(2018-03-31) We're All Okay
We're All Okay
Summary: Spoiler: Nobody is actually okay.
Date: 2018-03-31
Related: http://darkwater.wikidot.com/log:2018-03-30-run-cowards-run
Player Characters: Bea, Denver, Eddie, Ida

-| 6th Floor - Brundle Investigations - Cahuenga Building - The Bay |

A room of hazy lights and lots of shadows. A trio of windows would offer a spectacular view of the bay, but they are hung with nicotine yellow blinds that seem permanently glued in the 'closed' position judging by how speckled they are with flyshit and the permanent bends and tears in the old plastic where someone has roughly bent them apart. Over and over and over again.

There are shapes in the half-dark. An uncomfortable looking loveseat and rickety side-table faces a bulky oak desk with a large armchair behind it. On top of the desk is a crossword collection. In a corner is a cheap office chair and a smaller rolltop bearing a beige computer that looks to be from the 80s, along with a matching elder coffee maker. Next to the door is a coat rack, and numerous boxes line the walls, several seemingly permanently employed as makeshift filing systems. Yellowed photos adorn the walls. The magazines on the side table are years out of date and contribute to the musty smell of the place. Somewhere a hidden radio plays jazz made sibilant with white noise.

It's been an hour since all of the bodies were shoved into the back of Bea's van. Hey, might as well get some good fertilizer out of all of that murder. For once, Denver is not the most messed up out of the pair, but she doesn't seem entirely happy about that either. It's her job to be the pin-cushion, not Eddie's! She doesn't try to go sneaking around stealing his job, after all. "I don't need armor, Denver," she says in a mocking, annoyed tone as she fiddles with bandages and rubbing alcohol, trying to make sure that everything is clean. "Armor is silly because I'm so sneaky, Denver." It looks like Denver has a couple of bullet holes in her too, but they've done very little to hinder her movement.

"Armor is silly because it looks stupid," Eddie says, slumped back in his chair and working through the back half of a deck of cigarettes, "sneaking has nothing to do with it." He's not looking too smart right now, himself. He's down to his undershirt and pants, his coat on the rack and his jacket on the floor, both so matted with pitch-like blood you'd hardly notice the bullet holes. They show up a lot clearer on his pale gray body, partially healed through the wonders of Spring-flavoured glamour and goblin fruit, but there's a particularly deep and concerning wound right around his collarbone. His left arm hangs dead at his side. He can still move it, but he doesn't want to.

The radio crackles to life. A single saxophone is calling out against the night, bold against the softer backdrop of dreamy piano, cello and distant drum with the occasional cymbal. An instrumental version of Cole Porter's Night and Day. There's the familiar clicking of high heels out in the hall, and then a rapping of knuckles against the door - before Ida simply enters. It was left unlocked again, understandably given the circumstances.

The Fairest is, for once, not looking her best either. Her clothes bear the marks of combat, torn and dirtied, and there's a bloody hand print on her shoulder. She's carrying her shoes in one hand, her bare feet muddied. She takes a breath, taking in the condition of the lava lady and fly guy. "I am glad to see you both. I am sorry I did not make it."

"You're an idiot. I'm buying you some armor, and the next time we do something like this, you're going to wear it. Or I'm going to cripple you so that you can't come. Because atleast then you won't almost die because kevlar isn't in high fashion." Normally, fighting puts Denver in a great mood. But there hasn't been any hints of teasing or smiling or really the normal Denver at all. She's angry in the simmering, underneath the skin, threatening to explode at any moment kind of angry. But despite the words aimed in Eddie's direction, she doesn't seem directly mad at him. Her back straightens as she hears the door open, hand shooting out to rest on the hilt of the massive sword sitting nearby. She realzes when she realizes that it's Ida, eyes narrowing as she looks the woman over. "What happened?"

