And the skin you call your home holds a heart that quits
((OOC: Sorry for all the new posts this one is necessary though. -_-))
Robin Rice has finally made it back to the hotel. It took longer than he anticipated but his brain isn't exactly functioning at its peak at the moment. He has a large bottle of pills to take two times a day. They make it difficult to care about much though he can still manage a ( Read more... )
Robin Rice has finally made it back to the hotel. It took longer than he anticipated but his brain isn't exactly functioning at its peak at the moment. He has a large bottle of pills to take two times a day. They make it difficult to care about much though he can still manage a ( Read more... )
Because - the itching and the monsters and the sores and the fire and all the bodies and how can people not believe in the Gods here with things like this? It's amazing, and disturbing, and while she's done her best, it still doesn't feel like enough. There are some new interesting stone sculptures in Chicago, but ... it was so hard to tell if they were good creatures or not.
That would explain the gashes and purpleness covering the right side of her face, the fist-sized bloody hole in her shoulder that's just starting to heal around the edges, and her rather pronounced limp. Something might be broken, she's not sure.
Medusa finally realized it was time to go home. That these - things were over for now. And so she headed in the direction she thought the Conrad was. It took her a while, but she's finally found it. And now she's holding onto the wall for strength as she slowly makes her way towards it out of an alleyway.
Don't shoot, Martha. It's a monster ... but not that kind of monster.
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It's not a monster, not at all. She puts her gun away immediately and takes a few more steps forward into the alleyway since it's safe to do so. It was almost impossible to recognize Medusa in all the mess that seems to surround her. All of her injuries look incredibly painful. She winces at the sight of the blood on the woman's shoulder.
"Medusa?" She walks closer to her until she's close enough to reach out and grab her should she start to fall. "What happened to you? Are you-" Martha bites that question back before it can escape from her mouth. "I was worried, and it looks like I had every right to be... you're hurt."
It would be so easy to reach out, touch her skin, heal her. Heal. Heal Heal. It's becoming like an addiction. Why force people to suffer for so long when she can take their suffering and erase it from her own body in an hour or two? She knows it's wrong to lean that way toward every suffering person that she sees so she keeps her hands away from bare skin. For now.
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Then she looks, realizes who it is. And her face breaks into an enormous grin. "Martha Jones. You are safe." Medusa's kind of forgotten there's anyone else in Chicago with special powers equipping them to deal with - with all this. Now she remembers and laughs at herself. "I was so worried for you."
And others. Medusa's smile is gone now, and her head falls slightly.
"Many are dead, aren't they?" Shilo. Leapsfar. Daine. Charles Gunn. They have all been kind to her. She hopes they are all right, though it seems as if only a miracle could make it so.
She looks up again, at Martha's face, and sees the concern there. She almost laughs again. When Martha had remarked on her being hurt, she had taken it as only that. A remark. A neutral statement of fact.
"I am fine. Just ... tired." Even this is shameful to admit. And really, Martha, she's not feeling the pain. At least, not much, not yet. These are battle scars. She doesn't mind them at all. They'll heal in time.
She's not dead, so she's doing okay.
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"Yes, I'm safe. I'm fairly capable of taking care of myself even when the world would rather destroy all that it can," she says and waves her hand dismissively to indicate that she was fine when Medusa mentions worrying over her. "It's talent... or much more likely it's luck and a spot of healing powers that's helped."
Her smile fades with Medusa's, replaced with an apologetic look that's become so common on her face lately. She slips her hand out to touch her where there is fabric, not on her skin. As much as she'd like to take all of her injuries away, she won't. It's bad. She has to restrain herself.
She nods sadly, keeping her hand against Medusa's shoulder as she continues to speak. "I'm afraid so. It'll probably be difficult to keep a record of all who's passed. So many bodies have been lost due to the nature of their deaths. People died alone or all together in groups. It's the worst disaster that I've seen since I've been here, and I've been here for over two years now."
Martha looks at her again and tries to resist from disagreeing. She doesn't look fine to her, furthest thing from any definition of fine. However, she knows how she can get when someone questions if she's alright or not so Martha lets it be for now.
"Let me help you down to your room then. I haven't seen you in awhile. Were you out through all of these plagues?" Yes, this is continued concern in Martha's face and voice, Medusa.
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When Martha puts a hand on her shoulder, Medusa slowly and carefully lifts her hand to cover it. "I am glad to hear it, that this is not a normal occurrence. I wondered." She takes her eyes from their hands and looks Martha in the eye. "And those you love? Are they safe?"
It seems a cruel question, perhaps one that she shouldn't ask, but Medusa does. After battle, once you've secured any kind of safety, the first thing to do is to account for the dead, as best you can. Out of respect, and to acclimate to the new, smaller world you are now in. It is better, in the long run, and more honourable, to face the darkness.
