sixthiterationlogs | At first disguised by hollow warmth

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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.

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"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?"

Bobo chuckles, more amused than perhaps he should be, but there's something about the power that came with being a revenant that he misses in this place. Not enough to lose everything else he's gained in this place, but enough to be amusing.

"Revenants are not human anymore, but no special diets." He nods, agreeing with Foggy. "You live in a world from what I can tell where not everyone is as they appear. Here? Not everyone that isn't baseline human looks like Bull."

Snorting at that, rolling his eyes. "I would like to avoid that as well. Someone here would like to see me dead eventually."

Matt looks like everyone else.

So does Luke, or Jessica. "Yeah. We have super heroes. And otherwise powered individuals who don't indulge in super heroics or vigilanteism." He can't deny that.

"Someone in particular?"

"Can't blame them for that either. You get dragged into something you didn't chose, and who wants to deal with that all their lives?" Arching a brow as he puts that in words, head canting and dipping slightly.

"And yes, in particular. Both of us into a life we didn't chose, and not living an entirely normal, as you call it, baseline life," he says, gesturing broadly with his hands as if there's nothing to do be done about it.

Foggy's expression briefly shows a flash of genuine pain and grief before he smooths it over. "Did I tell you my family didn't want me going into law?"

He wants to ask about it, but he's not sure that if he pushes things, then Foggy won't try and block him out.

"You mentioned you were raised in butchery but you're a lawyer now. I might guess they should be proud of that?"

"You'd think," he says softly. "But they want me to quit my high paying, crippling debt accumulated to get job and come and work in the shop with my brother."

"They want, as in present day? I mean, you don't look exactly young," he says, waving one hand at him in a slow circle. "So unless you started school late, they're still harping on that?"

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