Chloe Frazer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
totallytrustworthy) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2014-02-17 05:12 pm
totallytrustworthy) wrote in exsiliumlogs2014-02-17 05:12 pm
Entry tags:
You're all my friends
Date & Time: Before groundhogging it or after depending on preference
Location: Exsilium proper/ wilderness/ various
Characters: Chloe Frazer and you as a fond farewell
Summary: a year and a half of thievery and trouble hits its last few notes
Warnings: VIOLENCE some of it
Location: Exsilium proper/ wilderness/ various
Characters: Chloe Frazer and you as a fond farewell
Summary: a year and a half of thievery and trouble hits its last few notes
Warnings: VIOLENCE some of it
A: E x s i l i u m
She's back to normal now. Residual lacquer stuck to her nails, hair still neatly trimmed at the edges and her trousers aren't the dirt-stained mess left behind of a little over a year's worth of close calls and fire fights, but she is herself again, and whatever magic that Facilier had carefully stuck in under her skin with a few nice words and a friendly gesture have-- for the most part-- been shaken off. Which is to say it's almost dysphoric having to readjust after being recalibrated so completely that even her old routines and habits feel unfamiliar: walking to the market to trade off another batch of heavy (only slightly roughed-up) furs is something more akin to watching video of the ground shifting forward, of footsteps in the snow and crowds filtering off out of focus.
Doesn't feel like there's weight in her arms or the sting of bitter cold on her cheeks.
Doesn't even feel like she's capable of recognizing any of the familiar faces she passes-- and she does pass them: without a second thought or even the uncertain shift of her attention that comes from purposefully dodging someone close.
How bloody rude. Particularly when she's not careful enough to keep from clipping the occasional passerby.
B: E x s i l i u m w i l d s
This, though. This is where she flourishes. These days, anyway. After too much time spent snagged on emotions and vital decisions, solitude and silent snowfall are more comforting than things like central heating or idle banter. Simple tasks are easy to fixate on (pull wire, wrap twig, bend branch, insert bait and wait), numbing pinpricks running just under layers of insulated clothing precede pain from too many hours of it spent out in the cold. Veins going tight in an effort to cling to any remaining heat. Unappealing, unattractive, inhospitable work.
And Chloe's smiling to herself through the chilled cracks of her frost-split lip as she goes about it.
Not that most people would feel right at home in a yeti-infested wilderness.
C: Wildcard
OOC: pick a different scenario or location, whichever suits you best, and we'll make it happen!
She's back to normal now. Residual lacquer stuck to her nails, hair still neatly trimmed at the edges and her trousers aren't the dirt-stained mess left behind of a little over a year's worth of close calls and fire fights, but she is herself again, and whatever magic that Facilier had carefully stuck in under her skin with a few nice words and a friendly gesture have-- for the most part-- been shaken off. Which is to say it's almost dysphoric having to readjust after being recalibrated so completely that even her old routines and habits feel unfamiliar: walking to the market to trade off another batch of heavy (only slightly roughed-up) furs is something more akin to watching video of the ground shifting forward, of footsteps in the snow and crowds filtering off out of focus.
Doesn't feel like there's weight in her arms or the sting of bitter cold on her cheeks.
Doesn't even feel like she's capable of recognizing any of the familiar faces she passes-- and she does pass them: without a second thought or even the uncertain shift of her attention that comes from purposefully dodging someone close.
How bloody rude. Particularly when she's not careful enough to keep from clipping the occasional passerby.
B: E x s i l i u m w i l d s
This, though. This is where she flourishes. These days, anyway. After too much time spent snagged on emotions and vital decisions, solitude and silent snowfall are more comforting than things like central heating or idle banter. Simple tasks are easy to fixate on (pull wire, wrap twig, bend branch, insert bait and wait), numbing pinpricks running just under layers of insulated clothing precede pain from too many hours of it spent out in the cold. Veins going tight in an effort to cling to any remaining heat. Unappealing, unattractive, inhospitable work.
And Chloe's smiling to herself through the chilled cracks of her frost-split lip as she goes about it.
Not that most people would feel right at home in a yeti-infested wilderness.
C: Wildcard
OOC: pick a different scenario or location, whichever suits you best, and we'll make it happen!
no subject
"I'm not playing into your bloody game." Her voice is low, strained; caught up in the sight of familiar paperwork pinned to a nearby wall, the rain-worn ladders and cargo crates set up exactly where they'd left them. Where they'd been for months. Years, now.
In other words: she doesn't know.
no subject
He remains hidden, using this precious time to at least try to wrap some cloth around his shoulder for a makeshift bandage. He hopes he doesn't have to seek medical help, that sort of thing can be costly and brings up far too many questions.
"As for playin' my game, you already are. And, as you can see, I ain't tryin' to hurt you, here."
The shadows shift, expand around her like tendrils, not touching her, but circling her all the same. His voice still comes from multiple sources, never staying in one location for long.
"Consider this a friendly warning, a rare show of mercy on my part. Don't pull that gun out on me again, or you will learn exactly what I'm capable of, and ya'll can trust me on the fact that you won't enjoy it. Not even a little bit."
The shadows brush past her, climbing up vines, pooling out of darkened corners of doorways, sliding along like snakes hunting for a meal.
"Do we have an understanding?"
no subject
The gun isn't dropped to her side or put away, but it is lowered (mostly for the sake of keeping far from those twisting shadows) when she finally decides to respond. "Don't ever touch my thoughts again and I won't have to."
It's about as vitriolic an agreement as it gets without risking her neck.
no subject
"I can live with that," a smile. "Now, I'm gonna let this go, and we're going to act like civilised adults, okay?"
With a wave of his hand, the jungle vanishes, fades back to the streets they never actually left. He leans casually on his cane, mostly in an attempt to hide the fact he's still very much in pain.
"And here we are."
no subject
This time, however, it's low against her hip.
"And here I go." If not for the fact that Charlie had scrounged up every last one of those furs she'd abandon them rather than take her eyes off Facilier. Her defender stays in her palm when she goes to gather them up (unsurprisingly to the dismay of an already disturbed market - gunfire tends to have that effect) gaze flicking back and forth between him and her work.
no subject
"Always a pleasure, Chloe."
no subject
"Good luck - try not to let it get infected."
no subject
"I've had worse. But thank you kindly for the concern."
He's not going to let her have that satisfaction if he can help it.