ph_logs | In spite of all your love, you fear what I've become

In spite of all your love, you fear what I've become | OTA

Who: Leon S. Kennedy (

nothingbadeverhappensto) and anyone who dares intervene
What: Leon's No Good Horrible Very Bad Month comes to a head, in the wake of revisiting all his worst nightmares
When: Mid-November, throughout the day
Where: Around downtown, the Oak and Iron, in an alley near the Oak and Iron
Warnings: Alcohol abuse, emeto/nausea, disordered eating, allusions to cannibalism, possibly other references to the Fear event in threads

I. That shadow on your mind [ On Patrol, Downtown ][ OTA ]

[ CW: disordered eating, nausea ]

Leon is... okay.

He rolls out of bed in the morning before the sunrise (barely slept, again), brushes his teeth, and hesitates in the kitchen for a moment (stomach turning at the mere thought of checking the icebox) before deciding to skip breakfast (again) and go for a run. He's tired, but he's pushed through worse. The exercise helps clear his head, at least, and he does a lap around the neighborhood, taking some solace in seeing the occasional light on in his neighbors' houses (there are still people there, he's not alone) before returning home to take a shower and get dressed for work.

Throughout the day, he can be found on his regular patrol route around downtown Pumpkin Hollow, having resumed his old routine as opposed to burying himself in case files all day like he had been before... all of that. It's good to get out, after all. It's good to see how people are recovering. His uniform is neatly pressed and he makes an effort to smile and nod to passers-by, stopping by anyone who looks confused or concerned or otherwise in need of assistance that a constable or neighbor can provide.

(One could be forgiven for missing the sleeplessness in his eyes, or the slight tremor to his hands from the hunger pangs. But it's fine. He's fine.)

II. It's growing all the time [ The Oak and Iron ][ OTA ]

[ CW: disordered eating, nausea, allusions to cannibalism, alcohol abuse ]

The day wears on, and per his usual habits Leon finishes his shift and heads to the Oak and Iron for a hot meal and a stiff drink.

Or a stiff drink, at least. The moment he walks in the door he's met with the smell of cooked pork (not what he thought it was, at first) and nearly turns around and walks back out, but it's fine. He's a big boy, he can handle it. It's fine. Powering through the way his mouth waters unpleasantly at the scent (sick and hungry, both at once), he takes a seat at the table furthest from the kitchen and orders a glass of whiskey.

"...Leave the bottle," he says to the barmaid after thinking it over for a moment, passing her the extra brass and a hefty tip. The first glass he knocks back quickly, and the second, but from the third onwards at least he nurses them more slowly. (Not quite savoring the taste, but trying to make it last, self-conscious about the temptation to just slam the whole bottle and see if that drowns any of it out.)

Over the course of the evening, the bottle empties steadily. Leon, notably, does not order food at any point, but he does wind up with a second bottle somewhere along the line. As it drains, too, he slumps lower and lower until his head is resting on the table, idly swirling the dregs at the bottom of his glass, watching the amber liquid slosh back and forth with an exhausted expression. (Seems even despite all that, he can't sleep.)

III. If this is killing me, you can't be the one to tell me [ An alleyway, near the Oak and Iron ][ OTA ]

[ CW: emeto, allusions to cannibalism, and NPC (temporary) death, alcohol abuse, disordered eating ]

It's somewhere around closing time when one of the barmaids, assuming Leon is unconscious from the way he's sprawled face down on the table, reaches out to shake him by the shoulder and tell him it's time to leave. He jolts upright, hand flying to grab for a missing weapon in a shoulder holster that he isn't wearing, and stares up at her, wild-eyed -

- and recognizes her. Remembers her. Watching her run from him in the woods by the Leeds Estate, warped and twisted as they were, and she was too slow to outpace him by far, so easily caught and crushed in his claws and her blood and flesh and bone marrow was so much sweeter than anything he'd previously imagined -

Leon flips the table over in his hurry to get out from behind it as he watches the recognition dawn on her face as well, pale and afraid. He tries to apologize, to say he's sorry, but he chokes on the words and bolts for the door, nearly bowling over another patron as they try to leave. Breaking into a dead sprint, he makes it down a nearby alleyway before the situation (the hunger, the disgust) catches up with him. He collapses to his knees, retching bile and whiskey onto the cobblestones as he tries to forget the taste of blood, blood, blood.

(Leon is not okay.)

IV. I just want you to know, I finally can let this go [ Wildcard ]
[ Need something else? Feel free to DM me at quodvide on Discord or PM this journal!! Note that some timesoup will apply to all threads just so no one is locked out of getting through to Leon if they tag earlier in the day.]

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A little farther down the alleyway, Grace Holloway warily peels herself off of the wall she’d plastered herself against on reflex at the sound of rapid footsteps.

She thinks:

(For all she knows, this is the latest horrible plague, and she’s about to spend her first week back here dying of dyspepsia. But she certainly can’t outrun whoever, whatever that is, so she might as well get it over with.)

