001 | video

[enustari]

[The woman onscreen does not look at all well. There's a sickly, jaundiced cast to her skin, which is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and her eyes are yellowed and bloodshot with deep, dark circles underneath. She also seems to be holding the communicator at arms length. She squints at it a moment, image shaking in time with her hand, then puts it down on a nearby surface so the view changes abruptly to a static shot of the ceiling.]

-Fucking shit, this screen gives me a headache. [Her voice is low and gravelly, like she's been smoking 2 packs a day since age 12.] Let's make this quick. I puked up what might have been a vital fucking organ in the car on the way over here. I need a drink and I need it yesterday. If you can do something about that, send me a message on this thing.

I'll engage with the rest of this shitshow later.

[...]

Verbal responses only. [You can still respond via text, of course, but it'll be several hours at least before Elsa will reply. Reading is hard right now, okay.]

Comments

[hostage]

Maybe I do. Or maybe I'm just bringing over a bottle of Jack. Wanna gimme an address?

[enustari]

Even better.

[There's the sound of papers being rustled somewhere in the background, and then:]

Apparently I'm in 'Maurtia Falls,' uh, number one? If that means anything to you.

[hostage]

No shit? That's my old place.

[So he knows exactly where it is.]

I'm in town. I can get there in a couple minutes.

[enustari]

I'll leave the door unlocked. [More like she didn't lock it in the first place.]

[hostage]

Cool. See ya.

[He clicks off his communicator, and about five minutes later, he's walking through her front door with the promised bottle of whiskey in one hand. Feels kind of weird to be in this place again after all this time. Especially since it's someone else's home now.]

Yo?

[Where's she at? Is she still breathing?]

[enustari]

[Elsa is sacked out on the couch with one arm draped dramatically over her face. Her communicator is on a table nearby. When he enters, she waves lazily without sitting up.]

Hey.

[hostage]

[Ah, there. He wanders over to her, setting the bottle down on that same table before turning to get a good look at her.]

Jesus. What the hell happened to you, anyway?

[enustari]

[In a welp-what-can-you-do-about-it tone that might well be the verbal equivalent of a shrug,]

My body is incompatible with my lifestyle.

[She rolls onto her side and awkwardly scoots into a position where she can reach the table and, more importantly, the booze—which she wastes no time in cracking open.]

[hostage]

[Honey, no. Your liver is failing. Jesse reaches to put a hand on her shoulder.]

Hold up a second. Lemme fix you first.

[enustari]

[She frowns, but doesn't put the bottle to her lips. Ok ok, you win.]

Well, hurry up then. I feel like shit.

[hostage]

[Yes, ma'am. Normally he gives a warning, but... Whatever. He brushes her skin with his fingers and that's that. Everything that was wrong with her is instantly gone - because it's his now. The jaundice, the sickliness, all of it has been transferred to him.

Which means he's... going to sit down now. Or half-fall down, as the case might be.]

[enustari]

[Holy shit, she feels incredible. Like taking a new body but better because she doesn't have to adjust to all the little differences. She wriggles in delight, almost knocking the bottle out of her lap—which is when she notices what happened to Jesse. She leans almost all the way off the couch, getting a good look.]

Damn, kid. What did you do?

[hostage]

["Kid"? She looks at least five years younger than him. Once he's settled (halfway on the floor and halfway on the couch) he turns a miserable look at her. Goddamn, this is some intense organ failure.]

I, uh... Absorbed it, I guess is the best way to put it. I'll get over it in a couple hours.

[The worst of it, anyway.]

[enustari]

[Force of habit—she may not look it, but she's old enough to be his grandmother. She's still shifting around, flexing joints, relishing how good it feels not to ache all over.]

It's a neat trick. I wish I had one of you back home.

[Time to put that bottle to use!]

[hostage]

[Well, he's happy she's happy. Actually, he's mostly happy she's not dying anymore. This fucking sucks.]

Glad I could help. You don't mind if I kinda chill here a while, do you?

[How's he supposed to drive like this?]

[enustari]

[After knocking back several shots worth,]

Be my guest. You want a little of this?

[hostage]

[At this rate, he'll need to do this over again tomorrow. Not that he's one to lecture somebody on overindulging.

He gives a slight shake of his head.]

It'll be wasted on me. I can't get drunk. Or high. Or anything. It's part of the whole regen thing.

[enustari]

[Elsa winces in sympathy.]

Wow, shitty tradeoff. Your healing in general seems more trouble than it's worth. [Not that she's ungrateful or anything. He just bought her significant time in this body, after all! No need to make kidnapping a teenage girl the first item on her agenda anymore.]

[hostage]

Haa, yeah... It blows. Especially the part where painkillers don't do shit.

[This would all be a lot easier with painkillers.]

[enustari]

And yet here you are playing hero.

Hmm, I wonder... [She taps the bottle against her lip thoughtfully, then takes a sip because, hey, it's there.] Would you be open to an experiment?

[hostage]

[He turns a vaguely curious look to her.]

Sure. Why not.

[enustari]

[Haha fuck, how to explain this...]

I know a spell to make pain feel like pleasure—or at least, not like gut-rending misery. It's all in the mind, so it may sneak around your little problem.

[hostage]

[It's cool. He's used to this kind of thing.]

I'm down. Let's give it a shot, yo.

[enustari]

Hang tight, I'll be back!

[With her newly regained energy, she practically bounds off the couch and into the kitchen. There's the sound of more than one drawer opening and slamming shut (she has no idea where anything is) and then she's back. With a bigass knife.]

I need 30 seconds of quiet or we're gonna have some fireworks in here, so don't freak out.

[hostage]

[The knife doesn't worry him. What's she gonna do? Stab him? Haha, no biggie.]

Quiet. Got it.

[He'll keep his mouth shut.]