faderift | bullet with butterfly wings

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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."

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The first thought she has is how badly she could use a cigarette right now. Her hand picks at a loose string in her pants as she considers whether or not to actually tell her about anything. She knows there are parts to keep to herself, things she doesn't want to face, but when she's had to keep the entire adventure and all the developments along the way mostly to herself, it's hard to not be tempted.

There's a small sigh, though she's not sure if it's a resigned one or a tired one thanks to the tea, and a small shrug of her shoulders. There's something about the smile she gave, about the way she looked at her, that made her feel like she could at least try.

She still doesn't manage to look her in the eyes, just in case she sees her look turn to one of disbelief instead. "My uh... My best friend kind of - developed these weird powers? About a week ago. Or well, a week before I got here. They're limited, but she can, y'know..." No, she doesn't, that's the point, Chloe. Spit it out. "Rewind time? Usually just short bursts of it, maybe back like thirty minutes or so at a time, but if she has a picture of an event, she could jump back to that specific moment, too, no matter how many years ago it was." She picked a little harder at that string. "It's pretty cool, but it has side effects we weren't really expecting, I guess. We were dealing with the fallout right before I ended up in this place."

Fern listens. It's clear from her expressive face--how her brows knit a little, her lips purse, her head tilts--that she doesn't quite understand all of what she's hearing, but there's nothing approaching skepticism or disbelief in her features. "So, she uses time travel magic with... a picture?" she ventures at one point, as though this is something she's struggling with in particular. She mimes something like a locket that someone might wear around one's neck--definitely not the polaroid that Chloe likely envisioned. "Like, a painted portrait?"

It's clear from the rest, at least, that there was so much left to be done, so much left unresolved, when Chloe was pulled from her world and into Thedas. That's a parallel that makes Fern's heart clench. She fidgets her fingers together in her lap in lieu of reaching out a comforting hand--though she wants to. "...well, I don't think you're crazy," she volunteers at length with what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

"Uh... yeah. Kinda like that." She wasn't sure she could explain it any better. She wondered if Prompto really had a camera here like she'd heard; maybe she would be able to show Fern what an actual photo looked like if he did. "But that's only if she wants to go way far back. Otherwise she just kinda sticks out her hand like this -" She put her hand up, fingers spread wide like she was trying to reach for something too far away, "and she can just... pull back the last few moments."

It sounded weird to say it all out loud. Maybe she was just crazy. She rubs her forehead, going to finish off the last sips of tea in the mug. "That makes one of us, at least."

The empty teacup might be the only problem that Chloe has to contend with that Fern can, in any way, solve. She wordlessly offers out a hand to take it back from her, motioning to the tea kettle as though to offer her a bit more, if she wants it. But regardless of whether more tea is the answer, her curiosity has been piqued by this peculiar magic, which is nothing she's ever heard of here before in Thedas.

"What was she going back in time for?" she asks innocuously, unable to know the full import of what she's asking.

She handed over the mug pretty quickly, giving a nod of thanks at the idea of more tea. Even if it wasn't her usual drink, it was definitely making her feel a little less gross, which was about all she could ask for. If one cup could do that, maybe two really would knock her out. That sounded too good to be true, but she was willing to try.

The question makes her stiffen, though. The look that crosses her face is probably more of a give away to that being one of the messy things she has waiting for her to deal with back home. Her hand lifts to rub the back of her neck, the guilt that all of this had been because of her still eating away at her inside, still remembering her last speech to Max as clear as day.

"She was protecting me." An understatement, but it worked.

"She was protecting me."

Fern doesn't answer at first. It's easier, for the moment, to pour the tea, to hold the sieve so that none of the chamomile or valerian root end up in the cup, to keep her eyes on her task. When the cup is full, she carries it back over to Chloe, perches in front of her on the edge of her chair, and offers the drink out without meeting her eyes.

This is a vulnerable moment. She's learning--slowly--about how to manage those.

"She sounds like a very good friend, to use her magic to protect you," she ventures hesitantly a moment later. The smile she offers is as much sympathetic as it is understanding; she knows what it means, very well, to miss someone who is gone.

Chloe went to take the mug from her when she offered it, staring at the tea, wondering if she ought to wait for it to cool or just down it while it was burning and appreciate the pain that would come from it. She settles on blowing on it, taking a sip, testing to see just how bad an idea that actually is. (It was very bad, holy shit her tongue felt like it was gonna blister.) She's pretty sure that whatever is in the tea is actually helping, the heaviness she's feeling as the exhaustion slowly hits her enough to keep her more open than she would normally be.

Which is saying something, seeing as she hasn't said much at all in the long run.

"Yeah." She scrunches her mouth a little, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice, though it still shakes slightly. Thinking about Max is hard; she misses her and she worries for her (and the town) more than she cares to admit. "She's... the best friend a girl could ask for." Even when she disappears, she more than makes up for it when she returns. Leave it to Max to redeem herself so greatly.

Chloe clears her throat, going to take another long sip from the mug, not caring about the way it sets her chest on fire as it goes down. It's a good natural break in the conversation and maybe it'll cover up the way her voice wants to crack when she speaks. "Fuck, sorry. I don't wanna get all Debbie Downer on you."

"No," Fern says softly but immediately, giving her head a quick shake, and without thinking reaches out a hand to touch Chloe's forearm. "Please, don't apologize, you've been through such an awful thing--"

Oh. Yes. Touching is a bit familiar, isn't it? Immediately, she draws her hands back and fidgets them together, looking both sheepish and apologetic, but struggles to keep the topic where it ought to be: on Chloe, and her loss. Yet she doesn't know how to fill the silence that follows with anything other than a quiet, but sincerely offered, "I'm so sorry, about your friend." That she may never see her again.

She doesn't mean to stiffen when she feels the hand on her arm, not even fully relaxing once it's drawn away. Unexpected touch was harder to process, overwhelming sometimes, but she knew she was supposed to appreciate the comfort. Did appreciate the comfort, even if she hadn't looked it.

The way she fidgets, though, makes her forehead crease, gets her to relax slightly as she wonders why it would be hard for her when she initiated, but -- well. She barely knows her. It'd probably be rude to ask.

"It's whatever." It wasn't the first time she'd lost Max unexpectedly, after all. She was used to being left at this point. Maybe just not used to doing the leaving. "This tea really helps."

"Does it?" she asks earnestly--earnest the way one can be when trying to cover up one's awkwardness, because it's clear she made Chloe uncomfortable, and oh, how she regrets that, "I'm glad--oh, I should probably let you rest, shouldn't I?"

She starts to her feet and turns to take hold of the chair she'd perched on and return it to its proper place. When she turns to look back at Chloe again, it's with a little smile. "I can leave the rest of it here for you, if you like." The tea, she means, since she holds up the sachet for her to see, then sets it down atop one of the dressers. "You'll only need a teaspoon of it to feel drowsy."

Let her rest. She rubs the back of her neck, nodding as she looks at the tea sachet, her forehead creased in thought, like she's just taking in the information. There's a part of her that wants to ask her to stay until she falls asleep, the part of her that's scared of the nightmares she knows are probably coming, but not wanting to admit to it. She just keeps to the nod, figuring that she's right - she should get rest.

She needs it.

"A teaspoon. Got it." There's a yawn, though if it's real or not is kind of up in the air, and she pushes her legs up onto the bed. "I owe ya one."

"No, you don't," Fern assures her with another little smile, before she looks away. This is definitely her cue to leave, and loitering now just because of a silly, instantaneous crush won't help either of them.

She leaves the tea sachets where Chloe can reach them easily, peers at her one more time. "Good night, Chloe," she says, smiles one more time, then slips quietly out of the infirmary.

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bullet with butterfly wings

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