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[NU] Apologizing [Ru2.1, Cl2.1, Th2.2]
Rue, Clarity, Cinch drove like a bat out of hell to get you to Monroe as quickly as possible... Everyone worked their asses off to get Clarity into Bish's — again — and Bish did his best to not prod you about making an appearance so soon after he'd fixed you up... He didn't have a hell of a lot in the way of supplies to fix you up, but he did his best to pull out the slug, and stitch you back up. "You're fucked for pain meds, Clarity... Sorry... Just tough it out for a while. Come in regular so we can make sure you ain't infected." He discharged you, Clarity, just a few hours after fixing you up — claiming being at home would do you better than being cooped up in here for no reason other than needing a bed.
Rue, you mentioned Clarity getting shot after going out on your request was weighing on your conscience. I suppose that's why you're here with Clarity, walking him back to the Library. You've got some privacy together on the long walk back. What's on your mind?
Rue, you mentioned Clarity getting shot after going out on your request was weighing on your conscience. I suppose that's why you're here with Clarity, walking him back to the Library. You've got some privacy together on the long walk back. What's on your mind?
Comments
"Clare," I say when we're alone. "I let ya down. I'm sorry ya got shot. That sniper fella was a helluva lot faster than I figgered." I lookit 'im, "Ya wanna stop by my place? I'll get ya some painkillers."
We're walking slow, of course, and I'm concentrating hard on not grunting with pain every step. "Seems like it's getting to be a thing, Rue, you walking me places after I get shot. You're a regular angel of mercy."
A few more slow, excruciating steps. "Rue, you don't owe me anything. I ran to draw his fire, and I drew his fire. Moment I had out there, I saw a bit... of his history. You had no way to know how he was trained, how his life was focused on that one thing, that he was shooting his father's gun. We couldn't have known." A particularly awkward step, and my gasp of pain is sharp in the silence. "That said, though, I would certainly appreciate something to take the edge off. And ideas about replacing, maybe improving, my protection." I gesture at the mess my hand-riveted vest has become.
"Well, c'mon then. It's sorta on the way, more er less." I veer him off t'ward the church. "I got some rotgut that'll fix ya right up. Takes the edge off." I'll give 'im some support if 'e needs it.
"What ya mean ya saw 'is history. Izzat how ya see the maelstrom?"
I won't lean on Rue unless I need help getting past an obstacle. "Usually, it's only glimpses, how the world was... before. Sometimes, though, I feel how it was, sometimes connect with someone who was around before. Shooter's father was Greene, a warrior who could not deal with peace."
I don't drink to excess, much, but I'm guessing that I'll need more than a bit of Rue's rotgut tonight.
I give Prim a nod o' greetin', lead Clare on inside the buildin'."I don't see nobody new in 'ere." I look 'round, aint nobody else here. An I don't know why, but I tell 'im, "My ole gang talks ta me. Sometimes, they just gimmie hell. Sometimes, they tell me shit that matters."
I check the tape, pull out the key, unlock my door, head on in ta turn onna light, "C'mon in, darlin. T'aint much, but ya can take a load off." I aint changed outta my gear, and my shoulders hurt somethin' fierce. Wouldn't mind if 'e'd come in fer a spell, let me get comfy in my lazin' 'round clothes.
I've never been in Rue's private space, and I hesitate before crossing the threshold. Still and all, it'll be good to sit down and maybe have a swig of something to cut the pain. I head in and sit heavily on the bed, conscious that I still smell of blood and sweat. "You mentioned a drink?"
When 'e comes in, I put Shelly in 'er place onna table, an then take off my flak jacket, hang it on it's hook. "Yeah, Clare, I did." I walk o'er to my desk, lean o'er and pick up the fifth o' alcohol I use fer cleanin' my gear sometimes.
"Aint got any glasses right now, broke the last couple." I walk o'er to 'im an hand 'im the bottle. "That there's five-sip shine. If ya can make it ta five sips, then it won't take yer breath away no more. Gillie cooked it up. I swear, she was tryin' ta make paint thinner er somethin'."
