( closed ) oh, you look like a fighter, you couldn't recognise yourself

[magnitudes]

WHO: Sarissa and others.
WHERE: various
WHEN: throughout October
WHAT: mostly set after the reveal that she's not actually a clone. I'm going with closed prompts this time around, but if you'd like something feel free to pm me or pp me on plurk @karmacharging.
WARNINGS: Violence, depression, possible reference to past abuse.

Comments

for clara, after midnight on the reveal day.

[magnitudes]

( After she left Alison's she'd just ran. She's ran until her lungs were fit to burst, and her legs hurt, and then she made herself keep going until she was somewhere that broken edges wouldn't matter. It was an early evening bar crawl, if crawling can be taken to mean drinking until her lips felt numb and her fingers didn't feel all there. Sarissa had broken her rule, shortly thereafter. Normally she was never the first one to throw a punch, let the fights come to her, if they were going to happen, to provoked them with sharps words and mocking looks.

This time she threw the first punch, but given that it was one of the goons from that night a while back with Clara, she figures it doesn't matter so much. Walking into a bar owned by his boss hadn't been smart, and it hadn't been satisfying, but at least it was somewhere she could do damage and tell herself that it was alright, somehow.

She arrives back at her place closer to 1am, and the only reason she's goes back at all is because there's Mendel, and he needs some looking after. She considers, briefly, if she should take him to Cosima's place, because she'd be better at looking at him and then she'd get to keep teaching him the entire periodic table. The dismissal of the idea is swift and visceral feeling - he's hers, she won't abandon him.

If the house is dark it's no surprise, and if a light is on she's too tied up in everything else to notice. Her hands are raw and thudding with a heavy kind of pain that's been going on for hours; burned and blistered palms and knuckles bruised and raw from fighting. Her lip is busted and she's pretty sure she'll be 80% bruise tomorrow, and she doesn't much care.

What she will care about, as she moves on stiff legs into the sitting room, will be finding Clara waiting, once she looks up. )

[ohshutup]

[She's sitting in Sarissa's favorite chair, legs crossed daintily and a book open on her knees. Perched above her shoulder, Mendel lets out a clamor of greeting. Clara doesn't look up. The orange glow of the single lamp looks almost menacing on her normally delicate features.]

I saw this plot twist coming from a mile away. [She taps one short fingernail against the page.] Honestly, they could have skipped the four-hundred pages of heavy-handed symbolism, but then how would I have passed the time waiting for you?

[Perfectly calm, but there's a dangerous edge buried in there.]

[magnitudes]

( Sarissa looks up at the sound of the voice, but only after a moment of pausing, eyes shut, and swearing under her breath. )

You didn't even get one of the ones with the racy scenes and floral euphemisms. Those are on the next shelf down.

( It lacks her usual energy - there's a flatness to it, even with the quiet drawl of sarcasm, and she moves towards the coffee table, in one of the giant draws of which lives a first aid kit. She fumbles with trying to grip the handle, fingers stiff and skin protesting the pressure and the pain that comes with it, and she has to exhale as she tries again. )

[ohshutup]

Oh, yeah, already read one of those.

[The evidence is on a side table, bright purple and egregiously heterosexual.]

The author could have done with some more research. Ripping bodices open is not that easy.

[magnitudes]

Don't I know it. That's what you get for picking one of the straight ones, I guess.

( Normally it would be said with a strange mix of wryness and wistfulness, and probably a grin would follow it. For now she just sounds flat; a Van Gosh rendered in monochrome, beds of flowers stripped back to mud.

Finally she manages to get the drawer to slide open, and swallows a quiet hissing sound as she grips the first aid kit and pulls it out expression flickering with the pain of pressure until she's got it out and set on the table. )

Are you setting up a segue for how I'm going to get ripped apart, or...?

for alison, a few days before the reveal.

[magnitudes]

( As a problematically proud transferred-Melbournian, Sarissa goes beyond being a fan of coffee. She's a snob about coffee. She'll go on an excessively dramatic soliloquy about it, if given the chance. Coffee was pretty much her lifeblood. It was probably something that she should drink a lot less of, given her very Sarissa-ness, but that was a problem for other people to contemplate.

She's found this place, though, in Heropa that is awesome. It's not quite as niche (hipster) as some of her favourite places back home, but it's good enough, and they've got more cakes than you can shake a stick at and the coffee is really good. She's pretty sure Sarah and Cosima would drink mud and call it good coffee, though, so when it comes to the the privileged person with whom she'll share this place, Alison is the only choice. Also she's pretty sure Alison might appreciate being able to chill out on plush sofas and be brought things in whimsically patterned cups and inhale the smell of cinnamon and cakes more that having a parrot peer at her from his perch.

