Cold Front

[James Turner]

The tears fell silently now, slowing down to a trickle as he sat curled up in his seat smoking his cigarette as she took her turn. He felt like an exposed nerve, just raw. Everything hurt and felt wrong at the same time, He didn't normally chain smoke like this but he needed them right now, needed the comfort they provided. He didn't reach for the hand though, just starred forward as she spoke giving her tale now.


She hadn't been wrong, similar cloth but in this story he felt like he was the one who left. It was the fear he lived with every day, that one day he wouldn't be strong enough. He wouldn't be able to stand on his own and he'll go back to her as he is now a broken shell. No, you need to come back to me as an equal. Her words whispered in his head causing a fresh batch of new tears.


He breathed and nodded as she finished her tale, looking down at her hand and then at her. She'd admitted to not liking to be touched and his need for touch seemed to be the same as hers, so the open offer sat there. "I'm sorry." The words came out in a hoarse croak as his throat got used to being used again.


Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whos is worse. He sighed as the tune slipped through his head finding himself speechless for the moment. Not wanting to make it about him now, not wanting to compare their tales because you can't. He put himself in her shoes, trust betrayed, heart broken. To have the person you loved, the person who was your buoy, your hope, leave you for one of those monsters. The weight was a lot for him to bear even by proxy.


"Kindness can be cruelty of its own." He had more to say, could tell her more but he just felt exhausted now. Worse, he felt defeated. Letting the cigarette hang between his lips now he slowly slipped his feet back under the table. He just sat there with her in silence, each having their time to process what had been said.

[Cassandra Reeding]

She stays like that for a long time, hugging herself as her body is ravaged by the chills of her sorrow. She knew she hadn't said nearly the half of it, but with her rock, she could have gotten through anything. She'd have done anything for him. That was always the part that scared her too, even while she was deep into it. She'd have done anything for him.

Hearing his hoarse voice whispering an apology, she nods her head a little, her wild scarlet hair moving with her. "I'm sorry too..." She whispers back. No, we aren't supposed to feel sorry. If I begin to feel sorry, I'll try comparing. Our pain can't be compared. It begins to fade then, everything. The cold sinking in around her becomes comforting as it breezes about her.

His words nearly go in one ear and out the other, but they linger long enough for her to process them. Kindness. Is that all it was? A kindness. Someone who claimed to love you, build a life with you? She lets out a long, soft sigh. Slowly sitting up and leaning back against the chair. She looks at her hand for a brief moment, her emerald eyes a little duller, tired. She looks over to him and as best as she assumes, he must be feeling the same way.

She moves her hand back to her hair, running her fingers through it. It's length almost annoying in that moment, but it was her safety net. It had always been her safety net. Something to hide behind. She moves it out of her face and tucks it behind her ear before wiping the tears from her face and taking slow breaths. Just breathe, my love. I'm here. Hearing his voice in her head doesn't hurt so much as it makes her want to curl up and stew in her sorrow with music.

She watches him for a long time, just trying to regain some level of composure. She looks up to the ceiling, closes her eyes, and after another long moment, she hums a mellow tune, the lyrics fresh in her mind. I will have to die for this I fear. There's rage and terror and there's sickness here. I fight because I have to. I fight for us to know the truth. There's not enough rope to tie me down. There's not enough tape to shut this mouth. The stones you throw can make me bleed, but I won't stop until we're free. "Wild hearts can't be broken. No, wild hearts can't be broken." Her voice as she sings the last two lines isn't conventionally beautiful, but it is expressive and tuneful. There is something about her sound that comes across as warm and comforting, breaking through the ice. After all, what best to relax the mind than music?

1 success

Date	Action	Roll	Result
2020-10-15 23:22:29	Cassandra Reeding rolls 9 to Expression roll for singing (Presence 4 + Expression 4 + SL 1) (10 Again)	10, 1, 3, 4, 7, 7, 1, 3, 7, 4	1 success

[James Turner]

Every breath was a return to normalcy. Every breath and that mask reconstructed itself, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place. Sorrow having poured out like energy to be grounded into the earth itself. He offered a weak smile at her apology, nodding his silent acknowledgement as the cigarette returned to his hand and he finished off his glass with a grimace. Returning to the cigarette once more, hand moving to his eyes to wipe the frost from his face.

He felt like he’d just been in a car wreck: tired, fatigued, raw, confused. He was in a daze, his grip on the here and now feeling like It was slipping. Dreams were one thing, memory was another. He felt them bubbling beneath the surface begging to get lost in. His mantle wrapping around him, not the cold that seemed to focus but that nostalgia. That feeling you get when thinking of the past, of better times, suffused him. He held to it, clung to it like a blanket as a frown formed on his face.

