maskormenacelogs | ( closed ) you can't wake up, this is not a dream

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( closed ) you can't wake up, this is not a dream

WHO: Alison, Cosima, Sarah, Kavinsky, Clara, Jessica & others, eventually Sarissa.
WHERE: Sarissa's place, possibly other locations
WHEN: forward-dated to after Thanksgiving
WHAT: Immediate(ish) aftermath of Sarissa's murder.
WARNINGS: General approach with caution alert; death, reference to gore, violence & murder. Possible reference to past abuse/domestic violence.
NOTES:
— carry on from the murder log (see warnings in log and above)
— basically do whatever works for you, friends. Sarissa will be dead for a bit shy of 40 hours, so there will be two nights of her being dead and then she'll wake up early morning
— but basically it's all timey wimey for convenience
— feel free to just do whatever and set up random starters as suits you
— tl;dr silly gifs in the post, starters and emotional pain in the comments

100% serious rper

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( The lights are all out, victims of a forced power surge. Locating the mains box will fix it up, but in the meantime the place is dark. For all that the sun sets early in winter and even Florida weather is less intense than it might normally be, the place is still not cold. The day, at least, was warm enough that Sarissa’s home is still stuffy inside from lingering heat, and a strange, unpleasantly sweet sort of smell. It’s not sicking yet, just a wrongness that hangs in the air and tastes foul on the tongue.

No hum comes from the dormant fridge or air conditioning, but the sounds of familiar company stirs Mendel start chattering from the room where his aviary is housed, starting with Cosima, Cosima and reeling through his whole repertoire.

At least in the kitchen there’s tupperware with a batch of cookies - Anzac biscuits, in a stubborn show of Australianisms - cooked only hours ago. There’s no scent of food already cooking, only that faint, persistent foul-sweetness, growing stronger past the kitchen and into the sitting room and then towards Sarissa’s room. (A quick eye might notice marks on the floor, scorches and flecks of ash.)

The smell isn’t from the body on the bed, exactly. She is not decaying, for all that her skin is waxy and smears of dark blood still settle around the hollows of her eyes. It is the gallon or so of blood and the remaining gore and tissue splattered across pillows and bedding that is decaying. Sarissa’s lain supine, hands by her sides and the top of her head from and inch or so above her eyebrows resting in place rather than attached and whole. Swearing scrappy jeans hacked off at the knees and a messy looking sleeveless shirt, slightly floury from baking, but her feet are bare. Her palms are burns, though not near so bad as when Cosima treated them recently.

Bad things have happened. )

[ ooc: I figure you can can just do whatever here but feel free to prod me if you want me to slide in with extra info on what state certain areas/rooms/etc are in and I can slide in with Helpful Information or just let you know on plurk w/e w/e ]

( ooc: chuck top levels for whatever happens between body discovery and Sarissa waking up here. OR if you'd rather just do one catch all comment for your character of pre/post revival or anything that all, that totally works to.

I can also whip up specific starters or get you particular info, and I'm happy to do GM style comments for anyone looking for clues or generally checking things out.

BASICALLY do whatever is fun, zero obligations, etc etc :Db )

Edited 2016-11-18 13:28 (UTC)

( Light filters into the room in a way that makes the blue and grey and white colour theme seem less soothing and more cold. The early morning might just have that effect on any room, though, given the circumstances.

It's barely noticeable, at first. Or maybe it is, when something so completely inanimate slowly starts to exhibit signs of life; the warmth and colour in her skin, the slow draw of breath into her lungs. The first breath is small, not enough for the body, and certainly not when it has been so long deprived of oxygen that the heart desperately needs to pump through her body. The second breath is bigger, more dramatic, almost a gasp for breath that gives way to a raw cough as Sarissa blinks her eyes open with the shock of it.

Her first instinct is to try and knock away someone's hand from near her head - it doesn't matter if there is no hand near her head, just that the last thing that her mind supplied to her was looming shadows and a pain more intense than anything she has ever felt, the high-pitched, straining whir of a saw biting into her skin and bone. She jerks violently, pushing herself up and backwards so that her back is to the headboard, but— her body feels weak and uncoordinated, and the effort fails so it's more like she's struggling to breath and just scooted higher on the pillow.