My shoulder where Shooter... well, where 'e shot me, it's all angry purple an red. Hurts ta lift it. I'll be taking a coupla swigs offa that bottle later. Once 'e's busy with the bottle, I turn 'round ta my desk, an drop trou, shuckin' my big ole pants off real quick. Aint doin' it sexy er nothin', just wanna get out o' them suckers. I reach with my good arm ta grab my shirt where it's hangin, an pull it o'er my head. With only one good arm, it aint easy. But this time I aint drunk, so I struggle fer a bit an then I'm decent.
As decent as I get.
I turn back 'round, wait till he offers me a swig.
I can appreciate Rue's lean body, understand the scars and hurts. I look, sure.
I know it's not wise, but I've been struggling with pain for weeks. I'm guessing five sips in a go is worth the attempt. I bring the bottle to my lips and pull. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6. I pull the bottle down, hand it off to Rue, coughing more than a little, which stretches the bandages and makes me wince. "You're right, Rue. That hardly tasted like poison at all, right there at the end." I sit still, wait for the hooch to have its effect.
I take the bottle, chuckle when 'e calls it poison. Force o' habit, I rub the heel o' my hand 'cross the mouth o' the bottle, an then I turn it up. No sippin', just one good ole swig.
This shit takes my breath away. I wince as I bring the bottle down, an cough a lil. "Shit.... good." That's 'bout all I get out fer a bit. Eyes water up a bit, an I wipe at 'em an smile at Clare.
I hand 'im back the bottle, then sit down onna floor where I can still lookit 'im.
I take the bottle, look at the liquor through the glass for a long moment. "Yeah, smooth. Thanks for sharing." Sure, Rue missed an opportunity out there, but I have to wonder if that's all the reason for this generosity. She's looking. I wonder what the point is, and don't like wondering. I try to take people at face value, these days, but...
(Rolled: 2d6+3. Rolls: 4, 5. Total: 12)
Helping the Read:
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 3, 1. Total: 6)
"Clare..." I say, lookin' up at 'im. He looks mighty nice on my bed. Too bad 'e's all frakked up. "Ya talk 'bout old days from time ta time. An I know ya used ta run an raid. What... well, what changed?"
[OOC: 1 of 3-hold: what's your character really feeling?]
I look to Rue, ribs aching from the cough. Take another swig. Rue's right, it doesn't hurt so bad after the fifth one. "I moved on, Rue. Killing for killing's sake lost its luster." So much I'm not saying, and I know Rue expects more, but the story is hard. Hard to remember, hard to tell. I've had to force this on Rue in the past, herself unwilling and resistant. Wonder why she's asking now.
I reach up fer the bottle, take 'nother swig. Don't burn as bad this time. Wonder what I'll clean Shelly an Mag with next time. "What 'bout killin' fer jingle? Er food? How zat diff'rent from killin Hugo's a-holes?"
How'm I feelin'? Lost, Clare. An lonely. Thirdie's scared o' me. Scared o' most folks, but 'specially me. Only folks that talk ta me reg'lar are dead.
[OOC: 2 of 3: What does your character wish I'd do?]
I sense Rue's loneliness, her lack of connection. She needs this story, but... it's hard to tell MY story. Tell it truthfully, without the mythification of my usual fare. "I don't kill out of anger. I don't kill for personal gain. I don't kill lightly. That's the upshot. The end result. The path from where I was to where I am was long and complicated, and it's a hard story to tell. A lot of death and despair before I found my way."
"Ya don't kill outta anger?" I ask as I hand the bottle back. "Shit, Clare. That's the best way ta make sure don't nobody else make ya angry. heh" I laugh a lil. My lips are numb already. Good. Tongue's tinglin', too. Oh five sip, I love ya.
"Way I figger it, Clare." I tell 'im all matter o' fact, "Hugo's a bad frakker. An 'e's comin here ta take what 'e wants. An there aint many folk that'll stand up fer Monroe." I stand up, head a lil woozy, but not so bad. "Me an you, we're gonna be doin a whole lotta killin'."
"Is yer library worth it, Clare?"
What do I want ya ta do? Stay here with me t'night. Howe'er ya like. I wanna sleep in my own bed, an I can't do it alone.
The booze has loosened my tongue. "Hugo is... a problem. And we'll stand up for Monroe together. I'll do the killing I need to do to protect Monroe, keep it safe."
I grab the bottle, take another swig. I'm tired, and the pain in my side has faded to an ache with the help of five-sip. I unlace my boots. "Rue, not sure that I'm good to get back to the library tonight. Mind if I take another sip and lie down on your floor until morning?"
