[center][url=https://open.spotify.com/track/4H3K3jbAgNoDIbVcU6c6kg?si=3b731eb651fa47dc][img]https://i.imgur.com/LLARzGn.jpeg[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/fnUOHKB.jpeg[/img][/url][sup][h1][b][color=black]G I L G A L A H A D // B A N J O O L Y P H A N T[/color] [color=lightgray] G I L G A L A H A D // B A N J O O L Y P H A N T[/color] [/b][/h1][/sup][/center] [indent][sub][COLOR=SILVER][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]Infirmary Wing[/I] - [I]P.R.C.U. Campus[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=SILVER][b]Take On Me #3.059:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Sing Sing Tommy Shay, boys[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=SILVER][B]Interaction(s): [/B][/COLOR] [I] Banjo // [@Hound55] [/I][/sub][/indent] [indent][color=gray]The final healing session had been…fine. Gil was still uncomfortable with the feeling of bone splinters actively moving and settling beneath his skin, shifting between strings of muscle sinew as they righted themselves. It was refreshing to have the cast off at least, even if it had revealed further ugly, deep-purple stains that served as a reminder to the damage inflicted. Much of the gauze had come off too, though again splotched bruises marred his person all across the body, and likely would for the immediate future. ‘Cosmetic damage’, the ward staff had referred to it as, to which Gil remained steadfastly silent in his response despite a rather strong disagreement boiling within him. The boot was no more or less uncomfortable than the cast had been; shorter on the leg but heavier, and the padding on the bottom made for an awkward gait. Still, it was different, and that was almost enough. Novelty was hard to come by in a hospital wing. He was escorted via wheelchair to physical therapy, the irony not lost on him but not commented upon, but when he was pushed through the swinging double doors to the small makeshift gymnasium, the sight that greeted him elicited the first audible reaction of the day: a brief, quiet tut of anticipated irritation. Banjo was here. The shooting pains in his leg had begun a half an hour ago. He was due another pill but was pushing back on them. After all, it was one of the few things he could control - albeit with discomfort - without risking permanent damage. So he gritted his teeth and pushed through. When it hurt, he pushed through. When it felt numb, he pushed through. And when he could see and sense the fasciculations as his leg seized and twitched against the resistance training, he pushed through. He still couldn’t walk without the limp. Movement didn’t bother him, it just wouldn’t be smooth motion. The hitch was another thing he couldn’t control and as such another thing that pissed him off. Weakness. And weakness due to his own stupidity, no less. He welcomed the distraction of the Pommy performer who rolled up in his new fresh wheels, and responded with a sneer for the soapstar that suggested something about the current situation amused him greatly. The reticent pair worked with their mismatched attendants in a pregnant silence, each limping along on their injuries, learning how to walk again. Neither seemed to fair any better or worse than the other; Gil noticed Banjo’s hitching limp and the furrowed brow that indicated stubbornly-masked pain, and was sure that Banjo, in kind, noticed his shadowed eyes and awkward, boot-hindered gait. It was arduous, and boring, and Gil struggled, through the various tempests whirling around his head, to engage properly, despite the rational mind accepting the necessity of the work. From what he could see, it didn’t seem that Banjo found it any more enjoyable. There was a buzzing in Gil’s pocket that snapped him out of his tedium-induced haze, and he paused in his exercise to fish his phone from his trousers. His nurse raised an eyebrow at the interruption but said nothing, and Gil paid them no mind regardless - instead, his eyes and attention were fixed on the screen, the bright letters spelling out the name of his most persistent phantom. Elenora Baines was trying to reach him again; it had been several days, and Gil was yet to return either her calls or a single text. Unconsciously, his mind elsewhere, he shifted his weight, forgetting