"I pay for my own clothes, thanks," Eddie says, rising up in his chair in offense and then wincing and slumping back again. "Maybe a vest. Something tasteful, for special occasions." He takes in Ida's condition when she comes through the door, his brows knitting together in a brief show of concern until he realizes that isn't her blood. His eyes drift to those shoes she's carrying, and he forces a smirk onto his face, a little too rigid to be entirely genuine. "Ida. You're looking shorter today. Looks like you've been busy."

"I had a disagreement with the cab driver." Despite her lack of shoewear, Ida still manages to walk like a queen over to the mystery box assortment that hides a mini fridge. From this she extracts a bottle of cold brew coffee and holds up two others to the wounded warriors in an offer. They are mocha flavored, and have a bold "MADE WITH REAL CREAM" on the front next to a mutated chocolate pod/cow creature. It is either very happy or screaming. Probably both. "Sadly, it is not hedgefruit infused. I really should ask Bea about those…"

"A disagreement that he no doubt lost," Denver says as she watches Ida move, head tilting slightly. "We managed to get the girl out of there, not that she was in any reall terrible peril to begin with." Her head shakes at the offer of a drink, hand lifting up to deny the offer. "Not really hungry or thirsty, thanks." Unheard of. "Eddie had some healing and some hedgefruit already, but he's still a bit of a mess. I don't know if you know first aid, I'm just sort of winging it here." She offers the roll of gauze out towards the fairest.

"When did we get a minifridge?" Eddie wonders, seeming more curious about that than the bloodstains and battle damage. He shakes his head to dislodge the question. Not important. He waves away the offered coffee. "I've got my own," he says, nodding to the pot he's brought over to his desk. The one he usually keeps cooking in the office all day, full of something as thick and black as the ooze he's been bleeding. "I'm fine. Quit fussing," he fusses at Denver. "You, though you're obviously dying. What do you mean, you're not hungry?"

"Quite. I am glad to hear the mission was a success— she was not in any real peril?" Ida tilts her head to the side in a puzzled fashion, rubbing the back of her hand against her face as if wiping something off. Like a wasp cleaning its antennae, though she has none such. "And drink it, woman. We need you in good shape." She does that Ida magic - one moment Denver is holding gauze, the next she is holding the rejected bottle while the Fairest is walking off with the bandages and alcohol to Eddie. Her smile turns somewhat more innocent. "The mini fridge was one of the boxes. I got bored and started looking for more photos. Now hold still." She is not bad. Not a doctor, but certainly high grades for 'in the field' medical emergencies. "I am interested in our fair magical lady's lack of peril."

"She was in the kitchen just drinking some hot cocoa like she owned the place when we got inside," Denver offers. She looks down at the can in her hand and just sets it to the side a moment later. "I'll heal later," she offers flatly. Her arms fold across her chest as she leans back against the desk, watching the pair. "Seems like her and Eddie were real close. Kissed him on the cheek and everything. Not that he remembers her, nobody can seem to unless she's in front of them, I guess." Red eyes shift towards Eddie at his question. She just shrugs.

"I'm curious about a lot of things," Eddie mutters, squirming in his seat as Ida goes to work with the alcohol. He seems more bothered by somebody taking the trouble than he is with the physical discomfort, though that might change in a moment as Denver lets drop that little bombshell. He shoots her a look nearly as dirty as his apartment. "I don't," he says, emphatically and truly, for all the good that'll do him. "I don't know what her deal is. I don't remember anything but the name, Sophia, and even that gives me a headache."

"Where is she n— hmmmm." Ida goes still for a moment, then continues seeing to Eddie's injuries. His face gets swiped down with the alcohol too, at least the sides, as if she is afraid he has caught something. "It is an interesting situation." She considers her hands for a moment, checking the claw tips as if to make sure they weren't broken during her own combat. They are in good shape, sharp and shiny as always. She cleans off some forgotten blood from the wrist of her left hand. "Where is the fair Sophia now?"

