( closed )

[motivation]

Who: dutch (motivation) & various
What: dutch's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad dayweek: alvis and johnny are both back in stasis and dutch is not happy. add a bomb and alcohol and you got yourself a log.
When: 1st october onward
Where: out and about in olympia (red light district, various other places possibly)
Warning(s): alcohol and sex used as coping mechanisms. violence.



[ if you'd like a starter, hit me up via pm, at the event plotting or on plurk at abiosis ]

Comments

« byerly »

[motivation]

[ johnny and alvis are both gone. she's checked their houses, then she'd checked the station and found them both in stasis, peaceful and still and looking like they're both dead, gone from her reach, and then? then she'd found herself a large bottle of whiskey and poured the first two shots in their name and every shot after in the name of everyone else she misses. it's a long list, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she thinks khlyen is laughing at her, cruel and cold even though she knows better now.

she got attached. he told her never to let her feelings get in the way and she got attached and she's not going to fall back on khlyen's lessons now, but it hurts.

alcohol dulls the edge, but it doesn't make her any less angry or hurt. when the bomb goes off, dutch keeps drinking, but she takes her gun out on the streets regardless. it'll be a distraction. she's a killjoy, or she was. finding people is what she does. (she's never been a killjoy solo; it was always with johnny or with d'avin, with both of them. she wants her team back.)

running into byerly isn't expected, but not unwelcome. ]

Nosing about? [ her voice doesn't immediately betray that she's drunk, but — it's there, her tone a little less crisp, her gaze a little less focused than usual. ]

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE xoxoxo

[vorrutyer]

[ He can tell at once. Much of his job consists of this: seeing who's intoxicated enough to have their guard down, who's still sober enough to get suspicious; he can see all the little signs with her. The softness of the eyes, the looseness of the gait, the uncharacteristic not-quite-slur of her words. His eyes flick over her even as his face sets itself into a pleasant, welcoming smile. ]

Esteemed Dutch!

[ He bows to her. ]

What a pleasant surprise. I was just out for a stroll. Join me?

:*

[motivation]

[ dutch knows how to look for those signs, too, or for others: to search for signs of poisoning, something to betray a wound, any kind of weakness. khlyen taught her these things and she hasn't forgotten them, though she's doing a good job of pretending that she has right now. analysing this situation is far from her mind. ]

Where are we going?

[ might as well join him. might as well let him distract her. she's not doing a great job of distracting herself, after all. ]

[vorrutyer]

Where would you like to go?

[ He reaches out and takes her arm, tucking it into his gallantly. ]

I was headed for what was rumored to be a very well-appointed opium den, but I doubt that's your drug of choice. So - dinner instead, perhaps?

[motivation]

[ she lets him, without protest. for a moment, dutch thinks about opium, but — no. she's seen what jakk does. she's not sure if opium is better or worse, but she'll stick to alcohol, thank you very much. ]

You're buying. [ her tone is often bossy or demanding. it's a little more so right now, with the determination of the drunk backing it. ]

« zevran »

[motivation]

[ olympia isn't much like old town, but it reminds dutch of the place she refused to call home for so long, regardless. something about the way people band together in the face of a crisis, something about the fact that a bomb went off in the first place, the strangeness of it. the red light district most of all.

that's where she is right now, gun still in her holster and trading blows with someone she's pretty sure is an associate of the shady man. (what a shit nickname that is.)

the guy's not alone, and there's someone else running toward them, probably thinking of joining the fray. dutch knows she can handle them, but she also knows that she's drunk and she's tired and emotionally drained in a way she'd rather not have to acknowledge, anger burning inside her because anger is easier than sadness. it'll make her reckless if it hasn't already.

khlyen would have fits at her state. khlyen can go to hells, if he isn't there already.

three people now attacking her. dutch twirls, kicking and throwing punches, and then there's a fourth person — helping her? or at least fighting the guys she's fighting, which is really the same thing, isn't it? ]

sorry i'm late (cues up 'some heads are gonna roll')

[agradecido]

[Unlike everyone else in the red light district tonight, Zevran didn't come to relax or forget the tension that ran in an undercurrent through the city. Just like any other night, he was here to work--just not in his usual capacity. He's been tracking this fellow for a day, off and on--a ruby-skinned janitor in one of the lesser establishments in the district. Zevran had caught sight of the tattoo by chance, faint but visible, and he's been on the trail since. It's not how he wanted to spend his rest day, but it was probably how he was going to spend them all until they got to the bottom of this.

The ruddy man had just slipped into the alley, a meeting place for the exchange of information, and Zevran was hot on his heels, slipping into the shadows at the side of a building. This is when he hears the sound of scuffling, and soon another man rushes out of another alley and into the fray. Sounded like...three people? One woman, probably. He's not some random good Samaritan, but he's got business himself with one of these men, so he rounds the corner to assist, just in time to see one of the men pull a long dagger. That rather settled it, then.

The man with the knife makes ready to charge in, moving jerkily, looking for an opening to come at the woman, and doesn't hear Zevran step up behind him. His fist connects with the back of the man's skull where it joins the man's spine, but somehow he isn't knocked cold by it. It is enough to get his attention, unfortunately, and he whirls on Zevran, bringing the dagger up in an overhand stab. Zevran grabs dodges close and grabs that arm at the wrist, twisting the wrist down and the elbow-up, yanking the man off balance with surprising strength. He uses that momentum to yank the man around his body in a spin and aim his head toward the wall of the building next to them. The man's face hits the brick wall with a sickening crack, and he immediately crumples into a limp heap, propped against it. The blade clinks quietly against the cobbles. Zevran's already moved on to face the next attacker.]

never late tbh

[motivation]

[ the newcomer makes short work of one of the attackers and dutch would offer her compliments if she wasn't a little busy right now, trading blows and kicks with the man she'd come here to arrest, or if not arrest (since she doesn't have the authority to do that, not really) then at least knock unconscious and unceremoniously deliver to the royal guard. let them arrest him and deal with the paperwork. she's a regular good samaritan, isn't she?

(she's not.)

with one attacker out of the way and the other distracted by the newcomer, dutch manages to deal with the guy she's been following soon enough. she's out of breath, but not hurt (not in any physical way), when he crumbles to the ground, his leg broken after a particularly strong kick from her. he's not going anywhere any time soon. dutch checks to see if zevran (she recognises him now) needs any help, but he seems to have things under control and so instead of joining again, dutch pulls out a flask from where it had been clipped against her belt and takes another sip of whiskey. celebratory, that. ]

Not bad. [ she allows when zevran's done, her drawl suggesting that she really means nice job or maybe something like thanks for the assist, though she wouldn't say anything like that, not out loud. certainly not to a relative stranger, though she remembers him telling her a story the night of their landing on the planet. ]

[agradecido]

[By the time she has the flask out he has the last one in a headlock, the man's face slowly turning purple as he claws into Zevran's leather bracers and gnashes sharklike teeth. He'd probably be sputtering if he still had enough air. It's not much longer until he's unconscious and sagging in Zevran's hold, who gives it a few more seconds just to make sure he's not faking before loosening his grip and letting the man fall to the ground.

This sort of thing was way more difficult when he wasn't allowed to kill anyone.

Glancing over the scene, he nods once in acknowledgment and steps over to retrieve the knife.]

Why thank you.

[Turning the weapon over in the dim light, he inspects the knife before the woman. (#priorities) It's decent in size but poorly cared for, with knicks in the blade and a poor set into the handle. He scoffs and sticks it in his belt at the small of his back, fairly sure he's going to be tossing it later. This really was a two-copper operation, wasn't it?

It's quick, at least, and he turns back to Dutch.]

Oh, I remember you.

[He's tactful enough to know better than to ask how she's been--the whole ordeal hit the city hard, refugees included. Still, he smiles, taking in the scene with a sweep of a hand.]

