Darcy had had that good night's sleep he'd promised himself - it had lasted well into the morning, too, and nearly the afternoon. He'd woken up feeling... well, mostly achy, but emotionally better than he had in a while. He was even feeling cheery enough to go seek out company - Taryn's, to be precise.

His expression was happy, though even after his long sleep, he looked tired. He hadn't made any great effort to neaten his hair, but the brown strands were laying quite neatly all the same, looking soft enough to pet. He had on jeans, flip-flops, and a white t-shirt with a grinning, stylized blue shark on it. The shirt was almost of a snug fit, and occasionally, the outline of bandages could be seen through the material. Darcy was walking a little more carefully and slowly than usual, but otherwise seemed to be his usual contented self.

The boy made his way up the stairs, found Taryn's dorm room, and knocked on the door, leaning back from it to wait for her to answer. There was a faint grin on his face - she'd be happy to see him, right? He hoped he wouldn't be interrupting anything.

Sometimes you just have to get something off your chest, hm? Even if the person in whom you're confiding is a grumpy, scary, psychopathic old man with more issues than you will ever have, if you're lucky. (Then again, Darcy doesn't know about most of Alexander's issues. Heck, Keye doesn't know about most of Alexander's issues.)

Taryn was in that funny little state between dozing and awake, mostly just thinking and gazing at the ceiling. Except it wasn't the ceiling she was looking at; she had a mental picture of the story she was working on, off and on, and was envisioning her characters. (She could pass hours this way, and hardly feel them going.)

She was wearing a pink tank top--yes, I know--and a pair of black knit capris. She cut her hair yesterday; the summer heat was making it impractical for it to be long, and so it was about a foot shorter than it had been. (And rather flattering, too.)

"Come in."

Visitor? Who'd be visiting her?

Darcy let himself in, and shut the door behind him.
"Allo, comment ca va?" he said brightly. He looked at her oddly for a moment, then added. "Something looks... different about you. Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

He wasn't the most observant guy ever, but at least he noticed that she looked different, for whatever reason.

"Eh, comme ci, comme ca." That's her standard answer, actually. Unless she's really feeling good or really feeling down.

She grinned, though, at his initial reaction. "Guess." At which point she shook her head a little, so that the four inch long hair that used to be about a foot and a half long fluffed out.

C'mon, Darcy, notice! That's the best part about getting your hair cut.

"Ah, I see - you cut your 'air," he grinned, nodding approvingly. "It looks nice on you. Good,... euh... what is the word. Style! It is a good style on you."

He leaned against the wall, (carefully!) crossing his arms over his chest. "What 'ave you been up to, anyway? I 'ave not seen you around all that much. But then, that is usual." Darcy's grin faded to a pleasant smirk.

"Not much. School, work... Oh, and Keye's teaching me how to play the guitar. I'm not so good at it yet." She made a face, naturally, comparing herself to Keye already, despite the fact that she had nowhere near his experience with the instrument.

"What about you?" And she remembers that he wasn't looking so cheery last time she saw him, too. It's not one of the things that she forgets.

"'E is teaching you to play guitar? So you already know 'e is doing better, obviously. Take your time, you will learn to play well soon with practice," he said musingly. Taryn playing guitar... she seemed like a girl who already knew how to play the guitar, oddly enough, so it was almost a surprise that she was being taught.

"Me? Eh, the usual. Work. Running around. Frisbee."
Breaking up with Jetta. Tracking down a crazy kid and getting bitten, watching him get- no. No. Stop that thought.
It should perhaps be mentioned that in all his dreams the previous night, all Darcy could hear was bones cracking, and screaming. And it wasn't coming from him, either.

"Yeah, I guess..." Pause.

Maybe something of what he was thinking--and what he didn't say--showed on his face. Maybe Taryn is telepathic and doesn't know it. Maybe she just knows her friends well enough to know when something's wrong.

"Are you okay?"

...
"...Sure. Why would I not be?" Darcy smiled as he replied, though he sounded uneasy. He would have less trouble talking to her about Jetta now, than he would have before he went and told Alexander. If he could talk to Mr. Barclay, then why not Taryn?

The thought of Alexander reminded him that he certainly didn't want to tell her what he'd been up to last night. He hadn't done anything other than lead the way, and then stick around while Alexander had his way with Logan,... but it wasn't something Darcy was going to mention for a long, long time. He tucked his arms closer to himself, as if his thinking of the previous night's events had made the wounds visible, and he had to hide them.

((Bloody cbox died again. *grumble*))

Oh dear. Did Alexander traumatize Darcy by taking his rather messy revenge on Logan?

"I dunno. You just seem like something's bothering you."

And the fact that he's hugging himself--or looks like he is--does nothing but reinforce that impression.

Traumatized, no. Deeply, deeply disturbed, yes.

