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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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...!

Yes, and what are you going to do about it?

[She says, tea still in hand - watching him with the paper towels, but making no move to help.]

Show me some of who you were before, when you were like me?

[ hmph... he's mouthing 'pathetic' one more time before ripping off some of the roll and jutting it out toward her expectantly. ]

You're like a dog with a bone, aren't you? A man tries to sympathize with the woman who breaks into his apartment after being kidnapped across time and space and this is what he gets...?! Honestly, there really isn't any sort of justice in any world.

[ he's going to start by retrieving the cup and cleaning up the floor, now. hmph, HMPH. ]

But you know what? If it helps, there're more croissants where the first one came from if you clean up after yourself.

Eugh, don't try to bribe me.

[Still watching. Still not helping. The paper towel goes untouched, and ignored, though she's watching him closely.]

I don't get why you won't talk about it; it's the only interesting thing about you.

[Not the only thing, says a niggling piece of her, but she ignores that part of herself.]

You know, I'm beginning to think that your company is going to have some kind of dampening effect on my poor, fragile, floundering ego but I can't seem to grasp why with all these glowing compliments you're paying me...

[ he pauses in floor-wiping to tap at his chin thoughtfully. hm, yeah, wonder why that is??

...he is noticing he is unassisted in his cleaning endeavors. noticing that. mmhm, a lot of Noticing happening here, ]

Is what's long gone really of that much interest to you...? I'm afraid the tale probably isn't half as interesting as whatever you're concocting in your head. Plus--! What if you get bored of me...? I have to maintain an air of mystery to keep you around~!

[ ...

......

quietly crumpling up a paper towel. he is forming...... a projectile. for reasons. ]

I'm already bored of you.

[She says flatly, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. Taking another sip of his tea.]

If the only thing of interest about you is long gone, then so be it; I'll-- don't throw that at me.

[Her eyes drop to the hand that's crumpling the ball, then go back up to his face. She is, maybe, just the tiniest bit curious about whether or not he would dare.]

If you were bored of me, would you really still be here? The tea isn't that good.

[ just as flatly, back. they are the utter pinnacle of maturity.

...and just to prove that fact, he is balling this paper towel up a little tighter

while maintaining eye contact........ ]

Who said I was going to throw this at you...? Goodness, are you paranoid, Miss Callisto? Would I, a man of God, a priest in service to the Good Lord who art in Heaven, a diligent and obedient servant of the Holy See do such a petty and immature thing~?

[ yes

yes ]

The tea is awful; it tastes like leaves.

[Which she assumes is an insult, rather than... truth. Oops.]

And if you throw that at me, I'll throw it at you.

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

callisto... 🥺

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