fluxscape | [OPEN] I've been feeling a bit on edge

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[OPEN] I've been feeling a bit on edge

Who: Zoey Westen (

pythianwoman), and YOU
What: Catch-all; seer’s got her powers back
When: Early July, after the event is over. (And later. I'm flexible. XD)
Where: Pour Judgement
Warning(s): There’s going to be mention/talk of blood/injury, as she’s still VERY MUCH injured from her knife fight with a drunk in an alley after her shift at Pour Judgement on June 27th.
Notes: Feel free to find her anywhere around the bar, wildcard it up and find her somewhere else, or hit me up to plot a different thing!

Zoey knew the moment her powers have returned. She could FEEL it. It was like a piece has suddenly slotted back into place, like she suddenly felt like she fit in her own skin again. Everything felt right again. (She knew exactly what this meant for everyone’s powers, though, and she was already planning on reinforcing the wards on her home. Just in case he learned where she lived.)

Her aerial silks were finally up in her home, too, but she won’t be using them for a long fucking time. Thanks to one asshole’s knife fetish.

She’s really wishing that one of the gifts the fae gave her was quick healing, right now, though. Because this fucking SUCKS. And yeah, she’s a little impatient given that she knows that Scratch has HIS powers back now too, and will probably be gunning for her. With as wounded as she is she is at a distinct disadvantage. (Even if she still has a couple... surprises in store for him if necessary.) But it is what it is. She’ll have to live with it, and face him if she has to, no matter the shape she’s in. It’s not be the first time, and it won’t be the last. She takes to carrying supplies in her satchel so she can change bandages and clean it should she need to.

And there are times she needs to.

She shows up to her shifts at Pour Judgement like nothing happened. Like she’s fine. (Because she is. She’s always fine. Even when she’s not. Especially when she’s not.) She paler than usual, though, for someone who's fine. But she’s... a little wary. Her gift of sight is back, so Scratch can’t ambush her there again (thank fuck), but she makes a point to keep track of everyone who comes in, anyway. And she can’t help but be a little...warier than usual. A little more tense than she usually is.

She carries herself... gingerly. It’s subtle, like a woman who is focusing very hard on something, but sometimes she forgets herself, and it slips through. Or she moves without thinking and an almost-flicker of pain crosses her face, hidden with practiced ease. Every now and then, when she’s out of sight of the bar’s patrons and hopefully her co-workers, she’ll pause, pressing a hand against her side and just... breathe a moment. She's a little less... one hundred percent steady on her feet. A little dizzy far more frequently. Fatigue and weakness haunt her steps. And she hates it. But it's not the first time she's suffered heavy blood loss. It probably won't be the last.

None of it effects her job performance. She doesn't let it. It's hidden just as easily and just as well as everything else. But there are those moments when she slips off to the back, out of sight, away from others. THe little moments in between making drinks and serving that things slip out a little.

It’s not until a glass falls off the bar that the façade breaks to any noticeable degree; she’s instinctively moving to try and catch it before the glass has even fallen, quick and graceful... for a moment, anyway. The motion is too quick, too sharp, and she swallows a choked cry of pain and curls an arm around her midsection, hand pressing against her side.

The glass shatters on the floor.

“Fuck,” she grits out, trying to breathe through the newly renewed agony.

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"Zoey?"

The voice is almost too familiar at first blush to be heard in the bar like this - but it's much too gentle to be Scratch, and a quick glance up makes it entirely clear the speaker means no harm. Casper Darling is standing there at the bar, watching the younger woman with concern in his eyes and a friendly smile on his lips. He's at a bar, so he has elected to dress down; his labcoat is at home, and he's just wearing his sweater vest and bow tie. Yes. Casual.

"Are you all right? You look...you look a little off, if you don't mind my saying so."

She puts up an excellent front, of course. If it weren't for the fact that Darling was trained to watch for signs of infection/anomaly/illness (oh, stop that), he might miss it.

But he doesn't, and he keeps his voice down as he questions her.

