now the world is only white noise

[tagartist]

WHO: Chloe Price and yoooooooou
WHAT: Chloe's suffering from some exaggerated anger & stubbornness, looks a bit blue, and doesn't particularly cared for being forgotten. Alternative title: Graffiti The Shit Out Of Things
WHEN: During Phase II - IV
WHERE: The Gallows because lol where else
NOTES: idk like... swearing and stuff is pretty norm for her, some mentions of previous abandonment issues/parental death.


[ A ] i'll set fire to this whole place (phase ii)

Chloe wasn't unfamiliar with people suddenly gaining abilities, exactly; between the freaky shit that happened with Rachel that could or could not have been some kind of weirdly elemental driven bullshit, and then Max literally getting the ability to rewind time out of nowhere, it was becoming kind of a Thing in her life. What she wasn't used to, though, was being the one to have them.

Specifically, she wasn't used to being the one to accidentally set shit on fire without meaning to, and it was freaking her out more than just a little. She wanted it to go away because what if she accidentally burned down Kirkwall? It's not like she hadn't seen fires start and get out of control before. It was gonna be her fault and she was gonna get in way more trouble than she ever had before and shit, shit, shit --

In her panic, she'd accidentally set some of the papers she'd been trying to sketch on aflame, making her groan and quickly try and put out. "When's this gonna stop?"

[ B ] i don't even care about my house (phase iii)

She was more than relieved when it finally went away. More than ready to no longer have to put up with smelling like smoke and hoping that she didn't actually burn someone just because she got too flustered. It felt like maybe she'd get a break, a respite from what felt like non-stop symptoms since the moment she'd gotten here, except that her skin never stopped being blue and she was getting pretty sick of it at that point. She'd started cracking jokes about trying to match her hair just to make herself feel a little better.

It didn't seem like anything weird was happening, but the longer her skin remained that awful color, the more angry she got about it. The hotter her temper flared, the more agitated she became at the idea of not finding a cure. The crystals saying that it could lead to death certainly weren't helping anything and she found herself wanting to reply asking if announcing that kind of severity was a normal thing for the healthcare providers in Thedas, despite the reality of mass panic and --

Whatever.

What did she care?

She continued to try and preoccupy herself with drawing. She could be found in various places around the Gallows, trying to get some semblance of freedom despite the quarantine by not staying in her room, charcoal in hand, paper in front of her, and looking... well, probably anything but approachable, given the tension that radiated off of her and the scowl on her face. Anyone who wanted to approach probably did so at their own peril.

[ C ] don't know how i'll ever break this curse (phase iii)

The agitation was not helped by people forgetting about Rifters. She didn't have a lot of people she was close to here, exactly, but there were at least one or two people who should have recognized her face and regardless, people had been fairly consistent about at least acknowledging the existence of Rifters, good or bad.

Being ignored was something that made her stomach churn. Memories of Max abandoning her, fear of her mother forgetting about her like she seemed to have forgotten about her dead husband, an entire school pretending she was mute so they didn't have to talk to her.

So Chloe was doing the only thing she knew how when it came to coping with her anger; destructive behavior. Not drinking, this time - no, it was more destruction of other stuff, primarily in the form of graffiti where she could manage to actually partake in it. It hadn't taken much to mix together a bit of black paint, using her fingers as a brush. A general 'fuck this place' sort of attitude having overcome her as she filled blank walls with sometimes not the most friendly of images or words. Probably easy enough to wash off since she hadn't exactly found a decent binder in this place, but someone really ought to stop her before she did too much and got herself in trouble.

Or maybe they could catch her and get in her trouble regardless. It would be her luck.

Comments

[C]

[nadasharillen]

Despite not being as unnaturally agitated as the affected, Nahariel had come by her own claustrophobia as the sickness raged on. All running, no sleep, no way to escape the walls of Kirkwall for the trees of the Planasene, or even the small sanctuary of Andraste's Grove in Hightown. So, when she passed by a section of those walls adorned by Chloe's artistic rage, she had only a moment of pause before her own frustration sent her rummaging into her pouch for a chunk of charcoal, hoping whoever the artist was didn't mind collaboration.

