Beelzebub (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gluttoning) wrote2023-08-28 10:39 am
gluttoning) wrote2023-08-28 10:39 am
SATURDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL (The World)
[FOOTBALL NOISES
aka this for IRL football watching or any communications outside Fragment. Yay football. :)]
[FOOTBALL NOISES
aka this for IRL football watching or any communications outside Fragment. Yay football. :)]
[Beautiful afternoon in Berkeley, folks. 75 Fahrenheit, a slight breeze. What a great day for some good old American football.
Thousands and thousands of people are present. There's lots of food, summer heat, and the giant waves of noise from the cheering of the crowd, the stadium a sea of gold and blue. There sure are some familiar faces around here if you look close enough, including the redhead that occupies the bench, constantly getting up to keep himself limber in between his teams plays and clapping just as hard as the crowd.
It's a close game for a starter. Defense is high on both sides for the first two quarters. But swaps are made during the halftime - second string are let out to let the starters rest for the third, including #68, "BLAKE" emblazoned on the back of his uniform from the defensive line. He's an unyielding wall in his time on the field, and when he's asked to return for the fourth quarter, he does so without much hesitation. The camaraderie between the teammates seems strong.
The game ends with a close score around 6:30pm, the hooting and hollering of the fans echoing the sky that is slowly turning to dusk under the lights of the stadium and the evening life of Berkeley while the players aren't immediately available, with some needing medical attention and some taking press reviews, most are trickling out to see their families and friends by 7:30pm, freshly showered and ready for time to rest.
((Feel free to either yell at one another in the crowd, mingle after, or catch Barrett when he finally is free from the mob. He will inevitably be going home with his family but will want to see the people he invited before they leave.))]
Thousands and thousands of people are present. There's lots of food, summer heat, and the giant waves of noise from the cheering of the crowd, the stadium a sea of gold and blue. There sure are some familiar faces around here if you look close enough, including the redhead that occupies the bench, constantly getting up to keep himself limber in between his teams plays and clapping just as hard as the crowd.
It's a close game for a starter. Defense is high on both sides for the first two quarters. But swaps are made during the halftime - second string are let out to let the starters rest for the third, including #68, "BLAKE" emblazoned on the back of his uniform from the defensive line. He's an unyielding wall in his time on the field, and when he's asked to return for the fourth quarter, he does so without much hesitation. The camaraderie between the teammates seems strong.
The game ends with a close score around 6:30pm, the hooting and hollering of the fans echoing the sky that is slowly turning to dusk under the lights of the stadium and the evening life of Berkeley while the players aren't immediately available, with some needing medical attention and some taking press reviews, most are trickling out to see their families and friends by 7:30pm, freshly showered and ready for time to rest.
((Feel free to either yell at one another in the crowd, mingle after, or catch Barrett when he finally is free from the mob. He will inevitably be going home with his family but will want to see the people he invited before they leave.))]
Edited 2023-08-28 15:08 (UTC)
[Sunny and warm in Champaign, Illinois. 85 Fahrenheit. The first away game of the season.
The first half of the game struggles defensively. While California tries their best, Illinois has a strong defensive line holding their ground that don't allow for many plays to go through and gain momentum. Offense pressures and pushes and sneaks through the opening defensive strategies, and by the time the whistle is blown for halftime, California trails 14 to 9 - a single touchdown and a field goal made out of luck.
Swaps are made. Change the defense. Think more aggressively about offense. Watch their receivers, don't give openings for their passers. #68 is brought out, and this time stays out for the rest of the game. The defensive line stays solid. #68 takes down one attempt at a pass straight through the line, his first sack of the season.
It's a stalemate the entire third quarter. Neither team gets close enough to make a risky play. As players start to tire, space starts to slip in the 4th.
The defense meets, a timeout is called. No more. They have very little time to work with and a touchdown would easily get them their lead. They can try. All they can do is try.
And try they do. Illinois does not allow that touchdown. But they push to range for a field goal. Offensive is blocked for a punt, and they get within range for another field goal.
15 to 14. 2 minutes left.
