bakerstreet | morning after meme!

morning after meme!

Someone Is Sleeping in My Bed!

It's morning in EST. But maybe not for you -- A little too late to be sleeping but y'know what? That's okay. People nap. Sometimes the bed is oh so cozy and you want to snuggle under a blanket and sleep forever. And you don't care if it's your bed or not. You're going to sleep. Like a boss.

Too bad someone doesn't agree.
Rules
The Poster is the character who is asleep.
The Responder is the one who discovers the sleeper.
Therefore, the Responder must do one of three things

I. Decide you know this person! (Castmate, previous threader, whatever.)
Go to Random and Roll.

a. Wake them up - You don't care how friendly you are to the person in your bed; they need to get up.
b. Happy Awakening - Such a shame they're so deep asleep when you're in the mood. How about a nice wake up call? (if you don't like smut, keep this to cuddles, kisses, hugs, or reroll)
c. Prank! - Oh, this has just go to stop. They need to be punished. But how?
Can't beat 'em, Join them - Push 'em over and snuggle up. You're too tried to deal with this craziness right now. Or sleep on your couch.
d. Let them Sleep - Whatever, it's noon. They're asleep and you got things to do. Regard them or disregard them.

II. Decide you have NO CLUE this person is! (People that haven't threaded with each other before, crossovers, castmates who haven't met.)
Go to Random and Roll.

a. Scream 'OMGWTFBBQ GET UP' - While this is probably the default reaction, it's a pretty honest one.
b. Prank! - What a better way for you to remember this moment of meeting than by painting a mustachio on your new 'friend's' face? (Remember, it's your bed. Be wise on what you do.)
c. Gently wake them up - Oh, the poor dears! They must be exhausted but they can't stay here. Be nice, even if it isn't IC for your character. This is what you get for rolling. Shake them up quietly. Or reroll.
d. Get to Know them NON-Biblically - Well, they're asleep. But they left their wallet, important work, or identification out (no matter how OOC it may be)! Let's see who's REALLY sleeping in your bed. (Use your own judgment on what you find. As a suggestion, have the most they find is the sleeper's name and maybe place of work.)
e. Tie 'em up - FUNCTIONAL tying up. Not kinky, no matter what the other party might think. Let them continue their blissful moment of rest. They'll answer questions later and you'll be safe and sound.

III. Decide - fuck the police. You hear me right. Fuck 'em.
You move forward and make your own fate!

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[ if you don't mind cross-canon, how about option II + c? as a setup, karako could be coming home from work in the wee hours of the morning to find rorschach passed out in her apartment (probably after breaking in to help himself to food/medicine cabinet supplies/investigating her for something)? ]

((Waves back! Sounds good to me!))

[Rorschach had come in through the open window. He'd chosen the apartment based solely off that fact. He couldn't be picky after dealing with a would-be mugger. Rorschach had taken care of him, but the man had had a knife and been just a little bit faster than the vigilante had expected. He'd ended up with a few nasty cuts on both of his arms. They'd needed immediate attention if he didn't want to end up losing blood and gaining a nasty infection.

The bathroom had, as he'd expected, enough medicinal supplies to get him by. He'd treated his injuries as best he could, pouring rubbing alcohol on, followed by copious amounts of gauze. The effort had left him exhausted. He'd lost more blood than he'd thought. Or he was just getting older and slower, a thought he banished as soon as it rolled through his mind.

Either way, he was exhausted. He'd planned to lie down on the bed for exactly ten minutes, just enough time to catch his breath and get his strength back. Ten turned into fifteen and then fifteen turned into an hour as he fell fast asleep.]

( I also took some liberties with this post for setup's sake so please let me know if you'd like me to change anything! )

[ It's late, way later than she'd prefer when there's a neighborhood with a bad reputation between the clinic where she works and her apartment. The taxi cabs are still running; hailing one would have been an option on a less meager salary. As things are, Karako needs to make every penny count if she wants to keep the shoebox she lives in, so she walks home, clutching a can of pepper spray.

She's quick, and keeps close to the streetlights. There aren't many people out on the main streets, and they seem as eager to run into someone as she is. Karako keeps her guard up, and makes it home without incident, checking for mail (bills, whodda guessed?) in her cubbyhole of a mailbox before climbing the three flights of stairs to her place.

