( OPEN ) gotta get back gotta get free.

[oorah]

WHO: Mayor McChilicheesedog
WHERE: House 6, House 60, and beyond
WHEN: October 15-November 5
OPEN TO: OTA (closed prompts in comments)
WARNINGS: animagus times, general obliviousness, dust moths, tba

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OPEN TO ALL.

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After cooking for the Stark Expo, Frank had bailed pretty quickly thereafter, not wanting to stick around for the thank-yous and/or any derisive comments. He also really hadn't felt as though he had much to contribute to a "tech conference" even with no tech to be found. At first, he considers going to find that book Mark started with all the skills and scratching his name off every page, but he finds himself heading to the Lake instead.

Before he knows it, he's heading down to the Bunker and straight for that powers vending machine. He studies the choices for a long time, remembering his conversation with Kamala and wondering if this all isn't an elaborate trap. Maybe it does nothing? Just another way to mess with their minds. He's heard whisperings of people hearing one another's thoughts recently and decides he needs to pick something tangible. Something he can prove definitively worked or didn't work. His finger hovers over Animal Transformation, but then he swallows, steeling himself. To Hell with it, right?

It isn't Frank Castle who runs out of the bunker and back onto the surface, but a coyote. He will be easily spotted loitering outside House 6 like he's trying to figure out how to work a doorknob in this state. When he gives up, he goes to lay down in the backyard, like he's watching over the animals in the pen. The groffle and zalpaca graze on as if oblivious to a predator nearby. Perhaps because they sense it's not really a creature who intends them any harm. After a time, Frank nods off in that state and a croc-dog finds him, curling up under his chin to join in the nap.

Over the next week or two, people might spot the coyote who comes in close to the Villages, most often he'll be outside the Schoolhouse or the Inn but never does he try to venture inside or close enough to be caught. If someone catches his eyes, he'll run off towards the forest.

WILDCARD.

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Comments

[underachievement]

"Of what?" Jess brings her cup over to the table and thuds into the seat she occupied previously. The bowl of congealed oatmeal is nudged away to the center of the table, out of sight. Her question was, for all intents and purposes, rhetorical, given he hasn't staggered her with the missing details of her life so far. The references that have been made haven't been great.

She wants to remember. She's just giving it a minute to cool, stealing some heat into her hands wrapped around the mug.

[oorah]

He may as well warn her, right? Though if she remembers life before Reims she's no stranger to bullshit. It's just gotten exponentially moreso since then, that's all.

"Nevermind," he manages tacitly, moving over to the table to grab the oatmeal and his booze and carting them over to the sink. He disposes of the oatmeal and washes the dish before leaving it to dry, then turns back around and takes the tiniest sip of moonshine, feeling soberer than when he came down here in the first place.

[underachievement]

"Well... Thanks." Jess shrugs. She owes him nothing but she can grant him that, for now. He ought to snatch it up quick. Who knows how long it'll be on the table. "In case I don't feel like saying it after."

She picks the cup up by the handle and blows across the surface, momentarily rending the steam before fresh wafts fill in the upright floating column. Impatient, Jess sips and hisses, sips and hisses, barely swallowing down a tablespoon when she decides to take a break for a minute. So far, nothing feels different. Jess uses him as her measuring device -- but more of a coloring book, waiting for the broad lines of him to fill in with shades she'll recognize.

[oorah]

Frank nods to accept her gratitude, it means something to him even if he doesn't say as much. He's watching her for any hint of recognition, but he's not expecting the effects to be instant so maybe he really will get that warning in while he has the chance.

"A lot of fucked up shit has happened to us in the last year, Jess."

It's gentle, a note of fear creeping into his tone. He really wishes there were another way, or that he at least knew if she'd remember all at once or measure by excruciating measure.

[underachievement]

Yeah, she was getting that vibe. Her turn to nod, a lump in her throat the she's tempted to scalded out of existence with another sip of tea. She has a thousand questions, all of them counting down to redundancy on a timer they're not privy to. It takes her a minute of staring into her cup to pare down to, "Did we do any of it to each other?" with a glance up.

[oorah]

If that isn't a loaded question to end all others - Frank swallows, crossing his arms loosely in front of him, still holding his cup but now looking anywhere but at Jessica's face. She would say she killed him and he would argue and round and round in circles they'd go. But the truth is, it's fact they weren't excellent to each other, not opinion. "Yeah," he replies after a long pause, the word ringing numb all the way up his throat. He tries to swallow past it and gets the taste of stale moonshine back for his troubles. "But I think we're getting better. We're trying to be... friends again." That's his interpretation anyway, and right now he has the luxury of her not being able to contradict him. Making a decision, he unfolds his arms and moves back over to sit by her again. Somehow, it lightens the load on his heart by her proximity alone. "Does it taste horrible?" The tea, he means.