"Euh,... bien..." he hesitated to answer. She was asking; it wouldn't be like he was forcing her to listen to him complain if he explained now. "...Yes. Sort of, somesing is. To put it in summary, I, euh,... je me suis fait tomber par ma blonde,... 'ad a bad breakup, recemment. Still not over it."
He grimaced. It felt almost shameful to admit it.

((translation: My girlfriend broke up with me
recemment=recently))

"Ow," she said sincerely. "Wanna talk about it?"

One thing that Taryn has been told many times is that she is a very good listener. And by that, I mean the kind of person who finds herself receiving confidences from people she barely knows, for no reason that she herself can understand.

It's a little odd.

"I..." he frowned, thinking about it for a moment. "...No, not really. It is not terribly much to tell. She was sleeping wit' someone else, even while we were together - obvious, because she said she was pregnant, but I never slept with 'er-"
Here he stopped, and blushed. This was really not the sort of thing he thought he should be telling Taryn.
"Anyway, no, no more talking about it."

Taryn winced. Slut.

"'m sorry. C'mere, sit down." She patted the bed next to her. No, she had no intentions on his virtue--unlike certain other people I could name--but she just wanted to maybe give him a quick hug and let him know that she was there. Sometimes that's all people need.

And sometimes they need more, but that comes later.

"Heh." Darcy shrugged a shoulder, then went over and sat next to her, as indicated. He sat down rather heavily, not using his hands to steady himself because he still had his arms wrapped protectively around himself. He didn't even realize he was doing it, really.

She put an arm around his shoulder, gave him a brief squeeze, and let go, leaning forward and looking at him sideways.

"Something else bothering you?"

Most normal people don't keep their arms wrapped around themselves when they need them to do other things, after all. And Darcy's one of the most normal people that Taryn knows.

Should I say 'no'? Or should I tell her that I just can not tell her?

"...No," he said finally. That way she wouldn't need to ask him why he couldn't tell her what else was wrong. Though she might persist, since he'd said 'no' so unconvincingly... Darcy frowned down at the floor, and suddenly became aware of a warm feeling on his side, just under a place covered by his right forearm. He blinked down at it, and was surprised to see a red stain seeping slowly through his shirt.

"Maudit," he muttered angrily, and nudged his arm up slightly to conceal the red spot on his white t-shirt. Sitting down so quickly must have caused one of the cuts to reopen - they were deep, and all he'd done was clean up the mess and bandage the cuts. He'd have to be more careful.


((maudit=damn))

Blink.

"Darcy, you're bleeding." She sounded disbelieving, probably because she either couldn't imagine Darcy getting into trouble that he couldn't get out of, or because she couldn't understand why he wouldn't have done something about whatever was hurt.

"What happened?"

"Accident," he muttered, as an explanation (or excuse, depending on how you look at it). Technically, it had been an accident. He hadn't known it could happen. He hadn't been expecting it at all. "Looks worse than it is. I moved too fast and now it is leaking again. Damnit..."

He pressed his hand very lightly over the blood, to cover it so that Taryn wouldn't see it, and could ignore it like he was trying to get her to.

She gave him a skeptical look, but didn't argue with his explanation. She'll pry later.

"If it's leaking through whatever you put on it, it's probably time to change it. Let me get something for that."

This is also a familiar situation. Taryn seems to end up patching up her friends remarkably often...

"Mm. T'anks," he said, preoccupied. Then his head snapped up. "'Ang on. If you can just show me where everything is, I can take care of it myself."

Darcy really didn't want her to see what was under the bandages - he could hardly explain it himself, and he didn't want to have to explain it to her. Besides, he was perfectly capable of doing this himself - he'd just have to remember to put more gauze or something under the bandages next time, so there wouldn't be any blood seeping through.

He probably needed to see a doctor about those. Maybe he should talk to Keye; I'm sure our dear not-quite-psychopath can think of one.

"Are you sure? It looks like it's in a really awkward place to try to deal with yourself..."

"Mouais, I am sure. I did it last night - I can do it now. Only now I will do better because I 'ave 'ad practice," he said simply. Come to think of it, he probably needed stitches. Oh, well. He was hoping he could deal with it without having to go to someone who would ask a lot of nasty questions.

"Mm. If you're sure." She climbed over the bed and got out the first aid kit--which had somehow migrated up on top of her desk, instead of under the sink, where she usually kept it--and handed it to him.

"Here ya go."

"I am sure. Merci," he said, taking the kit and disappearing into the bathroom, closing the door behind him but not bothering to lock it. He took off his shirt and peered at the bandages a moment before peeling them off. He glared at the bloody mess before setting carefully to work to clean up the fresh blood seeping out.
This might take a while...

A while might make her a little nervous.

And you know, she's going to find all those bloody bandages when he comes out of the bathroom, and she's going to want to know just how he managed to lose that much blood, if it wasn't very important...

