apocalypsehowcomm | [LOG] I don't need a new love or a new life [OPEN]

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[LOG] I don't need a new love or a new life [OPEN]

Who: Callisto AND YOU
When: Mid-November
Where: Various places around town!
Summary: A feral warlord arrives in town and is about to make that everybody else's problem.
Warnings: N/A at the moment; will edit if that changes

A; ARRIVAL; OTA

[Callisto pops up in what she imagines to be some sort of shrine. It's unadorned and impersonal, giving her no hint about what god it's dedicated to, but there are basins to place offerings in and segregated booths for private contemplation, so she's pretty sure her initial guess is right on the money. For a long moment, she's still: her hand braced against the wall, and her eyes squeezed shut against the harsh bright light. Her head swims. Her legs nearly buckle.

But then she pushes through it. Despite the weakness and disorientation, she pushes off the wall and spins for the door, one hand on the hilt of the dagger in her belt. She's dressed head to toe in leather armor, wearing a sword strapped to her back, and to say she looks out of place would be an understatement - but there's no hint of self-consciousness to her as she strides down the hall, boots clicking on the hard floor.]

Who are you?

[She snaps at the first person she sees - though she is, of course, still speaking Ancient Greek by this point.]

What have you done with me?

B; ADJUSTMENTS; OTA

[The next several hours are an absolute whirlwind, and one that's more exhausting than energizing. Believing everything she's told, at least, isn't a problem: for a woman who comes from a world filled to the brim with gods and magic, ADI's explanation sounds perfectly reasonable to her. Being recruited, however, is a little more hairy. "Sure, I'll help you with your little apocalypse problem," she says to the ADI rep who does her intake. "But you'll have to do some things for me in return." And when they don't immediately promise to harness their considerable power and technology to help her destroy Xena, she balks. Hard.

It takes time, but a tentative agreement is reached. ADI might be unnecessarily squeamish about the idea of aiding and abetting her vengeance plans, but they do seem to be her best shot at returning home, and so she agrees to fight for them - reluctantly, and with strong conviction that she's getting the short end of the stick here, but she's faced down more hopeless-looking situations. She's sure she'll eventually find some way to leverage this one in her favor, too.

But honestly, the big-picture stuff is the easy part. It's the day to day stuff that's disorienting. Powerful, mysterious beings and travel between worlds is far easier for her to wrap her head around than a thin, hard rectangle that everyone insists isn't magic, even though it somehow holds currency and keeps track of her finances for her. And yet it's not long before she sees it in action, because after finishing up with all the preliminary introductions, the very first thing they do is hustle her off to find more "suitable" clothes - an idea that she dismisses as unnecessary only before they leave the building and hit the cold winter air. Others might encounter her on the street outside a clothing store, right after her very first car ride, leaning her forehead against the brick outer wall of the building and waiting for the waves of nausea to pass. Soon after, she can be found inside the clothing store itself, sorting through everything with a perplexed and critical eye. Coaxing her to pick up anything other than a winter coat and some snow pants might be a bit of a struggle.

ADI Housing is next, and after making sure she knows which apartment has been assigned to her, this is where the intake folks finally leave her to find her way on her own. For the next few hours, she just wanders, paying zero mind to the difference between public and private spaces. She investigates the gym and the laundry room (final verdict: complete and utter mysteries), but if anyone is prone to leaving their apartment door unlocked, they might also find her inside, poking through their stuff.

She is, on the whole, on the subdued side of things this evening, skulking around rather than stomping around. She rests in common areas, sitting on the floor, glaring unprompted at anyone who passes by. And when late evening comes and she starts hearing talk of the guards locking the doors soon, she heads for the exit - slipping out, rather than in, before curfew hits. Bundled up in her new coat and ski pants, she aimlessly wanders the downtown streets for a few hours, seeking out nothing in particular, simply getting the lay of the land. Bus stops end up being of particular interest to her, and though she never tries to board a bus herself, she always stops when she sees one coming, watching the passenger disembarkation and embarkation process with a vague sort of interest.]