This is why Medusa asks the question. She is, in her way, trying to help in one of the few ways she can think of.
At Martha's offering to help her to her room, Medusa narrows her eyes and gently pulls herself away from Martha, then pushes herself away from the wall with a more violent force. "There is much rebuilding to be done. If you would tell me how I may best be employed, I would be grateful." She starts walking back to the Conrad, her head cocked at a determined angle. "I do not wish to languish in bed at this time."
No kidding. Certainly she's dreamed of the nice bed she could fall into, but there will be plenty of time for that later. And for any sadness or worry or empathy she has felt, the thrill of battle again, finally, eclipses it by much. Those endorphins are screaming through her system, tired as she is. And she wants to help. Especially if she can help Martha in any way.
"I did not know they were plagues," she says as she walks, trying to control her limp. Her right leg feels as if it were made of wood. "I came out when the monsters appeared. It was difficult to tell if their intentions were good or not, at times, but once I realized their true nature I turned them to stone." And beat the shit out of some of the smaller ones she encountered. Not to mention picking up a lot of interesting new words on the streets. But Martha looks worried enough already, so she'll leave it at that.
By the way, that is pride in her voice, and it's also Medusa's way of letting Martha know that she still has her power and can control it.
"The dark time was the worst. I could not kill those monsters." She looks back at Martha. "And you - have you been out in all these - plagues?"
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Martha winces at the question thinking of the children who died for the sake of the city and the people she hasn't heard from yet. "The majority of them are safe. Yes. It could have been much worse for me. I know there were some who faced losing everyone that they love but I've still so many left here with me. And I find a new person that I care about is still alive despite the disasters every day." Like Medusa for instance. "I'm grateful for what I have."
If it is a cruel question, Martha doesn't seem to think of it as one. It's nice that she should ask and care, not only about Martha but about those that Martha holds closest to her heart. Martha hasn't felt fear about facing darkness in so long. Calisto made her fall in love with the darkness when the light brought nothing but pain and rape and a tearing apart of her body and mind. A dark individual that's part of who she is (a tool in her toolbox now) almost took over her heart completely and twisted her into something- someone else.
Martha raises an eyebrow at her and walks beside her as she heads back toward the Conrad. "Actually whatever it is that needs to be done can wait. It can always wait, and you might be more of a help when you're not limping all over the place as much as I appreciate your determination. I can't let someone so injured be on their feet either as a doctor or as your friend. It wouldn't be right."
She freezes at this next bit of information. Monsters into stones. Well, if they were monsters then that would be alright, and it must mean that Medusa can control her power which is good news. It's good news assuming that she won't exact justice of her own on people on the sidewalks but that's something to concern herself with on another day.
"No," Martha answers quietly, working her lip beneath her teeth as her mind's not really on the question so much as she's wondering about this whole business of turning people to stone. "I've been here. In the infirmary. There were plenty of people who were injured. More that died but we helped who we could and made beds in the hallways when there wasn't room left."
More than that died, and she should have brought them back. She should have brought more than only Alfred back to life. It's not fair. It's not right for her to keep it to herself. They are all here for a reason. They all have their fates, their roles to play, and she's never felt so firmly before that this is hers. Yes, it will kill her eventually. She's accepted that fact, and she will be careful with who she uses her powers on to pull back from the dead but she will still use them, and in the end, it will be what kills her and that's that.
Of course, Martha hasn't told anyone about what she knows, about what she will do. If she did, almost anyone would try to talk her out of it especially those that she probably needs to tell. The Doctor. Des. They would only argue and get angry, and there's nothing that they could say that would make her change her mind. She's physically not capable of stopping herself when presented with that situation. I don't want to play God. But you already have been, haven't you? It's better not to say anything, to enjoy life for what it is at the moment, and to accept her future in her own way.
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Oh, Martha. The warring impulses you inspire in Medusa! Because, really, in addition to a genuine desire to help and earn her keep while staying at the Conrad, she also wants to serve you. You strike her as the kind of leader she wished to be. From Medusa's point of view, you seem in charge of everything. Not to mention the sacrifice you had been willing to make on her behalf.
And to Medusa, service equals work. And yet here Martha is ordering her to let needed work wait!
Medusa doesn't know quite how to deal with this.
"The only injury that troubles me is my leg," Medusa says. She's telling the truth, too. She doesn't really notice the rest. She's also feeling a very unfamiliar little glow inside her at being called friend. She has been leader, warrior, monster, sister ... but rarely friend. "I will agree to rest for a short time but only if I can be put to some good." Even if that's at a later date. But she'd prefer if Martha would just forget her injuries and give her something to do now.
