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[Snowpocalypse] In the Out Door (D 2.1, R 2.1)
To Dice:
The smell of the dead permeates the clinic. FemPoke has finally given up on trying to revive her male self or brother or whatever. Now she's sitting on a small stool, a red one on wheels she would use to sit at just the right angle during operations. Ones that her male self assisted her with. But that's over and done with.
Skwee and Bleep are holding Jester so you can do what you want to him. He's already told you what he swears is the truth. The stranger, the one who blew away MalePoke, he saved Jester's life at a hospital, twice. So Jester got some help for him by bringing him here. The story seems legit, since he did bring the stranger to Shedd Aquarium for a ride.
What have you done to him so far?
To Ross:
What story did you give Gnu when he brought you into the Pier? You passed a pair of bloody tarps with your victims underneath, still where they were dropped. Then, you're headed to the clinic, right? The streets are nervous, and guards are armed with clubs, shields and pistols, looking warily at any and all.
Both of you:
Rossi comes into the clinic, looking rough and a bit dazed from a pumpkin knot on her forehead trickling blood. Rossi, you see a numb FemPoke, the person who could heal you. There are no lines, no waiting, but it doesn't look like she's open for business.
What do you do?
The smell of the dead permeates the clinic. FemPoke has finally given up on trying to revive her male self or brother or whatever. Now she's sitting on a small stool, a red one on wheels she would use to sit at just the right angle during operations. Ones that her male self assisted her with. But that's over and done with.
Skwee and Bleep are holding Jester so you can do what you want to him. He's already told you what he swears is the truth. The stranger, the one who blew away MalePoke, he saved Jester's life at a hospital, twice. So Jester got some help for him by bringing him here. The story seems legit, since he did bring the stranger to Shedd Aquarium for a ride.
What have you done to him so far?
To Ross:
What story did you give Gnu when he brought you into the Pier? You passed a pair of bloody tarps with your victims underneath, still where they were dropped. Then, you're headed to the clinic, right? The streets are nervous, and guards are armed with clubs, shields and pistols, looking warily at any and all.
Both of you:
Rossi comes into the clinic, looking rough and a bit dazed from a pumpkin knot on her forehead trickling blood. Rossi, you see a numb FemPoke, the person who could heal you. There are no lines, no waiting, but it doesn't look like she's open for business.
What do you do?
Comments
I told Gnu (mostly) the truth... That I was beaten up by some asshole in a mask. I pointed him in the wrong fucking direction, then played all helpless. Men eat that shit up. Seeing the corpses I left at the gate kinda spooked me. I think I lost most of my color just staring at that bloody sheet. They backed the wrong horse alright... Fucking hell...
The walk back to the doc's is a long one. The lack of compression on my chest has relieved some of the throbbing pain, but made moving all the worse. That, and I'm in a sport's bra that's two cup sizes too small – great for concealment, shit for support. When I round the corner to see the mess in the clinic, and spot the female counterpart of the man I just killed looking downtrodden and generally fucking useless...
Great.
I try and avoid Dice and Jester ... for the moment ... What the fuck are they doing to him, anyway? I look over to the group out of the corner of my eye, and approach Poke. "You the doc here?"
It takes a moment for it to register with Poke, that you're talking to her. She blinks away a couple tears, then looks up at you with watery eyes. In a sorrow-colored voice, she answers, "Yeah."
She blinks a couple more times, like her brain is flicking on like a set of fluorescent lights humming up. "What are you offering? You're obviously fucked without me." She sniffs once, sits up a little from her slouch.
I unzip my coat, and daintily lift my shirt up to show the bruising on my chest — and likely the fresh blood from my bullet wounds, considering the shit I've been through today, and point to the obvious inflammation, "and this?" I give her a serious look, "whatever that asshat did to you had nothing to do with me. What the fuck do you want me to offer you? Jingle? His nuts on a platter? A shoulder to cry on? Take your pick. Just please don't make me go find another doctor... You're the only chick doc I've heard of in, like, forever."
Oh, that's some beautiful leverage for a Manipulate. I want to see the dice tell me how THAT went over.
