faderift | bullet with butterfly wings

Entry tags:

bullet with butterfly wings

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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Lights, ugh; the groan is evident because she was kind of liking the dark, it made that headache a little less intense, but she also knows that most functioning beings tend to need at least some of it to see. She's glad for the first time since arriving here that candles are the main source of illumination because she probably would've smashed an actual electric light in that moment if it were glaring in her face.

Instead, she's sort of squinting against it, letting her eyes adjust for a moment, end looking up at the girl who's kneeling in front of her, eventually blinking and getting her face to come a bit more in focus. Oh.

"Hi, Fern, I'm cute." Wait. "You're cute. I'm Chloe." Yes, that's the one. Fuck this fever, man. Or is it the alcohol? Whatever. She rubs a hand over her face, going back to resting her head against her knees because it feels the best. "Is everything a good answer, because it feels like everything."

She's cute? That's a funny name--oh. Oh.

Immediately, Fern blushes a brilliant scarlet from her cheeks all the way up to the tips of her ears, and she involuntarily ducks her head to hide a smile. Maker--Creators--whomever was in charge up there, what was she even thinking, smiling at a time like this--

"Um," she says ever so smartly, along with a nervous laugh and smile, and threads a bit of hair behind her ear. "Well, he's a very good healer," she insists, "so I'm sure he can do something to help you, surely." She offers out her hand to Chloe, tipping her head a bit to try to meet her eyes. "Shall I help you up?"

Hey, she's blushing, and laughing, and that's... "Even cuter." Her filter is shit and she'll probably apologize for it when she's better. Maybe. Sort of. Unlikely, but she can pretend to make herself feel better. Mostly, though, she's staring at the hand, like she's not really sure what she's supposed to do with it. She's been going and going like an Energizer Bunny, she could've picked herself up, right?

Yes, that's why she's still just sitting there.

"Oh - fuck - right." She goes to take her hand, glad that whatever is up with her body is at least giving her the energy to get up at all, in spite of the nights without sleep. She stumbles just slightly, placing her other hand against the wall she was just leaning against so she can keep herself upright for a moment. "It's a - ... A fever, I think? It feels like a fever. I dunno, it's been a while."

"Even cuter," Chloe says, and Fern ducks her head yet again with a giggle. "Maker's breath," she sighs, but even that flirtation isn't enough to distract her from her task. This blue-haired flirt won't do herself any favours by remaining here on the floor of the herb store room.

"Here," she says again, and helps Chloe up--and immediately reaches out a hand to gently touch her shoulder when she wobbles, frowning with worry at her face. What a peculiar-looking shemlen--which should be reason enough for Fern to shut down that flirtatious nonsense right away, but surely just it's just a bit of harmless fun. (Or it might be, if Finch weren't here. She tables that guilty thought for later.)

"Lean on my shoulder," she invites, and slight as she appears, she's got a strong back. "I think lots of you rifter sorts have been taking ill lately. We're not sure what the trouble is yet, but Anders will make you feel better, I'm sure."

He'd better be able to, or he'll make a liar out of her.

Lean on her -- "You're so tiny." She says as she does her best to do as instructed, the tone of her voice more of a whine than an actual legitimate complaint. "Not that there's anything wrong with being tiny. My last girlfriend was tiny." A beat. "Not that you're gonna be my girlfriend. Or that I was asking you to be. That would be pretty presumptuous on a first meeting. Uh." Well that was not... coming out at all the way she wanted it to. She cringes at her own words. "I just meant that tiny isn't a bad thing."

Ugh, get it together, Price.

"What's an Anders?" That was a perfect segue and the attention span is definitely related to the alcohol on her breath and not the fever talking this time. Where were they going again? "Oh. The healer. Right. Everything I take seems to make it feel like a hundred times worse, so I'm not gonna hold my breath. Partially because I think if I did I'd pass out."

If she could blush any redder, Fern could give her mother's small rose bush a run for its money--what a first meeting! "Oh, you're all right," she hastily assures Chloe, shyly looking up at her as she puts an arm about her waist for added support. She's... also quite cute. For a shemlen. (But do rifter humans count as shemlen? Stop it, Fern, you're rationalizing, this is hardly the time--)

"...Partially because I think if I did I'd pass out."