Birds got filled with forest, other animals stylized and poised to take flight. Words surrounded in licking flames, tight strangling vines. Illustrations of gestures she didn't understand--but could guess at the meaning of, given the context--sharp lines and angles for emphasis. Eventually the elf turned a corner, spotted Chloe continuing to smear paint across everything, and stopped. Rubbed her cheek embarassedly, left a dark smudge.

"Oh. Uh--"

[tagartist]

Chloe had startled when she saw another person come around the corner, almost going to drop her brush when she noticed the charcoal. The smudge that came from touching her face. Huh. Her brow raised for a moment and she stayed silent as she went to sort of... walk towards where she came from, going past her so she could peer around and see what she'd been doing.

Despite the foul mood she might have been in, seeing someone else's work tagged with her own made her lips twitch in the first smile she'd had in days.

She turned back towards the other girl, giving an approving nod. "Nice work."

[nadasharillen]

A small quirked smile, slightly bashful at being caught. "You too," Nari says, ruffling her hair and managing to get a second smudge on her face. "I like your birds. They're... free."

And we're not.

[tagartist]

There's a half-amused, half-bitter snort, her hands fiddling with the brush in her hand. "About the only thing in this damn place that is," she said with a shrug. She went to move back towards her paint, picking it up off the ground.

"Feel free to keep up if you want. The walls in this place need the improvement."

[nadasharillen]

The Rifter girl is obviously not in the mood for conversation. That said, art is its own conversation, and Nahariel is fond of silence, so she just nods and adjust her grip on the stub of charcoal she has left. She'll trail behind Chloe until it runs out, adding softer embellishments that contrast with the strong simple lines of Chloe's work.

Maybe one or two of her own small birds.

[tagartist]

Talking definitely hadn't been high on her list of activities when she'd first started drawing. But even in her most agitated of moods, Chloe could never stay silent in the presence of other people for long. Maybe after two years of not talking to anyone , she had grown sick of the whole silence thing.

She had been adding in a rather large drawing of the pride demon she'd first seen on arrival when she finally broke the quiet; "So is this kind of shit the norm around here? Crazy magical illnesses and whatever?"

[nadasharillen]

The scratch of charcoal on stone stops for a moment, and then starts up again. Studiously. "Kind of," Nari says. Her voice is careful, like she's handling something she knows might break. "I was with my Clan until the Breach opened--don't know what it was like out here before that any more than you would--but since the Breach and the Rifts, there's been plenty of strange shit happening."

Feels nice to swear about it.

"You've got both of the ones I know about," she says, acknowledgement of how much that rots in her voice. Nari leans her shoulder against the wall and crosses her arms, watches as the Pride demon appears, massive and brutal in broad strokes of black. "Welcome to Thedas, right?"

A

[untiltheyarent]

Fifi has had the same memory trouble with the rifters as everyone else, but it's hard to miss a fire. She catches it out of the corner of her eye, and hurries over with a hissed "merde" to stifle it with a dusty blanket that had been lying nearby. Luckily, the fire was small enough that this is enough, but the source of it-- wait--
she turns to see a girl there, and blinks at her with what becomes a smile.

"My apologies, messere," she says gently, "I hope I did not disturb you."

[tagartist]

She was grateful for the help, if not slightly embarrassed, and she rubs the back of her neck awkwardly as she watches the other woman manage to snuff out the flames. She went to bend down and move the blanket to the side so she could see if there was any way to salvage the sketches but -- no. No, they're gone.

A groan.

"Pretty sure I should be saying that to you, shouldn't I? You're not the one who went all sudden arsonist."

[untiltheyarent]

Fifi's smile is pleasant enough, and she does certainly appreciate the consideration. Seeing that the strange girl's hand has a glow in it, despite being a human it's safe to say she's not from around here.
"It's all right," Fifi replies, "strange things are afoot, it seems. Not your fault, perhaps."

