OPEN | prompt one | RAIN

[wrens]

prompt one | R A I N I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain - and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.

 

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[shivs]

[ Logically, it makes sense to be allied to a man like Ethan Harvick. He's smart, decisive, focused and — most importantly — knows where the water is. In a world where water isn't the only commodity but certainly the most precious this makes him a very powerful man (arguably one of the richest ones left standing).

Logic, however, isn't what keeps Baby Jane by Harvick's side — silent and obedient and loyal. Nor is it a matter of survival, because if Baby Jane is capable of anything it's most certainly getting by on her own. No, what keeps her here, engaged in a conversation to which she only half contributes, all of her attention — both conscious and subconscious — focused on him sitting beside her, is something much more simple than that. It's naturalistic and organic and almost biological. Like the way a mother hawk imprints on a baby bird.

Baby Jane looks at Harvick again. ] I can do that, [ she says, the tone of her voice lifting every so slightly, making her sound just a hair closer to eager. Though the logistics of making sure nobody ever drinks rainwater again are quite complicated (and, in keeping with Baby Jane's method of problem solving, involve quite a lot of dead bodies), she does not seem daunted by this in the slightest.

She hears the word 'happy' and she responds. It's almost Pavlovian by now when it comes to him. ]

[reactive]

[ And here is how Harvick has learned to deal with Baby Jane: by finding something endearing in all that wildness. She's a child who survived the Event when many adults couldn't even manage the same, when Harvick to this day isn't certain how he managed it, honestly. She can be vicious and troublesome and fantastically literal at times but all of it is part of why she is here now.

She may not be a normal child but then perhaps there are no more normal children, as Harvick knew them. Perhaps there is just Baby Jane and others like her, made to survive in this world they have now. Harvick fancies himself a scientist before most other things, and he'd like to think he can spot evolution when he sees it. ]

Keep in mind that we need customers left standing afterward as well, [ he murmurs into his the lip of his bottle, almost a gentle correction. ]

[shivs]

[ It's not an admonishment and she doesn't take it as such, though her head cants slightly to one side as if he's just said something curious. ] The smart ones will survive, [ is her reply and if there's irony or doublespeak or some kind of broad-sweeping commentary on the World At Large seems to accompany the statement, Baby Jane isn't aware of it.

She turns away again, standing now and moving to the edge of the porch. When she extends an arm out into the rain, it's with her hand face-up and her fingers cupped. The water fills the meager bowl and then streams through the seams in it, wetting her hand and the dead ground below. ] You will always be relevant and when they die, others will come. New faces.

[reactive]

[ She's probably right. That's the upside to this business. Harvick's father's philosophy of business was to sell people what they need. In good times, people will happily spend huge sums buying what they want and pinch every penny for the things they need. But good times never last forever and when the bad times roll around, a person who sells what people need can take them for everything they have, and they'll swear and bargain and curse you, but they'll keep coming too. That's why Harvick's father got into the pharmaceutical business. With water, Harvick likes to think he's done one better.

That's why he smiles, watching her catch water in her hands, acting like what she's said is sort of a joke and knowing that it sort of isn't as well. ]

Provided we ensure there are enough people left over to continue the species.

[shivs]

[ It's a bit like watching a small animal fascinate on a dancing beam of light on a wall, the way Baby Jane watches her own hand fill with water only to tip it out to dribble in a large, satisfying plish plosh, only to right her palm and do it all over again. When she asks her question of Harvick, she doesn't turn, doesn't inflect her voice in a different way. It's an inquiry, same as all the others.

And, just like all the others, she'll listen to whatever Harvick tells her. ]

Is that what we want to do?

[reactive]

[ Since she's thoroughly distracted now -- or as distracted as Baby Jane ever really gets -- Harvick takes the opportunity to drain the last of his water, screwing the cap back on the bottle and setting it aside before getting up to join her by the railing. He doesn't reach out to touch the rain, but he folds his arms against his chest and leans on them in a way that means his elbows get splashed every few moments by a drip coming off the porch roof. ]

It's important to be reasonable about killing people, isn't it? Kill too many, and we start looking like just any other gang of lunatics, and people will start coming only when they're absolutely desperate. Reputation matters. For our purposes, for the moment, it's better to be seen as relatively safe.