco.

[It's the middle of the night. He's exhausted. But now that the darkness settles in thickly around him - a provider of solitude, without having to be alone in the room - the reel of questions he'd uselessly asked Marco repeats in his head. If he had been kidnapped, how long will they have to wait for his voice to return? What had been done to him in the time he was gone? If he had died...what had happened? An accident? Or something more intentional? How would they even begin to find the killer? What did he even die for?

He does not fall asleep for a long time.]