Participants:
| Scene Title | This Peculiar Fate |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Chess and Nathalie reunite after barely surviving the previous night, and neither survived unscathed. Or unchanged. |
| Date | July 6, 2021 |
A dreary and misty morning finds the camp slowly coming to life as the travelers prepare to begin the journey anew. It’s been a hard night for everyone – no one was left unscathed by the ambush. Some have been healed. Some were lucky enough to go without injury. But everyone suffered, in one way or another, even if they bear no physical scars to lay witness to the traumatic event.
Still bearing her wounds, however, and severe ones at that, Chess returns to the camp from wherever she disappeared to last night. Her boots scuff the damp ground as she walks, as she seems barely able to pick up her feet. With ashen skin and her newly pale blue eyes, she looks almost ghostlike, the effect amplified by the pale light of the misty predawn gloom.
She skims the area, looking for someone or something. When she spots Nathalie among those early morning risers, she heads that way, her brows knitting together with a sob of relief when she sees the other woman up and on her feet. But as she gets closer, something makes her pause, brow creasing again with a sensation that isn’t pain, and she stops short. “Whoa.”
Then her blue eyes fall on Nathalie’s and her brows lift in surprise. “Makeover twins,” Chess quips, her voice raspy from lack of use and dehydration.
Nathalie turns at the sound of boots, but also blinks in surprise at Chess' new look. Her expression turns bittersweet, emotions pulled to and fro. She knows what the blue eyes mean, and she knows the weight they bring with them.
Still, Chess' words get a small laugh and she gives an amused ayooo in response. "It's been quite a time for both of us, I see," she starts with a light tone, but slips into a more serious one, "you okay? Freaking out?" Nathalie is, oddly, pretty calm about it herself. At least outwardly. She plucks a water bottle from her pack and comes over to hand it to Chess. The dehydration isn't missed. Likely, her other injuries won't be either.
Chess accepts the water bottle a little ruefully – she definitely should have been drinking more water, after losing blood, but other things were on her mind.
“Not in the slightest, and absolutely,” she says, lips quirking up in one corner as she uncaps the bottle. She takes a few swallows, closing her eyes as the fluid washes over her sore, dry throat, then recaps it to hand it back. Nadira may be around, but they still have a lot of people and a long way to travel, with unpredictable weather patterns.
“How?” Chess asks, efficiently but not eloquently, as she gestures to Nat. “I thought…” she swallows, pushing away the unbidden images that come to her mind of Nathalie, Ryans, Castle… and older ones of her sisters, of Miles, of even Adam dying in front of her.
Her good hand lifts to brush away the tears seeping over her lower lashline. “Can I hug you or will we explode or something?”
Those were the expected answers, and Nat gives her a smile that's both amused and sympathetic. She tucks the water bottle away and looks back up to see her friend starting to cry. The question makes her chuckle and she steps in to give her a tight hug. "No explosions. Unless you make them."
She leans back again, her hands clasping Chess' arms. "The how is that Richard brought me back from the dead. And the conduits he was holding came along. As they do." She doesn't ask Chess how she got hers; she can put two and two together. And also, something else is taking her attention.
"You're still hurt." The worry in her expression eclipses her other emotions and she steps back a little further as if she could assess any better with a better viewpoint.
Chess’ hug is one-armed, but tight all the same, even though it hurts terribly given her broken ribs and the the shotgun wound in her shoulder. She does her best not to show it, but her lips are pressed together as they pull back apart; her good hand curls into a fist, nails digging into her palm to distract her from the pain in her shoulder and chest.
At Nathalie’s simple answer, Chess’ brows lift in surprise. “I saw him heal someone once, but she wasn’t dead yet, just almost.” Her gaze drops at the memory, and she looks off toward the light in the east. “My kid sister, actually, but he didn’t transfer anything… at least I don’t think. Otherwise that girl has some explaining to do.”
It’s a joke – she knows Richard still had the conduits at the jump and through their travels to this point. But she nods, still trying to hide just how much pain she’s in – after all, Nathalie was dead. ““Getting shot twice will do that,” she says with a smirk. “I’m okay.”