Resting is dangerous. You think, then.
Medusa doesn't notice Martha freezing up at all - she's too intent on walking and minimizing her limp as she does so, again feeling grateful that Martha is fine. It must be fate that she is a healer and was safe here.
Medusa hasn't really thought about the implications of her gift. Or her temper and how it could affect said gift. But Martha worrying about it at all probably wouldn't do any good.
Unless she gave a straight out order. Medusa might take that a little to heart.
"Monsters, Darkness, fire from the sky," she says conversationally, glancing back once to make sure Martha is following her. "How can you not believe in the gods here after all this?" Medusa has been pretty much convinced over the last little while. Even if they aren't her gods, there must be gods here. Nothing else could have orchestrated such destruction.
She shakes her head. "They must have been very angry about something."
If she knew what Martha was thinking right now, you better believe she would be convinced as to exactly what that "something" is.
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Martha is worried about that. She's running through all of the possible ways she could have this conversation with Medusa without it coming out wrong or with expressing how she feels without it making sound like she doesn't trust her judgment. It's more that they live in a different time now than the one that Medusa's used to. Judgment is done differently in this time though she's not sure that she really has any control over Medusa but she wouldn't be able to do anything but try to stop her. If she learned, she was using her stone gaze on the general public especially when it might not have been necessary.
She's more than a little concerned at the moment trying to figure out how to best handle this situation. It's not easy, and now is not the time with Medusa being injured but it's not something that can simply be ignored. It's one more thing to be added to her list of what she needs to be sure is taken care of in the hotel and in this city. Martha trusts that Medusa wouldn't use it unless the individual was doing something wrong, but...
Justice is different here. So different. And it seems like a worse punishment than execution to be turned into stone. What even happens? Is their consciousness trapped their forever? Does it feel like dying or utterly more painful than that?
She hesitates. "I think that people here, now a days have a tendency to believe in a God or gods that are more loving, and they have a hard time believing they exist when such disasters happen. They feel that God would have protected them, that God would have His more reason and more of a plan. So when they see something that seems so chaotic and pointless... it's hard for them to believe."
Martha, herself, still doesn't believe. The world is what it is. Bad things happen. There's very little reason but the kind that one makes for themselves.
"I can't imagine what," Martha says. Maybe the Rift was angry at having to consume the Devil. It can't have tasted well. It seems much more likely to her that the plagues happened not out of anger but because plagues happen here. And earthquakes and torture and disaster. It's a fact of life in Chicago and as inevitable as death.
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"I will submit to a dressing of my leg. Rest is unnecessary. I can work now, if my leg feels better." See? Compromise. It's what makes the world go 'round.
Okay, so maybe Martha has a right to worry, just a little bit. Because if Medusa saw someone being murdered or raped, well, bitch is goin' down. She couldn't do it when it happened to her, but she will be damned if she lets it happen to anyone else while she has this power. She believes in gods again, after these plagues, but that doesn't mean that she fears them. She refuses to. And so she will happily take the work of the gods into her own hands and screw the repercussions. If it angers them, let them come.
There is a part of her that would love to face the gods now. There would be no kneeling.
As to what happens to those she plans to exact justice on, should she ever come across them, Medusa assumes that they just die. The heart stops, the brain stops, and the spirit moves on. She doesn't think her power goes beyond the physical.
Medusa enters the Conrad, waiting now for Martha to pass her and lead her to ... wherever Martha wants to go to look at her leg. She can't help but laugh a little disbelievingly at Martha's words.
"Loving gods? And plans ... plans that protect their people? When you don't make sacrifices?" It's ridiculous. Stranger and stranger and curiouser and curiouser. She would like to meet this kind of god. Because her gods? Yeah, were all about the pointless and chaotic.
"Well, when people aspire to be too close to the gods, too like them, as powerful or as beautiful ..." Medusa gestures around the whole of her environment to suggest, well, shit happens. Plagues. Curses.
Losing your head.
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"Alright. Fine." She will resist putting a sedative in Medusa that will force her to take a rest. Really. She will.
Martha is worried, and it is something that she will have to address eventually. It just doesn't seem right to do it at the moment when Medusa is injured and otherwise eager to help. It's not really clear to her how she can convince her that there's another way. She comes from a world where gods roamed the Earth and made their own punishments which rarely fit the crimes committed.
She steps in front of Medusa, heading to the elevator. She hopes there's still bandages and splint material enough left for this limp. They're in desperate need of more but the whole city is running on short supply.
