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Entry tags:
OPEN | prompt one | RAIN
 |
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. |
[ There's not much room left beneath the awnings that line the busy shop center so instead of trying to push and pry her way through the crowds, Amelia (Kookaburra to her associates, those in the know) is standing on a street corner instead, doing what little she can to shield her head with a splayed-out bit of soppy newspaper. It's not really doing a very good job, though.
God, she could really use a smoke. ]
God, she could really use a smoke. ]
Edited 2012-01-07 18:06 (UTC)
[ Betina likes guests. Guests means being able to entertain, to pour over the contents of her rather impressive wine cellar and mull over which bottle (vintage, stamp, year) will best suit the visitor in question. Their mood, her mood, something tannic or peaty or lush to smooth conversation along — it's a bit of delightful alchemy, really.
In the end she chooses a white, something floral and bright to combat the rain that spatters against the wide panorama of windows that wrap along one side of her apartment. Her heels click across the hardwood floors as she goes searching for a corkscrew. ]
I imagine trying to flag a ride in this weather was awful, [ she says conversationally. ]
In the end she chooses a white, something floral and bright to combat the rain that spatters against the wide panorama of windows that wrap along one side of her apartment. Her heels click across the hardwood floors as she goes searching for a corkscrew. ]
I imagine trying to flag a ride in this weather was awful, [ she says conversationally. ]
Edited 2012-01-07 18:05 (UTC)
[ Mason can't remember the last time it rained — properly rained. The atmosphere since the Event has been in a perpetual state of royally fucked which is bad for reservoirs in general but good for him, since he scrapes an existence together by knowing where else the water is. It makes him more of a commodity, less of a target, no longer kill on sight when it comes to his contacts.
Still, occasional rain is always good. If anything, it gives people hope. (Or, on second thought, perhaps that's a bad thing.) In the distance dark clouds are forming and the sky rumbles with far-off thunder. Mason winces out an expression which is probably a smile as he looks away from the business at hand to duck his head low and look off, as if trying to read those storm clouds. ]
Finally.
Still, occasional rain is always good. If anything, it gives people hope. (Or, on second thought, perhaps that's a bad thing.) In the distance dark clouds are forming and the sky rumbles with far-off thunder. Mason winces out an expression which is probably a smile as he looks away from the business at hand to duck his head low and look off, as if trying to read those storm clouds. ]
Finally.
Edited 2012-01-07 18:09 (UTC)
[ the rain keeps most people off the streets, thins the crowd and makes it easier to stroll along sidewalks unchecked. william enjoys empty streets, even if these come with rain soaking through his jacket and dousing his cigarettes. he doesn't seem to be in any particular hurry as he walks down the street with his shoulders hunched against the deluge and a cheerily whistled tune on his lips. ]
[ Rain falls so rarely these days that it's something of an event (lower-case) when it does. Harcivk's basement complex doesn't have windows, obviously but on evenings like these when the clouds have rolled in thickly, he can take his dinner (an energy bar and his ration of water) up to the covered back porch and watch the rain and it's almost like what the family that used to own this house might have imagined their rainy evenings would be like.
The rain used to come down black, wet fallout full of ash. It's still pretty acidic these days, but he sends people off to gather basins of the stuff anyway whenever it comes down, thinking vaguely that he might be able to do something with it eventually. Their signal lights flash off and on in the night now and then as he chews. ]
The rain used to come down black, wet fallout full of ash. It's still pretty acidic these days, but he sends people off to gather basins of the stuff anyway whenever it comes down, thinking vaguely that he might be able to do something with it eventually. Their signal lights flash off and on in the night now and then as he chews. ]
[ She's not tasked with keeping on eye on Harvick's person, but that doesn't keep Baby Jane from doing it anyway when there's nothing else for her to do. Finding him is easily enough, though he's not in any of his usual haunts this time of night. When she steals up behind him, it's on silent feet, the door barely making a soft click shut behind her.
It's not as though she's sneaking on purpose, Baby Jane just doesn't know how else to operate. It's either slinking about on soft, muted paws or all out — teeth, nails, the lot. She's not a girl raised by wolves, but a girl raised by the Event. Arguably, the later's much more fierce.
She says nothing. ]
It's not as though she's sneaking on purpose, Baby Jane just doesn't know how else to operate. It's either slinking about on soft, muted paws or all out — teeth, nails, the lot. She's not a girl raised by wolves, but a girl raised by the Event. Arguably, the later's much more fierce.
