This is a Foul-Tasting Medicine | OTA

[cyansoldier]

Who: Agent Carolina (cyansoldier) & You.
What: Carolina adjusts poorly to Caboose's sudden absence. Among other things.
When: Early May.
Where: Around town.
Warning(s): Brief mention of dead deer, gun usage.

( Strike up the tinderbox / Why should I be good if you're not? )

I won't turn around or the penny drops.

She hasn't seen Caboose in days. Not since she'd squatted in his ramshackle porch on Crane's Ridge summit, shoulder to shoulder. When morning peeled through the trees, they walked together. Her, in silence. Him, remarking on whatever interesting thing he saw. Bugs, mostly.

She doesn't think twice about his absence—at first. Caboose, like a large and excitable dog, tracks what most interests him. Animals, people, machines if there are any. She'll find him. It's fine. Don't worry about it.

She searches for him at the Ranch. Said he'd wanted cows.

She searches for him in the woods. Plenty to distract him there.

She searches for him in town. Maybe someone's seen him. Big and tall, curly hair. Probably said something stupid.

As a last resort, Carolina stalks to Town Hall. She's on edge. She pushes through the door like it's just attacked her. Michael J. Caboose. I need to find him. Can you tell me his address? An odd look from the desk. I know him. It's important. Please.

He's gone. People come and go, ma'am.

She leaves angry and humiliated. Feels sick. It doesn't make any sense. Why would he leave? To-ge-ther, he said in his broken tones. What an idiot. She's an idiot for believing she could trust him— trust anyone to hold tender a shred of her feelings. Comfort like newly shattered glass stuck in her hands and face and chest.

She doesn't need him.

She should be training.


Won't stop now / Won't slack off. [OTA]

She moves like a shark. No moment of peace. No chance to rest.

Carolina picks through produce like a soldier in the midst of a deadly stealth mission, peering over her shoulder every fifth step for signs of danger and looks so suspicious that she's confronted about stealing.

She jogs at the outskirts of the residential areas (avoiding Connecticut while also keeping the possibility of seeing her squarely at the front of her brain). Slides in the dark nooks between buildings to catch her breath and spit. Sometimes she lingers with her arm and forehead butted up against the wall. Numb. Staring at nothing. Feeling her lungs swell and deflate with the effort she puts into moving, moving, moving.

Most days she can be found marching to the Oak & Iron with a deer slung around her shoulders, its horned head bobbing limply. She tries to feel good about it. She'll get a few pieces of Brass and the people will have venison to enjoy. She tries, and feels empty.

From her farmhouse are the usual sounds of gunshots and split wood. Maybe you find her cleaning her Colt Revolving Shotgun, perhaps the only thing she's really grown to care about in this place. Tread carefully. She's trained to shoot on sight.



This dance / Is like a weapon. [Wildcard]

_{( Have something else in mind? Shoot! )}

Comments

Penny Drops

[elvaquerito]

There was a little mail carrier dressed as a cowpoke on their way to drop off the mail for Town Hall when Carolina made her wellness check. Left fuming with embarrassment and thinly veiled heartbreak. She didn't even notice them as she practically hurled herself out the door, as if she would vomit if she had to stand there another minute.

Kelaiah understands. They've been feeling Alexei's absence, too. The only Bizzyboy aside from Patty to stay, and then he... didn't. The worst part was finding out that he'd been here at all--- and that they'd missed him entirely.

He never once had time to speak to me? Not since February? And now he's just gone? Yup. Ain't that just the way. Way to be forgettable, Kel.

About an hour later, they find her. They know her address. They're the mail carrier, after all. They knock on her door, letter in hand.

[cyansoldier]

Carolina puts three new holes in her bedroom wall by the time Godpoke arrives.

To find her they'll have treaded the lonely path to 475 Strawberry Fields Straight, through mud and past trees too miserable from Winter to have sprouted leaves. They reach branch-tendrils high into the air for purposeless sun.

True to its name, an overgrown strawberry patch flanks the left side of Carolina's property. The perimeter is fenced in by meager wooden poles. The fruit, like little organs where they glisten in their flower beds, beg to be eaten. Not quite in season, but thriving where the trees have failed. She hasn't touched them once.

The last thing she expects is a knock at her door.

