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TESTRUNNING POST
[RYSLIG ARRIVAL - V. 1]
"Kgh...KACK..."
He was coughing.
It didn't quite register right away that this meant he was breathing. Jonathan was too busy coughing salt water from his stinging lungs, his arms and body covered extensively with scratches and cuts. There was sand under his hands though, he realized. The ocean water was lapping against him, and there was sand. How odd though, Jonathan thought. After all, a moment ago...
...
A moment ago he was dead. "...Wasn't I dying?" He thought to no one in particular, eyes blinking away the dust of sleep as he forced himself to his feet. Jonathan looked over his hands, the fog around him swirling about. "I was attacked, and..."
Hands flew to his neck, feeling for wounds that were not there. His eyes wide as he looked around, he felt his breathing- so well controlled, normally- fly from control. That's right. He had been dying. Dio had attacked, striking his throat and crippling his ripple and-
Calm yourself. Jonathan swallowed, and Breathed, steadying his focus. Calm. Calm...bring the breathing back into...
....
His breath was steady, but the sensation of the ripple was still gone.
Though it remained steady, Jonathan's thoughts continued to whirl. Had he somehow healed himself after he blacked out, so certain it would be the last time he closed his eyes? Had he somehow survived both that and the explosion, only to lose that power he had worked to master? Only to float...
Here?
...
Dio's head-
"Mngh- If someone were to find Dio, even in this state...He could easily kill them!" Jonathan realized, rushing along the beach. He couldn't be far...He held that man's head so tightly after all, he couldn't..!
"Where..." But then where was he?! "Where-!"
And Where was this!?
[RYSLIG ARRIVAL - V.2]
When he began to regain consciousness, he could feel fabric. Wrapped tightly around his arms and chest, and then buried under another layer of it. His eyes slowly opened and it was to brilliant, almost blinding light.
It caught him so off guard he almost forgot about what he last remembered. For that short, sweet moment until then he looked over the surroundings and himself. It was almost like a hospital- almost, he thought, because of how brilliant it all seemed. Almost snow white, the walls were- his bed metal, and the table beside it similar. He half expected to be greeted with similar light at the windows- but the curtains were drawn tightly, so tightly that not a drop of light could possibly pass through.
And the bandages! So many! He hadn't seen himself so injured since-
"...DIO-!"
The shout escaped without thought- and mind reeling, his hands went to his throat. He could speak- he could breathe, yet somehow he could not feel the vibrations of the ripple through his being. Had he been permanently injured, in the explosion of the ship? He supposed that in itself would be a miracle, given he had expected to die.
But then where was Dio? And where was this for that matter? No hospital in England could have possibly looked so clean, but how far must he have been carried by the water then? He had been so certain of his death too...the fading sounds of Dio's desperate pleas, the quieter sound of the chest locking shut as Erina and that little infant child locked themselves into safety...
There was someone outside the door he realized. He could see a shadow somehow through the window (and god! Windows, in a hospital door!).
"...nurse?" He questioned politely, keeping his voice steady. "...Is that a nurse? Please, I must ask you a question if I may..!"
...
It somehow feels that might Not be a nurse behind the door.
[INTO THE CITY - RYSLIG SETTING, BAVAN]
The world was Massive.
Bavan City, when he heard the name, was something he expected to liken to London. But instead despite the thick fog that clung to the air and blotted the sun, there were lights aplenty. Brilliant and searing, so much more-so than the gas lamps of London's streets- and that was only the street lights!
The lights above the stores! The lights from the windows! Piercing the fog with their warmth, as if to chase them away with their own hopes and experiences from high above!
And so high they were, he marveled- the buildings towering into the sky, farther than even the highest cathedral. Filled with windows, which were filled with lights, and Jonathan's very neck strained to try and make out the top through the haze. He-
"Ah-"
He nearly crashed into someone. "Oh- I'm so sorry miss- please, allow me to help..." The poor woman's bags- paper he noted, and almost boxy even- had fallen, and he made quick work of regathering them. "Here you are- I hope nothing has been damaged..."
"Oh it's alright...Thank you for that sir- now, where..." Sparing little more time than necessary for the man, the young woman peered around him before breaking into a smile. "Ah! Erik! Casey! There you both are, I've been searching all over...."
The woman's voice faded as Jonathan watched her go- joining with a young man, and a child who seemed little more than a year old, currently held carefully in the man's arms. Was it distance that made the voice fade? The fog?
....his heart..?
Left in silence, the marvel for the city came tumbling down as Jonathan stood in the middle of the walkway, unable to even move.
He wondered...
They would have been alright...right?
oh my GOOOOOOD
First- that is not a nurse.
Second- oh lord.
Let it be said that Jonathan is far from 'conservative' in his opinions. There are a great many things that he's accepting of- and ultimately, he could probably adjust to this. But frankly, having seen nothing but rather full length, and even form hiding dresses from the women in his life- and that was a small number indeed, consisting primarily of his wife, the maids of the house, and occasional associates of those people- Cathy's garb is...unexpected.
