ca$h hotdog🌠(
oorah) wrote in
sixthiterationlogs2018-10-17 06:54 pm
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( OPEN ) gotta get back gotta get free.
WHO: Mayor McChilicheesedog
WHERE: House 6, House 60, and beyond
WHEN: October 15-November 5
OPEN TO: OTA (closed prompts in comments)
WARNINGS: animagus times, general obliviousness, dust moths, tba
WHERE: House 6, House 60, and beyond
WHEN: October 15-November 5
OPEN TO: OTA (closed prompts in comments)
WARNINGS: animagus times, general obliviousness, dust moths, tba
OPEN TO ALL.
After cooking for the Stark Expo, Frank had bailed pretty quickly thereafter, not wanting to stick around for the thank-yous and/or any derisive comments. He also really hadn't felt as though he had much to contribute to a "tech conference" even with no tech to be found. At first, he considers going to find that book Mark started with all the skills and scratching his name off every page, but he finds himself heading to the Lake instead.
Before he knows it, he's heading down to the Bunker and straight for that powers vending machine. He studies the choices for a long time, remembering his conversation with Kamala and wondering if this all isn't an elaborate trap. Maybe it does nothing? Just another way to mess with their minds. He's heard whisperings of people hearing one another's thoughts recently and decides he needs to pick something tangible. Something he can prove definitively worked or didn't work. His finger hovers over Animal Transformation, but then he swallows, steeling himself. To Hell with it, right?
It isn't Frank Castle who runs out of the bunker and back onto the surface, but a coyote. He will be easily spotted loitering outside House 6 like he's trying to figure out how to work a doorknob in this state. When he gives up, he goes to lay down in the backyard, like he's watching over the animals in the pen. The groffle and zalpaca graze on as if oblivious to a predator nearby. Perhaps because they sense it's not really a creature who intends them any harm. After a time, Frank nods off in that state and a croc-dog finds him, curling up under his chin to join in the nap.
Over the next week or two, people might spot the coyote who comes in close to the Villages, most often he'll be outside the Schoolhouse or the Inn but never does he try to venture inside or close enough to be caught. If someone catches his eyes, he'll run off towards the forest.
WILDCARD.
[ closed threads posted in the comments. if you would like a personalized starter please comment here or pm me! ]
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"I'm fine?" She's pretty sure. But in case he thinks she's really questioning it, she smooths it over with a swish of her glass. "I'm celebrating." Might as well. She's perfectly capable of setting aside her conditions and caveats for a night, while other people out there make bad decisions of their own. "To getting wasted without having to turn my phone off." Translation: To Trish, whom she misses, and her flaming hot mess days, which she doesn't.
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"But maybe stay away from the network anyway," he suggests helpfully, even though he's way more likely to go off on it than she ever has been. Still, he had to make the joke.
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Jess has a third, small sip and sets her glass onto the table. She relaxes into her chair with her elbow planted near her drink. Her eyes wander the details of his clothing and his face, making small deductions to herself or reconfirming things she already knows. Feelings, imprints mostly, trusted on instinct. He's what passes for a friend, regardless of if she can call to mind their experiences together. He's just made her paranoid, that's all. The liquor is 120 proof and she's buzzed and state dependent memory. She is okay, while he looks like he's been living in a cave for however many weeks it takes to grow out that soupcatcher.
It's sitting here and staring in silence that's letting her head get away from her. "I'm hungry," Jess says by way of explanation, leaving her chair and going to the cupboard. He probably already ate and if he didn't, she's not offering him food yet. First she has to decide if she wants to eat it all.
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She has an empty bowl on the counter where she deposits fruit nabbed from that day's lunch, close to a breadbox with a couple of stale buns. There are various jars of jam hidden in the cupboards above her head, and a sack full of grain in one at her feet, next to where the cookware is stored. Jess tips some water into a tough-looking black pot and brings it over to the stove. The moths scattered along the wall pay her zero heed when she waves a hand at them, trying to disperse them. Jess leaves the pot to boil on the hot iron top, then goes to grab a mug and measure out a half cup of oats. She puts it aside for a few minutes, returning to the able that's not two steps away from either the counter, the stove or the wall.
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"Did clothes show up on your bed this morning?"
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"Yeah." Jess remains upright in her seat, attentive for the sound of bubbling. "Why?" isn't she more disturbed about someone breaking into her house? Why does it feel odd to question or think about? Like it shouldn't concern her when it is undeniably deeply concerning. Why didn't it occur to her that might be part of why he's here, why he doesn't feel safe in his own skin?
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"'Cause it wasn't just you." How does he say this? "Everyone who wore them to the Halloween party got a costume courtesy of our friends."
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"You can say that again. I was only there long enough for the booze." And it was still way too much.
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"I'll keep working on it."
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"Hit the breadbox if you get hungry or sick." She nods to it over her shoulder. "Water's free, obviously."
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"Is anything ever really free?"
It's not that deep, but he's still salty about... everything. How no one seems to care this is happening. No one wants to mobilize to make things better. But maybe most of his upset lies in himself, and how much more he expects of the former Mayor Hotdog. A guy who's been too cripplingly anxious to do much for these people, whether they were grateful or not.
"Are you ready for Winter out here?" he asks, redirecting from his dumb philosophy to ask something actually practical, not to mention answerable. He worries about Jessica, so far from town. Not like anyone in it has been all that helpful. If she were closer to him, he could probably rig her up some electricity too, but as it is he thinks he should bring some supplies at the very least.
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"I don't know, honestly," she answers as she looks around the place. The windows are single-paned so she can't stuff blankets in them but some could be draped and nailed across. She's not worried about staying warm as long as there's a roof over her head (and a superpower vending machine nearby: she can make firewood the old fashioned way with enhanced strength and/or, if/when it runs out, maybe manipulate her body heat directly). "I'll stock up on firewood tomorrow. As long as it stays warm in here, I should be fine. I prefer to sleep on the couch anyway."
So if he crashes, he better take the bed.
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"I'm gonna guess you don't have any provisions?" Before waiting for her to answer, he bows his head over the counter, needing to close his eyes a second to combat a sudden dizzy spell. "I'll bring you some shit."
All he does is can shit and knit and sew and shepherd animals, after all. Survival is the only thing left he remembers how to breathe in this place.
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"Doesn't mean I'll eat it," she says for her own benefit, seeing as she hasn't worked out how to repay him yet. Glancing up from her task, she notes that he's a bit unsteady. Her turn to ask, "You okay?"
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"Just take it, it'll make me feel better."
Which isn't an answer so much as a plea. She can give him not a heart attack while he's worrying about her starving to death where he can't reach her, that's his price.
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Right now, seems like it was just an in for him to outline the deficiencies of her daily life. She's fine to watch him pity himself -- she's fine to pity him too, if that's all he feels like doing. But she draws the line at him pitying her. Cupboard doors snapping open and shut, she grabs a bowl and heaps oatmeal into it.
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"An excuse to see you," he answers too honestly, cracking an eye open to watch her bang around the kitchen some more. He drops his head to rest on his hand so he doesn't have to look over his shoulder as much. "I could go for that water now."
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"I wasn't aware I had a problem," she drones, finding a hidden jar of jam and unscrewing the top. She scoops a dollop into her bowl for sweetness,"You know I can quit anytime I want," and shoves the spoon in her mouth.
It's funny because it's true, though she has been consistently nursing a drink at the behest of her body chemistry. But that's been her choice. She's switch to water right now to prove it but Jess doesn't have to prove jack to him, and heads back to the table to sit down with her drink.
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