The last thing she wants is a knock at her door.

Grabbing her Colt from the night stand and shaking drywall from her fist, Carolina stomps all the way downstairs and to the front door. Peering through the door viewer she sees— no one.

Rage burns her sinews. She flings the door open and takes aim.

Then, blinking, promptly lowers her gun.

"Oh. It's you. What do you want?"

[elvaquerito]

Silently, they hand over an envelope addressed to a "Miss Carolina" with her address on it.

Inside, there is a letter, should she choose to open it then and there. Along with some pressed wildflowers.

Howdy,

Sorry to bother you when it seems like you're dealing with stuff. It just seemed like you might need a friend, since one of yours left. I recently found out one of my friends left before I even knew he was here, so I understand a little bit, I think.

I've heard some stuff, about why people leave. And how they leave. It kind of provided me with some perspective that might help you, too. My understanding is that sometimes people just get called back to the ferry, usually late at night, and most times they don't get a chance to say much. Apparently the reasons vary, but a lot of times it means that they got to just go on home and live, so they didn't need this place. Or it's because this life wasn't right for them somehow, or they were called to some other purpose.

I dunno what your friend was like, or why he might've needed to go. But I think that if this place was doing more harm than good or he just wasn't cut out for being here, or that he just gets to live, it might be worth forgiving him for leaving you. I know that probably doesn't feel fair. You're a tough lady, but that doesn't mean you don't need your people. And you seem like the type of person who really wants to get home, so maybe you're thinking why does he get to go back but not you. I don't know. I can't read your mind. I just kinda know what people are like. Maybe I'm totally off, and I hope you'll forgive me if I am.

In any case, I know that it sucks, and that you're not in the mood to talk about it. Some people don't like talking about stuff 'cause they think it makes them seem weak. Is it like that for you? I hate asking for help. I always feel worthless. Anyway, tangent aside--- I thought it might be nice to just know there's someone in your corner. And if you don't want anyone knowing you're sad, then your secret's safe with me 'cause I don't talk! Convenient, ain't it?

You'll see your friend again someday. And I hope the fact that he's alive somewhere gives you some peace. 'Till then, you got friends here. I hope I'm one of 'em. Been pressing these flowers for a couple weeks, and I thought you might like the blue ones, so they're yours. Careful, they're fragile.

- Pokey

[cyansoldier]

She bends down to snatch the letter from their hand, a giant human-shaped knot of suspicion.

Paper tears.

Handwriting she doesn't recognize. A tidy, pleasant script.

She begins to read, her expression indiscernibly angry.

Quiet.

"I hate being here. I'm stagnant. I can't do anything. He gets to go off and pretend to be useful, and here I am, stuck with all this— anger that I can't put anywhere because I can't go anywhere!"

There's a gun with her name on it, somewhere. A father whose skull lacks in approximately 10mm of lead and copper. Every day he gets a little further away from her. Every day she forgets a facet of his facial features. Green eyes, square jaw, hooked nose. Wisps of grey combed neatly to one side. A stranger.

A letter— and flowers.

Carolina's ire is short lived. It fizzles out like wet gunpowder, leaving her deflated. With letter in hand, she crosses the barrier between doorway and porch to sit on the step.

The flowers in her palm are beautiful. Blue chichories, if she remembers correctly. No one's given her flowers since—

Her head sinks between broad shoulders.

"Most days I'd rather die than ask for help. I feel so ashamed of myself. I don't know when it got so hard. It's like, if I can't do this, then what else can't I do? If people know— if they see how hard it is, they won't think I'm strong anymore. I was a leader. It's what I'd been prepared for my entire life. Now that's gone. Maybe I can't do anything, and for so long I've convinced myself otherwise."

She runs her thumb along dry stems.

"I used to pick flowers just like these."

[elvaquerito]

Kelaiah listens carefully as she speaks, nodding with understanding. They'd love to tell her about all the ways she could be useful here, but Megapon doesn't have the words, and their own won't come. She'll just have to find her way on that journey the old fashioned way, they reckon.

Boots thump on the porch, and Carolina plops down on the seat. Pokey sits beside her, still listening. They're good at that. They understand. Empathize. Truly, they do. Maybe they don't need words to tell her that much, instead opting to just

sigh.