Unexpected enough that his face colours just a bit despite himself, and he consciously needs to remind himself that she has offered assistance, don't be rude!
"Ahh- Sorry to impose," he first starts, inwardly shaking his head. "I can only hope you know yourself, but...where is this exactly? I've never seen a hospital room remotely like this."
finally getting to this again, orz
Alas, the tread through hell is easier-made with two.
Cathy shakes her head with a quiet sigh. "Can't say I do know; I was hoping to get some answers out of you, even." Sweeping another glance around the room, she takes a seat on Jonathan's nightstand, crossing her legs as she meets his eyes once more. "Feels like we've been ripped straight into an old horror movie. Or maybe this is Hell."
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Jonathan is far from the sort though, and if anything seems more uncomfortable by the fact that sitting on the nightstand puts this woman extremely close to his own being. It's the sad consequence of putting a 'giant' in a single size hospital bed. His eyes remain strictly upon her face the entire time.
"I'm sorry to say that I can't provide any answers then- I only just now awoke, after all. But why would you liken it to a horror?" he asks- he would ask what she meant by 'movie' as well, but somehow that feels like a question best asked later. She sounds American, anyway, so perhaps it's some sort of American slang. It sounds strange enough for it.
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She can't deny that she admires his determination to Not Look At Her Like That, though.
She crosses her arms, though she can't seem to get her bandaged one to sit quite right. It doesn't Feel right. "Creepy hospitals are one of the most common horror tropes? I thought it was obvious."
Cathy sighs. "I'd really rather not be murdered in a place like this. Rather unbecoming. Hardly fitting at all." And on that note...
Her gaze flicks somewhat coldly down to Jonathan once more. "Can you walk?"
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Neither does her arm, though he won't address it for now. That would be rude.
Instead he looks around for a moment, turning back with a start at the very mention of murder. "Murder..!? In a hospital? I had just now been thinking of how strangely clean the chamber is, but are you certain we would be in danger in this place?" ... "...I can move my arms, so my legs should move fine enough," he determines, as if the two matters could at all be linked. "I had thought it best to wait for a nurse or doctor...but if there's truly no staff here as you say, then that is indeed a cause for some concern."
...
Some.
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Not that she remembers much of anything after being shot and stabbed, but. You know.
Man, this guy is weird. The way he talks reminds her a little bit of Gray, only this is much more annoying. Though his shocked reaction to her comment provides a little bit of otherwise-ignored insight. "I suppose that's why it makes for such a good horror setting," she ponders. "This is supposed to be a place of healing; what irony, then, to be so gracelessly killed here?"
And on that note... "Whether we could really die here or not, it doesn't seem like we'll be getting any help. It's pointless to stay."
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"I will say that much became clear when you stated how long it took to find anyone at all however- an uninhabited hospital doesn't bode well." As he says this, he moves to stand up from the side of the bed that Cathy isn't sitting by- quietly saddened to glimpse the pants from his suit upon the ship, and reminded of the events that had occurred just before this.
The moment he was out of this hospital, he simply had to determine where he was and get a letter sent, immediately!
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Cathy finally stands herself, and it's with the motion bending her abdomen that she stops and lifts her shirt to eye the bandages around her stomach. She presses around where she thinks those wounds should be, only to frown when she feels no pain. "That's weird..."
Despite the blood on the wraps, she peels them away, and sure enough, her skin is hardly even scarred.
It's... It's like it never happened...
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In your neighborhood?Jonathan turns, not quite catching Cathy's words. "Is something the matter?"
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Suffice to say however, he's reacting to that request poorly. "I-"
Uh. "I beg your pardon?!"
He may have assumed she meant his clothing, and forgotten about most of the bandages.
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She sighs, dragging fingers across her face, before deciding to simply use herself as the example here. She hadn't really wanted to talk about her situation prior to her arrival, but here they are anyway. "Okay, I was mortally wounded before I woke up here, and when I did wake up, that wound was bandaged. But the wound is gone. I wanted to see if you were the same way."
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Naturally he's going to focus on everything else for now instead. Remarking on attitude would not only be impolite, but definitely not improve it.
Besides, she had apparently been wandering alone in this building for the good part of an hour- it was understandable to be stressed.
"Ah..." They were both mortally injured however, then? In the back of his mind, the nagging feeling that this could mean something literally grave begins to rise, and quietly he touches the bandages at his neck. "...Yes," he replies, and quietly he begins to untie the one at his throat- it is clear even from the touch, that there are no wounds there. "...There should be...a horrid injury here."
...
"...I was relieved to find it gone, naturally..."
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(This is, admittedly, something she will keep in mind for later business of hers, but for now she's going to be mildly horrified.)