Illinois's field goal sneaks in at the last moment. There's no time to make a counter play. No way to get 3 points back with barely a minute on the clock and another tradeoff. Though they finish the plays and let the clock run out, it's clear from the rampant and thundering cheers of the crowd that the home team has won. 3pm EST.
The away team takes time to regroup in private - one took a rough hit to the chest, one is having an ankle looked at by the medics. They take their time in the showers, in stripping off each other's uniforms and congratulating each other despite the loss. #68 gets a slap on the back from his defensive coach. Good plays, kid. Keep it up. You'll be on track for first string.
4pm, the California team is ushered into a charter bus, food and well wishes and a few press requests waiting for them. Off they'll be taken to their hotel. Some will spend the night exploring Champaign, driving to Decatur, partying, resting.
#68 isn't with them. #68 is at the Champaign gym doing recovery exercise. His phone stays off - he can't talk while he's focused. He's waved down for dinner with his team. He goes long enough to eat double his weight in food. Not a surprise. He always does this.
7pm. He's back at the gym even though he's exhausted. He stays until one of the wide recievers comes looking for him. Come on, man. You need to get some rest, you're gonna hurt yourself. Save it for later. Go call your family.
It's almost 10pm. But he relents.]
The first half of the game struggles defensively. While California tries their best, Illinois has a strong defensive line holding their ground that don't allow for many plays to go through and gain momentum. Offense pressures and pushes and sneaks through the opening defensive strategies, and by the time the whistle is blown for halftime, California trails 14 to 9 - a single touchdown and a field goal made out of luck.
Swaps are made. Change the defense. Think more aggressively about offense. Watch their receivers, don't give openings for their passers. #68 is brought out, and this time stays out for the rest of the game. The defensive line stays solid. #68 takes down one attempt at a pass straight through the line, his first sack of the season.
It's a stalemate the entire third quarter. Neither team gets close enough to make a risky play. As players start to tire, space starts to slip in the 4th.
The defense meets, a timeout is called. No more. They have very little time to work with and a touchdown would easily get them their lead. They can try. All they can do is try.
And try they do. Illinois does not allow that touchdown. But they push to range for a field goal. Offensive is blocked for a punt, and they get within range for another field goal.
15 to 14. 2 minutes left.
Illinois's field goal sneaks in at the last moment. There's no time to make a counter play. No way to get 3 points back with barely a minute on the clock and another tradeoff. Though they finish the plays and let the clock run out, it's clear from the rampant and thundering cheers of the crowd that the home team has won. 3pm EST.
The away team takes time to regroup in private - one took a rough hit to the chest, one is having an ankle looked at by the medics. They take their time in the showers, in stripping off each other's uniforms and congratulating each other despite the loss. #68 gets a slap on the back from his defensive coach. Good plays, kid. Keep it up. You'll be on track for first string.
4pm, the California team is ushered into a charter bus, food and well wishes and a few press requests waiting for them. Off they'll be taken to their hotel. Some will spend the night exploring Champaign, driving to Decatur, partying, resting.
#68 isn't with them. #68 is at the Champaign gym doing recovery exercise. His phone stays off - he can't talk while he's focused. He's waved down for dinner with his team. He goes long enough to eat double his weight in food. Not a surprise. He always does this.
7pm. He's back at the gym even though he's exhausted. He stays until one of the wide recievers comes looking for him. Come on, man. You need to get some rest, you're gonna hurt yourself. Save it for later. Go call your family.
It's almost 10pm. But he relents.]
Edited 2023-09-09 15:29 (UTC)
[It's 90F - hot and dry in the waning heated remains of summer in Fresno, CA. Both teams have second string coming in to replace starters, and #68 is out on the field immediately. The crowd is roaring. The sun shines hot. Hot.
It's an even, tense match in the first quarter. No one gets close enough to score, a stalemate that passes back and forth, back and forth, even into the start of the second quarter. #68 doesn't falter. #68 finds an opportunity for a takedown. Then another. They keep him on the field. The evidence of any issue with his leg, any limp, any pain, any problem - it's drowned in the motion of the sport. The most important thing to him. The passion he wanted to pursue for more than just himself. He knows he has people watching. He knows there are people he is friends with, cares about, loves, that have made it today. That there are people watching that he has a chance. That he deserves to strive.
Despite everything. He can try. There's still a chance. He's going to take it. Every breath of it.
The game continues.
California makes a field goal. Fresno makes a touchdown. The Bears trail 3 to 7 by the time halftime approaches.
There's roughly a minute left on the clock, and a time out is called. The crowd grows restless with the tension of the halfway point, a break for everyone to settle and reset. All players from both sides relax momentarily, slowly making their way to the sidelines, busy listening to their coaches plans buzzing into their helmets.
It could be the most important play to turn the game, says the color commentary. Anything could happen going into the half.
It's bustling.
But it's a moment of quiet.
Until it suddenly isn't.
It's not noticeable at first, the way #68 halts on his way off the field. The choking sound he makes can't be heard from the stands. Nor can the subtle crack, or the way his eyes go wide, his face goes pale.
Another crack, a split second. Louder. His teammates hear it, about the same time that he starts to buckle unnaturally against his left leg, the same time he starts to scream.
Crack.
Crack.
A horrifyingly firm SNAP finally echoes as the bone of his thigh bends inward at an angle that should be physically impossible, a protrusion breaking through muscle and skin and fabric with the sudden force in which one might snap a toothpick. Blood soaks the side of his uniform immediately, even as his weight crumples to the turf, screaming, clutching his leg, unable to move it from its mangled position. Bleeding. Bleeding.
Screaming.
The stadium erupts into panic.
Those that are watching on TV will be lucky enough to have the cameras pulled off of the scene as soon as the screaming starts, only witnessing the mad rush of staff and players to surround the downed linebacker, to be a visual wall against the press. Hold on folks, say the commentators. Hold on folks, let's wait on the medical staff, with silent background mutterings showing the shock. What the hell just happened?
Those in the stadium will not be so lucky. The frantic energy doesn't quite stop. Some people have their phones out. Some people can't watch. Some people mutter, some people get up to leave, but most watch in shock. #68 cannot be seen for how many medical staff now surround him. His screams die down. It's hard to tell what's happening, a flash of red hair visible for only a second as his helmet is removed by someone else. People are trying to call to him. It's unclear what they hear.
Those close to the VIP seating will watch a young man with blonde hair practically jump over his own seat with a cellphone to his ear, frantically running as far down to the edge of the stadium as possible. He yells at security. He yells at his phone. One of the staff from the Bears sees and recognizes and lets him past, where he disappears onto the crowd in the sidelines as an ambulance siren is heard.
The game is on hold. Some players can't watch. Others deliberately surround the medical staff, barking at the cameras. Providing some sort of barrier. Both the coaches are out there. A stretcher is being brought out by paramedics.
Poor kid, they say on the TV, as his bloodied and bound leg is handled by two people and his body by four others, onto the stretcher. Unconscious, pale, unresponsive. If that was his femur, then that might be the end of his career, they say.
The ambulance is closed up, taking off with the wail of the sirens echoing into a space not meant for it. We'll be back to the game in 20 minutes, folks. Let's give our teams time to regroup.
The blood is scrubbed away with hazmat. Slowly, eventually, the game goes on, for anyone stays to watch to the end. One player down does not break a team--
--but it doesn't do much for morale.
What a shame, they say.
What a shame. What a shame.]
It's an even, tense match in the first quarter. No one gets close enough to score, a stalemate that passes back and forth, back and forth, even into the start of the second quarter. #68 doesn't falter. #68 finds an opportunity for a takedown. Then another. They keep him on the field. The evidence of any issue with his leg, any limp, any pain, any problem - it's drowned in the motion of the sport. The most important thing to him. The passion he wanted to pursue for more than just himself. He knows he has people watching. He knows there are people he is friends with, cares about, loves, that have made it today. That there are people watching that he has a chance. That he deserves to strive.
Despite everything. He can try. There's still a chance. He's going to take it. Every breath of it.
The game continues.
California makes a field goal. Fresno makes a touchdown. The Bears trail 3 to 7 by the time halftime approaches.
There's roughly a minute left on the clock, and a time out is called. The crowd grows restless with the tension of the halfway point, a break for everyone to settle and reset. All players from both sides relax momentarily, slowly making their way to the sidelines, busy listening to their coaches plans buzzing into their helmets.
It could be the most important play to turn the game, says the color commentary. Anything could happen going into the half.
It's bustling.
But it's a moment of quiet.
Until it suddenly isn't.
CW: DESCRIPTIONS OF GORE AND BLOOD, CLICK TO READ
It's not noticeable at first, the way #68 halts on his way off the field. The choking sound he makes can't be heard from the stands. Nor can the subtle crack, or the way his eyes go wide, his face goes pale.
Another crack, a split second. Louder. His teammates hear it, about the same time that he starts to buckle unnaturally against his left leg, the same time he starts to scream.
Crack.
Crack.
A horrifyingly firm SNAP finally echoes as the bone of his thigh bends inward at an angle that should be physically impossible, a protrusion breaking through muscle and skin and fabric with the sudden force in which one might snap a toothpick. Blood soaks the side of his uniform immediately, even as his weight crumples to the turf, screaming, clutching his leg, unable to move it from its mangled position. Bleeding. Bleeding.
Screaming.
The stadium erupts into panic.
Those that are watching on TV will be lucky enough to have the cameras pulled off of the scene as soon as the screaming starts, only witnessing the mad rush of staff and players to surround the downed linebacker, to be a visual wall against the press. Hold on folks, say the commentators. Hold on folks, let's wait on the medical staff, with silent background mutterings showing the shock. What the hell just happened?
Those in the stadium will not be so lucky. The frantic energy doesn't quite stop. Some people have their phones out. Some people can't watch. Some people mutter, some people get up to leave, but most watch in shock. #68 cannot be seen for how many medical staff now surround him. His screams die down. It's hard to tell what's happening, a flash of red hair visible for only a second as his helmet is removed by someone else. People are trying to call to him. It's unclear what they hear.
Those close to the VIP seating will watch a young man with blonde hair practically jump over his own seat with a cellphone to his ear, frantically running as far down to the edge of the stadium as possible. He yells at security. He yells at his phone. One of the staff from the Bears sees and recognizes and lets him past, where he disappears onto the crowd in the sidelines as an ambulance siren is heard.
The game is on hold. Some players can't watch. Others deliberately surround the medical staff, barking at the cameras. Providing some sort of barrier. Both the coaches are out there. A stretcher is being brought out by paramedics.
Poor kid, they say on the TV, as his bloodied and bound leg is handled by two people and his body by four others, onto the stretcher. Unconscious, pale, unresponsive. If that was his femur, then that might be the end of his career, they say.
The ambulance is closed up, taking off with the wail of the sirens echoing into a space not meant for it. We'll be back to the game in 20 minutes, folks. Let's give our teams time to regroup.
The blood is scrubbed away with hazmat. Slowly, eventually, the game goes on, for anyone stays to watch to the end. One player down does not break a team--
--but it doesn't do much for morale.
What a shame, they say.
What a shame. What a shame.]
