@cjk [ audio ]

[signifies]

Hello everyone. My name is Clark. I'll try and keep this brief.

Firstly, I've drawn up a blank list and placed one on the bulletin board on each housing floor. If those with medical expertise feel comfortable, they can put their name, residence here, and — if they have one — specialisation, in case of an emergency. We have several residents who aren't from the same point in time, so if you'd like to volunteer to update someone's medical knowledge, please mark your name with an asterisk.

Secondly, ah-- [ a bit of a laugh. ] I'm from Kansas, which some of you might recognise as being host to some pretty bad weather. Now, I'm not going to say I'm paranoid, but-- I like to think ahead. So, I've made up some kits with some of the usual survival paraphernalia back home and distributed them between floors. Feel free to help yourselves if you need them.

[ No one has to use them, but he’d rather everyone knows they're available. ]

Thank you for your time.

( all replies in audio unless otherwise stated )

Comments

[pundemic]

[She just gives him the world's most skeptical Look as he tries to take the bags. Did you know that taking bags from someone who survives in a post apocalyptic wasteland is Never a Good Idea, Clark? She tenses a little as he comes in close and her hands tighten on the straps of the bags but she fights it down. Breathes in, exhales. After a moment, she surrenders one of them. It's the one that's mostly clothing. She keeps the one with the edible shit. You can replace clothing a lot easier.]

Well, then. I guess some things never go out of style.

[She pulls the phone back out of her pocket, though, and swipes it off. There, all better.]

Okay, crisis averted. Now, let's look at those boxes.

[signifies]

[ Her fingers crinkle the strap with their grip, and Clark makes a note not to try this again unless under specific circumstances. He sets the bag down in her clear line of sight, bringing out the kit. ]

Here.

[ He slides off the lid. ]

[pundemic]

[She should probably set hers down too, huh. She hesitates, and then puts the second bag down beside the first. It's stupid to carry them around. No one's going to take them here. Again: survival instincts don't even seem to exist among people who've never had to fight for anything in their lives.

So she crouches down beside the bin of stuff and starts sorting through it. Items she likes she sets off to one side, items that she considers extraneous go to the other. This whole process only takes her around two minutes, she's a practiced scavenger.]

Okay, so... flashlights are good, but I'd try to get some that don't need the batteries. The ones you charge by shaking. Decent mix of nonperishables, that'll work. I'd probably add-- you know, some rope or paracord or something? About thirty feet. And a tarp. It takes up space, but you can use it for a lot of different things. Shelter, catching water, you can drag somebody on it for transportation if they're hurt. And... um, dental floss. In the first aid kit. It makes really good stitches.

[A thoughtful hmm.]

Oh, and a can opener. Bitch doing it with a knife if you don't have to. [And it dulls the blade. She shrugs.] Other than that-- not bad, farm boy.

[signifies]

[ He'd been going by the kits he was familiar with: Clark's own belongings on the road didn't include can-openers or flashlights. Ellie is quick about dividing up the items, and Clark pushes them aside on the table. ]

We can go out and get some for the other kits. They're all the same as this one.

[pundemic]

[She makes a face.]

Great, more shopping. Sounds fun.

[Sounds exhausting, but she'll do it.]

Just let me run my bags up to my room and I'll be ready to go, okay?

[signifies]

[ Her mother henning is adorable. Clark shakes his head. ]

Ellie, I can manage.

[pundemic]

No, no, it's fine. It's fine. You can... buy me ice cream or something later. You know, in exchange for my help which I am so graciously bestowing upon you.

[She grins, and bows with a flourish that's really just a cover for picking up her bags. She has had ice cream like three times in her life, this is a fair prospective trade in her mind.]

[signifies]

[ He raises his eyebrows, and this time, doesn't go for the bags. ]

Homemade pumpkin pie. As much you want, for the rest of the week. Deal?

[pundemic]

Iiiiiiii have never had pumpkin pie, but, uh, I'll try anything once? Sure, it's a deal. I'd shake on it, but--

[A helpless shrug. Bags, you know. But she gives him a nod, and then heads off to her floor to drop them off in her little room. It's weird to have a bolthole like this, she's not entirely sure what to do with the concept of having a safe, singular area she can fall back to when she needs.

She just tosses her spoils of the day on her bed and pulls one of the (new!! brand new!! still has tags!!) sweaters on over her t-shirt because it's getting late in the day, and she wants to preempt any evening chill, and then she heads back down.]

Hey. C'mon, let's get going.

[signifies]

We can have a secret nod.

[ It won't be much of a secret. He sits down to wait for her, idly listening to her walk around her room. She doesn't have any roommates yet, and she does use the space she's given when she can.

Clark looks at the tag hanging down her back. ]

Do you mind if I pull that out?

