blackmagus: (♒ Jazz)
ℬ. ℱᴏʀᴛᴇsᴄᴜᴇ ([personal profile] blackmagus) wrote in [community profile] kore_logs2013-06-05 03:09 pm

If you don't stop, you'll lose control

Who: Fortescue, and you (open)
Where: The bar.
When: Day 78, late morning/early afternoon.
What: Fortescue stops holing herself up in her room and decides to go to the bar to self-medicate her discomforts.



She was cut off from the Planes, and that was the problem. Normally the connection was healed in what felt like a matter of minutes. But when the barrier had split open, it had ruptured the connection to her soul, safely contained within Jazz, and now it was healing, but slowly. At first she had felt normal, as far as being severed from your soul was concerned, but here in the Cape she was cut off from the medication that stopped the later panic attacks and hallucinations. One of her superiors had once, with immense gravity, described it as the little bit of your soul that's left, having a nervous breakdown. She had crawled under her metaphorical rock and had barely come out, Jazz howling up a pained storm. Normally he was knocked out and kept that way, when he had to handle this much time alone with a human soul.

Fortescue didn't like to think of what it could be doing to him. It wouldn't kill him, she knew, or they never would have let her pick him as the carrier of an exanimed soul. But she knew it was painful, both from his cries and from the fact that — as the connection started to heal — she could now feel it. Prolonged pain did funny things to both people and animals. And this was like sitting in a sauna, with a switchblade being, occasionally, stuck straight through the heart.

Whether her Guide or the Planes itself normally healed the connection, she didn't know. But it would be at least another day, at this rate, before she and Jazz would both feel closer to normal.

To that end, Fortescue decided to go drink until she couldn't feel it as much. It was her standard solution to such problems, her tolerance being decidedly average. Imperium had always kept its secret weapon well-stocked, though maybe they had been starting to regret that move. And she needed to get out of the house before she started crawling the walls. Even when curled up in bed, she didn't like it, though possibly that was because of being curled up alone. That was being safe, however, because she knew exactly why her superiors cut her off from Jazz on certain missions. She was more... 'effective', that way. More likely to question instincts that others would consider moral or human. No matter how much she liked to pretend otherwise, she'd been trained to kill and that was what she did for a living. So for a few days, she kept herself away from others and only let herself talk to them over the comms. Or in short bursts.

Now that the tether to her soul seemed more stable, however, she was eager to get out. But sitting up and on a stool, or in a chair, seemed to magnify her discomfort. So late morning and early afternoon found Bethmora Fortescue sitting against one of the bar's walls, near the counter, with a twitching cat in her lap and a bottle of something nameless in her hand, humming something that was closer to a funeral dirge than anything else. It was 3AM somewhere. Probably. Despite the tone of what she was humming, she had a pleasant expression — aside from the occasional twinges of discomfort.

[ooc: For those who can sense such things, her soul residing in her kitty is about 500% more obvious right now. As the connection is still sealing itself.]
bluesrat: (thinky)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-05 11:13 pm (UTC)(link)
The smoke from the forest fire hadn't done Rat any favors, and when his cough had worsened, instead of getting better, he'd holed up in a makeshift lean-to, and for the first time truly regretted not settling himself in one of the houses by now. A day or two of rest seemed to have done him good, though. He might not be up for singing, but he was getting desperate for human contact, and that sent him back to the bar with his guitar slung across his back. It had become a near-daily ritual already, in his short time here, disrupted only by the chaos of the barrier breaking. His own contribution had, in the end, been pretty pointless, and still he was paying for it.

His expression, when he entered, was far more gloomy than the usual friendly smile he put on for everyone. When he stepped in and saw the woman sitting by the wall, it took him a moment to reassemble a look of gentle concern on his face. "...You okay?"
bluesrat: (friendly)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-06 01:04 am (UTC)(link)
He gives her a weak, but sympathetic smile, because she looks about as bad as he feels. The nickname could grow on him, though. Who wouldn't want to be called after a childhood icon?

"Sure. Honestly, you look like you've already got the blues..." He coughs wheezily.
bluesrat: (thinky)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-06 01:23 am (UTC)(link)
He let her ramble herself out, since it was fairly clear she'd been drinking, and Rat knew all too well how that went. "I'm okay. Breathed a lot of smoke..." He ambled over, just a little cautious, watching her as if making sure he wouldn't be invading her personal space. On the one hand, there were more comfortable places to sit than the floor, but on the other hand he was perfectly used to discomfort and she looked like somebody who ought not be left alone.
bluesrat: (profile)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-06 10:31 am (UTC)(link)
Not everyone has clever abilities that let them get out of the way.