Edited 2023-09-16 15:49 (UTC)
UNABLE TO PORT OUT
ACCESS DENIED TO:
espn.com
berkeley.edu
google.com
Please try again later! :)
ACCESS DENIED TO:
espn.com
berkeley.edu
google.com
Please try again later! :)
Edited 2023-09-23 16:37 (UTC)
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Edited 2023-10-08 14:02 (UTC)
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PLEASE TRY AGAIN L̵̨͓̠̠͇̇À̸̢̺͖̦̮̹͆́̈̈́̀̇͑͒̒́͊̋̎͝͠T̶͔͎͚͛E̶̗̱͉̲̪̠̖̓̂̓͒̓͂̈́̈́̈́͆͗͝R̵̡̧͙̯̯̞̝̼͚̞̹͇̥̩̃̉̐
PLEASE TRY AGAIN L̵̨͓̠̠͇̇À̸̢̺͖̦̮̹͆́̈̈́̀̇͑͒̒́͊̋̎͝͠T̶͔͎͚͛E̶̗̱͉̲̪̠̖̓̂̓͒̓͂̈́̈́̈́͆͗͝R̵̡̧͙̯̯̞̝̼͚̞̹͇̥̩̃̉̐
Edited 2023-10-08 14:05 (UTC)
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PLEASE TRY AGAIN L̵̨͓̠̠͇̇À̸̢̺͖̦̮̹͆́̈̈́̀̇͑͒̒́͊̋̎͝͠T̶͔͎͚͛E̶̗̱͉̲̪̠̖̓̂̓͒̓͂̈́̈́̈́͆͗͝R̵̡̧͙̯̯̞̝̼͚̞̹͇̥̩̃̉̐
PLEASE TRY AGAIN L̵̨͓̠̠͇̇À̸̢̺͖̦̮̹͆́̈̈́̀̇͑͒̒́͊̋̎͝͠T̶͔͎͚͛E̶̗̱͉̲̪̠̖̓̂̓͒̓͂̈́̈́̈́͆͗͝R̵̡̧͙̯̯̞̝̼͚̞̹͇̥̩̃̉̐
Edited 2023-10-17 21:50 (UTC)
[LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL
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Edited 2023-10-17 21:51 (UTC)
SSSS 10/28 vs Ỳ̵̬̞̫̞̘̭̦̽̃̾̄̔̎̀Q̵̧̧̝̺́̿̃̒́̾Ṭ̸̨̧͕̥̉ͅN̴̈̔̈́͠F
gluttoning
2023-08-30 01:15 am (UTC)(link)
T̸̢͔̿͊̚̕Ò̴̫̤̂͋͗͆́͆͐̊͆̕ ̵̰̱̫̥̱͎̲̊̆́̒́̄̉̽͝ͅP̶̢̺̼͇̘͇̖͇͚̟͔̹͙̦͆̒̐̔̎̓̂̆̓͝Ụ̷̧̺͎͖̳͆͋́̾̈́͊͋̒͑̑͒͘N̷̢̲͓͔̮͔̝͚͇͔̲̥̘̲͈͕̪̋I̸̳̱̝̟̻̣̦̝̒̌̈́͆̊͑̑͋̈͝S̸̥͍̱̀H̵͖̘̉̅̃̊̾̒̔̌͑̍͆ ̴̡̧̢͈͕͇͔́̔̅̓͑͜Â̶̡̨̨͇̱̭͖͈̦͈̻̙̣̬͔̈́̈́̃̃͑̑̆̚̕͝͝Ņ̵̠̱͕̻̘̞̰̻̘̼̥̖͑̃̐̒͛͒̓̊̅͆̐͗͋͒̕Ḏ̸̛̛̫͂͑̀̐̊̾͗͑͝ ̸̤̺̠͙̦̱̪͍̘̘̠͉͖̬̝̙̇̊̀͆͂̆́̍͆̑͐D̵̦̏̓̂͒̉̈́̍͌͗̊Ë̶͉̹̤́͂͊̔̀͗͑̓̊̿͑͐̚͝S̷̢͍͔̬̜͔̟̮̖̳̻̖̱̟͈͗͋̔͆̀̌̊̌̓͂̓̔͝͝͠͝T̵͔̱̲͕͍̊́̿̽͐͒́̀̀͒̾R̸͈̖̤̞̘͕̱̺̎̋̇Ơ̸̡̝̖̹̣̜͍̗͙͈̼̻̫͓̈́̐͂̍́̄̐͋̅̔͐̈́̐͘ͅͅͅY̷̢̧͓͇̻̥͇̗̬̲͕̲̪͙̞̗͎̍̏̈́͌
Edited 2023-10-28 18:13 (UTC)
UNABLE TO PORT OUT
PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER
PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER
Edited 2023-11-11 22:56 (UTC)
UNABLE TO PORT OUT
PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER
PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER
Edited 2023-11-11 22:55 (UTC)
[Yael has no intentions of hanging around. After a showing like that, Barrett needs rest and a good meal. While congratulations are in order, Yael is, unfortunately, here for something more important.
"You're well-suited for the role," his superior officer once quipped. "You deliver bad news like you're discussing the weather. Have a heart, Sheza."