They lean on her lightly. Subtle contact. Maybe it helps.

wildcardish

[liesdontfindyou]

In the weeks after the opera, CT is careful not to let herself run into Carolina by accident. No, better not to put Carolina immediately on the defensive by ambushing her, and better to give herself time to get... adequately prepared.

Neil comes through, of course he does. Another charm added to her bracelet, inconspicuous and easy to activate just by rolling the bracelet into her hand the way she so often does. Truth guaranteed. Questions to ask.

CT calls Carolina on her sending stone. "We need to talk."

[cyansoldier]

CT catches her adversary in the middle of a sporadic nap. She's sprawled out on the floor as per usual, her pillow wrangled into a choke-hold, her sheets unused. Teetering on the edge of consciousness. A half-dream. Sleep doesn't come easily these days. Nor has it for the last two or so decades.

And so when CT begins speaking through her sending stone, Carolina's eyelids zip open. She's up in an instant, pawing for her revolver and sending her own stone clattering under the bed.

Connie.

The voice again, muffled by a sort of magic static.

Oh. That thing.

Grunting, she tosses her gun onto her mattress. The stone is jagged in her hand where she snatches it from the ground. When she speaks, it's hoarse and residually irritated.

"When and where?"

[liesdontfindyou]

"My yard, whenever you can get over here?"

Home territory and a friend nearby is still an advantage she can't pass up. Neutral ground isn't worth half as much as that and she has the leverage to insist, she thinks, even if Carolina would prefer otherwise.

[cyansoldier]

"I'm leaving my gun. Don't make me regret it." Not in the mood today. A pause. CT hears a sigh on the other end of the line— and shuffling. The sound of rubber soles clattering against old wood in her effort to put her boots on. "I'll be there in twenty."

She dresses herself, slides on her coat and hesitates at the door. Her hunter's knife catches her eye where she's stuck it into the doorframe. She told Connecticut she was leaving her gun, but said nothing of knives. And after her ass-beating at the hands of Fever, well...

You never know when you'll need it.

Carolina grabs it, slides it into her boot and rushes through the door.

[liesdontfindyou]

CT doesn't even dignify that with a response, much as the words no need for the dramatics, Carolina hang on her tongue for a moment. She just stuffs her stone back in her pocket and sits on the same rickety old bench that's been there since she got here.

On one wrist, pearls and charms. On the other, the silver cuff that lets her mimic her holograms. In her boots, her usual array of knives.

Adequately prepared.

Twenty minutes tick by and she rests her eyes on the gate.

won't stop now

[hadnoright]

Carolina is not the only hunter out in the woods. Not today, nor most other days—it's just that this particular Hunter makes an effort to stay out of the way of other, lowercase hunters to avoid... incident. Better not to risk it, even if her self-control has held remarkably well in recent months.

But it's not foolproof. Other hunters are free agents, they go wherever they like and sometimes that means they stray deeper into the forest and across Daisy's path.

Most of the time she can pick up their scent before she sees them, giving her the chance to head another direction. But sometimes she's too tunnel-visioned, too caught up in the Hunt and the Prey she's chasing to snap out of it until she lunges and takes down the game—a boar, today—with her teeth in its throat.

cw: emeto mention

[cyansoldier]

A boar's guttural squeal interrupted only by its own retching. Blood turns clear forest air acerbic and gamey. There's a weak beat of hooves and then snarling.

Carolina thinks maybe she's found herself a wolf. Furs pay well. She'll finally have an excuse to buy that holster she's been eyeing at the market.

Crouching in thick underbrush with two limp rabbits tied to her waist and a rifle in her hands, Agent Carolina makes herself as small as possible. Invisible, ideally, through sheets of leaves and thorns and stinging nettle. The deer musk she perfumes herself with should cover her scent. Enough for her to creep in close... closer...

The shape gesticulates. Shoulders rolling, head falling forward and snapping sideways to tear sinews from their muscle anchors and enjoying every second. The shape is furless. Its short curtain of hair falls in front of its face. Not a wolf, but a human girl.

Jesus christ—

It's the closest Carolina comes to vomiting in her entire lifetime. She swallows down spit and bile in one big gulp.

No. No, absolutely not. She won't be taking any chances, and she sure as hell won't be put in the same position as that boar.

