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

He hasn't heard that laughter in months, and he's willing to go to great lengths to get her to do it again.

And so, when the snow connects with him, Nate makes a dramatic noise and falls backward into the bank behind him. "Argh, no! Already, she turns on me! Curse you Chloe!" he cries, clutching his chest with one hand and reaching for the sky with the other. "Curse....you!"

Ridiculous bastard.

"It was inevitable, Drake." Nothing short of theatric in her performance, Chloe follows him over the bank, edging along a thick line of snow after his heels. "I always intended to take the sap for myself and gain immortality-- you were just a pawn in that play. One that must be disposed of."

Cue shoving that thick frost right over on him. After all they've been through, why the bloody hell not take the chance to have a laugh.

Nate makes a horrible choking noise that's far too convincing when she kicks snow over him, right until he accidentally swallows some of it. Then he bolts up and spits, coughing in a completely ungraceful display and pushing his fist in his chest.

Vaguely, he pauses to think about what Chloe said and goes eeriely silent -- not out of any lingering emotion, but because he is slowly putting some pieces together. Sap? Immortality?

Resin. The images of the tree of life. Of course. That's what Lazarevic was after. Not the fabled sapphire.

Sorry Chloe, Nate is on another planet right now.

She doesn't follow it. Not for a long beat or two, spent watching him while he's stuck somewhere in his own head (knows that look well enough from years spent entertaining it in both the best of circumstances in addition to the most dire). Chloe leans in over the bank. Cants her head in his direction.

"Nate...?"

"Sap that grants immortality," he echoes with a bit of a cynical laugh, the fist coming up to rub over his face. He keeps chuckling at the absurdity of the idea. "That's what he wanted. Not the stone."

He keeps laughing for a few more seconds and then proceeds to smear his face with his palms. Of course, he knows Chloe knows that already, so he just exhales with a quiet. "Oh boy."

"Ah."

He hadn't been there for it. Right. Hard to remember that at times. Particularly in moments like this. "Well good news for you is that's all done and dealt with, darling, You know, once you get there."

If he gets back there.

Well, that was true. If Chloe comes from the future, he obviously stopped him just fine. That gets to relax him a bit.

"Well. So much for that big payoff, huh?" he grunts, leaning forward on his knees. "Giant sapphire runs for a hell of a lot more than a giant piece of resin."

He's not looking forward to going back home.

"You get your payoff, hero." Something more valuable than money.

Chloe offers up an outstretched hand, leather still damp with melted powder. Offers him a way out of her mess, as usual. Seems to always be the way of things between them. "Come on, up you get."

He thinks about what she says as he accepts her hand. Right. Payoff. She had mentioned it once before -- about Elena, about getting married. He assumes it must have happened after they bagged Lazarevic -- he can't imagine what would have possessed him to go for it. At least not at the time. Maybe he had an epiphany after kicking an immortal foreigner in his shriveled steroid nads.

"Well," he starts awkwardly. It wasn't that he didn't love Elena. He did -- enough that it was hard to admit to out loud without being embarrassed. She hadnt been the first. Hadn't been the only. "I guess."

That's really all he can say. There had been something wittier attached, but he finds himself missing Elena too much to make the joke.

She thins her lips. Knows she's done enough talking about any past or future that isn't theirs. Theirs now, anyway.

His weight's solid, but she manages the pull-up well enough. Tugs him up and out of the ditch before she bothers to fall back on her heels. Avoids looking his way.

"She'll turn up again, cowboy. Give it time."

"Thanks."

And of course, she saw right through him. In response, all Nate can really do is grunt or sigh -- sighing seems dramatic, so he opts for the grunt and adds a shrug to go along with it once he's on his feet.

"Probably better if she doesn't," he offers, squinting at the marketplace behind Chloe. He figures she'd actually feel pretty at home in a place with so many cultures, languages, ways of life...but there was no telling who could show up, and they were tangled in a war. She was already tangled in the affair with Lazarevic -- if he can avoid a repeat of that, he'll be happy.

And then there was the chance of the time discrepancy. What the hell would he do if she came in with a ring on her finger while his was bare?

She could comfort him. Tell him he's wrong and it'd be just fine no matter how bleak the circumstances are. But side by side in the snow, same as ever, Chloe can't bring herself to lie about something that important.

Or someone she respects.

"Probably, yeah."

"Well, this thing can't last forever, right?" he manages with a bit of a forced grin, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket to stave off the cold. "We'll get back to it eventually."

Which is part of what worries him, honestly, but he's doing an excellent job of holding his grin when he says it.

Maybe he'd even go back fully healed. Wouldn't that be something?

"No." Chloe shifts back to lean on the flat of her palms. Feels the cold sink in around her like realization. "No it certainly won't."

And when it does end, the memory of it all will as well.

There's something in the way she says that which sets an alarm off in his head -- the "good job Nate, you fucked up" alarm, of course. It rings in his head often.

He leans over and pulls his hands out of his pockets to clap a hand on her shoulder again and reaches for her opposite hand to get her back on her toes where she belongs. He's not totally sure where her mind is, but he's never sure of that anymore. The most he can do is try and nudge her back toward what he knows is familiar.

"C'mon, killer, upsie-daisy," he offers with his typical smirk.

Killer. Almost funny hearing it from him.

Almost.

But she leans into the pull of his hand once it's taken, gains her balance quickly enough (and her senses while she's at it) offering a wan smile when she goes to return the favor of his tap to her shoulder. "All right, all right, you.That's enough fussing over me for today."

You're all my friends

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject