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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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.”

That look. Yes, he knows that look. He's seen it on a lot of fellow researchers, even, before they found a home for their work at the FBC.

He sets down his pen for a moment, reaching his hand out to rest it over hers in a comforting fashion. He smiles, a little sadly himself, keeping his voice down to preserve her privacy in this situation. "...Okay. It's okay. You're definitely not mad. The world is. Some people just have a little more of the world in them than others. Yes?" A little squeeze, and then he pulls his hand back to his pen.

"What did you hear from me exactly? And how did it feel for you? Images, sounds, tastes, physical sensations?" He's not trying to barrage her with questions - instead, he's trying to show her that what has gotten her called crazy by others is just a day in the office for him.

Letting her know he thinks she's extraordinary, but extraordinary can also be normalcy.

Zoey stares down at his hand for a long moment, where it rests over hers. ’Some people just have a little more of the world in them than others. Yes?’ Oh, that is… something, isn’t it. His words earn him a lopsided little smile as something quavers deep within her. They were the sort of thing she had longed to hear for most of her life. Wanting so deeply to be accepted for exactly who, and what, she is. Since her gift had first manifested, since the first time she had been looked as though she were mad, shunned and mocked… since she first learned to hide what she was. Keep it to herself.

She learned to do that at a very young age.

And to suddenly hear them, to have someone TELL her such things is almost too much. To have someone letting her know he thinks she’s extraordinary, that it’s just normal for him is… a depth of feeling of belonging, of welcome she never realised she’d never had until it suddenly was there, filling her chest.

Her brow furrows, as she searches for the vocabulary to put into words something she has never really, truly, tried to describe for anyone before. “It was… a cacophony, chaos. Like I was receiving three separate radio transmissions all at once. All accompanied by feedback. Words, and song lyrics, and your words. Filling my head until they were all I could hear. All I could think.”

For as long as she needs, Darling lets Zoey sit in this moment. It has to have been so hard for her, he thinks, if she is this guarded. He's seen that before, working where he worked, but still it always strikes him. He's always kind of liked that moment - that moment of being able to say no, no you're not crazy. Giving them a peek at something bigger than they had perhaps imagined.

It's part of why he works where he does.

When she finds the words, he nods, jotting some shorthand down and then bringing his eyes up again so as not to seem too impersonal. "...Clairaudience, then. Your description of radio transmissions is right on the mone-" A pause.

"Wait, did you say song lyrics?"

She’s about to correct him, tell him that no, it’s more than just clairaudience, so much more, begin to explain the… full breadth and scope of what it is she does, what she is (because she can, for the first time in… who knows how long, she can go into detail with someone regarding her gift)… until he pauses and asks another question. She nods. “It was a song, playing in my head.”

Had seemed a little odd in comparison to everything else filling her head but it’s not the first time and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

There is a hint of embarrassment that crosses Darling's face at that - like he already knows what that might be. Clearing his throat, he shakes himself. "Ah, right. Never mind that part, then."

Not important right now.

"So then. Is it...is it only the sounds? A lot of abilities in the same vein do tend to be comorbid."

Zoey arches an amused eyebrow at him, at the hint of embarrassment crossing his face; she’s almost certain he knows exactly what song that might be that she’d heard. And will have stuck in her head for a while. Possibly forever, given how her memory works. And she walked in looking like dynamite... Goddamnit.

Well that’s exactly what she’d been meaning to mention. She huffs a tired laugh and shakes her head. “Oh no. It’s surround sound and Technicolor; taste, touch, sight, sound, smell... emotion... all of it. Past, present, and future. I’ve got it all.”

Well, it is an awfully catchy tune. Disco will never die as long as it lives on in our hearts.

The explanation coaxes an enthusiastic nod from Darling, hand scribbling notes as fast as it can while he looks from the pad up to Zoey. "Wonderful - wonderful. It's unusual for it all to be present...but the unusual is my Tuesday." A lopsided grin, friendly, sweet, as he sips from his Scotch.

"When you touched my arm," he ventures, carefully, "Did you feel anything...unusual? From me, compared to from other people? Besides the disco, that is."

“So it’s not, usually, in your experience, then.” She asks the question, because she’s had SO MANY about her gift. And there has been no one to ask. No way for her to learn. Not in depth, not the way she wanted. She grins then, too, brilliant and amused, ice blue eyes sparkling. “Mine too.”

“Yes.” It’s instinctual, before she’s had a chance to even think about it. The seer’s answer. “There was... feedback. Which isn’t something I usually catch from people.” She hasn’t. Not in five some odd worlds. She remembers it, remembers the feedback, and thinks past it. It had been a bit overwhelming in the moment, but even if she didn’t see it, she still saw it. She just... has to remember. Sift through. “And beyond that... a chiming. Almost... a ripple?”

Something... reacting. To her, she thinks. “Could you sense me?”

Edited 2021-07-15 10:24 (UTC)

"Well, it isn't unheard of - but it's only very select people who wind up with such a...broad skillset. We'll have to try to classify what exactly you have going on." A pause. "Of course, if you want to. No pressure. Yes."