Carefully, she picks her way toward the kneeling figure, finding even footing on the cobblestones in the low light. With her left hand, she fishes a lighter out of the pocket of her skirt. Stopping just out of arm’s reach, she flicks the lighter open and squints at the other person’s face in the dim glow of the flame, nose wrinkling at the, ironically, reassuring sour scent of drunkard’s sick. (A nice, mundane reason to be losing your dinner all over an alleyway.)

(Aw, hell.) “Mister Kennedy?” Grace says gently.

Leon, mercifully, manages to pull himself together enough to stop dry-heaving and look up at the person addressing him, however blearily.

"Oh, uh. Evening, Miss Holloway," he says, voice cracking slightly with the abuse he's just put his throat through. Briefly, he has the notion to pretend that everything is fine and he just tripped or something, but somehow he feels like that's not going to fly. Instead he sighs, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his mouth. "... Sorry you had to see this. Had a rough month. You know how it is."

“Oh, don’t we all,” Grace says airily. Then, more seriously, “You with someone? You ought to get some water into you.” Glancing behind her shoulder, she adds, “And I wouldn’t mind company on the way back to my place. I’ve a bad habit of staying out too late. Never mattered back home.”

She thinks:

(That sick looks like it’s mostly bile and booze. Seems Mr. Kennedy has a high tolerance. Or he threw up from something else. If he’s an enforcer, presumably he lives up in Northwest Hollow, which is well past her apartment downtown, but maybe they’ll run into someone he knows on the way…)

Leon shakes his head at the question, straightening up with some support from the brick wall next to him.

"Nah. Drinking alone. Must've overdone it a little." Not the whole truth, but not a lie either. Leon has a pretty substantial alcohol tolerance, but that much on an empty stomach is still a lot for him. He probably would've wound up doing this a few blocks further away even if he hadn't run into... well. One of his victims. "I'm fine now, though."

That's a lie, and not a very good one from the way he grimaces and avoids eye contact as he says it. Still, he's okay enough to get his feet back under him, at least, and hauls himself back upright.

"I'll get some water later - thanks for the reminder. And I'd be happy to walk you back home, just. Give me a second." He's still looking a little bit unsteady on his feet, but he's pulling himself together with remarkable speed given the givens.

Only a slight eyebrow twitch gives away Grace’s reaction to the outrageous lie, and what with the dim lighting he might not see it at all. “Of course,” she says, perfectly decorous. “You don’t mind if I take a smoke, do you?” Granted, she’s already tucking her cane under one arm, leaning on the wall, and tapping a cigarette out to light it, but a nice young man wouldn’t deny a lady a smoke.

She thinks:

One nice thing about Pumpkin Hollow is that when folks overindulge, it’s not so likely to end up with other folks on fire or covered in bees. Whoever made the Booze Hound gene tonic has a lot to answer for.

Mr. Kennedy’s getting up fast enough that if she didn’t know better, she’d say he has a gene tonic himself. Well. Granted, she doesn’t know much at all about wherever he’s from. Maybe he does.

After lighting up, she lets the flame go out, taking the gamble that she’d rather have night vision. The half-empty moon catches the jet of smoke as she blows it high in the air, away from Leon.

Under more normal circumstances, Leon might consider making some stupid comment to the effect of 'Those things'll kill you, you know?', but he doesn't really have the energy or, perhaps more importantly, the high ground to rib anybody else about their bad habits right now. He shakes his head, giving her the go-ahead to light up and swaying a little at the way the alley spins when he does so. Ugh. He really did overdo it.

"Just a second," he repeats, almost as much assuring himself that he'll be fine soon as he is asking Grace to wait for him. "I promise I'm not usually this much of a mess. Don't mean to reflect poorly on my badge or anything."

He smiles, forced in that way of trying to bring some levity to a situation while not really feeling it. At least he seems to realize it's not really working, looking away down the alley and taking a few deep breaths to try to steady himself.

"Okay. You ready to go?"

Well, if he’s going to point it out… “You did mention it’s been a hard month,” Grace says, letting a little touch of gentleness creep into her tone. “I think you can be excused. So long as you get me home safe, young man,” she adds, a little teasing prod.

She puts the cigarette to her lips and, with a long drag, finishes off the last third. “Sure thing.” Pushing away from the wall, she holds her left hand out a little, as though expecting to be offered an elbow. “I live downtown. That blue building, half-timbered. Same place as I lived last time, too, though my old apartment was taken. Fair enough.”

"I'll do my best," he promises, offering his arm when prompted. It's an old-fashioned gesture, but one he's not unaccustomed to by now. Between living in Pumpkin Hollow for over a year now and getting used to its customs and being primed to jump into that kind of etiquette with both feet by his love of old detective movies, he's adapted just fine. Letting Grace take the lead in setting their pace, he starts walking, focusing hard on keeping steady on his feet.

"And yeah, I think I know the one. You settling back in okay?" He asks out of genuine interest and concern, knowing how disorienting it is to fall out of time and come back to a house that's been (understandably) picked over for resources, but also because focusing on Grace's problems means he's not thinking half as hard about his own.

