sixthiterationlogs | At first disguised by hollow warmth

Entry tags:

At first disguised by hollow warmth

WHO: Bobo Del Rey
WHERE: North Village
WHEN: Middle of January
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Will update as needed

Words echo in Bobo's head. Things that Willa said to him, that Vasquez has said, Bull, Wynonna, voices he hasn't heard in over a century. It's easy to ignore those words in your head when you're busy keeping nearly a hundred revenants from getting out of control and killing everyone in the Ghost River Triangle. It's another trying to quiet them when you're in a place where you're seen as a peer and a friend and not merely some hellspawn to be killed to break a curse.

Which only makes it that much harder.

Having spent so much time in the south village, Bobo decided to give a week to getting things ready where he lives in hopes that if winter descends, they'll all make it.

So he spends more time working on converting the police station into a barn for the kirin, chickens and whatever else the cowboys decide to bring home. Clearing out much of the walls that aren't load bearing, and even tearing up the floor in parts of it, to use making a pen to one end for the chick where they can be held and have ground to scratch at.

He takes time seeing that the forge is in working order, hoping to find and mine enough to fashion horse shoes for the kirin. They were keeping their hooves trimmed back, but shoes would make things better for them, to see to them a they grow and may one day become mounts for them.

Most afternoons he can be found on the front porch of their house by the forge, his lap covered in a piece of hide from something he first killed and cured, and working to use one rock to shear bits from another rock. The ledge of the porch rail is lined with his experiments, dangerously sharp arrowheads and larger "blades" that didn't go quite right but show progress in knapping the stone just right into a blade. His hands too show the work, cuts in various degrees of healing marking his knuckles and palms.

It's sitting on that porch that he's approached, in a way, one day by a creature he well knows. A moose that meanders through the "front yard", pausing to sniff at this or that as is makes its way through the village. It's a familiar enough sight to Purgatory, especially back when Robert Svane made a homestead so far North, that Bobo finds himself nearly giggling, then laughing until he has to set aside the things he's working on, digging the heels of his hands against his eyes and staunching tears that he would swear had everything to do with the laughter and nothing else.

All around the house he's chosen show signs of the things he's working on, from boards with pelts stretched over them, to sinew drawn tight between sticks and drying, and several long staff looking saplings in various degrees of drying that he plans to eventually split for bows. So much of it is trial and error, being aware of the basics of how to assemble and make all of it, but also having been a being a fucking mouse in velvet and glasses. The practical experience isn't there, even if the knowledge is, and Bobo is playing off all of it to try and ensure that he and the roommates, those he also considers his people, can make it in this place and thrive.

All the while trying to ignore the voices in his head, the things that others have said to him, and that voice that he barely recognizes from a man that gave up his life for a town that condemned him for a eternity, not yet realizing how soon that forever existence might end.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Oh, it was hell. I basically was made of processed sugar and caffeine, I wanted to curl up and die." But he'd turned up at work every day instead.

"Well... most people weren't? Bankers, clerks, tailors, milliners, general stores, farmers, mail carriers... Lawyers. They all made the old West function."

"By the time those became regulars in diets, I was a revenant. Never bothered me," he says, smirking. He may be a bit smug about that and a dick. "I never thought about it for others here. Just the alcoholics like Wynonna." And he had taken delight in that as well.

"Most people have an image, and some didn't fit that other. Some were mousy and obsessive and overdressed, and without the sort of spine a person needs. They followed men who used them, and in the end betrayed and abandoned them," he says, speaking as if it wasn't him. Not in the least. "And in our town, we lacked a lot of those. Why there were so many for Earp to curse."

"And Jessica. She's an alcoholic. Came by it pretty honestly though." Again, he doesn't divulge details, they're not his to give.

"Isn't that... just life?" A lot of followers, a lot of scared people. "I'm a dedicated coward, me. I don't brave things."

"One of the roommates is one too. He's been a bitch the entire time," he says, rolling his eyes. "And just as he was getting better, that party happened. Now he's back where he started."

And in part he does worry about him. All for Vasquez's sake.

"Not in Purgatory it really wasn't. I did a lot of brave things," he says, shrugging. "They don't pay off. Stay a coward, Foggy."

"Detoxing from booze is dangerous. The withdrawal can kill for long term alcoholics. Luckily, a one night relapse won't... Did I moosh your face at New year's Eve?" He winces. "I'm sorry, I lose boundaries when I'm drunk."

Anything Bobo is about to say is lost in that moment when Foggy remembers. Slowly he nods, fighting not to smile.

"Oh yeah, you definitely did that. It was weird, but in a way, helpful," he admits.