Sarissa's got a table in the corner, ridiculous armchairs and all, and waves lazily at Alison when she spots her by the door. )

Hey. ( Standing up, and with a broad, easy smile. ) Do you think there are rules about how early is socially acceptable to eat cake?

[subourbon]

[If there's one thing Alison appreciates about Sarissa, it's that unlike another certain sister of theirs, she's always on time, and is even occasionally early! She'd honestly been a little surprised to receive this invitation for coffee. Not that she doesn't like Sarissa, but she knows how close she's become with Sarah and Cosima.

She waves back when she sees Sarissa and walks over quickly to their little table, focused on her first task of setting up her portable handbang hook so she needn't have it sit on the ground.]

I'd say breakfast is too early for most types of dessert, but lunch is probably fine.

[She settles into her armchair primly, unwinding the scarf she has on and shrugging off her jacket in as dignified a manner as she can muster.]

This is a charming little place! How did you hear about it?

[magnitudes]

Although if it's got custard then it's probably as good as having scrambled eggs, or something. Crème brûlée would just be a solid serve of protein.

( Sarissa grins just slightly ridiculously, and slouches back into her chair. Hanging out with Alison didn't make her uncomfortable, but it made her want to try harder, and wanting to try harder and wanting to seem like you don't try at all were a difficult balancing act. It was hard to feign laziness and a lack of concern while ironing something.

That said, she's not yet at the point of having a portable handbag hook, and looks at it with quiet bemusement. )

Sometimes I feel like you might secretly be a super spy. Gadgets for everything. ( But, to answer her question: ) When I first got here I made it my mission to try every coffee place until I found the one with the right balance of coffee, atmosphere and cake range. The three essentials. It took a while, but eventually I found this place.

( A moment of pause. ) Though... I technically "found" it when I actually tripped and one of the wait staff came out with some ice to see if I was okay.

[subourbon]

I like things that are practical, and spy gadgets generally aren't.

[Other than the spy cameras she bought to keep tabs on her husband when she suspected he was a monitor. But that feels like a lifetime ago.

Alison picks up one of the menus and nods approvingly at the offerings as she flips through quickly.]

Well, I won't know for sure until I've tried something, but it looks like it was worth the trip.

[Someone might mistake that for a joke - it's not like Alison is above making jokes, she has a sense of humour! But she delivers the line without a hint of irony.]

[magnitudes]

( Well, she can't argue with that. Although: ) That exploding pen that Bond had was pretty good, but.

( Horribly set up for disaster if you forgot the timing on the clicking, but even so.


And then there's a moment where she squints, leaning forward very slightly, a pleased smile tugging the corners of her mouth. Conspiratorially: ) I'm not sure if you were sassing me or making a pun. Was that a pun, Alison?

( Because puns would immediately make her The Favourite. )

for sarah, after first dead doppelganger, cw: violence

[magnitudes]

( People like to say that violence doesn't solve anything, but until they offer hard science to back that up, Sarissa's content to keep testing the theory.

It's been five nights since she started to feel herself coming apart, the nuts and bolts of her being rattled loose. Five nights that normally would have seen her sending Cosima trivia about random sea creatures ,or checking if Sarah's crashing there and if she's got feelings about Chinese food versus Thai, or trying to figure out the rules of hockey before the new season starts so she can drag Alison to a game.

She goes back to her house once a day, at least, to check on Mendel. His aviary is immaculate, his food and water plentiful. She spends time with him and talks to him and lets him fuss at her hair with hair beak, and then when the pain of being in a place that's otherwise empty settles in - when feeling so hollow settles in - he is carefully popped back into his aviary, the radio left on quiet so he doesn't get lonely, and she leaves again. Even when no one was over it hadn't felt empty, before. There was promise and plans in it.

Not to worry; Sarissa remains optimistic that if she keeps fighting hard enough, parts of herself will cave in. The room to be hollow will be reduced by swelling and devastated bones failing to hold her together. Sarissa might be many things, a number of them terrible, though she's never really been called lazy or unwilling to try her very best, despite whatever appearances she might try to project.