So, business or pleasure?

[motivation]

Who says it can't be both?

[ she remembers him, too. remembers him, even though she doesn't really know him. right now, with the copious amounts of alcohol in her bloodstream mingling with adrenaline from the fight, she's not really interested in small talk or another story. her words are brusk, her smile a sharp thing that's more for show than borne from genuine pleasure or friendliness. ]

« rustbucket »

[motivation]

[ bucky finds her in a quiet moment: dutch is bandaging a knife wound on her upper arm, a bottle of whiskey in front of her that she's liberally using to disinfect herself from the inside. (to burn away everything she's feeling, or at least try to.)

she glances up, hands stilling for a moment before she resumes the bandaging. it's a little awkward, doing it left-handedly, but it's not like she doesn't have practice patching herself up. this isn't even the first time she's patched herself up in the back of some local watering hole, so really. what else is new? (what's new is that johnny and alvis are both gone, that dutch is alone again, that this time, leaving wasn't even johnny's choice.) ]

Going to make yourself useful? [ she asks in lieu of a greeting. whether she means for him to get her another drink or to help her with the bandages is anyone's guess. ]

« the best egg »

[motivation]

[ there's only so long that chasing criminals or those who're probably criminals can serve as a distraction. (dutch isn't too picky right now on whether they are or aren't. she's not even all that angry they detonated some bomb or that people are sick; she's too busy being angry that johnny and alvis aren't awake, aren't here, are gone even if they're not dead.)

by the time dutch shows up on eggsy's doorstep, she's still drunk but freshly showered and bandaged up from previous adventures. she's sharp-eyed, even if her gaze is a little wide around the edges, and instead of a greeting, she moves into his space and crowds him against the nearest wall, fitting her lips against his. this isn't the time for talking, all right, it's the time for shutting up and making her feel something that isn't anger or loss or all the things dutch doesn't have space for in her life, that she can't figure out and cope with without johnny by her side. ]

[tailorable]

[ with noticeable bedhead, eggsy opens his door in grey sweats, far more simple than his usual attire. see, he and dutch don't normally meet here 'cause this isn't just eggsy's place in the shite, refugee housing district. it's eggsy and harry's place: an area where eggsy doesn't need to call his mentor 'henry devere' or pretend he didn't start learning tailoring in the past fucking week. it's one bathroom that he and harry share, harry's paper on the coffee table, eggsy's hats strewn all over the living room, JB knocking about like he owns the place — not terribly fitting for dalliances, really.

but he doesn't think about all that when he spies her through the peephole and finds his cheeky greeting cut off by her lips on his. thankfully, his instincts do most of the work for him. hard not to notice the hint of alcohol in her mouth, a dull consideration at the back of his mind. he tangles fingers in her hair with one hand and drops the other to grip her hip, pulling her flush against him. getting crowded against the wall's a turn-on, yeah, but he wants as much contact as possible.

he nips at her bottom lip to pull away and slot his mouth against her neck. ]

Nice to see you, too.

[ absolutely amused and teasing. ]

[motivation]

[ the bedhead suits him. any other time, dutch might have teased him about it despite that, but any other time, she probably wouldn't have shown up out of the blue and drunk like this at an apartment she's never visited before, one that she knows he shares. any other time, dutch would have thought about what she's doing at least a little instead of only acting, mind addled by alcohol as much as it is by anger that masks a grief she knows is misplaced: johnny isn't dead, he's just in stasis, but whatever the reason, he's gone and dutch misses him.

she missed him while he was off dealing with pawter's loss, when he needed space, but she'd had d'avin and a war to fight then, she'd had a purpose and she'd had her friends. alvis is gone, too, and dutch knows how the war is going to end even if she hasn't seen it through yet: it's going to end with her killing aneela, with the two of them dying because if aneela goes, so does dutch.

so maybe dutch isn't thinking. maybe she's doing everything she can to avoid thinking. ]

