sixthiterationlogs | Stick and stones may break my bones... (OTA)

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Stick and stones may break my bones... (OTA)

WHO: Foggy Nelson
WHERE: Mostly South Village and the Healing Spring
WHEN: Latter half of March into early April
OPEN TO: OTA (ask if you want a starter)
WARNINGS: No warnings so far

Foggy has had a rough end of the month.

The start of the month was fine for him, but then there was a swarm of strange, jellyfish like floating things that had tentacles and stinging and, as he found out, induced psychosis, paranoia and hallucinations that formed group delusions and aggravated people to violence.

Foggy's not good with violence. Not really. He's not a coward, but he's not practiced at it.

And his fall back of his armoured skin doesn't work when he's busy involved in a fight with someone and they've activated some weird combination power that while cool in and of itself, didn't so much for stopping being hit in the face and knocked unconscious.

So that was the middle of March for Foggy. And since then, he has been healing up, either at the South Inn or trekking to the Spring to heal himself up after the beat down he took. He's taking time to work on the carpentry thing and hand carving a small crucifix, though the small mountain of failures that go to the tinder pile testify to the fact that it's very much a learning from scratch process on that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

More and more Diego suspects the Commission is behind this place because it's the only way all of this psychotic shit makes sense. The weird creatures. The things that people talk about. The odd new power that he discovered accidentally, and really isn't liking since it comes up as he finds it hard to form words. Just great.

He's not in the best of moves as he comes to the Inn, dropping down by the fire.

And seeing a pile of crosses by the fireplace. Picking up one, he turns it over in his hands before looking up at the man whittling nearby.

"Uhmmm, sacrificing these to try and find a way home?"

Foggy laughs and then winces and groans and cups his hand over his face. "No. My friend is Catholic, and we've been making a rosary together, or making the beads. I'm trying to carve a crucifix, but getting anything more than just a simple cross is really difficult. Like, I'm trying to actually carve a Christ on it, but it's really, really hard."

A brow arches at the change to the laugh and the reaction to it. Still playing with the cross, considering that. "You do a lot of woodwork before you went and took whatever beat down it is that got you? You weren't messing with those weird horse things, were you?"

"No, not really. I did some, I got some tools a while back and I knew nothing about it, really, but now I guess I'm getting a bit more proficient? And until I'm more help in the butchers again..."

He's here. Doing this. "No, the kirin are pretty peaceful. And they're more like unicorns than horses."

"Nice side step there," he says, nodding. "I'm impressed. This about all that other weird shit going around?" A brow arching as he considers that, shaking his head. "You seen whatever medical staff they have around here?"

"There's always weird shit going on," Foggy admits. "And there's not a lot, there's some emergency supplies are a small hospital but there's a healing hot spring. Yes, really." He tugs his top enough to shot his very healed scar. "That's only eight months old. I've been going to the spring at least once a week since I got here."

"Yeah I'm new? So there's only one weird shit for me," he points out, though he's in a better mood than he was when he arrived. Not happy, but definitely not quite as surly.

"Wait, seriously? How healing? Like new age crap that it heals you inside and out?" Because superpower or not, he's not sure about all this stuff that seems more magical. Though a brow arches at that scar. "You're not fucking with me, are you?"

Much less surly, which is nice.

"Less 'new age crap' and more like 'magic healing waters' from fairytales." He shifts to show the much uglier scar on his side, which is also healing up ridiculously well. "That's about... four months older? Bomb shrapnel and drywall. The waters heal. It's sort of amazing. Especially after a day of hard labour, nothing like it for muscle aches."

"Where the hell were you that you got blown up?" A bit curious and a bit impressed, which perhaps is the wrong reaction but he can't help himself.

"Huh. I mean, heard of shit like that in a few countries, things they swear by," he admits, shaking his head. "Huh. Be curious," he says, running his fingertips against the scar on his head without thinking about it.

"Um... inside a building in New York City visiting a client. Her landlord had been trying to drive her out so they could sell and demolish and rebuild. A whole bunch of bombs went off, it was part of political thing, and a gangster, organised crime war thing." And a bunch of stuff and frankly, he's still a bit lost about exactly how he ended up getting hit.

Didn't really matter.

"I think you need to soak the actual scar in the water though. And it doesn't seem to make old scars vanish of anything, just, makes things heal faster?"

'Well shit, Man. Damn. Your client make it out okay?" Because maybe that shouldn't be what matters, but he can't help but ask, curious what all he had been through. "They get taken down? The bomb setters and not the client?"

He snorts at that. "The bastards behind this place hadn't screwed with my system and I wouldn't care," he admits. "Used to be able to hold my breath long as I needed to," he admits. "Not that I needed it gone. Just an interesting test."

