A handkerchief held all my gear (OPEN LOG Catch-all April)

[bindlestifflost]

Who: George Milton and ???
When: Most of April
Where: In ADI, on the grounds, and Gloucester proper
Summary: George is familiarizing himself with his new environment and is never content to be in one place for too long.
Warnings: Possibly some of the eye flower weirdness if anyone wants to do a fair/festival prompt, possibly drinking to excess, will update if needed and also warn in individual thread headers.

1. Home Sweet Home?

It's weird, having such a huge space just to himself and maybe two other folks. For now it seems like it's just Nick, and well, he could have done a whole lot worse. Settling in is always a little awkward. He didn't have much of anything to put away. That took no time at all.

So now he's sitting on the sofa in the common room fiddling with the phone, not because he likes it or particularly wants to but because it has been emphasized so much as important, he'd be a fool not to keep at it. He's less outwardly or visibly frustrated working on it alone, just grunting and muttering to himself off and on as he fat fingers his typing or has trouble making one of the apps do what it's supposed to.

He doesn't know how long he has been at it. Long enough for his butt to be sore and his legs to feel like they could use a good stretching when there's a knock at the door. Immediately, he tucks the phone in his jacket pocket as he stands and crosses to it.

"Who's there?" His voice is deep and sharp enough to carry through the wood just fine.

2. The Library

The short guy sitting at the computer terminal doesn't much look like he belongs there. He's staring very intently at the monitor, his typing a painfully slow hunt and peck style. He seems to be trying to research basic history of the region, currently on one of the local government pages of helpful links.

Every now and then he awkwardly moves or clicks the mouse, often followed by a low, "Dammit," or, "No, not you. I want...you." He's so engrossed in the work that he doesn't react at first to the person who comes in behind him. It's only when he hears a definitive noise that he jumps a little and whips his head around, looking almost guilty.

"Sorry. Did you need this?" He's not completely sure he ought to be here, and it shows.

3. The Grounds

At various locations around the grounds, a short, slight man in a brimmed work hat can be spotted wandering and familiarizing himself with the area. He has a fast, no-nonsense gait, like somebody used to being on his feet, and he's never in any one place for very long. When spoken to, he touches his hat brim and gives a nod. He's fine with stopping to chat, especially if he has already met you, but even if he hasn't, he won't brush off a friendly overture.

4. The General's Store

George's voice is increasingly strident as he argues with the beleaguered cashier behind the register. "An' I'm tellin' you 50 bucks for a plain ol' fishin' pole is highway robbery. Not to mention you ain't even including tackle or bait in that. I ain't gonna stand here and let you swindle me. You been swindlin' everybody who works at ADI? That it?"

"Sir, if you'd just..."

"Don't you sir me. Do I look like a sir? Jes' admit you're doing people dirty. I'll tell you what. You put all a' that mess back on the shelf. I don't want none of it. I wouldn't take it if you paid me." Without another word, he's storming for the door.

5. A Bar at the Docks

It took long enough to find the kind of place with the vibe he was looking for, nothing too fancy, just a hole in the wall with beat up barstools and an older woman behind the bar who seems happy enough not to ask too many questions. Like everything else in this damned town, the price of the drinks is sky high. By this point he doesn't care.

He's seated belly up at the far end of the bar pounding gin like there's a run on it, and he may have found the last bottle. There's a certain fixed quality to his thousand yard stare. Hard to tell if he recognizes you or not if you approach.

6. Wildcard!

((OOC: Bring your own prompt, or feel free to use some of the fair prompts from the TDM. George would be playing any number of games there. If you have any questions or want to run something by me, you can hit me up at velocinapper, PM, or Disco. Brackets are also fine!))

Comments

4

[abrightboy]

George’s path to storming out the door almost has him barreling over Malcolm, who stops short before they collide but offers the man a hesitant smile.

“Hey, George,” he says amicably, glancing past his shoulder at the clerk and counter to get an idea of what’s going on. There’s fishing gear on the counter and the clerk looks exasperated. He returns his gaze to George’s face. At an inch shorter than George, Malcolm hardly cuts an intimidating figure, especially without the obvious wealth of the clothes he’d be wearing in his own world. “…Everything okay?”

[bindlestifflost]

"Oh, sure. Everything's jes' fine." His voice drips heavy sarcasm as he shoots a narrow eyed glare back toward the clerk. "Jes' ask Miss Moneybags there for a fishin' pole. You can blow a whole month's paycheck on it."

He shoulders past so he can at least be outside and away from the clerk who caught his ire. He calls back in through the open door, "Hey, Malcolm? Sorry 'bout that. It ain't you." He shoves both hands into his jacket pockets and has a look up and down the busy street. Bound to be somewhere that won't fleece a man dry just for wanting to handle his own supper arrangements.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm follows him outside. Nothing he was going to buy in the store was an emergency. He comes to a stop beside George.