Denver returns Eddie's dirty look with a dispassionate one, lips pulled thin and arms still crossed. There's plenty of different emotions washing off of her, but that might be why she's attempting to keep as still and mask like as possible. "I don't know where she is. I was helping move all the dead bodies into Bea's van while she got situated. I did what I was there to do, the rest of it is on the smarter folks." She bobs her chin in Eddie's direction. Apparently he falls into that category.

"I think it's better if we hold off on the introductions," Eddie says, studying those claws. "Maybe until after she's dead." He's slumped back in his chair stripped down to a blood-stained undershirt, freshly wrapped in gauze and smelling of rubbing alcohol, while Ida examines those needle fingers of hers and Denver lurks in the background looking surlier than usual. He pitches his cigarette into a little wooden ashtray, already overflowing with its fallen brethren, and goes to work on another one. It takes him a couple of tries to get a match lit. "I didn't get a chance to ask many questions. I thought I'd come back here to die, but nobody wants to let me."

Bea arrives with a rapid knock on the door, just prefunctory really, since she bursts through a second later. "Oh good, you're here," she says with a look of relief on her face, then notices the others and grins, "Oh and you both too! That's good. Eddie, I went to your apartment, but you weren't there, so I thought maybe you crawled off to die in the dump or something, but I am glad you are here instead. And I brought you some blushberries and some coupnettle tea, and for you too, Denver. And Quiet is just eating through all the leftover stocks from winter, which is good, since it was supposed to be a spring clean out soon anyway, so he should be fine, but maybe one-eyed Quiet now, and I was thinking he might look good with a patch anyway. But are you guys okay?" She finally takes a breath, wincing slighting as she does so, but trying to hide it.

"No, you are not allowed to." Ida's response to Eddie is … rather extremely matter of fact. It's not even on the level of 'the sky is blue' or 'the sun will rise tomorrow' since any Lost would know those things are not reliable. Rather this is on the level of 'only entropy comes easy'. Considering his game of matches, she uses her lighter to assist, then rises back to her feet. Her clothes are marred and dirtied, and there's a bloody hand print on her shoulder and some other blood stains elsewhere - none of it appears to be hers, however. Her shoes are discarded in a corner, her bare feet muddied. She has just finished bandaging up Eddie and applying overly generous quantities of rubbing alcohol on him judging by the smell. "And— ah, Bea. It is good to see you, I am glad all three of you are here. Would you like some coffee?"

The quick knock and then door burst has Denver reaching for her sword again, and again she relaxes when she realizes who it is. The arm folds back over her chest with the other one, glowing eyes searching Bea quietly. "I'm not planning on letting anyone crawl off and die anywhere," she notes. "I'm able to heal myself, you know that. You need to keep that stuff for yourself. I saw how many hits you took." Her tone is flat, just like her expression. "Is there something we can do about the eye? Some sort of special fruit we need or something?" she wonders with concern. When Ida offers Bea coffee, she picks up the cold brew offered to her earlier and hands it to the other woman. "Take this."

"I did crawl off to a dump to die," Eddie grins at Bea, gesturing his good arm around the office, maybe just to hide the way it went for his gun when the door opened. Not that he could have hit her anyway, as much luck as he was having with it earlier. He gives Ida a disgruntled look at her telling him what to do (not die), and then a grateful one when she gives him a light. There's a pot of coffee sitting on his desk, but from the viscuous look of it it probably isn't what Ida's offering. "Forget about me," he says, noticing that wince from his fellow windwing, "you can see how well I'm doing. How are you? You were in pretty rough shape when I woke up."

Bea looks Ida over appraisingly, fretting, "You didn't get into a fight too, did you Ida?" She accepts the glass from Denver absentmindedly, and waves away the concern, "Oh, I am fine, and Finn fixed me up enough, and just I will have some more blushberries soon enough." She does take a seat though, perhaps the most telling sign of her current state. "Anyway, I think…./maybe/ a hera pear for Quiet?" She doesn't sound convinced, adding, "But probably we could find some nice goblin market or something, and buy him a new eye for sure, and maybe one with laser beams or something maybe." She gives Eddie a sympathetic look, noting "I'm really happy you did wake up, Eddie, and I was real worried about that for a minute there."

