( closed ) and I am king of them all and faster than light

[magnitudes]

WHO: Sarissa & various.
WHERE: various, mostly Nonah
WHEN: throughout February.
WHAT: a catch all.
WARNINGS: reference to past traumatic injury/loss of limb (and mental & physical health repercussions)
NOTE: I have an opt-out post for Sarissa over here, so if there's any topics/themes you'd prefer I avoid in tags or if you'd like to opt out of cr completely, please don't hesitate to let me know.
I'm not doing open starters solely because of the above warnings and wanting to customise threads a bit, but if you'd like a thread with Sarissa (for new cr as well as existing) please don't hesitate to let me know! Fling me a PM and we'll figure out an appropriate thread.

Comments

sarah.

[magnitudes]

( It’s a process, all this. There’s so much that feels like a blur, or at least blurry around the edges. Instructions about the sutures, how to keep them clean, upcoming appointments, all these sensible logical things that she sound remember but that just feel kind of fuzzy. If she tried to reach and grab something solid, it’d just buckle under her fingers like paper flowers, or drift like sand in the breeze.

The metaphors don’t even really make sense in her head, either.

She has tried so hard since she first arrived here to do better. It was slow going, sometimes. There were big hurdles, you know, being murdered and stuff was definitely a stumbling block of kinds. There’s this part of her that’s looking at where her left hand used to be and devastated, while another part rages that at least she’s still alive, get your bloody shit together, Sarissa. The divide is uncomfortable, even if some part of her knows it makes sense. It’s easier to feel empathy for other people than herself - right now, that just feels… like it shouldn’t belong.

Anyway, so here she is, in the kitchen, trying to attain some sense of normalcy. Stress cooking, though, that’s not easy any more. She got halfway to getting out ingredients when she had a moment of panic about the sutures and awkwardly wrapped her arm up in clingwrap, which she has now concluded was a stupid idea, but at least it’ll keep it from getting buttery, even if her eyes couldn’t roll much harder at herself.

She’s managed to get out a bowl, some utensils, most of the ingredients. This is going well. Weighing butter, weighing sugar, no big deal. )

Sarah, that you?

[coppelganger]

Yeah, it's me.

[ She changes direction, moving from the stairs to the kitchen, a little surprised. She'd been expecting Sarissa upstairs, asleep or watching TV, not cooking. Though maybe she shouldn't be surprised—Sarissa's missing a hand, that's all. It's not like she can't still do the things she's interested in. ]

What're you making?

[magnitudes]

Salted caramel and choc chip bikkies.

( Brown sugar is poured into the bowl, followed by finer white sugar, and room temperature butter tumbles in after. It takes her a second to locate the spatula, so she can start creaming together the sugar and butter. )

Haven't gotten to that stage, but. I can make 'em something different, if you want.

[coppelganger]

No, that sounds good to me.

[ Honestly, all of Sarissa's baking and cooking is good, and it's also free, and Sarah isn't going to complain. She hops up so she can sit on the kitchen counter and watch Sarissa. ]

[magnitudes]

( Sarissa smiles a little bit. She's trying to do plenty of that - smiling, being easy-going. She owes Sarah that, she's pretty sure, with all the myriad meltdowns and dramas she's caused, been part of, enacted. Sarissa's been a bloody thorn in the side of just about everyone she's come into contact with. This time, though, this time she's going to do better. It's going to be fine.

Using her left elbow, she tries to brace the bowl to keep it steady as she starts to cream together the butter and sugar. It's not as warm as it should be, just a little too cool given that room temperature in February isn't necessarily ideal baking temperature, and because her arm is still tender, but she keeps going. It's just hard, much as she's trying to make sure it doesn't look that way. )

Cool. You get up to anything good, lately?

[coppelganger]

Nah, just my usual.

[ She's been staying home to keep an eye on Sarissa, for one thing. Sarah's no idiot; she can tell when Sarissa's pretending to be Fine™. Who the hell is this happy after their hand gets chopped off? ]

Want me to hold that?

[magnitudes]

Nah, I got it. ( Maybe that sounds just the tiniest bit strained; maybe it doesn't. I can still do stuff, she keeps herself from saying, because then it would definitely stop being light, and she doesn't wanna do that. ) Just gotta aerate some butter with some sugar and then we'll be on our way. You know uh, sugar is about more than just the sweetness, in cookies? There's all this chemistry stuff about it, too.

( She has to grit her teeth a little. Keeping the bowl steady is hurting her arm, and making working with the sugar and butter even more difficult. )

[coppelganger]

I didn't know that.

[ At Sarissa's insistence, Sarah leans back to rest her head against the cupboard behind her. It's the most she can do to radiate casual acceptance, aside from saying "Okay, keep holding it yourself," which she doesn't want to do and end up sounding patronizing. ]

[magnitudes]

Yeah, and it's like - depending how you use it in different recipes, it does different stuff. Like there's no hard and fast rule for exactly what it'll do, it all depends on the other factors. Brown sugar and white sugar do different stuff, too.