Shut up. [ she tells him eloquently, a little more harshly than any other time, too. this isn't any other time, though. despite the tone and the alcohol on her tongue still, she slides against eggsy, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, and the hand she slides over his stomach is warm, firm but gentle. ]

[tailorable]

[ although she won't be able to see it, with his lips working over her throat, his brows shoot up. no, dutch isn't overly fond of his motor mouth, but he can't recall her saying shut up without a playful or dry lilt in her voice. the feel of her roaming hand makes him sigh into her neck. he very much enjoys being with her, despite the uncharacteristic harshness and hurried movements. ]

I will — [ which perhaps indicates that he won't. he squeezes her hip, fingers slipping under her shirt. ] — but we should take this to the station, love.

[ his steady tone suggests he won't be persuaded otherwise. see, he's already lying to harry and in mild trouble for his substandard tidiness. not to mention, he invited jean to stay with them, inviting further chaos into their lives (and one more person like to wander in on them). best not to be even more inconsiderate. ]

[motivation]

[ dutch is not usually harsh — oh, she always has the capacity for it, khlyen's seen to that, but she deliberately chooses against it, just as she chooses not to kill anymore unless it's necessary. those choices define who she is, who dutch is (instead of yalena, yala, khlyen's little bird).

right now, there's a little more of yalena in her tone and dutch is desperate for the distraction from it, from the cause of it. desperation makes good choices hard to come by. (she won't apologise, later. not in words.) ]

Yeah, fine.

[ so long as they can keep this going, so long as she can lose herself in the slide of their bodies together and the physicality of sex soon. she wants that, needs that. she arches into his touch, leaning up to nip at his jaw. ]

« ed »

[motivation]

[ edmund looks tired, but dutch doesn't much care. maybe she should, maybe some other time, she would. he looks tired and rough around the edges, but dutch is too worn and angry to muster up any sympathy. she doesn't have it in her right now. sympathy is johnny's thing, anyway, and johnny's gone, back in stasis.

which means dutch is alone.

(if she thought about it, she'd know that isn't true. she isn't thinking, though, or when she is, it's mostly with her thoughts turning in circles, returning to johnny's face still inside the stasis pod. she doesn't know how to get him back from that, and the helplessness only makes her angrier.)

she's drunk and she's been following up leads, fighting people responsible and probably some who weren't, who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. there's a knife wound on her right arm, the bandage's come loose. she doesn't care. ]

« dorian »

[motivation]

[ there have been moments since she's found johnny and alvis back in stasis that dutch hasn't been drinking, but not all that many. she's sure she's eaten something at some point, but doesn't quite remember when. doesn't seem to matter, though now and again, her stomach reminds her that only alcohol isn't sustainable even for someone with her constitution for a long time.

for now, she's still steady and walking a straight line, even if her emotions are written across her features far more obviously than usual, even if her speech is a little blurred around the usually crisp edges. ]

You won't drink with me and you won't sleep with me. [ she's currently glaring at dorian while walking next to him, the humour in her tone tinged with a bitterness that has nothing to do with him at all. ] What good are you, again?

[flashystyle]

[When Dorian first encountered Dutch after her companions' departure, he nearly thought her ill. It wasn't that he couldn't recognize when someone has drank themselves into a stupor-- having done that more than enough times himself-- but that he didn't anticipate her having cause to do so. Sure, the world's gone, but that's old news. Sure, people are sick and on the run, but no one has died that they know of. He doesn't know her well enough to assume, and motivations are hard to determine when someone's close to slurring their sentences.

So it's with an uncertain smirk as he walks alongside her, unsure of how to broach the subject. Despite all their banter before, he cares beyond what name of liquor they should put into their bodies, and he's been searching for a way to start once he's confirmed she's simply intoxicated.]

I'd like to think I'm at least a fine piece of arm candy, though you can't have a taste. [He says, moving to loop his arm with hers. Really, it's to ensure she truly doesn't take a fall.] I'm also buying you something to eat, because you do still need to do that.

