entrancelogs | True, I'm nervous.

Entry tags:

True, I'm nervous.

Who: Philip, Jo Harvelle, Tauriel & [OPEN]
Where: Second floor hallway & the clinic
When: February 12th - February 21st
Rating: PG-13 to R for violence, blood and frequent mentions thereof
Summary: You'd thinking surviving the Valentine's Day killers attack would mean you're in the clear, but then again, this is Philip we're talking about here.
The Story:

He made it out, thanks to a certain Doctor's lucky intervention. He should've called it a day then, and headed for the clinic with him. But luck just didn't seem a good enough reason to brush off the fact that he couldn't get Evie to answer her device, no matter how often he tried. So he moved up to her room on the second floor, so he really should've changed out of his tunneling outfit first. Well, at least being mistaken for the murderer along the way guarantees he'll make his way to the clinic after all, and stay there for a solid week...

[[ OOC: Long story short, on February 12th Philip gets attacked by Tom and escapes. Jo mistakes him for the killer and shoots him. Tauriel finds him and patches him up, and he spends the next week at the clinic. That part is open to everyone, in case anybody wants to visit, comfort, bother, torment, entertain or question him. ]]

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Aramis had been at the clinic for much of the time the carnage had been going on. Prayers. Last rites, in some cases. It wasn't a certainty that everyone would wake up...or what it would cost them when they did.

He sat by Philip's bed with a Bible on his lap, muttering a prayer in Latin, a rosary clutched between his forefinger and thumb.

Philip doesn't sleep. No, that's a bit of a lie. Two attacks, blood loss to match, honestly, that's as good a time for a time out as any. And when he can't reach Evie in the evening there's really no reason for him to stay awake and alert any longer.

So the night comes and goes, and when daylight shines on his face it sends a shiver down his spine, because he can hear the whispers again, word after word he can't decipher, that ominous chant of--

...Of something that, as soon as he's properly awake, is nowhere near remotely alien, and decidedly not caused by ancient zombies, or the infections thereof. No, Philip recognises a word or two now. And worse, the voice is starting to sound bloody familiar too.

Without turning his head he opens one eye. Then the second. Then he closes both again with a groan.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Aramis looks up when he sees movement in his peripheral vision. The words, familiar to him in repetition, stop.

"Welcome back."

Well, that's one way of waking him up completely. Welcome back has a hideous ring to it, and Philip inhales sharply. Reaching underneath his blanket he-- He doesn't need to find the wound to feel the pain rippling through him from the jerky gesture.

He breathes a sigh of relief.

Pain means injuries means no magical fix-all resurrections means no death, means welcome back means good morning, translated right from Annoying to English, but then again, what did he expect, given the company?

"What're you doing here?"

"Praying over the injured and dying," Aramis replied. And, in some cases, the recently returned to life. It's obvious, of course, but Philip had lost a lot of blood. "There are rather a lot of them this time," he pointed out dryly.

"Right..."

Well, there's a cheerful reminder. Not that Philip was really asking, because that would go hand in hand with a level of caring about Aramis' activities which he's definitely not even remotely ready to display, but he did think the way he put it sounded more polite than 'Why are you here as opposed to literally anywhere else, and while we're at it, sod off'.

(Maybe he'll work on that next time.)

For now Philip only clears his throat.

"Well. Not doing the latter anytime soon. So you should probably move along."

"Why? What are you afraid of?" Aramis asked, closing the book on his lap and folding his hands on top of it.

Philip huffs an annoyed laugh, and closes his eyes again. Already the light stings his eyes, and the blurry sight of Aramis really isn't worth the discomfort. Neither is the dignity of sitting upright for that matter, though he could do without the reminder that he's virtually tied down here.

"Why? What are my options?"

Sure, Philip's head isn't 100% in the game, and neither is the rest of him, which would give anyone's third attempt at his life a pretty decent chance of success, but even in all his loathing he wouldn't jump to equating Aramis with casual murder right away.

Rather he's almost on the verge of opening his eyes again, just to roll them with emphasis, because it takes some bloody gall to be an utter nuisance, and think being sent away has anything to do with fear.

Aramis wasn't foolish enough to think that Philip feared God's judgement. But there were nebulous notions that weren't quite religious that might have crept into his thinking.

