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!
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Chloe's next comment earns a sidelong glance from Luke and he frowns, "Not yourself? Were you sick?"
He's still not entirely sure how people manage without bacta.
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Or was, in a sense.
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"What kind of magic? You're OK, right?"
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