[tagartist]

"I dunno." She shoved the burnt up papers into her bag, figuring that if nothing else she might be able to use the scraps later. "I mean, this shit just keeps happening, I dunno what triggers it. I can barely light a match most of the time."

[untiltheyarent]

"From what I know of it, magic can be like that," Fifi replies, "you are not from Thedas, no? You will adjust. Much better, I'd think, once this terrible illness has passed." Her tone is reassuring, sympathetic to this younger woman. "Do not be too hard on yourself."

[tagartist]

"No. No, definitely not." She wonders if Max had had this issue with her rewind powers at first. They'd gone off just once without her knowledge of them that she knew of, but maybe she'd done bunches of tiny rewinds without ever telling her. "I'm still kinda adjusting to the fact that anyone can light crap on fire without tools. Let alone doing it myself."

C! (sort of)

[wheretheferngrows]

She hadn't meant to forget.

That's what Fern has been telling herself repeatedly since it happened, that it hadn't been intentional. But the result was still the same, wasn't it? She'd still taken one look at Chloe's face while at her work in the herb garden and, for a moment, hadn't known her.

It's been a few days since that happened. When Fern turns up outside Chloe's room with what (she hopes) is a peace offering, she still hesitates a moment before knocking. "Chloe?" she calls out. "It's Fern. ...Can I come in?"

[tagartist]

The moment that Chloe had started to notice that she was fading, she had refused to leave. The whole thing was too much. Being temporarily forgotten in the middle of a conversation was one thing, actually starting to become more like a ghost was entirely another. She may not have felt as agitated as she had days before, but there was a sense of dread at the fact that she could disappear. Which was why she'd just locked herself up. And she hadn't expected anyone to care about it, because why should they?

Hearing Fern's voice was a bit of a surprise because of this ill-thought out conclusion jumping.

She had gone up to try and grab the handle, but her hand went right through it, because of course now would be one of those moments that she couldn't fucking touch anything. "Fucking -- yeah, fine, the door's open."

[wheretheferngrows]

"Fucking -- yeah, fine, the door's open."

"Oh--all right--"

There's a moment where Fern is obviously trying to juggle something between her hands--a bag, containing something--before she grasps the latch and turns it. When she steps into Chloe's room, she's got a cautious sort of smile prepared for her friend, but it fades at the sight of her face. There's something off, something wrong--something more wrong than usual, at any rate.

(And something strange about her appearance, though she can't quite place it, because Chloe isn't actually transparent to her eye. Yet.)

"Sorry," she blurts out, "should I come back later..?"

[tagartist]

She flexed and clenched her hand a few times, even as Fern managed to pull the door open, as though stretching it out would somehow make it work like it's supposed to again. The longest it's lasted thus far is five minutes. She can handle not touching anything for five minutes, right?

And then she sees Fern has a bag and she knows the polite thing to do would be asking her if she wants her to take that and fuck. Of course.

"What?" The question hadn't fully registered, like she'd been too busy focusing on what was in her hands to listen, but the words sunk and she quickly shakes her head immediately after the question. "No - no, it's fine. I'm just... out of sorts. What's up?"

[wheretheferngrows]

That's a clear enough invitation. Fern's small smile strengthens, and she comes further into the room, but rather than hold the bag out to Chloe, she sets it on the nearest available surface and goes rummaging around in it.

"Nothing, really," she assures her, "I just brought something for you. I thought..." She trails off long enough to make a small sound of frustration as whatever it is she's digging for seems to evade her grasping fingers; really, this bag isn't that big, where could it possibly--

"--ah, here." And she withdraws a bit of paper that has been folded up into a square. Unfolding it reveals a rather cartoonish drawing of a blue-haired girl meeting a stubborn-looking mule. (Evidently, if she'd taken any formal art classes, she'd have known not to fold her work up like that.)

Sheepishly, she offers it out to Chloe. "...Since you drew me something already."

