Reynard North (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shardofwinter) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nexus_crossings2017-04-30 10:53 pm
shardofwinter) wrote in nexus_crossings2017-04-30 10:53 pm
Cleaning up after chaos: A post Khan event question
Not everyone who frequents the Nexus was unfortunate enough to be caught up in Khan's attack. Reynard had ended Winter in his own world and engaged in his usual annual seclusion that, as it always did, ended once he had run out of alcohol. The sight of an obliterated Nexus was not the pub crawling paradise he'd remembered it as. It seems that he's missed the action and stumbled into the aftermath. People are tired, disoriented, upset and in shock, or powering through their emotions by helping organise everyone else. Without much of a thought, Reynard falls into a group that is already working to set everything right again. Or as right as things can be set. As it turns out, an atmosphere of destruction and tragedy does wonders for a Spring-sick Winter spirit.
He looks as awful as he feels, and far more sober than he'd like to be. He's forgone his coat, but kept his gloves on and a makeshift mask for the work at hand. Reynard has volunteered for the grim task of working with the dead. In a shaded area he helps move bodies to rest side by side, covered in shrouds that have started to vary in colour as they run through their supplies. These are the ones who have not, or cannot, be identified.
It's been a long day, and it's been hard graft, and everything feels hotter than it is, especially with the cloth around his face. Reynard takes his gloves off, leans against the edge of a table, and pulls away the mask, revealing an unkempt beard. "What would you like to happen at your funeral?"
He looks as awful as he feels, and far more sober than he'd like to be. He's forgone his coat, but kept his gloves on and a makeshift mask for the work at hand. Reynard has volunteered for the grim task of working with the dead. In a shaded area he helps move bodies to rest side by side, covered in shrouds that have started to vary in colour as they run through their supplies. These are the ones who have not, or cannot, be identified.
It's been a long day, and it's been hard graft, and everything feels hotter than it is, especially with the cloth around his face. Reynard takes his gloves off, leans against the edge of a table, and pulls away the mask, revealing an unkempt beard. "What would you like to happen at your funeral?"
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"I once knew a sailor who nearly drowned. He breathed like most men drank. He would fill his time with taking deep, slow breaths and enjoying every second of it." Reynard tilts his head at Jim. "I suppose you don't have sailors anymore."
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Anyone who has been starved of air in one way or another or spent too long at a high altitude where the air is so thin that simply existing is a struggle knows all too well the velvety relief of air to breathe. The soup of gases that sustains the body.
"We do, sort of. There are still trade ships across the oceans. Most of what you'd consider sailors though have moved to space though."
Most important to remember is that the captain has more than just the thrill of being alive going for him these days. His crew is relying on him to continue taking care of them and even here....Jim watches Reynard carefully with a tiny smile slowly lifting his features. It is a small and fragile thing, but Jim is starting to learn that he is no longer alone. That he can rely on others. That others care about him and his life. Jim recalls the worry and desperation in Felix's voice when he'd arrived in the Nexus. His chest tightens painfully and he nods mostly to himself.
"I still feel awful but...it wouldn't have helped anyone no matter who it was, huh."
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"No. It wouldn't," he confirms with a nod. He's happy to hear Jim say that, but he's not going to call attention to the difficult concession. Instead he tips his head down, eyeing the other man. "Are you sure you don't want a nightcap and a bed?"
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His gaze flits to the shovel leaning next to his seat and the work that's left to do. Duty dictates that he continue to help here, to do what he can for those who've lost their lives to Khan and his crew. But it's been how long already?
Long enough for his limbs to feel leaden and his vision to sway when he gets up too quickly. When was the last time he's slept or eaten?
"I want to keep helping here, but I'm not sure how much longer I can before I pass out." The admission is quiet, but plain factual. Jim isn't limitless in his energy as much as he wishes it were otherwise. "I should....find Felix. Let him know I'm alright."
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"I can find your wizard friend. Go, rest."
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Judging by the fain and fragile smile the comment pulls from Jim though, that's not in any way an insult of an observation. He steadies himself when he gets back to his feet. A shower and a nap will do him wonders, and then he can get back to helping out.
And if by some chance that nap turns into a well fought for proper rest and a meal to follow it, all the better for the captain.
"Tell him...I went back to th'ship."
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When Jim stands, Reynard nods and claps a hand on his friend's shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. "I will. Now, when you're done giving out orders, captain, I'm certain there's a soft bed with your name on it."