( log five | closed | a butterfly before it flies )

[dedikated]

Who: Katydid and a city in Cumbria (dedikated and tongueamok)
What: Just two neighbours. Using their powers. Planning things.
Where: Spire 4, the disaster floor (floor eight) - Carlisle's apartment.
When: Slightly backdated to the 7th.
Warnings: Nothing atm, but maybe later? IDK! Plans. Plans involving Kate. AKA disaster zone.


[ God, she's glad for the flow of her powers in her body again. If not for the constant reminder of what she did, at least for the fact that she feels whole again.

She can, at least, bear the guilt a little better with the ability to run across rooftops regained, with all her jumping and agility skills back to their full potential.

And she has... well, better ideas than the last ones. If she can get Carlisle to agree to them.

Hence the knocking on his door and the armful of papers with notes on them. ] Hey, you in? [ Why is she asking that he's always in ]

Comments

[tongueamok]

[He hands her the cork, still certain it'll explode any second. Why hasn't it, though? Perhaps smaller is better in terms of trinkets, he thinks, or the material took to magic more readily. He's no enchanter, but it is a fascinating study.]

That seems to be [cough] working, then? Should I be saving every cork from every bottle I bring home?

[dedikated]

[ it doesn't, as far as she's aware. but maybe? things do work differently here. before kate says anything, or does anything other than look up sharply at his cough, she taps the cork once-

and it goes flying out of her hand.

well. ] Would be useful for these tests, at least. [ s i g h. at least that meant they had managed to store some power. ] ... Need to take this home, figure out what I've missed. [ and, if he's coughing, she would... rather make sure he isn't getting pushed too hard by this project. ]

[tongueamok]

[Carlisle's eyes follow the cork as it goes flying across the room, his shoulders stiffening for a moment in mild alarm.]

Right. Wouldn't want [cough] them flying out of some injured [cough] person's hand and straight into [okay, still coughing] into, um—

[He scrambles for that jar on the table, his hands unsteady as he tries to get it open, ink already seeping through his teeth. He finally gets the lid off and hacks into it, spatter of the black bile dotting his glasses from where it splashed into the jar.

He drags his mouth along that bandage on his arm before finishing his sentence, as though this is perfectly n o r m a l.]

Straight into their eye. Kind of defeats the purpose.

[dedikated]

[ Never fucking mind that right now. Kate starts, moving towards Carlisle out of immediate reflex, eyes narrowing because what the fuck, Carlisle. This is the second time you've hacked up after using healing powers and that is not normal. ]

Explain. [ And, by the tone in her voice - the one that's all blade-sharp and dangerous - she does not mean the bit about the cork shooting out.

Don't make her snatch the jar to emphasise her point. ]

[tongueamok]

[Carlisle holds up a hand defensively, setting the jar aside. He pulls off his glasses, eyeing the droplets clinging to the lenses as though they're more of an annoyance than anything.]

This is fine. It's just- it's something that happens.

[That probably explains the jars of ink he has on the shelf.]

[dedikated]

[ Carlisle do not be obtuse, deliberately or otherwise. ]

Why? [ Fine and coughing up ink? Not. The. Same. Thing. ]

[tongueamok]

It's a condition I- [clearing his throat of the last dregs of ink] I have. Nothing to be concerned about, I assure you.

[And after half a second's pause:] Though given I had an abomination made of ink terrorizing me just a month ago, I can see why you might be apprehensive.

[dedikated]

[ Gee, you think? Although, that was secondary to the fact that he could very well be doing something that could kill him just because she had yet another fantastic idea. ]

How harmful is it? [ Because it sure looks like you'd be doing damage to your insides to cough up ink. ]

[tongueamok]

It's— [Sigh. He really doesn't want to have to explain it, especially because this seems like such a good, promising idea. His curse has him doomed to failure, as usual.] It's not that kind of condition. [He eyes his bandaged arm, the linen as stained with ink as ever.] As I'm sure you can tell, this happens fairly regularly.

[dedikated]

[ S i g h. She's not about to get through to him, is she? Kate rubs her face with her hand and shrugs. ] Reet. If you're sure. [ That is the tone of someone who doesn't quite believe that it's true, no matter how regular this might be. ] Can only get so many of these done a day anyway. [ Which means they'll be taking it reasonably slow regardless. ]

[tongueamok]

[He gets the feeling from her tone that if they're going to be working together on this project, he's eventually going to have to cough up some answers. At least today is not that day.]

Of course. I'd say we have a good start. Wouldn't want to exhaust you, after all.

[dedikated]

[ Or you, idiot. ] Right. Like I said, we can't do much more until I figure out what I'm forgetting. [ Or misremembering. It has been a few years since this project occurred. ]

[tongueamok]

Right.

[He wipes his glasses on the bandage before screwing the lid on the jar.]

Should I expect to see you tomorrow, then? Or however long it takes you to remember.

[dedikated]

[ She hums in thought. ] Tomorrow, probably. [ She's already going at the problem in her mind. And she'll probably be scribbling ideas until about midnight. ]