Hey.

You've reached Callisto's voice mail.

Quite obviously I'm not around to listen to your blather speak with you. So leave a message after the beep.

*BEEP*

To say Callisto was not thrilled at the idea of waking up in a body not her own was an understatement. However she would admit that it could have been worse if she been back at the camp when it had happened, and given her reasons for being out of it, she could turn it to her advantage.

Even if detouring to find some gender appropriate clothing had made her late for her appointment to the apothecary.

"I don't even know why you want this stuff," the man said as he pulled a stoppered vial of the safe. "Most people want to poison someone, they want them all the way dead."

Callisto suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "You're being paid for your poisons, not your questions," she said. "As I recall you're being paid more for not asking them than you are for supplying the drug in the first place."

"Speaking of," the man said as rubbed his thumb and forefingers together. "You can't blame a guy for having some professional curiosity though."

"Just remember what it does for cats," Callisto said, tossing him a clinking sack. "Or you might just end up in the same predicament."

"We're both men who understand the value of discretion," the apothecary replied, counting out his payment.

Callisto picked up the vial, examining it in a stray beam of sunlight. "Yes, we are," she murmured. "Which is why you should consider it your lucky day."

The camp was a scene of great consternation this evening, as Callisto gathered the men on the training ground.

"Forgive me if I'm mistaken," she addressed the crowd. "But I was under the impression that decapitation was supposed to actually kill the decapitatee."

There was a nervous rumbling, then one brave soul suggested "I've seen it happen with chickens sometimes, they run around for a few minutes."

"Does he look like poultry?" Callisto asked, rolling her eyes. "He's been doing that a bit longer than a few minutes."

Another rumbling, this time of agreement with regards to a lack of chickenhood.

"Last week we couldn't keep a fire going and people were dying of paper-cuts, and now we have this happening." Callisto gestured at the headless corpse, which was now walking into walls as it tried to get back to its head. "I've seen some strange things, but there is something seriously wrong going on here."

Dawn was breaking, and the camp was a hive of activity. Callisto watched with narrowed eyes as a messenger made his way through the mass of people to speak with Theodorus. The conversation was short enough, the messenger passing a satchel to Theodorus before moving away again.

"What news?" she asked as Theodorus came up beside her.

"Rumour mostly," he replied, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "There's one you should see though."

Callisto held her hand out. "Don't keep me waiting then," she said expectantly.

Whatever reaction Theodorus was expecting as he handed the parchment over to be read, it wasn't the short bark of cynical laughter. "I'm surprised she's not claiming that everything's better just because she has a soul now as well," came the mutter. "Do we have any proof this is more than a rumour?"

"Not yet."

"Then I suggest you get some, sooner rather than later if you would." Callisto's expression was unreadable. "If it's true, then I'm going to need a bigger army."

Callisto didn't even look up from cleaning her dagger as Theodorus entered the room. "You let the guards get sloppy," she said. "Make sure the new ones learn from their mistakes."

"Callisto?" Theodorus's surprise was evident. "I didn't think we'd be seeing you again."

"Then I guess it's a good thing you're not supposed to be an oracle," she said flatly. "I just hope that you're still better at mustering an army than seeing the future."

Any questions Theodorus had died on his tongue at the look being fixed through him. "They'll be ready."

"Good. Everything in this world burns sooner or later, Theodorus," Callisto murmured, sliding the dagger back into its scabbard. "And I intend on being the one holding the torch."

About the time the nightmares had started getting worse, Callisto developed the habit of spending as little possible time at Piper and Veronica's apartment, returning only when she was too exhausted to stay awake any longer. Hey, at least this way she didn't have to lie to Parker about not getting out. Even if the reason she was getting out was so no one would notice that she was lucky to sleep one night in three.

( Still... (Cut for length, NWS-ness, and potentially disturbing subject matter) )

[ooc: pre-played with myself sideburnsofwar, closed to IC interaction, OOC comments welcome.]

While most people at this hour would be focused on the coffee maker, Callisto was instead engaged in a more than cursory study of the kitchen knives.

All things considered, it was probably kind of disturbing.

Huddled in a doorway, staring blankly ahead, Callisto looked pretty much like an escapee from a mental hospital. The scrubs she'd been wearing were grubby and torn, the fingers of one hand curled loosely around a makeshift stake, and her feet were filthy and aching. Come to think of it, most of the rest of her was aching too.

At least the sun coming up meant she only had to worry about human predators. If she'd actually cared enough be worried that is.

After nearly three weeks in the hospital, Callisto had had enough of it. Enough of being poked and prodded, enough of that too calm woman with her too many questions, enough of her only contact with anyone not connected to this place being Angel's single visit in order to throw her out of the Hyperion.

