exsiliumlogs | 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

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."

"I'll be fine, Victor." Much as she trusts him-- years lost or not-- sorting out the matter of emotion doesn't come easy. Hasn't even at the best of times. This isn't among them, to say the least, but she cares enough to assuage whatever apparent concern he's got.

And then, after the initial dismissal, she does him the favor of backtracking, scraping her knuckles gently across the counter. "Well we're not meant for it, are we? This-- any of it. Sitting about on our asses waiting for the world to change."

"I don't know about that," he's not quite willing to throw anyone under the bus. Not yet at least. Rolls the glass back and forth across the table in front of him, two fingers.

"We're not good at waiting. Better at going after what we want. That doesn't mean we're boxed in."

He doesn't look at her when he says it, tacit approval isn't his forte.

"Just means we come at it from a different angle."

Not his forte at all, though he excels in it the way he would a dodgy gunfight or a round of cards: all natural talent and instinct. Does a better job of easing tension than she'd ever care to admit, though it's obvious enough given the fresh, easy curve of a smile that crops up in response. "So we do."

Bright eyes flick over to watch the slide of his glass. The press of his fingers. "And so we will-- starting with this." Chloe nods towards the rest of the bar from over her shoulder. "Betting I can drag in more locals than you'll know what to do with."

He doesn't miss the smile, returns one that's a good-enough reproduction, even if it's not quite there. He isn't going to shoot that witch doctor right now, but he's thinking around it, anyway.

Sure, she might have asked for it, but fairness wasn't anything he gave a shit about. Revenge was something he was better versed in. Besides, you didn't let someone who was willing to fuck you over just go walking around. Bad for business.

"Oh?" He is surprised- totem or not, he was fairly sure she was done with this place, didn't fit into whatever plans she'd had. But- "What, you going to tell them you work here?"

"I've had more than enough time to earn a decent reputation around town via trade." She notes the limitations of his smile, doesn't say a word about it. "I say I'm here and-- well they're a skittish bunch, but they'll come if I pitch it."

"I don't doubt that. You do have your charms," he doesn't bother to curtail the drag of his eyes, rolls the glass across the counter in her direction.

And he genuinely didn't doubt it. If she put her mind to it, he was sure this place would go wherever she wanted it. He'd seen what she'd done with her little rebellion- and that hadn't even promised booze.

"So do you, but between the two of us I'm the one willing to show a little leg." And she imagines, on her end of things, that if he hadn't felt so out of touch with all the people in his life that he's been told matter, this place wouldn't be anywhere near as quiet.

For all the focus that she's put on her own misery, it's been hard to remember he has his own.

"You're doubting my commitment?"

The rakish grin comes easy, as does the reach for the bottle. Whatever feelings he's got about this, she's not going to see them.

"Well, I sure appreciate it. Lets see if we can't turn a profit, huh?"

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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