The steps Grace takes are just short of mincing, testing each move with her cane. Perhaps she’s cautious of her footing on the condensation-slick cobblestones.

“Oh, well, you know,” she says, a touch of melancholy lowering her tone. “It’s been a little hard, to be truthful with you. Really doesn’t feel like it’s been any time at all, and then I see all these things’ve changed…”

Leon's mindful of how careful she is about her footing, making sure to match pace and stay at her elbow for support if it's needed.

"I do know," he says. "Watching people and places move on without you isn't easy even when you've just... been somewhere else the entire time." Physically, mentally, either or both.

"Used to think it was bad enough feeling like I could blink and have a whole summer go by, or a year. Having it actually happen, though? Ugh." He frowns, shaking his head. "I don't know. It's hard to talk about, but I get it, at least a little."

Grace taps his hand sympathetically. “It’s not like I could expect everyone else to have waited around,” she says wryly. “Only been here a few months, really. People’ve been welcoming,” she adds hastily. “Just sounds like a lot happened. Lotta people come and gone.” On her next step, she bobs a dry half curtesy. “Entertainers live and die by their audiences, you know? It’s rough starting near over again.”

"True," Leon agrees, though he still sounds kind of subdued about it. For all that he tries not to let it show, he's a sentimental person. Losing people, even just acquaintances, even when they just go somewhere else as opposed to something bad happening to them, tends to hit him hard. But maybe Grace is more resilient about that kind of thing. She certainly sounds pragmatic enough about it now.

"And I guess it would be, yeah. You're an entertainer, though? What's your act?"

Grace shoots him a grin, although it might be hard to see in the moonlight. If she’s grieving, it’s not on the surface. “Why, I sing the blues, young man. Been singing all my life. You’ll have to come watch one of my sets. I insist.”

They’re maybe halfway to Grace’s home. Not many people out at this hour… but more than there used to be, a few weeks or two years ago. “Hm. Mr. Kennedy, does it seem like there’s a lot of folks out and about to you?”

"Can't refuse an invitation like that," says Leon, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite it all. He likes the blues, and even if he didn't, he likes Grace pretty well already. Doesn't hurt to support a friend.

In any case, with that next comment Leon doesn't quite catch on to Grace's implication or lack thereof, still keyed up as he is over the events of last month. He snaps to attention (as best he can, given the givens), assuming she's subtly trying to point out some kind of threat, and surveys their surroundings.

"Huh," he says. "I don't see anything unusual. Maybe there's a few more people than I'd expect, in this kind of weather?"

“How about that,” Grace says reflectively, patting his hand in an absent way. “Things really have changed around here. Used to be no one was out after dark if they could avoid it. Got me in hot water once, did I tell you about that?”

Leon doesn't quite relax once Grace's actual meaning starts to dawn on him, but he does go slightly more contemplative as it sinks in. She's right. When he first showed up, people were a lot more afraid to leave their homes in the evenings. He hadn't noticed the change as it was happening, but now that she points it out...

"You're right," he says, blinking owlishly. "Guess that is another way this place has changed. And I don't think you did."

He glances over at her, waiting for her to go on, if she so chooses.

“Oh, I’ll tell you. And you know, I had no one to blame but myself, not a bit. People told me and told me, get going before twilight, but all my life I been in the nightlife. And I will say, I was nearly home when I hear one of my neighbors yelling fit to take down the trees.”

(She hesitates for a moment. Or she’s just watching her footing on the slippery stone.)

No need to go into too much gory detail. Talking about what Mo’rtajha’s ribs looked like with the flesh stripped off… no, she doesn’t have Mr. Leon’s measure yet. Better not.

“Well, I manage to get into my apartment, but my neighbor only got partway through the door when the Pine Devil came right on her heels! Poor thing. Wasn’t pretty, I’ll say. But at that point, all that was left was walking to the bedroom cool as I could manage, and if you can believe it, I didn’t get got.” She shrugs, self-deprecating. “But here I am, out too late again. Good thing you’re here.”

Leon frowns sympathetically through the first half of the story - scary stuff, but not too out of the ordinary for Marrow Isle, unfortunately. It's only when she says the words Pine Devil that something occurs to him suddenly, making him pause just long enough to be suspicious, and he realizes he's going to have to make a fairly important decision here.

"About that," he says, looking guilty. "When people were catching you up on what you'd missed while you were gone - did anyone mention the Pine Devil?"

He really doesn't want to blow up Dahlia's life all over again even in this small way, but the news is out already. If Grace doesn't already know, she's going to find out sooner or later, and he doesn't want to be a dick and hide things from her just for the sake of avoiding an awkward conversation.

Grace had gamely kept going when he’d faltered, but now she looks at him narrowly. “No, I can’t say anyone did. Which I thought was interesting, seeing as folks were out more often, so I figured maybe that got dealt with…?”

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In spite of all your love, you fear what I've become | OTA

III. If this is killing me, you can't be the one to tell me

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