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[ he doesn't see her comment for an hour, give or take, doubled over with pain and unable to focus in the aftermath. when he finally opens the network, however, caroline forbes stands out. too familiar, when he hasn't ever met her in waking life. real or not real?
by now, he knows they're all on this train. ]
Caroline, it's Leo.
[ That's what she called him. ]
I don't know if we've met. I think we might have.
Can I see you?
[ Oh, Fitz. ]
by now, he knows they're all on this train. ]
Caroline, it's Leo.
[ That's what she called him. ]
I don't know if we've met. I think we might have.
Can I see you?
[ Oh, Fitz. ]
[ you're waiting for a train. except, no, this isn't inception and there's no ugly gained-forty-pounds-for-the-role leonardo dicaprio with bad facial hair here to question her dream motives. there's just... an actual train, that caroline finds herself on, seated there with a proper id and paperwork in order and everything all in its place. as if she was meant to be here all along.
but she hadn't volunteered to go to new tokyo, had she? it had been out of the question without her daylight ring. it was hard enough to explain why she couldn't go outside to people in the safehouse — trying to explain that to strangers in a new city would have just been too much. and yet, here she was. riding a train to said new city, getting a text from someone she's sure she's never met.
and yet.
leo. the name stirs up feelings of familiarity, warm and fleeting even against the cool air of the train compartment. possessiveness, too, like someone she'd claimed as her own in a past life somehow. snippets of the dream pull back through her memories, and suddenly, her blood runs cold. or it would, if it could.
but she doesn't just want to say it. 'oh, hey, i think i fed on you in my dream, were you there for that?' it's weird, dangerous. too risky. better to come up with a last-minute excuse — scrolling through the network to find a match to his username gives her something to go off, flimsy as it may be. ]
at the safehouse, right? you organized the supplies drive for the locals.
[ in a pinch, apply a compliment. ]
it was really well organized. i'm sorry i couldn't be more help.
but she hadn't volunteered to go to new tokyo, had she? it had been out of the question without her daylight ring. it was hard enough to explain why she couldn't go outside to people in the safehouse — trying to explain that to strangers in a new city would have just been too much. and yet, here she was. riding a train to said new city, getting a text from someone she's sure she's never met.
and yet.
leo. the name stirs up feelings of familiarity, warm and fleeting even against the cool air of the train compartment. possessiveness, too, like someone she'd claimed as her own in a past life somehow. snippets of the dream pull back through her memories, and suddenly, her blood runs cold. or it would, if it could.
but she doesn't just want to say it. 'oh, hey, i think i fed on you in my dream, were you there for that?' it's weird, dangerous. too risky. better to come up with a last-minute excuse — scrolling through the network to find a match to his username gives her something to go off, flimsy as it may be. ]
at the safehouse, right? you organized the supplies drive for the locals.
[ in a pinch, apply a compliment. ]
it was really well organized. i'm sorry i couldn't be more help.
[ kovacs is an idiot who bought an entire bottle of bourbon just to take two shots of it and collapse in a heap... which makes caroline the new owner of a mostly-full bottle of bourbon that she's now claimed for herself.
it will probably be shared later on. maybe. ]
thanks! too bad you couldn't enjoy the asshole's bar tab with me
it will probably be shared later on. maybe. ]
thanks! too bad you couldn't enjoy the asshole's bar tab with me
[what's a lifelong terrible cook supposed to do after he's basically promised someone else cookies? why, go to the only person he knows is a decent cook (and also a decent person at least as far as he's concerned) of course. if he knew christina tosi or some futuristic celebrity chef equivalent he'd have asked her instead, so sorry caroline.]
hey sunshine.
have you perfected cookies in this post-punk world we're in?
hey sunshine.
have you perfected cookies in this post-punk world we're in?
[ the safehouse isn't so big that he doesn't hear a version of his name being echoed off the walls. she's missing a letter in there but it's close enough. still, he lets her keep shouting and walking until she's closer and then he opens the door and leans against the frame. ]
How long have you been waiting to do that?