"I suspect he would prefer to just have his current one healed, but certainly a replacement of some kind could also work. Just need to find something that is not off putting to him. I imagine something sparkly would not be his cup of tea, for example." Ida proceeds to get Bea some coffee. It's from a bottle from a little mini fridge that was hidden away amongst the boxes. "I had a disagreement with my cab driver. This was also what kept me from coming to join all of you, for which I do apologize." Finally she finds a seat of her own on the incongrous specimen of IKEA office chairs that's parked next to the ancient computer. She curls up there, leaning back, rubbing her feet. The radio crackles, whispering something about 'Angel eyes, that old devil sent' before going quiet again save for the occasional whisper of slow, dark piano playing.

"Why don't you two just split what's left," Denver suggests, knowing that they both think the other needs it more which will end up with neither of them taking it. Even despite the fact that they both need it. "No telling when we'll be able to get to a goblin market. He'll probably need to fight before then, and he's going to need his depth perception. Can you draw a picture of what a hera pear looks like? I can see if I can find one." She glances to the radio as it kicks on, then to Ida for a moment. So freaky.

"Worrying is my job," Eddie reminds Bea. He usually enjoys watching her do it, but not tonight. "Anyway, that's what I get, going in first. Stupid." He positions his cigarette so that he can grab the coffeepot without setting it down, since there's no more room in the ashtray, swallowing back sludge directly from the lip. He makes a little face at the taste. It could have stood to burn another couple of hours. "You know, I met a guy with a Token for a hand, once. He could wind up the thumb, and a little spinning ballerina popped out the back. Went over great at parties." He snorts at Denver's offer, pleased to find he can do that again, after all the springtime tricks and blushberries he's been subjected to this evening. "Look out for apes," is the extent of his warning.

He sets down the coffeepot and pushes himself up off his desk into a standing position, careful to keep the effort of his face despite it showing everywhere else on him. "I guess I'm not going to die. Not with all of you around, anyway. I've got to see a lady about a coat." He crosses the room to pull it off the rack, leaving his jacket on the floor. He's got a whole collection of those.
"Ida, you mind driving?" Eddie add, back over his shoulder. "Kind of tough, with the arm."

Bea gives Denver a worried look and says, "I don't think…I mean, I can, for sure, but it's pretty dangerous, and you should definitely wait a little, until we're all better enough to go with you." She watches Eddie start to leave, then nods and says, "I should go too, and there's a lot to do, and I just wanted to make sure everyone was okay."

"Certainly. Are we going to Miss Marjories, or to that awful smiling hob — person?" Ida clearly has Opinions(tm) about both, though its the Marjories that gets the chilly tone, and the awful smiling hob person is spoken about fondly. She slips on a pair of vintage dayshoes from beneath the desk, joining Eddie in heading back out into the night.

"You don't have to, but the offer is there. Don't want him jacked up any longer than he needs to be." Denver shrugs a little bit as everyone starts making like they're about to leave, pulling herself out of her lean on the desk. "Not going anywhere near that cloud place again in the hedge. Hopefully the apes won't be an issue. You sure you're both okay to go?"

"Gwen's," Eddie says, tossing his ruined coat over his shoulder and grinning his first genuine grin since he fell off the side of that building. He snags Bea in a (careful) one-armed hug on her way out, and lifts a jar of that blushberry jam she brought to eat on the ride, while he's at it. "Since when am I ever okay? Just keep your eyes open. We poked an awful big hornet's nest tonight." That aimed at the ogre and windwing, both. He ushers everyone out the door, and locks it up behind him on his way out.

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