adventure without risk is disneyland [closed]

[commentboxtroll]

Date & Time: 4/22 through 5/3
Location: From Exsilium to southern UE territory and back again.
Characters: Caesar Silverberg, Collette, Asami Sato, Stephanie Brown, Ellie Linton, Nash Latkje, Gamora, Balder, Nathan Summers, Khisanth, guest-starring Clive.
Summary: Over the channel and through the wastes to the UE's house we go.
Warnings: Violence, spiders, swearing highly likely.
Notes: Any format goes. Feel free to start your own threads outside the subsections; those are just guidelines, not rules. Timeline and info is here if needed (or there are any further questions).

[ on a boat. ]
[ wastelands. ]
[ spiders. ]
[ onward. ]
[ civilization. ]
[ compound. ]
[ space. ]

Comments

[whatsupcroc]

Collette hadn't heard Stephanie on the bank. She'd half-registered the sound of something entering the water, but her focus was so inward at the moment, that registering only caused a reaction when she heard someone speak.

Collette jerks her head up, arm sliding out to catch her and help her face whatever spoke to her. Unfortunately, her arm slips, elbow cracking against the rock. It prompts her into yelping, rolling onto her back and cradling her arm close to her chest. She doesn't notice the sting of where she lost some skin.

It's a small system shock that hurts in a tangible, external way, fingers tingling and arm partially numb from hitting the least funny bone in the body. "Stupid rock!" ends up being her greeting to Stephanie, followed by a choked cough and sob she'd been trying to downplay. "Stupid, stupid rock!"

[controlledvariable]

"Hey, hey," It's the sort of tone she might use to soothe a cornered animal, as she scrambles up onto the rock, perching carefully and reaching out to take Collette's arm, "Let me look?"

It's a question, because she won't touch Collette if it's not wanted, but she thinks it might be an idea to focus on the obvious thing wrong with this situation before breaching the subject of why Collette is crying on a rock in the middle of a creek.

[whatsupcroc]

Collette doesn't really want her to look. It doesn't matter. It's not worth spending time thinking about when it won't last. No scars, except the mental kind.

But a memory of someone else tied in with all the vigilante craziness of Gotham makes her close her eyes and nod her head. Al'd wanted to be sure after she'd been shot. This wasn't anything comparable, but it's reminder enough for her not to make a point of being difficult.

She wasn't frustrated with Steph -- she was frustrated with herself.

"I heal fast," she jokes, swallowing snot and salt and saliva in unequal parts. "Won't even scar." She wants to laugh. Oh, but how she wants to laugh when she gets that out.

[controlledvariable]

"That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt now," There's concern in her voice, as she gently takes Collette's arm, inspecting the injury and deeming it not too serious. She does rub her hand along Collette's upper arm though, to help her get some feeling back, figuring from where the scrape is that she must've jarred her funny bone.

After a moment of just that, of focusing on the injury, she looks back at Collette, "Do you want a hug?"

She looks like she needs one. She'll offer to talk, too, but a hug seems like a good place to start.

[whatsupcroc]

Pins and needles, all the way, once feeling starts back. Collette hisses, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of excess moisture. She doesn't need to keep crying. She's fine. Everyone's fine.

Steph's offer is too hard to turn down. Without speaking, not trusting her voice to hold steady, she nods miserably. Physical contact, positive physical contact, sounded like exactly what the doctor ordered.

Or if not that, then something she herself could fully appreciate now, from someone who wasn't afraid of gratuitous physical contact.

[controlledvariable]

She moves so that she's facing Collette more, making sure she's steady where she's sitting before gently pulling the other girl into a hug. Steph has a complicated relationship with physical contact, but Collette is a friend who needs a hug, and she's more than willing to provide that, holding her carefully, one hand curled around the back of her neck and the other resting against her back.

"I've got you," It feels a bit like a useless platitude, but it's all she can offer for now, until she knows more.

[whatsupcroc]

I've got you. As if that's permission to let go. Like there's no need for a lifeline back to reality, or an anchor in the moment, because her friend will stand in as one for now.

Collette's just selfish enough to hold on tight, sobs beginning anew. They're quieter, more hot tears and ragged breaths than the full-on, noisy, wet releases of emotion. She gives herself a minute, then two, then edges on toward three before telling herself to buck up and start dealing. Her breathing steadies out as an effort of sheer willpower, and she blinks rapidly to push the rest of what teears wouldn't dissipate on their own down her cheeks.

She can't breathe through her nose right now, and her eyes were bound to be bloodshot, but as she tries to pull back and away from Steph, she's managing a small smile. "Thanks," comes out muffled by her stuffy nose and the thick saliva in her mouth, lining her throat in an annoying testimate to the act of crying.

"Ugh," she says, dragging her thumb and index finger over the tip of her nose, pressing her nostrils closed. She's rewarded with snot on her hand, but it pulls it off her face, and it makes her feel like she might be closer to breathing through her nose again. "Crying never looks as good in person as it does in the movies."

