Kelly Driscoll
With a brief interruption in the form of a damnably optimistic Galliard stepping into his path to inform him, only after Izzy had slumped into the corner and sat there wide-eyed and staring, that she had come into possession of something that might aid the kinswoman, he walks her into the kitchen.
All he had was one word to go on: whiskey.
A woman after his own heart.
He leads her to the island in the center of the room, the voices of the others low yet intelligible even from here, and once she’s seated, the Theurge scrubs a hand down his face and gets a better look at her. There’s no telling what she hears in his presence, whether she even registers who it is that’s talking to her.
Though there is a weary hardness to him, a reservation in his demeanor and his body language, the man who led her away from the rest of the group looks kind.
There is not much on his person worth mentioning, but he does reach into his back pocket and produce a stainless steel flask. It does not slosh; it’s filled to capacity, hasn’t been touched.
“‘ere,” he tells her, unscrewing the cap and handing it to her. As she sips–or slugs–he says, “What’s your name?”
Izzy Montoya
He’s lead her, and she’s let him. For anyone who actually knows her, that tells volumes about how bad off she is. She’s lost weight, too, barely eating anything, unable to keep it down when she does manage to take a few bites of what Adara force feeds her. She didn’t have much spare flesh on her to begin with, and she is looking decidedly… sick. Weak, even, though she’d shoot anyone for suggesting so…
He nudges her into a seat and she almost falls into it, eyes closed as she’s assaulted with new conversations, eyes flickering and jumping behind closed lids as she follows them and learns far more about Rosie and Hunter than she ever wanted to know in the meantime. Which doesn’t even start on those that lived here before, those that built this room, those who have camped here eons ago, so on and so forth.
She’s still trying to beat it back, when he says here – and hands her a flask. Her moan is almost orgasmic as she takes it and lifts it to her lips – and proves herself worthy of a Fianna Friend as she doesn’t do anything so pathetic as sip – but instead, drinks. Slugs Swallows rapidly. Girl has to have some celtic in her SOMEWHERE.
She pulls it away at last, and presses the back of her hand to her lips… concentrating on the burn instead of everything she fucking hears… [round and round and round and the confessions start again and again and fuckmerunning].. and she finally manages to say. “Izzy.”
Kelly Driscoll
“Izzy.”
It seems as though he’s stalling, but his eyes are on her, on her face, in a way that may be novel for her. If she’s ever been mandated to appear for a session with the precinct psychologist, it would be similar; it is not the same, though. This half-man is not looking for cracks in her steely façade, is not trying to find some loophole or weakness somewhere that will have her booted off the force or, worse, stuck behind a desk for the rest of her career.
What he sees is lost weight, cavernous bruises beneath her eyes, torment. Something is torturing this woman, and he isn’t attempting to sort out what is wrong with her that has allowed this to happen, but what it is that’s causing it so that he can fix it.
“Me name’s Kelly. I want you to focus on me voice, right, what we’re talkin’ on right now, not what you’re ‘earing. Whatever it is doing this to you, we can fix it. I need you ‘ere, though.” A beat, and he tilts his chin to the flask. “Drink.”
Izzy Montoya
She can feel his eyes on her, and any other time, any other place, there might be a remark made about it, because that is who she is. Who she normally is, anyway. This Izzy is a far cry from the woman who stood up to a trueborn until he beat her nearly to death, just because he wouldn’t call her by name. This Izzy wouldn’t even flinch should Daniel walk in the room and beat her again. She’s too lost, too overloaded, too focused on not lifting her gun to her temple and pulling the trigger. It’s taking everything she is, every little iota of strength she has…
Any other woman would have caved. but not her. Pure. Fenrir. Stubborness.
She gives a jerky nod with her head, signalling she heard him, somewhere in there, and lifts the flask again to swallow several more times. She makes a face at the taste, her breath is strained, but she takes a trembling breath and forces her eyes open, and up to meet his.
Head on. Because even now she won’t back down, won’t be considered less. And what he sees in her eyes is pure exhaustion, torment. She’s at a breaking point – so very close, holding on by the smallest, thinnest of threads…
Whatever it is, he thinks they can fix it. “Adara tried.” THough all she could do was be there, hear what was happening, understand how bad it is.
Kelly Driscoll
“Adara did.”
It’s a repetition of what she’s stated, his intonation flat, but even as he utters it, it serves as a question. His gaze leaves her for but a few seconds as he looks back to the doorway, where Adara is in the midst of threatening the piercing-laden young man who alerted the rest of them to his presence mere moments ago.
Having arrived mere moments before the meeting started, none of the gathered identifying themselves, they not even comprising a recognized Sept which the spirits would be able to speak of without difficulty, he’s at a bit of a disadvantage. Disadvantages are simply obstacles, not impenetrable barriers; what Izzy is facing is akin to an industrial-sized trash compactor, the walls closing in slowly yet surely.
“Per’aps you can tell me what she’s already tried. When this started, what you’re ‘earin’. I’m not goin’ to let anything ‘appen to you.”
Izzy Montoya
He’s not gonna let anything happen to her… that gets an amused huff of breath, as she lets her gaze fall away from his, and leans to brace her elbows on the table, holding her head in her hands. She’s not so much worried about that – as worried that she won’t be strong enough to withstand it much longer – or even to stop it when it finally becomes too much. She is Fenrir. Strength is all she has.
She makes a sound, something almost inhuman, before she starts – whatever she hears is not pleasant at all – and then… “She tried… fuck, some fuckin mind meld thing… but couldn’t block the shit. Heard it though. Fuckin heard all of it.” Which makes Izzy uneasy in whole other ways – no one should know her weaknesses, and now Adara does. She doesn’t like that. At all.
As for what it is – she takes another swallow from the flask first. She doesn’t like telling them what she can do – that much is obvious. She hates even more having no choice. That is visible too. “I hear echoes. Normally, anyfuckinway. Can pick up on conversations up to a week old in a space. hear what happened n shit. Don’t use it much, but useful when its necessary.” She thumps her forehead with the heel f her hand, trying to beat back the sounds, as she tries to articulate what she hears…
“Now – its everything.. from forever…. all layered on top of one another… for instance – don’t sit on that fuckin’ counter, they like to fuck there… an’ the folks that had it before, fuckin gutted a guy in that corner over there, and..” She just makes a gesture, that suggets its not even the tip of the ice burg…”From even before the fuckin house was here, I hear it. That was since this shit started… could get a little break, but then it’d overload again…”
A beat, and then. “I’m a fuckin’ cop. Ya can imagine work…” Oh the things she fuckin heard… the things she knows about her fellow cops… she shakes her head…”Then it got real fuckin’ bad.”
Hard to imagine it could be worse….
“Now they seem t’be fuckin confessin.. ever murderous collar I’ve made, they’re fuckin screamin details at me.. Every. last. disturbin. disgusting. detail.”
She doesn’t say that it includes her own torture. She doesn’t admit that it happened to most, let alone that she’s reliving it day after day after day now…
Kelly Driscoll
[Enigmas + Intelligence: has he encountered anything like this before/can he put 2 and 2 together/general There’s No Admin Around roll.]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 5, 8, 9, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1
Kelly Driscoll
[AND PAUSE UNTIL I GET ADMIN INPUT]