DATE & TIME: july 5 1845, 3:30am LOCATION: sick bay, waiting area STATUS: closed for @devotedrowning
he wears numbness like a second skin, sighs quietly and lets the feeling rush over him - like pressing palms to fresh ice, december kisses, the silence after being left lonely. he is used to this, coaxes it out of hiding like some wild animal until he can taste the familiar empty feeling in the base of throats.
he refuses to panic, presses fingers into blistering burns as if to prove he is a thing unafraid of it, of what it means. stop shaking.
the one next to him seems to be faring worse, a quick glance over showing a figure curled into themself, dried blood staining costumes and trembling lightly.
“it would do you well to stop you shaking, darling. the spirits have stilled for tonight.” the velvet is missing from his voice, though it still sounds like him. enough for now. fingers hover over where the bloodstains are the darkest, ghosting touches.
“you look as if you have seen a ghost, but this wound is man-made - is it not? what haunts you then, darling?”