For a moment, her gaze is unfocused, and that she's not in her own room doesn't immediately register. What does make it through to her, is that her sister is here. )

Sarah. Are you hurt? Did— ( Her head is spinning, and nothing is fitting in sequence. She presses the heel of her hand to her eye, like it might relieve the aches that feel like they're boiling in her. ) Where's Georgia?

( Her sisters, and Georgia. The people she fears for, first and before all others. The people she loves before all others. Shame the latter one isn't here, and it's just a scramble of memories. )

Edited 2016-11-19 13:27 (UTC)

— kitchen.
( Mendel is sitting on her shoulder as Sarissa slices up apple into small pieces for him. From time to time, she takes a piece and holds it up to him, and he makes happy chattering sounds as he leans over to take it from her fingers with a careful nip of his beak.

Once, she sets down the knife for a moment, just a moment, to fill up water. It's where she left it, but Sarissa visibly tenses when her gaze falls to the block of knives and she realises one is missing, the colour draining from her face, as she starts checking the draws for the "missing" one.

Another time, she's just... chopping apples, still. Mendel has flown off to do something else, and there is a stack of chopped up apple pieces, but Sarissa is still going, chopping constantly. )

— chilling, with no chill.
( She's lying on the sofa. Doesn't really matter what time of day - she's just lying there, knees hooked over one of the arms and feet hanging up off the floor. She's making a careful study of herself. It starts with her hands, letting her fingertips carefully map over her wrists, knuckles, before her attention turns to tracing from her jaw to her cheekbones, and then across to her eyebrows. Her fingers hesitate at the line where the bone and flesh were cut apart.

She's too focused on that to realise there is someone approaching her until she feels their shadow on her, and she immediately tenses for a fight. )

What?

— wildcard.
whatever you like! or prod me and I'll whip up a starter for you somewhere below :]b

Edited 2016-11-19 11:59 (UTC)

[ Sarah's used to letting herself into Sarissa's place by now. She gave up on knocking a while ago, just lets herself in either by strolling casually through the unlocked front door or by unlocking it with a key. This evening, she uses the key before testing to see if the door's even locked, mostly because Alison is with her and might disapprove if she doesn't.

The door swings open, and something's wrong. The lights are off, all of them, like there's been some kind of power surge. She hears Mendel stirring in his aviary, but nothing else. No footsteps or subaudible hum of appliances or even the sound of breathing. It's like she's opened a door onto a tomb, and she feels an odd shiver of worry go up her spine.

But, no, it's gotta be nothing. Sarissa's fixing the power, surely, is in another room. Sarah gives Alison and Cosima a look as she steps through the threshold and into the living room, a kind of eyebrows raised Huh, this is weird, innit? face. ]

Sarissa? [ she calls, and waits for an answer. And waits. ]

( It starts with Sarissa stepping outside for air. It's colder, now, than it had been the night of her birthday party. There's no fire, no energetic atmosphere. She's standing still at the top of some stairs, and she and see her breath hanging in the hair, just barely. At least that serves as proof she's alive, when it turns out the nice person she asked on a date is a murderer.

Sarissa reaches for her device, and sends out a text: hey, slacker. I thought we were meant to get drinks?

She's sitting at the top of the stairs, and waves with a bottle of whiskey rather than her hand when she sees Jessica approaching. For all that she's slouched, Sarissa's gaze moves quick, and she's paying attention to every noise. The apparent ease is a construct, and the reality is that she's hyper aware. )

Jessica Jones.

[kavinsky shows up because she's late. and he has to go back to the creepy old standby, grenades strapped on under his jacket. nothing bad happens-- of course, nothing bad really has so far, and at this point his associations and powers and generally terrifying attitude are known to the people in the industry. you don't fuck with jesse pinkman's people. you don't fuck with imports, in general. and you don't fuck with sociopathic little baby bulgarian cokeheads who are in the gun-running business straight out of highschool. that sort of a person is necessarily unhinged, even without the other shit.

so why is his bodyguard fucking around on him? is what kavinsky wants to know. it's two am when he crashes in, battering the familiar door open with a fist. he's been here a dozen times before. meals, those times she persuaded him to come over before or after a job, instead of hitting the bar.] Theron, [he shouts through the apartment.] The job was three fucking hours ago—!

[ Sarah is sitting on a chair next to the bed, one knee drawn up to her chest, staring blankly out at the blue dawn light. She's been there for hours, like she has for most of the past two days, not sleeping or eating or speaking. Waiting. Occasionally she takes one of Sarissa's hands in hers and runs her thumb over the cool skin, as if Sarissa is only asleep.

When Sarissa does finally move, Sarah is almost too exhausted and sick to notice it. Almost. She leans forward, eyebrows knitting in concentration, waiting to see if the tiny inhalation repeats. When it does, and Sarissa's eyes open, Sarah closes hers in silent thanks. She moves to the bed, sitting on the edge of it and reaching to put her hands on Sarissa's shoulders, steadying her and, she hopes, comforting her. ]

Hey, [ she says, her voice soft and quiet, her tone gentle, more like she's speaking to Kira than to her brassy, sarcastic sister. ] Hey, you're alright. Everyone's okay. You're okay.

( Contact has become something she's slowly inched closer to depending on. She remembers the last person whose touch always felt like a relief, and she knows the same goes for her sisters. The ways and reasons are different, but it doesn't make it less true. So why, when Sarah lays hand on her shoulders, is that brief moment of relief twisted into nausea - into slow-building panic?

She stares at Sarah wordlessly for what can only be a few seconds, but feels like far longer, and her throat feels parched. )

No— ( Going to gently grab Sarah's wrist is a better plan in practice than in theory, Sarissa stopping her hand before her palm can meet bare skin, looking between it and Sarah with a dawning kind of horror and apologies and the conflicting desire to just want to grasp onto Sarah and not let her go. ) I can't, I can't touch anyone.

... Okay.

[ It hurts, pulling her hands back, because Sarah's first instinct—one of the few things she knows to do without second-guessing—is to reach out and comfort. But she crosses her arms against her chest, making it clear that she won't reach out and touch Sarissa again, if that's what she wants. ]

I don't—

( Why are words so complicated? Why is it so hard to string sentences together? Sarissa lists forward, pushing herself up and wavering. She wants contact as much she knows she can't have it, and the conflict is close to being a tangible thing. )

You can't feel that. I don't want you to feel that. Need you to be safe.

Riss, we're safe. We are safe.

[ Sarah moves so she's sitting closer to Sarissa, not touching her, but close. She smooths out a wrinkled section of the blankets for lack of anything else to do with her hands, which are itching to reach over and smooth Sarissa's hair back out of her eyes. ]

Let's just sit, yeah? Everyone is alright.

( Sarissa's own hands grip the side of the mattress. She's not really focused on the space around them, exactly, even as she's hyperaware of everything. There's too much to be aware of, even in a room with so much quiet. She shakes her head a little, head canted to the side, and tentatively - cautiously - raises her hand, almost bring it to rest over Sarah's heart. Her fingers curl back to her palm, and she stops just shy of making contact. )

Everyone's alright.

( Gabriel's voice feels like it blurs with the sound of a saw in her head, the flatness of his voice. If you don't want them hurt, then they should stay away from me.

He won't hurt them unless they go close. He hasn't hurt them yet, he won unless they go close. Her voice is very quiet. ) I'm so sorry.

No, darling.

[ Gently, slowly, Sarah reaches to take Sarissa's hand, like she has so many times in the past two days. ]

You've done nothing to be sorry for.

[ Sarah doesn't know what happened, and she's not going to ask, not until Sarissa's all the way back, but she knows with certainty that nothing Sarissa could have done warrants what was done to her. And when Sarah finds whoever did it, she's going to make them pay for it. ]

( I invited him into our lives. Not just her life, not when she was so closely entangled with Sarah, and Cosima and Alison. Sarah, though, was complicated. They wove into one another in ways other people didn't understand, that they couldn't. Sarah takes her hand, and Sarissa presses her hand and Sarah's over the beat of Sarah's heart, trying to steady herself with the certainty of that rhythm.

Her lip wavers, and she shakes her head, eyes shutting hard as she leans forward to rest her forehead against Sarah's neck. )

I'm so— ( Sarissa's breath hitches. ) I'm so sorry.

( For making her see this. For inviting a monster into their lives. For not being better at keeping them safe. )

[ Sarah's not the easiest person to talk to right now.