Carolina raises her gun, aims for the girl's knee and fires without hesitating. The boom cracks the clear blue sky into ceramic pieces.

cw: blood and injury

[hadnoright]

Metal tears through fabric, skin, muscle and bone and shocks an animal sound of pain out of Daisy, not half as agonised as it should be but startled enough to make up the difference. She hisses through bloody teeth and drops the boar dead to the ground with a hefty thud, its blood pooling in the dirt, falling back onto her ass with a curse.

"Fuck's sake—"

Her hand flies to her leg, not to apply pressure but to yank the trouser up to get a look at the damage as it disappears. Heals. Skin and muscle and sinew knitting back together in real time. Not pleasant to look at or to feel, though she's gotten used to it over the years. Pain doesn't mean much to her, anymore.

Before it's even done, she's looking up at the stranger with her odd yellow eyes, pupils slitted like an animal, mouth still drenched in blood, and saying, "Really? Was that necessary?"

[cyansoldier]

Carolina expects her bullet to crack kneecap and surrounding bone into a hundred unsalvageable pieces, scattered like glass across the forest floor. The impact will have severed the woman's popliteal artery and she'll bleed out in a matter of minutes. Not the cleanest kill nor the most merciful, but it'll have to do.

Except there's no glorious arching spray of blood. No, the only blood present here is the thick, syrupy coating smeared across the woman's face.

Knees... aren't... supposed to...

"You'll get a disease," Carolina says, slow and scowling, trying to make sense of the scene before her and ultimately unable to do so. So she isn't a wolf. She isn't human, either. Not with eyes like her's. Teeth and claws and a sharpness about her features she's never seen before. Not even in herself. "...Eating raw meat like that."

She's learned an important thing about predators. Human, alien, animal alike.

To not be afraid.

Carolina comes out of hiding with gun still raised.

[hadnoright]

Daisy snorts. "Wasn't planning on eating the whole boar. Wouldn't get ill even if I did, mind you."

No, she's not going to elaborate on that. Daisy rarely elaborates unless given reason. But if parasites and germs from uncooked meat could still do her harm, she'd never stop being sickly. But her system has long since lost the humanity needed for her to be susceptible to such things. She's more animal than woman in that way. In many ways, really.

She rubs her knee like she's massaging a knot in the muscle and tuts at the torn trouser leg. That's annoying. Can't be running around with loose fabric like that, it'll get snagged. Have to patch it or sacrifice another pair to hunting attire.

"You go around shooting at strangers a lot?"

Won't Stop Now

[redlightgreenlight]

"Careful, you might hit something you don't wish to."

Valdis leans against a tree, watching Carolina fire at targets out behind the farmhouse. It has taken time for her to be able to do as CT asked and check in on the woman's former ally, but she's here now and she plans on making sure Carolina isn't a threat before promoting CT.

[cyansoldier]

A pow and trail of smoke into the dim afternoon sky.

Wood squeals and splinters a few yards away, red target-center turned holy and unrecognizable with daily use. She should really take the time to make another one...

When the black cloud spits out from Carolina's gun-muzzle and is taken away by the wind, the shape of a woman becomes clear. She tenses imperceptibly.

"It's common safety to stay out of the way when someone's firing a gun, you know. It's also common curtesy to ask before you waltz up onto someone's property."

A pause. She lowers her gun. "Let me guess. CT?"

[redlightgreenlight]

Valdis gives a little smirk.

"As interim leader of the Enforcers, I don't need permission to investigate gunshots. You might have been in danger and firing at those monsters that hang around, it's only prudent to check."

She doesn't react when the woman mentions CT though, nor does she move until Carolina lowers the gun, just in case the woman decides to try to make a point.

"CT doesn't know I'm here."

[cyansoldier]

Her mouth forms a silent 'ah'.

"So you're the big boss around here. How nice of you to check in." Carolina slings her rifle across her back and raises her hands in the universal sign of surrender. "I'm not breaking any rules, am I?"

She doesn't like her smirk... There's something about this woman that feels remarkably like a trap.

"What are you here for, then?"

[redlightgreenlight]

"I lead the enforcers, but I still must defer to the mayor on some things."

Like releasing Elias, though she probably would have done that anyway once she found a good enough excuse to satisfy the community.

