Tennyson 'Ten' West (frekialpha) wrote in frekis, @ 2013-03-25 21:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | basil, tennyson |
Who: Tennyson West and Basil Hawthorne.
When: March 24th. Afternoon. (Backdated!)
Where: Ten’s study.
What: Lamaze. Well no. Breathing and talking about the pain. And about fancy ketchup and hot dogs.
Rating: Low.
Status: Complete.
Tennyson still felt a weight in him, knowing about Basil’s suffering. And yet there was strength of purpose to him as well. He had a plan. Basil had promised to let him help, to trust in him, and that was a great gift. Ten had no intention of letting the younger wolf down. He had spent time researching drug addictions, and wracking his mind trying to figure out, as he had many times before, why Basil might be having such a difficult time with his Change. It had always struck him as strange, but now more than ever he needed to know. He would figure it out. Would figure something out, come hell or high water. With the full moon only a few days away he had decided that he needed to meet with Basil at least daily, if not more. To help him cope with the coming moon and the rising tension inside of him. To do whatever he could to ease Basil’s need for the drugs. And so he had told the young dominant (for he was still dominant, whatever troubles he might currently be having) to come to his study after lunch. Which was where Tennyson was, with a fresh notebook open. He was taking this seriously and part of that would be to take notes, to record the process, and the progress and any changes that might happen. He already had a few pages filled with the details he knew and planned to take more notes today. Seated at his desk, he looked up when he heard the knock, and he could smell Basil’s scent on the other side. “Come in,” he called, voice pitched to carry to the door. “It’s open.” He was still unsure about everything. He wasn't living at the house yet but in all likelihood that was something they should speak of doing if they had not already and he'd missed it. For living under one roof, feeling like a pack again it would do wonders for not just Basil but everyone he was sure. He lifted a hand to knock upon the door opening it when the other called to him. "Hey..." he addressed him sheepishly. The last few days had been pretty awful. Being clean was going to be harder than he thought and admittedly instead of ditching the last of the heroin and waste it he had injected it right after their first talk. But he'd had none since then, the pain killers mostly taken from teachers drawers, school lockers and his own prescriptions on the other hand he still took daily -- or as he thought them to be 'as needed'. "So.. what's on the agenda today? Gonna make me run a marathon and swear my alliance to carb free Fridays?" He teased. Basil was feeling slightly more jovial, and the bright orange parachute pants he wore with the tight fitted black mesh sweat top showed it so. Tennyson could still smell the chemicals on him, although it was a slightly shifted scent, not quite the same as before. He watched as Basil entered the room, eyes tracking his movements, and gestured that he could sit down if he wanted, in one of the chairs across from the desk he was currently seated behind. A smile touched the corners of his mouth, and Ten shook his head at that, amused. "I think carb-heavy Fridays would be more like it," he replied. "We don't need you getting any skinnier." Not that Basil looked bad as skinny as he was - he didn't. And not that Basil had ever been huge. But the Tennyson's protective instincts were particularly high when it came to Basil right now, and making sure he was eating enough was on that list. "I'm not sure how you ever managed to lose your pants if they're all as blinding as those." Ten was always more casually typical in dress. Jeans, one of his many Henley shirts with the sleeves pushed up, boots. His blonde hair needed a trim but he couldn't be bothered to get someone to do it and would probably end up hacking at it himself. "I thought we'd start by talking. I want to know more about the pain that you've been dealing with. What does it feel like, for example. Where is is located. How often do you feel it and when it is the worst. Things like that." He wanted the complete picture - the more information he had, the more things he could try. "Long as we can make it Steak Saturdays I'm up for it..." Well when he had the appetite to eat at all that is. Usually he'd just shove something from a vending machine down his gullet just to say he'd eaten that day. He gazed down at the orange pants pulling at them a bit, "They aren't tight... mean they aren't exactly falling off but..." He laughed, he was casual just colourful. Tennyson just tended to dress more classic than he did he supposed. Shrugging he took a seat in one of the chairs and rubbed his hands along the arms. "Should I call you Doc Tenny?" Since the other was gonna ask him questions and do what... prescribe a daily dose of stop taking drugs? "Horrible, Everywhere, Always, On the change nights" came his answers honestly, for