[controlledvariable]

Steph just holds her, rubbing soothing circles between Collette's shoulder blades, letting her cry for as long as she needs to, because sometimes it's better not to keep everything bottled up. And it's definitely better to cry on a friend than alone.

It chases away the rest of her anger at what transpired today; she can't hold onto it in the face of how much Collette is hurting. It doesn't matter exactly what the problem is, Steph just wants to help ease that pain.

"It's okay," No thanks are really necessary, she's just helping how she can.

She rests a hand on Collette's arm, not quite breaking contact, but the remark gets a bit of a smile, "Try doing it with a broken nose, adding blood to the mix just makes it so much worse."

[whatsupcroc]

The thought makes Collette laugh, a bark of sound followed by a hiccuping and firm shake of her head. It gets her smiling. That's almost like returning to normalcy for her. "Oh, gross! That's the worst, crying and bleeding from the nose. Then it's all going down your throat and blech!"

She sticks out her tongue, mimicking gagging. As far as topics of distractions go, it's not particularly pleasant, but it's far better than lingering on the hurt and pain. That's all still there, but she's getting the worst expressions of it under control, but by bit. "It really sucks," she says, either a follow-up to the bloody snot down the throat comment, or to everything from before.

[controlledvariable]

"I thought I was gonna drown in my own blood and phlegm," They're the classiest pair of ladies, but Steph's never really been fussy about gross things, and at least she made Collette laugh.

She rubs her hand along Collette's arm, partly for comfort but also to rub some warmth into her, because it's getting late and Steph can feel goosebumps on her own skin, so she assumes Collette might be cold, as well.

"You wanna talk about it?" Assuming she meant that as a follow up to whatever it was she's crying about.

[whatsupcroc]

Collette draws in another breath, sounding less shakey than before. She's not sure how to frame everything in her head, stirring her all up. What she blurts out isn't what she expects.

"Can you teach me proper first aid? I just... I don't know what to do. When people get hurt, I know how I handle myself but not... and it's different and I don't know what to do with everyone else and I can't carry a lot on me all the time but if I'm there first," she says, but it's all a tumble of words and Collette doesn't even know what she's asking.

"What do you do when they're nothing you can do? It's right there, and happening, and you should be able to help, but you don't know what to do, or how to make it better, you just hope someone who does comes along before it's too late and then if they don't you --"

She's looking distressed again, realizing slowly that it's not a lack of faith in what the people around her can do, or that they can handle themselves. It's an uncertainty that she really can handle having to know how fragile and at risk the people around her were while they were taking similar risks to her own. Or even if they hung back, they could be killed for no better reason than close association.

She knows about mortality, her own, and that of her friends. It's touched family and every aspect of her own life. And now it's that kind of time, with that kind of war. She's scared realizing how quickly she can lose all these people she cares about, and have it sometimes, possibly, be her fault.

[controlledvariable]

"Hey," She waits through most of the words, before taking Collette's and giving them a gentle squeeze to catch her attention, to slow down that torrent of words. It's easier now that Steph understands what this is about, but she isn't quite sure what to say, so she just holds Collette's hands for a moment and tries to figure out how to address everything.

"There's always something you can do," It seems like a good place to start, and it's clear from her tone, from her experience, that it's not just a platitude, that she really believes that.

What she's about to say is crueller, but she thinks it's important, too, "You aren't gonna be able to save everyone, that's just how the world works, but being there makes a difference, trust me."

Because she remembers how scared she was, in that hospital bed. Then Bruce had stayed by her side, taken her hand and let her cling with what little strength she had left, because she might not have died, but in that moment she'd thought she was going to.

She takes a steadying breath, "I'll teach you first aid, so you'll know what to do."

[whatsupcroc]

"I know it does." There's not much in her right now to resist admitting to the reality of the world they live in, no matter the different shade they'dd come from. "You can't save everyone, and sometimes, you can't even save some one. Or anyone. Sometimes you can't get out of bed, but you don't give up then, either." She swallows, rubbing her nose against her shoulder and sniffing hard to prevent further unwanted leaking. "I don't want to lose everyone here, too."

She's quiet and tired in the wake of such emotional intensity. Collette isn't making all that much sense. Still, she hears Steph, and she looks up and focuses and nods her head. She's not smiling in that moment of acknowledgement; she's concentrating on the fact it's been said, committing it to memory. Her smile is quavering, found a moment after the fact.

"Thank you."

[controlledvariable]

"You never give up," It's an agreement, and despite how quiet Steph is being, too, there's something defiant in her tone, directed at the world rather than Collette. There are days when they can't save anyone, when it is hard to get out of bed, but that just means they have to fight harder the next time.

She wishes she could reassure Collette that none of them are going to leave her, but it's impossible, with the nature of Exsilium. Steph could promise not to die, but this world isn't her home, and if she was given the option to return home, she'd take it.

So her smile is sad, apologetic, but she's at least relieved that Collette seems somewhat reassured.

"You're welcome."