"And no, you aren't breaking any rules, I just have this aggravating need to check up on the military types, especially those who seem to be struggling with fitting in."

wildcard.

[abhorrently]

Turning up the frequency of her training to gain skill in a new weapon takes a toll. Fortunately, it's one that the waters out on Crane's Ridge can soothe away. It's one of her favorite places on the Isle, regardless of the season, and Fever welcomes the excuse to go. A train ride and a short walk is a small price to pay for peace.

Solitary at the moment, she slips into the water with a sigh of relief. Her arms and upper back have the tension of learning technique, but the warmth will seep in and help. Comforting. She lets her mind wander, and shuts her eyes, focused on no one thing in particular, floating from thought to thought. Marveling at the space to do so, another change wrought upon her that still hasn't lost its newness.

Footsteps make her eyes open, her turn her head enough to see who it is. Well now. That's a surprise, but not an unpleasant one, and there's hardly a risk of a repeat of last time given the location. But it's Carolina's choice, in the end, and so Fever turns her head back. Let her decide what she's willing to deal with today.

The water's not electrocuted, after all.

[cyansoldier]

Carolina's joints ache by the time she makes it up the mountain, foregoing the train ride in favor of pushing herself a little harder, a little further than what convenient transportation might have allowed. She's a newcomer to this part of the forest. Stumbled upon the springs a few short days ago while hiking. She felt she hadn't earned it and so turned around to go home.

Now, she needs this. Peace and quiet. A chance to reflect on one incredibly heightened conversation. And importantly, a balm to soothe her soreness. What better than the springs?

The trees part into a bare, stoney cliff retreat that overlooks the rest of the forest. Here, the hot springs sprawl out generously. Steam billows up to meet the cool, morning atmosphere. The air is wet and hot and piney.

And much to her dismay and displeasure, she isn't the only soul here. Fever tips her chin in Carolina's direction, a half-greeting— no, a taunt— and resumes her lounging. Stubborn will strangles the instinct to turn around and head home. Conceding the spring to Fever is no better than being caught under her knife's edge, and Carolina won't have it. Refuses, like an animal fighting to its death, to let her win again.

Saying nothing (with a scowl to match), Carolina works off her shoes and pads across the warm stone. The rest of her clothes come next, stripped one by one, almost threateningly slow, until she's completely bare. She's a soldier's body through and through, littered with bullet hole scars and knife tracks. Fresh bruises where Fever struck her with her quarterstaff. And others; surgery scars, the like.

She ignores the perfectly empty baths to step into Fever's.

[abhorrently]

Seeing her own handiwork is one thing, but the collection of scars another. Time and time again, moments engraved into the other woman's body, pain endured and survived. If they were friendlier, Fever might have asked. Instead, she lets the water mostly conceal her body, saying nothing until they've both settled. Sinking in until it rises around her neck, hoping the warmth will ease off any migraine approach.

Fine, it falls to her to speak, because otherwise they'll be sitting here in pure awkward silence forever.

"For your information, I'm not interested in a second bout today. I would have peace instead."

There. Intentions on the table. She even closes her eyes to prove it - at a disadvantage, surely.

[cyansoldier]

"The peace is all yours." Carolina drawls in one dangerously flat note, surprised to find herself slighted in a way she can't place. Maybe not with words. Tactilely, however, the sorceress all but pressed her head down into the dirt beneath her heel, revoking her chance to prove her strength— and purposefully so.

Carolina wills herself down into the water. It's why she's here. It climbs her waist, arms, shoulders. Swallows her up until only her head bobs at the surface. Runs into the metal grooves of her useless AI implant, seated at her nape.

Silence. Water lulls. The forest is beautiful from up here.

Carolina breaks the peace. Her voice is tight. She's never relaxed a day in her life. Doesn't know where to begin, and so falls into what she knows.

"And for the record— I didn't know you were going to be here."

[abhorrently]

"Otherwise you would have stayed far away, right? It'd have been your loss."

Fever sounds unbothered, as serene as the scene is, but she's still on alert. Ready for if Carolina gets too close. Though what would happen, she doesn't know - it'd be a shame to stain these waters with blood. If only because she doesn't know how to clean them.

"This is one of the first places I made a point of seeing, when I arrived."