(Rolled: 2d6-1. Rolls: 2, 6. Total: 7)
Poke exhales sharply through her nose, then pushes against a wall to stand up. "My mother died of a Cerebral Aneurysm when I was nine. You see, she ran this clinic before I did. She never gave herself a checkup, too busy taking care of everyone else. As a result, her berry aneurysm grew until it ruptured, and she died of a stroke. I found out what killed her when I performed my first autopsy. Then, I took over the clinic, and I've been stuck here ever since. Too valuable to let me leave, and until today, too valuable to let me die."
She looks over at her... brother? Her... self? Then back to you. "Follow me," she says dully as she heads to a small set of booths that are hidden by curtains from the rest.
When you come in, she closes the curtains behind you. They're on a big shower rod suspended from the drop ceiling. "Strip. Let's figure out all the shit wrong with you. When was your last exam?"
Holy shit... I almost look as bad as I feel...
Poke doesn't relent, "Strip means strip. Nothing I haven't seen before, and I promise we will have an equal amount of displeasure when I grope you."
She crosses her arms and waits for you to comply, which I assume you do?
Sure you do, not much choice, and she is offering you privacy and what passes for her version of respect (not sugar coating or slacking). Poke moves forward to conduct a gentle yet thorough examination, even checking for yeast infections and cavities.
She's able to give you enough pain meds and bandages, stitch and meatmech, biostabs and chemostabs to heal you up to 6 o'clock. You know damn well she just blew some serious barter on you.
Turns out FemPoke is still pretty fucking good at her work.
What do you do?
Poke glares at you for a long moment.
"That fucker's head in a bag. And don't come back here asking for meds until you deliver."
What do you do?
Poke purses her lips, like she's working her way through an unpleasant memory. "Well, if you believe it... put on a dick and that's it. Your height, thinner, a bit. Hard eyes. Smelled like stale sweat, but well, that's not rare. Jester knew him. I think Dice is working on that info. He used a shotgun, buckshot. It's not much... I know. But I swear to you, I'd know him if I ever saw him again."
Poke shrugs, like she's a little too detached to care about your souvenirs or even Jester right now, "Whatever floats your boat. Just avenge... me. Alright? I saved you, just now, from a life of pain. Shit I pulled out of you and stitched back together, would've never healed right."
Jester is just sitting in a chair in the middle, with one of the twins' hands on each shoulder.
"Jester, man, your posse sort of split on you, didn't they? Man, what kind of superstar gets ditched by his entourage exactly when the shit starts I mean seriously? "
Dice grabs a frozen I/V pack, bites a hunk of the the plastic off, starts licking the frozen glucose solution absent-mindendly.
"See, I have a problem, and that problem is that your buddy Ross just fucking wasted my Man. And you two came in with me, which means someone might get the wrong idea that I had anything to do with this shit, which is a problem because reputation."
Dice looks down at his enzyme pop and grins.
"Aw, sweet, this has some kind of fucking... ana... fucking... anasthetic? Or something! Seriously, it's fucking totally dope. So, I'm gonna finish with this, and I'm gonna tell you, I feel pretty fucking good right now, and you're gonna tell me every last fucking thing you know about Ross, and then depending on how you answer, we'll take you for a ride, or we'll tie you to the chair and go back and tell Poke you waltzed in here knowing what Ross would do and you think the entire thing is fucking hilarious. All I know is that I am not gonna feel nearly as good when I finish this thing. Seriously, we need to find more of these, Dubz."
He plops down in the chair across from Jester and starts rummaging through the tray full of instruments haphazardly, like he's looking for ideas, slurping loudly on the slowly melting IV Pop.
Jester's not yet frantic, but he is becoming concerned. He realizes the world of shit that Ross left him in, and how awful it looks that a doc, maybe the doc is dead.
Dubstep nods about the meds, "Totes my goats, Dicey."
Jester answers, "So yeah, I didn't even know his name was Ross until you just told me. I just met him today. He up and saved my ass twice, once from falling down three stories in the hospital, then on the way out, we ran into some Cs who tried to hold us up, and he shot one in the face. Saved me twice! So I owed him, since he got hurt pulling me off that ladder, right?"
Then Jester pauses, like he's worked through this, but still doesn't have the answer, "It's on me, ok? Not you. I trusted Ross, you just gave me a ride. If the Pier Guard want to lock me up or whatever, then that's on me, you know? Listen, Dice... I wasn't trying to pull anything over on you. This guy, I thought he was a Good Samaritan. I had no clue he would up and shoot Poke... for being an asshole. I mean, folks are assholes all the time and don't get shot, right?"