Where do they go?

[She asks out loud, if there's anyone standing near her.]

What's the farthest anyone has ever traveled on one?

[They too must be magic, she reasons - maybe even mysterious and not well understood, like the forces that brought her here. If she gets on the right one, she wonders, will it whisk her away across worlds?]

C; ROOMMATES; CLOSED TO EMILY DYER

[When she's told that she's being assigned an apartment, Callisto initially dismisses the idea. She has little use for indoor spaces, particularly when it comes to living in them: she hasn't lived in a house since she was a teenager and hasn't felt at home in one since she was a child, and she doesn't see either of those things ever changing.

But once she gets a load of this world's climate, the indoors ends up being a bit more appealing, and she does have some level of curiosity about... well. All of this, honestly. This means that when Emily comes home, she'll find an unfamiliar winter coat and pair of snow pants spread out to dry on the living room floor, and a leather-clad stranger in the apartment kitchen, fiddling with the stove burners. She's got one lit at full blast, and is leaning in close, examining the writing on the control panel.]

Do you use these to cook?

[She asks, by way of greeting.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Tell me what happened.

[Callisto can't offer condolences, or even proper empathy herself. She doesn't ask this to commiserate, or comfort, or anything so healthy and unselfish as that. But pain is the only way that she knows how to connect with people: whether that's done by causing it, hearing about it, or making others hear about hers. She does want to measure his pain against hers, and she wants to see the ache in his eyes deepen.

She doesn't actively, consciously care about connecting with Abel. But all the same, in her own twisted way, this is reaching out.]

[ ...well. this home invasion has certainly taken a turn, hasn't it?

Abel might not be privy to the sort of person that Callisto is to grasp all the nuance behind this question, but he understands -- just as much as grief, perhaps -- what it is to be angry, to be hurt, and to be a creature that speaks in pain. maybe that's why he doesn't take offense to the rather blunt and forward request for something so personal.

but he waits until he's ready to slide a mug of steaming hot tea across the island to her, first. there's a smile at his lips; this sort is different than the ones that came before it. for one particularly astute, perhaps there is the hint of something old and tired in otherwise kind blue eyes. ]

It's a bit of a long and sordid tale, so I'll spare you the boring details... but it ended with me making a very grave mistake that cost me everything.

[ a gentle nudge of the sugar and creamer, should she feel inclined toward adding either.

...Including the person who was patient enough to serve me cups of tea back when I was the one telling her that there was no joy to be had in life.

Why would the details be boring to me?

[She asks, grabbing onto her mug and wrapping the fingers of both hands around it, holding it tightly enough that her nails screeeek against the ceramic. She makes no move to drink just yet.]

I asked what happened to you, not what happened after. If you're too much of a coward to tell me, just say so.

[The fact that he might not want to share something so personal and emotional with a stranger either doesn't occur to her, or is something she doesn't care about.

(Both. It's both.) ]

[ Abel's leaving his cup on the counter and beginning the ever-necessary process of dumping thirteen sugars in; one does not CONSUME their tea until it is a tea-paste, thank you!

but he's nudging contemplatively at his glasses at that, huffing an exhale softly through his nostrils. Callisto is........

Callisto, that's for sure, ]

You're certain to romance the details from me with that attitude, Miss Callisto~! What man wouldn't be compelled to spill his guts for you when you've asked so nicely?!

[ petulant?

....never!! ]

Why are you asking, anyway, hm? Concern? Morbid curiosity? Ammunition for some elaborate and complicated blackmail scheme...? That's it, isn't it? I knew some scantily clad woman dropping in out of the blue was too good to be true... Who put you up to this?!

No!

[She lets go of the mug with one hand, but only so she can ball it into a fist and slam it down on the table, making everything on it rattle.]

Stop joking! If you're going to claim that you were once like me, then I should get to know how! You can't just dangle that in front of my face and then not tell me.

