ʀѳรɛ (tophats) wrote in evaluation, @ 2019-12-16 09:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | !rooms: 3: day 4, the shining/doctor sleep: dan torrance, the shining/doctor sleep: rose o'hara |
Who: Rose & Dan
What: Rose finds a sick Dan passed out on a bench (lol idiot), brings him in for soup and advice
When: Day 4, evening
Where: Room 30
Rating: Mostly low, except for Dan hacking up mucus
Status: Complete
On the way back from the factory, it was cold. Still not in a pleasant way, but rather the kind that made you walk faster and brace your head against the wind; no matter how warm the blood in your veins ran, it froze just the same. Of course, one could argue that a creature such as Rose was already as cold-blooded as any reptile anyway. She wandered back alone - pale, but not sickly. Thin, but incapable of looking fragile. No, Rose was lean like a junkyard dog would be, and she’d survive on scraps if she had to until she could sink her teeth into something much better. Biding her time, that was what she did - and she was doing it well, wasn’t she? Making friends, abiding by her end of the bargain. Now she just had to ensure that the hospital janitor abided by his end - he wouldn’t be of any use to her malnourished or dead, which was why she was going out of her way to keep him primed like a fat goose for her Christmas Day consumption. The fact that the idiot still seemed to, oh, be passed out on a bench really sort of irked her. Because that’s where she found him, literally on a bench near the park - for a moment she observed, bristled, a vulture rustling its wings in preparation for the hunting flight. Then she made the executive decision to grab him, hoisting him up and being his support while she schlepped him back to her apartment. One Danny Torrance was dumped onto her sofa (Mantis wasn’t here or was shut up in the bedroom, which was good - Rose didn’t want to pretend this was for any other reason besides keeping Dan alive to be her meal ticket later, no, of course not) and she covered him with a blanket, resisting the urge to smother him to death and just end it early. He was obviously ill - his skin was on fire, burning up with a fever, and she could have easily left it that way. But she didn’t - first she used her lipstick to draw the happiest of happy faces (‘smile,’ men told women all the time, right?) on his cheeks while he was passed out - because she couldn’t kill him and that made her upset, and permanently disfiguring him would be a shame. Then she went into the kitchen to prepare the soup she’d gathered ingredients for - noodles and vegetables, though the vegetables were pickled and the noodles were strips of tree bark cut thin, but they worked, and inner tree bark had a tendency to be meaty as well. So she used that as kind of an enhancer too. Once that was simmering, she went over and slapped Dan awake. Just a little bit. You know. In a loving way. “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey, handsome,” her voice was breathy, a moonlight sonata - and come on, there were worse things to wake up to, right? In his defense… and it was a flimsy defense, he would admit… Dan hadn’t intended to crash out on a park bench. He’d spent all day miserable and trying to keep down tea, which was about the extent of the food he had left in the apartment, and when he’d run out of tea he’d latched onto the idea of the coffee shop. The coffee they served was terrible, but it was hot and it sort of passed for food in a pinch, and so he’d set out with good intentions and a single-minded focus on coffee. He’d run right out of energy less than halfway there, settled down to try to catch his breath, and drifted into a shallow doze. Whether or not it was lucky that Rose found him was sort of a tossup. On the one hand, good for not freezing. That would be a shitty family tradition to continue. On the other hand, Rose. Pale, bloodshot eyes snapped open in surprise at the first smack against a flushed cheek, and Dan flailed his way awake, upright, and out from under the blanket. “Wh-fuck,” he sputtered, staring at Rose in horror. “What?” It was like waking up to find a vulture hovering over him, all greedy, gleaming eyes and an air of predatory expectation. He was not prepared for this, not with the way he could feel his heartbeat drumming at his temples. Yes, freezing to death in the snow and becoming an ice sculpture may be a Torrance family remedy, but it was stupid. Rose wasn’t about to let that happen though admittedly it wasn’t out of the goodness of her heart - much. Maybe a little. “You were passed out on a bench,” she informed him. “I brought you here. Where it’s warm. And you won’t die like your useless father did.” She didn’t intend to go for the daddy issues potshot, but the moment was utterly perfect for it and, well, she didn’t make the rules. “I’d say you can bring some of this to your friend