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's not the only one who's been abusing the bottle lately. Snakes Tolliver has been drinking, drinking, trying to forget, not being able to forget, and then drinking some more. He's standing red-eyed in the alley with whatever bottle he's currently on, and steps back as Leon runs out and throws up.

"Yeah, you and me got it bad, huh?"

Totally not surprised. He's more surprised that the whole town's not a bunch of alcoholics by now. How can they keep taking it? How can anybody? He's going nuts. He's been slowly unraveling ever since the Parade two years ago, and this whole year's just beat him down good. By this point he honestly wonders if Hell could possibly be worse than what goes on in this place.

James has found himself a frequent enough visitor to the little tavern. Particularly after recent events, he's trying to keep close to people, stay in the loop of things, keep a watchful eye out for others. And the cottage he's taken up residence in on the outskirts of town is— lonely, if he were to let himself really sink into the word. The odd little ghost(?) that shares the place with him is welcomed company, but sometimes he needs to hear another person's voice. Dull down the persistent aching thing up under his sternum that keeps reminding him his daughter isn't with him. It's funny how an empty hole can feel so heavy.

As evening sets in, he enjoys a dinner and some chatter with a few locals here and there. He's an awkward but earnest presence, friendly and warm but shy in a particular way, mannerism a little offbeat. He's not so used to being around the living, anymore, but he was, once. This place has reminded him of that, of what he was before he began chasing down ghosts.

In the quiet spaces between, he's watching people: observant and sensitive to the world around him. He sees the younger man who sits alone and drinks alone and slowly crumbles into it. James hasn't met him directly, but he's noticed him around as an officer here and there, a presence throughout the town. He wasn't going to bother him, it's clear the guy's drinking alone for a reason, but when the man's head goes to the table, James gnaws on his lower lip and stands.

When he approaches Leon's table, he's holding a crisp glass of cold water. A figure wearing a warm loose cardigan and a lopsided smile, James lifts the glass in gesture, taking in the way the other's staring listlessly into his drink. "Hey there. You look like you might could use some of this."

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."

"Urgh," says Leon, leaning sideways against the brick wall next to him for support once he's pretty sure he's finished with... all of that. "Yeah. Sorry. Would've picked a different alley if I knew this one was occupied."

Waste of good whiskey, he thinks, berating himself for letting his self control slip like that. Not that he thinks he could've kept it together if he'd run into that poor woman while he was sober, but at least he could've saved everybody some trouble and a lot of mess. A part of him thinks he should offer to get up and go, but his legs refuse to cooperate, buckled under him still as they are.

Slowly and with great effort, Leon raises his head to look at the man offering him a glass. His brow furrows, the proverbial gears struggling to turn in his head as he tries to kick them back into drive and engage with the conversation instead of doing the easy thing and lying back down.

"Huh? Oh, uh. Yeah. That's probably a good idea." He makes a vague gesture at the table, meaning it as an invitation to set the glass down wherever. Shit. He's going to be very hungover tomorrow, isn't he? And as much as he'd love to take the excuse to take a sick day, the police are already shorthanded enough as it is, with so many officers having also been through the wringer last month. If he doesn't show up, who else will?

All this to say he spends a moment lost in thought, staring at his hand on the bottle after the other man addresses him, before remembering that he's talking to someone.

"...Do I know you from somewhere?" He does look kind of familiar. A new arrival, maybe? Leon tries to remind himself to get on top of greeting people as they show up again, even as the notion of adding one single extra thing to his to-do list makes him feel like he's going to collapse.

Snakes shrugs. "'s fine. Kinda nice to have some company."

Company that really gets it.

"How long have you been here again? In this whole place, not the Oak and Iron."

“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…)

Alex doesn't spend that much time in the Oak & Iron, usually, and she's been spending even less there since being stuck in it for... well, two weeks, apparently (was it really that long?). But things like cooking have been harder to motivate herself to do since— all of that, and so sometimes the best option is to swing by the O&I to get something substantial to eat. No microwave dinners here.

So, she's here. Already a touch overwhelmed by the atmosphere but hungrier than she is tired. If nothing else maybe she'll find another chance to help someone out—been trying to do that a lot more, too, mostly with the locals, do what she can.