"No offence taken. The fishing pole was more than you expected? How much was it?"

[bindlestifflost]

His bark of laughter is flat, brash, and unamused. "Yeah, you could say that. Fifty bucks. That's my whole paycheck for an entire month 'a backbreakin' work back home, half a' that hundred they gave us for trekkin' out into that shithole Dogtown." And no, he doesn't want to talk about what happened there. Not now, not ever.

"I'll find me a damn cane t' cut an' jes' scavenge some bobbers from the water somewhere. Like hell 'm I gonna blow that kind a' money on a God damned pole." His mouth is tight as he looks around again, as though he could find his way around just from that.

"You know where the nearest lake or pond is?"

1ish

[outofthepast]

Will Nick ever get used to being somewhere that's clean?

It's hard to wrap his head around the fact that this is all real, that he really is standing in a Pre-War apartment. The world outside is bustling and alive. Not a lick of rads to be found. He could turn on the sink or the lights without a whole lot of maintenance and patching first.

Of course, he has plenty of memories of doing such things, but as usual, they're not really his. The echo between them and the reality that he is now occupying is beyond bizarre. He feels his fingers itch, his lips twitch, the nervous urge for a cigarette. His hand slips into the pocket of his coat for his pack. This apartment's so nice he's even vowed to go out on the balcony to smoke so he doesn't stink it up.

There's the sound of a key in the door. Must be his roommate. George, that nice fella from the fair. What a nice surprise it was to learn they'd been assigned together. He only hoped George didn't mind a roomie who doesn't sleep, and...

A sudden, unfamiliar panic occurs to Nick. He'd been forced into that human look when they met, as ADI told him he'd be anywhere away from their digs. George had no idea he was a synth, and so was about to walk in and behold Nick in all his rickety, stickety, glowy-eyed mechanical glory.

Instinct, or something, makes him rush into the hallway to hide. It's not like Nick hasn't gone this entire existence with people gawking at him or being shocked to see him, but it hits different when he's been forced, for the first time ever, to lie about it.

He stumbles through the first bedroom door on the right, and right into a poorly-placed corner of a dresser, knocking the provided assortment of hygiene products off the top and making a lot of noise. So much for pretending he isn't here.

"Ah..." Nick calls out. "That you, George?"

[bindlestifflost]

As soon as George is inside, he hears that crashing. Nick's voice right after keeps him from being too startled. "Hey, Slick! Sure is. You claimin' the biggest room while you got the place to yourself?" The tease comes easy after their game at the fair. Nick's alright.

He just stands there in the living room blinking and staring all around, from the clean ceiling to the clean floor, the intact furniture, the shelves, all of it. He lets out a low whistle. "You got a load of all this yet? I can't believe it. Jes' the two of us in this?"

He sets his bindle to the side near the sofa arm closest to him and starts walking toward the kitchen. "Damn, get a load of this ice box." He opens the door, a blast of cool hitting his face. He hasn't stopped grinning since he set foot inside. "Hey, Nick? What was your place like? I bet you had fancy digs."

[outofthepast]

"Pretty comfy, huh?"

Yeah, if Nick's impressed by the cleanliness and luxury of this apartment, imagine what a guy like George thinks. These modern digs have got to be mindblowing for a man from the Great Depression. And he certainly does sound excited out there.

It is totally normal to have a conversation shouting through a door, right?

"My place is pretty humble, actually. Little shack in a backalley in Diamond City. I run my agency out of it, and I gave the master to my secretary." Since Ellie actually needed to sleep, and all. "And actually, you can have your pick of the rooms here, too. Extra bedroom space is kind of wasted on me."

[bindlestifflost]

"Comfy ain't the half of it!" He's on to opening cabinets, peering at appliances he has never seen, even popping open the oven to look inside. "Clean as a whistle. Don't look like nobody done cooked in here ever." He closes it with a bit of a bang, used to having to force hinges a lot harder.

"Yeah? Hard to imagine you in a shack. Guess you spen' all your money on them suits." He's still teasing. By the sound of his voice, he has moved back into the living room to flop down onto the sofa and bounce a little. Cushy.

"Aw, man, I was jes' givin' you a little hell for the fun of it. You want the biggest room, you go right ahead. I ain't never had a room to myself my whole life. I wouldn't know what to do with all that space." He's still looking around as though his eyes can't decide where to settle. The only wet blanket on his fire is the stray thought of wondering what Lennie would've made of a place like this. He's quick to shut that down and thrust it away.

4.