There is a moment, the briefest infinitesimal of moments, between hearing the voice and realising who out of the three men with identical voices it was, between one breath and the next, that Zoey just... reacts, body tensing and her breath stilling in her lungs. Readying herself. But it’s too fucking gentle; Scratch couldn’t manage that much gentleness even if he was human and drunk for an eternity.

Darling.

And the tension is gone almost before it was truly there. She doesn’t even need to see him to know who it is. (But it helps... reassure her, nonetheless.) And aw, he’s dressed down. He’s all casual. And it’s adorable. Her breathing is still coming a little bit harder than she’d like, not helped by the sudden adrenaline rush. On top of the blood loss. She reaches out and presses a hand on the bar. Casually. As casually as he’s dressed.

Not that it matters because it seems like Dr. Casper Darling sees through her whether she likes it or not. Fucking observant scientists. But it’s a fond thought more than anything, if also a little exasperated. She opens her mouth to respond, to insist she’s fine, because she’s always fine. Especially when she isn’t. And this isn’t anything new.

But Darling sounds more like Alan than Scratch, and that earns him a touch of trust, despite herself. And the concern... warms her. Which maybe why she doesn’t immediately respond with a pat ‘Right as rain’. She gives him a mock offended look, but it only lasts a moment, melting away into something else much more... open. Tired. Amused, too, though, through all of the rest.

“A little off is definitely one way to put it,” she responds with a wry smile, voice pitched for him and him alone. “I’ve been better, yes.”

At her honesty, a frown threatens the edges of his expression - Darling settles instead on a sympathetic smile, nodding a little at her words. He hasn't even spoken to this woman in person yet, but he was fascinated by her and the worlds she had been to...but more than that, she seems like a nice, well-adjusted person to talk to about it all. She had thus far been nice and forthcoming, and his concern is genuine.

"Well," he softly intones, trying to match her discretion. "Can you take a few minutes' worth of break, perhaps? We can talk about it, if you like."

True, he's got ulterior motives - so many things he wants to know - but he can let the concern come first. He's not as callous as he used to be. Or, at least, he's trying.

Zoey watches him thoughtfully, catching the slight shift in his expression. She finds herself trying to think back to all the worlds she’s been to, and whether or not there had been cases of people having the same voice. There were certainly cases of people having the same FACE. And not in the way that Alan and Scratch do. Kenzi had been her identical twin. Their voices had been different, though.

She shakes her head. “I haven’t taken a break tonight. Not a true one, anyway,” she replies easily, voice still discrete. There were her brief slips away to the back, but she kept those extremely brief. (Even though she could very much have used more time back there.) She lets someone know that she’s going to be taking a break, and pauses before coming out from behind the bar.

“What do you drink?” She’s pouring something for herself, something green and fruity... and less strong than her usual.

She’s not sure she wants to talk about what happened, exactly. She’s so used to... not talking about things. Keeping them to herself. Burying them down deep. Even after so much time, so many different worlds. But she does owe Dr. Darling a conversation about the multi!verse.

"Good! Good."

Glad that she's agreeing to take a moment, he waits patiently as she starts preparing her drink. While she does, he watches her movements carefully, curious. Injury, maybe. She's a little pallid.

"Oh, I'm usually a Scotch man, myself," he chuckles. "But whiskey in general suits me just fine. I imagine it would be very difficult to obtain Scotch with no Scotland."

With as carefully as he’s watching her he’s bound to pick up on a few things. That she’s favouring her left side, primarily, but it only shows intermittently, as though she’s trying to hide it And keenly well-practiced at doing so.

That earns him a laugh that dissolves into a wince, her hand pressing against her side. So much for hiding it. “Fuck. That’s true, isn’t it.” How long has it been since she’s been in a place where proper Scotch was actually obtainable? Arkham, maybe? Since she’s pretty sure Scotland stiull existed on that Earth, even if she’d been trapped in a fictional city in Massachusetts. The Carnival during one of their... layovers? Maybe. Oh well. It doesn’t really matter, does it.