She says nothing. ]
[ Harvick's had to learn a lot about paying attention to his surroundings since the Event that he never had reason to bother with before it. Somedays, he marvels that he ever lasted this long or got this far. But here, at the centre of his territory, he sometimes feels safe enough to slip into old bad habits, like ignoring the sound of soft footsteps behind him.
When he does finally, consciously, register the noise, he reminds himself not to let his guard down like that, even as he glances over his shoulder and notes that it's only Baby Jane. ]
What are you doing there, little girl?
When he does finally, consciously, register the noise, he reminds himself not to let his guard down like that, even as he glances over his shoulder and notes that it's only Baby Jane. ]
What are you doing there, little girl?
[ They eat together like a family because that's what Mother Charlotte says and Mother Charlotte knows best. Many that follow her like the routine of it — order and security in a world that has little. Everyone sits around a sheet spread out on the ground, made to look like something out of the Last Supper, the meal's meager holdings parsed out equally between the members of the camp. (Lend Mother Charlotte your fight and your fury, and she will provide.)
Afterwards, people are left to disperse, some of the others staying behind to clean and salvage what needs and can be. Mother Charlotte ambles off, but not far, her attention turned outwards as she stands at the mouth of the shelter. A warm wind blows in from the South.
She doesn't turn at the sound of footsteps; what she says should be heard by any and all. ]
A flood is coming. Soon, now. Soon. [ Absently she rubs at her arms. ] It'll purge what's left of them, I know it.
Afterwards, people are left to disperse, some of the others staying behind to clean and salvage what needs and can be. Mother Charlotte ambles off, but not far, her attention turned outwards as she stands at the mouth of the shelter. A warm wind blows in from the South.
She doesn't turn at the sound of footsteps; what she says should be heard by any and all. ]
A flood is coming. Soon, now. Soon. [ Absently she rubs at her arms. ] It'll purge what's left of them, I know it.
[ She not little, not anymore, but she's done nothing to shirk the 'Baby' from off of her name and so things like 'little girl' and 'cutie' remain. If not from Harvick, then from some of his men, though all of them know that — when push comes to shove — Baby Jane is the sharpest (and quickest) knife in the boss's arsenal. In the dark, she stares at him with her pale eyes. Her skin is so far as to be translucent and so Baby Jane generally keeps underground whenever she can. On the rare occasion that she does venture out in the day, it's completely garbed from head to toe to keep the sun's poison off her delicate skin (it's the only thing about her that's weak).
Eventually: ] Working.
[ Protecting you. Watching. ]
Eventually: ] Working.
[ Protecting you. Watching. ]
[ noah's umbrella is inside-out.
it's happened twice on the walk home, so now he waits in a doorway for the rain to let up while he contemplates just saying "fuck it," and throwing his piece of shit umbrella in the nearest trashcan and continuing on his way without it. he is on a schedule, of course, but he'd rather not show up to the appointment in question looking like a drowned rat. one looses a fair amount of intimidation when they're dripping all over the carpet.
five minutes. he'll give it five minutes, and then he'll make a break for it. ]
it's happened twice on the walk home, so now he waits in a doorway for the rain to let up while he contemplates just saying "fuck it," and throwing his piece of shit umbrella in the nearest trashcan and continuing on his way without it. he is on a schedule, of course, but he'd rather not show up to the appointment in question looking like a drowned rat. one looses a fair amount of intimidation when they're dripping all over the carpet.
five minutes. he'll give it five minutes, and then he'll make a break for it. ]
[ From bad to worse, just as he's about to make a break for it, Noah's phone begins to ring in his pocket. The number of the caller is blocked, though the connection does override the default screen settings of his mobile to alert him that it's coming from the Office.
Which means only one thing: higher clearance is calling. ]
Which means only one thing: higher clearance is calling. ]
[ the rain, the umbrella, it's forgotten in the blink of an eye. noah's priorities are ever--outwardly, at the least--in line with the requirements of his station. the office is ringing. everything else can be set on hold. ]
Miller here.
[ crisp, professional tone. not the tone of a man who was only moments ago cursing at his umbrella and thinking about the rain washing away the gel in his carefully combed-back here. ]
Miller here.
