Fire - DRAMATIC LIGHTING
Jonothon Starsmore furnaceface
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Hannibal's House (That Jono Doesn't Remember Hannibal In), Saturday Morning
It was the general, growing sense of unease that woke Jonothon up this morning, as people around the island woke up to find that they couldn't remember who they were, or why they were in some strange bed. He was comfortable enough otherwise, but as the morning pressed on, that feeling got stronger, until there was a fever pitch of concern and confusion hammering at the insides of his skull.

Rolling over and trying to bury his head under a pillow didn't actually help, either. It just brought to attention the fact that there was somebody beside him, which was a distracting revelation for all of two seconds, until he opened his eyes and--

Fire.

Apologies to anybody within Jono's immediate telepathic range. It was his turn to project distress, now, not even realizing that he was doing just that. He'd worry about who he was in bed with, possibly never, considering the fact that he was on fire, and all.

[OOC: For that guy!]

never_dull

2016-07-09 01:45 pm (UTC) (Link)

That person he was in bed with was definitely in range.

And was now waking up to a wave of panic he couldn't tell the why of, and - fire!

He backpedalled in immediate reaction, caught himself before he fell off the bed, then flipped the blanket up and over the fire, prepared to smother it.

Only it didn't burn through. Wait...it wasn't even hot. What was going on here?

furnaceface

2016-07-09 01:55 pm (UTC) (Link)

And now he was on fire and under a blanket.

Which... wasn't... really making any difference. Hell, he'd sort of figured that fire meant pain, and he wasn't even really feeling any of that, either. Slowly, panic gave way into confusion, and tentatively, he wormed his way out from under the blanket again, looking with bafflement through the flames at the man he was in bed with.

Ooookaaaay.

Wave of confused panic two came along when he went to ask the man what the hell was going on here, and he became aware of the fact that he couldn't even speak, never mind inhale to do so.

never_dull

2016-07-09 02:21 pm (UTC) (Link)

The fire was coming from a person? Who was still alive?

Hannibal reached out slowly but curiously. The fire was definitely not hot, and he ended up poking his finger into it, then putting his whole hand in, fascinated.

"What is this?"

furnaceface

2016-07-09 02:27 pm (UTC) (Link)

That was an excellent question. But the man on fire wouldn't have had an answer for you even if he had a mouth to speak it with. All he could really do was sit there in stunned silence, staring at the hand in the fire, marveling at the fascination that carried through the flames to him.

That was... oddly soothing, in a way, and he reached up his own hand as well, somewhat more calmly reaffirming what he suspected, that the fire wasn't just on him, it was coming from him. His arm all but disappeared into the space where a chest should have been, and he pulled it out again in surprise.

What kind of monster was he?!

never_dull

2016-07-09 02:34 pm (UTC) (Link)

"How are you on fire?" Hannibal asked. Then, squinting through the flames, "Can you talk?" He didn't see much of a mouth there.

furnaceface

2016-07-09 02:42 pm (UTC) (Link)

Yeah, that question was earning a shake of the head, and a sort of wide-eyed bewilderment. Talking felt like something he should be able to do. He'd wanted to earlier, which didn't seem like something that should be a first instinct if he'd never had the ability to do so. Which just made all of this that much more confusing.

Worrisome? Frightening?

He put a hand to his face, where a mouth ought to have been. There was... something there, what felt like the torn and broken remains of what had been an upper jaw, a lip, teeth. But there was nothing below it. Just... more fire. As if the flames that were billowing out of him had burst out by force, taking half of him along with them.

Well. That painted a horrifying picture.

never_dull

2016-07-09 03:03 pm (UTC) (Link)

Hannibal frowned, oblivious to the horror of it. "Can you..." What did people do if they couldn't talk? "...write? Or type? Or sign?"

He looked around the room they were in for something helpful. He was vaguely aware that none of it was familiar, and that this should probably be rather alarming, but there was a more interesting mystery here already.

furnaceface

2016-07-09 03:21 pm (UTC) (Link)

Jono paused, and then to his surprise, realized that... yes. Yes, he could in fact sign.

On Monday, he'd be thankful that he and Hannibal had taken those sign language lessons together for outings where they'd like to communicate without looking like crazy people.

"I have no idea what's going on," he signed, because that seemed like a good starting point.

never_dull

2016-07-09 03:37 pm (UTC) (Link)

And happily enough, Hannibal could understand that signing! Which he supposed made sense - they seemed to be together, or at least spending time in the same bed.

"I don't, either," he answered. And, with part of that mystery solved, "I don't even know who I am, or who you are. Do you?"

furnaceface

2016-07-09 03:42 pm (UTC) (Link)

Jono hesitated, and then shook his head, 'no.' Now that this other man had mentioned it, he really didn't have the foggiest. So, add that to the list of things that bothered him, then. Good, good.

"I don't know where we are, either." Not that it was super important, all things considered, but it seemed like maybe he should mention it. "Or what..."

He waved a hand at himself, just kind of indicating all of... that.

never_dull

2016-07-09 11:11 pm (UTC) (Link)

"Nor do I," Hannibal answered. He got up and started methodically searching the room. The nightstand by his side of the bed had a tablet on it, which he didn't know the password for. There were various items inside that said nothing important about who lived there, except that they liked a variety of books (and yes, probably had a sexual partner).

And that he himself could read at least three languages, not counting understanding sign.

furnaceface

2016-07-09 11:13 pm (UTC) (Link)

Jono hung back for a moment more, and then, mostly satisfied that he wasn't going to burn the building down or spontaneously immolate the rest of his body, he rolled over and started poking around the nightstand on his side of the bed.

... Assuming this was his, he was apparently not a tidy person. There were a couple of Vonnegut books, dog-eared and with bookmarks sticking out of all of them. A few packages of guitar strings, more picks than he knew what to do with. A bag of cat treats - so he had a cat? - and a handful of catnip toys. No food wrappers or anything of the sort, which probably shouldn't have been a surprise, considering the whole state of affairs up top. A bunch of papers, some loose photos of people he didn't recognize, some - ahem - handcuffs, and...

He squinted a little as he sat up again, raising a questioning eyebrow as he held up a length of leather that had been neatly wound into a roll.

never_dull

2016-07-09 11:14 pm (UTC) (Link)

Hannibal glanced over to see if the other man had had any more luck. Huh.

"Those look like...bandages, or streamers. Is there anything with them?" Maybe that would shed some light.

furnaceface

2016-07-09 11:16 pm (UTC) (Link)

Jono shrugged his shoulders and unwound them a little, to see if there was any sort of... writing or anything on them. All he really got from the roll was that they'd been scorched a few times. He squinted, and then went rummaging in the drawer again, pulling out a photo he'd seen.

He held it up for the other man to look at. A teenager playing a red guitar, wrapped in leather from nose to navel, wearing... basically leather everything, actually. He moved the picture so that it was beside his face and raised an eyebrow. Was there a resemblance, there? Anything?

never_dull

2016-07-09 11:17 pm (UTC) (Link)

Hannibal nodded. "That looks like you. So, you've been...on fire...for a while now? And you usually wrap yourself up. And you probably live here." Since people generally didn't keep old photographs anywhere else.

He looked back through his nightstand, pulling out the books, handkerchiefs, lubricant, and down at the bottom a pad of paper and a pen, but there were no pictures there, of him or anyone else, and he shrugged before putting it all back.

On Monday, he'd regret getting sidetracked last night and leaving his wallet, with its picture, ID, and "what to do if you're a child or don't know who you are" paper with his tuxedo at the Boards.

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