She's spending most of her time in the guest bedroom, where she once slept herself, but now where Sarissa's body is lying cold and still on the bed. She hasn't slept since they found the body, and her eyes are red rimmed from exhaustion and from crying, but right now, she seems to be doing slightly better. Maybe she's just in shock.

When she's not sitting in the guest room, she's pacing the living room, sometimes worrying a fingernail between her teeth or twisting a strand of hair around one finger. The constant, repetitive movement seems to soothe her the slightest bit, making the exhaustion and the sickness in her stomach bearable.

Over and over, she thinks—was it because we told them what we are? This is what she's been most afraid of, what she's worked so hard to prevent, and it's happened. She's lost another sister. ]

I'm sorry too, Riss. I'm so sorry.

[ Sarah puts her other hand on Sarissa's head, holding her against her chest like she would Kira. She doesn't say anything else, just sits like that as long as Sarissa wants her to. ]

[Cosima shows up late, expecting to walk into a room full of her sisters waiting for her with varying levels of annoyance. She isn't expecting to find Sarah and Alison cautiously looking for Sarissa. Or Mendel worriedly calling her name. She goes over to Mendel's aviary, opening the door and taking him onto her hand and making soothing chirping noises at him, trying to calm him down. Then she joins Sarah in her search.]

Sarissa, if this is because I'm late, it's really not funny...

( Awkwardly, she shifts closer - it brings her almost sitting in Sarah's lap, if the movement were that well organised and coordinated. Instead its more like she's just slumped against Sarah, wrapped her arms around her, and tight. )

It wasn't you.

( Quiet, barely more than a whisper. ) You didn't do anything wrong. This was all me.

No, Sarissa.

[ She wants to say so much more, about how Sarissa is beautiful and special and nothing she could do would ever, ever deserve this pain. That whoever would do this to someone so bright and alive and important is missing something vital inside, something that makes them a person. That she'll find whoever hurt her sister and ruin them.

But that can come later. Right now, she doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't want to talk about revenge or what it was like finding Sarissa cut open. She just wants to hold onto her and feel her breathing. ]

[ it doesn't take long for jessica jones to appear. she's been informed that no one truly dies in this place, but coping with the proof is another matter entirely. one hand is shoved in the pocket of her leather jacket, while the other grips the thin handle of a paper bag.

within a minute, jess closes the distance between them, allowing the silence to pervade the air. there are so many things she could say or do — a few words of comfort, perhaps even an embrace. instead, she settles for placing the bag on the ground, which contains enough cheap alcohol for both of them, and gestures to the other woman's bottle. ]

You started without me.

( The silence feels like a palpable thing, its own entity, as she looks up at Jessica. Part of her wants contact and another knows she can't risk it, that clinging onto Sarah had been weak and risky and stupid. End result is that she watches Jess with over-sharpened intensity.

Her mouth twists into something that can't quite pass for a smile. )

Could say I got a head start.

( Getting her skull sawn open means she gets to make off-colour jokes, doncha know. )

[ the remark distorts her face into an ugly expression, and the soft sound she releases is somewhere between an incredulous scoff and a bitter laugh. it's too soon for morbid humor, even for her. ]

Fuck.

[ with a deep exhale, she leans back on the post of the staircase. her posture, however, is anything other than relaxed. from head to toe, she's anxious in spite of her efforts to conceal it. ]

Who did this?

Nice to see you, too. Glad we're sticking to pleasantries.

( It's too harsh and too flippant in the same moment, Sarissa rolling her eyes as she tips back some of the liquor. Her fingertips already feel not right, even if they're a way off from numb. )

I don't know. Unless we're talking about my dear mate Jack-o Daniels, here.

[ jessica jones arrives several hours after sarissa's body is found, having scheduled plans with her earlier in the week. it's cold outside, compliments of the evening air; wrapped up in a dark scarf and jacket, jess knocks on the front door with a bit of impatience. ]

Sarissa? Open up. I'm freezing my ass off.

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( closed ) you can't wake up, this is not a dream

alison, cosima, sarah. cw: dead body stuff, gore.

the 40 hours: chilling, investigating, whatever.

sarah: the revival.

sarissa & anyone: post revival.

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post revival — jessica.

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