too, but...” she trailed off (because arrests were so unfortunate), pushing off from where she was leaning over the couch, gripping the armrest, and headed into the kitchen where she ladled soup into a bowl. That, and a hearty chunk of gingerbread (with the icing scraped off, of course - that was all sugar and no nutrition) was brought back over for Dan. “The one you’re going to teach? That’s so cute - here, eat something before you pass out again.” “Fuck you,” Dan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and, unknowingly, smearing lipstick across a cheek and down the bristled curve of his jaw. It wasn’t exactly the wittiest comeback, but he was tired, feverish, and keeping his eyes open was taking a surprising amount of effort. The lights in this place were stabbing right into his brain, little icepicks chipping away at his focus. He’d managed to push himself up against the back of the couch by the time Rose returned to shove a bowl of soup into his hands. Dan squinted at it, wary, then transferred that look to her. “You cooked,” he observed, blankly. Not that he thought her incapable or anything. It just seemed like a surprisingly nurturing thing to do, and nurturing wasn’t a word he associated with Rose. All of those words were the pointy, jagged sort. Soup didn’t fit in the mix anywhere. Holding the bowl, Dan considered it, weighed the odds this was a really convoluted plot to poison him, then shrugged and took a careful spoonful. Mercifully, he didn’t spill it all down his front. “Earthy,” he observed, no less suspicious. “Tree bark has a lot of nutrients at least - the inner bark especially,” Rose hummed. What, like she’d drag Dan’s heavy, bulky body here just to have to deal with his dead heavy, bulky body on her floor after she poisoned him? Please. The worst thing that would happen would be he’d take the biggest shit of his life thanks to all the fiber - but Native Americans used tree bark for a good, internal scrubbing so it wasn’t bad for you by any means. After all the sugar, it may even be a reprieve. “I do know how to cook, you know.” And she enjoyed it - in fact, it was always her going to the grocery store for human food, for her family. It was always her coming up with campfire recipes, sitting there, watching the orange flames celebrating with their flickering dance and projecting long shadows. Twisting and curling in obscure shapes, always. It was a good time for camaraderie. Admittedly, when she did do campfire meals she usually had more spices to work with than ground up tree bark or leaves, but that was neither here nor there. “Drink this too,” she gave Dan a glass half filled with water - but the odor it gave off clearly wasn’t just water, it was mixed with something else. “It’s vinegar. It’ll help you get better faster.” Trees. Right. Dan snorted quietly, fingers jittering on the spoon so that he had to set it down in the bowl for a minute. “I’m sure there’s a lot of things you know how to do,” he agreed, bland and noncommittal. Rose had lived a very, very long life. If she hadn’t picked up more than basic skills at this point, Dan would have to ask what in the hell she’d be doing with her time. Aside from the torture and murder, obviously. That probably took up a chunk of her schedule. Plus the stalking. Stalking seemed time-consuming. He reluctantly took the glass, sniffed it, and pulled a face. “Delicious.” At least he’d heard that about vinegar before, though it didn’t make him any keener on drinking it. “You aren’t worried about getting sick? Probably been a while since you had to worry about germs.” A brow arched up, challenging, and Dan went back to his soup. The vinegar could wait until he’d scorched off enough taste buds not to care about drinking it. Oh, he really wanted to go there? Rose narrowed those eyes, medicine bottle blue, and she pinned Dan under the weight of her stare - she was considering her answer, or perhaps debating where she might best stick a knife blade. In between which rib now? But no, her smile was a crack of amusement in such a stone-cold veneer. “Oh, I think I’ll be fine,” the barracuda assured. Yes, she’d keep up with her meditation regime and do enough vinegar shots to stave off germ invasions and everything would be holly jolly. “Someone has to stay healthy enough to make sure you and certain others don’t perish in this snowy hell, right?” Him and Mantis and John Constantine, who she sat with today while he sanded blocks. She was doing her best to keep her future meals from wasting away, but maybe a part of Rose did like looking after others. Not that she’d admit it, anyway. “And you’ve assigned yourself the task?” Dan would roll his eyes, but he had the very serious and significant concern that they might fall right out of his head. They felt swollen, like they didn’t fit in the sockets right, but that was maybe the way his brain felt like it was