Now that you're healed up, you come out to overhear Jester's "confession", sounds like he's said it quite a few times now with a hoarse voice.
You're free to go, and Ross is safe for now. Keep in mind, Jester saw your eyes. Called them pretty. He might know you. Or figure it out.
Do you walk? Or are you going in there with Dice and his Skegs?
Damn it, Jester.
I lick my lips, and slowly make my way over to the walk-in freezer... My hand hovers over the handle for a few long seconds before I finally steel myself enough to open the door.
"Jester?"
Jester is there, looking a little antsy with a Skeg holding onto each of his shoulders. He jerks when he hears your voice, "Rossi? Hey! Hey there!" He starts to stand, but is firmly kept where he is "wanted" and relaxes a bit. "Listen, this might be a bit. I should maybe catch up with you later? We're just having a chat."
Jester, you idiot.
I sigh, and look over to Dice — who I know is in charge, but I don't think has ever seen me out of my gear. "Hey! You! What the hell are you doing scaring the piss out of that poor guy?"
"We're just cuddling, isn't that right, J?"
[Ah, one of Jester's groupies. She must be pretty dedicated to be walking into this mess. Wonder what her deal is and how far she'll go to try and get him out, and what exactly she's got on him?]
"HAhahahaha! Oh man, that's fucking awesome. You say that like it actually means something! Holy shit, hats off, Jester, because this some serious fan service you are getting here right now, son."
Dice turns and fixes her with an unblinking stare.
"Why do YOU give even a single fuck about this little weasel, kid? You don't look like an easy score, but the rock star's a better judge of that than I am..."
Jester interjects, "Hey Dice, Rossi had nothing to do with Poke's... thing. Alright? Leave her be!" Skwee backhands him, quick and hard.
That causes Jester to pitch forward, but Bleep holds him up. And chuckles, "Whoopsie!"
Dice sighs and looks up at the ceiling.
"Look, kid, I know you're sweet on him and all, but he set all this in motion, see? He staked his rep on a stranger and it blew up on him. If it helps, think of this as a slow-mo explosion that started ten minutes ago and is only juuuuust reaching him now. There's ab-so-fucking-lutely nothing for you to do right now but wait and see if he survives the blast."
Dice tips up the bag and slurps the last couple drops, then folds it neatly and tucks it into a zip-up pocket of his racing togs. To Jester, without looking up:
"Tell her to skate, J, she's in over her head here."
"I'm not skating until you let Jester go!" That probably came out a little more forcefully than was prudent... "Poke just fixed me up for the low, low price of that asshole's head on a platter, and it just so happens I know that asshole."
I give Dubstep a pissy grin, letting her know I'm not in the mood to see her treat Jester like shit, and add, "if you have beef with Ross, then you're better off working with me."
He slowly, very slowly, fishes them out of a pants pocket to hand to you, Rossi.
Dubstep asks loudly, "The fuck is this shit, Rossi? Fucken happy pills?" She's going to snatch them away if you don't do something, Rossi.
"Hidden fucking depths with you, J. The momma's boy act explains a few things, though."
Dice turns to Rossi.
"YOU. Fan girl. Do you LOVE him? Like no shit, genuine article, would fight that masked dog-fucker for him?"
[What are you really feeling as you answer? (You've been writing out your internal monologue, but I am presuming anything you don't say out loud I don't 'know', so answer as you would if we were at the table)]
"What?!?!" I huff, incredulously, "Look, if you want help finding this asshole, I'll help you find him. I told you, Jester's a good guy — I don't like it when assholes threaten good people."
I'm feeling fucking conflicted is how I feel. I like Jester, and if I love anybody, he's probably the best candidate — but a lot of men have done bad things to me, and some of them even said they loved me, so I'm really uncomfortable saying that out loud. I'm also feeling pretty desperate that you believe me, and guilty that Jester's in trouble.
"Didn't think so. If you know who fucked up Pokeman you tell me who he is right now or gtfo. Your goodguy hasn't said anything even remotely fucking useful yet, so if you don't have anything, we leave him for FemPoke and go looking on our own."
[How can I get you to tell me who Ross is underneath the mask?]
