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.]

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[ ...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.

Being difficult is a skill of mine.

[ he tries for a small smile; encouraging. ]

...And in cases like this one, you'll find I'm exceedingly stubborn, I'm afraid! Whether you like it or not, I plan to prove you wrong-- no matter how long it takes.

[She's quiet for a moment, genuinely not knowing what to say in response to that.

And then, just as suddenly as she'd spilled the tea, she flips her hand around in his and makes a violent grab for it - aiming, if he doesn't pull away, to dig in her nails and squeeze hard enough to hurt. There's no way to mistake this for seeking comfort and inadvertently going too far: it'll feel like she's trying to crack bone.]

[ --ah.

Abel jerks in a startled surprise at the sudden shift, but... whether because he wasn't expecting it or otherwise, he makes no especial moves to pull his hand away. not even when it tightens; not when nails bite down into skin; not when it becomes clear that Callisto has traded drawing out one form of pain for another. ]

Miss Callisto--

[ he is gingerly attempting to extricate himself from her hold, but he isn't forceful or rough in his efforts; if anything, all it's done is add all the more fuel to the fire of the concern in blue eyes (even if it might have been joined by a quiet sort of strain, now). ]

...what are you doing?

[ push him away? try and dissuade him from his task? maybe that's a method she's used time and time again to put distance between herself and whoever tried to get close? ]

[Once he starts pulling back - once she sees the strain in his eyes - she abruptly lets him go, fixing him with a hard stare.]

You see.

[You see what I mean, is what she's getting at; You see that I'll cause pain without a thought or a care.]

...I do.

[ he takes his hand back, cautiously rubbing it with the other and looking vaguely chastised. ]

But... hurting me isn't going to get you what you want. And I told you, didn't I? I'm with you.

[ for better or worse. though, if he's honest-- he'd prefer not being asked to endure a beating to get that point across.

......but he will, damnit, he will if he needs to!! ]

I'm with you, Callisto.

[She spits in his face. Figuratively, but also very literally. Enjoy that, Abel.]

You're a fool. What is wrong with you? Why would you say--

[She cuts herself off with a short, semi-hysterical laugh, forced flippancy sliding in on top of her indignation.]

Come on, Abel; don't be silly. Even I wouldn't stick around myself if I had any choice in the matter.

[ oh, that's....... pleasant. he flinches as spittle hits his cheek, before he lifts his sleeve to wipe it away with a slightly withering look. CALLISTO?? gross,

even so, he can read these acts for what they are. it's the same as all the angry outbursts and insistence that others must suffer as she's suffered; it's pain. a call for help. bravado, right? it doesn't anger him; it simply deepens the pit in his stomach, one that churns in a worry and empathetic ache for her. ]

Because you don't deserve to be alone. Maybe you've convinced yourself that's your lot in life, but... I'm of a different mind, and I'm afraid that isn't going to be changing anytime soon.

[ ... ]

So you can keep pushing at me if you need to. Get it all out of your system, hm? When you get tired of it, I'll still be right here when you're ready to come around.

I could kill you and everyone you care about.

[But she says it with a sigh, as she slumps on her stool. It's not quite an empty threat - she believes she could, indeed, do exactly that - but it's also not a vehement one. She doesn't have room in herself for that level of concentrated vendetta against anyone but Xena.]

Something is wrong with you. And whatever you want from me, I don't have anything to give.

You could.

[ he doesn't refute it, either-- she could indeed threaten him, threaten the people he cares about. Abel doesn't keep his fondness for others a secret, either; it would be simple work to hunt a few down, even here. but...

...he doesn't believe she will follow through. (not without sufficient motivation, anyway.) ]

And there's a great many things wrong with me, you're absolutely right! But wanting to be your friend isn't one of them.

It is, because I don't have that to give, either. Look at me.

[She locks eyes with him again, to make that demand easier.]

Do you really think I'm lying?

I think you believe something very sad, and lonely, and miserable to put it frankly. But... you and I don't have to see eye to eye, and maybe our definitions of 'friendship' aren't the same, either. Who's to say that you aren't already giving me precisely what I want out of a friendship with you, anyway?

[ though his tone does carry a little more levity than it had a few minutes prior, there's something in his eyes that suggests that he isn't bluffing or making jest of this at all. ]

[She scoffs, eyes flicking towards the spilled tea and the mug lying on the floor.]

Oh, of course; my mistake. I should have realized you were interested in having your home damaged. Your home, and your hand. Looks like you've found the perfect person; aren't you lucky.

Well! As it turns out... spilled tea can be cleaned, and I can always buy a new mug. And-- ah, well, my hand hurts and I'll definitely whine about it at great length later, but... it'll be fine too when push comes to shove.

[ he's moving to grab at some paper towels on the subject of... messes. ]

But friendships are like people, you know? Unique... sometimes difficult. And always well worth the work. --Speaking of, come help me clean this up, would you?

[She looks at his mug of tea, still sitting on the counter, and considers grabbing that next. She could throw it at him, and then sweep her way through the kitchen, destroying everything that's not bolted down.

She doesn't do it, in the end: from lack of energy, and lack of drive. She does grab the mug, but only to take a sip.]

Pushovers are pathetic, Abel. I've met too many of you here.

[ did she really just--

Abel starts to protest, but all that escape him is a little whiny start of a sound before he thinks better of it and huffs, instead. WOW?? stealing his tea?? (enjoy, Callisto, it's veritable sugar sludge after how much he poured in there,) ]

Pushovers?! ...Are you calling me pathetic? Is that any way to speak to your dearest friend, Miss Callisto...? I might cry at this rate...!

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feel free to have him pull back before any of this happens, of course!

callisto... 🥺

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