When You’re Down And Out | OTA

[deepbluerevue]

Who: Grace Holloway (deepbluerevue) & sundry (You)

What: Grace’s return to Pumpkin Hollow

When: November 9th to 14th (roughly)

Where: Downtown and the Oak & Iron

Warning(s): Rapture in the late 1950s into the 1960s was a tough place to live, but Grace is unlikely to bring such things up of her own accord.

DOWNTOWN PUMPKIN HOLLOW (after Grace has been to City Hall)

Winter is rapidly approaching Marrow Isle, and anyone with the wardrobe to do so is bundled against the weather. The middle-aged woman in a new arrival’s garb, on the other hand, has her girlishly-round jaw clenched against the cold, the hand not holding her cane tucked casually in her pocket. She doesn’t look overwhelmed, per se, but there’s a definite air of measurement as her eyes flick over each shop in turn. Particularly, she seems to assess the newer shops, and those selling clothing.

If one had to guess, one would probably say the woman is in her late thirties, perhaps early forties. The few lines on her face speak to some time spent frowning and a lot of time spent smiling. Her coily hair is expertly coiffed into a simple, protective updo. When she shifts in her simple boots, her left leg seems a little less able to bend at the knee.

Given how uncomfortably chilled she looks, she’ll probably move into a shop soon.

(This is a great opening for a clothier!)

THE OAK AND IRON (after Grace has gone shopping)

It’s not quite dark, so the Oak and Iron still has plenty of custom, though people intending to spend the night at home are starting to trickle out. On an end of the bar with a good vantage point, a middle-aged woman clad in a white linen blouse, a light brown waistcoat, and a long brown skirt sits with ankles crossed and nurses a glass of wine. A few people seem to double-take on seeing her, going over for a few minutes of conversation, to which she smiles, clasping their hands companionably or nodding or something similar.

Someone with a guitar is strumming out background music, and the woman politely applauds every finished number.

WILDCARD

For other ideas and ways to exploit Grace’s disorienting return, PM me!

Comments

[drharvey]

James' own smile widens into something brighter and a little goofy, lopsided around the edges. "Dr. Harvey. But please call me James," he adds with a tip of his head.

"It's very nice to meet you, Grace. You— you said you've been gone awhile? Do you mean... from town?"

[deepbluerevue]

Something in Grace’s expression flickers for a moment, but the smile that follows is entirely genuine. “James,” Grace says. “Lovely to meet you. And yes,” she adds, gesturing to James that he can take a seat if he’d like. “The whole island, actually. Turns out, if you come back to life for a little bit, you leave the island.” This smile is a little more sad. “It’s good to see some of the same faces are still here, after two years.”

[drharvey]

He's more than happy to take her up on that offer, moving to sit beside Grace — turning his body attentively towards her as he listens. Though almost immediately, that cheerful disposition of his sobers, startled by what he hears.

"You went back home?" And came back here, again? He didn't know such a thing was possible, and the idea of it is... a particular horror.

"I'm sorry. That must be... so jarring." To say the absolute least. James' brows pinch in empathy, more than mildly disturbed by the concept that the poor woman escaped this place, only to find herself back in it.

[deepbluerevue]

“It was, thank you,” Grace sighs, “though it feels like it barely counts as going back home. I got hit on the head, you see,” she explains, “so I came to on the ground. And then I found myself right on that ferry again.” She shakes her head, but her attention is still on James’s reactions. “A couple seconds there, and that was two whole years here, can you believe it?”

[drharvey]

Literal seconds back home... Is it more merciful that way? That time passes differently in this reality than it does back in their home worlds? Or more cruel? The sinking feeling in James' gut suggests the second, and his features tug as though physically weighted, into a deep frown. So even if he does get to go back home, it may only be temporary. And he won't even remember it. He won't remember seeing Kat again; it'll be like he never had.

"You remember... being hit on the head?" Something must have... killed her again, right? Or almost. That's how they come here. "Did someone..." James hesitates, worries his lip; the question feeling too much, too personal, but at the same time there's something that binds them all together here, as macabre as it is. Death. "Did someone hurt you?"

[deepbluerevue]

Oddly, a wry smile lightens her face a bit. “It’s sweet of you to worry. I should’ve said, I think it was a falling ceiling tile or something that got me. The whole city’s getting shook to pieces. I heard my neighbors nearby when I came to, if they get the chance they’ll come pick me up.”

Going unsaid:

(Now, were half the Droppers in question evacuating with her because they’re too ADAM-addled to get to the train without her personally leading them there? Sure. But the other half is steady, and everyone in the Pauper’s Drop Family knows to mind Miss Gracie first.

If this ends up with her getting jabbed with a medpack to bring her back to life — well, she’ll take the consequences of that over lying on the ground to drown.)

cw: a lot of Death Talk, just in case

[drharvey]

"Oh — oh geez." James looks no less disturbed by the truth that comes, brow pinching in surprise and then some sweep of horror by the thought. It sounds like some sort of... horrific natural disaster, maybe? Or maybe... maybe a war. Either way, a whole city getting shook to pieces, things falling, crumbling in... it's still violent. Fortunately no murders, but... still violent.