You've gotta prove you're on Ross' side before I'll tell you who's under the mask. I need to trust you to keep the secret, and not come after me. If I feel even remotely threatened, I'll go so far as to let you fail to beat it out of me. I'm pretty sure I can take the beating, and give as good as I'll get.
Dice makes a "get her out of here" gesture to the gang and turns his attention back to Jester.
"So where was I? Fuuuuck crashing off this OHYEAH, you like to go around telling anyone who will listen that you're fucking invincible because music. I cannot have you telling people you used us to get Pokeman whacked and then skated back to that fucking yeti with a wink and a song. I BELIEVE IN REDEMPTION, that a body can make up for youthful indiscretion with present action, BUT! And this is a big, hairy but... "
Dice starts to snicker.
"you need to (snerk)... You need some kind of ..heh... YOU NEED A REMINDER TO KEEP YOUR FOCUS."
Dice zips down the collar on his suit to reveal brutally scarred rope burns encircling his neck. They're old, but they were deep, and healed funny.
"so.. Hah... So... (Snort) pick a spot you'll remember. And if I think you're lying, I'll pick it for you. Then we're square, and we can go look for Ross."
... That was me, wasn't it?
"Damnit, Rossi, take the meds to moms! Even if that guy walked in here right now, it won't bring Poke back." Jester implores, "He told me he was bad news, but I thought I saw good in him. Like I see good in most folks. Most everyone. But he murdered Poke, just for being an ass. The best doc in Chi-Town is dead... er, sort of, because I trusted that guy. Dice trusted me. I fucked him over, and now, I get what's coming to me."
He sits back, then looks up to you, Dice. He points to his left leg, "I need my neck and arms for singing and playing. But I don't have to dance. Just... make it right for you. I learned my fucking lesson already."
"Good man, good man. Hey, is that Elvis?"
Dice points and when Jester inevitably looks in that direction, whips the ice axe down hard on Jester's left foot, cutting off his toes.
Cue the inevitable screaming.
"No, man, no, you did great! We're totally square now. Lemme get the doc for ya."
Dice pats him on the shoulder paternally and hollers for Poke.
Yes, screaming and blubbering pain. The kind of sounds a person unused to pain makes, really. Undignified.
(edited out Poke's reaction, since Rossi would go first)
Uhm, well, Dice's crew is going to object to that. Because reasons.
Let's see you Seize that Axe by Force, Rossi.
To Dice:
Lil Rossi objects to the deal you made with Jester. She wants to borrow your axe. Feel free to interfere here, if you'd rather keep it.
(Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 6, 6. Total: 15)
• Take definite hold of it.
• Suffer little harm.
• Impress/dismay/frighten your enemy.
You shove past Dubstep to get to Dice. Skwee and Bleep are busy trying to hold Jester and they did NOT see that coming. I'm going to say they don't get a shot or a punch off here.
To Dice:
Rossi blows in here to grab your axe. You can interfere, and I figure you will. But this chica is a demon right now, and she's got the axe. She's going to hit you with it.
"Kid, you need to fucking chill! Jester CHOSE this, took it like he was hard, you gonna shame him now?"
Dubstep and the twins, they're stuck, not sure how to help Dice and blown away at the sudden reaction of a girl they didn't think too much of before.
Of course, Poke is hearing this and coming to the freezer, but the place is crowded. Not sure she's going to be coming in with this fight going on.
"Calm down?!" I growl, brandishing the axe in his general direction, "the only choice you gave Jester was which fucking body part you were going to chop off! That's not a fucking choice! That's a fucking ultimatum! I fucking told you not to touch Jester, and you fucking ignored me!" I take a few deep breaths, trying to remember that Jester needs help now. I narrow my eyes, and grip the axe a little tighter. "Oh, but now I've got an axe — funny how people always pay attention to the crazy bitch with the axe, isn't it? So here's my ultimatum: you're going to pay for Jester's fucking treatment, and then you're going to walk the fuck away."
I take a step forward, "and if I so much as hear of you or the Skegs breathing on Jester again, I'm going to hunt you and your fucking gang down. Got it?"
"Baby, you had me at 'crazy bitch with the axe.' I honestly have no fucking idea how you think this world works, but I do love that you've got spunk."
He waves a hand around the cramped little room.