He was silent for the most part, except for an occasional hiss of breath through clenched teeth, or a whimper if he pressed too hard in trying to mop up the blood. After quite a while, he emerged. The bloodstain was still evident on his t-shirt, but he'd made an effort to rinse it out so now it was both bloody and damp.

"'Ere, done," he said, holding out the first-aid kit to Taryn to put away. "T'anks."

The amount of bandages that remained and the time he had taken in the bathroom and the noises that had escaped all combined to make Taryn very worried.

"What happened to you?" she asked, taking the kit and setting it carelessly on her bed. "Did you get in a fight or something?"

"Fight...? No."
It had been a bit too one-sided to call it a fight.
"I said it was an accident, and can we please leave it at that?"

"No, we can't." She folded her arms and looked stern.

Of all the people she's met up here, he's the last one that she would have expected to have to pull the big-sister act with. But if she has to order him to do something about whatever's wrong with his side, she will.

"We will anyway," he said firmly. Darcy has no younger siblings, but he's had plenty of younger cousins to babysit and practice the older-relative/big-brother act on. He was the family's oldest kid, after all. "Comprends?"


((trans: comprends=understand))

Yes, well, Taryn has a trump card.

"Darcy, when we met, you stopped me from doing something really stupid. And if you're as hurt as it looks like--and that's a lot of bandages you just used, and a lot of bloody ones in the bathroom--you'll be doing something just as stupid if you don't do something about it. And I don't mean pretending it isn't there and hoping it will go away, either."

"I am not pretending it is not there!" he protested. "I am completely aware that it is a problem - do you t'ink I do not notice I 'ave cracked 'alf mes cotes, que je sagnes partout? Non! C'est que je. Ne. Peux. Pas. Te. Dire. D'accord?"

Ah, trailing into French. Now we know he's stressed.


((trans: (...)ribs, that I'm bleeding all over the place? No! It's that I. Can. Not. Tell. You. Okay?))


((Crumbs. I have to go. *wails* Bye!))

"So don't tell me, but go and find a doctor. Yeesh, Darcy, if it's that bad, you should already be at the hospital."

She knows he's stressed. And after she's talked him into dealing with his injuries properly, she'll hug him and stroke his hair and help him get unstressed. And fortunately she understands French, even when she doesn't have the presence of mind to speak it.

"Non. Ils vont demander trop de questions que moi-meme, auxquels je ne peux pas expliquer les reponses. I can not. Je peux prendre soins de moi-meme,... je sais que ce serait mieux de voir un docteur, mais je ne peux simplement pas le faire..." he sighed, shaking his head. "I am sorry, I did not mean to snap."

((trans: No. They'll ask too many quetsions that even I can't explain the answers to. I can take care of myself. I know it'd be better to see a doctor but I just can't do it...))

Taryn frowned.

"Isn't there some kind of... nondisclosure agreement? Or someone maybe that wouldn't ask questions?" She looked thoughtful. "Maybe Keye knows somebody. He's been to the hospital enough. Or he can ask Dr. Barclay... I dunno."

"Non, non,..." he waved the solutions away, not seeing them even as possibilities. He pressed a hand over half of his face, looking moodily at the far wall. "Even with the agreement, it won't 'elp if they think I'm crazy. I can not explain to them what 'appened, one way or the other- it will end out a disaster. Ne peux pas parler a Keye sur cet sujet - lui aussi il demandera des questions. J'ne sais pas si je pourrai les repondre. Et puis, m'sieur Barclay m'aurait dit la nuit derniere s'il connaissait quelqu'un qui pourrait-... euh,... non, never mind I said that. But there is no point in asking either of them."

He shook his head, and smiled at Taryn.
"I think I am rambling. J' m'excuse. But really, there is nothing to worry about. If anything goes bad, and I truly 'ave to go to a doctor - I will. But not until I 'ave to. Too many difficult questions. Too much trouble."


((translation: Can't discuss this subject with Keye - he'd ask questions, too. I don't think I could answer them. And Mr. Barclay would have told me last night if he knew of someone who could -(...) ))

She sighed.

"Fine, but you're not going to go running around and stuff until those are better, all right? Seriously. You're not allowed to do anything that might make them worse, especially if they're going to open up again."

Now might be a good time to change the subject.

"'Course I will not. I am not quite as dumb as that," he grinned teasingly at her, and gently punched her arm. "I do not think I will be playing frisbee for a while,... couple weeks, anyway. I am going to get out of shape, and what will I do then, eh?"

She shrugged. "Get back in shape? And... Waitasec. You saw Dr. Barclay, last night?" The 'm'sieur' instead of 'docteur' or 'professeur' had thrown her off. Name was right, title was wrong.

Blink, blink. Wasn't Keye the one who hung out with the scary-as-hell professor? What was Darcy doing with him?