The room is full of everything from deep depression to bitter hurt to lingering terror, a spectrum of colour that spreads between bodies and into the darkest corners of the room. And there, in the back, a man radiating an aura so strong it lights the shadows behind him. There's spare seats at the table.

Alex walks over, stretches a bit onto her tip-toes in lieu of having a hand to wave. "Hey, uh— do you mind if I share the table? There's not really any space anywhere else."

This is the truth. Busy night, the other tables are pretty much full.

"If you say so."

At the question, Leon groans, shaking his head.

"Simple question, complicated answer. I showed up in... March? Of last year. But then I got back on the boat, right, and the ferryman took me into the fog and we just sat there and stared at each other for a bit before he brought me back, and -" he snaps his fingers for emphasis. "Suddenly it's four months later. Not sure how to count that."

Leon radiates a sense of overwhelming disgust and anxiety both, the two settled over his shoulders like a snowdrift steadily but surely consuming him. Whenever he closes his eyes all he can see is more eyes in places they shouldn't be, and he traces the healing scar across his stomach with his thumb idly, running it back and forth against the fabric of his coat. What if the dormant G-Virus infection wasn't just a part of the nightmare? How would he know, without opening himself up again to check?

Before he can get much further down that line of thought, he's interrupted. Someone's asking him a question. He looks up, blearily, squinting at the young woman. Has he seen her before? Probably, but at the moment he can't recall specifics.

"Huh? Oh, uh, sure." He straightens up, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair as he tries to pull himself together. After a moment he feels compelled to add; "...Sorry."

Just in general. For everything.

Snakes nods. "I've been here longer then. Feels like an eternity. You know, I liked the place okay at first. Wasn't thrilled with the monsters, but I dealt with it, stayed away from them. Then came the Parade, where people got mind-controlled and attacked each other and anybody not affected had to kill 'em to make it stop. People like me weren't even told about the thing properly and I had to dig and ask around to get any straight answers. I got upset when I found out what was being kept from everybody. Hated havin' to kill some of 'em too. I guess that was the start of it, the downward spiral. And this whole year, oh brother." A dark laugh. "Gotta wonder why the whole place isn't full up with people drinking themselves to oblivion. I guess this latest mess finally broke a lot of people who'd stayed strong before that. Me, I broke long ago."

He studies the bottle, takes another drink, and leans back against the wall. "This time around, I got tempted repeatedly to do something to make the pain stop. I knew it was a deal with the devil. I kept saying No. And it wasn't any personal triumph or anything. Just kept being tortured then until it finally stopped at the start of this month. Honestly, by this point I'm thinkin' real death would be a lot less painful than all this hoopla.

"So what's your story, Pal?"

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.

Alex flashes a good-natured smile. "I feel like we've all been saying that a lot, lately. Though if anything I should probably be saying sorry to you for intruding."

She sets her plate down—just rice and vegetables—alongside her water, sliding into a seat. The anxiety is coming off him in waves that would've been hard to stop affecting her without her say so, only a few months ago, but by now she can resist and linger at the edges of the feeling as an observer instead. (Something about sickness, or the food? Both?)

"I'm Alex. Alex Chen."

"Oh, you know, the usual," says Leon, buying himself time to take all of that in as well as try to get his own story in some semblance of order before he starts talking. Keyword 'try'; it all kind of comes spilling out before he can think too hard about it.

"Got launched off a catwalk by a cult leader who turned into a giant bug, got offered a second chance, took it. Wasn't bad at first for me, either, but..." He shakes his head. "Then I got possessed by spiders again, fell out of time and space for like four months, lost a fight with some kind of ghost teenager in the world's worst casino, got lost in a cave for another few months... Kept my head down for a while just trying to make myself useful, but then whatever the fuck that was happened."

He runs his hands through his hair, trying to pull it together.

"I don't know. 'S dangerous and selfish to think like death is a way out. We owe everyone else who didn't get the chance to keep going to do it ourselves. But God if it doesn't feel like they got the better deal sometimes."

"Possessed by spiders? That's a new one."

He laughs darkly. "Wonder if anybody'll be capable of taking this 'second chance' if the time comes that any of us actually gets it. Maybe we'll all be sopping messes by that point." Another drink from the bottle.

And a grunt. "I've lived most of my life bein' selfish. Doesn't work so well. But you know, neither does helping people. So, darned if I know how any of this actually works."

