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[Snowpocalypse] My Eyes Follow You Around the Room (R 1.4)
Rossi,
You wake up stiff and sore. Your chest and your shoulder hurt like hell, but better than before (still at 6 o'clock). It's dark outside, but there's a small fire in the room, you're still in the Scrapers. The popcorn ceiling is marred by smoke and the wind whistles outside. The whole place sways sometimes, but hey, you get used to it, right?
Poptart is very quietly sharpening some wood into little stakes with a lockblade. She hears you groan awake and looks over at you. "The bullets are out. You should change outta those clothes."
What do you do?
You wake up stiff and sore. Your chest and your shoulder hurt like hell, but better than before (still at 6 o'clock). It's dark outside, but there's a small fire in the room, you're still in the Scrapers. The popcorn ceiling is marred by smoke and the wind whistles outside. The whole place sways sometimes, but hey, you get used to it, right?
Poptart is very quietly sharpening some wood into little stakes with a lockblade. She hears you groan awake and looks over at you. "The bullets are out. You should change outta those clothes."
What do you do?
Comments
I look for my bag while I wait for her to answer.
"Just a few hours," Poptart says as she finishes a stake and sets it aside, then pulls over another table leg and starts whittling. "Found some dried beans. Cook 'em for us?" She indicates the bag with her head, it's lying on a metal end table that used to have a glass top.
"It's just thread, Rossi," Poptart replies with a shrug. "If Frontie makes more trouble, don't forget me, that's all."
How do you two normally spend time? Quiet working? One-sided conversations?
I'm going to clean my gear and gun, patch up my armor and clothes, take stock of my supplies, wash up, tend to my wounds, and exercise. When I'm done doing that, I'm going to do chores: lug her ice-buckets down from the roof, fetch rats from the basement, break up old furniture for firewood, and sharpen her knives.
There isn't much for kindling. Poptart says, "The penthouse is the only level up that I haven't touched. Lots of ice up there. The levels below have those things prowling about sometimes."
What are those things, Rossi? Why is Poptart so scared of them?
It always boggles my mind how superstitious a woman Poptart is. I was wondering why she barred off the doors on levels 3... "Thing" is too generous a term for what Poptart believes is lurking around down there — she thinks there are spirits roaming the halls there. Anima of the angry spirits that fill the night sky. It's bullshit.
On particularly active nights, I'll admit, you can hear howling, banging, and snapping — but the howling and banging is probably just the wind, and when you're up this high on active nights, sometimes the wires start sparking. It's just electricity. Just because her Icer of a brother went nuts and tried to kill her during a particularly active storm doesn't mean there are evil spirits downstairs trying to steal her body...
"It's probably just an Icer that took the plunge, Poptart..." I grab my gun and motion for the door, "Open it up for me and I'll clear it out for you."
On a hit, choose which options are true. On a 7-9, choose one. On a 10+, choose two.
- you find some pre-Fall tech worth 1-barter, you detail
- you find enough supplies to last a couple nights warm and fed
- you find someone down there, MC details
On a miss, there are angry spirits roaming the halls!
(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 3, 5. Total: 9)
Like I said: It's all bullshit.
Anyway, there was some canned food down here that looks good. A couple greens, some fruit, corned beef... There was even a cheap-ass bed that was falling apart I took apart for scrap. We should be good for the next couple nights, at least. Enough that I should be able to rest up some before heading out again, presuming her asshole neighbors don't show up and cause trouble...
OOC: Took "You find enough supplies to last a couple nights warm and fed."
Poptart seems, sort of, happy to see you return. It isn't like she smiles or anything, but she cooks up the rest of the beans and adds some greens, so dinner is pretty tasty, considering.
Where is the best meal you've eaten around here? What was it?
As you drift off into sleep, you hear something. A distant sound, barely audible over the din of the blowing wing. It's maybe two in the morning, Poptart is hiding in her couch like before, the fire has died down, so it's damn cold up here.
That sound isn't talking, Rossi. It's music. A single instrument, playing a tune carries on the wind. Is that... is it a flute or something? Do you recognize the song?
Totally worth it. He fried the whole thing up in this sweet oil that made the skin crackle, but the flesh flaky and soft. Tossed in with some seasoning, and fried potatoe skins, I was putty in his hands. The man knew his way around a woman too, which was a pretty good bonus if you ask me. Not bad for a chubby little guy.
It takes me a few minutes to realize there's music being played at all — the wind blowing made it hard to hear — but once I hear it, I'm definitely awake... It's definitely a flute. There's only one person I know who can play like that: Jester — so named for his hat. I feel called to the balcony, so I slowly shuffle out from the bed, and raise a hand to calm Poptart down. I zip up my jacket, toss on one of my girlier hats, and step out into the dark, cold night.