After shuffling through the front door and locking it behind her, she lingers in the cramped entrance of her studio apartment, stepping out of her worn shoes and socks and edging them into their usual spot by the door. She leaves the lights off, too tired to bother. The only thing on her mind is getting out of her scrubs, in the shower, and into bed. Rubbing her eyes with a groan, Karako stuffs what she's carrying into the front of her purse and walks straight into the bathroom, shutting the door behind herself with a foot before switching on the light.

The disarray that greets her makes her gasp, and the sterile odor of the clinic's exam rooms fires up her nose. The door of her medicine cabinet is swung wide open, its contents ransacked. A bottle of rubbing alcohol sits half empty on the counter, its slim plastic cap wedged in the drain of the sink. Several gauze wrappers are strewn on the counter and the floor, sticking to wet spots that soaked clear in some places and bright, recognizable red in others.

She's already fumbling through her purse for her pepper spray again, wiry fingers clumsy with exhaustion and adrenaline as she pushes up on the safety lock until it clicks. The light switch for the rest of the apartment is across from the kitchen, and the telephone is on her bedside table. Just a few steps, she reassures herself, and she could have the lights on and the police on the way.

Taking a steadying breath, Karako drops her purse, switches off the bathroom light, and presses against the door, straining to listen for any sign that she wasn't alone. She lets a full minute pass before inching the bathroom door open and slipping out, bare feet padding dully on the carpet as she crosses to the opposite wall and gropes for the light switch. Her fingers find it, and she whirls to face her lit apartment.

The last thing she was expecting to find was a man in her bed. He lies on the side of the mattress closest to the window, opposite her with his back to her. While he seems fully dressed, he's missing his telltale hat and coat. Otherwise, she would have recognized the vigilante whose victims often wound up in her clinic.

Karako approaches slowly, stopping beside the empty half of the bed, where she lowers a hand and pushes on the mattress twice. ]

Hey. [ Her voice is tense, but not hostile. ] Wake up.

Edited 2014-10-11 02:04 (UTC)

[Rorschach slept the sleep of the truly exhausted, his body relaxed and his breathing heavy. The black spots on his face barely move, sluggish as their owner. When he dreamed, they were the fuzzy, unformed kinds that didn't surface to torment him like so many others did. His arms throbbed and felt warmer than they should have, angry red lines covered up sloppily by haphazard layers of the gauze.

When he feels someone pushing on the mattress, he awakens almost at once. He forgets where and when he is for a moment, groggily blinking as he tries to put thing. It's been years since he's had anyone in the same room as him while he sleeps. It reminds him of being a child, his mother always too loud in her movements even when she wasn't with a john. She'd awaken him with yells and curses when she bothered to pay attention to him at all. But no, that was years ago. Where is he then? Nite Owl's? Many's an early day after patrol when he's fall asleep on the couch, cat-napping for a few hours before leaving. He never liked to overstay his welcome there. But no, that can be it either.

There's a sharp intake of breath as it suddenly comes flooding back to him. Breaking in, treating his arms, and laying down. How could he have been so incredibly stupid? He jerks bolt upright, shaking off his grogginess and staggering to a standing position. He's got the sheets tangled around him and lets out a sound that's nothing short of a guttural growl, his gloved hands balled into fists. He's positively feral, though he hasn't attacked Karako. He's not so far gone as to blindly hurt civilians just yet. The two blotches that make up symmetrical spots on his eyes look like dark hands as he stares, making first impressions of the girl before him.]

Shit! [ There's no mistaking Rorschach for anyone else, not once he rounds on her and she sees that mask. Karako all but flings herself away from the bed, backpedaling like he's a bomb about to blow. The canister of pepper spray in her hand disappears behind her back as she slips it into the waistband of her scrubs and prays, prays he never saw it. ]

Look, I know who you are, and I don't want trouble. [ She raises both her hands to eye level, where he can see they're empty. Maybe she would have considered standing her ground if the intruder staring her down weren't notorious on the streets for a brutal lack of restraint. But it is Rorschach, and if half of what they say about him is true, she wants to do everything to avoid setting him off. ]

I saw the bathroom - you're hurt. I'm a nurse. [ An exhausted and terribly startled nurse who didn't ask for any of this, but hey. ] I can help you.

