iliketodruitt | (no subject)

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joan

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John had been enjoying his afternoon. Joan was quite a pleasant companion and it was nice to be with someone that didn’t look at him as if trying to decide if at any moment he was going to try and kill them. He could tell she didn’t quite believe everything that was going on, or at least not the more fantastical explanations, but he couldn’t blame her. At least she was being polite about it and humoring him, although he tried not to talk about the more fantastical things.

They had wandered around looking at the various sights, John imparting what memories he had a places or sharing historic significance of something that he had learned over his years. All in all, he was having a wonderful time with her and found it an excellent distraction from his current worries.

“Is there anyone on the island that you know from home?” John asked after moment’s lull in the conversation.

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"I traveled more when I was younger. It's an unfortunate truth of my work that the more experienced you are, the less you get out of the office." If she sounds wistful, it's illusory. She does miss the field, but she made the decision for the right reasons and she doesn't regret it.

"Is that the tea house you had in mind?" Joan gestures with a tilt of her head and lift of her brows to a standalone building on the other side of the street and up half a block.

"It is indeed, it has a rather impressive selection and a pleasant atmosphere," he said as he lead her there, opening the door for her. He could feel the warmth of the shop thaw his face a bit and enjoyed the feeling. It was almost relaxing.

"Did you have a favorite place to visit?"

"I'm very fond of--" Joan's voice breaks as she slips, ankle twisting in her boot when the heel catches some black ice. She catches herself on John's arm, but not before she's half-straddled between the sidewalk and the street, head precipitously close to his groin.

Years of Krav Maga get her back on her feet before he can even help her up, but her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. The embarrassment quickly turns to apology when she notes, "You're bleeding," from five long gouges she managed to put in his forearm. "I'm terribly sorry,"

The tumble caught John by surprise just as much as it had Joan. The sudden pull and sharp pain on his arm caused him to gasp. There was a flash of anger as well, the desire to strike out at the source of the pain. Even if he was free of the energy creature, it was hard to completely remove himself from impulses that had been a part of him for over a hundred years.

"It's quite alright," he said, giving her a slightly pained smile. "They are, after all, scratches. And I have been hurt far worse than this."

There, for a brief instant, Joan sees something unpleasant in John's face. The sort of rage she's seen before in rogue operatives and traitors. It's gone before it can settle and Joan files it away for more consideration if she ever sees it again, but for now takes it simply under advisement.

"So have I, but that doesn't make them sting any less," she says as mildly as she can while trying to shake off the adrenaline rush of almost falling and the shooting, wrenching pains in her back and hips. They're not serious and will pass. It'll just take a few minutes. "I think I have a handkerchief. Hold on."

She digs in her bag as they step through the doors and finds a pale blue square with lace on the edges which she hands over to him.

"Thank you," he said, pulling up the sleeve to wrap the handkerchief around his arm. It would at least stop what little bleeding there was, though he would have to be sure to clean it properly. Fingernails and Victorian London were both notoriously dirty, though he imagined Joan's were more clean than most.

"Are you alright, did you hurt your ankle at all?"

Joan tests her weight on the foot and winces, not at the ankle but at the twisted boot and the laces cutting into her foot. She scans the room for a table, and finding one, gestures to it. "I'll be fine as soon as I re-lace the boot. Thank you."

But she does wait for him to help her to the table if he will, since her foot is half out of the boot and she'd rather not trip again.

"Of course," he said, taking her arm and helping her to the table. He was glad that she was not hurt badly, though he could have assisted her to the clinic, even carrying her if necessary. Thankfully, that was not the case.

Especially since this way he could have a lovely tea time with a charming woman. That was a rare opportunity for John and one he didn't want to miss out on.

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