"Yeah, I mind!" I say as I reach up an take the bottle outta 'is hands, take a swig an hand it back. I swallow that belt o' shine and I swear my eyes swim fer a second there. "Ya aint takin' my floor in yer condition. Juss lay back, Clare. This is a big ole bed."
I kinda drop ta my ass an scooch o'er ta 'is boots, start helpin' 'im outta them. I take care not ta flip the toe up er hurt 'im, just nice an smooth. I don't think he wants ta frak, don't blame 'im since I keep gettin' 'im shot. Still, it's a bit o' a trade, a night on this here bed after all the hurt 'e got workin' with me. "Lay on back, Clare. Yer gonna love it."
I'll take the bottle so's 'e can lay back. I know once 'e hits them pillas, 'e'll be a goner. I swear, e'en shot up like 'e is, Clare sure is a purty fella. A girl could get ideas. If only he weren't frakked up, I'd be invitin' 'im ta bed fer a whole 'nother reason.
I do as I'm told. Hand Rue the bottle, let her help with the boots. I lay back on the pillow, swing my legs up. Rue's bed is soft. So much softer than the cot I sleep on. As my head hits the pillow, the last swig of shine hits. "Rue? Your bed is so soft. I wouldn't have guessed that your bed would be so soft."
I answer 'im froma floor as I'm takin' off 'is boots, "Yeah, it's mighty soft. Paid extra fer it. Had fellas haul it a whole town away." I think 'bout helpin 'im outta them pants. I hate sleepin' in too much clothes, feels all tight, hard ta relax. O' course, he looks real relaxed now.
After a minute, I realize I'm just starin' at 'im on my bed. Just standin' like some fool. So I walk 'round ta 'is good side, an lay down onna bed aside 'im. I'm on my side, an I aint touchin' 'im. But I can feel how warm 'e is.
I can smell 'im, too. Which don't mean 'e smells great, seein' as how we got in a big fight. Gonna hafta wash all my sheets. But that's tommora. "Clare." I say when 'is eyelids are gettin' droopy. "Anythin' else I can do for ya?" An I'm sayin' it soft. I'm tellin' 'im I'll do what 'e wants, 'cause I feel like I still owe 'im.
I haven't shared a bed with anyone since... well, for as long as I've been Clarity, plus a little. Feeling Rue next to me and not wound to her usual spring-tightness is pleasant, and if it weren't for the pain and the booze, it would be more than pleasant, I think. I hear the question and understand the motivation. "Yes, Rue, there is something..." I close my eyes and smile in the darkness. "Tell me a story?"
Aw, Clare. Ya coulda had a beej. An ya just wanna story? Guess I did say anythin'. I smirk at 'im, wonderin' if he's playin' a trick on me or summin.
"Well, lesse..." I make like I'm thinkin' o' somethin' real fine her him. "A while back, Ize out on my own. I'd lost my gang then, an this is afore I came ta Monroe. Ize all by myself, walkin' 'round down south, in a forest summin called Sterlin'. Aint so many Anoms down 'ere, but theyze some gangs, so ya gotta keep a lookout, ya know?"
My hand comes ta rest on Clare's arm. 'e's got big muscles, hard from years o' work. I like the look o' his dark skin against mine. "Anyhow, Ize walkin' along a lil stream, was the first water I'd got in a coupla days, so Ize fillin' up a jug ta carry. Theyze lotsa trash an shit 'round, so it was easy 'nuff."
Clare looks like 'e's 'bout ta fall out, so I drop my voice a lil, lettin' 'im know somethin's 'bout ta happen, "As I'm all hunkered down by the stream, this big ole hairy monster comes up by me, stops at the water. I swear, Clare, that beast was 'bout twenty feet away. All I had then was Shelly, an I was loathe ta just start firin', so I watched it. It was 'bout ten er 'leven feet high, had ta weigh as much as Tilda's truck. I figgered I could eat offa that sumbitch fer a month!"
I lick my lips thinkin' 'bout it. "It lumbered all 'round on its big ole paws, an then i splashed on inna water. Didn't care 'bout me atall. Just started watchina water. An then it just snaps its ole paw inna water and caught itself a fish! Outta nowhere, didn't think that big old monster was zat fast, ya know?"