[ --oh, good Lord. Abel nigh jumps right out of his skin as the contents of the counter rattle, near causing him to spill his delicious tea long before he's so much as gotten to take a single sip. do NOT, ]

...L-like you? A... are you listening to me at all?! I-- I wouldn't dare to compare either of our positions, Miss Callisto, so--

[ ...but he can see something in those eyes, something behind the anger and roiling rage. it isn't wrath for wrath's sake.

it's pain, and hurt, and grief. like there's a little girl still standing before the ruins of her life, crying out for someone to come and take it all away.

...Abel takes a deep breath, sets the spoon in his tea-cup, and levels a more even look across at her. ]

If you'd like me to be up front with you, then... I'd like for you to answer something for me first. Just one question. Alright?

No, not our positions.

[Callisto leans forward, intense and intent. He hadn't compared their positions, but he had, in her mind, compared them, with his reactions and expressions as much as with his words. With, too, the way he puts on a cheerful and jokey demeanor - though unlike the one that she sometimes makes a show of, which is so exaggerated that no one could really mistake it for genuine, his actually seems real.

Maybe it is. Or maybe he's just more invested in making it look that way.]

Ask away, Father Abel Nightroad. Unlike you, I'm not afraid.

[ not their positions? Abel looks a little quizzical, at that-- perhaps he isn't fully grasping where she's coming from just yet, but he'd like to. Callisto has in such a short time become someone he has decided... he'd like to know.

and no, thank you, not simply because of her choice in attire. alright?? ...it doesn't hurt, though.

...he rests his elbows on the countertop, leaning in a bit as he regards her. and those terribly blue eyes are giving Callisto his full attention -- sharper, but no less kind than they were a moment ago. ]

Have you been alone all this time? ...I don't mean to ask if you've been keeping a solitary sort of life, but... have you let yourself have friends? Have someone who cares about you?

No.

[No hesitation, no equivocation, and certainly not an ounce of regret. Just a flat no.]

No, that part of me died when I was eleven years old, and it's never coming back. It blew away with the smoke.

[ he had a feeling that might be her answer.

Abel's expression sinks, just a bit-- before he's giving a slight nod of his head. right. ]

I see.

[ eleven... so young. so very young to lose everything. ]

So, then... if I were to ask you if any part of you has ever given thought to trying-- the answer would probably be 'no.' Right?

Given thought to trying, or wanted to try?

[There's a notable difference between those two things, in her mind.]

[ well... the fact she had not answered in an indignant, haughty decline? gives him a considerable amount of hope (naïve or otherwise), and Abel nudges gently at his glasses. hm. ]

Either, actually...!

Then yes.

[She answers, finally lifting her mug and taking an exaggeratedly, artificially delicate sip.]

And no. I've thought about it, but I don't want it. Any tiny shred of love that still exists inside me is already claimed and taken, thank you very much.

[ ha... well-- Abel will count her answer as a victory; considering he has known plenty a scarred soul that would declare all traces of love, all hope and capacity for love well and truly dead inside of them-- it suggests there is hope for Callisto, yet.

maybe his smile is a little more sincere for it. but he tries not to look too pleased-- he has a feeling that might not go over too well in present company, and merely nods to truck right along, ]

In remembrance of your family, you mean?

Yes, and you still haven't told me about yours.

[Remember the deal, Abel.]

It's your turn.

[ he would be lying if he hadn't been quietly hoping she would forget that particular detail,

...

he is cupping his mug in his hands, giving little hum of acknowledgment. Callisto has, seemingly, been quite honest with him. maybe that's her nature, but-- well, that isn't to say he doesn't appreciate it all the same. ]

I'd like to believe that a heart capable of love is capable of being loved, Miss Callisto. That your family would want that for you, too-- want you to let others in.

[ ... ]

I won't speak for yours, but-- that is the sort of thing I think those I've left behind would say to me if I were to see them again.

