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.

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hung_garian: (And that's how we got banned from Paris)

[personal profile] hung_garian 2013-06-06 12:33 am (UTC)(link)
Despite the temptation, Gabriel was well aware that the bar didn't have the stock to get him drunk. Most bars didn't, and this one was particularly understocked. It was probably for the best: a drunk archangel, even one in a more stable state of mind than he was, was about as far from safe as it got. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't live vicariously through the other drunks at the bar, or at least show up and laugh at them. On seeing Fortescue, there was a brief moment when he thought he'd stuck gold: she'd seemed a fun sort of person when they'd spoken last, and definitely the type to be an entertaining drunk.

That impression didn't last, though. It only took a few seconds to notice what she was humming, and the oddity of her soul. The latter he could pass over as just that - an oddity - but humming a funeral dirge, and already wasted this early in the day... he wasn't the Good Samaritan type usually, but it seemed pretty clear to him that she was upset, and given how well they'd gotten along before, he thought it only right that he should at least make an attempt to cheer her up a bit. And, obviously, the best way to do that was to plonk himself down on the nearest chair to her and grace her with the delight of his company. That never failed to brighten a person's day.

"Celebrating something?"
hung_garian: ('Devious' ain't the half of it)

[personal profile] hung_garian 2013-06-06 09:36 am (UTC)(link)
"Always worth celebrating."

He could have meant either being alive or being out of the house. Maybe he meant both. As far as he was concerned, any cause for celebration was a good one. He smirked back - which, from Gabriel, was probably a smile, just as it could also be probably a frown or probably a punch in the face or probably a heartfelt declaration of love, depending on the circumstances. Smirks were very versatile, or at least, Gabriel seemed to think they were, given that they were his default expression.

"Can't complain, and trust me, I can complain about anything - so I'm fine. Doesn't look like you can say the same though, sweetheart. What's up?"
hung_garian: (It's not supposed to be fair.)

[personal profile] hung_garian 2013-06-07 08:53 pm (UTC)(link)
"Seems a lot of people did."

He hadn't been particularly affected - he hadn't been near the Doctor when the barrier had been opened, he'd been in the village, being largely unhelpful. He supposed that was what he got for being untrustworthy, but nothing had managed to attack it, so maybe it hadn't been a complete waste of time. Balthazar, though, was still messed up from it - he was recovering, but not as fast as Gabriel would like him to. He leant over and scratched Jazz behind the ears, musing over whether he could do anything to help without risking making it worse. Souls were complicated to mess with at the best of times.

"And alcohol's helping with the healing process, huh? Good thinking."

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voliere: (D:)

[personal profile] voliere 2013-06-07 09:55 pm (UTC)(link)
It's been an odd few days. After the explosions and the whole - incident, with Dilandau, Elizabeth has been sort of hiding. She's stayed put in the house and tried not to make too much noise anywhere, in any way. But she can't stay in one place too long - it's so restricting, and she wants out - so she goes to the bar.

It probably isn't a great idea, considering that's where Dilandau was before, but she's careful! She peeks inside first to make sure that he isn't. But she does recognize the woman against the wall, and - well, she's curious. So she slips into the bar nervously, glancing around to make sure the wiry warrior isn't hiding in the shadows or anything.

And when she's pretty sure he isn't, Elizabeth crosses the room and looks down at Fortescue, playing with the thimble on her pinky and looking a little worried. "Miss Fortescue? Are you alright?"
voliere: (that's not adding up)

[personal profile] voliere 2013-06-10 06:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Elizabeth carefully lowers herself down, smoothing her skirt and settling to sit on her knees next to Fortescue, hands in her lap and straight-backed. The cat makes Elizabeth smile, and she offers her hand carefully to Jazz for him to sniff.

"Recovering?" Elizabeth asks, glancing at Fortescue. Lizzie, she's never been called that before. She kind of likes it. "Recovering from what?"
voliere: (D:)

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG

[personal profile] voliere 2013-06-18 09:26 pm (UTC)(link)
She carefully scratches behind his ears and frowns a little at his sluggishness. Poor cat. And as for what happened with Fortescue, Elizabeth blinks and looks up at her.

"Oh - but you're alright, yes?" She asks, peering, trying to make sure Fortescue is going to be okay. "The damage isn't permanent? And I'm fine, maybe a little... more cautious of this place, but I'm fine. I'm concerned for the survivors of the aforementioned sky opening, mostly."
burnburnburn: (narrow eyes)

Later on

[personal profile] burnburnburn 2013-06-08 03:23 am (UTC)(link)
[Dilandau's movements have been severely restricted by his cracked ribs and the number of people who have it out for him, which is why he's stayed at home rather than gone out to socialise.

He's sitting on the sofa in the living room, failing to relieve his boredom by reading and getting increasingly irritated that it's not working. When she comes in his growing annoyance immediately focusses on her]


I can smell you from over here.
burnburnburn: (seething inwardly)

[personal profile] burnburnburn 2013-06-09 02:33 am (UTC)(link)
[He scowls at her]

Then you're useless. Don't start that giggling again if you're going to stay here.
burnburnburn: (narrow eyes)

[personal profile] burnburnburn 2013-06-13 10:35 pm (UTC)(link)
[He throws down his book, his patience with it gone completely]

It's too late, you've disturbed me already.

[He gives her a sullen, resentful look for looking so relaxed when he's not]

So how are all the other captives amusing themselves in this prison?