My hand's crept up ta 'is chest, just a little, smoothin' 'im, just touchin' soft. "An then two lil ones, well, ya know, lil ta it, 'bout as big as me, they come runnin' up, splashin' inna water outta nowhere. I 'bout pissed myself Ize so s'prised! An momma beast tosses a fish ta 'em, an gets back ta work. They ripped that wriggler in half, an wandered back onna bank ta eat their parts." I lookit 'im true, "I aint ne'er had raw fish, but Ize sore hungry, and that shit looked good, Clare."
"After a while o' watchin' 'em, momma beast, she catches 'nother fish. Got it up in 'er maw. An 'en... she wrenches 'er big ole head, an that damn fish comes flyin' at ME! It's all wrigglin' and flyin' at me, an I shit you not, I scremed like a lil girl. It hit the bank in fronta me, and I snatched it up afore it wriggled back inna water." I pause, makin' sure 'e's still listenin'.
"Robbie called it sooshi. Whate'er it twas, I ate me raw fish in fronta three big ole hairy beasts. An I tell ya true. It was frakkin awful." I smile, 'cause my story's done.
I chuckle, almost too soft to hear, but Rue will feel it in the hand that's on my chest. Her touch is surprising - gentle and comforting. The story was a surprise, too, and a delight. I'm very tired, my eyes still closed. "That was a wonder, alright, Rue. You dining with a family of bears." I sigh. My hand moves up to cover Rue's on my chest, and through closed eyes I imagine my dark skin on her paleness. "Thank you. For the 'shine and the story, and the comfort."
'is chest rumbles as 'e thanks me. It feels real nice, 'im bein' 'ere, layin' in my bed. I wriggle a lil 'til I'm under 'is arm. Clare don't hafta put hands on me er nothin'. I'm keepin' my hand on 'is chest, his big ole muscley body's plenty warm, but I pull up a sheet o'er us anyhow.
Aint got much more ta say, unless 'e wants it. I could sleep, too.
Drowsily enjoying the warmth of Rue's body against me, I finally sleep. The shine offsets the pain for the most part, so I don't wake up every time I shift.
Morning, and when I come all the way awake, Rue is already up and dressed, cleaning Shelly and humming softly. My head is clear, and the pain's faded some from a night's rest. My stomach rumbles. Rue looks up and meets my eyes when she hears the faint noise. "Morning, Rue. Thanks." I slap the bed. "I might have to get one of these."
I stop hummin' when 'e talks at me. Pause where Ize rubbin a cloth with the shine onnit around Shelly's barrel. "Mornin' Clare." I glance past 'im at the bed, "That one aint goin nowhere. Can't sleep onnit alone, so if ya feel the need, c'mon back when ya wish." An if yer healthy, Ima frak ya. Don't say that out loud, o' course, but well, 'e knows.
When 'e gets up, I start strippin' the sheets. "Headin' home? I'll walk with ya, headin' ta wash at the lake."
I smile at her comment about the bed, and the subtext.
I get to my feet, wincing. Put on my shirt and vest, sit back down on the bed to pull on and lace my boots. "This vest is a waste. Know anyone that does good work?" Eventually I'm ready. "I would really appreciate a walk home, now that you mention it, Rue. Still moving slow and awkward."
I'm tempted ta just hop down 'ere an lace 'is boots, but I aint 'is girl er nothin', so I don't. 'e asks 'bout gettin' 'is vest fixed. It needs ta be replaced, really. I'll ask Thirdie if 'e can help look fer one. Er I can take one off onea Hugo's a-holes. Still, I answer 'im, "I can tell ya who could work onnit, but ya aint gonna be happy Doghead's prolly yer best bet.."
I fold the sheets up till I can throw 'em in a lil pack, an then I walk out with Clare. No vest today, just headin' ta the lake, no need. I hope. Lock, tape, an head on. "Clare, darlin', aint none o' the movin' ya do looks awkward ta me." Shit, I sound like some dandy whore, don't I? Best check myself.
"Ya oughta take a bath soon." I say. An then I realize 'e might take it wrong, "Fer the wound. Wash it out. I got soap I'll loan ya if ya aint got any." I'll mosey along at 'is pace, no need ta rush.
Maybe 'e'll hit me with a story.