the pain didn't subside anymore only got worse or lessened depending upon the moon cycle. He felt it all over his body and it felt debilitating which was why the pills in the first place. He was still a young guy and yet the pains he felt were on par with the aging and infirm. "And what does that make Sunday?" Tennyson asked, playing at being serious, although he would sit down with Basil for every one of those meals. "Pancake Sunday?" Now that he was thinking about it, he was starting to think that making sure he watched Basil eat was an important thing as well. Even if that meant dragging out to some restaurant he wouldn't be able to resist. "They're not tight but they're burning my retinas," he dead-panned. And then a grin came free. "I think what you have lost is your shirt. Or at least part of it. What's with all those holes?" Mesh shirts were certainly something he didn't get, although Basil could pull that sort of thing off. Nearly the parachute pants as well - as much as anyone could pull those off, which really was questionable. "'Doctor Tenny' makes me sound like a cowboy," he pointed out. "I think just 'Ten' will suffice." Reaching out, he took hold of a pen, twirled it around his fingers and then set it to the page. "Yes," he said, because the pain had always been difficult for Basil on full moon nights and those around it. But now he got the feeling it was far more frequent than that. "But you're taking the drugs all the time, it seemed. Does that mean you're always in pain? What's the pain like?" "Sausage and Pancake Sundays.... Mash Potato Mondays.... uhhh.... Taco Tuesdays, Wild Mushroom Pizza Wednesdays?" He tried to joke then looked down. Ten likely didn't want him eating hallucinogenic anymore than he wanted him to be taking hard drugs. His fingers ran along his arms scratching at them, a nerves tick that seemed to be worse now that he was just taking pills. He shrugged, "They glow in the dark too... turn out the light!" They didn't but he thought it was funny. He laughed about the shirt, "I found most of it... it's just missing pieces" He poked his fingers in a couple of the larger holes and smiled. It was breezy, and today he felt too warm to bundle up. Nodding his head, "I take a painkiller when I wake up, another once I've had my coffee... and then... I don't know." He didn't keep a schedule of it or anything but it was often. Almost anytime he had something to drink he'd take something with it. "Always in pain. It changes, sometimes it's like a burning with the bones shifting feeling, another time it's a stabbing throb." “Wild Mushroom Pizza Wednesdays? That’s pretty fancy,” Tennyson remarked, and he decided to take that as wild mushrooms of the properly edible variety. He didn’t want Basil taking any more drugs of any kind, but food? Food was good. “I’ll feed you whatever you want to eat.” Pen in hand, he wrote down a few more things in his loping handwriting, scrawling across the page. Writing down the things Basil said about the pain and the pills, not about his menu suggestions. Although he’d keep those in mind as well and maybe bring him tacos some Tuesday or something like that. “You left out Thursday,” he added as he set his pen down and rose from the chair. Rounding the desk, he took Basil’s hands in his, both to draw him from the chair and to quell the nervous scratching. Ten pushed up his sleeves to see just how much he had been scratching himself in an idle fashion. “I want you to keep track of how many you’re taking,” he said. “It will be easier to start weaning if you off if we have a more specific number.” Because he did plan to take it slowly, not to shock Basil’s system any more than was absolutely necessary. Ten drew him away from the desk, to the middle of the study. “Sit with me,” he said, and he sat himself down on the floor, cross legged. When Basil did, he took his hands again. “Close your eyes and focus on body. Tell me how it feels, all of it. Where it hurts the most, where the least.” Basil shook his head, "Only you would call a mushroom pizza fancy!" He chuckled, "Thursday is really Thirstday so you drink all your food that day... maybe fried chicken and hamburger milkshakes?" But even he made a face at that, "Maybe not." When the other reached for his arms he flinched, there were still track marks up them and of course nail markings where he had dug in a little too deep. Every time a scratch would heal, he'd rip his skin again as if he were trying to get something out of himself and maybe he was. Maybe in the back of his mind he could still feel the drugs like bugs in his system trying to crawl out through his arms. "It's no big deal... they heal" he told Tennyson. "Fine... I'll try and remember." He said sheepishly, "...I think I took seven today..." he said looking at his hands and ticking them off on his fingers before nodding, "Yeah, one before I came in here so... maybe eight then." Sighing he went and sat down as the other asked of him on the floor. He raised a brow a little sceptical, he wasn't sure these breathing exercises really did anything except sounded dirty if you played back