[He stands stiff-legged and with his head cocked to the side, silently considering her offer. He doesn't trust her. He broke into her home and her response is an offer to help him. What's the end game? Maybe she's already been on the phone and is just delaying him long enough for the police to arrive. Maybe she's waiting for him to let his guard down, ready to overpower him in his weakened state.

On the other hand, maybe her offer is sincere. He could still dismiss it, push past her, and escape through the window he originally came in through. But he's bone-weary and his arms are still throbbing with pain. She's not lying about being a nurse, the scrubs prove that much. He makes his decision.

There's a short nod made, an acquiescence to her words. He sits down on the edge of the bed, removing his purple striped suit jacket with jerky movements. Beneath he's wearing a white wifebeater. There's gauze wrapped sloppily around both forearms. The first cuts had been the deepest, before he had been able to strike back. One of them, jostled by his current rough movements, has started to bleed again through the material. He sits quietly, watching Karako suspiciously.]

[ Karako roots herself to the spot she retreated to while Rorschach deliberates. The ball's in his court now, so to speak; she's treated enough difficult patients to know to listen to her gut when it tells her to hang back. Even after he nods and settles down, her experience tells her there's something she needs to get out of the way before approaching him is anything remotely like a safe bet. If even a regular, law-abiding person in pain could be volatile enough to pose a threat, there are absolutely no room for surprises tonight. ]

... Rorschach, right? I came out here with pepper spray to defend myself. I don't need it anymore, so I'm gonna reach for it now, and drop it. Like I said, I don't want trouble. [ When she speaks, her voice is even and clear, having slipped into the tone she might use with a patient in need of coaxing. Despite that, fear is etched into her expression as she slowly turns in a half circle so that her actions become completely visible to him. The can of pepper spray, small enough to fit on a keychain, is sticking out of her waistband. Karako retrieves it slowly, pointing it away from both herself and Rorschach as she crouches to set it on the ground and roll it into the furthest corner of the room. ]

There. [ She straightens and turns back around, empty hands held out for Rorschach to see. ]

I'm coming over to take a look at you now, alright?

[He watches Karako, sitting there ramrod straight, every muscle in his body stretched tight. So she wasn't as foolish as she had first appeared. He waits to see if she really does have the can or if she's trying to reach for something more ominous like a gun. There's a moment where it looks like he's going to bolt as she pulls the pepper spray out, but he stays put when he sees it roll into the corner.

He nods again, watching her every move. He moves slowly, one gloved hand reaching out and unwinding the gauze on his left arm. He puts it out for her to examine. It was the first one he put up to block his opponent's attack and subsequently has the deeper cuts.]

[ Only now does Karako approach, keeping her hands where he can see. There's a box of tissues on her nightstand, and a small wastebasket tucked underneath it. She brings both over before kneeling next to him, indicating that he should throw the soiled bandages out. Already she's wishing for a more clinical setting. Her medicine cabinet is better stocked than the average person's, as he no doubt found, but she can't help him here like she would be able to back at work. ]

My name's Karako-- um. [ Habit makes the introduction slip. Her expression crinkles awkwardly before she continues, keeping her eyes downcast. ]

I'm just looking you over for now. Everything's back in my bathroom, and I should really wash my hands.... [ She trails off, gesturing for him to raise and turn the forearm he proffered at the wrist so the bedroom light can strike his injuries at a better angle. Her trained eyes scan his torn flesh (are those freckles?) and assess the damage. Slash wounds, made with a non-serrated edge. There's at least one that would be treated best with sutures, and it's bleeding. Drawing back, she raises the box of tissues to him, surprising herself when she needs to stifle a yawn. It's been a long day. ]

Other arm, please. You're not injured anywhere else, are you?

Edited 2014-10-13 01:11 (UTC)

[He raises his other arm obediently. The right one isn't so bad off as the left, the cuts shallower. He disarmed his opponent before the blade could sink in and cause worse damage.]

No.