( But then, the bowl slips, and when she fumbles for it, she has no left hand to catch it. It falls from her hold, left arm still hopelessly outstretched, right gripping the spatula, and shatters on the ground into large fragments of glass, with partially worked butter and sugar splattering over the floor. In a moment of frustration, she flings the spatula across the room, too. )

God fucking damn it.

alison.

[magnitudes]

( It's not all bad. It can't be all bad, because then she doesn't know how she'd keep herself standing upright at all. And the thing is, the others have been through so much - all the shit back home, all the shit here, of which Sarissa has contributed no small amount of stress already. Meltdowns over not being a clone, repeated incidents of self-destruction and drunken wallowing, a couple rounds of being murdered and getting Cosima and Sarah tangled up with said murderer as well. It's not like she's been lacking for support, in the past.

It just seems like maybe, possibly, she's hit the end of the support tokens she has a right to redeem. No one has said that, nothing like, but she's trying so bloody hard not to be a mess. It's not a wholly successful process, but she's trying. Atlas might have to keep holding up the world, but they don't have to keep holding her up, y'know?

So she's perched on a couple hay bales with a collection of colourful balls next to her, idly tossing a red one into the air over and over and catching it in her right hand. Her left elbow rests on her lap, and though it's hardly short and t-shirts weather yet, it's February, it's what she's wearing. )

G'day, Ali. ( With a flick of her wrist, she sends the little foam ball sailing over Alison's way, but only after she's already got her attention. She's hoping she'll catch it, not that she'll be caught unawares. )

[subourbon]

[Alison catches the ball without even blinking.]

There you are! I've been looking all over for you.

[She's been trying to walk that delicate tightrope of making sure Sarissa is alright, that she has everything she needs and fees supported, while also trying not to be too overbearing. Sarissa might need some space at times, sure, but Alison is wary about giving her too much in case something else happens. Like her possibly catching her death of a cold or falling off a hay bale.]

... maybe I should get you a jacket.

[magnitudes]

Oh, yeah? How come?

( She tilts her head to the side, and grins. It's not the perfect picture of sincerity, but she is really, really trying. )

Aw, nah, I don't need a jacket. ( Because then she'd need to ask for help doing it up, mostly. ) And I'm learning to juggle, so, I'm fine and dandy, really.

( She picks up another squishy ball, and idly tosses it into the air, before catching it. Ta dah. )

[subourbon]

I just wasn't sure where you were, that's all.

[For all she knew, Sarissa was cuddling with the pugs in a mud puddle.]

Are you going to stay out here for much longer? Because if you are, I'm getting you a jacket.

[Her tone indicates there is no room for negotiation.]

[magnitudes]

( That was really very plausible.
Still, her smile turns a little rueful. )

Sorry for worrying you.

( Which isn't what Alison said, but she figures it's gotta be tiring, keeping track of someone who is, by all standards, not okay. Pretending to be okay, but not okay. She stands up with one foot braced on the front of the hay bale and one on the back, shifting her weight to make pile rock and sway a little, before realising this is exactly the kind of behaviour that worries people, and sheepishly hopping back to the ground with a little whump.

Her skin is covered in goosebumps, and slightly off colour - not dangerously so, but just that very faint greyish tinge that comes with being out in the cold a little while. ) I don't need to stay out here.

[subourbon]

[To her credit, Alison manages not to say anything about Sarissa's hay bale antics, though her expression is probably enough.]

Good, let's head inside then. Even if you're not cold, I'm starting to feel a little bit chilly.

[She rubs at her own shoulders to emphasize the fact and cocks her head back towards the house.]

Besides, food should be on the table in about fifteen minutes.

[magnitudes]

Food?

( Ah, the way to Sarissa's heart, truly. She falls into step, starting to amble back to the house, and rolls her shoulders. )

We gotta make sure you're kitted out with some better stuff for the cold. I can knit you a vest.

( She says it without thinking, and then makes a kind of uncomfortable expression, and shrugs. ) I'll go online and use whatever this world's equivalent of etsy is to order you a fancy knitted vest.

[subourbon]

[Alison catches that expression, but tries to just smooth over that awkward moment as best as she can.]

I could knit my own vest if I wanted to, and I'm sure you'll be able to as well, with time. I'd say we could set up some family knitting time, but I don't think Sarah would be interested.

[Still, Sarah would be preferable to Cosima, who would probably actively impeded progress in some way.]

jake.