She grabs one of the top shelf bottles of whiskey and turns to pour Dr. Darling his drink. It’s a healthy glassful. One of the perks of working in a bar. Then she’s coming out from behind the bar, drinks in hand. “Shall we?” she asks, holding out his glass and indicating one of the unoccupied booths in the back corner. It’s well enough away from anyone that they can speak freely. Without fear of being overheard.

Ah. Definitely a serious injury. He feels a little bad for making her laugh - but his expression in return is kindness, not pity. He wouldn't pry more than necessary. That's not why he's here, anyhow.

Taking the drink - well, how nice! - he nods, offering her his free arm in a gentlemanly sort of gesture. Presented as a bit of a joke, but one that gives her a cover without question if she would like the support.

"Let's shall. I've been eager to talk with you."

He really shouldn’t. It’s not her first time and it won’t be her last. (Nor will it be her last at Scratch’s hands, for that matter, she’s pretty sure.) It’s something she hasn’t thought about, in all her travels through the multi!verse. And that amuses the fuck out of her.

He offers her his free arm, and Zoey can’t help but look at him knowingly; she knows what you’re doing, Dr. Darling. And she appreciates it. Her smile is fond, and amused, as she slips her arm through his. And fuck, the support comes as more of a relief than she would like to admit, a soft exhalation slipping free as some of the tension eases out of her lithe frame.

She grins up at him. “I’ve been looking forward to hearing your thoughts.” She’s never spoken with anyone as... enthusiastic about the multi!verse as he is. So she is very curious.

It’s a relief to finally slip into the secluded booth, and if he’s paying attention at all, he might notice how she chooses the side facing the door. She wants to be able to see trouble coming. In more ways than one. Particularly when she has company.

Oh, he knows she knows! But he's known his share of Strong People who needed a bit of subtle help now and then, and he gives a little nod as she takes the arm and lets him support her on their way over to the booth.

He definitely picks up on the sightline - and as he sits, he eyes the door for a moment, putting the pieces together. Maybe he'll walk her home tonight after this, if she wants. For now, he lets it go.

"Well! Here we are. I appreciate you taking the time, Zoey. Is there anywhere you want to start?"

“Of course.” That’s part of why she’s doing this, she thinks. Because she’s never... actually talked about it. To anyone. Bits and pieces but never the whole bloody journey. And she’s curious what a scientist who appears to have a focus on such matters will think. At the very least he doesn’t seem to be the sort to think she’s crazy. So that’s certainly something. “Nowhere in particular that I can think of. The beginning, maybe. But I’m more curious about what you want to know.”

She suspects the answer to THAT question is everything. In which case she WILL start with the beginning.

"Well," he begins, swirling the whiskey in the rocks glass to aerate it, "Whatever you'd like to tell me, but I guess the real elephant in the room is your trip through multiple universes. How has that happened, precisely?"

From his pocket he pulls a little notepad - if Zoey is eagle-eyed, she'll notice it seems to be less a research book and more his personal jotter. Some of the notes on it are formulae, some are grocery lists, and others still are bizarre lines of jumbled words, written in a blocky, mechanical handwriting.

He turns to a fresh page, smiling, and pulls a pen from his pocket.

"And I promise, anything you want to stay between us, does. I am well versed in discretion."

She huffs a soft laugh and takes a sip of her drink. “Well THAT is... complicated. And would probably be best to start at the beginning and work from there. Although the beginning is... a bit muddled. Perils of being yanked around the multiverse so much, maybe, I don’t know.” He’s not the only one pulling out a notepad; Zoey pulls one from her pocket and plucks her pen from where it’s tucked behind her ear. It’ll help if she can draw things for him as they go.

As he opens his notepad she can’t help but notice the hodgepodge of notes on it. Formulae.... grocery lists... and something else. Jumbled words, in a blocky mechanical writing. Curious... She focuses on it, it’s too different from the rest, the mechanical writing had a reason behind it, it had to...

And suddenly her head is FILLED with a cacophony of words...

...< We hold the reins/law >

...< We are failing in translating hyperreal concepts >

...< Secrets/Instructions will be lost >

...< Ignore this message >

...the neighbour of the beast

...I’ve always been here

...and if you don’t have an HRA, don’t worry. It’ll be quick and painless.

