It all unfolds awkwardly, as usual.
One minute everything is cold and sort of...stuck, as if an omnipotent clock somewhere has something caught around one of its cogs. But all of a sudden everything bleeds back into existence starting white and bright around the edges before regaining shape and color, like a book burning in reverse.
John: Rise up.
And all of a sudden he's standing with a dull ache in his chest, not a wound but a memory of a fat black blade. And speaking of memory it takes all of three seconds for everything to come back to him, flickers of blood and blade and DadMissLalondeJackRose-
Rose?
Turn.
He isn't sure what to feel when he sees her on the floor, surprising small in death. Her body is turned at thin, awkward angles, one hand stretched out further than the rest of her as if she was trying to grab something just out of reach. Gray fog spills from her skin to waft aimlessly into the sky, the way a candle smokes after its flame has been snuffed.
Grieve?
He feels nothing. He feels everything. Notions of crying or screaming or finding something to hit briefly wander through his head but all of it's crushed under the resoundingly heavy foot of what is even the /point/
What now?
What happens next unfolds awkwardly (as usual), like tearing apart a origiami crane. Leaning in (maybe for some desperate hope of breath still in her lungs?), spotting her headset notification light flickering like an impatient firefly, removing it clumsily, familiar blue words-
AG: Remem8er how we talked a8out your 8ackup plan? The one you have devised to defeat Jack, in the off chance I fail?
AG: Well, it's not going to work if Rose is dead, is it?
-his eyes moving numbly, quickly, over the text-
AG: You have to wake her up! 8reathe some life into her. Do the windy thing, with your lips!
-a slow realization building-
AG: You know what that means...
AG: Gotta kiss her.
Headset still attached, he has her in his arms in a flash. Her head falls back, heavy and empty, and it makes his throat dry for reasons he can't really explain. It's necessary, the only thing that can save her, that can save everyone but it's just so wrong. A line of red leaks sadly from between her glossy dark lips. Her hair, gone white under the grasp of things he can't entirely know, it hangs for the first time without the constriction of a headband, and he has to think very, very hard of anything besides the fact of how pretty she looks like that.
It all unfolds awkwardly, but not nearly fast enough, because now he has to actually do it. He has to hold her, limp and light, against him and feel how cold she is and take her first kiss without even asking or having the decency to feel embarrassed about it. But he has to.
He inhales.
John: Breath some life into her.
There's a cold, somewhat sour taste around her mouth, but he's willing to forgive her that. At one point he feels something wet and with a sort of flippy feeling in his stomach realizes it's blood. But he just tightens his grip, and kisses, and kisses, and kisses because how long do these kinds of things have to last anyways? If it was just a peck he would have done it, but it didn't seem dramatic enough for the game's tastes.
He holds back at tongue though. That would have just been gross.
Okay, I think we're good dude.
Eventually he realizes how long he's been holding her to his mouth and sort of startles. He drops her body to the ground and cringes at the sound she makes as she hits the tile. Swoon, her voice says in her head. Blushing, he quickly arranges her in a more dignified position. Flat on her back, arms clasped on her chest, Sleeping Beauty style. There. Elegant, just like she would have wanted.
Would want. He sighs. It's been a long day.