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ph_logs2025-05-08 08:53 am
cyansoldier) wrote in ph_logs2025-05-08 08:53 am
This is a Foul-Tasting Medicine | OTA
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.
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! )
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! )
no subject
She exhales, relieved and feeling less like a bird with its wings severed.
Combat is her body's epicenter— the foundation in which mind and personality have built themselves— and it begs to be acknowledged. What use is running the same drills or meandering in the forest after deer if she isn't challenging herself? She's better than this. Her time is more valuable than what she's putting it to.
As if I have a choice.
(The underlying need to set back on her mission makes every wasted second sting worse. The Director is still out there. Agent Texas is still out there.)
A waded step closer. She raises her hand to offer a handshake.
"Deal. You can call my sending stone whenever you're done playing administrative assistant. I'll be free."
no subject
"Administrative assistant is giving me too much credit. I just work with the files."
And whatever else she actually wants to take over, like working with newcomers and currently making sure everyone doesn't screw up Radar's systems now that he's gone.
no subject
Firm grip. She's looking forward to putting that strength to the test— and pinning her down into the dirt, when the time comes.
Having finally cleared the air (as if smogging it wasn't her own doing in the first place), Carolina sinks back down into hot water and truly enjoys its balm.
Although she can't quite will her eyes to close. Too restless.
"Seems kind of simple for someone like you. Do you like it?"
no subject
She shrugs, eyes back open now as she doesn't have to feign calm and indifference.
"What else could I do, anyway?"
no subject
"I don't know," she shrugs. "You can do magic, why not take advantage of it? Isn't there some kind of practical application you can do? Alchemy or something?"
It's obvious this woman has no goddamn idea what she's talking about. She doesn't pretend, either.
"I get it. Hunting's nice. I work whenever I want, wherever I want."
no subject
"Alchemy's different than sorcery. And that niche is pretty well covered by the apothecaries here. I save my true talents for when shit decides to upend itself, or when they're otherwise needed. One day, someone's going to need an adventurer again."
no subject
Carolina sniffs. "It hasn't already upended?" Of course not. She's an idiot to think their collective streak of bad luck would end at the Opera. And anyway, Gerry did say this is going to be a monthly thing. "More fun to look forward to. Fantastic."
Adventurer garners a curious look.
"You've got big plans for leaving?"
no subject
She looks up at the sky, at passing wisps of cloud. Wonders at how much she should or could say. Doesn't say how much the idea of how many people she'll have to lose sits ill.
(But you knew, when you came to know them. You knew that one day, you'd lose them.)
"There's more reasons to stay in this world than to go, in my own books."
no subject
Funny, how two opposite intentions should sit so closely to one another. Fever, idling alongside the people she's grown to care for until the time comes to part ways— if not with all, then certainly with some. And her, an animal involuntarily trapped. A prisoner marking days on walls and exercising energy by way of vapid recreation. Training. Training for what? Training to train. Because what else is there if not kinetics?
Carolina makes a low noise. "Your world's that bad?"
no subject
Home, she's been finding, might be a little set of rooms that smell of candle smoke and the breeze off the sea. Might be a building that holds friends. Might be an island that stubbornly persists.
"What's yours like?"
no subject
Home. The crest of a great wave, building and building but never folding on top of itself. Aria of artificial voice, heavy breath and fists beating against holographic shapes. The narrow space between eyelashes and yellow visor. Metal on head. Hands in dirt. Floral, earthy atmosphere. The garden.
"You move constantly from place to place. Planet to planet. Your home is whatever ship you're on, whatever planet it's after. Makes home into a kind of novelty concept, I guess."
no subject
Rootless. Aimless. And yet, who is she to lecture, when her own home is a fragile and newborn thing, roots gently finding purchase in good soil? Fresh air, clean water, soft mosses to lie down on.
"Have there ever been any planets you want to go back to? Sights to see, all of that?"
no subject
"It wasn't bad. You learn not to take rest for granted." Her hands skid along the water's surface in two slow half circles. "You find home in different places."
The Mother of Invention; that great Leviathan ship wherein she'd fit her hopes, dreams and ambitions. Under the same roof as her father, at long last. Her room, her helmet, her corner in the training facilities— all adequate homes.
Carolina considers the question, sinking low. Water laps at her chin.
"Earth has a sister planet we call Reach. Densely populated, major military hub. There's a nightclub, Errera, in one of its larger cities. Best drinks I've ever had."
no subject
The ship, she figures someone will tell Carolina about it sooner or later. No sense bringing down the moment just yet by going into detail about that particular pain in the ass, and besides, the place is destroyed. Enough souls got out to call the solution good enough.
no subject
"They're loud. Florescent. If you don't go in with a headache, you'll definitely leave with one. Errera had this...giant corona of light in the middle of the club floor— like you'd stopped a bomb mid-burst. I always thought it was an eyesore, but when you're drunk enough it's kind of beautiful. Mostly, though, it's a lot of squeezing through bodies. Everyone's sweaty and cold so you just slide through them. The music's nice, if you like to dance. The drinks are good. "
no subject
A tiny pause, while she lets the vision overtake her.
"I'd just have to remember to take painkillers before stepping out on the floor."
no subject
She turns an eye in Fever's direction.
"What, they don't have anything like that around here? All this magic and no one's figured out how to do a light show? I find that hard to believe."
no subject
For all of what they do have, the town's small, and so's the isle. Anything fancy like that would be on the mainland, in one of the bigger cities, to hear others talk.