apocalypsehowcomm | Smol August Catch-All

Who: Gil Arroyo and YOOOOU and Malcolm and Tim and Meredith, if you want to do something specific/different feel free to just throw it at me or PM me. (I'm not on plurk that much these days.)
When: Shortly after the kelpies, up until the events of the TDM shhh shhh I'm not the slowest ever.
Where: AROUND. Town, ADI apartments, etc.
Summary: Gil does his first real Poking About, finds a possible dive bar to make a Regular Spot, and looks in on ~~his son~~ Malcolm and his roommates. ...A few times.
Warnings: Alcohol, mild PTSD, mentions of stabby injuries.

IA - Closed to Apartment B1

He promised. Gil reminds himself that several times over on his way to Malcolm's place. He promised, after he got discharged from the infirmary he'd spend at least one night on Malcolm's couch. His apartment's couch. Whichever.

Gil sighs when he arrives, knocking on the door rather than using the key Malcolm already gave him. It would be rude to just walk in when he hasn't even met Malcolm's roommates. He has a small overnight bag in one hand, a pillow under one arm, and a light blanket in a tote bag.

And a resigned look on his face.

IB - Closed to Apartment B1

Well. Now that he knows (that he knows) Malcolm's roommates, he's a little more secure in inviting himself over. Which he does fairly often to poke his head inside and see how Malcolm is doing if he hasn't seen him elsewhere that day. And then there are days like today, when he brings dinner with him. Enough for everyone, but specifically tailored toward Malcolm "Most Food Makes Me Sick" Bright.

IC - Closed to Apartment B1

Gil showed up very early this time. He had a bad night. He figured at the very least Malcolm would be up.

He's making himself useful--and comfortable--cooking breakfast for The Kids. Plain scrambled eggs for Malcolm, and a fairly elaborate display of pancakes, bacon, French toast, and--is that the makings for avocado toast. It is.

Look, he's old, but he's also a widower who spends most of his day around millennials.

II. Pratty's C.A.V., a Gloucester institution - OTA

Gil has decided to take in some of the local color for a night. It doesn't look promising on the outside, with its neon-lined windows and cheap signage. It keeps the lack of promises on the inside. Gil has been to plenty of New York dives over the years, and the energy in this place is completely different. More languid. More suspicious, less aggressive. Regardless, even with his discount wardrobe, Gil stands out.

He shakes his head and steps up to take a spot at the bar, ordering himself a scotch--not top shelf, not bottom--to nurse while he takes in the clientele. His mind wanders eventually, back to the kelpies, the knife in his gut, and past that to bleeding on Nicholas Endicott's floor. The two incidents have tangled themselves up annoyingly in his mind.

He should probably have another couple of drinks before sorting them out.

III. Bonnie's Flophouse and surrounding neighborhood - OTA

He's heard about this place, met a couple of people who mentioned living here. Curiosity was going to lead him to it eventually. Unsurprisingly, the term flophouse is indeed accurate. He doesn't stay long, but he's clearly an outsider to the space, and he's just as clearly marking the faces he sees there.

Walking back toward the ADI apartments from the flophouse, Gil slows to a stop in the face of three young goons who clearly think they're looking at an easy target. One of them flips a knife open, and Gil's eyes are drawn to it for a moment, a twitch of irritation (anger) and nerves (fear) biting through him before he's entirely calm again.

"Evening," he says dryly. "I'm guessing the fact that I don't have anything worth stealing doesn't matter that much to you guys."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Go ahead. Water, beer, milk--what would you prefer?"

There's a few things that might stand out, like the big soft blanket that lives on the couch already, or Malcolm's french press coffee maker. The shoes near the front door, in three different sizes and fashion senses. A couple of dishes in the sink from earlier today that no one's gotten to washing yet.

For a place with people thrown together, though, there's a sense of harmony about it; no signs of conflict between the residents, or of lines being drawn between people's stuff.

He plops his bag in the indicated space, glad to see that sense of camaraderie, or at least that there's no clear divisions. No clear signs that Malcolm has been singled out.

"Beer sounds great about now," he says, with just the slightest bit of irony. He gives her a careful, studying look--not invasive, more clearly concerned. "How you holding up?"

"I'm still standing, and that's what counts, right?" It's a soft dismissal of the question; she'd be fine with him pushing, but most people don't, in her experience. "How about you?"

She pulls out a bottle of beer and uses one of her ring splints to pop the cap off. Clearly, clearly that's what they were meant for. The bottle is then handed over with a smile, but he'll obviously be able to see the bags under her eyes.

He takes a slow pull from the bottle, gesturing to her ring splints after he does. "Nice trick."

Gil tilts his head, taking her in. The familiar raggedness. "Still standing. More or less."

Another sip. "Your 'still standing' looks like it's not going to last, though."

"Still not sleeping very well. Busy trying to keep up with what's going on and who's doing what around the office. Watching my back because I don't trust most people to watch it for me. Same shit everyone else is dealing with--I'm not special."

She shrugs, leaning on the counter comfortably. Still standing; with support.

"So, spending the night? Did you do sleepovers at Malcolm's place back home, too?"

He nods slowly. It's a fair summation of everyone's position. Still, he'll be keeping an eye on her for the inevitable turn toward burnout.

Gil takes a stool for himself, chuckling softly. "No. He used to spend a fair few nights at my place when he was a kid, though."

"I can't even imagine him as a kid. I mean, I can make a few guesses about things, but like, you look at him now and think he's always been like this. He's a cool guy, though."

She means it. Of all the possible roommates, Malcolm (and Tim) have been alright to live with.

Gil's expression softens, and it's clear he's looking somewhere a little past Meredith when he speaks. "He's... had it rough. I met him right when that started, the rough stuff."

He doesn't know what she knows, but it's not his business to share it. He refocuses on Meredith with a small smile, taking another drink. "He saved my life when he was ten. He's been trying to save everyone he can ever since."

"That's probably why he and our other roommate get along. Tim's...a good kid, really, wants to help people, too." Which might make her the odd man out in the room, if not for the fact that while she has no desire to save, or even help everyone, she's chosen to be around to take care of her boys while they do awesome things.

Besides, neither of them have ever had to clip coupons. Someone has to.

He notices that self-exclusion, files it away as an interesting tidbit, and shifts a little on his seat.

"What's he like? Tim? He quizzed me about why I was keeping an eye on Malcolm in that info session. Didn't know it was because you're all roommates, but that's reassuring in its way."

"Tim seems, to me, like he had to grow up faster than most kids. He takes himself very seriously, for better and for worse. He comes from money, definitely, and he's got some people issues. But he's a good kid. I actually arrived here alongside him, and requested him as a roommate after that."

She's fond of the little brat.

Gil smiles progressively more as she goes on.

"That's about what I figured. He's got that..." He shakes his head and takes another sip. "That attitude that a lot of the kids have, who end up working for me."

He raises his eyebrows at her. "You're observational and damn good at breaking it down. That a learned skill?"

"Of course. Or a defense mechanism. But it comes in handy working as the personal assistant to a billionaire tech genius. He appreciates my takes on people he has meetings with, sometimes."

And it helps her know what's going on with her boss--after all, she was able to line up his time out of the office with the Dastard's work neatly on her own.

"Why, would you let me work with you, too?"

"Why not? You've clearly got the mind for it."

He studies her curiously for a moment. "How'd you end up a tech billionaire's personal assistant? Not the kind of position you stumble across on craigslist."

"You start as a general administrative staffer, work late nights, distinguish yourself through exemplary work. Don't ever allow anyone to see you falter or make a mistake. Make yourself indispensable. Draw the attention of higher-ups so that when Mr. Belcora fires his assistant for the third time in a month, they think of you as a potential replacement."

She's actually beginning to try the same trick here. Not that she thinks she's going to unseat Reyes as the Warden's personal assistant, but she's trying to make herself indispensable among admin staffers. Trying to distinguish herself.

~~On some level, she fears what could happen if she doesn't.~~

"Ah. Slow, steady, well-earned." His tone is the slightest bit dry. "Must be a lot of pressure though, keeping it all together all the time."

He would know. Even if, after forty years of police work and twenty years moving up the ranks, he doesn't still get called lucky boy on occasion for the collar that brought him that first bit of attention.

Smol August Catch-All - Closed and OTA

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