On this, the fifth night, she is lying face down on the sidewalk, braced only barely by hands and wrists that are bandaged to conceal damage rather than prevent it. Her mouth is bloody and her body is exhausted. Enhanced condition does not not allow for nights of barely gathered sleep and a barrage of near constant drinking and abuse. Sarissa goes to push herself up, twisting to look at one of the two guys and hold up her hand to meet him with a bright, blinding flare of light—

but nothing happens. She's out of juice, and the cost is two hard kicks to her gut before she manages to grab his foot and clumsily sweep his leg from under him. It's not her best fight or her cleanest work, and it has the thug's friend picking her up and tossing her backwards against a dumpster. Sarissa tries to hold herself up against it, and half falls to one knee as her hand hurts too much for her to hold her grip on it. )

Come on, mate. ( Panted out, as she looks up at them as they stand, smiling her most vicious smile. Her voice is raw and exhausted and aggressively unconcerned. ) If you need to give your mum a ring and ask for some tips, I don't mind.

[coppelganger]

[ Sarah would know that voice anywhere, and even before she turns to take in the damage (because there's always damage, shouldn't she know that above anyone?) she feels the oddest sensation in her chest—relief and dismay, warring with each other. She just wants Sarissa to be okay. She knows Sarissa's not okay. But at least she's alive.

She turns, takes in the scene—blood, dumpster, two guys, Sarissa clearly struggling—and strides across the street without a second thought. She's small, but she's been fighting against the odds since she was old enough to walk, and she has the element of surprise. She shoves one of the guys from behind, sends him stumbling to his knees, and even as his friend starts to turn and face her, she's pulling a handgun out from under her jacket. It's a Walther P99, not a standard police-issue Glock, but it'll do the job. ]

Fuck off before I shoot you. [ She says it quietly enough, but she means it. She's already dealt with enough shit today and she's not going to take any more of it. When one of the guys looks like he's about to say something, she raises the gun, holding it expertly. Like a cop. ] Don't make me say it twice. I'm a crack shot.

[magnitudes]

( Sarah knows how to hold a gun properly should not be the first thing that comes to mind, nor should it be a surprise. The fog of surprise and the odd pride that comes with that knowledge clears with a couple of blinks, Sarissa looking between Sarah and the two guys. The one still standing taps his mate's shoulder and pulls him up, still watching Sarah for a moment as they go in the opposite direction.

Sarissa had some more incendiary comments to make, and they're immediately struck from her mind with the acknowledgement that Sarah's got a gun. She'd either shoot one of them or be considered the thread and take the hard hits, and Sarah's had enough violence to last her until the end of her days, Sarissa's pretty sure.

Her left brow is bleeding, white of the eye on the same side splashed with an alarmingly bright red from burst vessels in her eyes. The bandages on her hands are dirty, ragged and falling apart, but honestly it's an apt enough summary for her generally, right now. She takes a moment, quietly spits out some blood on the pavement, and doesn't move from her awkward kneeling position beside the dumpster. When she speaks it is a slower drawl than her usual. )

You sure know how to ruin a party, Officer Manning. Now I need to go find a new one.

[coppelganger]

[ Sarah keeps the gun out, watching as the two guys head off into the night to do god knows what. When she's sure they're well and truly gone, she looks down at Sarissa, at the bleeding face, the bandaged hands, and feels a pang of guilt. She did this, if you want to get technical about it. She assumed Sarissa was a clone and forced her into their stupid club without even thinking about asking Cos for confirmation. And now here she is, bleeding and fucked up and pissed off in a way that Sarah knows about only too well. ]

You know I thought you might be dead.

[ That. Is not the best or most compassionate thing to say, but right now, it's the only thing she can manage. She sighs, slowly, the breath leaking out of her, and finally tucks the gun away. ]

[magnitudes]

Yeah? ( She grins, and it's like the exposed blade of a knife. There's no warmth or softness, here, she wants it to say. Her gaze might betray her, the quick sweep to check Sarah's alright, all in one piece, but everything else in her body language is about as welcoming as a radioactive hedgehog or... something. )

Wishful thinking. Better luck next time.

( She hates that she said it the moment it's out of her mouth, but vitriol is all she's got. She made the effort of going all the way to Cosima's lab to apologise, but that was four days and many bottles ago. Making herself stand out of pride, more than anything else, is undercut by clinging onto a dumpster to try and hold herself there. )

for cosima, sometime after sarah :') what am timelines.

[magnitudes]

( The last time there was a visitor here, the place was clean. Not Alison levels of clean, but definitely clean. It was definitely more on the side of ‘functional adult’ than Sarissa herself might generally project.

Mendel’s aviary is immaculate, now, and that is about the best thing that can be said for the entire place. His seed bowl is full, snacks are to hand, he has two bowls of clean water and another with grit and cuttlefish bones to sharpen his beak on.