Yael scarcely looks any different offline, dressed in the winning team's jersey and a pair of dark denim jeans. When he approaches Barrett, it isn't with a smile and an air of joviality, but an expression indifferent, stone cold. This is Yael's default, so it may not catch Barrett off guard. Unfortunately, that might mean the news he's here to deliver is guaranteed to blindside.]
Good game out there, kid. Before you head off, there's something important I need to tell you. Not to rain on your parade, but...
["...You're wrong, commander. I despise it."]
"You're well-suited for the role," his superior officer once quipped. "You deliver bad news like you're discussing the weather. Have a heart, Sheza."
Yael scarcely looks any different offline, dressed in the winning team's jersey and a pair of dark denim jeans. When he approaches Barrett, it isn't with a smile and an air of joviality, but an expression indifferent, stone cold. This is Yael's default, so it may not catch Barrett off guard. Unfortunately, that might mean the news he's here to deliver is guaranteed to blindside.]
Good game out there, kid. Before you head off, there's something important I need to tell you. Not to rain on your parade, but...
["...You're wrong, commander. I despise it."]
[Barrett is mostly being pulled around by his brothers and classmates, looling slightly on edge as he gazes through the crowd of friends and family as though he's searching for someone. Though Yael isn't the familiar face he's been aiming for, Barrett's eyes still brighten as he shakes Aiden off his arm and shoulders over to give Yael a satisfied, exhausted grin.]
Glad you were able to make it, Yael. Thanks a lot.
[Still... what was this about something important? His hands slip to his hip with a slight cock of his head in curiosity, but he still nods.]
...Yeah, if you think it's that important. What's up?
Glad you were able to make it, Yael. Thanks a lot.
[Still... what was this about something important? His hands slip to his hip with a slight cock of his head in curiosity, but he still nods.]
...Yeah, if you think it's that important. What's up?
[It never gets any easier, but the motions do, Yael sweeping out an arm to invite Barrett to sit. To insist he sits. It's only when he's seated that Yael flatly delivers the news. Someone gentler might've been able to soften the blow, but not Yael. All he can do is rip off the bandaid and prey the sting doesn't overstay its welcome.]
Mithrun is dead.
Mithrun is dead.
[...
While leading him to take a seat stays a casual affair, Barrett looking up at him with openly quizzical eyes and a tightened cross of his arms... the entire aura stiffens with what Yael finally says.]
...Morgan...?
[What?]
...No, there's... there's been some sort of mistake, right? He's supposed to be here tonight. At Berkeley.
While leading him to take a seat stays a casual affair, Barrett looking up at him with openly quizzical eyes and a tightened cross of his arms... the entire aura stiffens with what Yael finally says.]
...Morgan...?
[What?]
...No, there's... there's been some sort of mistake, right? He's supposed to be here tonight. At Berkeley.
[He could read the denial on Barrett's lips before the words followed suit. That's how it starts, same as always, but it only gets worse from here. So, so much worse.
Yael draws in a breath— long, thin, silent. Don't fight him on this, Barrett. Please.]
There's no mistake, Barrett. Mithrun's body has been lying on the ground in-game for hours. None of the people who know him offline have been able to get into contact with him either.
Yael draws in a breath— long, thin, silent. Don't fight him on this, Barrett. Please.]
There's no mistake, Barrett. Mithrun's body has been lying on the ground in-game for hours. None of the people who know him offline have been able to get into contact with him either.
[...
The redhead's face goes pale as he fumbles for his phone. A few taps are made.
None of the messages have been opened.
Contact>>>Call, The phone is brought to his ear. It rings. And rings. No phone is going off nearby. But he still anxiously waits, up until the automated voice-mail kicks in.
Hangup. Call again.]
Wh... when did they find him. Has CCCorp said anything?
[It's quiet and tight, verbally holding back the panic that's very obviously settling in otherwise.]
The redhead's face goes pale as he fumbles for his phone. A few taps are made.
None of the messages have been opened.
Contact>>>Call, The phone is brought to his ear. It rings. And rings. No phone is going off nearby. But he still anxiously waits, up until the automated voice-mail kicks in.
