Jazz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notintwopieces) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
mayfield_rpg2012-07-06 10:04 pm
notintwopieces) wrote in mayfield_rpg2012-07-06 10:04 pm
Entry tags:
3rd Beat
[Phone - accidentally open to all, meant for Dr. Ilsa Higa. Backdated to an hour or two after this.]
[When his voice comes over the line, anyone who'd spoken with Jazz in the month since he's been here will be able to hear the almost-hysterical, wrecked tone that's become of his normally dulcet voice. He's barely keeping himself under control and can barely seem to keep from hyperventilating, and if the phone sounds like it's rattling, it may or may not be because he's unable to stop shaking.]
Dr. Higa, I-I...I...h-...hhhow predictable is it f-...for people t'come back from the...[His voice cuts off and for a long time, the only sound that comes over the other line is ragged gasps. He comes back only to make an abrupt change of subject, putting a bit more strength in his voice then he had before.] W-w-would you be able t'write me up some sorta reference on all th'weak points on a human body? L-like places t'be careful of if I'm tryin' t'restrain someone. My martial arts trainin' only taught me about my own species bodies an' humans are a lot weaker'n I don' know what's diff'rent an' what might hurt 'em if I do it wrong 'cause it's diff'rent an' I don' wanna kill anyone 'cause I put too much pressure or twisted wrong or-or-or...!!!
[Which is where his voice finally reaches the panicked, horrified keen it had been threatening at the entire time and he simply dissolves into sobs. The phone makes a bit of a thunk sound when his head hits the kitchen table, curled up in his seat, feeling like he's going to be sick, like his entire body is numb, like he's tearing apart from the inside out and he doesn't know how to stop it.]
[Action - Hours later]
[He hasn't left the house since he got home. He's barely spent time away from the make-shift bedroom they'd set up in their garage. Things were too hard to think about at this point, hurt too much to process, and yet it was all he could do, curled up under the covers on their sleeper-sofa in a tight little ball, hugging Prowl's pillow like it is Prowl. It's only by the grace of the no-family-in-the-garage they've put on the drone families in their houses that he's had any peace, and Thank Primus that the drones actually listen to little things like that, like they really are the "man of the house." The wife would come from time to time, knock on the door and ask if he was coming in for dinner, but when he gave no answer, would simply flutter off to do whatever pre-programmed thing she'd been set up to do.
Which is just as well. He doesn't have the strength right now to throw her out. He doesn't even have the strength to even care right now. Physically he's fine. He's had enough experience with shell shock, has suffered it enough and remembers the distinct hurt it caused, to know that's what this is. And he just doesn't care. Just when he thinks he's cried himself out, some image will cross his processor and he'll burrow his head into the pillow as it starts all over again.
It does hardly any good, knowing he's supposed to be coming back any time now. The deaths he's known have all been permanent. He's been fighting a war for millions of years. After that much death, you don't simply lose the emotional reaction it causes in you simply because someone tells you "it's not real." Not when you did it with your own hands]
((ooc: Action and Phone tags to the phone call are welcome. Action tag to Jazz-in-the-garage is reserved for Prowl's mun.))
[When his voice comes over the line, anyone who'd spoken with Jazz in the month since he's been here will be able to hear the almost-hysterical, wrecked tone that's become of his normally dulcet voice. He's barely keeping himself under control and can barely seem to keep from hyperventilating, and if the phone sounds like it's rattling, it may or may not be because he's unable to stop shaking.]
Dr. Higa, I-I...I...h-...hhhow predictable is it f-...for people t'come back from the...[His voice cuts off and for a long time, the only sound that comes over the other line is ragged gasps. He comes back only to make an abrupt change of subject, putting a bit more strength in his voice then he had before.] W-w-would you be able t'write me up some sorta reference on all th'weak points on a human body? L-like places t'be careful of if I'm tryin' t'restrain someone. My martial arts trainin' only taught me about my own species bodies an' humans are a lot weaker'n I don' know what's diff'rent an' what might hurt 'em if I do it wrong 'cause it's diff'rent an' I don' wanna kill anyone 'cause I put too much pressure or twisted wrong or-or-or...!!!
[Which is where his voice finally reaches the panicked, horrified keen it had been threatening at the entire time and he simply dissolves into sobs. The phone makes a bit of a thunk sound when his head hits the kitchen table, curled up in his seat, feeling like he's going to be sick, like his entire body is numb, like he's tearing apart from the inside out and he doesn't know how to stop it.]
[Action - Hours later]
[He hasn't left the house since he got home. He's barely spent time away from the make-shift bedroom they'd set up in their garage. Things were too hard to think about at this point, hurt too much to process, and yet it was all he could do, curled up under the covers on their sleeper-sofa in a tight little ball, hugging Prowl's pillow like it is Prowl. It's only by the grace of the no-family-in-the-garage they've put on the drone families in their houses that he's had any peace, and Thank Primus that the drones actually listen to little things like that, like they really are the "man of the house." The wife would come from time to time, knock on the door and ask if he was coming in for dinner, but when he gave no answer, would simply flutter off to do whatever pre-programmed thing she'd been set up to do.
Which is just as well. He doesn't have the strength right now to throw her out. He doesn't even have the strength to even care right now. Physically he's fine. He's had enough experience with shell shock, has suffered it enough and remembers the distinct hurt it caused, to know that's what this is. And he just doesn't care. Just when he thinks he's cried himself out, some image will cross his processor and he'll burrow his head into the pillow as it starts all over again.
It does hardly any good, knowing he's supposed to be coming back any time now. The deaths he's known have all been permanent. He's been fighting a war for millions of years. After that much death, you don't simply lose the emotional reaction it causes in you simply because someone tells you "it's not real." Not when you did it with your own hands]
((ooc: Action and Phone tags to the phone call are welcome. Action tag to Jazz-in-the-garage is reserved for Prowl's mun.))