( 019 ) Ω ( VOICE + SPAM )

[semifreakingnormal]

[When the audio comes on, there's some wind, distant bird calls; it doesn't take a great detective to tell that he's in the CES.]

Peter's gone. His door's - normal again.

[He lapses into silence for a moment, then lets out a long breath.]

Does this always happen in groups?

[Infirmary Wardens Filter]

[Scott's not sure how to start, here. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to talk to anyone right now, but he owes Jack this, and he's not going to back away.]

I know inmates don't usually get keys, but after what happened last week, I think Jack needs one. I can tell you - as his warden - that the reasons he's here have nothing to do with what he can do as a doctor. He's a good one, and he's not gonna get anywhere without trust. I'm going to ask the Admiral for a key for him, but...I wanted to talk to you guys about it, first. To see if there are any problems I'm not seeing, I guess.

[Open spam in the CES]

[He's burning off energy with a lacrosse stick and a few balls and a make shift net. He scoops and throws, scoops and throws, and it's not helping, so he scoops faster, throws harder. When one of the balls tears through the goal and Scott is seeing in red, he twists his hands around the stick until he hears it creaking, and throws it at the ground.

There's nothing he can do. There's nothing he can do but keep going, and he's so--

Scott isn't good at talking things through. He's bad at finding the right words, using them right, and part of him just wants to take off running through the woods. He doesn't. He knows he can't run away from what he's feeling. Instead, he rakes his hands through his hair, down his face, clenches them into fists and yells up at the tree tops. It's not a howl, he doesn't make the trees around him shake, but there is an unearthly undertone to his voice, a growling baritone underneath it that stands as a reminder of what he is. When his voice fades, he picks up his stick and starts again.]

Comments

[semifreakingnormal]

[Most of the time, Scott tries not to focus on what he can smell or hear. It's how he winds up surprised more often than not, it's how he stays a teenage boy, at least as much as he can. So she catches him by surprise, and he turns with a thankfully empty lacrosse stick in hand.

Not quite jumpy, just...startled.]

Oh. Cassandra, hi.

[He blinks, like he's not sure why she's here, and spins the stick in his hands.]

How...how are you?

[hellofist]

[Her answer is just a shrug, because she's doing her best to not think about all things Joker right now. The best way to beat him is to ignore him, not let his actions change her life, so she's trying to let that form her day to day, now that things have settled.

There's too much that's gone wrong, if she lets herself think about it nothing will be fixed.]

Can call me Cass. Since we're... on the same team. How are you?

[semifreakingnormal]

Okay. [He smiles, because it's more agreement to call her a nickname rather than an assurance that he's fine. He's not fine. He's losing it, and he needs to get it together.]

I'm....

[He mirrors her shrug instead of answering properly, swinging the stick and his arm to rotate his shoulder.]

Alive? [He's not sure if he's relieved or bitter or just....sad.]

[hellofist]

[Cass bends down to pick up one of the balls, then tosses it from hand to hand to get a feel for the weight of it.]

That's what counts.

[She's struggling a bit with this because she still isn't sure how to connect to new people, but she sees things that look familiar in his body language. Things that she's been feeling a lot lately too. They aren't pleasant feelings and Scott strikes her as an exceedingly nice person, so she's trying. It feels weird and a little wrong, but she's trying.]

Want to talk? Or just practice?

[semifreakingnormal]

I don't know.

[He's not taciturn, or trying to shut her out: it's honest. He doesn't know what he wants, he doesn't know what he needs right now. He thought he needed to be alone, but maybe he needs to be around people. People who will remind him that the important thing at the end of the day is seeing the end of the day.

Allison will, here. But that thought makes him want to throw up, so he shuts it out and pushes it away.]

Do you want to work on anything? [He holds out his stick to her.] I could show you...I don't know. Anything, I guess. [He tries a smile, and it's small, but mostly successful.]

[hellofist]

[Instead of taking the stick from him, she leans over to pick up one of the balls and weigh it in her hands.]

How are your reflexes? Are you fast?

[semifreakingnormal]

[He shrugs easily.] Usually pretty good. I mean, when I want to be.

[When he lets it be reflexive, instead of trying to dumb himself down physically.]