Doghead. I keep my mouth shut for the moment, but resolve to be careful until I can get something new in trade. I chuckle inside at Rue's flirtation, keep my face still, though. Don't want to patronize or offend.
"I've got soap, Rue, but thank you. A bath is about the first thing I'm going to do when I get home. For the wound... and the stink."
There's a bit of silence, and I ponder on a story Rue might find interesting and important (what I do when there's a bit of silence). In the end, though, the Library's in sight before I hit on something that seems to fit the moment. It's been a long few days.
Clarity, how did you sleep last night? Anything about the church catch you off guard?
Rue, how did you sleep last night? Any dreams catch you off guard?
Both, when you cross the threshold into the Library proper, something about it strikes you as off... It's humid in here. More humid than it should be. You also hear a constant dripping noise up on the top floor somewhere.
I slept like a baby. I slept better 'an when Ize with Harrow an Foster, better 'an when Ize Jones' dog, better 'an the gang days. I just laid down, an slept. No dreams that I 'member. I feel better right now 'an I felt in years.
That's why Ize hummin', why I'm flirtin' so awful bad. A girl could get used ta nights like 'at.
I slept great, too, especially considering the pain and the unusual circumstance. Interesting to see Rue in a church. On the way out, in full light, though, I notice the statue. Some Saint (Mary? Saint Anne?), obviously once painted but now left with only a few flecks of color. The thing that catches my eye, though, is the streaks on her cheeks, still damp and rust colored. Strange, but poignant.
Once we enter the Library, I'm immediately on point. "Rue, I hate to ask, but it will take me forever to get up the stairs. You mind checking the top floor, see where the leak is? I'm going to check the room where I keep the... artifacts." Getting shot is no big thing, really, as long as you recover. Losing my trove...
I nod, "Sure." Only my shoulder hurts, not my feet, so I bound uppa stairs, movin' light without my armor. Damn, I hate wearin' that jacket.
Grateful that Rue's here to take the stairs, I make my way to the safe room. Pull out the key, open the door, face already dismayed before I see what waits for me.
Rue, you get upstairs, and it doesn't take you too long to find the problem... A tile on the ceiling has fallen down, soaking wet, and water has been draining through that hole all night. There's a massive puddle on the floor half an inch deep, and some of the rugs here are ruined beyond repair. A bookshelf nearby, containing a few old books that weren't in overly great shape, are now sopping wet. Probably ruined.
When you look up in the hole, you see a massive crack has formed on the concrete roof... You don't know the extent of the damage, but it looks really bad. It's not leaking everywhere, but this library is in dire needs of repairs if it's going to stay standing for much longer.
What do you do?
I call out, partly ta Clare, partly 'cause it sucks, "Got a leak! Shit, this aint good." I get ta movin' books that aint wet away, an then I yell down ta Clare, "Got a hole in yer roof, go get Prim an Putrid an 'em. Need some help movin' shit around!" I aint leaving till I done all I can.
Clarity, are you heading out to get a posse? If so, is it just Putrid and Prim you're grabbing?
Books first, like I said. Anythin' ta catch the water, that's smart. If I think I can plug the hole, I'll get up 'ere. Movin' 'em books first, I know Clare cares a whole bunch 'bout 'em.
I head out the door. May not be too fast, but I can still fill my lungs. I do, against the ache. Call out. "Need help here! Anyone hear me? Need help!" I didn't say "fire" or "flood," so anyone in a pinch shouldn't be giving up something too important, but I'm hoping someone hears and respects me enough to come.
Robinson, Thirds, and Cinch, If you helped out, feel free to chime in.
Rue, Shan worked as hard as anyone else, making sure to go through as many books as possible, and salvage what he can. You can't help but notice that Doghead isn't here, or his buddy Gnarly. When you've done all you can, he approaches you and says, "Shame this... Lotsa good books gone. Didn't figure you for a bookworm..."
Clarity, Roark looks really upset about this. He's running his fingers along the fissures in the ceiling, and asks, "If the Library's this bad, I can't help but wonder what else's is fallin' down, y'know? I'm real sorry 'bout this Clarity... What books were up here mostly?"
Can't help but notice Shan workin' hard. That's good, real good. When 'e up an left after I covered 'is ass with Doghead, not that 'e's guilty o' nothin'. Anyhow, good ta see 'im again.