[ crisp, professional tone. not the tone of a man who was only moments ago cursing at his umbrella and thinking about the rain washing away the gel in his carefully combed-back here. ]
[ Kid, the name he’s come to associate with himself, has been staring at the rain for more than an hour, fascinated in a way that makes him look far younger than he really is.
He can vaguely remember a time where he knew what rain looked like decorating a window, clinging to glass like little jewels. It feels distant, that memory, almost like it’s never really been his, but he holds onto it for a moment longer before returning his attention to the various beakers and buckets and bottles all turned up towards the clouds.
He’s supposed to be making sure that he switches them over once they’re full, and the last thing he wants is to disappoint Mother Charlotte. Forcing himself down onto a knee, the ground an uncomfortable, painful push back to the present, Kid gently slips his fingers around a colored bottle, eyes peering into its open top to check the level of water. ]
He can vaguely remember a time where he knew what rain looked like decorating a window, clinging to glass like little jewels. It feels distant, that memory, almost like it’s never really been his, but he holds onto it for a moment longer before returning his attention to the various beakers and buckets and bottles all turned up towards the clouds.
He’s supposed to be making sure that he switches them over once they’re full, and the last thing he wants is to disappoint Mother Charlotte. Forcing himself down onto a knee, the ground an uncomfortable, painful push back to the present, Kid gently slips his fingers around a colored bottle, eyes peering into its open top to check the level of water. ]
[ Harvick never knows exactly what to think about the girl. She's a child; she's dangerous. He should keep her out of harm's way; where exactly is "out of harm's way" these days? He's mostly given up trying to sort it out, lets her do what she wants, and tries to account for her lack of full frontal lobe development where she can't see.
Silently, he crooks a finger at her and then points to the unoccupied spot on the bench. The pattern that used to grace its cushions are mostly gone now, but the padding remains. God bless polyurethane. Even nuclear winter couldn't best that stuff. ]
Silently, he crooks a finger at her and then points to the unoccupied spot on the bench. The pattern that used to grace its cushions are mostly gone now, but the padding remains. God bless polyurethane. Even nuclear winter couldn't best that stuff. ]
[ In the confines of his office at the Bureau, August Dahl is standing at the window, peering out at the sidewalk before from between held-apart blinds. They give a metallic sort of snap before he's turning away from the window entirely, back towards his desk, where the paperwork is. ]
Miller, this is the Bureau of Trades. [ The simplicity of the language cannot be overlooked. August is not from the Bureau of Trades; he is it. ] Cancel your appointment, [ he says simply, not even bothering to introduce himself further. ] It can wait.
Miller, this is the Bureau of Trades. [ The simplicity of the language cannot be overlooked. August is not from the Bureau of Trades; he is it. ] Cancel your appointment, [ he says simply, not even bothering to introduce himself further. ] It can wait.
Edited 2012-01-07 20:11 (UTC)
[ There are times when she doesn't obey. Much like an animal straining against a leash, or perhaps like the adolescent girl she's meant to but oftentimes forgets how to be, Baby Jane sometimes throws a fit or is stubborn and will refuse a command he's given her. (Though, not often.) This, however, isn't one of those times, because after she blinks at Harvick (once, twice) she's sitting, still moving silently from here to there.
Her eyes don't leave him once. ]
Rain's good, [ she says after another long pause. ] Are you happy?
Her eyes don't leave him once. ]
Rain's good, [ she says after another long pause. ] Are you happy?
[ A voice comes from somewhere behind him. ]
A while longer on that one, I reckon, [ it says, its tone something of a sashay, the way it dips and sways like the line of a song only she's not singing, she's speaking. Madchen's been around for as long as Kid has been (longer) and much like him, she was on hard times when she and her husband had first joined the family. Kid was still a scrawny little boy back then and she a young mother bereaved of her unborn babe and so she'd taken a shining to him, as mute and withdrawn as she was.
Other than Johnny, Kid's one of the few people who can get Madchen's mood swings back on track when they pitch sharply out of control but right now, she's cheerful despite the rain. It makes her dress stick to her torso and thighs but she doesn't pay it any mind.
Madchen smiles slightly when he turns to look at her. ] Fancy help?
