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paradisalost2007-02-05 03:11 am
batteredandtorn.livejournal.com) wrote in paradisalost2007-02-05 03:11 am
Entry tags:
Thread: Jo & Meg
Who: Jo and Meg.
What: Moment of truth!
When: After this convo.
Where: Meg's room.
Rating: PG-13... maybe R. Jo has a dirty mouth :(
Coming back from the dead... no big, right? Wrong. It was big; huge, even, but she could deal. She looked at this existing thing like--not exactly a second chance, as her friends weren't here. That made it kind of hard, but it wasn't like she could change it. Being alive again was a high but, despite her best efforts, the effect it had on her was showing. She was talking to people more than usual. That wasn't too bad, she supposed; it wasn't like she had to hang out with them. Maybe dying just made you desire some semblance of human contact.
Never mind that. First thing to do was check out the place. When she noticed that it was always changing, she gave up trying to make a 100% accurate map in her mind. Again, she could deal with anything; even without her guns she was formidable. At least that's what she thought until she found out she wasn't the same. She tested her limits... and realised she was coming up way too short. The tattoos (for lack of a better word) that glowed when she used her superhuman abilities dulled into something like very faint scar tissue. She knew she could still kick ass but what had saved people, her included, wasn't all there. It made her feel different, good and bad. Good because it meant she was human--really human. Bad because you could argue that's what defined her.
Fuck that argument, she defined herself. Except Meg was a large contribution to her definition. Her other friends were a part of it, too, of course. But what do you do when the person you've made top priority in your life--the life you suddenly have again--isn't around?
Nothing, apparently, other than roam and keep your shooting skills sharp and watch movies and sleep...
Noting so many people showing up, a lot of whom knew each other, she started waiting. No more only being grateful Meg was safe and probably happy. No, the parts of her that wanted Meg here looked at all this, chorused 'screw this!' and made her wait. At first it pissed her off... why ask for trouble? Not the kind of trouble Meg got into and Jo had to go running in, guns blazing, and save her. Trouble as in: When would Meg get here? Would she have to die? Probably not; lots of people hadn't died and yet here they were. But people lost things. Would she remember her? Would she remember what had happened? If she did, Meg would probably be mad enough to slap or yell until hoarse.
Jo was okay with that, because at least Meg would be here to do it.
She was surprised she kept using the journal. What was the point? She'd never been one to write her thoughts down. Besides, they were usually clear-cut. Watch movies, save Meg, take down RAPT, whatever. Except the journal let her know Meg was here. Now Jo was running up the stairs and it almost felt like she was her old self again... until she reached Meg's floor. Nine flights plus her mood had slightly winded her. The pounding of her heart echoed her pounding on Meg's door.
When it was open Jo blurted, "I gave you my jacket," like it could make up for everything, like it was a real apology. Her expression shifted from frenzied expectation to studied blankness as if she were preparing for a blow. She probably was.
Judgment time.
What: Moment of truth!
When: After this convo.
Where: Meg's room.
Rating: PG-13... maybe R. Jo has a dirty mouth :(
Coming back from the dead... no big, right? Wrong. It was big; huge, even, but she could deal. She looked at this existing thing like--not exactly a second chance, as her friends weren't here. That made it kind of hard, but it wasn't like she could change it. Being alive again was a high but, despite her best efforts, the effect it had on her was showing. She was talking to people more than usual. That wasn't too bad, she supposed; it wasn't like she had to hang out with them. Maybe dying just made you desire some semblance of human contact.
Never mind that. First thing to do was check out the place. When she noticed that it was always changing, she gave up trying to make a 100% accurate map in her mind. Again, she could deal with anything; even without her guns she was formidable. At least that's what she thought until she found out she wasn't the same. She tested her limits... and realised she was coming up way too short. The tattoos (for lack of a better word) that glowed when she used her superhuman abilities dulled into something like very faint scar tissue. She knew she could still kick ass but what had saved people, her included, wasn't all there. It made her feel different, good and bad. Good because it meant she was human--really human. Bad because you could argue that's what defined her.
Fuck that argument, she defined herself. Except Meg was a large contribution to her definition. Her other friends were a part of it, too, of course. But what do you do when the person you've made top priority in your life--the life you suddenly have again--isn't around?
Nothing, apparently, other than roam and keep your shooting skills sharp and watch movies and sleep...
Noting so many people showing up, a lot of whom knew each other, she started waiting. No more only being grateful Meg was safe and probably happy. No, the parts of her that wanted Meg here looked at all this, chorused 'screw this!' and made her wait. At first it pissed her off... why ask for trouble? Not the kind of trouble Meg got into and Jo had to go running in, guns blazing, and save her. Trouble as in: When would Meg get here? Would she have to die? Probably not; lots of people hadn't died and yet here they were. But people lost things. Would she remember her? Would she remember what had happened? If she did, Meg would probably be mad enough to slap or yell until hoarse.
Jo was okay with that, because at least Meg would be here to do it.
She was surprised she kept using the journal. What was the point? She'd never been one to write her thoughts down. Besides, they were usually clear-cut. Watch movies, save Meg, take down RAPT, whatever. Except the journal let her know Meg was here. Now Jo was running up the stairs and it almost felt like she was her old self again... until she reached Meg's floor. Nine flights plus her mood had slightly winded her. The pounding of her heart echoed her pounding on Meg's door.
When it was open Jo blurted, "I gave you my jacket," like it could make up for everything, like it was a real apology. Her expression shifted from frenzied expectation to studied blankness as if she were preparing for a blow. She probably was.
Judgment time.