[ it'd been a few years since someone made that joke. congratulations, caroline. ]
How long have you been waiting to do that?
[ it'd been a few years since someone made that joke. congratulations, caroline. ]
[ there's nothing subtle about laura moon making her way back into the safehouse on this particular day. one hand resting limply in the other, face like thunder when it's not busy wincing at a finger moved too far or too quickly, she stamps through without much concern for whoever else is in en route to the medical room.
somebody had better fucking be in there, she doesn't want to have to go to the hospital for this. ]
somebody had better fucking be in there, she doesn't want to have to go to the hospital for this. ]
[ there are no blood bags in the medical room. this is caroline's greatest disappointment, because if there were, she could just steal them. she might not need them for herself — not with fitz and johnny and markus and jason and and and rotating as volunteers as needed — but stockpiling b positive was never a bad thing. if it would keep damon or klaus from going off the rails, that wouldn't hurt.
but there are no blood bags, yet again, and so caroline's nearly ready to leave when someone else stumbles in. a friend, quickly realized, looking in pain. ]
Laura! [ startled, yes, but by her expression more so than anything else. caroline's is all concern. ] Are you okay? What happened?
but there are no blood bags, yet again, and so caroline's nearly ready to leave when someone else stumbles in. a friend, quickly realized, looking in pain. ]
Laura! [ startled, yes, but by her expression more so than anything else. caroline's is all concern. ] Are you okay? What happened?
If you were wondering about the curtains, I didn't steal them.
[ her face hurts and her body's sore and she just wants out of this goddamn chair... but she's not dead yet, and they haven't pried her ring off her finger in order to expose her to sunlight, and nobody's shot her up with wooden bullets yet...
so, on a scale of 1-10, caroline's probably at a 6. could be worse, but could definitely be better. ]
you heard from marcos???
[ he's messed up?? god, she's gonna kill these assholes. DO YOU HEAR THAT, GANG MEN? SHE'S GOING TO KILL YOU. ]
so, on a scale of 1-10, caroline's probably at a 6. could be worse, but could definitely be better. ]
you heard from marcos???
[ he's messed up?? god, she's gonna kill these assholes. DO YOU HEAR THAT, GANG MEN? SHE'S GOING TO KILL YOU. ]
did you want to get coffee or something? i thought we could talk some more. maybe go shopping?
i just seriously need to get out of the safehouse pronto or i'm gonna go crazy.
[ it's late. her captors have left her, and though she hasn't broken out, she's pretending to sleep. safer to do that than to risk getting marcos hurt more if she gets caught. ]
everything hurts
[ not untrue. probably less than her fellow, but it still does hurt. ]
everything hurts
[ not untrue. probably less than her fellow, but it still does hurt. ]
[ he ought to be glad — she does answer... or her implant does. the rapid-fire pings of text and audio messages, one coming in right after the other, means it's easy for her scattered brain to accidentally hit reply on one of them. unfortunately, caroline doesn't exactly know what's going on — her attention is too focused on the sensations of pain and fear to really focus on anything else — so while her reply is prompt, it isn't exactly pointed.
instead, klaus gets a first-hand listen to caroline's immediate surroundings: a forty-five second clip that features the unmistakable sound of panicked crying, the loud smack of metal hitting skin (a pistol being slapped against her jaw), the splattering echo of blood spit out, and finally, the heavy stomp of boots walking away and the uncertain ragged breathing of someone desperately trying to get their shit together. ]
instead, klaus gets a first-hand listen to caroline's immediate surroundings: a forty-five second clip that features the unmistakable sound of panicked crying, the loud smack of metal hitting skin (a pistol being slapped against her jaw), the splattering echo of blood spit out, and finally, the heavy stomp of boots walking away and the uncertain ragged breathing of someone desperately trying to get their shit together. ]
I'm not in New Amsterdam right now.
But I wanted to ask: are you okay?
And if you don't want to talk about that, do you want to make a plan to paint the safehouse?
