multiversallogs | (no subject)

Who: Barbara and Wolfgang
What: Barbara tracks down one of the victims in the first leaked Militia tape to have a chat.
Where: Badside!
When: Now!
Warnings: Probable discussion of police brutality.

Barbara isn't quite sure about this plan, and she has the long trek from Brock Marsh to Badside to brood on it.

It wasn't incredibly difficult to identify Wolfgang, or to pinpoint his living arrangements when she did. She might not have the resources she did, but that's what she does. Analysis, research, patience – she still has all of that at her disposal.

She's been sitting on the information for a while now. She didn't want to intrude on his recovery from the Militia's brutality; she probably wouldn't now, if the new broadcasts hadn't gone out. But she needs every scrap of intel she can get. Besides, she might be able to do him some good.

Or I might get nothing, and push him into a downward spiral.

She's working with unknown factors here; she's never met Wolfgang before, she doesn't know how he's handling this, she doesn't know how he'll react to her. She hates leaving so much to chance.

But as she steadily closes the distance, she becomes more and more certain that this is something she needs to do, if just from one survivor to another. So she doesn't hesitate at the inn's entrance. She doesn't rush down the halls, but she doesn't delay either.

She does stop, for a moment, at his door, gazing at it pensively before knocking.

She hopes he likes the tea and cookies.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Barbara listens intently. She won't need to take notes, as long as she listens.

It's not easy to hear, it never is, but it's not unexpected. She's seen how police states work, from a distance; shooting first and asking later, using the veneer of legitimate investigation to harass and intimidate, sweeping brutal mistakes beneath tapestries of red tape, using peoples' needs and addictions and connections against them.

When he finishes she leans forward, just slightly. Her voice is still quiet, but intent. "Thank you." She'll need to ask more questions, but he's given her so much already, and he didn't have to.

"Mm." He takes a last drink before setting the bottle down -- he's not trying to get drunk, just a little numb. He wishes it were more of a relief to have said that out loud instead of just screaming it in his head, but it isn't. He feels guilt and shame and this tight, anxious knot in his stomach, and that's all.