that his imbalance was due to the boot, and that the boot was supporting a still-healing ankle. Gil collapsed to the ground, the ankle giving way beneath him as he adjusted his stance in a way he shouldn’t have, and the phone tumbled away from him as his hands shot out to catch his fall. He swore, loudly, and the nurses were quick to attend and help him back to his feet, checking his injury and steadying him again. Banjo picked it up with a quizzical expression, holding it out for him, and then flipping it back up his wrist as Gil reached out for it. [color=darkgoldenrod]”Ah ah, hold up now… Elenora? Where’ve I heard that name before…”[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]”Baines? From that thing you two were in together? [i]A Midsummer Nightmare’s Dead[/i]?”[/color] Gil sighed and rubbed his eyes, his ankle aching and his patience thin. He didn’t bother trying to snatch the phone, knew Banjo would be quicker than him; instead, he just held out his hand, waiting for Banjo’s whims to align. [color=FCE205]”[i]Romeo and Juliet and Zombies[/i], as if you don’t know that anyway. Yes, [i]that[/i] Elenora Baines. We’re still in touch.”[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]”Maybe I got a lot more than your filmography rattlin’ around upstairs…”[/color] He said, tapping his temple before glancing at the screen, as he flipped it back down his wrist and into his palm. [quote][b][color=white]Elenora - 4 Missed Call(s)[/color][/b][/quote] [i]We’re still in touch, huh..?[/i] He thought. More surface BS. He thought about calling him out on it… for less than two seconds, before immediately deciding to call him out on it. [color=darkgoldenrod]”You’re screenin’ her calls. Mad ex, or just tryin’ to get away from all the fake-ness..? –ery? Fakery?”[/color] He furrowed his brow trying to think of the term. [color=darkgoldenrod]”Phoniness. Hollywood phoniness. That’s what I was lookin’ for.”[/color] Gil pinched the bridge of his nose, furrowing his brow. [color=FCE205]”She’s more damn authentic than you are, Mr. Omni-Anti. I just don’t want to talk to her right now, is that alright with you? Things are difficult and I don’t need the extra headache.”[/color] He snapped his fingers and splayed his hand again, demanding without speaking. [color=FCE205]”From her [i]or[/i] you, if it’s all the same.”[/color] A flash of teeth as the Australian's lip peeled back revealing a wide sneer. [Color=darkgoldenrod]“Authentic [b][i]AND[/i][/b] you don't want a bar of her… no, surely not.”[/color] His tone dripping with glib sarcasm. [Color=darkgoldenrod]“Story rings true from what I know of ya, so colour me surprised. Ever asked y'self why the first honest thing ya said to me was in a fake simulation where nobody else was around to hear it? I like this new flavour to ya though. Bought y'self a backbone.”[/color] He handed over the phone. Gil flashed hot. [color=FCE205]”And what [i]do[/i] you know of me, Banjo? You trawled through some tabloids and fan blogs and think you got the whole picture? Yeah, I got a bit tetchy when our [i]lives were at stake[/i], and seeing as neither of us got out unscathed-”[/color] he shot back, pointing at Banjo’s own injured leg and subsequent limp- [color=FCE205]“I can’t say it was entirely unjustified.”[/color] He sighed, his ankle aching and his mind foggy and, honestly, too tired to keep up this kind of animosity. Gil decided to extend an olive branch. He lowered his tone, continuing to talk as he shuffled around at his nurses’ behest, restarting his exercises. [color=FCE205]“Let’s just agree that between the two of us, neither’s had an honest word with the other in the year I’ve been here. You wanna start now, I’m game. But that means you gotta come clean with me if I’m gonna come clean with you.”[/color] [Color=darkgoldenrod]“I'm plenty honest. Mean as a cut snake, sure. Subtle as a sledgehammer, maybe. But honesty I've got in spades. Don't need tabloids or blogs. You're right there in 4K with Dolby Surround sound, and I'll tell ya the plot’s thin and the characters are wanting. And as for this…”[/color] He slapped at his leg. [Color=darkgoldenrod]“Well, that's life, ain't it? None of us are gettin’ out in one piece. So try and have a laugh on ya way. I'm not the one desperate to hide anything. Least of all me.”