I wanted to stay home but I went running running running running from the troubles

[paidforit]

WHO: Valkyrie
WHERE: The Bunker, around the village
WHEN: End of November
OPEN TO: Bruce Banner (Bunker), OTA (Village)
WARNINGS: Possible mentions of alcohol abuse, past implied slavery, and PTSD.

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Arrival in the Bunker

To wake with swirling, swimming vision, everything distorted in front of her, is nothing new. Many are the nights where the previous night's inebriation simply bleeds over into the morning, one day into another. But the tube? The tube's a decidedly new development.

Groggily she draws a hand up to push at the glass. Then knock against it a few times, the noise enough to discourage further taps with a groan and a squint. Okay, no, hangover is not liking that at all. Though this didn't feel quite like the average hangover.

Still might puke, though.

There's a shape moving past the glass that she can't quite make out, and she tries to lean forward enough to see who it is. One of the Grandmaster's goons? A gladiator? Is this the new pit? She'd worked her way out of that mess already, or so she'd thought. Or was this some scavenger crew who thought to sell her out?

"Hey!" And that initial shout reminds her with a grimace that yes, still in glass tube. Still only really hurting her own ears here. Ow...


Arrival in the Village

Freed of the tube, she's free to marvel at how much...really hasn't changed at all. She's stuck here, instead of there, with less food and booze but more trees and greenery, and fewer tasers or holding cells. Maybe they like their 'prisoners with jobs' free-range, here.

Still, for a new arrival, she doesn't look that fussed by the change of scenery. Anyone look at her could tell she was new, a well-muscled but slight woman with messy dark hair bound back out of her face. Her expression? Says she's already about a thousand percent done with the shake-up and ready to move on. This gaping uncertainty under her feet is a little less than ideal, but she's handled herself in worse.

Clad in telltale red scrubs and carrying her complimentary pack on her shoulder, she's making her rounds, from building to building. Taking in the landscape, such as it is. There's a vague tally to keep, places to sleep, people she'd be expected to work with to do...whatever needed doing. Because of course they're going to ask her to do things, that's not a question, really.

So the sooner she finds out what she needs to do to get secure and get out of her own mind? The happier she'll be.

Comments

[paidforit]

"Sounds like it. There's a few that are and some that come and go, or just go. No one ever leaves, except when they do."

Her smirk fades as she gives a careless little shrug. "People are just trying to survive, it seems like. Can't exactly blame them." It's easier to fight back when there's a figure to strike at. Easier to fight for freedom when there's a way out in sight. Instead, everyone seems to be at the mercy of whoever runs this joint.

Not the most inspiring of circumstances to be in.

[oorah]

"I don't blame them," he returns, almost defensively. She wasn't accusing him of anything but it's not until a beat later that he realizes it and flashes her an apologetic look. A second later he's pointing up at the little house with the number "6" affixed to the siding. It's, curiously, the only house in the village with a number on it. The dogs are going mental like they know they're home and as they come up from a side a pen with a zalpaca and a groffle can be made out in the backyard. No, he doesn't blame anyone for trying to survive, but he still thinks everyone should be much more forthcoming overall. Isn't the goal to find a way out of here? "This is it."

He sounds tired, but when doesn't he? Frank trots up the couple porch steps to open the door for her - unlocked already but it swings in for her to go on in. It's cozy inside, one of the few houses with working electricity too. For all his talk about getting comfortable it would seem he'd done just that.

[paidforit]

Alright, Frank. Take a breath.

That's the look he gets when he responds a little more briskly than she was expecting. She's not hurt or anything, more curious as she glances his way again. The apologetic look gets a small shake of her head. It's fine, just...alright, so he's got some opinions on that. Good to know.

The strange animals in the pen outside get the same sort of curious once-over before she lets herself inside, glancing around. It's not bad as shelters go. No. It reads like more than that. The smell of dog and a general feeling of warmth and. Home? Maybe not quite that. But more than 'the place I'm currently hiding from the elements, biding my time'.

"Just you and the fuzzies, then?" she asks. Looks like he's adopted quite a few, along with their current walking companion. Fair enough. Animals are easier to trust.

[oorah]

The question has him looking up, one dog head under each massive hand as a cat rubs against the back of his leg. Yeah, this is his life, and while it's not quite home it is the next best thing.

"No. Kamala lives here." He's usually not as forthcoming with this information, but he trusts her. Implicitly, as luck would have it. "She was with me in Reims."

[paidforit]

"Kamala?" A woman. Instinctively she looks around the room again for signs of another person's tastes layered over his. If they've been here a while, traveling together, there'd be something. Unless both of them were as utilitarian as he seemed to be.

The response is a question, too, a prompt born of curiosity. If he's talking? She's listening, absently allowing the animals inside to take their inquisitive sniffs at her ankles.

[oorah]

Most of Kamala's personal effects are upstairs, though there is a pink notebook out on the table and two bows by the door signaling he doesn't hunt alone.

"Yeah, she's..." How does he explain what Kam is to him without claiming her as his own daughter? Though it's the closest thing and certainly the easiest way to get the information across, it isn't fair to either of them, least of all her family still waiting for her back in Jersey City. "We look out for each other in these places."

[paidforit]

Her eyes trail over the scrap of pink, that much easier to spot amidst everything else. "Easier for most than surviving alone."

Most, because she can. She'd adapted to needing no one and surviving on ruthlessness alone. But that's not what's need here. This is community living, like it or not, which means being part of it. She's not so blind as to not recognize that fact.