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

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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…?”

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

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