PART I. - The Infirmary [cw: parasites, alcoholism, brain surgery.]
[Johnny's no stranger to waking up in strange, unfamiliar environs with little to no memory of the events that proceeded his arriving God Only Knows Where. Comes with the territory, when you got a pissy black-ops Angel grafted to your soul who likes to hijack your body to remind the world it was crafted by the hands of a vengeful God.]
[It's also part and parcel of self-medicating your myriad of mental woes with enough alcohol to make a horse go blind, but judging by his distinct lack of a hangover, something tells Johnny he didn't drink his way into whatever fresh mess he's landed in this time. But then again, judging by the fact he's still fully clothed and not covered in soot and flesh wounds, this probably wasn't a Rider related blackout either.]
[Which means...]
[Well, fuck if Johnny knows what it means. Nothing good, if it's happening to him. That's a given.]
[He sits himself up, drags his bleary eyes across the room to try and take stock of his situation. He's in a hospital, he thinks, or at least a place that's made to look like one. They've got him all hooked up to different lines, an IV and one of them pulse monitor things that'll probably start screaming if he tries to take it off – a thought which occurs to him only after he's already impulsively pulled the monitor off his finger, because of course it does. Of course his common sense only kicks in after he's already indulged in some lizard-brained dumbshittery.]
[Welp. Looks like now he's gonna have to make a break for it without any sort of exit strategy or even half an idea of where the exits are. A tall order to be sure, but he's been in rougher spots and even more dire straights. He can manage it, he just needs to get up and -]
[...And immediately crumple to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut because Orthostatic hypotension is a bitch, and also he's a dumbass who thought it was a good idea to stand up after he just had his brain carved like a Christmas ham.]
PART II. - The Lab
[Johnny's not a man of science. He's got about as much business being in a lab as a preacher's got being in a brothel, but it seems like if he wants a bike in this place, he's gonna have to make one from scratch – which is fine, that ain't the hard part. He built his first bike when he was nine years old out of junkyard scrap, he can fix himself something usable real easy provided he's got the tools and the parts.]
[It's finding the parts that's the most difficult, time-consuming, pain-in-the-ass part of the whole venture, since whoever stocked this place didn't see fit to sort anything in any sensible way. He's got a mental list of all the things he still needs to find, a list that hasn't gotten any shorter in the past half-hour – partly because he's taken it upon himself to actually sort and label things as he pulls them out of their boxes, and partly because he found the chemistry section of the lab and has been sipping straight ethanol for the entire duration of this bike-building scavenger hunt.]
[Was that an unwise decision on his part? Absolutely. Is he going to keep drinking pure ethanol knowing full well what a terrible, horrible, no-good idea it is? Also yes.]
[But hey, nobody should let the fact he's day-drinking in a lab full of volatile chemicals and equipment deter them from making use of the space, or asking him for help. Sure, there's the occasional bewildered or disgruntled swear coming from the part of the lab he's designated for himself, but that's just because he's a redneck and even he's appalled by the lack of organization in this workshop.]
[Upon opening particularly offensive box, filled to the brim with a haphazard mix of nuts, bolts, and washers of various sizes, Johnny can't help but take a step back and marvel at the grade A disaster he's got to sort through.]
...Well, fuck me.
[Good thing he already got a head start, because this mess is enough to drive a man to drink.]
PART II. - The Kitchen
[What Johnny ought to do is make himself a full, healthy meal to make up for all the rough living he's been doing since escaping Hayden Falls. That would be the smart, responsible thing. The doctor recommended thing.]
[But Johnny's never made a good decision in his life and he doesn't see the point in starting now, so he's just gonna go ahead and indulge in some good old-fashioned comfort food.]
[Which, for Johnny's carnie ass, means deep-fried everything. ]
[Anyone tempted by the smell of corn dogs, funnel cake, and kettle corn will be pleased to note that Johnny seems to be making larger portions than any one man could possibly eat – either because he's deliberately considering others, or because he just couldn't be bothered to convert the big batch recipes in his head to smaller units of measurement.]
[Either way, there's extras for anyone who feels like indulging in a little delicious trash food – something Johnny's quick to point out to anyone who walks into the kitchen.]
Help yourself.
[He nods towards the menagerie of carnival food staples that he's set out on one of the counters, along with their associated condiments. He could've just let folks figure themselves out on that front, but since he already went through the trouble of making extra in the first place, he figured he might as well set all the extras up too.]
Funnel cake don't keep, so it's gotta get ate up while it's still hot.
[Says the Carnie Sage, wise in the ways of fried food.]
