exsiliumlogs | You're all my friends

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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

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Huh."

He took the chance to turn his back to her, took the half-step to the shelves behind him. Grabbed an amber bottle off the top shelf and unscrewed the lid, lazy. The sound of pouring is very loud, and when he turns back around he's got a couple of fingers of good whiskey in his glass and a flat expression.

"Well Chloe, how about this? You stop this cryptic bullshit and tell me what you mean, and then I'll decide what I want to do with my employee, alright?"

It's a little steely, and he keeps his eyes straight on her as he lifts the glass to his lips.

"If you think you can manage that."

Christ. The sip she takes is all forced, manual and it comes off as nothing but acrid foam in her mouth. Something to work up will like the second before swallowing a bitter bloody pill. "Suppose it goes without saying I haven't exactly been myself as of late."

And-- because confessions are for practically anyone else but her-- she adds a beat or two after: "Thank him for it."

"I'd noticed."

He narrows his eyes as she finishes, sets the glass back on the counter, "You're gonna have to excuse me if I don't get what you're trying to say here. I showed you this place, you ducked out on it, told me you were going another way. And you did. You're telling me that's his fault?"

He's not exactly buying it. Or, maybe not exactly sure what he's supposed to be buying. Takes him a second before he can come up with a reasonable conclusion, "Was he blackmailing you or what?"

That seemed plausible. And instantly, deeply infuriating.

Breaking it down into the finer details means hacking away at messier emotions. Things better set aside to be picked at once the matter of Facilier's habits has been established.

She'll swallow down blame later, tempting as it is to let him take the fall for everything.

"Not unless magic's the new form of blackmail these days." Chloe flattens her palms against the counter, flexing gloved fingers as if it's a sign of sincerity, frustration more than apparent in her tone already. "Brainwashed is more accurate if we're going for simple terminology-- Victor he used some sort of pendant to knock me right off into the deep end."

His eyes are no-less narrow. He takes a other drink, tension in his forearm, lets her speak.

What she's saying is that he did something to her brain, used magic or something like it, and that's why she'd been all Brady Bunch. But he couldn't figure out the logic there. The rationale. She'd already recommended Facilier to him. Was he worried she'd, what, take his job? Seemed awful shallow.

He believes what she's saying, now, but he's not going to let it go.

"Why?"

Leave it to him to cut through the rest.

Her eyes drop to the base of her glass-- briefly, unintentionally-- it takes a long second for her to start up again.

"I asked for his help in making a decision." About what, she imagines he already knows.

Aw hell, that wasn't what he was looking for. He looked away, let her have whatever she needed, tried to keep his knuckles from going white on his glass. After a long moment he let out his breath, set the glass down again.

"So it's one of those 'be careful what you wish for' things?"

He'd heard those sorts of tales. Legends like that popped up in ever country he'd ever been to.

"You think he did it on purpose though?"

"Positive." Even if there's no evidence of it, that's always been a constant when it comes to Chloe Frazer and the supernatural; she's not about to start believing he was in it for her benefit just because she never saw him bite. The venom's proof enough.

"Look, you don't have to fire him if you think it'll cost you your neck." Or his head. "Just...I don't know, be careful, yeah?"

"Aw, hell Chloe," he blurts it out, heavy exasperation and something else.

"I'm not going to keep the asshole on the payroll, are you kidding me? If I see him around I might just shoot him for good measure."

His face is all lines, the corner of his mouth turned down sharp. She says the guy hurt her, and she thinks he's going to keep paying him? Jesus Christ, something's gone wrong here.

Never ask her to weigh her value against the value of her friends: it's too obvious how the chips will stack up. She shrugs evenly, tucks the edges of her nails against the sides of her lager. Chilled glass against skin. "Touching as that sentiment may be, darling, I'd rather you not have the same thing done to you."

"I know his game, he's not likely to get the jump on me. If he's smart he won't come around, anyhow."

He gives her a studying look. She seems low. Feelings hurt? More injured by all of this than she's playing of? He's not sure.

"Saves me having to pay him."

He says it smooth enough, little shrug before turning back around and grabbing the nice bottle again. Doesn't bother to pour, just brings the whole thing back to the bar.

"So, you want to talk about it?"

It prompts a laugh on her end-- sincere, though definitely nothing far off from pale. "Mm, because that wouldn't be awkward for the both of us. Come on, Victor, we all know the bartender psychiatrist routine only works in fiction."

"You're not even going to humor me? After all this. Come on girl, it's the dream."

