faderift | i'll face my fears even if it damn kills me

WHO: Abby & OPEN
WHAT: Coming through the rift. Making a real splash
WHEN: Both arrival and within the first week of her quarantine
WHERE: Kirkwall (specifically The Waking Sea); The Gallows
NOTES: Swear words galore, mentions of past injuries

arrival.

Tonight Abby's lucid enough to realise she's in her usual nightmare but not enough to stop it from happening, which is both depressing and boring. The hallway is endless even though she knows that it isn't, and she walks down it with her gun in her hands and her heart in her throat. The alarm is so loud she can barely think over the top of it.

The door at the end doesn't reveal a body on the floor. Abby, familiar with the routine, screams like she's seen one anyway even as she takes a step through and falls forward, out into empty, white space. She's still processing the shift when she hits the churning waves of The Waking Sea with an extra yelp, spun around underneath the tide until she barely knows which way is up.

If you're down at the shore you've got the absolute privilege of seeing her dredge up from the water like a drowned rat, shivering and bewildered.

She hasn't even noticed the rage demon looming up behind her as she staggers up onto shore. Still trying to get her bearings. Still half-convinced she's dreaming.

quarantine; week one.

The Gallows are like something out of a book she's read, Gothic and strange and thrilling. The buildings inside of it draw her eye; the Smithy, in particular, where Abby can be found watching curiously as workers hammer out hot metal and shape it into tools, and weapons. She's feeling the uselessness of her 'gun' but she's kept it anyway, perhaps out of habit, strapped to the side of her leg. It's just to feel something, okay, any measure of normalcy in a world where she's found herself kept in a fortress and wearing some kind of loose, cloth shirt and plain trousers held together by drawstring rather than zipper, so. Don't point it out.

The apothecary reminds her of The Once and Future King, comfortably smoky, sweet-smelling, and filled to the fucking brim with little bottles of... stuff, and things. Abby's most intrigued by the potions, though ultimately belligerent with the shop owner when she finds out she can't just. Y'know, have it.

Yeah yeah she's heard about the 'economy'. She doesn't have enough coin for the bottle she's interested in, but that shouldn't matter because-

"I'm supposed to be going out and fighting for you, but you're not going to give me any first aid? What the fuck do I do if something cuts me down out there? Slap a leaf on it?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'd recommend getting friendly with our resident healers," John cuts in smoothly, one hand coming down on the counter. His smile skips from Abby to the disgruntled shop keep, whose whiskers twitch in unimpressed acknowledgement. "Though I've heard certain leaves can be useful in a pinch."

In spite of everything, all that is presently weighing on him, John's manner is still easy, tone light and friendly. The strain of missing partners and impending fiascos on the war front don't reach the surface, or influence his expression.

"Can I be of assistance?" is a question split between both shop keep and Abby, though his eyes have flicked down to her hands, then back up to her face, attention on her rather than the shop owner.

Abby knows what he's looking for and tightens her right hand into a fist on top of the counter to make it easier for him, pointedly ignoring the way the green glow shows through the undersides of her tendons. She doesn't like being reminded that it's there, fizzing away in the center of her palm.

The shop owner is looking too. Abby hands them back the potion with little grace, busying their hands abruptly.

"Yeah. You could tell me who works in medical around here." Why the fuck does everybody in this place talk like a Scar. "Same group that treated me when I came in?"

"Yes, I would assume so."

One hand dips into the pocket of his coat, fishing out a little pouch. He tips his head towards the shopkeep, nodding slightly.

"I've always been partial to Isaac, though I think he's relocated to the Research offices officially," John continues, easy as the shopkeeper returns Abby's selection to the counter, turns to select a few bottles from the shelves behind her. "But we've a good amount of healers. There's even one who isn't a mage, if you'd rather. Ask for Sidony. She's very capable."

Is this a Rifter familiar with magic, or a Rifter liable to flinch away from mages? The answer will likely present itself fairly quickly.

Abby, who has been using up most of her patience on this new setting and everything that comes with it, rolls her eyes at the mention of Isaac. Why bother to bring him up at all if he's been 'relocated to the Research offices officially'... idiot...

'A good amount of healers' isn't helpful either, but the name is.

"Sidony," she repeats, shifting her weight as he reaches out to a shelf behind her. It isn't a case of flinching from magic, but rather a desperate reach for something halfway to normal, "Right. Thanks, I'll ask for her.