And what he says may not actually be true in the first place. What he doesn't say is that he spent a lot of his life building up towns and giving jobs to people, and that they loved him for it. Sure, he was also doing some illegal things on the side, but he accomplished a lot with the building and giving people purpose. But he was cynical and jaded even before his death, and now? Oh boy. He can't see goodness in himself at all, even though he has been fighting for the people and their rights and safety all along in this place. Despite his fears, he has never abandoned anyone if he stumbles on them in trouble. Even if he started to run, he came back. He could have run for town council when there was an opening, but he had decided he could do more good where he was, trying to protect as an Enforcer. It's debatable if anyone in Pumpkin Hollow has noticed he actually cares a lot, but it's there.

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?"

"'S fine," says Leon, shaking his head and grimacing a little as that sets the room wobbling. His gaze flicks to her plate, and he doesn't quite breathe a literal sigh of relief to see a distinct lack of red meat on it, but it's a near thing. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, and he's able to sit up a little straighter.

"Leon Kennedy. I... might not be the best company right now," he admits. "But I'll try not to bring down the room too much."

He forces a smile, and it comes out looking weary and self-effacing. Honestly it would be kind of a feat to bring the mood any lower than it already is - the inn's been much less lively than usual in the wake of all that - but Leon's pretty sure he could if he really tried.

"And it's happened to me twice," says Leon, sounding more mad about the mind control spiders than anything else. Is that an improvement over the existential despair? Maybe. Certainly it's more energetic - though it dies down some as the other guy keeps talking, whatever fervor briefly possessed him leaving in favor of, well. Memories of someone else, saying something very similar.

You know, I led a pretty shitty life. But now, eh... What do you think, Leon?

Leon averts his gaze, staring at the wall next to him.

"I don't know either. I try to help people and they just - wind up worse off than before. Or die, trying to help me. But there's nothing I can do except keep trying, because what else is there to do?"

"Yeah, that's pretty bad. Wonder why they like you so much." Same as how he wonders why everything always beats him down so much.

Another dark laugh. "What a mess, eh? Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Seems like it's the same all over, in every world. You'd think there'd be some place where they've figured it all out and things actually go the way they should."

He's seen Leon around the police station, of course, and they'd talked when he first showed up back, but they haven't really interacted too much. And he's unfortunately in no condition to be anything comforting right now, after the whole past year and especially October. He's just had it. But perhaps there'll be some commiseration, at least? He's bottled up everything for so long now, and he suspects Leon has too, although probably not for the same reasons Snakes has.

James' smile stays quirked and warm, but he's watching the younger man very carefully, observing him. It's good that he's still able to form words, isn't on the brink of passing out just yet. A little more and he might've there, but maybe if James can keep him talking a bit, get some water in him, he can help coax him the other way even a little.

"It's nice and cold," he offers with a grin, as though that helps, leaning to set the water down on the table with a soft clink. His demeanour stays cheerful and attentive even when it takes the poor guy a few beats too long to respond again, reactions delayed, numbed down.

"I don't think we've met, but I've seen you around. Dr. James Harvey— I just arrived here last month. Guess that makes me the new guy on the block." He offers a hand, slow and gentle, not wanting to rush the other man. "You're a police officer?"

Alex shakes her head, waving the concern off loosely. "Hey, don't worry about it, if we're being honest I'm not going to be much better. I'm just hiding it a little more. IIII spent the whole two weeks being gaslit in this very building, actually, but they make better food than Depressed Alex does so I'm picking my battles."

All the simple truth. There's never been much value in being any less than honest in a conversation like this (well, except for the fact she isn't disclosing just how well she can tell he's struggling and why). She can get a better feel for someone if she's not dancing around things herself.

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.”

"Must be my raw animal magnetism," Leon mutters, thinking about making some joke about going for the hat trick but deciding not to tempt fate like that.

"And I don't know. Maybe that place is out there. Kind of doubt it though." He slumps further back against the wall, settling into a moderately more comfortable position on the cobblestones. It is not actually that comfortable. "Think anywhere people are complicated enough to be people, they're also complicated enough to mess things up for each other."

Maybe that's just the drink and general misery haze talking, though. It's hard to say, the malaise so deep in the moment that Leon can barely remember not feeling like hell about everything.

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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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cw: vague references to body horror, self-harm urges kind of

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cw: discussion of suicidal thoughts

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