We're finishin' up, as best we can, an then he's talkin' at me. I leer at 'im fer a second. "I aint no worm, Shan. Just helpin' Clare, this shit's all 'is." I pick uppa book er two, an move it, an then take a seat onna brokeass heater er somethin'. "How you been? Figgered you mighta took off."
I'm definitely all over the place. Hobble up the stairs and answer Roark. "Mostly fiction and such. Some cookbooks. It's not which books, in particular, it's the loss in general." A pause for breath. "We can't afford much more loss, Roark. Already on the edge, and Hugo on the way. If we're to go to war, next week, next year, we need to know what we're defending. What Monroe stands for. Today, and tomorrow." I heft a number of volumes off the shelf, grunting with effort and pain, and put them in the wheelbarrow Shan's pushing, with a thankful grimace/smile.
"Doesn't matter what falls down, Roark. What matters is what we shore up, what we build."
Totally help Clarity. I can haul. I can lift, I can bucket brigade. Those cracks look ugly. I wonder what else is close to collapse. I look at folk, at houses. "I should check roofs. Anyone who wants."
Aw, shit, I really liked this issue of National Geographic. Some of the books might can be saved. Some worse than toilet paper. Gotta try. Careful peel pages, lay 'em out to dry. Kinda like tobacco leaves. Gross things. This is better.
When I see Rue, I don't know what. My ears turn red. I try a smile. I probably look like shit. Covered with sweat and grime and muck. "Hi." Fucking Casanova, me. I wonder about the hot water heater and Rue and I blush harder. I almost trip on a mass of wet tile. Crap. "See ya?" I try to get back to work. Need me zen.
Clarity, Roark looks a little troubled at the mention of going to war... You know he doesn't like fighting. "You're still convinced we can't talk that out with Hugo, huh?" He looks disappointed, but his mood shifts when you go back to talking about shoring up Monroe. He nods in agreement. "you know folks here respect what you're doin', Clarity... Monroe's here for ya if you think you need it. All you gotta do is ask!"
He points up at the cracks and leaks in the roof, "What're you thinkin' to do about that?"
OOC: Paul and I discussed his Touchstone "hope" moves last night, and came to the conclusion that they would be firing under different circumstances. So we'll just disregard that one for now.
"Roark, you know I won't stop stop talking until a few minutes after the first shot is fired, and even then I'll still be open to listening. I hope we can work some understanding out with Hugo."
I don't say it, but I'm thinking that Hugo has a nearly unlimited ability to recruit thugs, the afraid and wild and wicked, whereas we have only the souls we call ours. A dozen, maybe two or three if you count all the fellow travelers and regular guests and traders that water here occasionally. Roark can essentially field an army, in the terms of this latter age, while we can wave a few guns and raise our fists.
I look up at the network of cracks, swear I can see it spreading. This place and I are linked, though. I cannot abandon the Library, although there are dozens of viable buildings that I could claim.
"I fix it, Roark. Somehow, I fix it."
I lookit Shan, "Ran inta somma Hugo's a-holes. We had some words. Kilt a few." I tell 'im plain, like it aint nothin, but I figger I'll get a real look at 'im.
"Went ta the ruins?" I ask, int'rested. "Seen Harrow er Foster?" Well, s'been a while. I may go an see 'er lil brother.
Reading Shan:
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 4, 5. Total: 11)
+1 XP
• What does Shan wish I’d do?
Rue, Shan squints in contemplation when you announce you killed a few of Hugo's men, but two things are evident: He doesn't know who Hugo is, other than the fact that his name is mentioned around town negatively; and two, he's split down the middle about killing people... You can tell from his face he doesn't like it, that's evident, but he also carries a rifle... In the end, he doesn't comment on it.
Then you ask about Harrow and Foster, and his face turns sour. "Yeah. Her and her asshole brother were chatting up some scavs about their finds. She likes to talk that one... I don't like her." It's evident from his tone of voice that he's still sour about Corbett. Frankly, he wishes you'd make that situation right and turn Corbett over to Doghead.
I chew on the inside o' my lip as I lissen. When e offers 'is opinion o' Harrow, I shrug, like I don't blame 'im too much. I don't like 'er much myself, but I sure as hell miss 'er.
• how could I get Shan to let the Corbett thing go? I know he aint gonna bring it up er nothin', but how do I get 'im to just ferget it.