trying to start its own Mariachi band in the confines of his skull. He stopped with the soup about halfway through, stomach lodging a protest that left him wary and breathing shallowly through cracked lips. That food was staying down. It was. He had enough fucking willpower for that. “Well, obviously I have,” Rose scoffed, rising from the sofa again, all leonine grace. If that soup came back up she was going to hit him in the face. “You need to eat now and I need to eat later, Danny. That’s all it is.” She stopped talking when the water was run at the kitchen sink, and she sank back onto the cushion next to him, fingers curling in his hair - and with a bit of a tug, she pulled his head back to drape a cool compress over his forehead. “Listen - you need to get yourself thrown in the Yulelag,” she told him, and it sounded ridiculous but hear her out - this was all said with nary a trace of anger or resentment, no, Rose sounded docile as a fawn as she tucked her legs up beneath her. “They’ll feed you in there. Will give you medicine too. I’m sure never having been to work at the factory is not exactly a mark in your favor, so just let them arrest you.” His key would be green again after that as well - she’d seen as much on the network, by observing people’s chattering. Oh. Right. Their deal. Dan hadn’t forgotten, per se, but it wasn’t a pressing concern at the moment. Rose wasn’t harmless here, but she wasn’t going to drain him to a husk, either, and that was good enough to rank her lower on the problem scale as more immediate things- cold, hunger, sickness. The sickness thing was new for the day, but about as unpleasant as anything Dan could recall dealing with since his days of being homeless and always as run down as this… though honestly, he stayed drunk enough back then that it didn’t matter to him. Roof. No roof. Whatever, so long as he had a bottle near to hand. He blinked dully at her, eyes too bright with fever, and scoffed quietly. “You want me in jail?” Dan repeated, incredulous. “I haven’t even done anything.” The work thing wasn’t his fault. He kept trying, and they kept turning him back. It was pointless and frustrating and felt completely arbitrary. Dan had no particular issues with authority, but he might develop some after this. “I don’t want you in jail,” Rose corrected - honestly, she didn’t give two shits either way, but this system was so disjointed and messed up, the only way people stood a chance was if they dealt with hard labor for a day. Out in the cold. It didn’t seem too awful, in the scheme of things. “I’m just telling you that if you want your key to turn green, if you want food delivered - you’ll pick up an ax and chop down a Christmas tree or two. That’s how it works here. It doesn’t matter if you haven’t done anything.” Slender fingers pressed the compress to Dan’s forehead, holding it there for a moment - she was right, he had to see it. Everyone had been sucked up into the hurricane of this place, bobbed along by life and authority like apples in a river - but sometimes you had to just take things into your own hands. “Otherwise you’ll waste away and be constantly sick. That doesn’t sound too appetizing, sweetie,” she added, in a voice that was dusky, all nails rolled in honey. Being outside in the cold didn’t sound like an ideal remedy for being sick in Dan’s opinion. He squinted at Rose, dubious. “Didn’t go great the last time either of us had an ax in hand,” he observed, reaching up to take the compress. Having her hand near his face was giving him hives. Not actual hives, but proverbial hives. Maybe actual ones, too. He’d check on that in a minute. Sighing, nasal and congested, he moved the compress down to his throat. That felt slightly better, though not as good as ice cream might. Beggars and choosers and all that, he supposed. “So… go to jail. Get out. Get food. And then repeat the whole thing again because the system’s fucked? That sounds… exhausting.” Rose rolled her eyes. “Just don’t chop your own dick off, darling, and you’ll be fine,” she advised. Dan’s face and its smeared lipstick smilies looked flushed and sweaty, but hopefully the fever would come down before he got himself thrown in the oh-so-terrifying Yulelag. “You get food in jail too. And medicine, probably. They want you in good standing when you get out so you can go to the factory then. Of course it’s exhausting. You’re too young to remember anything but capitalism.” The economic system was meant to exhaust people. So they were compliant and brainwashed and just went along with it, and couldn’t scrape together enough food for a day let alone the means for a revolution. “According to what people say, we won’t be here for a long time anyway - so just get yourself back up to good standing and stick it out.” How he’d spiraled into poor standing so quickly was a mystery, but sure, the system was unfair as stated - Rose was