bullet with butterfly wings

[tagartist]

WHO: Chloe Price and YOOOOOOOU.
WHAT: Catch all! One hyperactive, definitely ill teenage brat with way too much time on her hands is trying to do research and explore shit. Please stop her before someone gets hurt.
WHEN: From ~17/18 and onwards (I'll update prompts for Phase II when it comes about)
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: I got nothing, I'll update if somethin' crops up

[ A ] One Through Three

Despite all her anger at arriving here, Chloe's starting to kind of sort of feel a little bit more at ease with the place. Maybe it's the sleep she got from the sleep aid that cut through the restlessness she was feeling from the withdrawal of cigarettes and drugs. She doesn't feel as shaky as she did before - the headaches still there, the restlessness definitely, but she doesn't feel bad, so it only makes sense she's on the mend.

Maybe she's a little more hyper than usual, but maybe she's just finally figuring out how to be happy drug free. Maybe she's been doing the opposite of what she thought was all this time - not numbing pain, but numbing joy, and now she can feel it again and there's something nice about it, something great, something addicting, because she hasn't remembered what it's like to feel happy and excited in ages.

It gets her ready to help out, to find some tasks, to research some shit, to figure this place out from the ground up. She can be found in various areas, trying to get to know the ways of Kirkwall, sticking out like a sore thumb most likely, and definitely getting horribly lost every which way, but hey! If you need some help carrying bags, or if you need someone to fix a wheel on your cart that's come loose, or if there's something you can teach her, she's more than happy to rush over, smile on her face, give you a hand because helping each other is what people are supposed to do, right?

And if she's not helping out with those, she's found herself in a library, or anywhere with books, anywhere she can sit down and start to read the history of this place - all of it she can get her hands on - about the science and the magic and every bit of knowledge she can find. It's the first time in years she's wanted to know things, wanted to learn, and it almost makes her feel like her old self, which is something that should have struck her as odd, but doesn't.

[ B ] Four Through Six

At some point, the energy starts to feel out of hand though. Way out of hand. Maybe this is withdrawal after all, she doesn't know. She's jittery and she can't sleep without help in the slightest and the fucking energy she was feeling is obnoxious now, but she just can't stop moving. She tries to tie herself down to the library, to focus on those studies, but the words blur and her mind can't focus, so she's up and running before she can even get through a single page. She's getting frustrated that the technology here isn't what she's used to because she'd fucking kill to play some video games or fucking sit down and marathon her favorite movies, but instead she's got to figure out how to make her own entertainment or bust. She wants to fix a car, she wants to feel oil on her hands, and she's got nothing for herself.

So she does the next best thing she can think of; she's drinking (probably stolen) booze in an attempt to knock herself out if she just gets enough, but it's doing nothing and now she's just hyper AND drunk and maybe stumbling about trying to find something to do, but not having too much luck on the latter. The stumbling's going real well, though. Better than expected, even, and she actually ends up steadying herself with the arm of a passing person, stranger or not, because it's the only way to keep herself upright for a second.

This might have been a bad idea.

[ C ] Seven Through Ten

"So if I begged you, would you kill me, because I'm pretty sure I'm already dying."

That's the best thing to say to whoever's listening, right? Totally normal. She's got a fever and she can tell, she's pretty sure her hands won't stop shaking anymore and the sleep aids are so much less effective than they were before; she always wakes up feeling ten times worse and she's just stopped using them because of it.

She was supposed to be dead anyway. Just bring it full circle. She doesn't want to deal with this anymore. She's still convinced it's just withdrawal, but fuck, was it supposed to last this long? Or was this the Zoloft and not the cigarettes? When did that stop? She doesn't know, and she can't exactly Google it.

So she's been settling on keeping up the drinking (because it was such a smart plan) and now it's at least gotten her to be sluggish enough to sort of curl up somewhere not entirely comfy and clearly way too public if she's talking to other people, but that doesn't matter to her anymore. "I don't want to feel this way anymore."