Martha glances at Medusa and then shakes her head though she knows it will be difficult if not impossible for the other woman to understand, she has to get it all out. "They never walk among us. No divine being ever comes down here to play in our lives either for good or for bad. Things just happen without purpose or reason or meaning. It's chaos, and the only purpose and meaning that we find in this world is the kind that we make out for ourselves."
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The narration belly-laughs at the idea of Martha sneaking a sedative into Medusa's system. The girl would be SO INCREDIBLY PISSED OFF. And also, surprisingly, be kind of admiring and think it was cute.
Medusa follows Martha into the elevator, digesting her words. It takes a moment for her to respond. Then she shakes her head.
"Something must create the chaos," she says, finally. "Making our own meaning and purpose seems ... logical. And good. And I believe you that the gods do not walk among you." She takes a deep breath. This is something that hasn't even quite fully coalesced inside herself yet, but it's coming out her mouth. "Maybe there is not someone for good or bad. But I cannot believe there is not someone."
Then she gives Martha a sudden and hard look. "You will not make me rest if my leg is fine, yes?"
Of course, Martha and Medusa's definitions of fine might differ just a wee bit.
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"The Rift does," she says, quietly, again not expecting to convince Medusa but speaking of what she feels. "But it doesn't think. It doesn't speak. It has no reason."
Martha ends up shaking her head on the entire subject and waving an absent minded hand. It doesn't matter what one believes. She certainly doesn't want to change Medusa's mind but she's a little distracted into saying whatever pops into her own. "There may be someone. It's hard for me to believe but I'm completely capable of admitting that I may be wrong. It wouldn't be the first time."
She raises her eyebrows at that hard look. It doesn't phase her at all. She meets it with one of her own. "If it's fine... and that's in my medical opinion of what fine then of course I won't. I highly doubt that it counts as fine to me when you're limping the way that you are."
The elevator doors open again, and Martha steps out of them.
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"Perhaps someone created this rift," she says, easily and conversationally. She has a little more trouble admitting she's wrong, but not in this. She doesn't really care enough, anymore. "Or perhaps there is nothing."
Medusa pauses, squinching up her good eye. "I am not sure which is more frightening anymore." She likes the idea of controlling her own destiny, but she's not afraid to admit she's felt a little lost since arriving in Chicago.
There are not many who would not be phased by a hard look from Medusa. She does not know whether to be amused or slightly irritated. And then Martha speaks, and Medusa is irritated, even as she ducks her head and grins slightly. She realizes as the elevator doors open and Martha steps out that right now she has a choice. She can follow Martha or lunge for the "close door" button. The consequences could always be dealt with later. And it seems like running ... could be fun.
If her leg weren't throbbing like it was ... she'd probably go for it. As it is, she has serious doubts about whether or not she could outrun anybody.
She sighs lightly and follows Martha, still with a tiny grin on her lips.
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"I think I'd prefer that it was nothing," she says. "Though I suppose it doesn't make much of a difference either way. We're here. We'll have to make the best of it either way."
If Medusa ran, Martha would follow her and tranquilizer to the ground. What? You think she doesn't carry tranquilizers in her purse? Because you'd be wrong.
She notices the grin though and looks at her suspiciously. "What's all that about?"
She will keep walking to the medical room but looking at Medusa as she walks like she's waiting for something to happen.
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As fascinating as that idea of a god who cares for people.
"Yes," Medusa says. But her voice might be a little subdued. After all, she agrees that one needs to make the best of things either way - but is someone in control of those things? Will the threads of Fate yank her up by the throat again? Or is she home for good, not to be bothered by the gods?
It's the rain of fire that did it. She will never admit it, not even to herself. But it gave her a little bit of that fear back. The reverence.
She must repress it at all costs.
The narration finds Martha's determination to tranquilize hilarious. And her purse is obviously inherited from Mary Poppins. Though if Mary knew what Martha carried in that thing ...
Aw, hell, she'd probably approve.
Medusa is further amused by Martha's suspicious look. There is a playful side to her she is just becoming aware of. (Fighting the monsters might have helped. That was a stomping good time.)
"I was contemplating running, and finding work elsewhere," Medusa answers, at least having the decency to look away as she smiles. "I ultimately decided that you could outrun me. So I suppose I am stuck with you and your idea of 'fine' for now."
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In the end, she just laughs in response. She can't blame her. It sounds like something she'd do. She has a habit of being stubborn herself even in the face of injury although she at least has the benefit of advanced healing abilities.
"If you learn only one thing from our world, Medusa, it's never run from Martha Jones." She sends her a teasing smile that spreads across her face and brightens her eyes. "It won't end well for you."
She opens the door to the medical room, holding it open for her.
"Have a seat on that table there." Martha heads in after her pulling out a box of medical gloves and slipping a pair on.
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