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

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.]

[ there's something in her posture, or maybe in her ministrations that betrays her irritation. perhaps it's just her tone of voice. but... ]

Maybe some of the questions I've asked you were painful. But I asked them of you because I'd like to know about your pain, Miss Callisto, to better understand you. I'd like to do that. Is there any chance you are trying to understand me, too?

I want everybody to know about my pain.

[There is, after all, a reason that she brought it up completely unprompted.]

Haven't you ever wanted to see the people around you hurt? To make them feel just like you felt?

[ Callisto...

...Abel's fingers curl a little more tightly around the mug before him. ]

Does it make you feel better...? Seeing them hurting? Because I think you'll find that your pain is just as great today as it was that day years ago, no matter how many people you've seen hurt... or have hurt... since then.

Of course it doesn't make me feel better.

[Callisto hisses, and never mind that this is seemingly at odds with what she's just said.]

Destroying the one who destroyed me is the only thing that--

[Her eyes land on Abel's hand, tight around his mug, and she cuts herself off.]

Are you afraid of me now, or do you just hate me? Come on, you can share your feelings; don't be shy.

[ ...vengeance.

of course... has she been seeking it out ever since that day? taking retribution on those who had taken everything from her? Abel's heart aches to think of the route her life had taken her-- and of the girl whose peaceful world had been destroyed at the hands of others. ]

No. It's neither. If you want the truth, then... I'm not afraid of you, but for you.

[ because she's chosen a lonely, solitary life. pushed others away, and convinced herself she has no room for kindness or love inside of her. and that-- that, is tragic and sad. ]

[The answer clearly takes her aback, and she rocks back on her stool, unsure of how to take this. She's been hated, and she's reveled in it; she's been feared, and that fear has given her a grim sense of satisfaction. Xena had pitied her, once, and it had disgusted her. But no one has ever expressed concern.]

Oh, don't be ridiculous; I could break you like a twig.

[She insists, taking refuge in old, familiar territory.]

You should be afraid of me. Even without Xena here to punish, I-- I want to make you hurt, just like me, and I don't care if it doesn't make me feel better. Do you understand? I want to bring you down to my level, I want to make you miserable, and I. Don't. Care.

[She spits out the words, but then, at the very, very end, there's a slight hitch.]

[ self-professed coward though he might be, Abel does not look especially concerned by the threat of would-be violence, even if he doesn't doubt that Callisto could absolutely be true to her word. the only concern he seems to harbor is, indeed... for his company.

Abel doesn't see an angry woman on the verge of lashing out. sitting opposite him right now is a small, blonde-haired girl who had lost everything and desperately yearning to be heard, seen, and understood. that child never got to properly mourn or grieve or find healthy outlet for her pain, had she? there had been no one to take her hand and lead her away from her old life to help her find a new one. that... is horrible, and sad.

the priest shakes his head, minutely. ]

You don't want them to be forgotten. Not by you, and... not by the world you left behind, right?

[ ... ]

Will you tell me about them, Miss Callisto? So even if... when... we find a way to return home-- I'll remember them, too. It might not be much, but... it's the least I can do.

[This, too, is another thing she's never been asked, and for a moment she doesn't respond - she just snatches up her mug and, finally, takes a long sip.]

We lived in Cirra.

[She says finally, licking tea off of her upper lip.]

Cirra, which was so small that no one knew about it even before it was gone; so-- so small that it took no time at all for Xena's fire to rip through and burn it all to the ground. They screamed as they died, but they couldn't get out of the barn; the hole in the wall that they pushed me through was barely even big enough for me. Remember that.

[This is, probably, not actually what he's asking about, but she doesn't realize that. For her, everything is so centered around their deaths that it doesn't occur to her to tell him what they were like in life.]