"Well," Nathalie says, the word drawing out as she debates how much to explain, "the conduits and I have a history. And when things are life or death, they don't always behave predictably." If they ever do. She shifts, her hand taking Chess' as she gives her a crooked smile. "You're not okay. Let me patch you up."
She does, ultimately, leave the choice up to Chess. She knows how precious autonomy is, after all. But she does try to make her case. Just a little.
"We all probably need to be ready for anything. Especially the heavy hitters." And that's Chess certainly. "Just in case?"
The offer draws a small smile and a fleeting glance downward from Chess. A gun wound and broken ribs are serious injuries at any time, but especially in this world, at this time.
“I don’t know how it works,” she confesses. “Richard… to heal Ja- my sister that one time, he needed to take a little energy from everyone there. I don’t want to hurt you for my own sake, you know?”
Still, there is a logic to Nathalie’s offer, aside from simple altruism. “I’m not doing anyone a lot of good right now, I admit. But it can wait. Like, you died, Nathalie,” Chess exclaims, drawing a couple of glances from the other Convoy people milling around. Chess grimaces, apologetically for drawing a scene, then adds, “You deserve a fucking day off. And a KitKat bar or something, at the very least.”
"Do you have a KitKat bar?" Because she'll take a KitKat bar.
Nat's smile is a little sad as she regards Chess, but there's also an insistent nod after a moment. "Tomorrow, I'll rest. But I'll rest much easier if I know I didn't leave my friend in pain. And we don't need to hurt me or anyone else." She tilts her head, a signal for Chess to follow her as she starts to walk. "It does work on exchange, for me, but life is life. And life is everywhere. Not to be all hippie about it or anything, but, you know, in a pinch, the energy can come from anywhere."
She glances over at Chess, her head tilting, "What you have, how it'll work for you? You might have to experiment a little. Just start small. And no matter what anyone says, you are in charge of it. You get to decide when and where to use it. People will try all sorts of things to force your hand, but you don't have to give and give and give. You know?"
“I wish,” is Chess’ quick reply to the KitKat question. The rest is more complicated.
She hesitates, then nods, following as Nathalie begins to walk. “I’m glad we’re friends,” she says softly. “Even if you weren’t about to heal this,” she adds, lest Nat think it’s only because of that.
“Listen, the hippies were right about some things. And Chi – or Ki, in Japanese – has been discussed for centuries. Kinda makes you wonder now if some monk in ancient China or Japan might have been expressive to be able to put their finger on that, yeah?”
The sentiment that Chess alone is the one to decide how to use the ability evokes a soft huff of a laugh. “That suggests a lot of free will that I don’t exactly feel at the moment, but thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”
"Me too," Nat says, her smile widening. It turns a bit crooked, though, "I know it's not about what you can get out of it," she reassures, before Chess can get the idea that Nat would think their friendship hinged on healing. Or expected favors at all.
"That's a good point. People have had things figured out for a long time, even if we in the modern era struggle to take it seriously. They probably did have expressives back then. Just better at being quiet about it," she adds with a smirk.
The smirk falls, though, because she knows how true it is, that feeling of loss of free will. She can't lie and say it's a blessing or a gift or that Chess is lucky. But she hopes it's something to know she's not alone. "I'll punch anyone who tries anything, just point me at them."
She leads Chess to a small park. It's overgrown now, but they can see how it would have been charming in its day. Now branches hang overhead and birds perch in dark canopies. But this is exactly what Nat is looking for. "There's probably a bench in here somewhere, if you want to sit."
The offer to punch people makes Chess laugh. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” she says. In the park, she looks around, then shakes her head at the offer to find a bench and sit.
“Everything’s so wet. I’d like to keep my ass on the dry side if we’re going to be driving for hours on end,” she says a little wryly, but gestures to a large tree with a thick trunk. “Leaning’s good,” she says, with a chuckle, quickling examining the bark to make sure she’s not lying against a tree swarming with ants – unlikely at this hour and in this weather, but she’s learned the hard way in her years tramping across the wartorn countryside.
