a new season has to begin

[metamorphotic]

WHO: Nick + OTA
WHAT: Catchall for January & February
WHERE: Various spots in the city
WHEN: Month of January, possibly some backdating
WARNINGS: binge drinking, swearing, mild suicidal ideation ... possibly more tbd

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[metamorphotic]

[she pushes herself back up to sitting again to accept the bottle of water, twists off the cap, and takes a sip. she can appreciate that he's prepared for her to be sick, but nick takes particular pride in the fact that she's never once thrown up after a night of too much to drink.]

I, um ... I don't know what I'm gonna do now. 'Mnot that great at planning shit, y'know?

[she's always had trouble envisioning a future for herself. without the heart to lead her, she doesn't know the first thing about how to fight this omniscient enemy.]

I keep thinkin' this is just a bad dream ...a nightmare, and I'm gonna wake up and see if Vergil wants to get coffee so I can tell him about this fucked-up shit my brain came up with while I was asleep, but ... [she halts, shaking her head, and inhales a deep breath to steady her quavering voice.] This ain't a dream. And he's gone.

[and it's your fault, a sinister voice hisses inside her head, and she tries to freeze it out by taking a huge gulp of water. all she manages to do is miscalculate and choke on the mouthful of liquid, cough and splutter.]

Christ, [she mutters, wiping at her mouth with the hem of her sleeve,] 'msorry you gotta see me like this. I know it ain't pretty.

[exceptionalcrook]

Of course you don't know. It's day one. Plans don't happen until day three.

[Trying to plan right now would be pointless: there was just too much to process, too much raw emotion to work through, before that could happen. The way she talks about Vergil confirms it, she's shocked and to her they're not even dead yet.

He rubs her back as she coughs, settling on the bed beside her.]

This part's always going to suck. It's never pretty for anyone.

[metamorphotic]

[she manages a dry laugh, not entirely sure if what he says is a joke.]

What, d’ya got some kinda five-day plan for getting over fucked-up shit or somethin’? Twelve easy steps?

[if only it were that easy. nick takes one more sip of water and screws the cap back on the bottle, then reaches over to take duke’s hand, if he’ll allow it. she’s more grateful he’s here with her than she can put into words.]

Y’sound like you’re an expert.

[exceptionalcrook]

It's a three-day plan. Day one you survive, usually with the help of liquor. And I'd say you nailed that.

[He says it so simply it might read as a joke again, especially as he smiles back at her. But he's serious, it's the system he's come up with over the last year. She takes his hand and he squeezes hers, reassuring.]

I told you, the Troubles kill a lot of people.

Day two's mourning. Day three's making a plan. We're going to get you to day three.