faderift | now the world is only white noise

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now the world is only white noise

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.

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And Chloe sounds like she's heard this kind of shit before. Poor girl. "So she's a hipster photog. Don't mean it disrespectfully!" he quickly adds, holding his hands up. "Seen some great shots from 'em. And I mean, I do selfies and photos of people, too. I'm not all landscape and nature-y." What Chloe's relaying to him (because it kind of feels like he's having a discussion with this friend of hers with Chloe as a communication medium), he's heard before. And it's all valid. "You lose the work put into the dark room when you develop. Yeah, I get it. Feels more like you accomplish something when you do it that way, rather than just snap something on a digital."

"No, you hit the nail on the head, dude," she says with some amusement, standing back to stare at the portrait she's made, face falling for a moment. The amount to which she misses her best friend, worries for her, wonders if she'll ever see her again -- There's a sigh, one mixed with all those complex emotions inside of her. "She's as hipster as they come." Which was saying something coming from an artist with blue hair and a dirty punk rock shirt she kept washing instead of trying to find clothes that would actually help her to blend in.

"They seem drawn to photography." He wonders what that says about him, honestly. But hey, at least they bring a new kind of artistry to the craft, even if they can be insufferable at times. "So does she do it as a hobby or does she want to be a photog for realsies?"

There's a smile on her face, a point of her finger at the word realsies. "She's legit. Dreamed of being a photographer since we were kids. You know, when we weren't pretending to be pirates or whatever. She's going to school for it." Or was. She guesses. The smile falters and she throws her brush back into the paint, rubbing her hand over her face. "She'll probably make it big eventually."

Prompto lets out a low whistle. "So she's going for it. Hard to break into, but hey, I hope she makes it, too." Artistic careers are always hard to make it in, even in Eos. "Probably beats being a pirate, anyway. Though maybe less fun."

"Yeah... She bailed on the pirate thing ages ago, so she'd be way too out of practice to be a good one anymore anyway." Bailed on pirates, bailed on her - at least she'd made up for it so her voice didn't sound as bitter as it would have before. Her fingers play with the rim of the cup she'd mixed the paint in almost absentmindedly as she stares at the portrait, before she forces herself to turn away from it, looking over to him instead.

"So what about you? Hobby or for realsies?"

There's something there in her words, something that sounds almost like longing. Or maybe pain. For now, it remains a mystery. They're not tight enough for him to ask about that.

"Well, I wanted to do it for realsies. Maybe in time, if things turn around back home."

"Turn around?" Chloe couldn't help but give a snort, even if it lacked amusement. "Your home gone to shit too? Just a guess. Seems to be a theme around here." From the all of maybe two rifters she's gotten to know while here. That's... totally a good sample size.

More than sufficient sample size! "Uh... yeah, to put it lightly. Home got conquered by empire, we're trying to stop it, lot... of bad stuff happened." Insomnia. Altissia. The train... "But, once my buddy gets to the Crystal and does his thing, it'll be over." Too bad it's not going to be quite that simple.

"That blows." Very eloquent, Chloe, per usual. She doesn't know whether or not this whole Crystal thing is as easy as it sounds, but at least he's got a solution and an end in sight. "Is it tough being away from home with all that shit going on?" Asking for a friend.

Not eloquent, no, but it does sum it up pretty perfectly. "Yeah. Hopefully it won't stay that way." They have a long road ahead. But even what Prompto imagines will be nothing like what they'll wind up facing before it's over. "It's... well, I've been here almost a year now. I worry a lot about it, but I guess I've gotten used to it now."

"Fuck, that's a long time." Each person who tells her about the length of their stay here seems to be just as long, though, and it makes her stomach churn just thinking about it. She's not sure whether to hope she's here just as long or not. "Is that normal for rifters?"

Now that's a good question. One he, sadly, doesn't have a good answer to. "I'm honestly not sure what's the 'normal' time for rifters. Some stay a few months, and I know of a couple who had been here for a couple of years, and still going." There doesn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to it.

"Great." She frowns deeply at that, that same sort of anger that had been coursing through her most of the day rising to the surface for a moment as she clenched her hand a little tighter around her paint can. "So there's as much of a choice in staying here as there is in being brought here. That's fucked up."

"Sorry to say, but yeah." It's not great, but there's nothing they can do about it right now. Until they figure out the rifts and how they bring people here, there's little recourse. "Someday they'll figure it out." Hopefully...

Someday. She could go home before someday happened. There was a reason she hadn't flipped out too badly waking up and being told she was stuck in a different world. Sure, she missed her friends and her family, but was she even going to get to see them again? There's a pause as she let's it stew in her head, let's the idea of being without a choice sort of settle itself in her thoughts, before she does what any totally well adjusted, not flu-influenced rage person would do:

She tosses the still semi-full paint bucket at the mural she's just made, letting the black paint inside splatter over the portrait of Max and the stupid tornado. This is fine.

Sure, it's unsettling, but Chloe's reaction is quite a bit stronger than Prompto expected. He jumps when the paint can clashes against the wall. That's a lot of anger there; he expects more that kind of a reaction from a rifter who's been here longer and maybe has grown some attachments, not from someone new. "Guess I didn't break that one too gently. I mean, it sucks we don't get a choice, but most... want to go back home."

Strong reactions seemed to be par for the course with her these days, but even she felt a pang of embarrassment on getting as angry about it as she was. She ran her hands over her face as he mentioned it sucks, scoffing somewhat at the rest of the statement as her arms fell back to her sides. "Good for them."

"...but not you, huh." Prompto can... kind of understand that. Really, he can. As much as he misses his friends, given the shitstorm that's his world and everything he's built for himself here, he's not looking forward to being yanked away suddenly. "I'm sorry, Chloe."

"Yeah." Sorry was one of those words she'd heard too much in her life for it to mean much anything. "Whatever."

She pulled her eyes away from the mess she'd left on the wall to turn back to him. "Thanks for keeping an eye out. Guess I'm done."

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