"What have you taken so far?" Already she's leading the way out of the herb store room and through the neatly tended though dormant herb garden, doing her best to avoid the few quizzical looks that are sent their way. They must make an odd spectacle, but Fern will devote time to fussing at the rubberneckers later. "I could make you a hot toddy, once we've got you settled at the infirmary." Which, as it happens, isn't too far away.

All right, she says. Well, that was better than expected. She was still helping to carry her instead of just dropping her where she stood, so she supposed that at the least, she couldn't have embarrassed herself too badly. She keeps her arm around her, since it's one of the few steadying things she has right now, and damn, walking is a lot harder than she remembered it being a few days ago. Where was all that energy zapping off to?

"S'a good question," she grumbles, her free arm raising to rub at her head. "This girl - I don't remember her name. Ad... something. Or other. She sent out one of those things to people about medicines and stuff. I was already feeling pretty shitty from um - um - " What was she thinking this was again? "Something not this bad, but she offered me a sleep aid? And a hangover medicine. And some pain killing shit. Probably a bottle or six of rum." Six was an exaggeration, likely, otherwise she might not be standing at all. "A hot toddy sounds great."

Six bottles of rum? Fern gives Chloe a rather reproving look, but it's undercut by the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Adalia, I think," she supplies the name of the medicine vendor. "She's a friend of mine. I'm sure she was just trying to help--oh, look," she stops herself, and nods instead towards the infirmary. "There it is--Maker, I hope he's in."

Reaching the door, she raps smartly on it and calls out, "Anders? Anders, are you there?"

His notes get hastily set aside as he comes to the door and gets it, holding it open for the two young women.

"Last I checked," Anders says with a smile, gesturing to the nearest cot and offering the human girl an arm in case Fern needs some help. "What's going on?" She's a Rifter, he's nearly certain, which gives him a clue as to what's going on, but he's hoping it might be something he can actually... do something about.

"She did help, she even gave me stuff for free, like who does -- ?" She cuts herself off when someone actually opens the door though, because hey, they made it. The healers' here and she's going to count that as some real luck as she gets gestured inside.

Chloe gives him a finger gun and a wink, like that's a totally normal greeting for people, and a quick, "Whaddup, Doc?" as she tries to get herself to stand a little straighter. It... doesn't work out very well and she just ends up leaning a little more on Fern instead. "I'm dying, I think. Only being like slightly dramatic."

"I found her--Chloe--" this said with a hasty aside and a little smile for her new friend (see, she remembers your name), "in the herb store room just now. I don't really know--" And then she has to go up a bit onto her toes to help support Chloe's weight a bit more as she wobbles, clearly not well.

"She's not dying, is she?" The earnest look Fern terns to Anders must speak to the deep, dreadful sadness that Fern is doing an admirable job of hiding.

The gesture he's being given by Chloe is... unique and he smiles partly at it, and partly to help Fern out. There's no way Chloe can know what happened recently.

"I don't believe so, no. Come in." Anders takes Chloe's other side to help her in and to the bed; there's no need for the women to topple. Now is not the time to joke about how everyone is technically dying. "I'll know better once she's seated and I can examine her, but most people who make jokes about dying aren't."

She smiles because they're smiling and it just seems like everyone is in a better mood than she should probably feel right now. Too good of a one to pick up on any underlying tension, that was for sure, and she gives a small, "Heeeey," at Fern because, "Cute girl remembered my name. Guess I made an impact."

She needs to stop talking. It's in her own interest. But she's not really good at doing what's best for her. But she's at least letting them guide her, taking a seat, legs swinging a bit even though she's far from having them dangle without touching the ground.

"Don't worry, I've got nine lives. Or six now, maybe. I dunno. Did you know, Doc," He has a name, she can't remember, but she knows he has one, "that the alcohol here is shit at helping with sleep? Can you help me sleep?"

All a-flutter and beet red at the flirtation and flattery, Fern has covered her mouth with one hand that does nothing at all to hide the positively girlish smile from lighting up her face, bringing renewed brightness to her expressive eyes. (Anders might note it's the most cheerful she's looked since Sina's passing--which might also account for the flicker of guilt in Fern's eyes, when they dart to the bed where the Dalish elf had lain dying not so very long ago.)