The supply of people food, by contrast, is grim. The fridge is empty save for those odd things that always seem to be in the fridge and never get used, and a carton of milk that has started to develop sentience. A couple of pizza boxes stack on the kitchen counter, and there is a sea of glass bottles that’s taken over a corner of the room, bourbon and beer, with a few plastic bottles that once contained antiseptic thrown in as well. An first aid kit and a zip bag of pills, all antibiotics but very illegally acquired, sits on the coffee table.

And Sarissa just staggered through the front door. It sounds like she tripped her way through, honestly, and the door shuts quietly as she staggers down the hall. )

Hey, Mendel. It’s me. Sorry I kept you waiting.

( Her voice sounds raw, too exhausted, too much liquor and yelling. She reaches the sitting room, pries off her shoes, and takes a moment to just lean against the cool of the wall, resting her forehead and fingertips against it, and exhaling slowly. The bandages are falling off her hands, which she’s not even going to look at because they’re a mess, torn to ribbons and infected, and the left side of her face is sticky with blood from a cut above her eye that hasn’t had a chance to heal for a few days.

And yet, somehow, she scrapes together some kind of friendliness in her voice for the bird. )

You had a good day, mate?

[doubleblind]

[It's taken all of Cosima's strength to not go visit Sarissa the last few days. Staying away was against her every instinct. She wanted to find Sarissa, explain and apologize and fix things. Science had betrayed her, betrayed them both, and Cosima needed to make things right. Sarissa was family and no DNA test would change that. And maybe that wasn't very scientific of Cosima, but she didn't care. But before coming in with speeches of nature vs. nurture and genetics and finding your own definition of family, she was going to give Sarissa some space to process and recover from the news.

But when Cosima hears of the terrible state of Sarissa's hands (because Cosima has not so subtly been checking in with the others if they've checked in with Sarissa), she couldn't wait any longer. Armed with a stocked first aid kit and fueled by determination, Cosima makes her way to Sarissa's apartment, knocking twice before calling out to her.]

That's your warning, Sarissa. Remember, I have a key. I won't stay long, promise.

[magnitudes]

( She's still in the hall, holding herself up stubbornly. Sleeping at Sarah's had been a heavy crash into rest that couldn't hope to make up for all the crap she's put her body through. It helped, but it wasn't disimilar to trying to groom a cat with a lint roller for how much it managed to achieve. She's still exhausted and her head is still foggy.

Cosima's voice cuts through the sound of her own breathing.

Her voice is rough and cracking, and she has to make the effort to clear her throat and try again. The second attempt doesn't sound much better. )

Hold up.

( Her limbs are stiffer than last night, and she twists awkwardly to manage to pull the door open. The clothes are clean, at least, and she's comparatively less wretched, but exhausted stumbling and catching her head on something had undone some of the good of showering. Though she stands in the shadows a bit, Cosima might be able to see that the sclera of her left eye is bright red.

Sarissa isn't quite able to look at Cosima. There's shame and dread and hurt mixed in, even after talking to Sarah. Different bridges got burned different ways, and she holds herself at awkward angles. )

Mendel's fine. You don't need to take him away, or something, I've-- I've been looking after him.

[doubleblind]

[Cosima can't hide her surprise, eyes widening behind her glasses when she spots Sarissa lurking in the shadows, obviously injured and exhausted and who knows what else. She tentatively approaches her, arms raised in a placating gesture, like one would approach a scared and cornered wild animal.

The surprise dissipates quickly, replaced with a look of hurt and confusion. It's softer than during their last conversation, less raw due to the fact that Cosima had expected it. She'd hoped, maybe naively, that Sarissa would have forgiven her by now. That the test and its results could be forgotten and they could fall back into their easy friendship, their easy sisterhood. But she also feared they wouldn't.

She's not happy with Sarissa's greeting, but she can understand it. Sarissa's still hurt, and Cosima hasn't done anything to prove she won't hurt her again. Not yet. She still has hope she can change that.]

I know. I'm not worried about you not taking care of Mendel. I'm worried that you're not taking care of yourself.

[Cosima speaks softly, holding herself uncharacteristically still and bracing herself for Sarissa's reaction.]

[magnitudes]

Oh.

( Well that--

Oh.

Sarissa hesitates before committing to move, just tilting her head a little in a silent version of come on, then. It's cautious, though - scared animal isn't far wrong.

Her voice is hoarse and dry.)

I'm great. Feeling like a champion.

( Her gaze drops again, and she scuffs the bare heel of her foot against the floir. )

You aren't obligated to be here, or help me. If you're here because of guilt or something, just-- don't.

for peej, vaguely later in the month.