[underachievement]

She accepts that, a hovering grimness about her features finally settling in. Normally she'd exploit his honesty to find out more but that might confuse the results the experiment she's drinking. Asking if they were together would be pouring salt into the wound she's already basted with lemon juice. It's smarter to let them ride out the sting and resume a numbness to the pain they must bear around the clock. They've had a year to perfect their coping strategies, right? If she can hold out panicking about the fact that a year or more has gone by, she'll remember her usual method of staving off the horror.

Him taking a seat soothes a couple of her nerves. For a second there, he looked like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. She blames that on his Hagridian recluse beard of his body language, though.

"Try some," she suggests, slaking a sip for herself and then sliding it along the table to him.

[oorah]

He looks down into the drink with suspicion even though he'd made it with his own hands. If anything, the warmth feels nice as he drags the mug closer and takes a swig. It isn't immensely flavorful, but that should make it easier to drink, too. Frank slides it back to her, the tiniest of smiles touching his lips.

"It's not the worst thing I've tasted." Of course, his standards are much lower than most. He's starting to realize she'd been holed up here with these moths for who knows how long, like the tea is raising the fog over his own mind. He needs to stop keeping his distance because he thinks it's what she wants, there's a very real threat to their survival here every day even if it isn't as apparent as it was in Reims. "Drink it all, okay?"

[underachievement]

It's blander than water, somehow, but she didn't think he'd mind it. He's not the miserable sack of sad he was when he walked in the door but Jess can't confidently claim to prefer this attitude, after the turns the night has taken.

"Oh, I'm gonna drink it all." Gripping the cup by the rim, she gives the contents a swirl and brings it to her mouth. She has a healthy swallow, then another and another. She hangs her head to rub at her eyes, cringing softly at the prospect of more waiting. She picks something to try and recollect: Where the power vending machine is. Her mental impression of it absorbs into a reemerging memory from walking past it night after night.

Jess straightens and starts to gulp down tea until the cup is drained and soggy petals hit her lips.

[oorah]

Nodding his approval, he leans towards her minutely, trying to discern what he could do for her to make this easier. As usual, he's coming up empty even as his hand settles on her shoulder and rubs in little circles against her upper back. His concern is palpable, but he stays quiet so she can work through this however she needs to.

[underachievement]

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, swallowing the last of the tea. Her head hazes over with warmth. Jess was going to shrug him off, finding the physical comfort to be a bit much, on top of the blanket, but ends up grateful for his ministrations when a wave of nausea hits. Her vision fluctuates like a bad trip, the stories in the furniture and under the floorboards beating with hidden hearts. Jess remembers wandering up to the house the first time, crashing there for several nights before laying claim to it. She remembers choosing it over its twin in the other village, for and despite its proximity to Frank and Kamala.

"Holy shit," she mumbles, marvelling at how she could ever forget Kamala. If she reaches further back in her mind to how they met, it's too gauzy to grasp, indicating that her memories are filling in the most to lease recent. "It's coming back..."

[oorah]

Sensing that it might be a little much for her, his hand shifts to lay flat against her shoulder blade, not moving but a solid reminder that he's here. Watching the emotion flit across her gaze is wild, and he knows before she admits to it that Jessica is remembering.

"What did you see?" he asks, hoping that by talking it out they can spark more memories to come quicker.

[underachievement]

"This house. Kamala." Jess glances toward the hallway. The note-to-self that's been on the edge of her brain for weeks comes to her clear as day. Chocolate. For the deliriously well-meaning, terrifyingly optimistic, loyally devoted Jersey girl that it would be hard for anyone to forget, even if they just knew her through the network. Jess has spent time in her house, passed out in the living room. Kamala found her in the woods. Several days after the fountain spat her out and she ran into the companion at her side. She stares at what little distance is between them, recalling her panic-activated defense bubble, as the implied trust of it has yet to make sense to her.

[oorah]

That gets the hint of a smile. Kamala could bring anyone back from the brink. He meets her eyes across the short distance and wonders what she sees in him, watching her as though he could get into her head somehow, even knowing how scary a place that must be.

"She's kinda hard to forget, isn't she?"

[underachievement]

A wan smile in solidarity. Jess may not know her as well as she'd like to -- something she can only admit from within this middle ground of memory -- but she's unmistakably remarkable, and Jess just lost the lie that she hasn't become important to her, almost like family. In her shadow lurks Frank protectively, and around them both there looms a menacing cloud that gnashes at the inside of Jess's skull.

She swallows dryly and updates him, "And Reims. The monsters."

Jess bites down on her lip, head shaking softly, as the process continues. A pit of pure hatred and fear in her gut is fleshed out into flashbacks of a pale man, with every sin and shame in his hands. The rest strikes all at once: Leaving Matt behind, blood gushing from Hope's throat, meeting Luke, breaking Reva. Hotel bedrooms and balconies, sipping champagne in celebration or shivering alone in her lingerie as punishment. Suddenly, she can tell there's no more for her to recall. Jess was a few weeks into her unemployment before she saved Malcolm and was taken by Kilgrave. She finally got to forget him. And she wasted it just like her week home.