The song is nothing I recognize. It's light and playful, but complex and impressive all at the same time. It's kind of beautiful... I lean against the railing overlooking the streets below, and listen to the song through to the end. When it is, I whistle low and long — like a lost bird, calling to its flock.
Your whistle echoes against the buildings, flying to and fro like the bird you mimic. For a while, there's no response. None at all.
The wind dies down, and you see a black dot against the white snow, moving forward, plodding, really. Crunch, crunch, crunch is the sound of his mukluks, and then you see him look up to the Scrapers, until he finds you. He's got that silvery flute in his left hand, dressed in black powdered lightly with snow.
This is Jester:
Jester waves up at you. He's pretty far down there, but you think maybe he's smiling?
What do you do?
...
Oh fuck it... I slowly reach up and take off my hat. A breeze catches my hair and blows it about in the cool night air. I reach over the balcony and drop my hat, making a gesture of watching it fall down to the ground below. I've got at least three others, but now I've got an excuse to head down there... So I raise a finger to hold him there, and rush back to the balcony door and whisper, "don't wait up," to Poptart as I grab my sawed-off and walk straight for the apartment door.
I jog down the stairs, my gun slung over my shoulder, bouncing with every step. I slow down when I get to the lobby — I don't want to seem eager or anything — and slowly, but cautiously, pass out into the streets below where I dropped my hat. I hold in a breath as my eyes scan the street to see if he waited for me.
Poptart doesn't respond. You're rather sure she heard you, but she stays in her couch and lets you head on without a word.
You squeeze through an opening that was once revolving doors, but the doors have been crushed by the weight of ice and debris, now only the frames remain. Just outside the scraper, huddled by a snow drift is Jester.
He's holding your hat. He grins when you come out, walks over close enough for his steamy breath to reach you just barely, hands it to you, "You should be more careful."
Jester does that sort of half-shrug he does and grins, "Felt like a night that needed a song, you know?" He grins, "That hat looks prettier on you than the snow." He turns to walk towards an old bank building, slow and casual, like maybe you'll follow. Do you?
"How are you, Rossi?" he asks.
Jester chuckles, "Even moronic sniper scavengers like music, Rossi. Everyone likes music." He does a two step skip and adds, "I'm untouchable. Nobody wants me to die."
After you tell him you're good enough, he taps your shoulder with his own, walking tight, "I'm glad youre dealing, Rossi.... you've been away from here for a bit." Did you wince when he butted your shoulder?
Jester hops back when you wince, "Whoah, hey! Are you alright?"
On your sister, he waggles his head like it's so odd the thing between you two, but says nothing. He starts playing a gentle melody on his flute as you head towards the bank building.
Whats that huge statue you're passing as you come to the lobby?
None of that matters anymore — nobody has money, and nobody would be dumb enough to use it if they did. The only reason I know anything about this place is because Poptart told me she watched her dad drag his old boss up here and burn him at the stake. He called it, "giving his daughter an opportunity to have a fair life." Poptart always smiles to herself when she says that. It's like Mol said... Life isn't fair. Poptart's dad was just one of many short-sighted assholes that did rash things in a panic when shit started going south.
I lean against a wall on my good shoulder as Jester plays his song, and watch him expertly handle that flute... I love a man who's good with his hands, and my smile probably shows that. Nobody would ever take me seriously if I didn't wear that mask... I've got a shit pokerface.
When he finishes, I grab him by the collar and pull him close. "It's cold out tonight," I whisper, "don't you have someplace warm to go?"
The lobby is cracked marble, once something rare and beautiful, now just another place for water to freeze and break. Jester doesn't move away. He slips a hand to your hip and moves his flute to hold it at your back, pulling you into a nose-rubbing embrace. He looks at you with bright eyes and says coyly, "Rossi... are you looking for a hookup? What kind of guy do you think I am?"
I flutter my eyelashes and tilt my head ever-so-slightly, then add, "or I can take my pretty little hat back up to my cold room, and you can serenade the empty streets with your beautiful music all night long... But it's fucking cold up there, and I'd much rather spend it cuddled with a handsome man than with the alternative."
... No offense, Poptart.
Jester laughs, a full, engaged belly laugh, but then he sees you're being straight up. Have you two hooked up before?
He shrugs, "Well, I guess that concludes the romance portion of our date." He leads you towards a set of offices in the back, not sullen, just trying to live up to the "no BS" requirement. He's got a room with a stout door and some blankets The room itself is cool, but the walls are thick, like some kind of panic room or something. No wind to chill the bone. It should do.