I give 'im a lil grin, "Ever seen a floatin' Bago?"
Shan's eyes narrow at the question, "... No? Where the hell is there a floating Bago?" He cocks his head back inquisitively, "What're you thinkin'?"
"Heh." I answer with a bit o' a smile. "Wouldn't you like ta know? Be nice ta me, an mebbe I'll show ya. S'agood spot fer sippin' shine an shit."
I figger the cans o' food I got offa Hugo's Boys might shut Doghead the hell up. Been meanin' ta go by an talk at 'im. If we're done, might as well make it now. Damn, s'already been a long day an aint had breakfast yet.
Everything that's in decent shape from upstairs is now laid out in a wide pattern on the main floor of the library. The volumes that are rescuable, but wet, are outside in the sun, pages spread to dry. The irrecoverable, lost to triage, are in a pile to the side, drying for kindling. The ceiling, the roof, are a mess. I don't know how to fix this.
I'm looking at the long stairway down, contemplating the descent, how I'll manage it without showing how much pain I'm in, when I see Rue walk back in. Thirds is close, working hard to help. I raise my voice to include everyone in the building. "Thank you all. Thank you so much. I don't deserve your help, but I cherish it." I meet Rue's eye. Something changed between us last night. Whether it was during the bear story, before or after, I don't know. She's with Shan. That's good. He's a good kid. I clap Thirds on the shoulder, whispering, "Help me get downstairs? Don't want to impose, but I'd like to not look decrepit while we do it..."
He probably shouldn't be walking. I'm worried about the state of Monroe's meds. Gotta get out there and look for more. He'll see me fret a little, thinking. I'll look over the maps soon.
He looks at Rue a long couple hearbeats. I wonder if they did it. Rue's looking at Shan. I feel like an idiot don't speak the language.
"Sure, Clare." I'll walk alongside, slow. Let him put an arm if he needs. "You got any tarps?" I mean for the roof, and I point. Maybe a patch. How's the weather been?
When we get downstairs, I stand by my worktable. We've addressed everything that we can address at a sprint. Now I need to prioritize, make a plan. Scratch that, we need to do that.
Speaking to the room, loud enough for all to hear. "Again, thank you. Once I've had the time to suss out the damage, I would love to invite you all for a feast night. Prim, you mind keeping an eye out for something tasty on the hoof? I'll scrape up something nice to compensate you for it."
Looking back up, remembering the spiderweb of cracks. "And if anyone sees Robinson, could you let him know I'd be happy for a visit, at his convenience."
I sit down, drawing a piece of paper from my dwindling stack. I'll have to make more soon. At least some of the ruined books in that pile upstairs might be good for that.
Nils was here, he adds, "I'll let Robinson know..."
Doing anything special between now and the feast?
I want a shower. Been hours of labor in the hot. I don't mind. Grimy, though. Schlep work not as fun as scav work. I do some shoulder stretches, pull my legs back up to stand on one foot.
The heater's not hooked up yet. Rue was gunna help me find a spot. I fucked up last time I saw her. I sigh through my nose. Set my jaw, head over to talk... But she leaves with Shan.
Fuck. I kick a rock.
I change course. Head to the clean river to get clean before a feast. Might check on one of my stashes. Doghead's thief is still out there. Must check my maps. Clarity gonna need stuff for the Library.
I thank Thirds again as he leaves to get clean. I'm determined to save the Library, but I'm also a pragmatist. If we can shore up the roof, waterproof it, I can make do with this downstairs space even if upstairs winds up not being usable right away. I look around at the piles of books. I stare at the blank piece of paper in front of me. After a minute, I head outside to the row upon row of books drying in the sun. Joy of Cooking, On the Road, The Silmarillion. Each precious, but not as precious as the memory of those neighbors, those friends that just spent hours helping to rescue these. I must do better for these people.
I head back inside, start gathering supplies, getting ready.
By the time folks start to wander over, I've brought the books inside. I'll air them again tomorrow. I lay the wood for the fire despite the ache, give the logs and stools a once-over with a rag, lay out a few bottles of wine (well, something like wine, anyway), a few cans of fruit cocktail, the case of Twinkies I brought back from a walkabout I took a few months ago. I light the fire, dump a generous heap of chicory powder into a pot with some water, and set it to boil.