A while longer on that one, I reckon, [ it says, its tone something of a sashay, the way it dips and sways like the line of a song only she's not singing, she's speaking. Madchen's been around for as long as Kid has been (longer) and much like him, she was on hard times when she and her husband had first joined the family. Kid was still a scrawny little boy back then and she a young mother bereaved of her unborn babe and so she'd taken a shining to him, as mute and withdrawn as she was.
Other than Johnny, Kid's one of the few people who can get Madchen's mood swings back on track when they pitch sharply out of control but right now, she's cheerful despite the rain. It makes her dress stick to her torso and thighs but she doesn't pay it any mind.
Madchen smiles slightly when he turns to look at her. ] Fancy help?
[ He shrugs. The concept of happiness, like the idea that he somehow has found himself raising an adolescent girl (or at least, being present while she raises herself), is a little odd a lot of the time. It seems terribly gauche to admit that he may be happier now than he ever was before the Event. ]
It's a pleasant evening, [ he says, finishing the last bite of his energy bar and tucking the wrapper away in his pocket. ] Won't be any trouble tonight with everyone too turned around by that. [ He points in a vaguely upward direction. ]
It's a pleasant evening, [ he says, finishing the last bite of his energy bar and tucking the wrapper away in his pocket. ] Won't be any trouble tonight with everyone too turned around by that. [ He points in a vaguely upward direction. ]
[ If there's one thing Seba's learned about criminals it's that they're not particularly good at being punctual. For what seems like the fifth time since he arrived, he checks his watch and then proceeds to light another cigarette, tapping the ash into the sad dregs of what remains of his water (it'd be tacky to start drinking alone). Were he in a better mood, he might have rolled himself to the front desk, asked the woman there politely if he could borrow her phone, but the rain on the wheels of his chair makes him reluctant and stubborn so he doesn't (loathe to dirty his hands for a second time tonight).
So, instead, he smokes and watches the rain through the windows of the restaurant. Ten minutes, fifteen on the outside. Then he's leaving. ]
So, instead, he smokes and watches the rain through the windows of the restaurant. Ten minutes, fifteen on the outside. Then he's leaving. ]
[ The singsong tone is immediately recognizable, Kid's expression growing more conscious of his surroundings at the familiarity. He's back in the camp now, rain temporarily forgotten aside from the damp making his hair frizzy and the back of his neck cold. It's not a nice feeling, shoulders shifting beneath his jacket as he gets up from his knee, the material of his collar teased away from the skin at the back of his neck as he walks towards Madchen. ]
I can do it. [ Needing to prove himself is a recent addition to Kid's otherwise settled personality, his coming of age provoking the desire to make sure he proves he's worthy of staying in their company. He's never been under the impression that he'll be thrown out on his ass if he doesn't, but it's a matter of pride, now. He's not a stupid little kid now. He's a man. ]
Stay 'nd tell me your favorite thing about the rain.
I can do it. [ Needing to prove himself is a recent addition to Kid's otherwise settled personality, his coming of age provoking the desire to make sure he proves he's worthy of staying in their company. He's never been under the impression that he'll be thrown out on his ass if he doesn't, but it's a matter of pride, now. He's not a stupid little kid now. He's a man. ]
Stay 'nd tell me your favorite thing about the rain.
[ It's nice, Madchen thinks, seeing something so tiny and meek grow to become something as broad-shouldered and tall as Kid's turned out to be. The world doesn't nurture things anymore, not the way that it used to, and on the rare occasion that someone's able to tease some life out of the fallow ground, it always comes up crooked and stunted. (There's nothing the Event hasn't touched, even now.) But Kid's proof that there are still good things to be had, that there's hope in children and that Mother Charlotte gathers only the best and most deserving.
Running her hands over her rain-damp arms she touches her hair, pushing it back from where it hangs in her face in whiteblonde, wet-grey stands. ] Favorite thing 'bout the rain?
[ She mulls it over, her head moving tunelessly as if listening to unheard music. ] Ain't nothing that can't be washed clean by the rain. If'n you've got enough of it, I'd wager. [ She talks a lot about being washed clean; Madchen does. There are sins for which she'd like to be forgiven, some of which she's guilty of but most of which she's not. It's the hook that Mother Charlotte's driven into her heart and it's the lead by which she drags Madchen and Johnny around. ]
Running her hands over her rain-damp arms she touches her hair, pushing it back from where it hangs in her face in whiteblonde, wet-grey stands. ] Favorite thing 'bout the rain?