Johnny Blaze | Ghost Rider
[Johnny's no stranger to waking up in strange, unfamiliar environs with little to no memory of the events that proceeded his arriving God Only Knows Where. Comes with the territory, when you got a pissy black-ops Angel grafted to your soul who likes to hijack your body to remind the world it was crafted by the hands of a vengeful God.]
[It's also part and parcel of self-medicating your myriad of mental woes with enough alcohol to make a horse go blind, but judging by his distinct lack of a hangover, something tells Johnny he didn't drink his way into whatever fresh mess he's landed in this time. But then again, judging by the fact he's still fully clothed and not covered in soot and flesh wounds, this probably wasn't a Rider related blackout either.]
[Which means...]
[Well, fuck if Johnny knows what it means. Nothing good, if it's happening to him. That's a given.]
[He sits himself up, drags his bleary eyes across the room to try and take stock of his situation. He's in a hospital, he thinks, or at least a place that's made to look like one. They've got him all hooked up to different lines, an IV and one of them pulse monitor things that'll probably start screaming if he tries to take it off – a thought which occurs to him only after he's already impulsively pulled the monitor off his finger, because of course it does. Of course his common sense only kicks in after he's already indulged in some lizard-brained dumbshittery.]
[Welp. Looks like now he's gonna have to make a break for it without any sort of exit strategy or even half an idea of where the exits are. A tall order to be sure, but he's been in rougher spots and even more dire straights. He can manage it, he just needs to get up and -]
[...And immediately crumple to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut because Orthostatic hypotension is a bitch, and also he's a dumbass who thought it was a good idea to stand up after he just had his brain carved like a Christmas ham.]
PART II. - The Lab
[Johnny's not a man of science. He's got about as much business being in a lab as a preacher's got being in a brothel, but it seems like if he wants a bike in this place, he's gonna have to make one from scratch – which is fine, that ain't the hard part. He built his first bike when he was nine years old out of junkyard scrap, he can fix himself something usable real easy provided he's got the tools and the parts.]
[It's finding the parts that's the most difficult, time-consuming, pain-in-the-ass part of the whole venture, since whoever stocked this place didn't see fit to sort anything in any sensible way. He's got a mental list of all the things he still needs to find, a list that hasn't gotten any shorter in the past half-hour – partly because he's taken it upon himself to actually sort and label things as he pulls them out of their boxes, and partly because he found the chemistry section of the lab and has been sipping straight ethanol for the entire duration of this bike-building scavenger hunt.]
[Was that an unwise decision on his part? Absolutely. Is he going to keep drinking pure ethanol knowing full well what a terrible, horrible, no-good idea it is? Also yes.]
[But hey, nobody should let the fact he's day-drinking in a lab full of volatile chemicals and equipment deter them from making use of the space, or asking him for help. Sure, there's the occasional bewildered or disgruntled swear coming from the part of the lab he's designated for himself, but that's just because he's a redneck and even he's appalled by the lack of organization in this workshop.]
[Upon opening particularly offensive box, filled to the brim with a haphazard mix of nuts, bolts, and washers of various sizes, Johnny can't help but take a step back and marvel at the grade A disaster he's got to sort through.]
...Well, fuck me.
[Good thing he already got a head start, because this mess is enough to drive a man to drink.]
PART II. - The Kitchen
[What Johnny ought to do is make himself a full, healthy meal to make up for all the rough living he's been doing since escaping Hayden Falls. That would be the smart, responsible thing. The doctor recommended thing.]
[But Johnny's never made a good decision in his life and he doesn't see the point in starting now, so he's just gonna go ahead and indulge in some good old-fashioned comfort food.]
[Which, for Johnny's carnie ass, means deep-fried everything. ]
[Anyone tempted by the smell of corn dogs, funnel cake, and kettle corn will be pleased to note that Johnny seems to be making larger portions than any one man could possibly eat – either because he's deliberately considering others, or because he just couldn't be bothered to convert the big batch recipes in his head to smaller units of measurement.]
[Either way, there's extras for anyone who feels like indulging in a little delicious trash food – something Johnny's quick to point out to anyone who walks into the kitchen.]
Help yourself.
[He nods towards the menagerie of carnival food staples that he's set out on one of the counters, along with their associated condiments. He could've just let folks figure themselves out on that front, but since he already went through the trouble of making extra in the first place, he figured he might as well set all the extras up too.]
Funnel cake don't keep, so it's gotta get ate up while it's still hot.
[Says the Carnie Sage, wise in the ways of fried food.]
WILDCARD!