ArchivedLogs:Dealing

Dealing
Dramatis Personae Anette, B
In Absentia	2015-08-19 "You're making this whole 'letting it go' thing really difficult."
Location <BOM> Compound Grounds - Ascension Island
In some places, reaching the main grounds of this island takes a precarious scramble up from the rocky-craggy shore; in some places, just a short hike away from the beach. Once an old homestead, most of the 28 acres of property are taken up with forest, a dark thick sprawl of greenery through which a small stream winds crookedly. Under its shady canopy, myriad buildings are tucked away, an eclectic mix of sheds and tiny sturdy log cabins that give the area a rustic feel. Centrally, a wide clearing has been cut out of the trees. A large sweep of lawn has had a metal swingset -- two swings to either side of a small trapeze bar -- set up to one side. The lawn leads up to a cabin bigger than the others, a squat one-story building. Long and low, its wide front porch and cheerfully-painted yellow and pink shutters lend the building a welcoming air. It's dusk on the island, starlight mingling with the distant lights of the city and both of them joined, here on the island, by the intermittent glow of fireflies. From inside the cabin there is music, lights, voices. Out on the lawn it is quiet, though, except for the creak of chains rocking steadily back and forth. One tiny blue figure is perched on one of the swings -- B's legs are short enough they don't even reach the ground where she swings. She is dressed, today, in a flowy blue and white skirt and strappy white tank, chunky spiked wristcuffs on her wrists and her face illuminated by the display of a tablet held in her hands. She swings lazily, slow and halfhearted, most of her attention on the tablet. From the main building comes Anette, a bottle of whiskey tucked under her armas she makes her way to the porch. Her moves a bit unsteady, as if this isn't the first she's drunk tonight, but she is mostly coherent and upright. Carefully making her way to the steps, she sits down, cracking open the bottle and taking a large swig. It's now she catches sight of B and watches her for moment, gripping the bottle tightly before sighing and leaning back against the steps. "Bah, you're not worth it..." she mumbles, setting the bottle down beside her. "... what?" B glances up from hir tablet with a sharp narrowing of eyes. And then: "Oh. You." Her tone isn't even irritated. Just kind of dismissive, bland, eyes dropping back to hir tablet. "Saw you in the news." "Yeah...so did I. Probably going to be seeing a bit more of me. I can't exactly wander the streets right now." Anette picks up the bottle and takes another swig. "Not sure what I'm doing now though. Besides hiding. And drinking." "Won't that be fun." B's voice is very dry, at the mention of seeing more of Anette. "Sounds incredibly productive. Glad to see you're such a useful member of the group. Definitely makes sense I'm the one that should die." "Hey, I was planning on leaving you alone but if you really want to push it..." Anette says. "Don't get me wrong, I still don't like or trust you, but I'm willing to call a truce. My life's shitty enough lately." "Truce? What kind of joke is that? A truce implies /two/ parties being at war. /I/ never /did/ anything to you." B's tone has not left Bland. She hasn't bothered to look at Anette, still looking down at hir tablet rather than at the other woman. "And cry me a river. /Everyone's/ life is terrible. Most of the rest of us aren't going around making it /worse/ for each other." "Look, do you want me to go back to killing you? Because I will gladly do that." Anette continues to swig at the whiskey, letting it soak into her before speaking again. "Look, you deal with your shit your way and I'll deal with mine. At least I don't leave behind children to be captured by sentinels." "I'm sure that would end well for you." B sounds not just unconcerned with Anette's threat, but actively bored. Hir nose twitches, sniffing at the air as Anette takes another swig. "Yep. You definitely seem like you're dealing with your shit. -- And that /still/ has /never happened/. Crazy-ass bitch." "What are you going to do, swim at me?" Anette growls. "You're making this whole 'letting it go' thing really difficult. Especially since Daken isn't here to protect you anymore. Bastard." The mention of Daken gets twice as many gulps from the bottle. "Fuck it. I am crazy, I am a bitch. I've resorted to drinking and drugs to deal with my problems. I'm a walking after school special." "That sounds like a whole lot of your problem. You can hang on to this thing that never happened as long as you want, that doesn't bother /me/." B's finger swipes against the screen of her tablet, her swing still rocking slow and steadily back and forth. "But threatening other Brothers with murder /probably/ not the best idea. You should maybe stick to drinking yourself to death. Or -- here's a thought --" Now ze finally does look up, black eyes wide, "do like the rest of us and actually do something to /help/ instead." Anette rolls her eyes as B mentions being threatened with murder. "You know, I never actually threatened to kill you. Bleeding, yes. Suffering, definitely. But I didn't want you actually dead." She growls softly and sits up straighter. "I help plenty. I am here for the Brotherhood and unlike some here, I would die to protect our own. Oh, but first I need to get over the future stuff? Silly me, why didn't I think of that?" Perhaps to further emphasize her point, she takes another large swig. "You have a /very/ short memory." B swipes at hir tablet again. Taptaptap. A moment later it replays -- in Anette's own voice -- a clip of recording. Anette speaking: '/Look, do you want me to go back to killing you? Because I will gladly do that./' "That was -- not even five minutes ago. Have you considered cutting back on the drinking? It doesn't seem like it's helping." "Fuck shit, you're -recording me-?!" Anette yells setting the bottle down on the steps in order to semi-safely stand up. "Jesus, I come out here for some fresh air and quiet and this is what I get. Harassed by you and now you recording me for...god knows what reason! Fine, what you do you want me to say? I'm not going to kill you. I don't want to kill you. I hate you, but I'm not going to kill you. Scout's honor." This is followed by a very awkward hand salute vaguely similar to Girl Scouts. "Would you like anything more from me? Throw in a couple punches yourself? Draw some blood? Or perhaps I should tell you how the past few weeks have gone and maybe that'll be sufficient for you." Anette shlumps back down on the steps, picking up the bottle and continuing to drink. "Since you're having extreme memory problems, I should remind you that /I/ was sitting here enjoying /my/ peace and quiet when /you/ came out here. And I've never once threatened you while you've threatened me -- multiple times -- with violence and murder, so if we're talking about who is harassing who --" B trails off, tipping her hand up and outward. "And I'm not recording /you/. I'm recording /myself/ -- like I always do -- and you happen to be here. /Harassing/ me." Her eyes have shifted back down to her tablet, now, tone sliding rapidly back into bored. "I don't want anything from you. I've never wanted anything from you. I'm not sure why I should care how your past few weeks have gone. You don't seem to care about who I am or what my life is like at all, past something you saw in a dream that /I/ never did." "Really? Funny, I think I remember wanting to leave you alone and offering you a truce but you'd rather kick the bird while she's down. And what kind of person records -themselves-?" Anette picks a nearby piece of grass out of the ground and begins ripping it slowly, just something for her hands to do. "Go on then, let's pretend I do care about you. What's so terrible that could justify you turning into a traitor in the future? Oh, sorry, /maybe/ turning into a traitor?" "The kind of person who gets threatened by unstable psychos." B still sounds kind of bland. The swinging stops, chains no longer creaking as hir swing settles down into stillness. "{I'm sorry,} you seem to have mistaken me. I don't /want/ to tell you about my life. I don't want to tell you about the future. I think you're mentally ill and highly unstable -- and that's when I'm being charitable. I'm sure you've had a rough time. I believe it. But if we all used /having a traumatic life/ as an excuse to act like you're acting, we'd /all/ be dead and /none/ of us would be able to trust each other. I hope you deal with your trauma, I really do. But don't make it my problem. Because it never was." Anette watches B a moment, before chuckling and leaning back up against the steps. "Yeah, you're not wrong. And fine, your business, no need to tell me anything. Just don't pretend you know what's going on in my head, alright? Maybe I am insane or sick or whatever, but it's my problem. And I've tried not bringing you into it but you refuse to quit your little commentary on my life." "Yeah, it's funny how being threatened with murder tends to stick with you." B slides off the swing, hir tablet held hugged against hir chest. "I wouldn't want to know what's going on in your head. I only care you can keep it together enough not to be a danger to the rest of us. Goodnight, Anette."