[pundemic]

What?

[She twists like she's trying to see whatever it is he's looking at, and then--]

Oh. Oh, um-- yeah, sure. Here.

[She pulls her hair out of the way and turns her back so he can get at it easier. It makes her pulse jump to do it. She likes him, wants to trust him, but it's just so fucking hard. Every step of the way she has to force herself to just... be okay with it. This is good, it's normal-- but she's still got a gun tucked in the waistband of her pants under the sweater, and her switchblade in her back pocket.]

[signifies]

[ He tugs at the tag. The thread snaps easily, and Clark scrunches it up to throw away later.

He falls into step next to her. She has a knife, as he's noticed she always does. ]

Ellie, do you have a gun with you?

[pundemic]

[Her hand goes to it automatically. Her shirt must have ridden up or something, and so she fusses to pull it back down.

Sort of defensively,]

Yeah. Why? It's not like I'm planning on using it.

[You know. Unless she has to.]

[signifies]

[ Clark glances at it, but looks at her. ]

Since we're going out, I thought you might want to get a holster for it. They have some for knives as well.

[pundemic]

I reaaaally don't think they'd agree to sell one to a fifteen year old. If there's one thing I've learned it's that kids with guns sort of freak people out.

[But in answer to his second statement, she shakes her head and pulls out her switchblade.]

Doesn't need one, see? Blade only comes out if you press right here.

[signifies]

[ Clark's brow furrows, grief silent only for the world that did this to her. He could offer to get one, but it's probably better to let her take that step.

She didn't want him carrying bags. ]

If you change your mind, let me know.

[pundemic]

[He means well. It's why she doesn't just tell him to mind his own damn business despite the obvious temptation.]

It's fine, Clark. I promise. Okay? If it makes you uncomfortable I'll-- take the clip out or something while we're hanging out.

[signifies]

[ He shakes his head, smiling at her. For as long as he can remember, his mother was the sharpshooter in the house. Guns aren't an issue. Her feeling comfortable is.

She uses her room, but does she sleep on the bed or tucked in a corner against the wall, one hand on her rifle? ]

It doesn't bother me. I just thought a holster might make it easier for you to wear under your coat.... or if you wanted more than one.

[pundemic]

[Suspicious l'il squint.]

Do they even make them in my size?

[signifies]

No reason we can't ask for a custom design.

[pundemic]

[She just. Laughs and shakes her head.]

You are one seriously nice dude. Are you sure you're not some weird robot? Or like an alien? 'Beepboop I come in peace-zork'.

[She absolutely says that in her best impression of what a robot alien might sound like.]

[signifies]

[ Clark was walking on the side of the road nearest the asphalt, careful not to block her line of sight, noting places she could hide or escape to.

She has no idea how close to the truth she is: There's always that little internal wince: someone finding out about him, knowing what he can do. Clark thinks he's probably tell her first, out of anyone here.

He leans in, smiling broadly and gestures in the Vulcan salute. ]

Beep boop. You got me. Take me to your leader zork.

[pundemic]

[He's subtle enough about it that she doesn't notice he's doing it. She doesn't even stop to think it might be something he'd consider, but true to form she's busy keeping an eye out anyway. She eyeballs every alley they pass, skirts around the storm drains like she's seen one too many horror movies. She never looks just ahead, she's constantly checking reflections in storefront windows or particularly shiny chrome bits on cars. It's not even a conscious thing, just run of the mill hypervigilant threat-assessment.

When she's not doing that, she's kicking rocks along the pavement. You know, teenager things.]

What if I am the leader, huh? Supreme Battle Commander Ellie Williams. 'Come with me if you want to live', that sort of thing.

[signifies]

[ Clark chooses the route with some more parked cars for this reason.

And Terminator isn't about aliens. ]

Greetings, Supreme Battle Commander Williams. I come in peace.

[ Clark is wearing a perfectly straight face. ]

[pundemic]

[This is nice. Joel-- he's not really the sort that plays back at her, so Ellie's grin is warm and genuine. It's been a long fucking time since she could just... you know, goof off with somebody.

But the idea of keeping it up is exhausting. Sometimes she thinks that she just doesn't have it in her anymore. To be happy. To stay that way. Like... she left some part of herself behind as that-- fucker burned in that old restaurant. Nothing she used to enjoy holds her attention like it used to. Who the fuck do you become, after shit like that happens? What does it turn you into? Don't you get any say in yourself anymore?

The smile fades a little, and she finds herself wishing she had something to do with her hands so she can stop focusing on how it felt to feel blood and bone and brain dry across her knuckles in the searing cold.]

There's this comic series I like-- Savage Starlight? And it's all about this Doctor like... two hundred years in the future, fighting these evil aliens. I think about that a lot.