[/color] Right. Well, if it was like that, Gil could go on the offensive too. [color=FCE205] “Calliope came to see me. If you’ve nothing to hide, why’d she clam up as soon as I asked about you? What’s she got to be cagey about? Trouble in paradise?”[/color] His smile widened as the smirk leaked out once more. He'd struck a nerve. People always go on the attack when he'd hit a raw patch, and it made him more comfortable to deal with them when they did. He knew what he was “looking at”. [Color=darkgoldenrod]“She probably did. You're busted up like a crook dog and she's got a kind soul. But she's probably not itchin’ to talk about me, rather than to me, with someone like y'self. When she's ready to talk to me, she will.”[/color] It scraped against him. Slightly. But he was damned if he was going to show that here. [Color=darkgoldenrod]“Nice of you to ask about me, but. I had no idea you cared… Although I'm not at all s'prised you'd pretend to.”[/color] Gil shook his head. He knew better than most when someone was holding back. Years of practice afforded an amount of recognition. Pointless to chase it - Banjo clearly wasn’t interested, and the longer it went on the less interested Gil became, too. [color=FCE205]“You came up in passing, don’t flatter yourself. Still, I’d have sworn Calliope ‘switched on’ the way the temperature dropped when I mentioned you. How long do you think you’ll be playing the clown and laughing off your limp before she’s ‘ready’? Before or after your nurses let you juice again?”[/color] He chuckled. [Color=darkgoldenrod]“Steady on, mate. This ain't one of your soap operas. Now am I supposed to gasp and stare off into the distance here..? Tell me if I miss my mark.”[/color] He held a hand to his cheek in an overdramatically shocked expression and held a stare into the distance for an uncomfortably long time. [Color=darkgoldenrod]“Is that where the challenge of acting comes in? Trying not to laugh as you deliver the most hokey dialogue imaginable? How'm I doin'? A natural, right?”[/color] [color=FCE205]“Yeah, you’re the perfect comic relief bit-part. I’ll get my agent to call you next time [i]Crestwood Hollow[/i] needs a class clown type for their victim of the week.”[/color] Gil said, his voice tired and his expression withering. [color=FCE205]“Not that I’m speaking to [i]him[/i] right now either. I’m over it, I think. Over all the…how did you put it? ‘Hollywood phoniness’? And that includes from me.”[/color] He realised he’d been walking without assistance and was silently grateful for the healers’ work over the last few days. His limping gait matched Banjo’s, but the pair of them were upright, standing under their own power, walking and trading barbs. God, it almost felt normal. [color=FCE205]“So call it hypocritical, but I don’t want it from anyone else, either. We could all use a little more…honesty.”[/color] [Color=darkgoldenrod]“Well… welcome to the wonderful world of ‘Being a Person’, Gil. We've been waitin’.”[/color] [color=FCE205]“It’s exhausting. Or you are. Or both!”[/color] He said, laughing in coughing, stabbing chortles at his own jibe. He sighed, thinking of the only person it [i]hadn’t[/i] been hard to be honest with, reflecting that it hadn’t [i]ever[/i] been hard. He felt wistful. That kind of ease-of-being was so rare and comfortable in this new, post-Gil reality. He considered that he should probably try to hold onto it, or at least learn from it. [color=FCE205]“Have you seen much of the rest of the team since…since we got out?”[/color] [Color=darkgoldenrod]“I haven't seen much of anyone. Haven't really wanted to. The leg aside, I've kinda felt I got off light.”[/color] [color=FCE205]”I thought we might…pull together a bit more, as a team, a group of ‘survivors’. But I think we’re more splintered than ever. Most of us, at least. I’m as guilty of it as anyone. Pulling back from people - doling out spite to the undeserving. And now Lorcán’s halfway in the grave and…I don’t know how much more we can take. I don’t know how the girls do it. They’re so…united.”