[He probably would've gone on silently staring all night had Karako not asked a direct question. His voice sounds like the way crushed gravel feels on bare feet. Aside from his current injuries, he's in remarkable shape, with no obvious scarring from old injuries to mar his pale skin. He's always been lucky that way, being stronger and faster than most of those who had tried to take him down. He takes a tissue from the box and holds it against the deepest cut, stifling the flow of blood.]

[ Karako can't help her look of surprise when Rorschach finally speaks up, though she knows better than to react beyond that. It's her turn to keep silent now as she finishes looking both his arms over, though she does glance up at him before peeling back the gauze covering his remaining injuries. They're recent too, not more than a few hours old, if she had to guess. The skin surrounding each cut is still red from being damaged so recently, but she sees no inflammation that would indicate an infection is setting in. That much is on his side for now, but does he have the resources to let them heal properly?

Finished, Karako sits back on her knees, drawing her hands into her lap. ]

Your right arm should be okay in a few days if you keep the wounds clean. I'll give you some gauze and antiseptic to take with you when you leave. [ She doubts he'd take well to sugarcoating bad news, and she's never been one for it with adults, so she just says it. ]

Your left arm needs stitches. That cut there's too long and too deep; you'll be risking a hell of an infection if you don't get it closed up.

[He likes the good news. It looks like his string of good luck is holding up. There's no way of telling just how fortunate he'd been. It flashes into his mind that he could be lying back in that alley, slowly bleeding out alongside his victim. He banishes the thought. It's enough that he's here right now.

He sighs, a long, world-weary sound. Normally, he'd be a little more upset at the bad news, but he's too tired to properly fume. Chances are, he'll push his luck with the arm, trying to see how far he can go without the stitches popping. Evil men don't take days off and neither does he. He wipes the excess blood away from his left arm, leaving Karako a clear surface to work with.]

Wait, I-- [ A million objections spring up Karako's throat at once and leave her tongue-tied. Her gaze keeps flitting back and forth between his extended arm, the human, bleeding part of him, and the inscrutable mask that was complicating everything. Anything she can scrounge up here at home will be a far cry from hospital-grade equipment. She needs nylon thread, a surgeon's needle, forceps, an antiseptic that can sterilize all the above-- not to mention anesthetic. She doesn't want to imagine what he'll be like under more pain, and with her directly causing it. ]

Let me get one thing straight. You're just gonna sit there silent as the grave, I don't even know how you got in here, and you want me to sew you up, right here, right now? [ She drags a hand over her face and barely manages to suppress a groan, suddenly feeling the brunt of what a long and fucking weird day it's been. ]

Is your tetanus shot even up to date? Are you gonna think I'm going for a knife when I get up to go grab my stuff right now? Throw me a bone here, I'm trying to help you!

Edited 2014-10-14 05:44 (UTC)

Window.

[Out of all those questions, that one's going to be the easiest to answer. He clarifies.]

You left a window open.

[She won't be any good to him if she breaks down. He'll have to give her a reason not to. His words come short, halting, and completely flat. When was the last time he even had a conversation with someone? He thinks but can't recall.]

Can't go to hospital. Have to do it here. Help me and I'll...trust you. [Strange words he finds himself uttering, but he means them. So long as she doesn't give him a reason not to, he'll submit himself to her care.]

[ Karako stares up at Rorschach with a bit of indignation from her spot beside the bed. She knows better, knows that she's done her job wrong if she lets her temper fray completely. And that's what this is. This may not be the clinic, but she's in a position to help him, and honestly, she probably never would have refused. Bleeding heart, and all that. ]

Okay. Damnit.... okay. But if you come crawling back here tomorrow night with your sutures burst, I'm boarding up my window. [ It's an idle threat, obviously, but she sure looks like she means it. There's resolve in her eyes where frustration used to be; she's got a job to do, and she all but hops to it. Exhaling sharply, Karako braces a hand on either thigh and stands, turning on her heel to stride into the kitchenette. She's back in seconds, thrusting a roll of paper towels out to him. ]

Here, use these instead. And hold your arm up like this. [ She demonstrates the rest, raising her arm at a 90 degree angle and using her free hand to press down on an imaginary wound. ]

That should slow the bleeding. [ She should have known better than to hand him tissues in the first place-- that stuff barely held up under runny noses, and patching the vigilante up would be messy enough without having to pick scraps of paper out of the slash.