Hangup. Call again.]
Wh... when did they find him. Has CCCorp said anything?
[It's quiet and tight, verbally holding back the panic that's very obviously settling in otherwise.]
[Yael's gaze shifts off of Barrett and onto nothing in particular as he goes through the motions of trying to contact Mithrun. Questioned, Yael shakes his head.]
Depends on what you mean by saying anything. Nothing useful, that's for sure.
[A weighty exhale. He can't look at Barrett right now.]
They haven't put out an official statement yet, but all signs are pointing to them blaming Mithrun for this. Remember what they said after that one guy fainted?
[They blamed it on Ganymede's offline health. Ever the realist, Yael expects this situation to be no different.]
For your own sake, don't log in. Not now. [...] Seeing him will only make it feel worse.
Depends on what you mean by saying anything. Nothing useful, that's for sure.
[A weighty exhale. He can't look at Barrett right now.]
They haven't put out an official statement yet, but all signs are pointing to them blaming Mithrun for this. Remember what they said after that one guy fainted?
[They blamed it on Ganymede's offline health. Ever the realist, Yael expects this situation to be no different.]
For your own sake, don't log in. Not now. [...] Seeing him will only make it feel worse.
[Voicemail.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
He sends another text. It sits with the rest.
He hears Yael speak. It feels like white noise.]
I... no, they can't do that. They can't keep doing that. He's not...
[...
As the phone goes to voicemail one more time, Barrett's expression hardens, an attempt to push up to his feet, his eyes very clearly scanning for the exit.]
No. I need to go see for myself. He can't still be there. I just talked to him last night.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
He sends another text. It sits with the rest.
He hears Yael speak. It feels like white noise.]
I... no, they can't do that. They can't keep doing that. He's not...
[...
As the phone goes to voicemail one more time, Barrett's expression hardens, an attempt to push up to his feet, his eyes very clearly scanning for the exit.]
No. I need to go see for myself. He can't still be there. I just talked to him last night.
Don't, Barrett.
[The chances of Barrett hearing him, really hearing him, are slim enough. The chances of him listening even slimmer. Nevertheless, Yael insists.]
You're only going to make yourself feel worse. Are you going to hurt yourself on purpose?
[The chances of Barrett hearing him, really hearing him, are slim enough. The chances of him listening even slimmer. Nevertheless, Yael insists.]
You're only going to make yourself feel worse. Are you going to hurt yourself on purpose?
[The redhead locks up into silence, jaw clenching slightly as he looks towards Yael.]
This isn't about my feelings.
Thank you for telling me. But if he's in trouble, I can't just sit here.
[He's not willing to wait for Yael to get out of his way, either. So long as the older man isn't blocking him off, Barrett is going to try to shoulder his way past.]
This isn't about my feelings.
Thank you for telling me. But if he's in trouble, I can't just sit here.
[He's not willing to wait for Yael to get out of his way, either. So long as the older man isn't blocking him off, Barrett is going to try to shoulder his way past.]
[Yael can't make him listen, and he certainly won't stand in the way of someone who has already made their mind up. Suit yourself, he thinks, turning on his heel to leave the moment he sees the resolution to do the same in Barrett's eyes.
But he does hope, somewhere deep down in his heart, that Barrett will be okay. Loss never gets easier.]
But he does hope, somewhere deep down in his heart, that Barrett will be okay. Loss never gets easier.]
[There is only one family member of the Blake household in the hospital to start, and the only one that staff will allow without permission. People who want to know which room he is in will be fresh out of luck, no matter how hard they argue with security.
Around 5pm, Levi will arrive along with a man in his older twenties, deep black hair and glasses and an outfit pressed just so. Where Levi is anxious and hunched and keeping his eyes off everything but what he needs, the elder sibling is purposeful, commanding, on his phone more often than not and practically plowing them through security up to a waiting room.
Another brother will trickle in shortly after - a shorter, slim young man with dark hair highlighted with white underneath, dressed in clothes that look far too big for his frame and dark circles under his eyes, a fire in his voice as he screams at security. Booker Blake, can you use your ears or do I have to make it everyone's problem that you can't let me see my family??? He nearly passes out twice in his fits,, but gets even angrier when people try to intervene, like a horrifically angry cat. Eventually the blond young man from the arena comes down to fetch him and coast him up.
Eventually they may be able to sneak their way up and find an upper waiting area filled with the four brothers in various states of stress. But it doesn't look like any of them are being allowed in to see Barrett for long periods of time as doctors rush in and out. Good luck convincing any of them that anyone else is allowed to see their brother, either.... but maybe someone can get deets (or throw a fit) if they really wanted.]
Around 5pm, Levi will arrive along with a man in his older twenties, deep black hair and glasses and an outfit pressed just so. Where Levi is anxious and hunched and keeping his eyes off everything but what he needs, the elder sibling is purposeful, commanding, on his phone more often than not and practically plowing them through security up to a waiting room.
Another brother will trickle in shortly after - a shorter, slim young man with dark hair highlighted with white underneath, dressed in clothes that look far too big for his frame and dark circles under his eyes, a fire in his voice as he screams at security. Booker Blake, can you use your ears or do I have to make it everyone's problem that you can't let me see my family??? He nearly passes out twice in his fits,, but gets even angrier when people try to intervene, like a horrifically angry cat. Eventually the blond young man from the arena comes down to fetch him and coast him up.
Eventually they may be able to sneak their way up and find an upper waiting area filled with the four brothers in various states of stress. But it doesn't look like any of them are being allowed in to see Barrett for long periods of time as doctors rush in and out. Good luck convincing any of them that anyone else is allowed to see their brother, either.... but maybe someone can get deets (or throw a fit) if they really wanted.]
Edited 2023-09-16 20:41 (UTC)
[For anyone who got Lucas's number for visitation or is communicating through Barrett's cell, they will get a single text on Sunday.
Visiting hours are below. I need your full name before I allow security to send you up. No pictures. No video.
So long as they abide by the rules given by Lucas Blake, they can return to the hospital at the given time. He's not quite cognizant of everything yet, according to the nurses. A second surgery earlier that morning has him on an immense amount of painkillers. But he would do well with a familiar face.
He's strung up on multiple IV's, oxygen, monitors, and a bandaged bracer on his entire left leg that makes it look three times its normal size; complete immobilized. Opening the door to the room won't earn a response until the nurse calls out his name. His eye movement is clouded, groggy... but recognition comes eventually, a smile that spread so slowly, dazed and not quite there.
A hand lifts from the bed, just barely. Friends...
Hello friends.]
Visiting hours are below. I need your full name before I allow security to send you up. No pictures. No video.
So long as they abide by the rules given by Lucas Blake, they can return to the hospital at the given time. He's not quite cognizant of everything yet, according to the nurses. A second surgery earlier that morning has him on an immense amount of painkillers. But he would do well with a familiar face.
He's strung up on multiple IV's, oxygen, monitors, and a bandaged bracer on his entire left leg that makes it look three times its normal size; complete immobilized. Opening the door to the room won't earn a response until the nurse calls out his name. His eye movement is clouded, groggy... but recognition comes eventually, a smile that spread so slowly, dazed and not quite there.
A hand lifts from the bed, just barely. Friends...
Hello friends.]
[For anyone who makes it to the waiting room, Levi can be found there curled up in one of the chairs away from everyone else. His eyes are red and puffy, and he looks absolutely sick to his stomach in worry. He even has to get up a few times to rush down to the nearest bathroom.
But as time passes, and the doctors announce to the family that Barrett is in stable condition and will be okay, Levi finally starts to calm down a bit. He might be more willing to talk at this point, but he buries his face in his phone or games for the most part. Occasionally he'll have Booker snuggled up against him to commiserate. Or just to nap. Both of them could use it at this point.]
But as time passes, and the doctors announce to the family that Barrett is in stable condition and will be okay, Levi finally starts to calm down a bit. He might be more willing to talk at this point, but he buries his face in his phone or games for the most part. Occasionally he'll have Booker snuggled up against him to commiserate. Or just to nap. Both of them could use it at this point.]
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