"Do you still believe it comes without a cost?"

The last time they'd had a debate, it was over the mansion-sponsored resurrections.

"I do," Philip shoots back without skipping a beat. "Right up until the last time."

Which is exactly where he stood before. Something was meant to happen at the end of a seemingly endless chain of resurrections. At some point somebody in Wonderland knew the reason for that ominous warning he'd heard since the day he came here. Don't die a fifth time. And now that knowledge is back. Now Philip knows exactly why.

...But as for that first death? The second? Third and fourth? No. No, he hasn't come around to seeing them as more than they are; trauma and tragedy, obviously, but not some- some spiritual blow to diminish part of yourself, until--

No, that happened all at once.

"Each time compounds it. The fifth isn't an arbitrary number; it's the breaking point," Aramis says.

"With no stages in-between," he mutters.

He'd know, because he's had plenty of those compound deaths. He's had- he's had them all, except for the last. And compared to where he started out, he hasn't--

Well. He has changed, but the blame for that lies in a different direction.

"Did you die here yet? Or anyone you know well?"

He doesn't answer, though he has.

"The fact that you can't perceive the effects doesn't mean they don't exist. But that isn't even true. Each time someone dies, it takes them longer to return, does it not?"

And we're back on that again. On mechanics which, in his eyes, nowhere near justify the idea Aramis is getting at. Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away. And whatever Aramis has in mind decidedly doesn't fit that bill.

The lack of an answer doesn't escape him either, and Philip groans, because he's not exactly in the mood to provide one of his own. In fact, he's not exactly in the mood for any of this, not ever, not really, but least of all now.

Because his head is still throbbing at just the idea of sitting up, as soon as he haphazardly tries. Because he's been attacked and shot and now he's here, and again he feels trapped while Evie is in danger, while that guy decides to sit her and waste time, when he could be doing something to help.

"Just-- Just tell me what you want me to say to make you go away."

Aramis just looks at him for a moment. He feels a little sorry for the guy, actually.

"You don't have to say anything, Philip. I'm not here to strongarm you into anything." He stands. "I can see you're not in the mood for a conversation. I'll go."

It's a small mercy he doesn't detect the unspoken pity, because especially from Aramis it would be just about the last thing he wanted, right after his presence itself, and conversation with him in any mood, at any point in time.

He huffs at the offer, determined to refuse so much as giving it a reply, as giving Aramis another look, and turn his head with clenched teeth in silence, until the man is actually gone.

"...You- you didn't hear anything from Evelyn, did you?"

...Which makes the cold and sinking feeling of a failed endeavour all the more surprising.

Aramis stops, looking down at Philip, his brow creasing in concern.

"No. Has something happened to her?"

He hasn't gotten around the whole room yet. If she was attacked, she could even be here. He glances around.

It takes all of an entire second, before Philip already regrets the question. Aramis' religion was, in the end, never the reason for his hostility towards the man. Everything he resents about him comes straight from the day he put Evelyn's life at risk on the day her Mirror crossed over. And to ask him of all people about her well-being is--

"I can't say."

...is probably as much an act of desperation as can be, because who else is there? And besides, if faint memory serves correctly, isn't that just what Aramis claimed in his defence? That he did care, no matter what Philip accused him of?

"I think it must have, probably, but that's why I was asking."

And maybe whether Philip believes him or not isn't such a high priority right now, after all...

"I'll look for her at once," Aramis said. "If she's here, it won't take long to find her. If she's not, I'll scour the mansion."

Philip clenches his teeth. If she was here, and if she was fine, then she would have answered by now. So whatever happened--

"Right."

So whatever happened deserves to be found out, even if he won't like the results. Even if he doesn't like the one who might be able to deliver them in his place. He forces himself to nod all the same.

"Right. Thank you."

It may sound wooden, but there's only so much he can do to swallow his pride and wariness about Aramis' concern for her well-being. He can't very well stop him either way, and that's not even touching the hypocrisy of trying. And if that's the last option, then he might as well hope for the best.

"Let- let me know what you find out."

"I will."

He tucked his bible under his arm and headed off to look for her.

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True, I'm nervous.

Feb 13th

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