Maybe they really are in Hell.
"Were we healed, then, when we were brought here?" she ponders aloud as she begins to pick at the wraps around her arm. That would explain the hospital setting, at least, though she still doesn't see the point if there's no one here after the fact.
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Something like that.
"If we were healed instead of allowed to recover naturally, then whoever it is who brought us here is a gracious person indeed- but it brings to question where our savior could be with that in mind. For the moment, let us do as you suggested," he adds. "We must find our way out of here, and find our answers."
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"I'm not sure if a natural recovery would've even been possible at this rate, but even so... Makes you wonder why someone would even want to bring us back at all." She finally pulls off the rest of her bandages and--
...and her arm falls off. Deadass falls to the floor like a broken mannequin.
She's quiet at first, unsure of how to react. It didn't hurt at all, and there isn't any blood. The wound looks fresh for sure, but the blood flow seems to have stopped for now.
Her throat tightens. "...the fuck?" What the hell even is this place!?
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Did she just say that!?
It takes a good long moment to properly adjust to that shock, and then- Oh.
Well it's not bleeding. It's not bleeding at all.
That...a sterner look appears in Jonathan's eyes, and he mentally prepares himself for a possible fight. Dio did not discriminate with those he had turned after all, and such an impossible injury could only mean one thing.
"...You told me that your last memory was of a fatal injury," he begins with calmness, somehow forgetting the fact that he himself is in that category.
But then, after all, his head did not come off. "...Who are you?"
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She'd rather not chance a more permanent death.
Cathy nods. "I was nearly cut in half by a raging monster of a man with a scythe. Before that I had my arm sliced off," and it's here that she picks up the limb on the floor, "and before that I was shot by a twelve-year-old."
Thirteen-year-old, but still.
"My name's Cathy. Cathy Ward. The last thing I remember is feeling cold. I could barely move. And your name, fine gentleman?"
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Naturally that doesn't cause him to cow. It never has- but instead, his heart is what does so. Just as it always does; and after all she didn't do anything. And it occurs to him, as she speaks- as she speaks of the acts of what could clearly only happen at the hands of Dio's turned undead (especially a child- really, what child would shoot someone!)-
....Could she have been turned without her knowing?
"...do I deserve such a title, if I am preparing to fight one who has suffered as this..." The words are partly to himself, and it seems his stance softens. "...Your words stir with feelings that the likes of the undead who show traits such as that fallen arm could never have. ...I am Jonathan Joestar- and I must ask forgiveness for the directness of my question; while brought forth as caution, I should never have pressed for such horrid memories."
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Though she'll likely remember it regardless of whether or not she wants to from how weird he is. He has the most imposing stature she's ever seen on a human being, and yet he holds himself with such soft kindness that hardly feels human to begin with! And he doesn't know what a movie is? She hasn't even touched the undead thing yet.
Jonathan Joestar is perhaps the most bizarre man Cathy has ever met.
Finally, she shrugs. The guy may be strange, but everything he said hadn't inflicted any offence onto her. "It was about time I got your name anyhow," she reasons, and it's only then that she realises she'd forgotten about her arm entirely for those scant few moments.
She isn't sure why it didn't heal. The shock of it has all but passed by now thanks to Jonathan's prior speech and the lack of pain she feels from it. It's a clean cut, now that she has a better look at it; Zack clearly maintained a steady hand despite his own wounds at the time. "I suppose a missing arm isn't fatal. Maybe they don't deal with that kind of injury."
Way to add insult to it, though.
Cathy looks him up and down, glances over herself, and then shivers lightly in the cool hospital air. "Let's see if we can find some extra clothes on our way out."
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Extra clothes are a matter he can get behind as it is- especially with one of them so sorely underdressed (far as he can tell). "A good jacket would do us both significant wonder right now- perhaps in their coatroom."
What kind of hospital-
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Cathy shoots him a funny look at the mention of a coatroom in a hospital, but she doesn't say anything on it either. This appears to be an older style of hospital, and while she isn't an expert on legacy hospital layouts, she won't immediately discredit the notion. It seems reasonable enough, anyway, and not worth neglecting entirely.
"If not something like a coatroom, then perhaps a place for old patient clothes." She pauses. "If there's no one else here, then I doubt people are gonna be coming back for stuff like that."
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He feels somewhat uncomfortable by the notion of taking another's clothes, but after all he himself had suggested it with the coat room. "Hopefully, it will not come to that," he murmurs. "A coatroom would have things far more suited to a chill- I fear doctoring wear would be much thinner indeed." And, frankly, he is in dire need of shoes.
....Though what shoes could be here that fit, who knows.
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No time to dwell on it now, though. She winds up the bandages once holding her arm together and, with her arm in-tow, she exits the room and takes a glance down the hallway. "If we can't find a map of the layout somewhere," she muses, "then we should at least stay close to the outer perimeter of the building."
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