"... sorry. Not sorry. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, that was never my intention. Lord only knows what my intention was, but it was probably a good one?"

"Well, you did, but..." He shakes his head, not sure about the words. "It's been a long time since most would be that open with me. I'm not the kind of person to do that to in Purgatory now. It reminded me of things that Vasquez has been telling me."

That he can be who he wants to be. Not Bobo Del Rey.

"Sorry for that, then." He nods slightly. "You can be someone else here."

"Don't be sorry, Foggy," he says, moving to stand up. "Come on in. No moose inside, though there is a fire salamander," he admits, chuckling.

"And one day I may be able to be myself. I'm not even sure who I am anymore. Especially not here, but I don't have the ability to figure it out right now."

"... hang on, a what?"

Foggy moves for the door anyway, clearly eager to find out.

Bobo chuckles, heading inside and leaving the door open.

"I looked them up. They're this tiny salamander that overheats, and likes to live in fire and ash. They can just randomly show up and if you care for them, apparently they might stay," he says, gesturing to the fireplace where the small red lizard is curled up near the fire, half buried in ash.

"So I feed him. Closest thing to a pet I've ever had."

"Are they safe to touch, or do they burn? Because I'm probably going to want to touch it if I can." Foggy likes learning how things feel before he introduces them to Matt.

"Oh, wow." He heads straight over, crouching down to look. "Aren't you handsome?"

That gets another laugh. "According to the notes at the Inn, you can touch them but that contact for too long can cause you to be able to set things on fire. Given we already lost a house recently to something like that? I try and be careful."

Even as he talks about it, Bobo moves over to the fireplace. Leaning down he lightly pats it on the head with the tip of one finger.

"There's bits of dried fruit and jerky in the bowl there. I'm not sure what it's diet is meant to be, but it likes things with red salt on them so..." He shrugs.

"I'm barely working out my- oh my God. I can stop you from getting nicked by the stones."

He focuses, calls on that weird thing he's been told he can do and knows he can do and feels the thickening, hardening of skin. And knows it covers anyone immediately around him too. "That. I can do that."

Bobo arches a brow, not really paid much attention to talk of powers, knowing what his likely is and not having found a use for it yet. Not even knowing the only reason he knows is being told about it by someone cockblocked by it.

So when he feels that change, he blinks, flexing his fingers, staring at Foggy. "What is... That ability they gave?"

Foggy nods. "I can stop people being hurt. Or at least, reduce the damage they take. Myself and those around me, same as Kamala. How I realised I could do it." She posted about her ability and he realised it was what he could do. In theory.

"That's... useful," he says, moving to pick up one of the points that he's kept from his stone work to use as arrow points later. Picking it up between two fingers, he drags it along his forearm.

Nothing.

"Well... that is more than useful." He looks up at Foggy. "How long can you hold that or cause it to happen?"

Foggy instinctively flinches and the power tries to activate again, which doesn't work, but he can't help it. "It lasts about ten minutes, according to Kamala. And it affects anyone within a couple of yards?"

He arches a brow at that, setting the arrowhead down, just for Foggy's sake. He did care, worried he would cut himself, and hoping to protect him. Least he can do is not taunt him about it.

"Don't think I've met Kamala, but that's... makes you wonder why they'd give us that an yet cut us off from so much."

"... equal footing? Like, everyone is baseline human with a tweak? See how people like you go to losing abilities and people like me who don't have them go with gaining them. It depends on what they're doing. And if some people are of more interest than others."

His ongoing thought.

"We're not all baseline human," he points out. "I may be less than I was, but I'm not human. Bull isn't human, and neither is Liv. The one I had before it no more useful to me than what I have here. But yours... that's useful," he says with a nod. "I like it. I was the villain of my story for a long time. Now I'm more cut off from people than ever."

"That's what I mean, though. Here, you are. Base line... I don't know Liv. What's Liv?"

"I'm not though. I don't have the ability to control metal, but parts of the revenant..." He pauses a moment, taking a breath, and then for a moment, his eyes are red, nearly glowing.

"And since she announced it to the world? She's the reason for the Romero tray at the butcher shop. She's a zombie." His eyes faded back to normal blue. "I just wonder if they're giving us abilities, why not let us stay as we were? Means I don't know if I can be killed here or not."

"Whoa!"

Foggy jumps back. because holy shit, that's startling. "Right. Okay. Sorry, bit of a shock there. And okay, now I have some idea about who has a highly specialised diet."

He shrugs slightly. "I don't know. Doubt anyone does, really. Maybe avoiding dying if possible?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject