apocalypsehowcomm | closed; and i grew a hairy skull

While the administrative skills she's offering will definitely come in handy here and there, Ches has to admit to himself that he'd been more interested in meeting up with Meredith because of her personality. The attitude had been appealing right off the bat and he's always been drawn to competency, so he's interested in meeting this badass office lady.

So he's actually looking forward to training, dressed in a henley and a pair of plaid lounge pants, shoeless and sockless. He'd texted Meredith his unit number at Bonnie's, made a pot of coffee and put some cookies on a plate as snacks just in case, and now he's there and ready to answer the door whenever she shows up.

The rap on the door is a little louder and harder than if it were made with a fist. When Ches opens the door, the reason for this might be obvious; Mere knocked with the brass handle of her cane. She has a laptop case slung over the other shoulder, and a bag from a local donut shop in hand. Because you don't show up to someone's place empty-handed. She's a woman of about average height, with short blonde hair (shaved sides, longer on top was the result of fixing her attempt to try to do her own hair), wearing an oversized cardigan over a t-shirt and pink pajama pants with unicorns and rainbows on them.

Like a proper adult.

"Ches? I smell coffee in there. We're going to get along great."

Ches had been expecting something very different than what he's greeted by when he opens the door to Meredith. He'd been expecting one of those high-maintenance looking women with long sleek hair and a face full of makeup, even her pajamas carefully chosen to make her look perfect. Instead, she has a blonde undercut, she's wearing real person pajamas and a cardigan that reminds him of Dusty's, carrying a cane.

He finds he likes the reality a lot more than the imaginary version.

"Of course. I basically live off the stuff. How do you like yours?"

Turning, he pushes the door open a little more and gestures with his free hand toward the inside of the tiny apartment slash room he's been staying in, "Come on in, by the way."

Oh, in the office that's exactly who she makes herself into. Red lipstick, perfect mascara, hair just so. But that's all a mask, something she fits herself into because she knows it's necessary. Ches will see her at some point, polished and primped and working like sharp diamond office goddess she is.

But it's Saturday, and they agreed on pajama pants, so that's how she showed up.

"I'll drink anything but decaf, but two sugars and a splash of milk's my preference." She sets the donut bag down on an appropriate surface, using the cane for stability as she walks. It's clear she's been using one for long enough that it's just another limb for her, rather than something she's only picked up here in recent months.

There's a hint of that about her too, just a little, particularly in how she'd talked to him on the network, that perfect-looking woman who is incredibly talented and capable at what she does. But he certainly doesn't regret meeting her in pajamas on a Saturday in the late morning, he already thinks he likes her better this way.

"Decaf is for quitters." he says, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth, and then he turns to start putting together coffee for both of them. For her, with two sugars and a splash of milk, and black for his own. It's a good strong brew made with dark-roasted beans, and he hands her the cup before investigating the donut bag.

"Mm, damn. I had some cookies out but this looks way better, mind if I have one? Oh, and feel free to have a seat wherever. I only have one chair, but there's the bed too. Wherever."

"Trust me, if I bring over donuts, they're to share. I wouldn't just eat them in front of you like a jackass."

She glances around the apartment, considering the question. On the one hand, how much work will they accomplish in the bed? On the other, she needs to consider comfort for her joints. And if she's honest, the idea of being nice and close to Ches...doesn't fail to appeal.

"Bed, I think. We can start with how the google calendar works, so you can manage it yourself from here, and then move onto some of the quirks of the ADI email system and setting inbox rules to stay organized. Does that sound good?"

"Oh believe me, I didn't think you were a jackass. It's just polite to ask. Would you like one too?"

While he's talking, he pulls out a couple of plates and opens the bag and the box inside, delicately fishing out one of them with his fingers and putting it on one of the plates. If she chooses to have one, he'll gently fish it out by the hole with a clean fork and put it on the other plate to hand to her.

When she chooses the bed, he shoots her a little grin, just a bit wolfish, and nods.

"It's definitely more comfortable than the chair. And that sounds like a good plan."

Putting his coffee and donut plate down on the side table, he slides onto the bed, sitting sideways with his ankles crossed comfortably and pats the spot beside himself.

She'll definitely take a donut as well, and bring her breakfast over to the bed as well, settling in beside him and setting up the laptop on her lap.

An hour and some change of solid lessons follow, with the coffee and donuts disappearing bite-by-bite, sip-by-sip as she explains things. She assumes some basic tech savvy, rather than explaining what an email is, jumping to ideas like 'you can set up a folder in your inbox, and set rules so that only emails from certain people or with certain words in the subject line go there', and then demonstrating how to make that happen. A lot of what she's teaching is to help maximize efficiency; it's clear time matters to her.

After she gets settled in on the bed beside him, he scoots a touch closer, leaning over so he can look at the screen of the laptop, their upper arms pressing just slightly against each other.

Her explanations are clear and easy to follow, and he pays attention, golden eyes flicking between the screen and her face as she sips at coffee and nibbles at donuts. What she's teaching him will certainly be useful, especially at home once he's managing the pack again.

"So you're saying I can just send messages from Persimmon Jones straight to the trash without even having to see them, huh?" he asks, his voice lilting with humour.

"No clue who that is, but yeah, that'd be pretty simple to do. Alright, keep going with lessons or take a bit of a break and relax?"

She glances sidelong at him, noticing just how bright gold his eyes are. It's a shocking color, and immediately brings his network handle to mind.

If he's the big bad wolf, does that make her Little Red Riding Hood?

"Hah, she's the Alpha of a pack in my area. Big pain in my rear end half the time. And uh, how bout a break? We could chat a little, have another donut and some more coffee."

Tilting his head, he looks at her for a moment, one corner of his mouth curved up into a crooked little smile.

"What do you think?"

"Pack, so you actually are a werewolf, then? I've never met one before." She folds the laptop closed and moves it over to the bedside table, but doesn't move away from Ches otherwise. Clearly, she's not frightened by his nature.

"And yes, I'm game for another donut and coffee."

As weird as it is to have even one person react without fear when they hear he's a werewolf, it's also kind of a relief. When Meredith doesn't withdraw or recoil, he just laughs softly, shaking his head.

"People here are sure a lot more comfortable with me being a werewolf than they were back home. No one could know, my whole pack would be hunted down, you know?"

A shrug, and he scoots his way to the edge of the bed, standing up and giving each of his feet a little shake to wake them up. Turning, he leans against the edge of the counter, a languid, lazy sort of movement.

"Did I get enough milk in your first cup?"

"I'm from a world where superheroes and supervillains are a real thing, not just something you see in comic books. Like, I understand the need for secrecy, but are you scarier than the Global Guardians accidentally punching a hole through my office while I'm working, or the Torch Singer setting my car on fire in a fight? No. I'm used to being normal--hell, sub-normal--in a world of people who're...super."

She shrugs, watching him cross to the counter. "And yeah, the milk was fine. Thanks."

"Oh, wow. That sounds sort of like my world, except it's not superheroes or supervillains. It's supernatural creatures. Werewolves, vampires, dryads, banshees, the whole nine yards. We only got found out within my lifetime, exposed to humans. They're not even done legislating what happens to us if we step out of line or what happens when humans hurt us."

He gets what she means when she says she's sub-normal, because it's obvious she has some sort of disability, but he honestly doesn't think she's sub-anything. But he also doesn't know the etiquette around saying that sort of thing, so he doesn't comment on it. Not for now, not when he still barely knows her.

Pushing away from the counter with the palm of one hand, he turns and pours them each another cup of coffee, ferrets out more donuts onto their plates, then puts them down and slides back onto the bed beside her, still comfortably close.

"It sounds wild, living in a place like that. How did you stay safe?"

"Living in the suburbs instead of Hightower proper helps some, but I still need to carry an insurance policy for things like that. I work as the personal assistant to a tech CEO and try to keep my head down and not draw the attention of anyone important, basically."

Though said tech CEO being a supervillain was better protection than most people had. That hadn't been a deliberate choice, though. She'd been working for Belcora for years before realizing his absences from the office slotted neatly into the times The Dastard was active.

"Tell me about your pack?"

"Sounds like you're a tough cookie, to me." he says, giving her shoulder a gentle nudge with his own, head turned and tilted just slightly to look over at her.

"Oh, my pack. They're kind of a group of misfits. There's about 14 of them, give or take, because some people come just to learn to control the wolf and then go again. Some people stay for a while then leave. Some people stay forever. Noah's been with me since I was 18 years old, he's like my brother. There's Jasha, who came to us from Russia, he's the strongest person I've ever met. There's Step, they're kind of rambunctious, they've been a wolf for a while, but might as well be a cub. Then there's the actual cub, Soul, who's honestly just the sweetest girl."

His expression is soft as he talks about them, with obvious affection, "We all live in the old house I grew up in, it's on a farm in the middle of nowhere in BC, in Canada. Near a small town. Sounds a bit like it's almost as different as possible from how you live."

"Jasha's the one who Winter reminds you of, then? They all sound amazing. It must be hard, being this far away from all of them, and not knowing how long you'll be apart."

She dips her donut in her coffee and munches on it. "I don't have anything like that. I was a loner before I got here. I mean, I had friends and colleagues, but nothing that tight-knit."

"Yeah, Jasha's the one who reminds me of Winter a little. Less in person than just in background, from what I know, but Jasha's the one I learned my bit of Russian from and most of my hand-to-hand fighting. He's a good guy, just a little, uh, brusque."

For a moment, he's quiet, obviously missing Jasha in particular after having talked about him, but then he continues.

"Yeah, I miss them. And I worry about them, too, without me there to look after them. They get anxious sometimes even if I'm just not on my best game, it's how packs are. I can't imagine what they're dealing with without me there."

A little headshake, and a laugh, but the tired and slightly sad kind, "Enough about that, and me. What made you such a loner?"

"Workaholic, I suppose. Or maybe it's that I live in a capitalist hellscape and I'm constantly on a treadmill, between student loan debts and medical bills. I'm so tired after work I just don't tend to have the energy to meet up with anyone."

She shrugs--there's not really any self-pity in her tone of voice, she's just laying out the facts of her situation.

"Here's a little different. I've got roommates, and they're like herding cats. And ADI seems to care a little more about work-life balance, with how much trauma we're all put through. They don't actually seem to want to burn us out completely."

When she mentions the bit about medical bills, he winces, "Right, I keep forgetting how much you have to pay in the States for medical bills. Do they at least cover it at ADI?"

Shifting a little on the bed, he stretches an arm above his head, on the opposite side from her, recrossing his ankles the other direction, stretching out his toes a little bit.

"You're right, they do seem to take care of most other stuff here."

"ADI has their own medical department. It wouldn't do to send people to normal hospitals for things like 'infected with purple mold that makes people want to be liked' or 'bashed over the head by colleague while stalking them under supernatural influence'. So I'm covered here by that."

She watches him stretch as she finishes the coffee.

"If it weren't for all the supernatural bullshit--not you, I mean the local strain--this place would be pretty okay. But the hits just keep coming."

"Well, that's something. Was there really purple mold that makes people want to be liked? That sounds like a trip."

For a few moments he's quiet, then tilts his head to the side a little, resting it lightly against hers as he looks at the opposite wall.

"Can I ask what it is that makes you need the cane and the medical bills? No pressure, a 'no' is completely fine."

"It's not a secret. I've got hypermobile Ehler-Danlos syndrome. Basically, my body doesn't produce connective tissue like collagen correctly. The most obvious result of this is in the joints--I dislocate them really easily."

While she's not going to demonstrate dislocation, she will show off her hypermobility. She holds up her left hand and bends her thumb back much further than a normal person's would go.

"My ankles and knees are real bad, which is why I walk with the cane. Shoulders, too. But the lack of collagen also affects my gut and other things too. I'm actually just coming back from some time in medical because of the stomach problems, so I missed most of the purple mold issue firsthand. Tim and Malcolm told me about it. Anyway, it's a chronic thing, I've been dealing with it since I was young."

All of this may also give context to her network username: looselystrung, like a puppet that's poorly made.

Edited 2022-01-17 06:02 (UTC)

"Well, that sounds painful." he says, brows raising a little, watching as she bends her thumb backward like that, until it almost looks like it's going to break off. It seems like it's too far, even to avoid just a dislocation.

It's hard, to know exactly what to say to someone who's had to deal with a nightmare like that ever since she was so young. Lifting his other arm, he drapes it lightly around her shoulders and exhales a little sigh.

"Sorry you've had to deal with that."

A short pause, and then he continues, voice conversational, "So are Tim and Malcolm your roommates? The ones you say are like herding cats?"

closed; and i grew a hairy skull

for meredith; admin training

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CW: medical discussion, detailed explanation of EDS. Image linked is hand, not gory.

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