[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]“I’ve just figured its people processing what they went through. It’ll just take time. Doesn’t really help that it was Lorcán who’s doing it so rough afterwards though… he was always kind of central between you and Rory. How it looked from the outside lookin’ in, anyway. Everythin’ will work itself out though. Give people time and space, they’re generally pretty resilient.”[/color] He hoped. He didn’t much care for uncomfortable silences and pained looks away either. Time was he’d do or say somethin’ just to get a rise, or rip strips off of Tad. But he couldn’t do either right now, and he suspected even more people than normal would disapprove and view it as ‘too soon’ if he did. As if ‘too soon’ was a thing that really existed. He could certainly do without Calliope hurting enough to go talkin’ with this– Nah. That had been just to get a rise out of him though. Surely… She’d talk with him. They were fine. He never made himself unavailable. Shut himself away. He was alway there throwing the odd wisecrack to make her laugh. If she wanted to talk, she’d talk. Surely. [color=darkgoldenrod]“Speakin’ of time. How long they gonna shut you in your box up here?”[/color] His smile then widening, as he added. [color=darkgoldenrod]”With ya face lookin’ like a slapped arse?”[/color] Gil’s head snapped to, with a deeply furrowed brow and his mouth opening about to let him have it. [color=darkgoldenrod]“Eeeeeasy. It’s a slang term.”[/color] He rolled his eyes, despite knowing full well it was probably needlessly provocative. Or at least his therapist would probably view it as such. [color=darkgoldenrod]“‘How long are they gonna shut you in here, lookin’ miserable?’ Another words. A few years back, before you got here, I got shut in here too and I know it sucks. Next to no sunlight, unable to really see anyone… they fast track your healing, but its still no picnic.”[/color] [color=FCE205]”Depending on this session, I’m looking at being discharged tomorrow. I’ve had visitors, but I’ll admit I’ve not been in the best mood to receive them. Amma’s the only one I’ve not given both barrels to…”[/color] his eyes went wistful again as he cast his mind to nights shared, bereft of nightmares, merciful rest coming through a warm, inky void of pure unconsciousness. [color=FCE205]”I don’t know if ‘back to normal’ is on the cards anymore, though. Feels like everything’s…shifted. Like we’ve all taken two steps to the right, looking at ourselves from a different angle. Everyone’s shaken up.”[/color] He paused, wincing, his last few steps slightly too brave and his ankle shooting a single klaxon of ‘don’t try that shit again’ up his leg. [color=FCE205]”Apart from you, apparently. How long until you’re cleared for ‘active duty’?”[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]“How long til I walk like I don’t have one leg twice the length of the other, ya mean? I got told from anywhere up to three months, up to… the rest of my natural life. So yeah. Just sucks cos it was my own stupidity more than anythin’.”[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]”Mostly doesn’t hurt… Mostly. When I’m well overdue the painkillers, yeah. But I’m tryin’ to wean myself off of ‘em. They go nuts with the dosage up here on the wrong side of the Pacific, apparently, and I don’t want to get myself hooked on anything, not when I can’t flash-fry the imprint off my synapses with the ol’ solar cleanse. So… I ride it out, and then after so many hours, bite through the last few like you just did back there, and stretch ‘em out. They had me on em four-hourly, now I’m down to three or four a day.”[/color] [color=darkgoldenrod]“But that’ll just be time as well. Normal just takes time.”[/color] He wasn’t sure if he was saying it for Gil’s sake or his own, or how much of it was a statement of fact, or a need to be convincing. Gil didn’t answer - just held out his hand for a shake, a silent offering for armistice, a truce between feuding parties. [color=FCE205]”Well - here’s hoping ‘normal’ gets here as fast as it can. For everybody.”[/color] Banjo stared at the hand for a few seconds, as if struggling to recognise the offer in the present situation with the present company, before wiping his hands on the back of his shirt and taking Gil’s in kind. [color=darkgoldenrod]“Whatever normal may well be.”[/color] They spent the rest of their shared session in silence, a new understanding born between them. [/color][/indent]