[ She mulls it over, her head moving tunelessly as if listening to unheard music. ] Ain't nothing that can't be washed clean by the rain. If'n you've got enough of it, I'd wager. [ She talks a lot about being washed clean; Madchen does. There are sins for which she'd like to be forgiven, some of which she's guilty of but most of which she's not. It's the hook that Mother Charlotte's driven into her heart and it's the lead by which she drags Madchen and Johnny around. ]
Always trouble somewhere, [ Baby Jane says after another long silence, though she finally turns her attention away from Harvick to look at the distant lights that move across the landscape flickering on and off, on and off.
She knows that he won't have them drink the water, that people will get sick if they do. But there are clothes to wash and bodies to clean and things that run on steam. ]
How long until it stops? [ she asks, blinking slowly. Even though Harvick is not her father and hasn't been fatherly to her for a while now, she still is of the opinion that he holds the answers and whatever it is that he tells her, she is ready to accept as not opinion but fact. ]
She knows that he won't have them drink the water, that people will get sick if they do. But there are clothes to wash and bodies to clean and things that run on steam. ]
How long until it stops? [ she asks, blinking slowly. Even though Harvick is not her father and hasn't been fatherly to her for a while now, she still is of the opinion that he holds the answers and whatever it is that he tells her, she is ready to accept as not opinion but fact. ]
[ It's raining outside. Claude can see it from his window, can hear the gentle patter against the glass. The sound picks at the back of his head like a persistent itch. To be frank, he's never really liked the rain. He knows what its importance is, but in his immediate life, it only creates inconvenience and mess. A wet coat, a shoe stuck in the mud. (It's telling, he supposes, that this is what he chooses to worry about. But what else has he to worry about save an empty house? His mind strays to that darkness enough already.)
Still, today he allows himself a breath. Leaning back slowly in his chair, he turns so that he's facing out the window, hands set on the armrests, fingers curled about the ends, a little glimpse into the unrest that has plagued him ever since, well. Ever since his Trade. ]
Still, today he allows himself a breath. Leaning back slowly in his chair, he turns so that he's facing out the window, hands set on the armrests, fingers curled about the ends, a little glimpse into the unrest that has plagued him ever since, well. Ever since his Trade. ]
[ He leans forward, dropping his arm down onto his thigh so that he can try to see out from under the porch roof. Not that there's much to see. The clouds are big and black, but the sky is pretty black too now, and there aren't city lights the way there used to be, to light them up from the underside.
And what the hell does he know about clouds anyway?
He sits back, drapping his arm on the back of the bench, leaning his head against the wall of the house. ]
It could be a few more minutes or it could go on all night. [ Probably wouldn't, though. Short and rare, that was rain these days. He turned his head slightly in her direction and quirked an eyebrow up. ] Why? D'you have somewhere to be?
And what the hell does he know about clouds anyway?
He sits back, drapping his arm on the back of the bench, leaning his head against the wall of the house. ]
It could be a few more minutes or it could go on all night. [ Probably wouldn't, though. Short and rare, that was rain these days. He turned his head slightly in her direction and quirked an eyebrow up. ] Why? D'you have somewhere to be?
[ When he turns his head slightly in her direction, she does the same, her motion mirrored perfectly to his, the precision with which she does so uncanny. Her eyes are mostly pupil, ringed barely by the thinnest sliver of ice-blue iris.
Do I have somewhere to be? [ she asks. From somebody else, it probably would have been accompanied by mocking emphasis on that first word 'do', the question sardonic or perhaps a little bitter. But from Baby Jane it's nothing short of earnest. A wet breeze blows — warm and unrefreshing — from the heart of the city. It smells like wet metal and battery acid.
A white tendril of hair is stuck to Baby Jane's cheek but, being as efficient and still as she is, she makes no effort to pull it free with a finger. ]
Do I have somewhere to be? [ she asks. From somebody else, it probably would have been accompanied by mocking emphasis on that first word 'do', the question sardonic or perhaps a little bitter. But from Baby Jane it's nothing short of earnest. A wet breeze blows — warm and unrefreshing — from the heart of the city. It smells like wet metal and battery acid.
A white tendril of hair is stuck to Baby Jane's cheek but, being as efficient and still as she is, she makes no effort to pull it free with a finger. ]
Edited 2012-01-08 00:02 (UTC)
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