[ John's drowsy when the call comes in, but not asleep (the joys of being, quite literally, on call - but this isn't his work line). he answers, waits, sighs, is about to scrub his hand down his face and hang up—
oh.
a quick check of the username on the screen, slowly checking back over his memory. ah right, yeah. ]
Right. [ it's only accidentally blunt. he'd been nodding off, the switch between sleep and alertness present in the clear of his throat and softness of his tone. ] What's the matter?
[ The first thing he should have done was head for the hospital/clinic, but he's alone in his apartment and without his meds. He didn't think it would happen again.
John's very quick after that to pull himself to focus. nothing lethal or life-threatening, but he knows just how uncomfortable it can be to be gripped by panic. ]
Take deep breaths. Bring the air in, let it fill you up, then let it go. [ that's the staple, and he can hear there's already an attempt being made, but it bears repeating. onwards, then, his own voice gentle and sure in counterpoint ] What do you have around you? Describe something to me.
[ a clothes rack, that'll do. anything will do, really, but what John needs is something benign for Ravyn to focus his attentions in on, and that sounds just as good and lasting as anything ]
Your clothes rack. What's on there? If they're close enough, pick out a couple and feel them. If not, just what they look like is fine. Take your time. Really pay attention to them.
[ Ravyn nearly trips when he tries to get out of bed, and John could probably hear a soft curse over the phone.
Right. Take your time. That's what John said. So he carefully stands and walks over to his clothes rack. It's dark without the lights on, but the moon light filtering in from the window is enough for him to see. He reaches out to grab one of the first thing he see. ]
A jacket. One of my old favourite, I think. Yeah, it is.
[ He takes in another deep breath. ]
Tweed jacket. Light green, if my memory serves me right.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
voice | past midnight
And then — ]
Urm... Dr. Watson?
[ He could just use John's first name, but he thinks this way it'll seem more urgent. ]
I think I might need your help.
voice
oh.
a quick check of the username on the screen, slowly checking back over his memory. ah right, yeah. ]
Right. [ it's only accidentally blunt. he'd been nodding off, the switch between sleep and alertness present in the clear of his throat and softness of his tone. ] What's the matter?
no subject
A deep breath. ]
What do you do during a... panic attack.
[ His voice is stilted, uncertain and wavering. ]
no subject
John's very quick after that to pull himself to focus. nothing lethal or life-threatening, but he knows just how uncomfortable it can be to be gripped by panic. ]
Take deep breaths. Bring the air in, let it fill you up, then let it go. [ that's the staple, and he can hear there's already an attempt being made, but it bears repeating. onwards, then, his own voice gentle and sure in counterpoint ] What do you have around you? Describe something to me.
no subject
I...
[ He looks around, trying to focus his mind on the now and not what had frightened him awake. ]
Um... My bed? Bathroom to the right. Work space on the left. Ah... Clothes rack... in front of me.
[ What else can he describe? ]
I don't know.
no subject
Your clothes rack. What's on there? If they're close enough, pick out a couple and feel them. If not, just what they look like is fine. Take your time. Really pay attention to them.
no subject
Right. Take your time. That's what John said. So he carefully stands and walks over to his clothes rack. It's dark without the lights on, but the moon light filtering in from the window is enough for him to see. He reaches out to grab one of the first thing he see. ]
A jacket. One of my old favourite, I think. Yeah, it is.
[ He takes in another deep breath. ]
Tweed jacket. Light green, if my memory serves me right.