[canofmanji]

Most days Manji sticks out like a sore thumb and today is no exception. While he's hidden away his weapons for the day he's still wearing his kimono. Three distinct scars across his whole face, missing his left arm, and looking just like a samurai pulled right from the 18th century. Which is exactly what Manji is.

He's got a mischievous grin on his face as he watches the exchange. Happy that there is someone else who agrees that the prices here are ridiculous. "Yeah, I think you made the right call. If you want to go fishing all you really need is a stick and some string. Fifty bucks for the fancy paint job they give it? Not worth it."

[bindlestifflost]

He takes in the look of the guy. He has been through some shit. Worse than Candy and Crooks combined, the poor bastards. He has never seen clothes like that before, but he could also say that about well over half the things he has seen people running around in since he got here. "That's right."

He raises his voice to be sure the woman can hear him, too. "A stick an' string don't cost nothin'."

Then he turns his attention back to the stranger. "You done any fishin' around here? Know any good holes?"

[canofmanji]

"Nothin' at all!" Manji shouts back. Trying to mimic the way George says nothing. Not to mock, but because he likes the way it sounds. "Haven't done a lot of it just yet, but I got a couple poles we can use if you don't mind helping me fix one of them up." It was proving a bit annoying to fix up his spare with just one arm.

[bindlestifflost]

George's grin is immediate. He's taking a liking to this guy already. Anybody willing to give a little hell in an unfair situation is alright in his book. "Sure," he says readily. "I can do that. Name's George, by the way." Already, he's on the move to put distance between them and the shop. Be a cold day in hell before he goes back there, too, he thinks.

5

[whisperedone]

Finally, finally he got to the docks in town. Over two months of careful outings pushing further and further out at the edges of his comfort saw him to one edge of town. He was getting used to the sounds of cars and maneuvering their unique traffic and the city's sounds and smells, while loud, were steady and patterned as any busy town. If he'd been in Emon longer than the week before arriving here, he likely would have found his way around there as well, in time. It always just takes...time. More time than it would have taken a year and a half ago.

He finds his way to the bar partially by accident, the chatter of a small group catches his ear and he finds himself following them in. Despite his more reflective mood, it's not in his habit to drink to the level of his problems, but one or two mugs does sound nice. At least until he finds himself inside with no concept of the menu or where he ought put himself. He forgot pubs were not only noisy, but distinct in their smell.

The bartender seems to take notice and pity on him and helpfully directs him to one end of the bartop and the name of the bar's website to find the menu. It's helpful, but overwhelming and Garner's left sitting in his spot with a person to his right who's been still and silent since the bloodhunter settled into his chair.

"Copper for your thoughts? Though, I understand there may be some inflation these days." There's light humor in his quiet voice, but it's just loud enough for whoever his neighbor is to hear. Probably. It was hard to gauge. More importantly, he hoped they were of a mind for light company.

[bindlestifflost]

At the word, "Copper," he cranes his head around quick like to see if he ought to make himself scarce, habit from being a man on the street more often than not. The rest of it trickles in slowly, context a soup best not stirred, and a little bit after that, he realizes it's Garner.

"Look what the cat dragged in." It's a little louder than normal, a little soft and slurry at the edges. He's bleeding juniper through the pores.

"How you doin', Garner?" He's social enough for a friendly face, it seems.

[whisperedone]

The man is slow to respond, slow enough that Garner almost thinks he'll get nothing back at all, when a familiar voice speaks and further pulls his attention to his accidental companion. It's the slurring that cues him in this is more than a couple drinks in for his poor friend, George.

"Ah...George. I didn't know it was you. I'm about to start drinking, but...sounds as though you've been at it a while?" There's no judgment in the cool tones of his voice, but there is a small smile and a turn at the end of the question that gives away his amusement. When the bartender returns to check on him, Garner nods towards George. "I'll take one of whatever he's been drinking, thank you."

[bindlestifflost]

"Little while, yeah." The answer comes easy. Most of his usual sharpness has been watered down.

He sniffs once and wipes his mouth with a finger and thumb in a pinch. His face is already numb. "It's cheap gin. Got a burn." It's the only warning he'll lay. Beyond that, a man has a right to rot out his insides however he best sees fit.

2

[graveyounglady]

"Naw, sir," Mercy replies with an apologetic smile for the fright. She's a tall young woman in a long green skirt and loose white blouse, both of which appear to be homemade. Her hair is pulled back and there's a white cloth tied over her head. "I was just wondering if you needed any help. Got a look about you like I did two seasons back when I first come here.

"Never touched a computer before turning up?"

[bindlestifflost]

Her accent and cadence immediately put him more at ease, the clothing also more familiar than the loud patterns and strange cuts he has seen both here and in town. "Naw," he says almost in echo of her.