"Of that? Yeah." He's taken back to the funeral, to Matt's frustrated rage, Karen's quiet, grief stricken resolution. "She was murdered later. We got the guy who did it, who was behind it all. Eventually... That is not something you should casually drop out there, man! How did- No, don't need to know, I am not going to go anywhere good with that."

"That... Doesn't make it better, which I figure you know," he says, soft spoken in that. Just because you got the assholes doesn't bring them back from the dead, and it doesn't make it right. Only revenged.

He snorts though at that.

"It was public knowledge, which likely doesn't help either. Though I learned I could do it at a very young age and you probably don't want to know how our old man tested that to see just how long."

Ever since she'd first visited the springs with Seifer, on their croc-dog hunt, Anne had been thinking about them and wanted to make another stop. It's taken some time; while she'd missed getting into the action with the weird jellyfish and people fighting each other in the streets, she'd holed up at home until the danger passed.

God, what was happening with this place, even?

The springs had been empty the last time she'd stopped by, but as she nears the steaming water she can see that isn't the case today.

"Hello? Do you mind some company?" She peers into the steam as she draws near to try and get a good look at whoever she might be joining, "Foggy, is that you?"

Foggy's exploited the peace, warmth and healing abilities of the spring for a while now and he's doing the same today. The heat alone helps the bruises and the actual healing power of the waters has been doing wonders to healing his old injuries and now the new ones.

He looks up briefly at the silhouette and then picks the voice. "Oh, hey, Anne. Come on it, the water's amazing as ever."

Anne takes a moment to set her things aside, carefully undressing and folding her clothes to sit on her pack and away from the wet of the springs and the snow. She steps carefully into the spring, sighing at the warmth as it envelopes her until she's settled and leaning back against the edge.

"I don't know why I don't come here more often."

"Clearly, clinical insanity afflicts you, because this place is amazing. I come here at least once a week if I can manage it." He sinks down a bit more. "It's even starting to fix up the gun shot and the shrapnel scars I've got."

"Clearly." She smiles, closing her eyes and just existing in the warm water, but looks over at Foggy, "That's really good to hear. I wonder what sort of rejuvenating minerals are floating around out here, but it sounds like they're the good ones."

She watches him a moment, frowning as she sees the bruising on his face, "Foggy ... what happened?"

Foggy glances away and then back. "The shortest possible version? I got into a fight. The longer version is, those floating jellyfish things? Don't get stung. They induce hallucinations, paranoia, shared delusions and might end up with you getting into a fight with a guy you don't know against two other people you don't know. But think you do as someone else."

"Jesus ..." She'd tried to stay out of the trouble, and it sounds like she'd done well to do so, but she feels guilty that she wasn't there to help people out. "You're okay, though? Nothing worse than the warrior's beauty mark?"

She might sound like she's making light of it, but her tone and expression are concerned. "Now might be a good time for some peaches."

"I'm fine. A few more soaks and you'll never know it happened." He shifts a bit closer to her, so their knees barely touch in the water. "And I'm saving those peaches for a life saving emergency. I'm achy, but frankly, I've had worse at home. I had worse in high school."

"Still, you poor thing." She reaches out to gingerly brush a finger against one of the bruises. "I'd ask 'who do I have to beat up' but it sounds like this was a little more complicated than lowlife school-age bullies."

Hallucinations could mean any number of things, least of which that you were fighting an enemy that under normal circumstances could have easily been a friend. "Is it over now? Those things are gone, right?"

He flinches slightly, wary of it hurting but makes himself relax again. "Sorry. And yeah, we were all sharing a mass delusion that made us think we were dealing with other people. I thought the guys we were fighting were Fisk and someone he had hired. The guy helping me thought the same, but the other two were convinced we were boogie men from their pasts."

Everyone had been messed with. "I think so, yeah. I spent a couple of days soaking by the fire before I was well enough to make the walk here."

She pulls her hand away from the bruise, takes a moment to gently push hair back from his face, and then settles back in the water, but she's still looking at him with worry.

"I can't even imagine - that sounds terrible. Well, I'm glad you didn't sustain worse; bruising looks bad but that'll heal faster than say, a broken leg." She can't imagine facing Fisk like that; she knew what an intimidating guy he could be even in the best of times.

"It's mostly just ugly at this point, it only hurts when I poke it." He closes his eyes and sinks down a bit more to let the heat get into his neck. "Fisk terrifies me. Not a time he hasn't. It was never proved, but he was suspected of personally killing a Russian mobster by crushing his skull with his bare hands. Or that's just a rumour. But I'd believe it of him. I saw what he did to- can't talk about that. Dammit. Sorry."

South Inn

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Spring

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