(He's also still incredibly sensitive to all of this, to the idea of people being hurt, dying or almost-dying. Sometimes he wonders how he was possibly chosen by this place, to help save it. He's not strong. Not the way Amelia was. He's all raw nerves and open heart and bleeding empathy.)

"It sounds like... there's all sorts of ways people end up in this place. I don't really... remember how I got here." He frowns, deeply. "I just hope that whoever finds me back home, it isn't... my daughter. If I'm.. dead, or almost dead, or dying... I don't want her to see me like that."

[deepbluerevue]

Grace’s eyes go sad and sympathetic, far sadder than she was when talking about her own injury. “No one would,” she says. “Sounds like you’ve got even more reason to want to get back home safe and sound. How old is she, can I ask?”

She wonders:

Would Eleanor help Grace if she found her? It might be fair if she didn’t. Grace wouldn’t blame her.

[drharvey]

He smiles again, not minding the question in the least. It presses a certain aching place in his chest, but it's not one he wants to ignore. The pain of missing his daughter is a way for him to keep her right with him, same as with Amelia. Only... Kat's not dead, and so the pain is a different kind. Worrying, concerned for her safety, constantly.

"Thirteen. Her name's Kathleen. Kat." His hand has to remember not to jump towards a wallet that isn't there, to find a photograph that isn't there.

"After her mother passed away, it's been just the two of us. I feel about out of my mind being here without her."

[deepbluerevue]

“My condolences. Though, better that than her being here,” Grace points out, though not without sympathy. “If it means getting back to her, I know you’ll figure things out.” She hesitates for a second, as though considering adding something, but seems to change her mind. “Thirteen’s getting pretty big. How’s she doing? Following you around at work?”

[drharvey]

"Yeah, I... learned pretty quick how bad this place can get," James says with a wince. He had that exact thought recently, up on that mountain — for how much he misses Kat, he can't imagine her being exposed to... some of the things he saw people go through.

"More like ducks out of every room I come into. Let's see how the young people would say it... 'Dad, you're totally cramping my style.'"

But the grin brightens in his eyes, something visibly fond through the teasing. "We've moved around a lot, because of my work. It's been... hard on her. Sometimes I forget how difficult it is, being a teenager."

[deepbluerevue]

“Figuring out how to be your own person,” Grace agrees, looking wistful. She swirls the wine in her glass. “Sounds like she’s lucky to have you, even if you’ve had to move around. Tough industry?”

(The few teenagers in the Drop ought to have been brought to the bathyspheres first. Damn, but she hopes they made it.)

[drharvey]

"An uh, how should I put it.... exclusive one." James gives another one of his hapless smiles. That makes it sound like some elite business, but the truth is more—

"Not a lot of call for afterlife therapists. We have to go wherever the hauntings are, and that could be anywhere." He knows how that sounds to most people, smile turning a little shy. "I guess most teenagers' idea of fun isn't chasing down ghosts with their dad."

[deepbluerevue]

Something goes blank in Grace’s expression for just a moment — but maybe it’s imagination, because she seems to be smiling again. “Ghosts sound pretty exciting to me,” she jokes, “but I guess you can get used to anything.” A fingernail taps on the scarred wood of the bar. “Wouldn’t think ghosts have much money to be throwing around, though… how is it you get a living out of that? Pun intended,” she grins, toothy.

[drharvey]

Despite his absentminded-professor vibes, James is highly observant, sensitive to things, attentive to them. There's a shift in her eyes, too quick to hold onto for long, but he does see it.

Of course, it could be surprise, the way most people would probably be surprised to hear someone say what he just had. But she seems to recover very fast, so fast that it almost surprises him. She's not looking at him like he's crazy or frightening, almost settling into the idea as well as someone who might already have experience with such things would. But then— he's met all sorts of people in this place for whom concepts like ghosts aren't so bizarre. So he smiles back, wide and white and relieved for the unspoken permission to keep going.

"Before I started doing that, I was a psychiatrist. A normal, run-of-the-mill kind, no ghosts involved." He laughs. "I have some money left from my practice." ...Never mind it's mostly run out by now..... "But it's usually the families of the ah, deceased, that contact me." And pay him. "Not so much the ghosts themselves. They're usually pretty wary to speak to me directly as it is, without some kind of instrument or vessel between us. Truthfully, I'm still pretty new to actually meeting them face to face, but from what I hear... this place has a lot of lost souls around."

[deepbluerevue]

Again that mirror-smooth moment right around when he starts speaking, folding away as he continues on, and a pause as she smiles. “How nice of you. Brave, even. You tell families about what you can do? Talking to their loved ones… that’d be a real blessing. I can only imagine. How do you do it? The type of ghosts we have back home, they’re more like memories. I only heard about proper people ghosts when I came here.”