Jester hasn't been sleeping here long. He moves around like you, just different reasons. There's a wooden cabinet in the corner with straps on it. When he travels, e puts the thing on his back and goes. A small cast iron pot is hanging from a spit where a fire was. He moves over to start it up again, "Won't be but a moment. Go ahead and crawl under the blankets if you wish."
Anyway, yeah — I've only trusted men enough to sleep with them recently, and Jester was before that. I follow him into this panic room of his, and find a place to set my gun down by the bed. I need a good view of the door, or I can't sleep right. My eyes wander over to him when he tells me to get under the blankets, and I have to tell myself not to help him with the fire — men don't like women who handle their own shit.
Instead, I carefully shuffle down under the covers. I start undoing the buttons on my coat, and taking off my leggings as he works at the fire. "So where are you running nowadays? Looks like you're still on the move..."
Jester fiddles with a clicky little sparker for a while, trying to get his kindling to catch flame. After about twenty clicky tries, he gives up and uses some lighter fluid and a couple precious kitchen matches. He waggles his head when you ask him about his moving around, "I don't run, Rossi. I mosey. Lots of places to play, people to play for."
As the fire slowly builds, Jester stands up and slowly peels off layers of clothing. He dresses in lots of thin layers, the guy is used to being out of doors and surviving. Even though you declared "no BS", he is playfully undressing a bit, smiling and undoing a few zippers slowly. Then he slides under the covers with you, chuckling and grinning like an idiot.
"Hey, I'll keep you warm, Rossi. But if you're hurting... it's okay. I can, you know, stick around." He cuddles up next to you. He kisses your unharmed shoulder and whispers, "Oh wait... that's strings, right? So I guess it's now or never ever?"
I look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and whisper, "you don't need to stick around for me, Jester. I can handle myself. This is just fun... Don't you want to have fun?"
Jester answers as he softly moves your hair out of your eyes so he can look right at you, "Yeah, of course I wanna have fun. I'm not talking about anything else. I just," he leans in to kiss the tip of your nose, "I want us both to have fun, and if your hurt, I can just cuddle. It's mag with me."
I huff a confused laugh and smile up at him. "I'm good, Jester," and I slip a hand under the covers, down towards his waist. "I'm fine... Really. Just don't stick your finger in my stitches, or tug at me too roughly, and I'll have a great time."
... Cuddle?
Jester grins, "Deal. I'll look for more appropriate holes in your body for my fingers," he leans down to kiss you, more of a nip, "And other things." Then he starts kissing you with more passion, suddenly serious and urgent.
I imagine this happens, right? You have sex with Jester, right? How is it? Is he as good as he thinks he is?
Do you two end up cuddling?
Fuck... This was a stupid idea...
Ok: Yes, we're cuddling now, and yes he was better than his enormous ... Ego led me to believe he might be.
Does that change what this is? No.
Will I be sneaking out before dawn? Hell yes.
Will I regret leaving him here alone? ...
Whatever. He knows what this is — he signed up for it. It's really important that you don't let men think they own you. That they can be the person who "saves" you from the big bad evil world. I don't need a fucking hero. I don't need someone who can look after me, and dote on me like I'm some delicate flower to be preserved from the chill of this eternal winter. I'm a fucking product of that winter. I'm strong enough to handle it, and he needs to know that.
I mean, it's not like I'm going to lie here and pretend he's something he's not... He's a decent enough guy, and he was kind enough to consider my feelings, and he was more than generous in the sack; but that doesn't mean shit in the long term, especially when you need to pull out a gun, and feed yourself. The man was playing a flute in the dead of fucking night, and traipsing through the snow like this wasn't gang territory or something. He's going to get himself hurt, or killed; and as much as I'd hate to see that happen, I can barely watch my own back, let alone someone else's...
I mean... You think I left home alone by choice? You think if I had choice of a tag-along, Jester here would've been my first pick?
Think again.
No, I'll keep an ear to the ground for him — but once he's in deep sleep, I'm heading back to Poptart's. I may linger in the doorway a little longer than I'd intended to; but after that, it's all eyes on the prize: survival.
OOC: I'm holding 1. Jester or I can spend my hold to have me come to him when he's in trouble.
In the early dawn, in the dimming firelight, you catch a decent glimpse of that tattoo on Jester's back. You've never gotten a real good look at it until now. It's some kind of animal, right? What is it? What did he tell you about it?
He tried to draw one for me, but it didn't end up looking anywhere near as nice as that tattoo on his back... They really are beautiful creatures, if that tattoo is to be believed.