the heavy breathing on a recording. Closing his eyes Basil frowned, he didn't like this. Didn't like to focus on the pain when all he kept trying to do was avoid it. "What do you...want to know?" He asked and frowned more as he tried to sit still but couldn't. "My back... tailbone especially and up to my shoulders and neck. My legs feel buzzing and my arms are...numb." “Not just mushroom pizza,” Tennyson corrected with a grin. “Wild mushroom pizza. That’s a big difference on the fancy scale.” Which, in his mind, was anything that went beyond button mushrooms, or whatever the ‘normal’ mushrooms were called. “And that is disgusting. I’m pretty sure no meat is meant to be blended. At least not while you still have your teeth.” And then it was just sad. “They’ll heal,” he agreed of the marks on Basil’s arms, although they were difficult to see. But he had no thoughts that Basil was proud of them, or anything like that, so he said nothing more on them. No sense in making him feel worse or more guilty or shameful. Ten wasn’t looking to inspire any of those feelings, and just drew Basil across the room. Eight pills was a lot, given that it was only the middle of the day, but the Alpha just nodded his head. This was about gathering information, not chastising. “I want to know what you feel, that’s all,” he murmured. “The more I know about what you’re going through, the more I can do.” Or at least, the more ideas he could come up with, the more things he could think of to try. “Aside from the presence of the moon, is there anything that makes the pain worse?” he asked. His voice was lower, quieter, because they were sitting close, and because the moment seemed to suit it. “Or anything that makes it better – or less noticeable? Drugs aside?” "Right, it's like adding fancy ketchup to something and calling it gourmet dining..." Basil said. He knew what the other was driving at though and he was glad for the humor. He pushed his sleeves down when the other was done looking, they'd heal but he was sick of looking at them. He was sick of feeling this way and that was why he was allowing Ten to help. Sitting there with his eyes closed he focused on his breathing but it was clear by the grimace on his face that he was feeling the pain as he spoke about it, as if the two were tied directly. "When I'm near people... sometimes it's not so bad." Maybe it was his dominant side not wishing for the pain to show through or maybe there was something to the connection of being around others that lessened it, or at least took his mind from it for a second or two. "It's at its worse when I'm alone, and then at the very worse during the transition... only as I said, the last few moons have been hours long without full transformation. I had to take the week off work of the last one." Because the days leading up and the days coming out of the cycle left him not being man or beast but something tortured between. Opening his eyes he looked at Tennyson and shook his head, "There is nothing that makes it stop... nothing but the pills, even if it goes away for a small moment of time Ten, it never goes away completely and as soon as I am alone again.. I feel it seven fold as if it's punishing me for ignoring it." “Yes but that’s because there’s not actually any such thing as fancy ketchup,” Tennyson said decidedly. “It’s ketchup. By nature it’s not fancy.” Ketchup was excellent on hamburgers and hot dogs, but he was of the mind that it didn’t matter how pretty the bottle or how high the price. Ketchup was ketchup. As Basil explained more, there seemed one obvious solution. Well, solution wasn’t the right word, but stop-gap measure. If the pain was worse when Basil was alone, then he wouldn’t be left alone. Of course that was easier said than done - it wasn’t as if Ten could, say, go with him to work. But he could make sure Basil was alone less frequently. “Then I’m not going to let you be alone,” he said, wondering all the whole how much of this was physical pain and how much was psychological. Not that pain caused by the psyche was any less terrible. Maybe all the more so because there was no obvious cause. “I’ll sleep on the floor with you in my bed.” Because he wouldn’t presume more than that. “So you get sleep. And spend meals with you so that you eat.” And the rest of the time – well, the weaning of pills would be a slow process. “This week, at least. With the moon coming.” "Yes there is!! Sriracha Ketchup, Dijon Ketchup, Red Wine Ketchup... where have you been??" he shook his head heavily. "Don't dis' the fancy ketchup!" He frowned a little, "You want me to move in here... and live in your bedroom??" seemed a bit extreme didn't it? Also he didn't like the idea of stealing his pack leader's bed. "I can't take your bed, that part's out of the question... give me a couch or an army cot or whatever, it's not like I sleep much lately anyways." He stayed up all hours working and then would come home and play video games, crash for maybe a few moments then get back up again. Rest was for the wicked. Plus he was too vulnerable when he slept. He sighed, "Alright, for this week... at