kore_logs | ❆ And the field by the warlike Wanes was trodden...

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❆ And the field by the warlike Wanes was trodden...

Who: Meja, or Fortescue, and perhaps you? (open)
When: Anytime during days 135 - 138.
Where: Deep in the halls of the building.
What: People deal with emotion in very different ways. (Catch-all for both Fortescue and Meja during the bloodlust event. Feel free to bother one or both.)
Warning: Likely mentions of character death and the apocalypse.

Meja—

In the past, anger was a problem that Meja had to deal with on a near-constant basis. Anger at her father, and anger at the entire universe for what happened to her mother. The truth was, anger had won for a while. For a year she'd been lost to it, barely keeping aware of anything beyond where the bar was and where the bed was. But then, finally, she'd been woken up by the death of her father, and from then on she'd kept it in check. It had simply lurked under her skin like a shadow, coming up simply in moments of stress where Meja had had to keep it in check again.

But she'd held it. Until now. Now, she can barely move without wanting to punch someone. It frightens her, simply because she hadn't realized how much her life has become defined by violence. Violence or the lack of it, one as notable as the other.

With her emotions running rampant, her hold on the weather and the area around her is naturally heightened. While she can't summon a storm indoors, her hold on electricity makes the lights flicker constantly and bolts spark by her booted feet. Meja puts her fist through a wall before making the decision to stay out of the way of everyone until this passes, slouching against the wall in an isolated corridor, too many angry memories floating through her mind.

Fortescue—

Something is definitely wrong. It doesn't take a genius to work that out, what with random acts of building damage and the fact that tiptoeing around certain people is suddenly a necessity. For Fortescue, at least. All she feels is miserable, and irritated, because there's nothing she can do. She doesn't even know what's causing the short tempers that are flying around, beyond the building itself. And ending up punched through a wall by a super-being? Not on her list of things she'd liek to do.

Staying in her room, or other isolated spaces, seems the best option on short notice. But every once in a while, she has to come out for food. Or alcohol. That last part is extremely necessary, all of a sudden. Fortescue walks through Shadow on the way there, using her magic to stay out of the vision of the mostly-normal, but she has to walk the normal way back or risk a headache. At least she has a large bottle of... well, something to dull her senses for a while. That's something. Jazz keeps her shoulder for the walk, as she's taken to keeping the black cat warily close.

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Gabriel, who as it turns out is now surrounded by a bunch of pissed-off near-omnipotent family members whose good books he was already very much not in, has adopted a very similar strategy to Fortescue's. He doesn't need to leave his room for supplies at all, which is the main difference - on the other hand, he rather feels he does have to leave it every now and then for the purposes of not getting his ass kicked. He's pretty sure his brothers could find him anywhere in the Science Centre if they wanted, but being predictable makes him antsy nonetheless, so he does take the occasional break to skulk around and see if he can find anyone entertaining.

Admittedly by 'entertaining' he meant some puny human hopped up enough on whatever it is the scientists are giving out to try and start something with him - specifically a Winchester, but he's not picky - but, well, other unaffected people work too. All Gabriel feels is grumpy, and he's not even sure that's because of any kind of scientific experiment, but on seeing Fortescue, he realises that other people won't have been quite so lucky. After all, Gabriel only has to worry about his family - other people have to worry about, well, almost everyone.

"Howdy."

Of course, he's still not entirely sure she isn't about to pull a knife on him or something. It's been difficult to tell so far, what people are going to do. But she doesn't look like a threat, and he's pretty sure that even if she did want him dead she doesn't have the equipment, so he's not worried.

"Nice day for a stroll, huh?"

Holding back on her magic is also for another reason — so that she can use more in an emergency, to evade anyone who wants to attack. Most of Fortescue's styles of combat rely on finishing the fight quickly, and lethally. She doesn't want to do any of that here. They're all prisoners, in theory, and in the same boat, even if some of them are taking the angry pills, so to speak.

Fortescue stops in her tracks when Gabriel greets her, a flash of wariness across her expression. Wondering, likewise, if he's in an enraged mood like half of the building. There are some very powerful creatures in here that she just doesn't want to tangle with. Especially in a less than great mood.

She taps her fingertips against her pilfered bottle of rum and nods, smiling wryly.

"Gorgeous. Clear skies, slight chance of psychopathic rage."

That seems to convince him that she's not about to try to rip off his head, and he visibly relaxes, giving her a much more natural-looking grin. He may not have anything to fear from the majority of the people here, but he'd prefer it all the same if people he likes didn't try to kill him.

"Well, at least it breaks up the monotony a bit. Certainly livens things up." It's surprising, really, how quickly being abducted into a strange and dangerous place can get boring. He gestures at her bottle, smile turning a little wry too. "That a good idea, with half this place out for blood?"

"There are much more fun emotions we could all be embroiled in, I think," Fortescue notes, with a small sigh. Even some of the other negative emotions would be easier to deal with than outright anger. But at least anger has the bonus of, usually, making a person sloppy and careless. That's something.

