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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This is not what Fern expected to discover upon entering the store room just beside the herb garden--and she is so startled by the appearance of someone curled up under a box of reeds that she jumps, letting out a startled squeak in the process, before she realizes, oh, no, there's no danger at all. She's just looking at a... shem. With blue hair.

"I'm--terribly sorry you're feeling so ill," she bursts out instead, worry written all over her face. The elf girl steps into the store room and quickly closes the door behind her so as to prevent the rest of the winter chill from following them inside. She makes short work of lighting a few candles and a lamp--using magic, because she's not ashamed of it, no matter what Finch thinks--then turns to look at Chloe again.

She looks awful young to be a rifter. (But then again, Fern is awful young to be head gardener.)

She comes to crouch down in front of her worriedly. "Hi," she tries again, along with what she hopes is a friendly smile. "Will you tell me what's wrong? I know a healer, we can go see him together, if you like. I'm Fern."

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."

Inessa is a regular visitor to the main library, at least when time permits. After a morning of tending to her main project, the slight elven woman enters and heads toward her usual table. Good, it's unoccupied. She can claim another if need be, but the light there tends to be just what she needs.

"Garahel, wait here."

Her large, muscular canine companion sits on his hind legs while she goes to pick out a few books, though he's soon distracted by the scent of a new person in the area. Heading over, he pauses wherever Chloe's settled in and wags his tail at her, a hopeful look in those large eyes. Friends?

Casimir is many things, among these sturdy. He catches her on his arm and waits, obliging (disinterested) for her balance to right.

They're not far from the workshop now, and the bag tucked under his arm clanks lightly metallic with each step.

"You should sit," He observes, as though from a great distance. "You're going to fall."

If her day hadn't already felt fantastic, this would've been enough to seal the deal. Chloe had been concentrating almost fully on the book she had laid out in the table in front of her (for the moment) and she was flipping through somewhat carelessly when she heard the padded foot steps near her. Stopping by her.

She glanced over, seeing the dog wagging it's tail, looking up, and her eyes visibly lit up. Fuck the book, it's a pupper.

"Hey, buddy." She turned in her chair so she could reach out and let him sniff her hand, before going to try and scratch behind his ears. Best day ever.

Sturdy is good. Sturdy is exactly what she was looking for. It's a good thing she bumped into the right dude, apparently. She tried out standing a little straighter, rather than taking the sage advice offered.

"Pfffft." Very eloquent, it definitely showed off how not drunk she was. "Falling's half the fun. If I fall hard enough, I might even fall asleep." She gives a slight attempt at finger guns, because look at that joke, it's flawless.

Yay, attention! Closing in, Garahel sniffs at the hand and evidently it passes the test, since he licks it and leans in for some quality behind-the-ear scratching with a pleased grunt. He already loves this new person.

Returning to her table, Inessa places down her stack and glances around. "Garahel? Oh--he's not being a pest, is he?" She smiles a little apologetically at the blue-haired girl; even though she doesn't seem to mind, it's still not something Inessa wants to encourage. There's always the risk of him encountering someone who isn't a dog-person, after all.

She's already slid out of her chair and is kneeling on the floor for the best possible petting position. There's a grin and a quick head shake at Inessa's words, continuing to give some nice scratches. "Garahel, huh? What a nice name for a pretty boy like you." She's in love, alright.

She finally looks up though to the owner. "It's like the total opposite, honestly. I love dogs way more than I like most people, so don't even sweat it."

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.

"It's the name of an elven hero of the Grey Wardens. I thought it fitting, considering." Garahel nuzzles his new friend, all wiggly and full of canine love to share. Inessa relaxes and smiles as his ability to win people over happens yet again. "Perhaps he should be permanently installed in the rifter welcoming committee, then?"

As Garahel wags his tail at this idea, she chuckles. "My schedule don't always allow for it, but he tries his best to make everyone feel welcome here."

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.

There are a lot of arrows. Or attempts. Brónach's fletching has gone to shit, hands shaking worse than someone missing their skooma fix but the words are new and—

"You'd need to pay me."

That was always the deal. The Dark Brotherhood, the family, the Night Mother, the Dread Father – no matter what there was at the end of the day about the tenets, about serving Sithis it always meant gold or some trinket in her pocket at the end of the day as well as whatever she looted from a corpse or wherever they were.

Part of her feels cracked open, hollowed out, a fire burning under her skin that has her wanting to check that her shape is still her own because this feels wrong. Drag me to the nearest shrine to let me pray away the sickness, let me purge it from my body wrong but her prayers go unanswered, skin sweat-slick under her armour. "If I had a hawk feather, you could eat that too."

Ah, the sage wisdom of the elf that's now abandoned her pile of arrows once again for some sort of leather stitching. Armour. Or it was. Prior to this. There's no creature with the right configuration of limbs for this thing.

"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.

Elven hero. She grins at that, though it's more of a personal amusement to herself. It reminds her of Steph and Mikey and of Calamastia, the Elven Barbarian that she'd so skillfully used in their table top games. She knows it's not fantasy here, which makes it both a little cooler and a little more terrifying all at once. "I dunno what the Grey Wardens are, but that sounds hella cool," she finally manages to say, going to return the nuzzle against Garahel's coat.

"It's too bad," she said with half-honesty. "I might've been in a much better mood when I got here if I'd had this guy to say hello to. I mean, I still woulda thought this was all some fucked dream, but at least it might've been a little cooler."

There's a groan at the thought of payment; it's not like she has a whole lot of spare valuables on her or any kind of gold to offer up. She's used to everything coming down to money, though, so the look on her face is almost one of more amusement than it was of disappointment. At least something in this place was consistent.

"Damn."

But that's not the most interesting of things she's said. Eat a hawk feather gets a confusing look on her face, her forehead creasing as she tries to figure that out. It's nothing that makes sense to her, just like the majority of things in this place, but she's almost starting to get used to that. Weird shit has been happening to her for two weeks straight between home and here, she's almost thinking it's the way her life is just gonna be now.

"The fuck does that mean? Eat a hawk feather. Who eats feathers?"

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bullet with butterfly wings

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