Back in her bathroom, she kneels to rummage through the cabinet under the sink, picking out, among other things, a box of q-tips, a tube of first aid antiseptic, and medical tape. She emerges with a plastic lidded box under one arm, everything else tucked into the front pocket of her scrubs. Setting it all down on the little table set to the side of the kitchenette (there's only one chair, she'll have to stand), Karako retreats one last time to wash her hands. Her habit of pocketing extra latex gloves means she has a small supply here at home. Remembering, she fetches a pair from a drawer before indicating that Rorschach should join her. ]

[Rorschach goes silent again, watching and waiting for Karako to act. There's the barest reaction to her threat of boarding up her window, a soft Heh that might just be a heavy exhalation on his part. Tearing up his arm doing something foolish sounds exactly like something he would do.

He cocks his arm at the angle Karako tells him to. If he wasn't feeling woozy before, the loss of blood is finally starting to get to him. When he stands up, his head spins and for a moment it looks like he's going to collapse back onto the bed. Then his spine straightens and he walks into the kitchen, mainly through sheer force of will.

He sits down at the table, head spinning again as he does so. There's no indication that he's in any pain aside from his right hand. It grasps the edge of the table in a death grip, his glove stretched out tight over his fingers. Getting sewn up isn't going to be a walk in the park. He nods to Karako. He's ready.]

[ As he makes his way over, Karako watches him carefully. She hadn't missed his initial unsteadiness, and she's poised to step in and help him the rest of the way to her makeshift station, but all it takes is a couple more steps and he's there without incident. It turns out there is a silver lining to having such a tiny apartment after all.

Unable to help a frown, she pulls the chair out for him to sit, eyeing him with trained concern as he eases himself down. He's in bad shape, if getting up did that. ]

It wouldn't be a bad idea for us to try to get your blood sugar up. One sec. [ The refrigerator is practically in arms' reach, the apple juice right there in the door, but she still has to step away to pour him a glass. Returning, she sets it down beside the arm she won't be sticking a needle through momentarily, too focused to wonder how he'll drink it with that mask on and an identity to keep secret. ]

Drink that. I think it's best for both of us that you don't pass out on me.

[ Hopefully that will be enough. She can't be sure about how much blood he's lost, but she's seen people lose consciousness from less than what she'd estimate.

Practiced hands slip on gloves of their own. Karako opens her box of medical supplies and sets aside the lid, reaching for the cotton squares and soaking a couple in an antiseptic solution that was "hurt-free" according to the label. She's quick despite being so tired, touch guided by experience as she cleans away the blood on his left arm, setting aside the used cotton before snipping a length of nylon thread from a flat spool. It takes her two tries to thread the curved needle, but then she's ready, standing parallel to the wound and positioning the needle to make the first stitch at its center. ]

Alright... if you're gonna look away, do it now. [ That's the warning he gets before she presses down and the needle is pushed through skin with a twist of her wrist. Down, through, and up. She repeats the motion after positioning the needle again, and then sets about tying the first suture in place, so that the wound is pinched shut in the middle. She has to stop to wipe away blood in order to make the second stitch, working her way outwards from the original as deftly as possible. ]

Edited 2014-10-17 09:03 (UTC)

[Rorschach pulls his face up just high enough to reveal a mouth dotted by ginger stubble and a dash of freckles. He grasps the glass awkwardly with his right hand and tips it into his mouth. He slams the glass back down onto the table with a little more force than is strictly necessary. Wiping his mouth, he pulls the mask back down and lets Karako get to work.

There's a sharp hiss of pain as the needle gets pushed into his skin. No matter that he was already injured earlier in the evening, that still hurts. Only the knowledge that it'll soon be over keeps him from knocking Karako's hands away. He watches closely as she does each stitch. Chances are he'll end up injured at some point in the future. Knowing how to do this himself would be useful.]

How much longer? [He tries to sound neutral as he asks the question, but there's pain laced all the way through his voice.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

morning after meme!

waves hello 'w'/

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please excuse my teal dear

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