She shrugs at his question, almost mustering a chuckle.

"On the grounds of being able to evade people who want to shove a blade through my back? No, probably not. But on the grounds of my own sanity, it's a very good idea. I'm mostly staying in my room, anyway."

"And if this is all some bizarre Big Brother spin-off for the entertainment of a bunch of sadistic scientists, you'd think those emotions'd make for better viewing, too."

His tone's dry - he's joking, of course, but honestly if given the choice he'd swap the anger 'experiment' (if they really are testing something, which frankly he doubts) for a sex-based one without a moment's hesitation. He'd even trade it for one based on fear or sorrow without much deliberation. Violence may have been a large part of his trade for an awfully long time, but he really, really doesn't like conflict.

"Well, so long as none of those people can pick locks, you should be golden." Or, y'know, teleport through doors. He grimaces. "And if it turns out they can, gimme a call. I'm told I make a good meatshield."

Not as altruistic an offer as it sounds, given that being stabbed is rarely more than a momentary inconvenience for him, but he's never above showing off for a pretty lady. Or anyone else, for that matter. Blame it on the ego.

"Big Brother?" she wonders. It's not a term she's readily familiar with, aside from its literal use. And it doesn't sound like he's using it in that manner.

Having just gained a group of friends for the first time in a very long time, she's not keen to see them fighting with each other. She's hoping that the situation will resolve itself soon, because the scientific points of such an experiment are very few. You'd get the same effect from a family reunion with some extra bottles of brandy, special powers aside.

Unless this is a test to see how long it is before those powers start flying.

"Thank you, darling." She wiggles the bottle a bit. "You're more than welcome to some of this, too, if you'd like a break."

"Oh, I'm sorry - I forgot I'm the only one here who ever watches TV."

He doesn't sound sorry, which will of course come as a profound shock to anyone who knows him. Maybe he'd be a little more inclined to explain - or at least tell a long-winded lie - were his nerves a little less frayed, but his particular family reunion was dangerous enough before the scientists (so-called) decided to get uncontrollable rage involved.

"Sweetheart, it'd take a lot more than that to do me any good. But thanks, all the same. If the offer stands, I might take you up on some non-homicidal company sometime."

"Can't say I remember that being on Imperium's airwaves."

And sometimes, all she'd had were the telenet and the telly for company. Along with Jazz, of course. She figures if anyone would have seen it, it would have been her. But it's not all that important, and she shrugs her shoulders lightly. Jazz makes a grumpy noise at the shift, eyes shifting from Gabriel to the far side of the hallway.

"Of course. I'm always open to good company." She raises a slight, curious eyebrow. "How much does it take?"

"Oh blah, different universe, blah, different television channels, blah. Always with the excuses."

It's more light-hearted this time. He's making an effort to behave himself, mostly because he likes Fortescue. Otherwise he'd be tempted to just pitch a fit over nothing at all and vent his stress that way. Usually it wouldn't bother him that whoever was on the receiving end didn't deserve it - in this case it would.

"More than this place can supply, I'd estimate." For once it doesn't sound like he's trying to brag - it's purely factual. "If I got around to making my own, that might have a bit more of an effect... but frankly, it's not worth the effect. Certainly not now."

After all, he needs to conserve his strength - his family haven't gone completely off the rails yet, but he's certain it's only a matter of time. And when they do go nuts, not only does he want not to have exhausted himself, he'd also prefer to be able to stand up straight. And defend himself. Both of those things would probably be helpful.

Fortescue smiles at the comment, chuckling, wondering just how many days it's been since she's had a good chuckle. Several, which is just far too many. It's like she's back home, kept away from others. Except she's simply surrounded by many angry people, with her own irritation in check, and that's somehow worse. To be alone in a crowd, as it were.

"That does sound like a terrible bother. And yes, do try to keep from being in the center of an argy-bargy. I like you better without all of the holes that might put in."

That's why she's staying out of it. While she has very little to fear from a normal human, even possibly while drunk, there are some very powerful beings lurking around and they wouldn't just be holes for her.

"Yeah, argy-bargies are pretty low down on my list of things to be the center of - though I'd imagine they might be quite easy to confuse with item number one."

It's not subtle, not at all, but he has other things on his mind besides how best to phrase an innuendo... which makes a change.

"Well, like I said, let me know if you need a knight in shining armour. As it is, I've got angry people to run away from, so... see you around, I guess."

She imagines, as much as she's enjoying actually having a conversation, that this will be her last for a while. It's safer just to talk, inanely, in Jazz's direction and practice her magic. There's only so much working out you can do in a day before it gets really, really dull.

"Yes. Take care, love. We'll talk again soon, mm?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way, sweetheart."

He leans over (balanced on one foot at a really rather improbable angle) to give her a quick peck on the cheek, and then he's gone.

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❆ And the field by the warlike Wanes was trodden...

i can't decide which of them i want... decisions, decisions. hm. i think fortescue.

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