[Like commander, like soldier. On a normal day, John would be doing what Finn was doing. Right there with him. Keeping busy. Staying active. Running so hard and fast the worst of his fears and regrets can't keep up with him. Anything to get away from that crumbling cliff threatening to send him over the edge and into a deep, dark spiral he can't claw his way back out of.
He misses his job. His purpose. His city, so beautiful, and so damn needy he has every excuse to keep sleeping/eating/stopping to the bare minimum. Atlantis is a fickle lover. She asks a lot from her people, and she's worth every drop of blood and sweat sacrificed in her honour.
Today isn't a normal day. John wakes up on his designated mattress, and his eyes and body are so heavy, he has to wonder if the group didn't prank him by stacking every other mattress on top of him. He opens his tired eyes to an empty room. Tangled up in threadbare blankets. Alone. Today he's the last one up and out. That in itself is unusual. John's an early-riser by military habit, automatically awake at the ass-crack of dawn.
Why does sleeping in feel like he hasn't slept at all?
Through some complicated flail of movements, joints popping and cracking, he rolls out of the pile and climbs to his feet. Everything hurts today. That much isn't a surprise, but usually he can push through it. Put one booted foot in front of the other like the wear and tear on his body is something he can buff and polish away in the armoury.
Today, he can't pull himself up by his bootstraps, because putting his boots on feels like too much effort. So he pads into the 'kitchen' on bare feet, and nearly trips over 1 Finn scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush.]
What the hell--
[John just barely catches himself on the opposing counter, shooting a look back over his shoulder so sharp he could've thrown a knife.
Momentary spike of an emotion both hot and cold aside, he squints out through the window at this train-wreck of a city with a scowl.]
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He misses his job. His purpose. His city, so beautiful, and so damn needy he has every excuse to keep sleeping/eating/stopping to the bare minimum. Atlantis is a fickle lover. She asks a lot from her people, and she's worth every drop of blood and sweat sacrificed in her honour.
Today isn't a normal day. John wakes up on his designated mattress, and his eyes and body are so heavy, he has to wonder if the group didn't prank him by stacking every other mattress on top of him. He opens his tired eyes to an empty room. Tangled up in threadbare blankets. Alone. Today he's the last one up and out. That in itself is unusual. John's an early-riser by military habit, automatically awake at the ass-crack of dawn.
Why does sleeping in feel like he hasn't slept at all?
Through some complicated flail of movements, joints popping and cracking, he rolls out of the pile and climbs to his feet. Everything hurts today. That much isn't a surprise, but usually he can push through it. Put one booted foot in front of the other like the wear and tear on his body is something he can buff and polish away in the armoury.
Today, he can't pull himself up by his bootstraps, because putting his boots on feels like too much effort. So he pads into the 'kitchen' on bare feet, and nearly trips over 1 Finn scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush.]
What the hell--
[John just barely catches himself on the opposing counter, shooting a look back over his shoulder so sharp he could've thrown a knife.
Momentary spike of an emotion both hot and cold aside, he squints out through the window at this train-wreck of a city with a scowl.]
What time is it? Why did no one wake me up?