No.

[She snaps, momentarily distracted by this line of thinking.]

My family wouldn't want me to move on and forget them.

[It's absolutely a child's way of thinking - an inability to look at things from the perspective of a mother, a father, and an older sister, rather than a traumatized little girl.]

Do you think so?

[ unperturbed by the firmness of her response, Abel tilts his head ever so slightly in inquiry. ]

Moving on and forgetting are two entirely different things. And in a case like this, I think... maybe there are some losses that people might not ever really 'move on' from. Maybe after what you've been through, you'd agree.

[ there's a scar in her heart for sure, one that tells the tale for her. ]

But if it had been you... if you had been the one who had gone and died that day instead of your mother, or your father-- or a sibling. Would you have wanted them to ache the way you do, now?

[But as surely as the distraction had come, it fades. Pushing her tea to the side, she leans over the table towards Abel, like an animal preparing to lunge.]

I told you, it's your turn. I'm not going to keep answering questions if you won't give me what I want.

[ well. suppose this 'tug of war' is a back and forth game-- and patience is key, right? especially when the stakes are so high. matters of the heart are often the most difficult, after all.

so he, looking minutely chastised, nudges at the old-fashioned lenses atop his nose in a habitual way. ]

How did you put it...? Ah, yes-- I'm a coward, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't make it easy for you by nature! I am prone to turn tail and cower, so maybe you aren't too far off the mark~!

[ ... ]

But-- you're right. Fair is fair, and I'm terribly afraid you might strangle me to death if I go back on my word! You look like you work out. By bench-pressing humans. --So, then... what is it, really, you want to know?

You talk a lot.

[She says distractedly, as she thinks over his question. She'd been expecting him to just come out with a whole story, not ask what she specifically wanted to hear, and so this gives her pause. She could just say something generic: "Tell me what happened to you", again, or "I want to hear everything". But the truth is, she is interested in some specifics in particular.]

I want to know-- I want to know about the woman. Tell me about the woman who served you tea, and tell me what you did to her.

[ talk a lot...? Abel Nightroad?? no, no, she's got the wrong man.....

...a-anyway,

perhaps Abel truly is a coward, to make her say what she wants aloud. maybe he is simply looking for a means to escape something like "tell me everything," because as blunt and forward as Callisto is-- the priest does not have such an easy relationship with divulgence. even so--

the subject of 'the woman' seems to be a painful one. there is the look in his eye of a man seeing something else; doubtlessly imagining the subject of their discussion with no shortage of a rueful longing. ]

Have you ever met someone, Miss Callisto, who feels like 'home?'

[ maybe it is in her memories of home she might relate. her family-- a mother, father, brother or sisters that made her feel such a way. ]

I was lucky enough to have the pleasure. And, I'm ashamed to say that I didn't deserve her. Maybe because I didn't... or maybe simply because I was a very blind, especially foolish sort of person-- she was taken from me. From everyone.

[ the smile is not so much rueful as it is becoming vaguely bitter. ]

I failed her in just about every way a man could fail someone.

And talking about her hurts.

[This isn't a question. It's not as if she doesn't understand why he keeps trying to dance around the subject.]

But that's what I want; don't you get it? I want to see your pain. I lost my home, and I lost the people who made it home; now I want to hear about you losing yours.

[ his eyes slide from the surface of the tea in his cup, barely touched-- maybe he really does talk too much.

but he looks at her, something quietly knitting at his brow. ]

Then... can I ask: why?

[ does she know? ...maybe the better question is if it would make anything better, if she did. ]

You know, most people would be angry. I just told you I want to see you in pain.

[Though she supposes she's not too surprised that he doesn't seem to be. Frowning slightly herself, she picks at the leather of her arm bracer, an agitated tic.

She doesn't answer. She knows, and doesn't know; or rather, she knows but doesn't fully understand.]

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I LOVE THEM.......

this thread gives me life...... 🥺

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