Leaning there, Chess reaches with her good hand for one of the outstretched boughs, which gives her some more stability. The short walk has left her pained and pale, and she closes her eyes to take a few steadying breaths. “Okay, I’m not as okay as I keep saying I am,” she admits, a weak laugh shaking her shoulders and that maks her wince. “Fuck.”
"Leaning it is, then," Nat says, tilting her head as she watches Chess settle into position. The words, however, get a small, crooked smile. "Don't worry, no one will hear it from me. Healthy as ever, I'll say." She doesn't lean, herself, but she does take Chess' hand. Not for stability, but for connection. She's still feeling out how the conduits have changed since she last held them. How her trip among the dead has changed her perception of them.
"It shouldn't be too long, but I'm gonna take it slow." She always did prefer a gentler approach to healing, but right now, she wants to take extra care. Her eyes close, her breathing turns deep and steady.
It's hard to say what happens first, although it is likely more noticeable to Chess when her wounds start to knit together. But also, around them in a sweeping circle, the trees and grass and weeds all start to wither away, as if years were passing in just a handful of moments. Birds drop from crumbling branches, hitting the ground before falling into dust themselves. The only things left in good condition are Nat and Chess, and the tree Chess chose to prop herself up with. A small island in a gnarled, dying sea.
When the healing is complete, Nathalie lets out a long sigh and lets go of Chess' hand. She opens her eyes to look around them, but she doesn't seem surprised to see the park in such a state.
“Can’t let anyone know I’m not made of nails and vinegar,” Chess quips, though her voice is a bit breathy from the exertion. Her eyes stay closed for the beginning of the healing as she focuses on the feeling of the healing energy – and staying upright.
Eventually, she’s healed enough that she needs less distraction, and her eyes open – she watches with fascination as the park is leached of life, though her brows draw together when she sees a bird drop. She can’t help but think of Natalie Gray, and her eyes fill with tears for the woman she didn’t know.
The cost for this healing – Nathalie LeRoux’s energy, and the life of the flora and fauna around Chess – isn’t a small one, at least to her mind. “Thank you,” she says softly, to her healer, and a soft, “I’m sorry,” for the park.
Her eyes find Nathalie’s again. “That’s because of the other one, the black conduit? I heard what Stef did on the bus to Asi,” she says. “I don’t have to do it like this, yeah?” She frowns, realizing that may seem like she’s judging. “No offense. I mean… I’m not a vegetarian, so… you know.”
"Nothing to say sorry for," Nat says, and it seems to only belatedly occur to her that maybe treating the park and the birds in such a way isn't ideal. But she turns back to Chess with a reassuring nod. "It's the Black. Yours won't work that way. It'll have its own cost, but not this." Her hand waves to the withered wilderness around them. "And don't worry. No offense taken."
She knows what she has, after all.
"We've got this whole journey ahead of us," she notes, looking back at Chess with a less heavy look about her. "If you want to figure this thing out, I could give you some tips. Conduit tips. You'll be a pro in no time."
Rolling her shoulder, Chess finds no more pain but some stiffness simply from trying not to move it for the past twelve ours. A deep inhalation expands her lungs fully for the first time in that timeframe as well, since her broken ribs hurt too much to take more than shallow breaths.
“I’d like that,” she says, with a smile as she straightens up, pushing away from the now leafless tree. “I didn’t want this, but I’m glad I have someone to show me what the hell I’m supposed to do with it.”
She sighs, looking back toward the highway and the cluster of vehicles and the mess that still needs to be sorted out there: getting back on the road. What to do about Gracie. Their mission in general.
And whether any of it means anything at all.
“We should get back.”
Nathalie nods, a smile on her lips, if just a small one. But even that fades when Chess brings their attention back to the convoy. And everything waiting there for them. Nat doesn't sigh, but she does get a grim look about her. Not much cheery to look forward to there, and she can't help but feel guilty for being so glad that this ambush worked out the way it did. For her, anyway. But, she nods once more to Chess, gesturing for her to lead the way this time. She will get back to the work, but perhaps she can be forgiven if her steps are a little slower than the situation calls for.