revivalproject | (Network & Log) somebody to lean on

[the video feed cuts in to show Clarice, freshly showered, wet hair pulled back, dressed in the silk pajamas she arrived in - because she needed a little comfort, a little piece of home. she's got a cup of tea cradled in her hands, and while she still looks a little tired, her eyes are clear and present]

Hey, everybody. I think I've met most of you by now, if only by seein' you at the community meeting a month or so ago, but if you don't recall, my name's Clarice Starling. I know we've all been through a lot the last few weeks, and this isn't a place to point fingers or blow off steam... I just want to let you all know that I used to work with victims of violent crime, so I now a thing or two about lending an ear after people've been through trauma. If you feel comfortable with coming to talk, my door's open. I'm two floors down from the Deep End, the one with the metal star hangin' on the door. I'll be happy to take the time.

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WHO: Clarice Starling & You
WHERE: Clarice's room (or anywhere else you might want to meet up)
WHAT: Talking out the aftermath of Bill-E-tropolis
WHEN: The week after they all return to Temba
WARNINGS: Discussion of trauma, flavors vary! Please label your top levels for folks.

A: Clarice's Room
The metal star on the door Clarice mentioned is a decoration she picked up on Coruscant - made of some sort of light, fine alloy that shines green like light underwater at the right angle. She hasn't done much else to make the little run-down hotel room hers yet, save for set up a bundle of blankets and pillows in one corner to sleep on, and put in hooks to hang her clothing on the wall. A few pads of paper sit next to the bundle, and there are a few extra pillows for company to sit on. She's already sketched a few things: vistas from Coruscant, a few rough portraits of familiar faces from home, before they're too lost to memory. She's no Da Vinci, but they're passable enough.

When the door opens, she's sitting on her makeshift bed, one of the pads in her lap, making herself a list of the tasks she wants to catch up on. At the sight of a familiar face, she smiles.

"Hey, come on in."

B: Dealer's Choice
(Start your own TL if you want, she's flexible.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ezra broke into a relieved smile, that Clarice seemed to understand. Not everyone would, he didn't think, or they'd at least think would think it sounded like a sad way to live.

He follows her gaze. "You left the Bureau eventually, right? That didn't change anything about how things stood between you?"

"Well ... no," she sighed. "Something else did. I don't mind sharing the story, but I'd have to warn you, it's not a happy one. Part of what started my leavin', actually."

"He died," Ezra concludes, voice very soft. It's a guess, but...it fits the general shape of her emotions.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to."

"No, it's fine." She shook her head. She was past the anger and the grief of it, and only the hard, smooth nugget of truth at the heart of it remained. It had taken her years to smooth off the rough edges of the memories until she could hold them without getting cut, but she trusted Ezra: he had been solid, earnest, and kind since the day she'd met him on the First Breath.

"The government of the town the FBI is headquartered in - the nation's capital, actually, sort of like Coruscant was the capital of the Inner Rim - had some folks that, well like any government, were more corrupt than most. One of them, the mayor - which is like a marshall, I guess, for you? - had a drug conviction on his plate. So he had the FBI team up with the DEA, which is the Drug Enforcement Administration - to try and find the folks who were making and distributing drugs in his area. John and I were the ones chosen to work the bust: that's what we call it. You wait in a large paneled, unmarked van - about the size of one of those shuttles?" She gestured with her hands. "And when you see what you're looking for, you 'bust' out of the van and arrest the folks responsible."

She pursed her lips, remembering the way it had all started: trying to catch a nap in the back of the van, her head back against the wall, sitting as close as possible to the dry ice they'd placed for coolant. The smell of the men's sweat thick in the small space, the way they'd been so skeptical of her presence until Brigham had vouched for her, then yielded to her expertise.

"The DEA guys were all hot-headed, more used to going in hot than waiting to see what was going to happen. They were all about making the arrest, getting the glory and the front page news, you know? But John and I had dealt with the woman in charge of the drug ring before. She was dangerous - to the point that she'd hide infected drug needles in her braids. Not someone to go in hot with."

Ezra listened quietly. "More people who got caught up in power, and forgot they were supposed to be helping people," he concluded.

"Exactly." A quiet fury turned the single word to lead. "We brought the van over to a fish market, where we knew she had - we called it a 'lab', the place where they made the drugs, but it was more of an abandoned warehouse. It was early in the morning, so the market was busy: lots of people bringing in what they'd caught, people looking to buy. We'd hoped that would keep the woman - her name was Evelda - from starting any trouble. She came out with two bodyguards and her baby strapped in a sling across her chest."

Her voice hitched in her throat a little at that, but she had enough distance from it at this point that it was easier to tell. "Then I saw a great big long, low car pull up with some more of her men in it, armed. I tried to tell everyone in the van it was a bad idea to start anything until we had backup. John agreed." She closed her eyes. "The head of the DEA called it anyway and they all busted out of the back of that van like their asses were covered in ants. They opened fire. Evelda had been hiding a machine gun underneath the sling, used her own baby as a weapon blind, and fired back. So did the guys in the low-rider. It was ... to understate it, a mess."

"That sounds a lot like how the Empire operates. I mean, the DEA part of your team, as much as I hate to say it," Ezra says cautiously.

"No, you're not wrong. The system has a lot of flaws, and letting people behave like that is the biggest one. ... The one that got John shot down."

She sighed. Ezra had probably seen it coming, but somehow at the time, she hadn't. She'd thought he was invincible: one of the ones who had been a constant presence in her life. It was silly, infantile: even more so when she'd already lost her own father to the perils of law enforcement so many years ago. That day in the fish market had been her final lesson to never take anyone's presence for granted.

"The firefight kept going - they got in the car, and tried to run. John got up, bless his heart, he got to his feet and got right in front of them, tried to shoot the driver and stop it. ... He missed. The car caught him, threw him - but going for him, they ran straight into another car. I managed to get through, to Evelda. In the end, I had to kill her. I managed to do it without hurting the baby, but ... it was a complete disaster. And that idiot, Bolton ... the hothead ... he dared to try to pin it all on me."

((OOC: Had to rewatch this clip to make sure I got it straight. If you're interested in seeing some canon.))

Ezra nods, slow and solemn. "Just your word against his, and you took the killing shot once everything blew up, so..."

"Exactly." She heaved a sigh, more thoughtful than sad. "It was sorta the beginning of the end."

She'd told quite a few people about how her career had ended, now. Sometimes it was hard to keep track of who she'd told it all to. Either way, sitting here with Ezra now, talking about Brigham, she wondered if it could have all gone differently if he'd survived. Not much use thinking too much about it, but ... it was still an intriguing concept. Maybe, she decided, losing him had been a good thing in the end. Leaving the FBI had been the first step in throwing a heavy quilt of issues off her shoulders.

"I can see why," Ezra says, soft and sympathetic.

"So. How are you feeling about the memories from this last month?"

Director Starling had seemed pretty sure about SHIELDs place, from what he remembers of that talk at the school. Maybe that had all been a mask, but it seems very different from Clarice-as-he-know-her wrestling with the nature of power.

"It's a little complicated. I'd bought right on into it and been a happy camper, but once the Agrii put their little messages up, it all fell apart. Like someone shattering a tinted glass window and letting me see through to what was really inside."

She shakes her head. "I've had time to think about it. I understand why SHIELD did what they did in that world, but ... they weren't doing a lot of things properly, or with respect to the folks they were recruiting. Anyone I may have made mistakes with while I was there? I intend to talk to them personally, make amends as best I can. It's the most I can really do."

"That's sort of the big question, isn't it?" Ezra muses. "How much that other version of each of us was us."

(Network & Log) somebody to lean on - forward-dated

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cw: drug mention

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cw: gun violence/child endangerment

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