also certain it had to do with Dan being an idiot too. In some way. Somehow. “Can you drink this now?” She picked up the glass of water. “Or are you still going to be a giant baby about it?” “S’that what you were trying to do?” Dan mused, nose wrinkling. “Figures.” One hand drifted, absently, to rub at a spot high on his thigh where a blade once bit deep. He didn’t even have a scar there now. It was… weird. Very weird. You think the big life events (the biggest, the one that ends everything) would leave a mark. Apparently being snatched from death to whatever the fuck this was erased all that. It didn’t take the memory, though. That lingered, left Dan waiting for the next time Rose might lash out. He eyed the glass of water with a deeply unenthused look, but still reached out to take it from her, taking care not to touch her fingers. “You trust these people and what they’re telling you?” Dan couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, already thick and faintly slurred around the edges. He scoffed, hacked out a choked noise, and finally consented to drinking the vinegar-water (if only to clear the gunk out of the back of his throat). Rose sat with her legs tucked up underneath her, regal and posed as any candelabra on Death’s dining room table, and she smirked slightly. “Maybe, maybe not,” she spoke about her intentions concerning Dan’s precious package. He wasn’t using it anyway (a shame - she was kind of disappointed he didn’t take her up on her offer for a few reasons) so what did it matter? But that was all in the past, wasn’t it? As insignificant as a speck of dried blood or bit of charred flesh from martyrs like him. “I don’t trust them,” she amended. “But why would they collectively lie about their past experiences in the rooms? It seems to be quite a bit of collaboration, if they are lying. Oh, good, good job - “ She patted Dan’s back (and maybe that gentle love tap would help clear some gunk from his lungs too). “Going to finish that soup too?” It wasn’t gourmet but it was hot, and better than a chocolate boozy condensed milk mess. Dan hadn’t been implying anyone was lying, but from what he’d gathered, there had been two of these… episodes? Locations? Weird scenarios full of weirder objectives? Two whatever-the-fucks did not a pattern make. Maybe all of these people expecting this would end within a week were bound to be disappointed. Maybe not. But he didn’t want to set his hopes, either way. In Dan’s experience, getting his heart set on something meant it wouldn’t work out, so he was better off keeping his expectations very loose. Disappointment wouldn’t kill him. Rose might. Already had. Might be trying again, because Dan jolted forward, coughing hard enough he felt like his lungs might be rattling free. “Fuck,” he grunted, once he managed to get breath back enough to speak. “How about…” Squirming, he put space between them, jaw flexing as he ground back several choice suggestions before landing on, “I take it to go. Bring back your bowl later.” The mucous came up, didn’t it? You’re welcome, you big dumb ox. Rose smiled serenely, as slim-boned, stardust fingers plucked the compress from Dan’s throat. And she didn’t even strangle him, give her some credit. “Fine,” she agreed, doing some grinding of her own - meaning, she ground back several choice suggestions about where he could put that bowl when he was done with it. Then she reached out for his hand, intertwining their fingers in a loveknot, a pinky promise that lasted a hundred years because he could leave now but she would never let him go otherwise. In all the ways that mattered. It was a strange dance in her head, of wanting him dead but also wanting him. Just for a moment she held onto him, to remind him that they were still stuck together, before she released her hold. “Don’t trip and fall and break your neck on the way back to your apartment.” He could see himself out - she’d bring some of this soup and gingerbread to Constantine later too, since he seemed to be alone with no food. Tension rippled up from that point of contact- tightening up the bones in Dan’s wrist, coiling the muscle in his forearm, tightening his shoulder, and landing as a strobing pain at the base of his neck. He would’ve jerked away, but the weight of his skull told him that moving too fast would absolutely topple him over. And if he hit his back with Rose nearby, he was in bad enough shape to tip into a flashback, and then nobody would be having fun. Better to avoid it at all costs. So he sat, waiting as one big knot of discomfort for her to let go again, and then struggled upright with absolutely zero grace. At least he had stubborn enough to keep him going. “If I do,” he muttered, collecting that bowl of soup, “I promise there’s already a note in my pocket to make sure you get full credit this time.” He flashed teeth, more grimace than smile, and let himself out. |