The past is clouded by your desires. We always see things in the best light because that’s how we want to remember them. Do you even know if your memories are true? Then she starts singing, the tune snapping him back to the present instead of letting him drown in his memories. It wasn’t the most skillful but it had real pain to back it. There was something about that raw reality that added another dimension to it. Another puff of smoke as he sighed.

“Not much of a wild one. We could put a record on if you want.” A small frown touching his lips. That was part of why you loved her, yea? She was so wild, unafraid…free. He then started laughing again, bringing that cigarette to his lips and slipping into the other room, shuffling through the records if she followed him. Luckily he kept them in alphabetical order. He then stepped away from the player, back to where he’d been standing earlier as the voice of Freddie Mercury began pouring from the speakers.

“Queen makes everything better.” A smile tugging at his lips as he nodded along with the music.

[Cassandra Reeding]

Cassandra smiles a little bit at his words, her eyes still closed as she breathes slowly. Even if it wasn't perfect, it was something. For once, did I do the thing that would help? "Listening to a good record and just vibing sounds perfect," she says in a soft voice. Her eyes slowly flutter open and she gazes up at the ceiling once more, reality truly sinking back in. Talk about a heavy evening for two people who barely know each other. But then, once supposes they now at least know enough to be slightly more than just acquaintances now, don't they?

She lowers her head and watches him laugh, a small smile making its way to her face once more. While he is shuffling through the records, she slowly and in a rather wobbly manner, attempts to stand up. She ends up having to place her hand on the table for a bit of support. Her legs felt like jello at this point. She lets out a long sigh, We can do this. We'll be fine. She straightens up, once more wiping those final tears from her face. From all of the sobbing, her emerald eyes seemed to pop all the more. She is glad that she wore no mascara tonight, just simple eyeliner, otherwise, she is sure she'd look like a raccoon right about then.

She walks nearer to where he eventually comes to stand and smiles as the familiar sounds of Queen fill up the house. She closes her eyes once more, taking in the beat. Already, she could feel her body ready to just dance. Not that she was particularly good at dancing. Even still, she sways a little with the beat, her mouth almost unable to keep from mouthing the words. Not just Queen, but in general, music made everything more bearable. She'd get through this. Queen is just a bonus. She laughs a bit then, "They really do, don't they?"

[James Turner]

The mask had recovered itself, his eyes couldn’t be red and puffy as they were black pits of shadows so that made him seem like he was entirely back to normal. The alcohol also helping warm his blood and cloud his mind even slightly. Humming along to the song, eyes closed as his head bobbed up and down, toe tapping along with the music. Each breath he took in deep with a slow exhale as he worked to put himself back together.

A small nod of his head, weak smile offered to her as he signaled his agreement. Another deep, steadying breath. He didn’t know whether this was helpful or not, was it cathartic or was it more scab picking? Did he just cause himself purposeful pain to remember his wounds? He doesn’t know if anything has really changed, would it ever? Would time and distance ease the ache in his heart? He didn’t know, didn’t know if that sort of thing could ever go away. Were the two of them doomed? Were they doomed to become like The Huntsman, would their wounds drive them to become monsters too?

“One day at a time, that’s the motto. It’s what we tell people in the program. You take each day as it comes, each day you’re clean is a victory. I think it applies here too. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, I don’t know if this emptiness inside me will ever be filled. I don’t know if my pain will ever go away. I could spend my whole life worrying about that, what if, what if what if. All I can do is wake up and start my day, keep moving forward.” Because to think about it would hurt too much, because there was no way of knowing. It was a gamble.

"I told you I'd be honest. I'm here if you need anything."

[Cassandra Reeding]

Lyrics are powerful, but so is the intent of the melody. It hurts and yet makes her feel like there is air in her lungs again. As long as she can breathe, she will survive. I can't get used to living without you. That line always sticks with her and yet, it isn't the living without him part that is what hurts. It's the living with the memories, living with their voice still fresh in your mind, living feeling like they never fully left you in the first place. He didn't just take a piece of me, he left a piece of himself behind. I'll never be whole again. Then again, what is another piece compared to the bits and pieces of her soul still lost in the Hedge? Icons waiting to be found.

Listening to him as he begins to speak, she nods. Words she had heard before from many different people, but now she felt more connected, like they weren't just blanket statements only meant to make you feel better so everyone could move on. She needed this. Once more, she gazes over him, trying to figure out what he is feeling, but her mind is still too weary to make anything out.

"Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade and yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishment the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul," Her voice is gentle, melodic as she speaks, "I've always clung to the words of Invictus. Something about them reminds me that as alone as I feel, I'm not alone. And not in the way the empty pits seem to fill themselves with our doubts and voices of the past. Whether we want them or not, we eventually find people who care. Maybe one day, that will be enough."