"You may be crazy, but you're also smart enough to know that the first person who gets iced if this shit doesn't chill right now is your squeeze."
He nods admiringly at the skinny thrashing Jester.
"Props, man, that was pretty bad-ass."
He grabs another drug-infused frozen saline pack and holds it to his rapidly-swelling left eye.
"So, ah, you ever want to do that again in a more, ahrrrrr.... recreational context you know where to find me."
Waving off the Skegs, he saunters out of the walk-in, shrugging at Poke on the way by.
"Sorry, FP, he was punked as much as we were. He'll be more careful next time, no worries."
The Skegs follow you out, blown away by this turn of events. Even Dubbie is a bit shell-shocked by it.
Poke looks at you as you exit, "What do I do with Jester, man? You covering his bill like she said?"
"Well, if you ever wanna find out who blew away Pokeman, he's the only one who knows how to find him, so I'd take this one pro bono if I were you."
He reaches out so Dubstep can hand him back his MP5.
"Someday we'll all look back on this and laugh,J!"
Dubstep hands you back your lil sub-machine gun and gawks at the fact that Rossi is keeping your axe, it seems.
FemPoke goes into the freezer when you leave, probably to check on Jester.
"The hell was her problem?" Dubstep asks nobody in particular. "The a-hole gave us permission."
Skwee laughs, "Jester is such a pussy. Some whack nut has to fight for him."
Dice, where are you headed?
Dice and the Skegs take off, leaving you with Jester, who's trying to suck it up, but he's in a ton of pain. He came here a bit hurt, if you recall, and didn't get treatment. FemPoke comes in after they're gone, curses in surprise. "Fuck."
She comes around to look at his foot, which is bleeding profusely. "Get his shoe off."
I will not be fucking ignored.
"Huh?" I whisper as the door shuts behind Poke, "Oh, yeah..." I help Jester over to an examining table or something, and start helping him take his shoe off. I put the bloody axe down beside Jester, and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's gunna be OK, Jester," I whisper, "we're gunna get you fixed up, OK?"
Once the shoe's off, I grab my bag and open it up, "take whatever the fuck you want from there as payment... Just, fix him up good, ok? Please?"
Poke heads out while you're helping Jester with his shoe. He's huffing sharp breaths as you peel it off him, so much blood. He tries not to whine, but fails. Once that's done, he slumps in the chair. He's lost the big toe, you see it in the part of his boot that Dice chopped off. Also, a couple toes are gone, but you think you see in the gore that his pinky toe might still be there.
There's a sound of Poke's little cart and tray as she wheels it in. She comes over and does a quick look-see. "Here's the deal. I can't save the toes. I don't have the equipment for that, nobody does. I can stitch him up, even give him some meds for the pain." She hunches down and picks through your bag, looking for barter. What would she find?
Poke's probably digging through a bunch of shit right now... Warm clothes, a few philosophical books on living in the wilderness, and feminist theory that Poptart gave me, condoms, my pills, some food... Really anything she wants, she can take. "Just do your best to save him, OK doc? This just decides how bad I stick it to those fucking Skegs later."
Jester's a little too out of it to enjoy the kiss. The rag does its trick. He tries to fight for a moment, then relaxes, falls into it, and he's down for the count. Out.
Poke starts working on the foot, cleaning the wound. She's good, not as good as your dad, but good. "What meds did this idiot get for his moms? Why didn't he come here for them?"
I scowl at her when she calls him an idiot, "don't call him a fucking idiot!" It's harsh, but my voice is kind of frantic — a mixture of furious and terrified — probably because I've seen my dad lose patients of amputations to infection many times. This shit is fucking dangerous! I shake my head, "sorry... I'm just fucking on edge is all."
I pull the cloth away, and set it down next to the bottle. "I don't fucking know what the meds are called; but I'd imagine if you've got shit that keeps your brain from rotting, then Jester would've come to you. Given that he's working on a musician's budget it's not like he could fucking afford it, could he?" I shake my head, "his mom's real sick... He told me once she was never going to be cured — that she could only manage her sickness with these fucking injections," I motion down to the crate of meds, and clean syringes, "she's a good woman... She raised a good son."
"Sorry to hear about his mom. Really." Poke adds the last bit to make sure it seems sincere. It does, mostly. "I'm doing my job here, but this is the id... the guy who brought in my murderer." She's done with the first toe, working her way up to the big toe. "So, pardon me for not being charitable. I'm not a fan."
