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

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

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!))

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This is sounding more serious. George's posture shifts from relaxed to leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs. His smile fades, brow creasing down the center. "Yeah, I remember."

His mouth scrunches and quirks sideways. "Hey, Nick. You don't gotta hide back there. Whatever it is, I ain't gonna give you hell for it. I promise you that." Hell, he has seen guys missing half their faces from the war, hellish farm accidents and mutilations. He can imagine whatever it is, maybe Nick has been given a hard time for it. People are cruel like that. Once upon a time, he was a cruel little bastard, too. Lennie cured him of it, permanently.

"Why don't you come on out? We can talk about it face t' face."

Well, that's a fairly reassuring start. He taps his fingers on the back of the door nervously, debating how to approach this.

"All right. But I think maybe I better break you into the idea nice and easy. It's not really the kind of thing you see everyday." Or, uh... ever, in his case.

"So, uh... I'm not exactly human."

He wasn't expecting that, but he can deal. He has seen some odd characters in the halls and orientation classes of ADI. It's not like this is something being sprung on him completely out of the blue.

"That's OK. I can't promise I won't be surprised if you look real different. Surprise is natural, 'specially when you're from a place like I'm from. I ain't afraid a' you, and I ain't gonna be afraid as long as you ain't threatening me." It's the best he has to offer. He can only hope it's enough, because shouting through a bedroom door is starting to feel weird.

That's awful nice of him. Not that Nick expected George to be a real jackass or anything like that, but it's surprising to hear someone of his... generation, let's say, being that understanding.

"Well, I'm definitely not gonna threaten you, nor anybody else. Unless they do somethin' to deserve it, of course." He's stalling. A few seconds and the synth equivalent of a sigh later, he turns the doorknob.

"Okay. Brace yourself."

Nick opens the door and steps out. It's likely his glowing yellow eyes in the dim hallway will be the first unusual detail to be noticed. The rest isn't quite clear until he takes a few steps into the living room.

He's as braced as he can be, but as Nick approaches from the hallway, it's still...it's a lot. Especially the yellow glowing eyes, and once he emerges into the light, a face that looks half corpse, half...he honestly doesn't know. Metal hands? Is that metal?

He swallows thickly and tries to work some saliva back into a very dry mouth. "Okay." It's a little breathy. He swallows again.

"I'm...I'm alright. You alright?" If he could get more breath, that would be swell. He hates how little control he has of his own body. He can feel the blood drained from his face. He doesn't want to make him feel bad. The one thing he can control is sitting still and not letting either his hands or feet start juddering or shaking. He can do that much, by God.

Honestly, square in the middle as far as reactions go. Though George doesn't have the context to scream bloody murder and run for it the same way folks back home do. Still, he might have!

"Yeah, I'm alright." He cracks an awkward attempt at a smile at the question, and at the way he's obviously perturbed. His voice is practiced in its calm and friendly reassurance. "Know I don't look it, but that's just what decades of nuclear wasteland living does to rubberized plastic plating."

Maybe the full explanation will help. "I'm a synth. Synthetic man. Or, maybe you've heard of a 'robot?' Close enough in my case. I'm all mechanical. Instead of bones and blood, I've got steel and coolant. Tune-ups, instead of check-ups."

A whole lot of those words and terminology go straight over his head. He doesn't know "nuclear" from a hole in the ground, and he isn't aware that "plastic" is something he'd know better as bakelite. Not to mention how that would apply to Nick in any meaningful way.

It's the word "robot" that's the magic key. His look of suppressed horror almost instantly shifts to wider eyed wonder. He never was big on that kind of pulp, always preferring the westerns. It doesn't mean he doesn't know what a robot is. His mouth drops open until he recalls enough of himself to shut it again. Firmly.

"An honest to God robot." His tone is still soft, a bit breathy, just no longer on the verge of panic. Awe is closer to the truth. He hesitantly stands and takes a few steps closer. Glancing quickly up at the golden glow of his eyes, he says before he can lose his nerve, "Can I... I mean, is it rude 'a me to touch you?"

Oh. Well, that cleared things up surprisingly quickly.

(He at least vaguely gets why, though. More than once, people have mistaken his pale, worn "skin" and exposed joints for gruesome flesh-and-bone. Enough to where the really sick ghoul routine has worked more times than he'd like to admit. But knowing it's all nice, sterile machine parts instead of gory decay and injuries- anyway.)

The look on his face is a little less nervous and a little more sheepish, acutely aware of George examining him. Grin and bear it. After the initial surprise, he doesn't mind the curious glances so much.

"Go right ahead." He lifts his hands up, palms-out to show those too, maybe so George doesn't go immediately for his face. "Though, ah, don't pick at anything, if ya don't mind."

"I never would." It's quick, earnest reassurance. Even after being given permission, he's a little hesitant, a hand coming out with almost child-like curiosity, just the barest sweep of the pad of his index finger down the smooth metal of a hand.

"Isn't that...swell." A smile flickers at the corners of his mouth. His glance up at Nick is bright, the expression quick to climb his cheeks and lodge in his eyes.

He shoves his hands back into his pockets, more of his usual grin settling in. "No wonder you's so good at pins, Slick. I don't feel so bad now 'bout that trouncing."