"But until then, yes, one day at a time. I'm glad we had this time to talk." She pauses then and walks over to where she had set down her satchel, taking out a small notebook and a purple colored pen, she scrawls something down. She tears out the page carefully, setting the book back in her satchel, before walking back over to him. She holds out the piece of paper to him, "My actual cell number. You know, not the one that routes through several different numbers to get to me that changes often. Keep it safe. Can't have randos actually knowing how to track me down," there is amusement in her voice, she seems more relaxed than she was earlier, though the puffiness in her eyes is still working its way down.

"I shouldn't keep you much longer so you can get about anything else you need to do this evening. Anything you need, just call," her voice is sincere, "It's... it's nice to have a friend."

[James Turner]

He listened to her, the words of the poem lost on him as he lacked the context to go with them but the meaning of them and the meaning to her was what mattered here and she made that clear. He sighed, smoke trailing up from the cigarette as Queen continued in the background.


"It's pretty. I'm partial the Litany against fear myself, but I'm a huge nerd." A small smirk as the whispered words left his lips, it was a weak thing but it was there. A struggle to push back to normalcy. "I've been alone my whole life, that's why it was so hard to get free and start over. Outside looking into the world. It's more true now than before I left." Words weren't directed at her necessarily, just floating out into the ether saying them aloud, making them true.


Cigarette brought up again once more, by the time he reentered reality she'd already gathered her things. He blinked at the momentary gap in time. Still in a bit of a daze as he took the piece of paper, looked at it as she said what it was and then folded it and put it in his pocket. "I'll commit it to memory then burn it. I'll send a message first so you know its me." He was forgettable, easily overlooked, it had its advantages in this new life but also...


"Oh it's ok, it's no trouble at all. Please be safe and let me know you got home ok. I appreciate that, I really do." But I probably won't call knowing myself. I'll just keep it all bottled in, tearing at me inside like an itchy sweater. "Same goes for you, doesn't have to be trouble. My door is always open to you, don't hesitate to use it. It's nice having someone to count on." Another smile, more strength in this one but tired. So very tired.

[Cassandra Reeding]

Cassandra grins a bit at that, "Dune. Very nice." She nods again at his words. She knew exactly what he meant because she'd felt very much the same. Even more so this second time starting over. "I know exactly what you mean." She'd go into it, but exhaustion was already hitting her. It wasn't the right time.

"Sounds good on that end." There wasn't too much anxiety there, but in truth, he was the first person to ever have her actual phone number. Everyone else she either had a code with or she did most of the calling. Even Blods still was using one of the oldest lines she'd kept open to go to her phone. I do need to send her my number at some point.

She puts her satchel over her shoulder and gives him another smile, "Well, now that I know you are also a huge nerd, I might have to start bugging you to do nerdy things with me. Particularly if you are into sci-fi. Even more so if you are into any Asimov and similar authors of the like." There is a sudden brightness to her. Even her eyes look a little brighter at that. Having a friend to vent to is nice, but a friend to be nerdy with and vent to once in a while? She does wonder if he will ever actually call when things start eating at him. Maybe one day, but probably not any time soon.

"But yes, I will send you a message that I got home safe." She starts heading towards the door and when she gets there, she turns and says, "Even if it is just to say hello or ask to go out and get slammed on caffeine. Just call or text or just randomly show up somewhere and send me coordinates." She gives him one last smile, "Goodnight, John." before she ventures out to go back home.

And approximately 20 minutes later, John would receive this text:

Safe.

This was a bomb scene. Looking forward to continued shenanigans at another time.

[James Turner]

"More of a Philip K. Dick guy than an Asimov one unfortunately. I prefer Blade Runner to Foundation, I know, not the proper title. Those all sound like great ideas, if I end up at a greasy spoon or a park bench I'll let you know too." A smile offered, with the mask, seemed genuine enough. Standing in the door frame making sure she got away safely with a short wave.


As soon as the door shut though he let go of the mask. He'd torn open that wound, peeled off that scab and was bleeding. He felt himself falling apart, tearing at the seems as the tears began to flow. Each beat of his heart pulsing fresh pain and tearing him open anew. He'd grabbed the bottle from the other room and set it on the coffee table making no pretense for the glass.


Setting up a new record, letting it loop. Each new chord and verse like salt on that open wound. He had to suffer, had to make himself suffer because it's what he deserved. He wanted to feel the pain, wanted to remember. It was as close as he got to being with her, lost in those memories. Wounds having been buried and forgotten brought to the surface again.


So he drank, smoked, and cried until he couldn't remember what he was crying about. The phone vibrating in his pocket had broken him out of the spell, he blinked and took a second to breathe. stopping the racking sobs as he took his time to send a message back.

SleepwellSeeULater

Was the best he could muster in his current state as he slipped the phone back in his pocket, sobbing having temporarily subsided sliding onto his side on the futon and curling into himself as he lay there with his pain and his memories. Today was lost but maybe there would be room for healing once he picked up the pieces. If he picked up the pieces.