[tagartist]

The fact that she'd brought her anything had been touching enough - she was far from used to getting presents. She's not sure how to watch her search without hovering so she stays where she is, arms folded over her torso so she doesn't have to think of what to do with her hands (someday she would learn how to stand still without fidgeting them) and waits until she hears the ah, here.

When she sees the drawing, her first instinct was to tell her how folding ruins the art, but then she actually sees it and there's something of a lump in her throat for a moment for some reason. Maybe it's the exhaustion catching up to her or the emotional turmoil that came with the fear of being forgotten and having something that specifically shows she's not handed out to her, but there's some kind of emotional reaction to a drawing of herself and that cranky animal.

Trying to swallow back those feelings, she went to reach out to take it and --

Her hand goes right through again with an immediate, angry, "Shit." She drags her hands over her face after (at least she can still touch herself, she guesses), frustration evident. "Just -- put on the table or something, I'll hang it later."

C

[crowncitizen]

The loneliness eats at him, dogs his steps, eased only by the fact that at least the other Rifters remembered him and were going through the same issues. Of course, it also sucked because something bad was happening to all of them, this tangential group of people trapped in this place with an illness in them causing them to be forgotten and dying.

Prompto walks through the Gallows - where else can he go now, thanks to the quarantine - and comes across a painted bird on a wall. He stops and looks. Huh, street art. Odd. He takes another few steps, and sees another one. Well then...

He follows the graffiti until he comes across Chloe at least, having at it with paint on her fingers and anger in her movements. Oh boy. "I always thought the place could use some artwork."

[tagartist]

Chloe had jumped a few times to reach the higher parts of the wall, currently in the midst of painting what looked like a giant, spiraling tornado, complete with the bits of darkened areas that were likely supposed to be pieces of debris, when she heard Prompto's voice and -- well, just about jumped out of her own skin at first, because she hadn't been expecting someone.

"Shit, dude," she grumbled, rubbing at her chest for dramatic emphasis, but mostly just managing to smear black paint on her already dirty shirt. She glanced back at the work on the wall, shrugging her shoulders.

"Someone's gotta liven the place up if we're gonna be under lock down."

[crowncitizen]

Whoops, sorry Chloe. He takes a moment to look over her current "piece", noting the tornado and debris (he thinks that's what it's supposed to be. Tornadoes usually kick up enough of it, anyway) before he looks back at her. "Tooootally agree. And it looks great, especially for what you have to work with." He's assuming she didn't go out and buy the expensive kind of paint for this.

"...want me to be look out? Don't think the heads are gonna agree this is a nice touch if they see you."

[tagartist]

"You learn to make due with even the shittiest of supplies sometimes when you're a poor art kid." She had handmade supplies more than once just to get a piece done for school when they wouldn't supply the necessary tools. Maybe it hadn't looked as good as the rest of the paintings, but it was better than nothing.

Glancing towards both ends of the street, Chloe gave a small nod. "Yeah. That'd be cool. Don't need the art critiques throwing me in the brig or whatever it is they do around here."

[crowncitizen]

"Good start for a life as a starving artist?" He rubs the back of his head. "But hey, expensive art supplies tend to be overrated for the most part. Like, high quality paintbrushes and high end digital cameras are nice, but you can always make something great with the inexpensive stuff too."

Prompto nods, walking a few steps to get a better vantage point. Still within earshot, at least. "City has a brig, I know that much. Inquisition... miiiight have a jail? But I think they save that for the really bad people."

[tagartist]

"Mm, my best friend used to say the same thing." She stared up at the tornado again, scrunching her mouth. She moved over just slightly to start with a portrait of Max now that she was on her mind. "She used a polaroid camera because she said digital was just too much for her. That she could get better stuff when she limited herself and didn't rely on the tech. Not that she didn't have a major hard on for literally every type of camera ever but --" She shakes her head. Max was... something.

"I think I'll try and avoid both. I've been in jail enough, it's not really my scene."