faderift | 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.

Threaded | Flat

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--"

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."

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?"

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."

[C]

A

C! (sort of)

C