Edited 2022-04-17 08:17 (UTC)

Nick chuckles, and if a synth could blush he'd probably be sporting one. "Aw, you did pretty swell for yourself. It's not fair when I can adjust the calibration of my wrist." If he'd actually bilked George for some cash, that'd be a whole other story.

He shrugs his shoulders and itches the back of his neck, a weirdly human gesture for a guy who can't technically get itchy. "I'd've told you sooner, but given the look they give me away from HQ, I didn't think you'd believe me. I'm used to sticking out in a crowd, though, so if you have any questions I'm more than happy to answer."

He shakes his head, that grin slow to fade. He'll have to keep an eye on him when it comes to games. Another thought follows on the heels of that. He'd make a helluva teammate with certain kinds of games, most likely.

"I do have one question." He goes for as serious as he can, sizing him up and down. "You any good at euchre?"

George actually got him for a sec with that serious face.

"Euchre... yeah, I think so. Little rusty on the rules, but I'm a quick learner." Nick smiles. "And boy, you oughta see my poker face."

"Well, that's perfect, Slick. You work the charm, I'll get us a deck. We'll get some card nights goin'." He pauses. "If you's OK with visitors. I'm so used to living with a full house 'a roughnecks it feels a little empty."

He moves to grab up his bindle so he can get his things put away, still talking. He's welcome to follow along if he wants. If not, George'll just get louder. "'Sides that, I have a feelin' we'll all be wanting the down time."

"Yeah, sure. If they don't mind staring at this ugly mug all night, I'd be happy to host a few social soirees."

He follows after George, feeling pretty chuffed that things went this well. "Oh, uh... I should probably mention a few gritty details. I don't need to eat, so don't you worry about sharing any food with me. Kitchen space is all yours. And I don't sleep, but I keep myself busy at night. Try to save my diagnostics 'til then, or find something to read, or go low power. I'll stay nice and quiet either way."

"If they do, they can carry themselves," he says emphatically.

"If you can eat and I make something good, you can always help yourself," he adds, unrolling the bindle onto the top of the bed. His belongings truly are sparse, a bar of Ivory soap wrapped in a red bandana, a razor, three beat up spoons, and a box of matches, all arranged neatly at the center of the bedroll.

"I ain't no hellraiser, 'specially not at home. I may go into town for drinks now 'n then." He takes the razor and soap to find what he expects will be a communal bathroom, stopping cold in his tracks again when he sees the bathroom directly off his bedroom.

"I'll be good God damned." His mouth drops open and stays that way. "This is...this is mine?"

"'ppreciate it, George. I don't need to eat, but I do like a little taste now and then."

He leans against the wall in the doorway of George's room. It is rather charming watching him acclimate to modern amenities.

"All yours, pal." Technically even if it was a communal bathroom it'd be all for George, since it's not like Nick showers or needs more than a quick glance in a mirror to look decent. "Pretty swanky, huh? Let me know if you need any more toiletries. You can have mine, for obvious reasons."

"Swanky ain't the half of it." He spends a few minutes checking it all out, turning the knobs to test how fast the water heats, and then setting his few toiletries up, the soap in the bathtub/shower, his razor and comb in the medicine cabinet.

"It's funny. I don't know how long it'll take me to go through some 'a that. Don't even know if I know what all of it is." He hasn't spent any time looking at the small bottles.

After the initial euphoria of discovering it all, he feels more than a little displaced, shoulders twitching once. "Kinda hard not to worry." He eyes him. He can't say why he feels like he can trust him. He does, though. His instincts for people have gotten him through plenty of tight scrapes. His thinking isn't really sophisticated enough for a debate about when people are people and when they aren't. If they can talk to him, they're people enough. "What they's really wantin' for all of this." Nothing comes for free. Sure, he's been told the same thing Nick has. He's not sure how much of it he buys or how much they might not be saying.

"I can't say I'm overly familiar with a lot of it either." Of course there's soap in the wasteland, but Nick's never used it much. He'll be happy to try and figure it out if George happens upon something he's unfamiliar with.

His smile fades briefly at George's quite relatable mistrust. "I think that's the smart approach. Only a fool believes everything he's told out the gate. Whatever it is they want from us, they're sure workin' hard to sweeten the deal ahead of time."

With a shake of his head, he folds his arms. "Whatever ends up happening, the best we can do is stick together. Look out for one another. The folks may charge may think we're expendable, but I'm not about to let them treat anyone that way. I'm keeping my eyes out for all of us."

He smiles a bit at that remark. No, he doesn't reckon Nick has much use for most of this stuff, either. In a way it's comforting not to be the only ignorant one, even if it means discovering the uses will be more trial and error and less just asking someone.

He nods. That's his thinking exactly. It's almost too much. Things like this never come without some pretty hefty strings.

"Yeah. Yeah, me too. If we's watchin' each others' backs, we got a better chance a' comin' out on the other side in one piece." It feels good having the agreement spoken aloud. He's not used to relying on anybody but himself, and to a lesser degree Lennie. It's seeming like he's going to have to learn.

"Hey, Nick? Thanks."

Nick smiles and nods back at the acknowledgement. They may not know each other very well yet, but he knows enough to tell the guy is all right. And the more people he finds to trust here, the better chance they do come out the other side in one piece, just as George says.

"You're welcome, George. Feels good to have somebody at my back. And you can count on me to have yours, too. That's a promise."

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

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