Suddenly, she blinks hard, a couple more times, starts looking around, a little dazed. She reaches a bloody hand up to wipe at her forehead, doesn't register she just smeared blood on herself. "Some... what the fuck?" She rocks back from her position where she was hunched over Jester's foot and sits down on her butt unceremoniously.
"I feel...dizzy. Or something. Hold on a minute." She drops the scalpel to the metal floor, it clinks and bounces then settles.
What do you do?
I eye her dubiously as she dazes off, dropping her scalpel. I'm more fucked up than she is, and I don't feel woozy. I reach over to grab her shoulder, "Hey... What's up? Jester's bleeding here, Poke — this is not a good time to PTSD on me."
... Is she OK?
Poke starts mumbling, talking quick, "He'd do this work, he loved it. I loved it, too." She wipes at her forehead again, then pulls at her collar, smearing more blood. "But I was research, he was doctoring. I mixed it, he used it. We had a system. Its so empty, so quiet now. Like an echo went away and now, just. Me."
She's sort of losing it, Rossi. What do you do?
I squat down in front of her, and narrow my eyes, "I learned a long time ago that the only way for people to take you seriously is to walk the walk. Yes you're suffering — but nobody else is going to give a shit. You need to be the doctor now, and learn from what happened here, so you can live to remember him. Otherwise, you'll just end up another used-up dead chick in a ditch. Do you want that?"
She looks at you, angry and hurt and lost, "He was more than my brother, he was half my soul. I... there are tattered pieces of me now. I'm barely holding on. I don't WANT to fix this asshole! I don't want to help you! Used up dead chick? I AM DEAD! I died..."
Her nose starts running, she just slumps down again, hands falling to the floor. She doesn't even try to wipe away tears. Her body wracks with sobs.
I grab her by both shoulders, and shake her a bit. "Hey! Poke! Wake the fuck up! You're not dead!"
Now is not the time to be pulling this shit on me! I take a deep breath, and focus. "Poke... Life is full of choices. You're free to make whatever choice you want — including not treating Jester — but you'd better be sure you can live with the consequences of your actions. Remember how I paid you to fix Jester? That's an agreement we made together that you would do your job for a price. If you won't do your job, and help me, then why should I fucking care about giving you that masked asshole's head?"
Is that how things went for you at home? Were you Poke? You seem to be pretty good at this kind of shit.
After an agonizing stretch of her simpering, she reaches down to the floor and scoots herself back over to Jester, sniveling and sobbing the whole time. She lowers it to a whimper, at least, and picks up her scalpel, wipes the drying blood off on her white shirt, flat side of the blade, of course. She doesn't cut herself. Not yet, anyways.
It takes much longer now, what with her shaky hands and pausing to wipe the salty tears out of her eyes when they burn too much. After a small forever, she announces, "Done. He'll need something for the pain, will take some time for him to walk again. I have crutches. Over in the pink room, just take them." She slumps back down, then puts a hand to the floor and lowers herself down to lay there.
If she's smart, she'll remember that next time someone comes into her infirmary with a shotgun. If she was smart, she'd have put a bullet in my head the minute I started threatening them — or at the very least listened to me.
I spent the early years of my life begging my Dad not to hurt the people I love. He never liked me much — he tended to ignore me, actually. I guess you could say I was like Poke, because I presumed that because I was my Dad's daughter, and that I threatened to tell on him, that he would listen to me. I thought I was safe. I thought talking would convince Dad otherwise. I was fucking wrong. Poke thought that because he owned this infirmary, and there were people with guns around the corner, that he was invincible. He was also fucking wrong.
I let her work on Jester, watching her closely to make sure she doesn't do anything stupid, then relax a little when she announces she's done. I follow her gesture over to the pink room, and watch her lie down on the floor. I grab my pack, close it up, pick up the axe, grab the crutches for Jester, and come back to help him wake up. I don't have anything else to say for Poke. She did her job, and she listened to me... If she wants to lie there and mourn her brother, she's earned that.
Takes a few tries to rouse Jester. He groans awake, then looks down at his foot. After sucking in a breath, he says weakly, "Shit... it wasn't a bad dream." He tries to sit up with your help, asking "What do we do about my boot?"