[ it's as if she's frozen in time-- as if the memory of her family's loss has trapped her in that moment, that it's the only thing she can think of when she thinks of them. and as much as that is intensely sad... he can understand. something so traumatic is also blinding; it becomes a sort of tunnel vision. the loss and grief eats away at everything else like acid.

and no one ever helped her get past it. she's been floundering, drowning in that acid for years even though she makes absolutely no effort to hide her pain. had everyone taken it at face value...? not understood it as the cry for help it was? Abel doesn't understand, and it breaks his heart.

he's shaking his head gently, again. ]

...Your mother. Did she read to you before bedtime, Miss Callisto?

[ ... ]

You were just a girl, back then. I bet when your father hugged you-- it felt like the safest place in the world. What did he do for a living...? [ did those hugs smell like home? like work out in the fields? did he labor out of love for his family? ]

Do you remember nights having dinner together...?

[ ...when was the last time she let herself think of these things at all? ]

[Callisto hates the questions as much as she yearns for them. These are the things she tries not to think about, but that come to her unbidden anyway; the things that she wants to remember and honor, but that always segue into memories of the fire.]

My mother couldn't read.

[She says quietly, staring down into her tea mug.]

But she told stories. Legends, and things that had happened to her, and things my sister had done before I was born.

[She wraps an arm around her middle, protective.]

Everybody did a little bit of everything in Cirra; it was too small for people to have dedicated professions like they do in cities. My father worked in the fields, and my mother helped him, or she did the mending and cooking at home. Thalia was the best of us at cooking, and Daddy would joke that we couldn't let her marry or we'd eat nothing but burned grain cakes without her. We had dinner together, we were always together, and then they burned together--

[With a sudden, violent sweep of her arm, she knocks the palm of her hand into the tea mug, sending it flying; it bowls across the counter, spilling tea as it goes, before crashing to the floor.]

[ it's all too easy to picture it: a little girl and her family living their quiet lives away from it all. even if Abel had not been privy to this kind of upbringing himself, he's worldly enough to have seen it in others-- and how much having it can mean to a person.

it truly isn't hard to grasp why its loss had fractured her.

he doesn't jolt at the sudden displacement of the teacup, eyes still remaining settled on her face with deep apology and a grief for her pain. this is further proof of what Abel already knew; she has tried to burn everything in that fire. the memories, the feeling of being loved, the anguish of its loss. the perpetrators-- Xena?-- would be consumed by these same embers. and if she let it rage hard enough, surely it would burn Callisto herself, too.

then, what would be left behind? she would be even more hollow and empty than when she started.

he stretches his hand slowly as not to alarm her-- she is on edge and tense, that much is clear-- to lightly settle one of his hands atop hers. ]

...They're gone. And I know how they were taken from you-- it must feel like part of you burned away, too.

[ as much as he wishes he could take it all back for her, he can't, and she can't. what's done is done. ]

But who they were and how much they loved you wasn't taken in the fire, was it? Even if it hurts to be the one left behind-- it was their love that saved you. Remembering that will honor them. Burning yourself in the flames of that day... all it does is hurt the one thing they would've wanted to protect more than anything.

[ their daughter; their sister. ]

A part of me.

[She echoes, with a sardonic chuckle.]

No, Abel, all of me. All of me has burned away. And they would want me to use what little is left of me to make sure the one who is to blame is punished.

[Her hand lies like a limp, dead thing under his. She doesn't pull away, but she doesn't respond to the touch, either - it's as if she doesn't even realize he's there.]

That isn't true, Miss Callisto.

[ his left hand joins the right, and he's outright squeezing the hand of hers he's seized imploringly. ]

You haven't burned yourself away. And you won't let yourself, either-- because you love your family in memory more than you hate anyone. As long as that's true? As long as you're alive and can remember what it was like to taste your sister's cooking, or what your mother's voice sounded like as she told you legends and tales each night, or... or what your father's smile was like-- then it isn't too late.

You're wrong.

[She says dully, the squeeze making her finally glance down at their hands. Her brow furrows, like she doesn't quite know what she's looking at.]

You have no idea how wrong you are, and you have no idea how deep my hate and my-- my nothingness runs.

But if you hang around, I'm sure you'll find out, and then you'll wish you hadn't.

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