least I’ll be off work the whole time." He took vacation time once a month and if the boss didn't like it he quit and got a new job come the end of the new moon. There was always shit cleaning jobs that people didn't want to do so Basil didn't have trouble finding one even in the crappiest of economies. “See now you’re just making things up,” Tennyson said serenely, pretending at not believing Basil. Although he’d never heard of any of those ketchups, so Basil could well be making them up for all he knew. “Ketchup isn’t meant to be fancy. That’s like when people try and make hot dogs fancy.” “Yes,” he replied simply, with a shrug of his shoulders. To him it seemed perfectly reasonable. If proximity made it better, well, then Basil would have it. Especially while he slept, because sleep was such an important thing. “I don’t have a couch in my room,” he said with amusement. “It’s not a suite at the Hilton.” Ten didn’t need fancy. In ketchup, hot dogs, or his room. “Sleep in the bed then. It’s big enough. If you want,” he added, because he didn’t want Basil to feel obligated to that, if it would make him uncomfortable. “I don’t mind. And you will be sleeping this week,” he added firmly. “You’ll need it now more than ever.” He nodded his head, pleased with the agreement. “Good. Prepare to become annoyed with me this week,” he continued, sounding almost cheerful about that. “I’ll be making sure you sleep and eat and everything else. You being in good health will be important to working through this.” "I'm not I swear!" He put his hands up in the air and laughed, "Fancy hot dogs are the best... you haven't had a good dog until you've had a Garlic mojo dog!" He smiled, "We could carry one up there, I could tuck your corners and leave mints on your pillow." Teasing of course because he wouldn't do that at all. But it was a funny thought at least and he hoped that the other saw the humour in him being his maid. Still the thought of being watched like a hawk was not all that appealing. "You don't snore do you?" Still making jokes, but he sheepishly nodded reaching to scratch his arm again. This wasn't going to be easy, none of it would. But he had to try, he owed it to Tennyson. He owed it to the pack and of course, he owed it to himself. He didn't want to be like this. “They might taste good,” Tennyson allowed, because meat in general tended to taste good, and he did like hot dogs. “But I’m pretty sure that however delicious a … garlic mojo dog, whatever that is, is not actually a hot dog.” He could figure out the ‘garlic’ part and the ‘dog’ part of that equation but not the ‘mojo’. His blonde brows rose. “And will I be putting you in a maid’s outfit for this?” he asked with a chuckle. “Because I’m fairly sure that would make people talk.” And raise eyebrows of their own in some cases. He shook his head, reaching out to catch Basil’s hand before he scored new lines into his skin. “I don’t snore,” he replied and flashed a little grin. “And if I did, it would be an amazing sound and you would love it. I should be asking you that question. Although you look less like a snorer and more like a thrasher.” Gasping again, "Blasphemy! They are actual hot dogs... they are the perfect hot dogs." Crossing his arms and pouting. He would find someone who could make them and then Tennyson would see and have to eat his words. Basil wiggled his brows, "And a feather duster of course... I'd look great in fish net, mean aren't I giving you a preview to that?" He said pulling on the mesh shirt and laughing. "Hell no you aren't getting me in a dress are you crazy!? People around here talk enough -- don't need them talking about that!" His eyes shot sharp when the other grabbed his hand, just habit of jumpiness that had grown in the last year. "Thrash and drool..." he confirmed putting both his arms down and asking, "So is that all the questions today? I kinda want to go make a sandwich or something. All this talk of food..." That was a good sign, that he actually wanted to eat. “I’ll have to take your word on that,” Tennyson said. “As I don’t even know what they are. So I cannot confirm or deny their truth as hot dogs.” Not that he would be opposed to eating one. Or two or three. When it came to food, he did tend towards simpler tastes - he was a meat and potatoes kind of guy – but there wasn’t much that he didn’t like or wouldn’t eat. “I’m pretty sure fishnet is supposed to be worn on your legs, not your chest,” he replied with a smirk. “As far as I’ve ever seen anyway.” Which, most of the ladies he knew didn’t tend towards wearing fishnets. But he also didn’t live in a hole in the ground. “I knew it. You probably talk in your sleep as well.” Tennyson released Basil’s wrist. “It’s all the questions I have right at this moment.” He’d probably come up with more as soon as he had time to sit down and actually think about what Basil had told him, started to process the information. “You going to eat sounds like a good plan to me.” He rose to his feet with ease, waiting until Basil was up as well before looking him in this eye. “We’re going to get you through this.” |