He glances over at Poke, "Is she okay?"
I follow his gaze over to Poke on the ground, then return to look at his pale face. "She's better off than she thinks she is. What size boot are you?"
He ends up clumsily taking the crutches and trying to hobble out of the freezer.
I help him out of the freezer, and watching him as we leave, "you got a place to go recover? Your moms' place is a ways away, isn't it?"
Jester chuckles, "If he'd cut off my cock, we'd both be sorry." He grins, which turns into a wince as he tries out the crutches with your arm over him.
Out of the freezer now, heading out of the doc's place, starting to get dark. "Moms place isn't close, no. Can't hitch a ride." He leans over and kisses your cheek. "Can you, ah, help me get over there? I promise you some grub, even a song or two. My undying gratitude. All the above."
I nod, "yeah, I'll get you there — so long as you promise to stay put until you recover." I don't know that I trust to leave my shit in that duffle bag the whole way out to Jester's moms' place — besides, I might need my shotgun on the way.
"We, uh... We just need to make a little pit-stop first, OK?"
You're outside now, in a hallway in the Pier, a few people around, but most folk are looking around you, ignoring you, since you're outsiders.
You chat with Jester and he nods, supports his own weight with a hiss of pain, but leans on the crutches. "Pinky swear, I'll stay put. Longer than you would, for sure. You, ah shit, you sexy badass."
What do you do?
I walk a short distance, mulling over the fact that he thinks I'm "sexy", then ask real low, "Jester... That guy in the mask... I know him. Do you want him dead?"
Jester looks at you, real serious all the sudden, like you asked him a vitally important question. He frowns for a moment, then says, "No. I don't want Samaritan dead. He saved my life. Twice. If I'd known it was a toes for meds trade up front, I'd do it again." He winces, tries to get his balance.
"I don't get it, though. I'd like to know why he shot dude Poke. I mean... the guy was pretty funny. Had a nice singing voice, too." Jester looks at you, sees the emotion in you. He says, low, like you did to him, "I just... I don't fit most places. I don't get it, like how this world works for everyone else. I don't understand why he killed Poke after helping me."
(Rolled: 2d6. Rolls: 6, 5. Total: 11)
I don't look him in the eyes. I'm still watching his feet until he gets the hang of walking on these crutches... "Poke wasn't without his flaws, Jester. I'm not going to defend what your Samaritan did, but I know him well enough to know why you're alive..." I look him up and down, then answer, "you didn't make him kill you... He comes from a fucked up place Jester, and when he feels threatened, the first thing he does is turn to violence — because it's the only thing he knows that works. Most people default to violence and threats, because they're insecure, and that's why you don't fit in..."
I pause, and I look back down at his feet, "that's why you're here, and Poke's not: because Poke threatened the Samaritan — and I mean on a survival level, not some macho, bullshit, cock-measuring level." I frown, like I think I might be sprouting too much bullshit from Poptart's books, "you get what I'm saying?"
Jester listens, makes eye contact, and despite the bits of pain, follows you. "I get you. It's just... most folk come from fucked up places. It sucks, because its this circle that keeps going round and round. Samritan had a fucked up life as a kid. Turns to violence. Kills Poke, which fucks up Poke. Now some people might not get fixed up when they need it. Maybe it's somebody's mom, or their dad. Now that kid, that might've had a chance, now they're fucked up. So they step into his shoes."
He starts trying to walk on the crutches, like the act of standing here thinking about it is irksome, painful and altogether not something he can solve. "Rossi, you're tough, but you're kind of wonderful, too. Not like Samaritan. I just don't get him. I still don't know what dude Poke did. I mean, the guy's a dick when he's running the shop... just..."
Jester shrugs, "Oh, what the what. It's done. I lived. I owe you, big time."
You're headed for the gate, right? Stopping anywhere, like market or whatever, before you go?
... Well he's fucking wrong — and that really sucks because what he's saying is kind of beautiful, if really fucking naive. We're heading right for the gate. I don't want to be out here anymore. I want to get out into the drifts, and get Jester home so I can get back home.
I'm mulling over what happened back there, and realizing that by not telling Jester I was really the masked Samaritan who saved his life — twice — I've effectively put him in a worse position... He can't give me up to save his life. By not knowing, I'm kind of putting him at risk... And he already said he doesn't want me dead...