[drharvey]

James smiles too, though something swims behind his own gaze this time, and it's more difficult for him to conceal it, earnest with his emotions as he is. A hitch of guilt, even shame; he knows he doesn't deserve such kind words. Not when his reason for pursuing this lifestyle was ultimately for his own selfish reasons. His own selfish wish.

"It takes... a long time. The ones I was working with before I was brought here... they're still a little hostile towards me." He chuckles faintly; that's putting it mildly.... He is routinely bullied, physically harmed, and possessed against his will. It's fine!

"But I treat them just like I would any of my living clients — meet with them, listen to them... try to find the sources of their traumas." He pauses, curious by her world's version of ghosts. "Memories... are they something you can interact with, or do they just... exist?"

[deepbluerevue]

“Must be hard work,” Grace comments neutrally. She swirls her drink. “And — I’d never seen one back home myself, you understand. There’s…”

A long moment where she seems to be assembling an explanation. “There’s a substance, this stuff that could change people’s genes. ADAM. Make you prettier, smarter, stronger, heal your body… let you throw fireballs.” The wry grin trickles away with a sigh. “But there was never enough of it, and the jackals running the business started recycling the stuff. And something about ADAM holds memories. So… you splice up with a gene tonic made with recycled ADAM…” She waves a hand. “You start seeing shapes of people who had the stuff in them before. Things they did.

“Never used the stuff myself,” she adds. “That sure did turn out lucky. It kills you, eventually. You need more ‘n’ more of it to keep from devolving.”

[drharvey]

James has heard his fair share of strange happenings that go on in other people's home worlds, but this is something brand new. Less like something out of a fantasy — like the magic and witches and fairies he's been told about — and more something from a science fiction.

He listens just as intently as ever, about this... drug, this substance, trying to imagine it. It's comparable to a few substances back in his universe, sure, but is clearly so much worse. Pushed further, the science more... advanced, more altering, more horrifying. He gives an exhale, running a hand back through his hair and leaving the thick layers a messy cascade after.

"Jesus. That's terrifying." He looks genuinely disturbed by the thought of it, wincing. "Was it common for people to take it or an under the table kind of thing...?"

[deepbluerevue]

“Oh, it was common,” Grace says, voice dry as gin. Her eyes flit over his distressed expression. “Marketed all over the place. Just about everyone used something. No one knew about ADAM sickness until…”

She visibly does the math in her head, lips pursing. (Fontaine Futuristics was formed in 1952, and the orphanages were first built in 1955… but little girls went missing starting in 1954… The first general products came out in late 1952, mostly those gene tonics, the ones for pressure sickness and vitamin deficiency. It was early 1958 when the incinerate plasmid came out, wasn’t it? Ryan’s takeover of Fontaine Futuristics, and all. And then by the end of the year, everyone and their mother was splicing to protect themselves… it made things speed up a lot. But she’s pretty sure she was hearing about what they’d call ADAM sickness before that.) “I want to say, four or five years after they were first selling the stuff. People were all too willing to use it when they didn’t see a clear downside yet.”

[drharvey]

James shakes his head sadly at the thought. "We don't have anything quite so intense as that where I'm from, but... bad stuff advertised to make you better, yeah. I guess no matter what, people will seek out anything to make them more."

The nineties has no shortage of drug-related horrors.... But then he realises, and looks back at Grace with a curiosity he doesn't mean to be invasive, more friendly as he questions: "But not you?" She mentioned never taking the stuff, so it must not have appealed to her the way it did the masses.

[deepbluerevue]

“No, sir,” Grace says, chin lifting in unconscious pride. “I never trusted that crook. Putting stuff in your body like that? Scientists were already altering things like trees and sheep in slower ways, I’d seen what happened when you screwed it up, pardon my French.” She examines her fingernails in an exaggerated pantomime of conceit. “And, well. Why would I need it? Wasn’t a thing about me that I would’ve — wanted changed.” (The hesitation is very, very brief, but it is there.)

[drharvey]

He notices the sliver of hesitation, but doesn't let anything in his expression reveal that much, just smiling again, mouth tugging to the side in another crooked grin.

"Science is scary. Too many people out there using it for bad, instead of good. Or they say it's for good, but then it goes bad so fast, I have to wonder if that wasn't always the intention."

He sighs, both concerned and thoughtful. "I hope my daughter stays as smart as you. There's a lot of bad stuff I worry will make its way to her. Though not anything like this... this substance you're talking about. Your world must be a lot more advanced than mine."

[deepbluerevue]

“Advanced in some ways, worse in others, I’m guessing,” Grace says, shaking her head sadly. She mulls something over, frowning into her glass, then seems to relent. “It’s about confidence, most of the time. But if your daughter’s as well booted as you say she is… it’ll serve her to keep her ears open. Tune in on who’s saying what. You don’t learn how to judge what’s what without it.” She puffs an almost-laugh through her nose. “And it still isn’t foolproof! Still. But you’ve gotta trust her. That’s key.”