...A thump on the floor, and the party turned insane

As she called out her name. And she walked in looking like dynamite

She said now come along boogaloo through the night And by the way she's moving well

Dynamite might she not with all she's got she's got the whole town lighting up dynamite Nobody quite knowing what to do

It’s all accompanied by screeching feedback; she winces, head turning a little until it finally begins to fade. What the fuck?

Edited 2021-07-12 03:46 (UTC)

"...Zoey?"

Darling doesn't quite know what the young woman is experiencing - he feels a ripple, something of the remaining Resonance in him reacting to...something. But the specifics are lost to him, and all he sees is her looking to his notepad and then cringing away.

"Are you all right? Is something...happening?"

He can't be sure, but not just anything would set off those ripples, and...well, correlation. His expression is focused, still concerned, but just a little more attentive to the specifics of the situation than the average bear.

Oh... that was a hell of a thing. Zoey’s head is reeling, and she can still FEEL an afterimage of the feedback, of the words, all of them, in her head. Gods that was a lot. Is a lot. She almost feels as though if she reached out... she could hear more. Learn more. And come out of it with a screaming headache that lasted for DAYS, no doubt. She’s trying to sort it all out as it is, sort words from song lyrics from Doctor Darling’s words...

And the questions, the ones he’d asked her, here, while she was lost in the midst of... everything, make her wonder. Did he know? Had he somehow... sensed her vision? Had he been able to sense her?

She reaches out, then, brushes gentle fingertips against his wrist, and asks a question. This isn’t what she’d planned; she’d not intended to go revealing to ANYone just what she is. But she reacts without thinking. “What’s an HRA?” What’s the Board?

Patiently, he lets her get herself put together, recover from...whatever that was. He lets her speak again at her own pace, sipping from his whiskey - then she's touching him and asking an impossible question, and it's all he can do not to choke on the mouthful of liquor.

She must be...clairvoyant? Telepathic? Definitely something psychic happening there. Benign, though, nothing invasive. Yes. Potentially a Parautilitarian? Or simply GIFTED/CURSED/REGRETFUL-

Clearing his throat, considering the question, he speaks softly and carefully.

"An HRA is a protective device I developed for a...situation at work. Like noise cancellation for a very dangerous sound."

There’s another rush of words, thoughts, (Parautilitarian? She doesn’t know that word) and she recognizes the same style of jumbled words (GIFTED/CURSED/REGRETFUL) as she’d read on his notepad, as she’d heard in her vision, all underscored by that feedback again and she sculls her drink. Thoughts. His thoughts. Darling’s thoughts. She’s never... read someone like that before. Words yes. A name. Phrases. Not... sentences. Full thoughts. Continual thoughts.

Or maybe she’s just never noticed before.

THAT idea is... unsettling.

“Something like mind control. But different.” It’s stabbing in the dark but it feels right. (It feels red.) There are other words on her tongue; hiss, Hedron, that mean nothing to her but mean something all the same, but she bites them back. Better to not press him too quickly. She’s already made him choke on his whiskey once. She’d rather not do that a second time.

"Yes...yes. To put it simply."

Another long stare, accompanied by a slow nod. Flipping to a clean notebook page, he jots something down, then looks back to her, not wanting to press her too hard too quickly either, but very, VERY curious.

"Did you...see that, from me? Hear it?" Softly. "You can trust me. I've deal with these things before, you won't scare me."

She meets that long stare steadily, with ice blue eyes far older and wiser than her years. Thoughtful. Watching. Curious. Wary.

Oh. She huffs a soft, tired laugh. “It’s not the scaring that worries me. It’s being looked at as though I’m mad.” There’s something dark and haunted in her eyes. As though she’s speaking of something that’s happened far too often to her. “I do. Trust you.” For reasons beyond what he might think. But she trusts him all the same. A breath. Before she begins to talk about something she keeps very close to her chest. Something she’s talked about to... not more than a handful of people. “I heard it from you.”

Pour Judgement

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