If she's even real. If she's ever even been to New York or had a sister. Her expression hardens, brittle lines at the corners of her eyes. Jess stares through a fixed point on the floor, upper lip twitching with disgust. "I remember everything."

[oorah]

He nods, his fingers tightening in the fabric of her shirt minutely. He wants to pull her into an embrace but has no idea how she'd take that, and she still has the rest to remember. The monster who's even worse than those shambling creatures could ever aspire to be. Once she announces it's all there, he drops his hand to the countertop and looks down at it. There isn't really any way to comfort someone who had to relive all of that.

"Sorry," he mutters, feeling responsible for hurting her all over again.

[underachievement]

For not letting her enjoy it a while longer? He can't possibly mean that and it's all Jess would hesitate to forgive him for. As for the rest, "Yeah," she says tiredly, "me too."

A lag has developed between Jess's thinking about doing something and her body following through, less than half a second that adds a cumbersome gravity to her movements. Grabbing her cup of booze off the table taxes her the same as a jog around the house. Once she's done it, she doesn't care to move again. "Came prepared," she grants him, diving into her drink.

[oorah]

See? He had known they'd need the liquor, he just didn't know what for. He takes a shallow sip of his own and hunkers down into his seat, wishing he had something better to offer her. The acknowledgment still fills him with some small sense of satisfaction, like he did his good deed for the day. She knows he doesn't care about his karmic scales, but when it comes to her things like this matter. She matters, to him. "Can we talk about Winter?" For real this time.

[underachievement]

Without him to wall off the cold beside her, Jess hitches the blanket back up over her shoulder. She has another, long swig, frozen to the chair.

"Sure," she croaks, canting her glass in his direction. "Why not." Her humility and dignity have absconded like a swarm of moths so she doubts it will bother her half as much to have him criticize her nonexistent survival chops. She's only capable of half-listening right now, anyway.

[oorah]

Ugh, he hates that tone. His arm stretches out, resting against hers while his other hand stays wrapped around his glass. "You don't have electricity, which means your pipes are gonna freeze. What are you gonna do about water?"

[underachievement]

She hadn't thought about that. In her apartment, the heating kicked out and the plumbing was noisy and inconsistent but the pipes freezing had never been a problem. Jess applies herself enough to come up with a practical answer, eyes trained on her glass. His attempt to connect to her is acknowledged by omission, her arm unmoving.

"Boil snow. Pour hot water down the pipes." Science.

[oorah]

She doesn't move and so neither does he: impasse achieved. He makes a face as he assesses, it's not the worst idea. "Or you could boil snow and use that, so you're on the right track." It's better than he thought she'd do okay, which might be rude, but it's from a place of caring. Actually, that makes it worse, doesn't it? "I'm still gonna bring you those supplies."

[underachievement]

Jess sneers at his approval, rejecting his note as a conclusion she would have come to herself.

"Bring me more of this." Her booze is raised, gamely sipped and then thunked on the table. She gets to her feet, keeping both hands on the table to avoid an ungainly spill. The liquor hits her once she's standing, sloshing to the front of her skull. Her blood feels like lead, her eyes like steel marbles in her head. Jess blinks the mild vertigo away, taking up her glass and trudging for the couch.

[oorah]

"There's not always snow when it freezes," he points out, unable to hold it in even though he knows it might not be what she wants to hear. Frank works his jaw and stares down at the table, watching her get up with detached interest. Maybe that's enough well-intentioned bullying for one night. Before she can pick her glass up, he pours the remainder of his into it. "Just... keep an eye out for moths, okay?" He gets up to put his glass in the sink, pushing long hair out of his face only to have it fall back into his eyes. She's never going to water those flowers and there's no extra glass for them anyway, so he finds some twine in his pocket and hangs them upside down by the window so they can dry. Who knows when they might need them again, right? Frank brings her the bottle and places it on the coffee table, unable to keep the vulnerability entirely from his gaze. He feels sober and alone, he can do that anywhere. He doesn't have to feel that way sitting next to Jessica. He shoves his hands in jacket pockets and prepares himself mentally to leave. As ever, he knows it'll probably be goodbye for a little while, so he's working up to the words, if they ever come.

[underachievement]

Settling into the couch on her side, she huffs a little as her face touches down on the quilt-covered arm. She'll keep an eye out for them, all right. She'll learn how to keep them in captivity and harness their power, or she would if she were one of the science types. Might be worth politely blackmailing one of them into pursuing.

"You don't have to go," Jess mumbles, watching him with one cheek buried in the cushion. He's wobbly or her vision is. Besides, she's passed out at his place on a couple of occasions. It looks like returning a favor when he'd be doing her a whole new one, remaining nearby as a buffer against the creeping agony waiting to make her its conduit. It's a small house and they can hear each other rooms apart, after what they've been through. But she doubts he'll do it; he has a teenager and a dog at home, not to mention electricity.