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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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?”

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?"

"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.

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?"

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."

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."

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?"

"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."

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?"

"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.

"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.

"I don't, but... there's a map on your phone. We could look for one," Malcolm suggests. "It's just that... I mean. Fifty dollars isn't cheap, but... it's not exactly very much money anymore," he explains apologetically. "You've got almost a hundred years of inflation to account for."

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.

"Manji." He offers his hand for shaking. A customer he's grown use to in this new world. "Good to meet you George. My apartment isn't too far from here. We can pick up the poles from there."

"This place jes' gets better all the time." Dry and flat.

He digs out his phone, fingers jabby and angry on the screen to the point it takes him probably twice as long than if he'd slow down and take a few deep breaths. He gets a map up and at least remembers he can zoom by sweeping his fingers out. He starts looking for likely places.

"Fishin' poles should never be expensive. Like they think a man don't gotta eat. Who has money t' blow on meat all the time? You get you a few cans 'a beans an' pull out a blackfish or channel cat, you're high on the hog for a few days. You like t' fish?"

"Manji." His handshake is nice and solid, his hand rough as hell with calluses. "Same."

Once he releases the shake, he shoves his hands back in his pockets. "Lead the way. You been here long?" He doesn't look like what he's come to associate as natives. Best not to assume.

"I don't know," Malcolm admits. "I've never tried it. I'd like to. My father used to take me camping when I was a kid, but... he was more of a... hunter." He gestures to the map. "Listen, why don't I buy a couple of fishing poles and you choose what looks like a good place?"

"Well... not as much as you'd think." Hell, most of his clothes were literally free for the taking. "But I guess I do pay Miss Perkins pretty generously..."

He stares at the back of the door, feeling pretty ridiculous, honestly. But it seems cruel to just... pop out at the guy. What a new and exciting take on the horror of Nick's appearance this is.

(You know, it would be nice if ADI had given him the choice of how he'd look in public. Guess he'd end up stuck with a fake human facade anyway, since they don't want to scare people with the sight of his ugly mug. But if they'd asked first he wouldn't technically be lying to all these folks against his will.

At least back home, he's just there and in your face about being a synth.)

"No, no, I insist. I, uh... honestly, I don't sleep much in general. See..."

Okay. Come on, now. They're going to have to cross this bridge sooner or later.

"Say, George. You remember before, how I said I look... different?"

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's quiet for a bit. He doesn't like the idea of Malcolm dropping over a hundred dollars for something he's never done before and may not like, but...he can find the compromise in this that'll make it work. He can only imagine what that sadistic bastard might've done with his kid in the woods, too, so he wants to make this a nice experience for him.

"Tell ya what. I'll behave myself in there an' help you pick out all the right stuff. You keep the gear when we're done. I'll find us a good spot, an' we can make a day of it. Maybe grab a few sodas and an ice bucket, too."

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.

Malcolm will likely, at the end of the day, insist George keep - at least - his own rig. He’ll use it a lot more than Malcolm will. But he isn’t going to kick a man in the pride right when he’s making a reasonable compromise that honestly sounds like a lot of fun. Maybe he’ll like fishing and maybe he won’t, but he likes connecting with people. In fact, his face lights up.

“That’s perfect,” he says. “I guess we need, like… hooks and stuff too, right?” he confirms as he turns to push the door open.

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.

"Yeah." He doesn't laugh too hard at the question, just a bit of a chuckle and a pat on his back as they head back inside. "Hooks an' stuff. I'll worry about that if you handle Miss Moneybritches." He even says it more quietly, trying to keep to his side of the bargain to behave himself.

He knows exactly what they need and where it is since he was just over there, heading over to the tackle and picking out a few necessities.

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

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