So she got out of bed and left.

It had been easier than she'd expected, late enough that there were less people to avoid, early enough that a patient out of their room wasn't particularly noteworthy. Just about the only time she was in any real danger of getting caught was the stop at a temporarily empty nurse's station to mess with her records in the computer to buy some extra time. Sure she had to leave behind the few possessions she'd been brought in with, but she'd had less comfortable things to wear than the flimsy hospital garments, and she was only going to miss the boots, really.

In any case, before she was even really aware of it, she was standing in front of the hospital, barefoot and empty handed, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. It was a far too familiar feeling, but, hey, at least this time she wasn't leaving any charred corpses of people she loved behind.

Without really looking where she was going, she put one foot in front of the other and started to walk.

[Not so much for the interaction]

Staring at the room's small television instead of the ceiling for a change, Callisto flipped through the channels, just like she'd been doing all night. She knew that she should be sleeping, but every time she closed her eyes there were (I kinda like you...cool, smoothly muscled, flesh under fingertips...This, now, it's nice) images, and she found she preferred the bland infomercials and blander tele-evangelists. Anyway, it wasn't like there was anyone who'd even care whether she was getting a good night's sleep, or that a lack thereof would affect how she was healing, at least no one who wasn't getting paid to care.

She changed the channel yet again. It took several moments to realise just what was playing, but when she did she hurled the remote at Liam Neeson's head hard enough to crack the television screen.

Callisto scowled and rolled as far onto her side as she was able, telling herself that her eyes were only watering because it was late and she hadn't slept. Besides, she'd never liked that movie anyway.

Callisto stared at the ceiling. The way the bed was set up she could have examined the sparsely furnished room without much effort, but she didn't want to. Not again. Ceilings, at least, were meant to be blank.

Her neck itched. Past the drug-induced muzziness and bone-deep weariness that blunted her senses and blurred the edges of her world, she could feel it. The dull, nagging, burning of healing skin and flesh. It was probably going to scar, another constant reminder of failure to carry with her. Occasionally her fingers twitched with the urge to scratch, but on the whole it was easy enough to deal with

Not like the questions, the endless questions. From the nurses (How are you...?), the doctors (Have you ever...?), the police (Who did...?), the woman who was trying so hard to be calm and soothing that it set her teeth on edge (Why...?), Callisto was glad her neck made it near impossible to do more than croak out a syllable or two right now. It meant she didn't have to give voice to the lies that lay on her tongue, thick and bitter as poison. Instead she could just lie and look at the ceiling.

And wish she could just scream.

Wiping tears from her eyes, Callisto hung up the phone, and carefully placed it down on her desk. When she was sure that the tears had stopped, she took one final look around the room to make sure everything was in order.

All her possessions were neatly packed away in her bags, just like they'd been ever since she'd gotten here. Well, nearly all. Her yearbook lay on the desk next to the phone, bookmarked by a necklace.

Satisfied she was as prepared as she could be, she pulled away the furniture that had been barricading the door since Friday and unlocked it.

Then she sat back down and waited.

[Potentially disturbing content in the comments.]

After several days spent sleeping in nightmare filled fits standing the shower and scrubbing until her skin was raw preparing in her room Callisto finally emerged.

She knew what she wanted, and wasn't going to stop until she had it.

Bye, bye, houseboy.

After the night she'd had, Callisto was surprisingly calm when she woke up.

It might have been the drugs, it might have been the need to process an entire lifetime of memories, many of them the kind you'd rather forget.

Or maybe it was just because she was saving the incandescent rage for when she actually got her hands on Logan.

Taking Parker's advice not to leave the hotel, Callisto decided to spend the day redecorating her room.

Unfortunately, when she started going through her bags she quickly realised not only didn't she recognise any of the things in the bag as belonging to her, but also that apart from a few scattered pieces of clothing and jewellery, everything in them was either weaponry or armour. All of which seemed to be sized for her, and as far as she could tell, which wasn't all that much, well used and cared for too.

Which would be why she was currently curled up under the bed in the midst of a full blown panic attack.

[So very, very open to the people in LA.]

Callisto stood before the bank of candles, the nose twitching at smell of burning incense and melting wax. She didn't like temples. Hadn't since the first time she'd stood in one at fourteen. Of course, the fact it had been on fire at the time might have had something to do with the bad associations.

( Shaking her head... )

An hour or so after passing out in her room, Callisto came to, put on the nun costume, and made her way back to Angel's room, curling up next to Seely in the bed and passing out again.

Pity she was too drunk to make sure she had the right room.

[ooc: locked, so very, very locked]