Darling listens carefully as she describes the sensation - eyes trained on her, writing notes in a swift and scratchy hand.

"Well, I couldn't...sense you, exactly. Not as such, not the same way you feel things. I...hm. How to explain." A sip. "I've been...changed, by a Resonance. One that makes me resistant to things like telepathy. You probably hit that."

Complicated. From his expression, there's definitely some emotion wrapped up in the topic.

Zoey thinks she could hug him, right now. She nods. “I do. Very much so.” A pause, as she bites her lip for a moment. It feels so fucking strange, to be talking about her gift so easily with someone. “I’ve never... had the chance. To properly classify what it is I can do. To really delve into it. There’s been no one I could ask. No way for me to learn. Not to the depths I’ve wanted to. Needed. To.” She’d done what she could. Made do. Improvised. Sought out manuscripts, folklore, legends. Everything that might have even the slightest mention of seers, foresight, prophecy. Run what tests she could.

Oh. That is. Complicated, for him. Isn’t it. She can see it. Feel it. There’s gentle understanding in her eyes, on her face, and it’s her turn to reach out and cover his hand with her own. Wordlessly letting him know that if he ever wants to talk... she’s here. “A Resonance?” she echoes softly as a few more pieces fall into place, the words Hedron and hiss once more on her tongue. Only she doesn’t have to be afraid to mention them, she thinks. Not anymore. Not with him. “Hedron, then. And the other, that very dangerous sound is... The Hiss?” It’s not... entirely a question.

Edited 2021-07-27 08:43 (UTC)

At the promise of further investigation, Darling unmistakably brightens - and his expression grows fond as she explains herself. "Yes, it's...difficult," he murmurs into a sip of his whiskey, "When the thing you want to discuss the most is an impossibility to others. Any light I can shed, I am happy to be your lantern."

Then she's gentle, looking at him with sympathy, and then the words tumble so easily from her lips and his mouth goes so dry he has to sip his whiskey again.

"...Remarkable," he breathes first, just...blinking, processing. Then he gathers himself and nods. "Yes, exactly. Two forces, two...concepts, beings, energies, in perfect opposition. I exposed myself fully to Hedron. It...took a toll, but at least I'm still here."

Those who were exposed to the Hiss were not nearly so lucky.

The way his expression brightens at the promise of further investigation is ADORABLE. And his offer to be her lantern in her search for information on her powers is... sweet. The bartender filling in for her drops off a second drink for her in the brief lull in their conversation.

Remarkable. Not a word she’s had directed at her before, she thinks. Not about this. Not about her gift. What she can do.

Oh. That explains a lot. Although she doesn’t quite know how. She squeezes his hand gently. “Sometimes that’s hard, too, though,” she murmurs. “Those who were exposed to the Hiss weren’t lucky... And finding your footing, finding your way back to yourself after everything is said done. Is hard, too.” It was a bad situation all around, she thinks. Even knowing just the fringes, the ragged edges, she knows that. She can feel it.

She’s not actually aware of the fact that she’s responding to something he didn’t actually say aloud, this time. Words, phrases... those she’s used to. She’s been picking those up since her gift first manifested itself. Full thoughts? Sentences? That’s new. And as concerning as it had been, that first time she consciously realised it, it’s as easy as breathing to respond to his words.

Casper has been though a lot - and though he has been coping with things in his own way, her reassurance is visibly appreciated, the arc of his shoulders relaxing a little as if she had just removed a bit of weight. He opens his mouth, about to respond in turn, about to admit she was right -

But then it hits him like a freight train, and he goes momentarily slack-jawed again before he chuckles in disbelief.

“…Yes - yes. But Zoey, I…I didn’t talk about the Hiss victims out loud.” He looks her in the eye, unafraid, CURIOUS. “Did you just…hear that from me?”

It’s a relief to see the shift in him, the line of his shoulders relaxing a little. And he opens his mouth... only to slack-jawed for a moment and she’s looking at him in concern as he chuckles in disbelief.

At his words she goes very, very still, looking at him half incredulously. Disbelieving, almost. “What? No, you had to ha-” And then she thinks, carefully, mentally repeats the last few moments of their conversation, and... “I couldn’t... that’s not, that’s not what my powers do... Words, phrases, not... whole thoughts. Not... hearing thoughts...” But she’d... earlier.

Once is happenstance... twice...? Twice is the beginning of a pattern, and she knows herself. And even though she KNOWS her powers, knows that that isn’t how her powers tend... she knows herself. Knows what just happened. Even though it shouldn’t be possible. “I... did.”

She’s a seer, though, not a fucking telepath. She’s NEVER been a telepath. Just a seer. Nothing more. Nothing less. Or so she thought, anyway. What if she's wrong?

Is she wrong?

It's with care that he watches her puzzle this out - watches her reel, balk, wonder aloud...and then confirm. The reaction is surprising, but if there's one thing Casper Darling has learned to do, it is roll with the punches.

His voice is gentle when he speaks again, though it's hard to keep all the excitement out of his tone.

"...Is that new for you, then?"

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