Do I have to go and see somebody every time I need something? Wouldn't it be easier to give us all our own supplies?"

The eyeroll isn't unnoticed, but it is unremarked upon. There is a reason it is Isaac whose name John said first, and Sidony second.

"Depends on what supplies you're asking after. We have an armory, and we have the infirmary, but Riftwatch is not the most prosperous organization in operation."

An understatement. Probably not so difficult to assume that Riftwatch makes due with what they have, and stretch that as far as it will go.

"If you need something in a hurry, anyone in the infirmary would offer you some of their stores, but..."

A wave of the hand, as the shopkeep sets down an assortment of bottles. John doesn't care to roll out the exact ways in which Riftwatch needs more of everything, the endless scramble to attract or acquire funds. Especially not in front of someone outside of Riftwatch.

"And of course, we enjoy patronizing the shops of the city that's been so kind to host us. Right, Bryn?"

Nodding, Bryn slides Abby's bottles a little away from John's, separating out their respective orders.

"I can scavenge if I have to," Abby supplies, with a shrug of her shoulder. She's well-versed in pulling something together out of almost nothing at the last minute, but: "I have no idea how to make something like this, though."

Back to looking at the potion, in her hand. Like, what are the odds of finding half a bottle of rubbing alcohol left on its side in an empty cupboard around here... they don't seem especially high.

She's mollified almost immediately by his offer to get her something, even reaching out to push a couple of bottles away from her own side of the stash with her fingertips. "Just– I don't need a lot," she explains, suddenly awkward, "I was curious. We don't have these back home."

"Elfroot," John advises. "I assume you don't have a plant like that where you come from?"

The nudge of bottles is stalled with a shake of John's head.

"I don't know the particulars. Outside my expertise," he admits. "But you'll find them very useful. They won't sort out the worst of an injury, but they'll hold you together until you come across someone who can manage to repair the damage enough to keep you on your feet."

And, as John turns from the counter, nodding at her in a sing to claim her wares, he tells her, "And I find myself doing less and less fieldwork these days. So between us, I can assume you'll make better use of them."

"We might." The Scars knew a lot about the natural world, much more than Abby's own faction did. Abby has been learning that from Lev during their travels together; he navigates by stars, for example, and he knows how to preserve food correctly, and if there was a plant back home that could, by some extract, cure wounds, he probably knew about that too. Fuck, she misses him. Weird not having him here.

After a beat, she scoops the little collection of bottles into her hands. Even if they're not a cure-all, it's good to know that she has them. It will help her feel safer. More prepared.

"Thanks," she grunts, and tucks a few into her pocket, rubbing her thumb over the label of another, "Appreciate it. I– haven't actually got any assignments, yet. Only got here a few days ago."

"There'll be plenty to do, once you're finished with your quarantine."

This would be true, even if the Tevinter army wasn't actively pushing south. But with so many of their number attempting to stave off the impossible, there was still the usual business of Riftwatch to be dealt with.

"Forces, I assume?" feels like a safe bet. Even if she hasn't chosen any particular Division yet, John has a sense that she'll land in Forces once all is said and done.

"Good." She doesn't want to languish around waiting for things to happen to her, Abby wants shit to do. A list, even, of tasks that she can put her mind to just to take it off of how helpless being stuck here makes her feel.

"Forces," she echoes, raising an eyebrow. "What gave it away?" It's a bad joke, she knows what she looks like, and that she probably wouldn't be of help working for any other division.

"Research division sounds interesting, though."

"If you're interested, I think you could withstand the enthusiasm of the Research Division."

Is John speaking solely of Wysteria Poppell? Who can say.

"Their members do have a tendency to be found poking at the nearest danger and then observing the effects from safe distance, as I understand it."

"Yeah? Might check it out."

If only to try and do something different. It would sound strange to say it out loud to anybody, let alone somebody she's only just met, but she's been wondering what it might be like to... stop, while she's here. She could focus her efforts elsewhere, instead of solely on violence, and killing to get ahead.

Maybe research could be that, but Abby's not too sure of that yet. Her hands don't know how to be anything other than brutal.

"Are you allowed to change? Or is it a one and done kind of thing."

i'll face my fears even if it damn kills me

apothecary.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject