(no subject)

[nogodsnoheroes]

Who: Bethan Costigan nogodsnoheroes and OPEN (one prompt closed to Angela hevenly)
What: Bethan returns to Central City, gets in a fight, and goes to find a friend
When: Throughout December
Where: Central City
Content Warnings: Alcohol, violence, unreality/dissociation

[ I | Central City, early December | OPEN | CW: excessive alcohol consumption ]

[This is a rough time of year for someone whose only solace, back home, is family. Thanksgiving was hard. Christmas coming up is even harder. It's haunting her, that loneliness - making her wonder if it's worth risking a little trust in the Guilds, if it means she can get home long enough to tell her parents she's okay.]

[She's not really okay. Even by her own very loose standards, Bethan isn't doing well. She's been on her motorcycle for the past two months, riding aimlessly wherever the road takes her, trying to find...]

[Something. She doesn't know what. Whatever it is, she hasn't found it, and now she's back where she started, on a low rooftop in downtown Central City, trying to outrace her superhuman metabolism before she runs out of stolen cash.]

[Which is to say, she's on her third bottle of cheap vodka, swaying very slightly where she sits, humming Christmas carols. She looks like she's been crying.]

[If you so much as glance at her, she'll fix the full force of her glare on you, chugging down the rest of the bottle.]

Fuck you looking at?



[ II | Central City, throughout December | OPEN | CW: violence ]
[Alcohol costs money, and it doesn't last long. Justice... Justice doesn't cost a goddamn thing.]

[Which is the nicest way of saying that, as soon as she runs out of vodka (and subsequently sobers up about an hour later), Bethan is looking for a fight.]

[Or, rather, the Bandit is.]

[She's no respecter of boundaries, especially not those set by the Alliance, so if you happen to be patrolling the city, you may find that there's an intruder on your turf, running around on the rooftops. Her face is hidden by a motorcycle helmet with a mirrored visor, her motorcycle leathers padded and zipped up to the neck.]

[It isn't always easy to find crime to stop, especially when there are this many superheroes about, but a determined vigilante can usually find someone who's (at least apparently) up to no good.]

[Hence the screams echoing down the street, as the black-clad Bandit interrupts a mugging in progress with a swift kick to the mugger's knee, and proceeds to start beating the shit out of him. It's a pretty unpleasant sight, all things considered: blood on the snow, a leg bent at an unnatural angle, and a merciless assault on a mugger who, criminal or not, is absolutely the one crying out for help at this point.]

[Someone might want to step in, before this upgrades from assault to manslaughter.]



[ III | The Opherium | mid-December | CLOSED to Angela ]
[She's been putting it off. She knows that. She's been putting it off for months, since she met Sephiroth and had that conversation with him, and she's definitely been putting it off for the week or two she's been back in the city.]

[But shit keeps pointing her back here. The mention of the Lokis. The card in her pocket, which she somehow hasn't been able to throw away. Her own curiosity. Mostly that last one.]

[She's terrified. She's actually a bit afraid she might throw up, or have a panic attack, or both, standing in front of the address on the card.]

[The woman she's looking for knew her. Maybe not this version of her, but a version of her. Knew her name, knew her face... what else did she know? What had she already told people?]

[Had they really been friends, in some reality?]

[Bethan can't deal with all this thought of different realities, different hers. It hurts too much, and it's too confusing, and it's hard enough to keep hold of the reality she's living in. But she has to know. She might have put it off for months, but it's been gnawing at her. She just... has to know.]

[She raises her hand, takes a deep breath that hangs in the air like frozen mist, and knocks.]



[ IV | Wildcard ]
[[Hit me up for toplevels/plotting at jormandugr if you'd like!]]

Comments

II

[robintohood]

[It's funny. Jason's used to being the violent vigilante. So when he's doing his rounds around his territory, he's surprised to see someone's beaten him to the punch in stopping a mugger. She's landing some pretty good punches too.

Casually leaning against a lamppost, he whistles at her]

Seven out of ten for the beatdown but you lose points in the messiness.

[His casual tone shows he's not too disturbed by what Bethan's doing]

[nogodsnoheroes]

[Shaking blood off her knuckles, holding the whimpering man up by the collar, the Bandit turns to... well, it's hard to tell, with the helmet in the way, but glare still feels like the right word. For a moment, she doesn't say anything, catching her breath.]

I don't remember signing up to a fucking showcase.

[She's given up on disguising her voice, the way she used to back home. No stakes to people knowing who she is, here. Nobody to protect. So it's entirely her own voice - surprisingly light, a little hoarse, strong New York accent - coming out of that tinted helmet.]

What's wrong with messy, anyway?

[robintohood]

[Jason's mentally taking note of her accent. A New Yorker, huh?]

Messiness might leave too much evidence behind. Plus, clean up is a bitch, especially when blood's involved.

[Jason's own accent sounds like he's from the Northeast, possibly Jersey]

[nogodsnoheroes]

Sounds like a problem for the paramedics.

[She looks down at the bloody, groaning man she's holding, and, after a moment, lets him drop. She's not getting more of a fight out of him, and the interruption is starting to kill the adrenaline, make room for her uncle's voice. Don't hit a man when he's down.]

Speaking of, you got a phone? Mine's fucked.

[robintohood]

Yeah, I got a burner.

[Jason takes it out and offers it]

Feeling nice now?

[nogodsnoheroes]

[She has to flip up her visor to see the phone properly in this light, so it's a surprisingly fresh-faced blonde woman in her twenties who's doing the glaring now, as she snatches the phone.]

You don't like mess, but you're cool leaving people lying around to die and stink up the place? Weird boundaries.

[9-1... Her finger hovers over the 1 for a moment, considering. She doesn't want to get stuck here talking to some weird asshole when the cops arrive.]

I didn't do anything that'd kill him. [She bashed his head into a wall several times. She's very good at deluding herself about what can and can't kill people.] And it's fucking freezing. He's not going to learn anything if he's frozen solid.

[robintohood]

Yeah, I know.

[His tone remains casual and unbothered by the scene]

Just hurry up and call. It's freezing for all of us here.

[nogodsnoheroes]

Maybe you ought to dress better for it.

[She wrinkles her nose, and presses the 1 again. From the call she makes - which contains exactly the necessary information and no more, and is given in a voice with noticeably less accent, no hesitation or chance to let the operator speak - it's not the first time she's made this exact call.]

[She hangs up, holding the phone back out to him.]

Nobody said you had to wait around, you know. Or be here in the first place.

[robintohood]

[Jason takes his phone back]

Technically yeah but kinda hard not to notice someone getting beaten up in my territory.

[Jason keeps his gloved hands visible and open as a sign he's not threatening her]

[nogodsnoheroes]

"Territory"? What, you're a fucking wolf now? You piss on all the lampposts too?

[She scoffs, jamming her own bloodied hands into the pockets of her jacket, and turns away.]

Well, if it's your territory, guess you'll want to stay and take credit. Me? I'm out.

I

[unkindled_madness]

[Sephiroth is in Central City to do some... Christmas shopping, which is a weird concept to him, but here we are.

Between the humming and the smell and the fact that he's tall enough that the rooftop isn't that far overhead, of course he glances at her.]

...you smell even worse than before.

[Apparently he's dropping the manners now that he's off the clock.]

[nogodsnoheroes]

[She continues to glare, but it might have intensified a little.]

Where the fuck did I ask?

[She tips the bottle again, and, realising it's empty, moves from glaring at him to glaring at the bottle.]

...I've been on the road. Not a lot of shower opportunities.

[And even fewer that she actually took.]

[unkindled_madness]

[He is not remotely intimidated by the glaring.]

I take it you declined to stay at the Diadem.

[nogodsnoheroes]

They track us closely enough already, I'm not gonna go stay in the goldfish bowl.

[She screws up her face, waggling the vodka bottle idly.]

Anyway, I'm having a bit of a cashflow problem.

[unkindled_madness]

I'm not certain that's how I would define your problem.

[nogodsnoheroes]

[She squints at him, then abruptly leans forward - so abruptly it's a surprise she doesn't fall off the roof - with her arms draped over her knees.]

Okay, smartass. What's my problem?

[She's genuinely curious to know the answer. She could name a lot of her problems, but - especially with her usual guard dulled by the alcohol - it's kind of interesting to know what someone else sees.]

[unkindled_madness]

[Sephiroth shrugs.]

I doubt it's a lack of money that's driven you to drink, or to take such poor care of yourself.

Something personal, I imagine.

[nogodsnoheroes]

[Bethan looks faintly disappointed, letting out a low huff that hangs in the air like smoke.]

Fuck, I thought you were gonna say something insightful. Something personal? No shit, Sherlock. You should write horoscopes.

What're you doing here, anyway? That's one fuck of a commute just to tell me I stink.

[unkindled_madness]

[He chuckles.]

I didn't think you'd want me prying.

[Paranoia? Homesickness? Her minotaur friend? It's really none of his business.]

I am... shopping.

tags in over a month late with Starbucks

[hevenly]

[ Angela would like to say that she has put Bethan out of her mind. She trusts that, given time, what had brought them together on the peninsula would draw them together here. But, to say that she has not been thinking about her dear friend would be a lie. She goes about her routine, working security at her brother's theater and keeping her head down so as to not attract the attention of the guilds, but in the quiet moments, and on the nights of the new and full moon, when the Fog's curse renders her a minotaur once more, her mind cannot help but wander to thoughts of Bethan.

It is one such night when a knock comes to her door. She answers, horns and hooves on full display, and she cannot hide the pleased surprise that shows on her face. ]

Bethan. You came.

[ Angela had faith that she would, and yet she is still caught somewhat off guard. ]

Please, come in.

[nogodsnoheroes]

[Even by her own standards, Bethan looks like shit. She's been sleeping rough again, and the drinking binge wasn't that long ago, so she still smells faintly of vodka and vomit.]

[She looks up at Angela, and that vomit starts to feel like it's threatening again. That expression is so pleased, it's impossible not to think it's a real happiness, and that frightens Bethan in a way she doesn't like to accept. It makes her want to run away. Her fists tighten in her pockets, her shoulders hunching, and she exhales shakily.]

Yeah. Whatever.

I'm not sticking around. Don't get your hopes up.

[But she does come in, ducking past the minotaur and attempting not to hesitate too long.]

[hevenly]

I would not dare to keep you.

[ Her entire approach to Bethan's existence in this reality has been a hands-off one. The same approach she would use with a wounded wild animal. Exist in its vicinity, but do not make any move towards it. Wait for it to deem her safe enough to come closer.

The only difference is that Angela wishes to heal Bethan's wounds, not exploit them.

She closes the door behind Bethan and leads her into the small apartment, gesturing for her to make herself comfortable in the modest living room. There is a decently sized sofa as well as an armchair, and set in pride of place on the mantle is the metal statuette of a dragon which the other Bethan had given Angela, shortly before she was pulled from Ryslig into this world. ]

I assume you came here because you wish to speak?

[nogodsnoheroes]

I came here 'cause there's a giant woman running around saying she knows me, and someone said you might not be crazy.

[Her eye's drawn to the dragon, despite her best efforts. She knows the kind of shit she makes when she's run out of useful tinkering to do. She knows it looks like that. She also knows it's crazy to jump to conclusions about something anyone could have made, but... it nags at her, like a loose tooth at the back of her mind.]

[She drags her eyes away from it, clearing her throat, and takes up a station somewhere where she feels safe: back to the wall, nothing between her and the door. Her shoulders are hunched, one booted foot kicking nervously against the other.]

[Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Again, she fights down the urge to bolt.]

...I need to know what you think you know about me. Okay?

[hevenly]

[ Angela is not surprised that Bethan chooses not to sit, but instead to stand in a defensible position. Were their circumstances reversed, she would have done the same. She herself chooses to sit on end of the sofa, so that if Bethan does come to feel comfortable enough to sit, she will have the option of the armchair free to maintain some distance, should she desire it, or the option of the other end of the soda, should she not.

Angela doesn't expect her to choose the sofa. ]

Before I begin, I must warn you that I know more about your history than you would have chosen to tell me. The realm where I was trapped with you before, it... liked to toy with us, by drawing from our minds our most painful memories, and putting them on display to others.

[ She wants to get that disclaimer out of the way first, because she knows that if she just launches straight into her knowledge of Bethan's past, the Bethan before her will doubt that she would have ever felt comfortable enough with anyone to share those intimate, traumatic details. ]

I know that you have a family, whom you care for deeply. A father, a mother, two brothers, an uncle who taught you to repair machines. [ She pauses, testing Bethan's reaction before she continues with, ] And I know you were taken from them, when you were very young, by doctor's who experimented on you without your consent. I know that these experiments made you strong. And I know you use that strength to enact justice on an unfair world.

[nogodsnoheroes]

[There's a familiar pain in her chest. A clenching weight, panic crushing down on her lungs and digging claws into her heart. All the colour - not that there was much of it to start with - has drained out of her face, leaving only the hectic spots of red on her cheeks.]

[Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Except she can't tell herself it's not real, this time. It seems real, and it's not one of the usual nightmares, and she digs her nails into her arms until even her unnaturally tough skin starts to give way, and the pain doesn't sharpen any of this out of existence. There's still someone here talking matter-of-factly about her family, about... about all of it.]

[She can't breathe. She screws her eyes closed, feeling the hot tears squeeze out from under her lashes, and reminds herself that she knew, she knew this was something she might here, she knew and she came here anyway, so this is her fault. It's her fault, it's her job to hold herself together. She should have been ready for this.]

[Her breath is whooping in and out, rattling in her throat. A familiar lightheadedness begins to build. She leans back against the wall, rather than let herself fall, and opens her eyes, glaring, to snap the only thing she can think to say:]

It didn't make me fucking strong!