(Untitled)

[stoicloyalty]

Who: stoicloyalty Chane Laforet and you!
When: Backdated a little-- between Monday 26th September and 9th October.
Where: Various sectors around the city.
Summary: As seen in this post. Her new powers are firing her personal thoughts a little all over the place; people get caught in the crossfire; Chane is mortified.
Warnings: emotions~. Sectors/times of day

Comments

Sector 6, evening (before sirens)

[stoicloyalty]

[ Tonight work had ended early, with backup arriving shortly after her particularly difficult client, either amnesiac or with very little concern for what he owed back to the company, refused to answer her in anything more than a shut door. It was simple enough calling a car to this particular address, but as the sun dipped towards the horizon, retracing her route through the winding streets and hills of the sector proved a worrisome task. Not something she would call backup over.
I'm lost. ]

Sector 6, late evening (after sirens)

[stoicloyalty]

[ No good; the Darkness is catching up with her as she darts through side-alleys, searching for nothing more than a light to guide her back towards an island of dry ground. Each step seems to suck at the soles of her shoes, her heels sticking in the Seep (it feels like sludge, it looks like sludge but she won't spare a backwards glance in her urgency to confirm how quickly it's moving to cover her footprints) and it makes finding a distinguishable route impossible. This sector seems to fare worse in the Darkness than the one where her house is, or-- well, she has taken care not to wade out in it after sirens.

Just as she thinks she sees the angular tint of light on a street-corner, something long and fast whips at her ankle-- the tentacle of an ooze darkness camouflaged in the muck of the streets with a grip that makes her stagger, clutch at the wall of the building on her left covered with slime, and stare at her attacker. The sight of it is-- disturbing, but more than the sight the feel of it knotting around her ankle sends panic

[vinovidivici]

[ The unruly patron was seen into the back of a night cab, his wallet tossed to the driver. Claire was about to head back into the club, but crouched for a moment to inspect a quelk that trundled along the ground. Having work to occupy himself with had helped distract him from a low, ebbing sense of being out of place that didn’t fit in with the now-familiar area around Lion’s Gate, but it also meant he couldn't act on the accompanying compulsion to call by the boarding house. The weird little tripod creature wobbled along gently, oblivious to the pensive stare it was attracting.

A sudden wave of that unease comes on - now uncomfortably strong, like a neon sign coming on a few feet from his head, and unfamiliar - a burst of genuine fear. It's not something he's used to feeling even in dire situations, and if it were it wouldn’t fit the setting, the potential short dash to safety, the absence of monsters with any lethal potential. It doesn’t fit with him. He shakes his head as if to dispel the panic and gets to his feet, unsettled,

[stoicloyalty]

[ Unable to pull against the stubborn strength of that tentacle Chane crouches lightly, dress trailing through the thick dirt on the ground-- the better reach allows her a quick, clean cut through the gelatinous substance, letting her drop back from the sudden release from the grip. The thick weight of the creature's severed limb hangs dead on her ankle like a cuff. For a second or two she sits dazed, vaguely attempting to distinguish the outline of what exactly attacked her. 8-Hour-Death is not something she has encountered, but then, she does not like to linger after the sirens

Sector 9, early afternoon

[stoicloyalty]

[ The kitchen is small, cramped even with only two people making use of it, and very, very warm. Her eyes wander to the window as her host chats away over a sizzling frying-pan and a steadily oversimmering pot. Outside the day is grim-- even if they opened that window she doubts the stagnant city air outside would make a difference to the temperature in here. But here, indoors, it is pleasant, sat at the table purely listening, looking, feeling. That something as simple as a friend insisting on cooking lunch for you could feel so comfortable...

She nearly forms a smile, watching Claire's back. ]

Sector 4, early morning (after sirens)

[stoicloyalty]

[ It's a scene she has picked apart in her head enough times that she almost wonders how much of it is still true, amongst the analysis of her own behaviour, the circumstances that led to it, the gradual slope of consequences that followed it. The soft light of the morning rouses the memory anew as Chane sits alone in the boarding-house kitchen with a cup of coffee

Sector 9, late afternoon

[stoicloyalty]

[ Waiting on the porch of Claire's apartment for him to grab his coat, she has a moment to herself to think about the day. When she thinks these words, they are more of a reflection than a belated comment, and a certain warmth kindles itself in her-- still an unusual feeling, but something she is familiarising herself with.

I had fun today. ]

Sector 4, dawn

[stoicloyalty]

[ A waking dream. Chane has been seldom experiencing these in the Port, troubled though her sleep may be, her worries rarely surface in her dreams. This time it is brought on by a certain concern that hounds her. Or rather, a certain person.

The sun shining down on her and the one accompanying her is bright, almost fiercely so, highlighting the pale tone of his skin and hers, catching violet highlights in his hair as she dares to glance up at him. From her gaze downwards, she watches the breeze play with his hair, more than her little fingers ever have, down the line of his arm to the long, elegant fingers enclosing her own. This person is greater in height, yes; but he does not seem strong. Yet he is the only permanent thing in this meadow as the long grass is buffeted by summer winds (intensifying, whipping long strands of her hair against her nose, tickling) and as though to cement the reality of his existence in this scene forever, immortal, he addresses her. But it is lost in the sudden gust; not so much as a snatched syllable