He says it with a crooked grin, pushes the bottle towards her. She's still got a beer, but there was nothing in the whole wide world that couldn't be improved with a little kick.

"All right," The bottle's lifted as if accepting a peace offering, tilted briefly in thanks as she goes on. Effectively conceding. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours: fill me in on how this place has been running."

"Well, now that's not really how it's supposed to work," he says with a laugh, leaning on his elbows. It's not entirely comfortable looking, he's a little too tall for it, but he'd rather be on the level.

"But if it'll get you talking- It's running. Not great, if I"m being honest. You notice how many of the transports have gone missing? Cut a chunk of my prospective business. Get a few locals, though. And the place doesn't exactly cost a bundle to run. So it's not quite the dream, but-" He hesitates. About to say something about how it'll do, but to be honest he's not sure it will. The place was lonelier than he wanted, no one in the spare rooms, no cute little barmaids, no regulars at poker tables.

It wasn't what he wanted. For all that he'd sneered at Chloe's choice to get out of the game, it's not like he really got what he wanted, either.

"Hell, at least I've got enough booze to last until the end of days."

There's a long, thoughtful pause there as she carefully considers his confession, tops it off with one lengthy pull from the bottle that goes down smoother than she'd anticipated. He's not holding out on her, not with the truth and definitely not with the booze.

"I noticed. Thought it might've had something to do with me losing my bloody mind but if it's empty here too-- Christ." Not good. Definitely not good, though there's sympathy spared for the state of his dream.

"You know if you're not against it, I'd be more than happy to come in for a few shifts."

"Yeah. Not a damn clue what it means. Maybe we're winning. Who knows?"

He shrugs, sniffs unattractively. He kind of doubts it. Even if he did view it as their victory and not something he couldn't give half a damn about, Chloe's opinions on the situation not withstanding.

He laughed, "Yeah, alright. You come in and then someone else can pour me a beer for a change, huh?"

Honestly if she came there probably wouldn't be much for her to do, he only really ever got a handful of people in at once. But he wouldn't refuse the company.

"Anyway, I showed you mine. Your turn."

"You were supposed to forget about that bit." Chloe snorts wryly over the rim of her drink, elbows flat against the countertop.

"You might have more luck with that if you hand that bottle back. As it is, fat chance."

He knows she's stalling, but he's not really willing to let this one go. She disappears for weeks, apparently under some sort of ridiculous voodoo spell. Nominally he needs to know if it's likely to happen again.

Really he needs to know what she's thinking.

"That can be arranged." One last pull preceding the slide of glass over polished wood, though she's clearly given up on dodging the noose. "Honestly? It's all a bit fuzzy-- and believe me I'm not saying that to duck out on my end of the deal: having your days scripted tends to leave very little for the rest of your mind to do. Or bother doing."

As soon as the bottle's within reach he grabs it and takes a drink, lets it sit in his mouth for a second before swallowing. He's not about to waste the good stuff.

It's something of a distraction, something to do while she tries to explain.

"Huh."

It comes across, falls flat. But he doesn't know what to say to it, either. Figures he'll let her keep talking.

"But it's gone. Whatever he did." Says it like it's insurance or reassurance and in some ways it is, for her as much as she intends it to be for him. "I was stupid for trying to run out on my own bloody problems. Lesson learned."

There's a long, quiet beat before Chloe adds: "Again."

He slides the bottle back across to her. He figures she needs it more than him at this exact moment, because that sounded a little bit like guilt to him. Probably not exactly what she needed to be wrestling at this point.

"Well, seems to me they must have been pretty big problems for you to resort to magic. You never seemed that fond of it."

From what he'd picked up, at least. Truth be told he assumed most people weren't, hell, he sure as hell wasn't.

"I'm going to hazard a guess those problems still exist?"

"Oh, I dunno." She thins her lips briefly, popping them before one sharp, thoughtful exhale. "Not really, I suppose. Messed up as the whole thing was it certainly buggered things up enough to turn most of my concerns non-bloody-existent."

Things between her and Charlie were-- naturally-- awkward, most of her friends had either disappeared or checked out almost entirely, the new Initiative's already been contacted...yeah, safe to say she missed the boat and screwed herself right over. "Suppose he did his job after all."

"Those problems didn't just come out of nowhere darlin'. How do you feel about the whole damn situation, that's what matters."

It's not exactly chiding, a little too gentle, a little too probing, but he knows it can't be that simple.

"You think you've got it any more figured out than you did before? Because you must have been awful damn torn to go that route."

You're all my friends

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cries in the rain

u can stand under my umberella-ella-ella

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