"Never seen or heard a' anything like it before I got here." His gesture is a little frustrated, a little helpless. "Even moving this thing here." He's pointing at the mouse. "It's so dang sensitive. One little twitch an' that little arrowhead's lost."

He presses his lips together. "Lotta readin' to do, I think." He scoots his chair over and gestures at the one near it. "If you really don't mind, I sure won't turn down the help, Miss." He reaches to move his hat to the other side of him, out of her way.

[graveyounglady]

"Don't mind none." She pulls up the chair a little and sits down, happy to help navigate. "I got a lotta practice using them. They done a fair bit of learning and writing on folks and their insides since my Papa was teaching me the funerary rites. Figured I better learn more about keeping folk out of the ground than putting them in it.

"I'm Sister Mercy Graves of the Spring Tide. Happy to help. Ain't got my shift in Medical for another hour, yet."

3✌️

[halfdecay]

Down in Gloucester Docks, with a cup of coffee, Owen leans against the safety rails next to the water. His elbows perched on atop of the rail with a cheek resting on his palm. Somehow, the quiet waters are enough of a pull to bring him over here for a short bit of downtime. Not exactly Cardiff Bay, but at least it wasn’t a pool of alien goo, either. It’s a decent enough spot to take a breath and to have a sip of his coffee.

As much as he wanted to stand there and sulk all day, Owen still had “work” to do.

He pushes himself off the rail and walks down in the general direction of ADI HQ. That’s when Owen notices the bloke dressed as one of those cowboys. It doesn’t even register to him that George is offering him a friendly hat tip. His immediate reaction was to pluck a coin from his trouser pocket and flick it towards George’s chest.

Owen is so engrossed in his thoughts that he (accidentally) mistakes George for a street entertainer.

[bindlestifflost]

It's the damnedest thing to get hit in the chest by a coin when he's minding his own business and showing an absent courtesy he would to anybody crossing his path either back home or here. He draws up short for a few seconds, confused and trying to decide if he ought to be offended. Did he think he's a beggar? Think he was about to upend his hat and ask for a handout?

He bends to pick it up, a lousy quarter. Good thing he ain't a beggar in this place with that kind of pay. Mouth tight, he hurries to catch up to him, short enough that maybe he takes one and a half strides for every one of Moneybags'.

"Hey." His deep voice comes a little sharp, followed with a more syrupy sarcasm. "You dropped this." He flicks it back at him with his thumb, the silver spinning through the air between them.

[halfdecay]

He assumes that was that. In Owen’s mind, he did his one decent deed for the week. It’s not as though he feels a touch of guilt for being that abrasive about his coin toss. Besides, more things are going on in his head than some stupid quarter toss at a cowboy.

His eyes keep to the ground as he struts down the pathway. A gust of late-winter breeze nips under his nose. Owen would have remained that way if it weren’t for that booming voice that was bellowing in his general direction.

The callout breaks Owen’s concentration as stops in place and turns around. Only to be met with a quarter to the chest. His hand cups over the quarter before it drops to the ground.

“If it’s more money you want, then I haven’t any. You’re going to have to hit up those wankers in suits.”

2.

[worthallthis]

Winter doesn't spend a lot of time in the library. All the shelves make him weirdly nervous. But he does prowl through there on his multiple daily patrols, as part of security, and he pauses at George's confusion to try and puzzle out what he's trying to do. "No," he answers the question.

Then he pauses, and offers, "Do you need help."

He probably doesn't look particularly inviting, wearing his familiar tac gear, long hair bound back, metal arm fully on display, but at least he's not wearing his face mask today. And he's trying to not be completely expressionless, though the attempt kind of make him look somewhere between hang-dog and bewildered instead.

[bindlestifflost]

He looks him over. The metal arm makes him think of his roommate Nick. This guy a robot, too? Seems like a rude kind of question to blurt out of nowhere, so he doesn't, for now. "Yeah," he says after the silence has had just enough time to drag awkward. Asking for help isn't the easiest thing.

"Mainly it's this thing here." He wiggles the mouse back and forth, sending the cursor in a mad chase all around the screen. "It's so damn sensitive I feel like I barely twitch my hand an' I'm off the whole page."

[worthallthis]

For that long moment of silence, Winter doesn't fidget or flinch, but he does kind of start to look a little worried. Like he did something wrong by approaching, or maybe he's being intimidating again without meaning to. It's a relief when George finally explains, and oh good, it's something Winter actually does know a little bit about. Mostly because he has to change that on the admittedly rare times he uses a computer, too: increase sensitivity when he has to use the metal hand, decrease it when he has to use the flesh one.

"You can adjust that," he says. "Make it move more slowly. Go to the little window button on the bottom. There's a menu for settings. One of the setting buttons looks like that." He points to the mouse.