[magnitudes]

( Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got. Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot. Wouldn't you like to get awaaay? Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your naaaame——

Or, with less nineties sitcom references: sometimes it's nice to go to your home away from home (De Chima, not the bar) and sometimes in said home people didn't know your name but they knew your face, because that's what happens when it turns out you're the spitting image of a group of clones and a couple of them are locals. (It's still a raw wound, looking like the girls but not being one of them, not being part of their world in the most literal sense. At least she feels a little less like someone's been at the inside of her chest with a metal scourer, now, but there's always the possibility of that changing when the next minute strikes.)

She had been thinking about dropping by to visit Sarah or Cosima; instead she's wandered into a bar, one where she's never been before and thus hideously undermining any and all Cheers references. The place is nicer than some of the haunts she's been keeping to the past couple of weeks, somewhere with functioning lighting and a floor that regularly sees a mop, even. Classy might be too strong a word, but nice seemed reasonable enough.
Without looking along the bar, Sarissa taps a wad of notes against it, folded in her palm, and addresses the barkeep: ) This enough to cover a round for everyone at the bar, mate?

( It's... more than enough, likely, impulsive gestures of generosity enabled by dodgy security jobs, and she hands over the notes without much concern. ) If you got a slow-age spice rum, I'll take one, double.

( And that would possibly be it, before she claimed a seat and sat silently, except that she goes to reach for a fresh bowl of peanuts just popped down, and in reaching across her neighbour manages to spill their drink. )

— Shit. Sorry. ( Ahhhh they need ten papertowels. ) I'll replace that.

sorry this is so late

[boobwindow]

[ It's getting late. Time for Peej to unwind for the remainder of the night with a pint of ice cream waiting in her freezer and some ready to bake pizza as well. Put on a movie or some kind of cop drama, curl up with the cat...

But that might have to wait.

She's making her way past the bar, no real intention of stopping, though she is keeping an ear to the ground as she goes along just in case. Then...

Mumblings that wouldn't be caught by the human ear, but Peej overhears it a couple of yards away outside the building. Not liking what she's hearing, she sighs and ducks toward the bar to ensure nothing sketchy is going on. ]

not at all, it's all good ;u;

[magnitudes]

( Unfortunately, the very minute Sarissa walks in somewhere she seems to invoke some sort of ritual of sketchiness. It probably doesn't help that Sarissa aggravates people with the very act of breathing, mind. Special talents, special skills. This one guy - muttering something less than complimentary involving mention of a grocery store and Heropa and girlfriends. It is coupled with the near inaudible clatter of metal and plastic as a boxcutter blade is pushed forward, and a couple of people making a hasty exit as Peej nears the door.

The situation has escalated a little; a quintet of guys, one unfolding something that looks suspiciously like a knife in his hand as he approaches Sarissa's slouched against the counter form, and the others lingering close by. She has her back to them, resting her weight against her elbows and apparently unaware of the trickle of exiting patrons and the man approaching.

The fifth guy tries to block Peej from entering, shaking his head. All full, he says as explanation, even if the bar looks relatively under populated. It's he who is holding the boxcutter, slightly tucked into his sleeve so it's just barely visible. )

[boobwindow]

I wasn't asking, buddy. Now move.

[ She pushes him aside — literally — but in doing so Peej evokes a visceral reaction from a place where tensions only seem to mount higher. There's at least one guy who comes stomping towards her, spewing gendered slurs at her and demanding she minds her own business. Peej barely gets a glimpse at Sarissa when she sees the other man moving towards her with the knife. ]

Hey, watch out!

[ She's got one asshole to deal with, she also attempts to frighten her off with a small switchblade. It shatters into two when it hits her arm and she sighs. ]

[magnitudes]

What?

( Except Sarissa's finishing off her rum and trails off in quiet confusion, so the sound she makes is more just vaguely questioning in tone rather than taking the shape of an actual word. The warning was enough to make her look over her shoulder out of interest and reflex more so than because she thought it was necessarily concern specifically meant for her. It gives her the chance, to

1. swear loudly
2. duck a knife
3. grab a barstool and use it to whack the guy in the arm before hurling it at the guy as he tries to advance again.

It actually misses him, but it does manage to hit the other guy, the one that just swung a knife at Random Intervening Stranger. The seat hits him in the back, even if Sarissa winces a little bit at her own poor aim. She tried. )

Grocery Store Bloke, yeah? Listen, mate, you need to move on. ( Which is advice that he doesn't seem to take too well, given that he just picked up a glass bottle. ) Oh, come on. Really?

( Her gaze flickers towards the Stranger. It'd be one thing if it was just her, but now there's another person to be concerned about. )