[motivation]

[ dutch isn't ill. she's angry and she's mad and hiding something pained and small and fragile underneath that anger. she's at a loss without johnny; he's been her moral compass and her gravity for so many years and she'd almost figured out how to be herself and a killjoy without him before, but she'd had d'avin then and the rac and a war to fight, a woman to hunt and kill, a purpose and a goal.

here, she doesn't have any of those things — and now, she doesn't even have johnny anymore, or alvis.

instead, she has dorian looping his arm with hers like he's worried she's going to fall (she won't, she's too good for that, really), offering to buy her something to eat. her stomach gives a quiet growl at the notion, and dutch lets out a sigh. ]

Hells. If you must.

[ she slants a long look at him. ] Think people'll be jealous? [ that the two of them are walking arm in arm, that is. not that dutch can't get a taste, that's hardly something to be jealous of. ]

[flashystyle]

[It's all very off-putting from her usual demeanor, but for now Dorian won't impose himself more than this. His primary goal is to put the both of them more at ease, for her with the idea of relaxing and him the idea that he doesn't need to worry so much. He loosens his grip on her arm so it's less to keep her standing, instead moving to take her hand in his so they become more of a believable pair.]

Oh, I don't think it. I know it. You see them? [He nods his head in the direction of citizens across the street, managing a wry smirk.] Green with envy... or the sickness, but, well. Let's not think about that. I know your preferred drink, so what is your favorite food?

[rhygret]

[ What had started as casual correspondence over Rhys not being around the last few days turned into the admission that he'd caught a slight cold and wasn't feeling up to it. Emphasis on the slight because he's certain it's not nearly as bad as how Abelas makes it look. Rhys wears "sick as a dog" much better than him.

Which is to say that when he answers the door to let Dutch in his hair isn't slicked back for once and instead hang normal, face paler than normal and eyes a little sunken from his fatigue. He's wearing a medical mask to help keep his germs to himself, but other than that it's just a lazy t-shirt and pyjama pants. He hasn't put nearly the amount of effort into his appearance as he normally does on account of being passed out most of the day feeling miserable. But he does muster up a smile for her behind his mask and huffs out, ]

Hey.

[motivation]

[ dutch is the last person to play nursemaid on a good day. she'll stand by johnny's side if he's got himself shot again, kiss him on the forehead and tell him to get some sleep. she'll squeeze d'avin's hand if he needs the reminder that he's not a soldier anymore but a killjoy now, that he couldn't have helped what happened to his squad, that it wasn't his fault. she could bring herself to stay still for a while for pree or for alvis. even there, she'd much rather punch something or someone than wipe sweat from brows or make tea. that's johnny's style more than hers.

and right now? right now, johnny is gone and dutch is adrift and at a loss. there's no war for her to fight here, no aneela to kill and no khlyen to prove right or wrong. stopping by rhys' place isn't to play nursemaid, it's a distraction and it's wholly for selfish reasons. still, seeing him softer and more tired than usual gives her a moment's pause even with alcohol and anger that's easier than admitting pain making her brash and harsher than most days. ]

You don't look like you're dying, at least. [ yeah, that's the greeting he gets. ]

[rhygret]

[ The sad part is that after working at Hyperion and winding up on Pandora...that's as close as to a "man you look really sick Rhys, are you okay?" as he's used to receiving from anyone that isn't Vaughn. So that dopey, tired smile gets even more dopey as he rolls his shoulders in a shrug and muffles a quiet cough. ]

I've definitely had better days. You sure you want to come in? I don't know how contagious this thing is.

[motivation]

Don't really give a shit.

[ and she doesn't; not right now. it's not about him so much as it is about herself, but she doesn't try to explain that, to elaborate. she can't muster up the energy to care to, really. what's the point? ]

Just don't get your germs on me. [ is that something he can control? nah. and yet, she says it. ]