"...Can you help me sleep?"

Chloe is asking Anders, of course, but Fern can't help but volunteer some assistance of her own. "We do have some dried valerian root in storage," she volunteers as helpfully as she can, peering from Anders to Chloe and her dazzlingly blue hair. "I don't know if that would help--do you think that would help? I can go get some," she adds, already taking a few backwards steps towards the door.

They are young and precious and if one hadn't been feeling ill he'd be busy excusing himself and feeling old. Cute girl and blushing? They should be having a much better day that shouldn't take them into the infirmary.

But since this is Kirkwall and not a happy midafternoon tale, he simply gives Fern a warm smile before taking a seat on a chair next to Chloe. "I don't know if it will help yet, but it might, Fern. You can get it in case if you'd like." Sometimes it helps to have a task.

Now he addresses Chloe. She's a rifter, so this might be the first time she's come across a magical healer. "I'm a healer. I'm going to send Creation magic into you to see if I can diagnose what's wrong. It'll feel warm." He holds up a hand and it begins to glow green. "Are you ready?"

Chloe's all but beaming at the blush, her lip between her teeth as she grins. If she's gotta be stuck in a place she's pretty sure is some equivalent to hell feeling like she's gonna die for the umpteenth time, she may as well be able to flirt in the meantime. It's got her proud enough of herself that she almost didn't hear Anders.

She didn't, actually, hear him much at all, but the glowing green hand is enough to get her attention, her eyes widening a fraction because that's all definitely still new even for her. "Whoa." Don't mind her while she reaches out to try and poke his finger. "That's a lot cooler than a stethoscope. Hit me up."

... That was probably an ok.

With another shy look at Chloe and her insufferably charming grin, Fern backs up out of the infirmary and then darts off back to the herb garden. She hastily grabs all the dried valerian root she can find, the sachets of it that have already been blended into a tea. With a basket full of the stuff, as well as some soothing bits of dried lavender and other herbs that just plain smell nice, she comes trotting back over to the infirmary and, lightly knocking to announce herself, peeks back in.

She doesn't want to interrupt Anders at his work, but has to admit some wide-eyed curiosity for how the process works.

He snorts as she pokes at his finger. That is definitely not the usual reaction he gets from patients, but it's yet another reason why he appreciates having the Rifters around. They're all different.

"You'll have to tell me what a stethoscope is," he says as he casts. While he has a feeling of what to look for thanks to what's been spreading around, it still takes him several minutes to confirm it, enough time for there to be a quiet knock and Fern's return.

Anders straightens, dropping his hand down to his knee as the glow goes out. "You've got what we're seeing in a lot of Rifters, Chloe. On the positive side, you're not dying. On the less positive side, we do not yet have a cure. Rest is all I can prescribe." He glances back at Fern. They're friends; she can at least reinforce the sleep thing with what she's brought, hopefully.

"A torture device masquerading as a medical instrument," she says with only the slightest hint that she's being sarcastic in her voice. She doesn't really know how to describe any of the things from her home, having never been the best wordsmith in the world. It's weird to feel the warmth and see the glowing light rather than feel the cool metal or have someone poking around at her throat and ears, wondering how it all works, how it actually gets him any answers.

Magic was so much more confusing than science.

We do not yet have a cure was the only thing that made her deflate a little, head falling back as she let out a loud, somewhat obnoxious groan. "Great. Perfect. Rifters Disease. Like people don't already think I'm a big enough problem." Even if she hasn't learned much, she's learned that people aren't particularly fond of just how different she looks or the whole Not Being From This World thing so far. She didn't exactly have the luxury of blending in.

Still mindful not to interrupt, Fern crosses over to the little stove (or what passes for one) in the infirmary to put the kettle on to boil. The assistance of magic means the process doesn't take that long, and so within a few minutes, she's able to pour a cup of the valerian root (with mint and chamomile for flavour) into a mug for Chloe.

"Here," she says, offering the mug out. With an apologetic little smile, she adds, "I know I said I'd make you a hot toddy, but maybe have this first."

Then, in a moment of pure brilliance while she hunts for something else helpful to say, she notes with a little sigh, "I like your hair." And promptly squeezes her eyes shut. Smooth.

He works, very hard, to try to hide his smile. Thankfully Fern's eyes are closed so he has some time to compose himself again as he looks at Chloe.

"Not everyone here thinks you're a problem. Obviously Fern does not, and I do not either." Anders gets to his feet, stretching a little. It's time to let the young people be. "I'm going to be next door, come over if you need me for anything at all. In the meantime, the herbs should help you rest, Chloe."

With a glance and nod at Fern, both of which are far more composed than he was a few seconds ago, Anders is heading for the door.

The compliment had clearly thrown her a bit, eyes widening a fraction for a moment, before she cleared her throat. It was nice to hear someone say she wasn't a problem; it had been a while. Even before here, really. Swallowing slightly, she gave a nod. "Thanks, D-- ...Uh - Anders." That was what Fern had called him, right? She thinks. It's still a little fuzzy.

Once he had headed for the door, she let her feet kick a little bit again, taking the mug from Fern and staring at the liquid for a moment. She's never been the biggest tea fan, but if it'll get her to sleep, she'll be more than happy to gulp it down. She waits, though, maybe not wanting to sleep just yet.

"... Thanks. For the tea. And the compliment." She had never felt self-conscious about her hair at home, but with the looks she's gotten, it's been hard to not wonder if she ought to cover it up. "I can pay you back for all this once I figure out how to, you know, do shit that's useful in this place."

Blushing fiercely, Fern looks after Anders with an almost desperate 'wait, don't go, don't leave me alone with the pretty shem,' but it's too late, he's gone. And now they're alone.

...which is not an entirely unwelcome turn of events, but it still leaves her standing still and fidgeting shyly while trying to figure out what to say. Thankfully, Chloe saves her the trouble with, "I can pay you back for all this..."

"Oh! No, please don't," Fern says hastily. She reaches out to take hold of the back of a chair and tugs it over towards the bed, then perches herself on it with her hands left to twist and fidget in her lap instead. She regards Chloe with expressive blue eyes (they're quite big, and reflect the light in the darkness a bit due to, you know, being an elf and all that), but her smile is familiar enough. "We all, you know," a vague hand gesture, "take care of each other, around here. Or we ought to, anyway."

After a pause, she looks down to one of her gloved hands and tugs it off. "I've got one too, actually," she admits, revealing the anchor mark in her palm. Then, to clarify, she adds, "I'm not a rifter, but... I was near to a rift, one time. This came out of it and hit me in the hand."

Edited 2018-01-25 21:27 (UTC)

Take care of each other. The words make a lump form in her throat that she's not quite able to swallow back, staring back at the tea again just to have something else to focus on for a moment. A lot of the people she'd talked to so far had said similar things; 'we have to help one another', 'I'm just in a position to help and you look like you need it.' The whole lack of expectation in return is just a little too foreign to her still, always waiting for the other shoe to drop or the catch to show itself no matter how much people try and say it's not there.

She doesn't know how to respond to it so instead she takes her first sip of the tea, pulling a slight face as she does so. Still hot. That was a mistake. She coughs slightly when she lowers the mug, just in time to see her tug off her glove and show her the mark in her hand. The one that looks just like Chloe's, even though she's not a rifter.

"That blows," she says as she glances down at her own palm, looking at the area where the shard had burrowed its way into her skin. She flexes her hand slightly, before rubbing it against the fabric of her jeans like it might make the mark go away, like it's just made from a pen or paint. "Those rift things seem like they're a real pain in the ass. I've never seen anything like 'em before and I've seen some real crazy shit in my life. Especially recently."

Fern doesn't have to know exactly what 'that blows' mean to understand the sentiment, and she smiles a little crookedly, a little wryly, a little, 'yes, it definitely does.' She looks at the dull green glow in her hand for a few more moments, before a pained flinch makes its way across her face, and she pulls her glove back on.

(If it had been in Sina's hand, her mind treacherously reminds her, perhaps things might be different now--)

"What sorts of things?" she asks Chloe, taking a breath, and decides to focus on the girl before her, instead of on memories of one now laid to rest in the earth. A pause, before she smiles sheepishly, threads a bit of hair behind one pointed ear. "Besides what you saw while coming out of the rift, I mean. I can't imagine what that must have been like."

bullet with butterfly wings

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)