[Riku doesn't know her that well, but after trying to think both Rey and Caroline were fine and he was ... wrong, because he was trying not to jump to the worst case scenario, well.
Well.
It's not like Caroline knows the source of his guilt. (His angst, to put it bluntly.) But he does want to check on her, so here he is.]
But I wanted to ask: are you okay?
And if you don't want to talk about that, do you want to make a plan to paint the safehouse?
[Riku doesn't know her that well, but after trying to think both Rey and Caroline were fine and he was ... wrong, because he was trying not to jump to the worst case scenario, well.
Well.
It's not like Caroline knows the source of his guilt. (His angst, to put it bluntly.) But he does want to check on her, so here he is.]
[ he's still watching the interplay between her and kol on his network post and while he knows she's planning on coming by, he sends the message anyway just to make sure she's okay. ]
hey.
you still okay?
hey.
you still okay?
[shared apartment living isn't all that different from safehouse living, except perhaps that peter has to budget and buy his own muesli and the only beverage he can afford is some weird tea that tastes like the memory of fruit or still water. he still has to be mostly decent in communal spaces, can't leave a mess, and despite his best efforts, navigating mornings is always a bit of a battle between who can get the first and therefore hottest shower (spoiler alert: it's rarely him).
this morning, is sadly no exception to that rule. he'd woken with a start, a good half hour before his alarm should have gone off to keep him from sleeping the day away. he tosses and turns for another five minutes before deciding that he should just up and face the day.
step one? that terrible tea.
peter trudges into their kitchen on autopilot, hair still mussed from sleep, face scruffy from too many nights spent at work, yawning with a hand just barely covering his mouth. he isn't expecting anyone to be there, though he hasn't quite worked out what either marcos's or bobbi's — scratch that — katelin's schedules look like, so he shouldn't be all that surprised that another person is there.
what he isn't expecting is to see a familiar face other than his two roommates at this early hour.
he swallows, clearing his throat as he makes his way to the cabinet with the mugs.]
Uh. Morning. Caroline. [well, this is awkward. at least he's wearing pants.]
Mind passing me the sugar?
this morning, is sadly no exception to that rule. he'd woken with a start, a good half hour before his alarm should have gone off to keep him from sleeping the day away. he tosses and turns for another five minutes before deciding that he should just up and face the day.
step one? that terrible tea.
peter trudges into their kitchen on autopilot, hair still mussed from sleep, face scruffy from too many nights spent at work, yawning with a hand just barely covering his mouth. he isn't expecting anyone to be there, though he hasn't quite worked out what either marcos's or bobbi's — scratch that — katelin's schedules look like, so he shouldn't be all that surprised that another person is there.
what he isn't expecting is to see a familiar face other than his two roommates at this early hour.
he swallows, clearing his throat as he makes his way to the cabinet with the mugs.]
Uh. Morning. Caroline. [well, this is awkward. at least he's wearing pants.]
Mind passing me the sugar?
[ good morning to you too, mr benjamin, and to your sweatpants.
caroline is currently busy making breakfast — pancakes, to be exact, one of the only dishes she knows how to make without a recipe — and a mess of the kitchen. there are a few bowls scattered about with varying remnants of their former contents, splatters of batter and ingredients across the counters, but on the stovetop, the first trial pancakes are currently bubbling away, nearly ready to flip. ]
Do you want the regular sugar or the brown stuff?
[ she's impressed that there's both in the cabinet. she's also not wearing pants... but her shirt is, thankfully, long enough to avoid any major embarrassment on either end. ]
caroline is currently busy making breakfast — pancakes, to be exact, one of the only dishes she knows how to make without a recipe — and a mess of the kitchen. there are a few bowls scattered about with varying remnants of their former contents, splatters of batter and ingredients across the counters, but on the stovetop, the first trial pancakes are currently bubbling away, nearly ready to flip. ]
Do you want the regular sugar or the brown stuff?
[ she's impressed that there's both in the cabinet. she's also not wearing pants... but her shirt is, thankfully, long enough to avoid any major embarrassment on either end. ]
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