Or ... well ... Ross, anyway ...
I wait until we're well outside of the Pier before finally stopping him, and whispering, "Jester... I'm not wonderful." I sigh, and avert my gaze... There's this weird mixture of shame and anger in my eyes as I kind of blurt everything out at once... "I'm the one who found you at the hospital, and caught you when that ladder almost gave way... I'm the one who got those C's to back off, and shot Poke, and fucked up by leaving you back there with Dice when I should have taken you with me..."
I look him dead in the eyes, so he can get a good look a those "beautiful" eyes he saw back there in the hospital... "I'm Ross... And this whole mess is my fucking fault."
Let's say the two of you are headed down Shore Drive. Shore was a really popular road before the Big Freeze. Now, it is littered with the frozen shells of hundreds of cars. Most are half chipped down and stripped bare. This is a graveyard.
"Oh...."
Jester blinks, searching your eyes to see if you're serious. He realizes you totally are. He swallows, searches your eyes again, his mouth open in surprise. "Thank the fucking Preservers. I thought I'd turned gay or something! I kept getting these vibes, and like, looking at him, uhm, you and... holy shit! Where did your boobs go?"
He stands up a little, then leans his butt against the side of an SUV for support. "So, like I owe you how many lives now?"
OOC: Spending hold 2/3 — What is Jester really feeling right now?
Jester's still sorting through things right now. He's really into you, you know that. He's busy trying to file away the good parts of today and hold onto them, and sliding past the confusion and loss of Poke. He feels safer near you, trusts that you would protect him, as evidenced multiple times. He saw you stare down Dice and his whole gang.
Deep down, though, he's a little scared of you. Not what you would do to him, but what carnage you might cause around him.
He's also honestly glad he wasn't attracted to a guy, which he thought he was for a few hours. Not that being gay is bad or anything. It's just, an adjustment, realizing you might be gay. But no, you're not. He was a she. All good. No paradigm shifts needed.
I guess since I'm on a roll with telling the truth, I might as well be honest. "Anyway... you don't owe me anything. I really wasn't going to cause trouble with Poke — but then Molotov was there, and I've seen him do horrible shit to women he likes... When Poke wouldn't treat me in the back room, I fell into the habit." I shake my head, "Ross has this image about him... People know not to fuck with him — but sometimes I get backed into a corner, and people get hurt."
I put a hand on his shoulder, "you're now in a club with three people, including myself, who know this... Ok, Jester? I meant it when I said that I've pissed people off. You've seen that. I'd appreciate it if you could just keep that information to yourself for now... At least until I can figure out what to do with it."
I'm taking him to the hiding spot where I left my gear. I won't be changing up, but I'm definitely not going somewhere without my shotgun.
...
Also, I'd just like to say: everyone's a little gay... Some more so than others. If you ignore the fact that Jester thought I was a man — which I was certainly trying to make him believe — I guess it says something if Jester was willing to "go gay" for me... That's kind of cool...
I nod when he asks if Hadden might lend us his truck, "he might. I thought you wanted to get to your moms' place quick though." I can't help but smirk a little at that... Fucking Jester, rubbing off on me with his stupid jokes. I clear my throat, and zip up my duffle bag.
I know this is kind of weird, because it's not something I normally do, but I'm watching Jester as we walk back out of my hidey-hole, and back into the streets. I'm looking for things I do that make him feel a little more at ease. Stuff that helps him move past the horrible shit I did today...
OOC: Spending hold 3/3 — How can I get Jester to move past what happened here today?
He hands it back to you, "Nah, I can't pull off badass. Not my style." He laughs, "Learned somethin today. Crutches suuuuck on ice."
Jester's pretty damn resilient. He'll learn to move around before too long, and for all his whining, he is tough enough to have survived this long traveling by himself. As for "what happened here" with you and Ross? Time. It won't be immediate. He trusts you, when it's you and him only. Around his moms, also, no problem. But for a while, whenever you're near anything threatening, he's going to be pretty wigged out. One thing you can do, show him you can work past rash violent reactions. Make sure you point it out, and that will definitely help.
I reach into my bag and hand him the painkillers Poke gave me after I shot ... Well, Poke... "You need these. Take them for your foot, OK? Where's Hadden staying these days, anyway?"