Deciding the invitation was implied, Rat unslung the guitar from his back and came to lean on the wall beside her, sliding down to sit. His lungs weren't happy, but he looked relatively unscathed otherwise. It could have been much worse.
"Balthazar rescued me. I might've gotten stuck or lost, otherwise," Again he pauses to cough, "but I'm okay. It's passing. Where... were you, when it all happened?" He'd already asked if she was okay, after all, so it looked like he was going to have to go fishing for the real answer.
bluesrat: (cautious)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-07 12:28 am (UTC)(link)
He watched her as she answered, following her shifts of expression as she searched her shaky memory. Something was clearly deeply amiss here, but Rat lacked the senses to detect exactly what. "You... don't seem quite yourself. are you injured?"

He offered a hand to Jazz, since they'd gotten along so well before.
bluesrat: (thinky)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-07 11:23 am (UTC)(link)
It wasn't until the cat head-butted his hand that he noticed Jazz didn't seem up to snuff, either. His fingers got busy with a good ear-scratching.

"I don't know..." He watched the cat, thinking this out. "I've been learning to believe a lot of fantastic things, since I came here, and more practice can only help. If you'll tell me, I'll listen, and try."
bluesrat: (thinky)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-09 02:11 am (UTC)(link)
For a moment, Rat toyed with the idea of making some joke about soul music, but she was unlikely to understand it so that might only confuse things. Instead, he gave a nod, settling in to petting the cat, and listening. "Yeah, it's the part of us that goes on after life..."
bluesrat: (thinky)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-09 03:47 am (UTC)(link)
For a long moment, Rat was quiet, frowning mildly in thought and focusing his attention on the cat. "I won't discuss it with anyone. But that means... that your soul is still damaged, possibly badly? Won't that catch up to you sooner or later?"
bluesrat: (cautious)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-09 01:35 pm (UTC)(link)
"It's holder?" Rat gives a couple of wheezing coughs, which might slow her answer, but once he's gotten a breath again he has more to say. "I don't know much for certain about souls- I've never been too good at religion, just good enough to know how sad that is. But I do know about people. People are very resilient, but we all have our breaking point, too, and we all need hope. Even if the only hope we've got left is that there might be something better after this life is over." He turns a look of fatherly concern on her. "If you're racking up some kind of... damage that's going to destroy whatever waits for us after, that's going to bleed through into your daily life, sooner or later."
bluesrat: (cautious)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-10 02:03 am (UTC)(link)
While he may not be devout, Rat was raised going to church every Sunday, saying Grace before dinner, and some of the ideas linger in the blues music he's so devoted to. The idea of an entire culture so cavalier about spirituality makes him uneasy, and it may show. "I... see. Can souls heal? Is there anything that can be done to reverse... whatever damage is there?"
bluesrat: (thinky)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-12 01:10 am (UTC)(link)
"There's a lot of..." He's afraid to say strange, because then it would sound as if he's including her in that, which really is the case anyway, but he's afraid she might be offended so he hesitates in search of a better word. "...unusually gifted people here. Maybe you should ask around. You wouldn't have to explain why." He rubs Jazz under the chin, feeling slightly useless. "Somebody here might know some way to fix it."
bluesrat: (thinky)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-14 02:12 am (UTC)(link)
Frowning a little, Rat nods. "Okay, fair enough. That's a damned vulnerable position to put yourself in." He may not understand soul damage, exaniming, or her connection to Jazz, but he does understand not wanting to be vulnerable.

With a sigh, he lets up on petting the cat to pat her shoulder. "Sorry, I guess it's just that you're telling me, and I'm afraid I can't do anything about it."
bluesrat: (profile)

[personal profile] bluesrat 2013-06-17 02:16 am (UTC)(link)
She may be making a joke, but his face is not misleading. He's a trustworthy kind of guy, sometimes at his own expense.

He just gives her a smile, though, and lets her rub shoulders with his. "Honestly, I just came here because I was hoping there'd be somebody else here. I can't sing right now, anyway." His voice is still a little rough from the smoke, and he's not in a hurry to push his lungs. At least avoiding cigarettes is easy enough here, since the supply is limited.

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