[magnitudes]

( She's living the "lying on the sofa being depressed but only when there are no witnesses" life. It's... sort of a depressing patch, honestly. Sarah and Alison are doing there own thing, for five minutes, and Sarissa is doing her utmost not to be a clingy nightmare who needs company from them constantly. Realistically she knows they're giving her space, too, and sometimes she needs the space. But also? Sometimes she needs someone around constantly. It's a tough balance.

So the doorbell rings, and she waits for one of them to go get it, before realising that probably neither of them heard it. With a sigh, she hauls herself up, and heads to the door.

The house itself is outside of Nonah by maybe an hour, maybe forty minutes, or maybe a lot longer if you get lost. Although they've managed to renovate it a fair bit, the outside could still be forgiven for being mistaken for some sort of witches cabin where people go to eat gingerbread and never come out again.

She pulls the door open, blocking it with her right shoulder, so only that side of her body is visible, barely leaning out. )

Jesus Christ, Jake. ( Son, what happened. )

[9544]

Did you know you lived in like, the middle of nowhere? It took me some serious Googling to figure out the address to this place.

[ But he did it! He did it, aren't you proud?

Jake lifts his hands to indicate the pizza and the beers that he's brought through bush and bramble, twigs and tree trunks. He is pooped. There may also have been an attempt with superpowers on his way here, just because he figured it might help with the whole locating-this-place thing.

Not so.

As is evidenced by the state of his hair ... and clothes ... and the scratch on his cheek. A tree tried to beat him up, BUT HE DEFEATED IT. It's all good. ]

Also hiiii. I come bearing gifts.

[magnitudes]

It's rural. ( She says it a little flatly, even with the emphasis.

He looks like a mess, and that's probably what flips her over from yelling up the stairs for Alison or Sarah to come form a social barricade. He's Jake, and they are comfortably similar to one another (perhaps with the glaring difference of rural Australian versus hapless New Yorker). Sarissa sighs, drops her head forward for a second, and nods. )

Yeah, come in. Just, um— don't freak out, okay?

( She steps back from the door, letting it swing open, and while she doesn't stand waiting for him to notice what's happen, just turns and starts walking down the hallway, it's not really subtle. Her left hand is gone, and a good part of her forearm. The rest of her is intact, but she looks tired. ) You reckon the pizza's still hot, or do you wanna chuck it in the oven for a bit?

[9544]

Are you kidding? It's at its prime edibility level: display temperature.

[ You'd really think he was joking, but he's not. It's his favourite way to eat pizza, and it's super weird and kind of gross, but listen, that's Jake to a T.

He glances at Sarissa, notes the lack of limb, and to his credit doesn't stare at it. He isn't even sure what to say. Make a joke? Nah. Even he wouldn't want to hear a joke about it.

He decides to leave it alone for now.

He follows her into the rural abode and shuts the door behind him. ]

You on your own here, or do you have roommates?

[magnitudes]

If it works for you,

( she replies, apparently unconcerned. She might on another day insist they heat it up, but that requires a slightly more functional level of Sarissa, who cares more about food poisoning. )

Couple of my sisters. Sarah and Alison? ( There's a squawk from another room, and she corrects, ) And Mendel. Sorry, Mendel.

( The parrot in the other room responds with a string of curses. ) Sarah's a bad influence on the parrot.

[9544]

Sisters, right.

[ He forgot she had sisters. He's pretty sure she mentioned them a couple of times in the past, anyway. Or maybe he'd seen them in her memories that time he started seeing visions of other people's memories in his head. That was a super weird time, but he'd learned a lot. ]

And Mendel. Please tell me Mendel is big and red and rainbow-y.

[magnitudes]

Mendel is an African Grey. So, big, not rainbow-y. He's got a little bit of red on him?

( She gestures towards the next room, and if Jake were to peek through the door, he'd see a big grey parrot with a crimson tail hopping around in a giant aviary that's built onto one of the rooms, with a little flap to come in to the smaller, easier to clean section, or out so he can fly around a little outside, albeit still enclosed. )

And the sisters are good. Keeping me appropriately clothed for cold weather. Those beers twist top or you need a bottle opener?

[9544]

[ And peek he does. Jake backtracks, stretching to quickly glance into the room where Mendel the grey parrot takes up residence. He's never lived with birds before, or cats or dogs for that matter, but he and the rest of the 99 household have been considering adopting a puppy.

Jake thinks he'd rather have a Pikachu but he figures one step at a time. It's definitely a better option than Boyle's suggestion to take in just about every stray in Maurtia Falls. ]

Cool. Hey, man. [ He waves to the bird like he could expect to have a conversation with it. And then he's back to pizza and beers with Sarissa. ]

Oh, I got it. Don't worry. [ He pulls his keys from his pocket like that explains everything. On one of the silver rings is a transportable bottle opener; can't leave the house without one. ]

And you? [ He asks casually. ] Hadn't heard from you, hence the surprise visit.