riza hawkeye. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
strictdiscipline) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
epidemiology2016-10-31 09:42 pm
strictdiscipline) wrote in epidemiology2016-10-31 09:42 pm
(no subject)
CHARACTERS: Riza and friends! ("""friends""")
DATE: Post-Ghost town log
WARNINGS: Talk of death?? Probably some throwing up too, we’ll see.
SUMMARY: Riza died and that was fun but now she has to talk about it and that’s less fun. A bunch of starters in the comments, give me a holler if you'd like something.
DATE: Post-Ghost town log
WARNINGS: Talk of death?? Probably some throwing up too, we’ll see.
SUMMARY: Riza died and that was fun but now she has to talk about it and that’s less fun. A bunch of starters in the comments, give me a holler if you'd like something.
no subject
Riza, meanwhile, is hardly to content to sit back and watch Jason rapidly scoot his way out after completely blowing off her (very truthful) explanation. She hasn't been able to get much of a read on him even after all these months, but the last time she'd seen him so incensed was at Nalanni's impromptu funeral. He'd kept any anger tightly wrapped until then. And until now, it seemed. What on earth is going on?
She ought to stay right where she is, return her attention back to the mess on the floor and the barkeep ogling the situation with disbelief rather than fixate on some asshole she's probably wasted enough time on. But the great thing about full-death experiences is that it really sets priorities in order, and breaks down a whole lotta walls that might otherwise have remained upright. He doesn't want to tell her what's going on? Well, too damn bad.
Her still-recovering body protests each step forward but she doggedly follows behind regardless, waiting until they're both out of the saloon before yelling out.]
What is going on?
[Don't lie to her, Jason. Not now.]
no subject
If nothing else, the stand-in barkeep is glad to be rid of them. He's not anticipating a tail, but he'd ducked his way out of the main promenade and toward the backstreets as a matter of habit. On the bright side, this means her chasing him out lends itself to a slightly (if only slightly) more private venue. He'd been perfectly ready to fuck off and leave it at that. But he's definitely not above pushing back when pushed. He spins on a heel to face her down when Hawkeye starts yelling.
Over the past year or so, Jason's gotten better at applying his anger, because he's had to. Heard it enough times, from enough sources. (You get angry too easily. Then you become an idiot.) He's more measured in application, now, but containing and weaponizing his anger is not the same as exorcising it. (In that, things have tipped the opposite way. Fostered in poisonous and low burning fires that may or may not be attributed to the acid stain of the Lazarus Pit.) The closer it hits to home, the harder he bites back. Since she's so interested—]
What? [It's mean in a deliberately vague way, like the answer ought to be self evident. (It isn't.) She can't know where the spite springs from, but it's not hard to hear.] You tell me. You're the one who's claiming to be contagious.
[You've already puked on his shoes, Hawkeye, is he supposed to hang around and catch the zombie flu? Maybe swap stories on resurrection hangovers, see who's had it worse? Or is this just pulling his chain after all? She never struck him as a joker. (Pun very much not intended.)]
Or is it like chicken pox? Sit through it once and you're good to go?
no subject
I'm not contagious!
[For the last time.
She can feel her face flushing red, from weariness and also anger, an emotion she hasn't allowed herself to dip into for many many years. No point, when all it does is cloud her better judgement and lead her off the path she's set for herself. But she's tired of holding it all in, trying to maintain some semblance of a peaceful and cooperative team in the wake of the barrage of attacks being flung her way. Why should she, when he's not bothering to do the same?
At her side, her hands are tight fists, knuckles white and tense.]
Why does it even matter to you? You're not dead, and you won't be dead any time soon! [If only she knew.] This doesn't affect you at all.
no subject
He's not making it easy for her. But for a lady so committed to keeping things peaceful she's sure willing to chase him down and pick a fight. (And it's not even really about the stupid hypothetical zombie flu, but it sure is easy to turn that back around on her for a rise.) Spite's a powerful motivator, especially once it wins a reaction. Once he's on a roll, it's easier to keep on going for the throat. He spreads his hands, palm up.]
Hate to break it to you, sugar, but you're not as special as you think you are.
[Team's full of dead guys, wouldn't you know it. Former and otherwise. (Pomaar, back on Nalawi, who had died and come back to life just to see her murderer walking free and unpunished for it. Funny how doing something about that was the first time she'd really seen him mad.) Maybe he would have been a little more open to commiserating about common traumas or living on borrowed time if this conversation hadn't kicked up so aggressively, but there you are. And here she is, anyway. Sharply, as if to punctuate this—]
You wanna compare notes? I must've left mine in my other jacket.
no subject
[Quite the opposite, in fact. All she'd wanted was to live some paltry semblance of a normal life: go to work, come home, walk the dog, eat a late dinner. Overturning the entirety of the Amestrian government had been part of it, true, but the homunculi hadn't been and neither had ALASTAIR or her sudden propensity towards magic. Dying inconveniently and then being brought back most certainly hadn't been.
Yet here she is. Here they both are, bickering like a pair of petty children. It'd be funny if she weren't so absolutely incensed.]
Is that why you're so upset, that you aren't special anymore and never were?
[There's a part of her, not entrenched in anger, that's still reeling from his admittance, this revelation she'd found out about by sheer accident and happenstance. But that part of her is not big enough to ask what happened, and her propensity to forgive has been exhausted of late.]
I don't care what you do in your spare time, but don't take your personal problems out on others.
no subject
Thanks, teach. I'll try to keep that in mind.
[He doesn't wait for a response. Just turns and swings himself up and over the wall of the alley, because she's in no shape to follow that act even if she were to want to try chasing him down again. Bye, Hawkeye. See you never.]