aviary | OPEN | prompt one

[ 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. ]

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. ]

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.

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. ]

[ 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.

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ Day three of the hunt and he's been hired by Ishtar Settlement to track a small group of marauders responsible for raiding their weekly water supply caravan. It's not the first time he's been called in to do this sort of thing and the Hunter knows that it won't be the last. Groups are good because they're slower to move and easier to track; they never bother with being subtle since they've got strength in numbers, and none of them ever really suspect people to send just one man after them to settle their debts. If it cam down to it, Hunter reasons, he'd rather have surprise over brute strength any day. Lucky for him, and for Ishtar Settlement, he has both.

What he doesn't have, however, is a bit of luck. The rain means whatever headway he's made is more or less lost as the rain churns the dry earth into mud, obliterating whatever tracks he had hoped to follow in the morning.

Echo Settlement exists in the remains of an outpost colony halfway between the ruins of Constantinople and Alexandria. The original plan had been to just pass through but the Hunter knows there's no use now, might as well stay the night. He stares at the rain moodily through the dirty window of what serves as the settlement's general store. ]

There goes that fuckin' plan.

[ When Mother Charlotte says jump, Jonathan asks how high, and when Mother Charlotte asks if Jonathan believes, Jonathan says that yes, yes he does. And Jonathan does these things because Madchen does, and Jonathan does these things because all he has ever wanted is to keep Madchen safe. He has messed this up once already, and he has no intention of doing so again.

After dinner, he does his part in helping clean up as he always does, keeping his head down and offering up a few smiles and pardon mes and thank you kindlys as necessary. ]

[The rain doesn't bother Jessica too much, but that's still no reason to stand in it unnecessarily. She stays in the doorway of the apartment building she's just come out of - questioning the super regarding a couple of seemingly ex-residents. There's a shopkeeper across the street that she needs to speak to, but she waits for a moment, checking her phone for any missed calls or messages.]

[Simple surveillance, that's what it was meant to be, following a suspected offender's movements to confirm the reports Sandrina had already read. Confirmation and management.

The rain lowers visibility, though. Parked up on the corner, outside the café the suspected offender is having his lunch in, she peers through the glass and water, but has a hard time making out as much detail as she'd truly like. She either needs to change the plan or call it a loss for the day, but deciding on which was a weighing up of priorities and dangers that she had yet to reach the end of.]

[A club tucked down a relatively quiet sidestreet, but the crowds are still large, and haven't been driven off by the rain. Felix prefers it that way. A room full of people is always the best place to be, for security and disguise, and a club full is even better. He's taken one of the raised booths at the back, seated with a few faces he trusts and some faces they've decided they like for the evening.

It's doubtful the majority of the people in the club have any idea who he is, but the few who do are already taking advantage of the moment, coming over to politely make good, ask a favour, try to impress. He seems amenable enough, but Felix never stops working. Even a nod and a smile are part of business, and his eyes are still sharp, watching the crowd.]

[ these things always happen to her. it rains and she forgets her umbrella. it snows and she looses her scarf and mittens. it's sunny and she forgets her hat. she's always somehow unprepared.

and now standing in the doorway of the restaurant she was leaving, coffee in hand. she could go back and buy a newspaper, use it as a makeshift umbrella. but it'd be soaked through within minutes in this downpour, as jolie knew well. she'd done this before, after all.

she might as well wait, she figured. if anyone hassled her she could always blame her lateness on the rain and the traffic, neither of which were complete lies.

but no one would, in all likelihood. people were used to jolie running a few minutes late, skidding into meetings breathless and offering up apologetic smiles and contrite excuses. today probably wouldn't be any different. ]

[ even as a little boy even had never been a fan of the rain. it always meant that he had to go inside (stop playing or you'll catch your death) and there was always a bit of sadness each time he did. he supposes that perhaps that's the reason he never likes it now (he's not a psychologist, but it makes sense to him).

he needs to leave the labs though, if he doesn't he'll be stuck missing a party or something that someone is throwing and he can't afford it. sure, he knows he's practically a commodity (better than half of the luxuries in his mind) himself in terms of being useful, but that doesn't mean shit when people are about as trustworthy as snakes.

his frown deeps as he ponders for a moment before he heads to the door, grabbing an umbrella on his way out. it opens with minimal fuss once he's out but it doesn't stop him from saying two words that undoubtedly anyone near him will hear. ] Fucking rain.

[ Of course it'd start raining, Jane supposes, while she was still out. Her shift at the practice done for the day, she's out running grocery errands before picking the kids up and then dropping them off, then picking them up again and then getting home. (Getting home properly, that is. There are pockets of time in between each thing, yes, but not the sort of time anyone can use to really get anything done.)

But for now, she's dry, and maybe the rain will let up by the time she's at the checkout counter. One can hope. ]

[ It isn't terribly often that Noel actually goes home. (This is more than understandable, considering how much he has on his plate on a daily basis.)

As such, it's in a state of mild irritation that Noel finds himself standing under the awning that leads out of the offices, a briefcase in one hand, the other held over his eyes as he peers this way and that, his mouth pulled into a thin line. A few moments later, he heads back into the lobby, looking more unimpressed than anything else. ]

I don't suppose you've an umbrella I might borrow, do you?

[ what you do is adapt. you trade the silk ties for hand guns and the armani for leather and you accept that your hands will crack and bleed and harden and that your skin will tan and freckle and that you'll collect a new assortment of scars, all bulletholes and knife slashes and the occasional constellation of teeth marks. you do this because that is what you need to do to survive. you pick up a shotgun and you go out and you make your own damn way in what's left of the world, and you keep your fucking head down. he'd learned that lesson well, before. keep your head down and don't stick your nose in, and you'll be the better for it. even here.

these are the things wes knows, but doesn't necessarily like. he doesn't complain, but he hates that some days he'll catch a glimpse of himself in the cracked and dirt-smeared rearview mirror and not recognize the face that looks back.

he never thought he'd get this dirty in his entire life. dust and dirt and blood are the constants in his life. he can't remember the last time he saw rain, so he gets out of the car to stand in it, tip his face back and hope that maybe he'll be just a little cleaner when he gets back in the car. ]

[ Everybody has a breaking point. It's a rule that Carl Whitmore has learned and learned well — he wouldn't be here if he didn't believe it. He steps out of his most recent session not quite covered in red (the apron and gloves get stripped off first) but by the time he gets downstairs and outside, he's perfectly clean again, not a hair out of place. (He's gotten good at that.)

He's not technically done for the day, not yet, but he needs a smoke, and he doesn't intend to set off the fire alarms. As soon as his cigarette's lit, his head tips back, sucking in a breath and then exhaling a thin stream of smoke around the thin cylinder between his lips. There are still a couple more sessions to be had, if he remembers correctly, but they can wait a few more minutes. ]

[They don't build shelters, even with rain coming - and Felix had known it was coming, had felt it in the air hours before it fell. The makings of camps, heavy canvas and supports, were too much for them to carry. They needed to be quick, move fast. That was what gave them an edge.

The land provided, anyway, provided far more than the other travellers they encountered ever seemed to realise. Felix had found these caves years ago, but there were more, all noted in his mind, a vast map of their territory - a territory with no borders, stretching as far in any direction as they could travel and back again. Felix kept no limits on himself, and didn't expect any of his people to have any either.

He doesn't mind getting his hands dirty, either. He sends a couple of people down deeper into the cave for water from the spring hidden in the depths, then sets to making a low cooking fire by the cave entrance. The tinder catches, and he glances up at the rainfall.]

Looks like we're here for the night, at the least.

[ She leaves him in the remains of a silo located at the very edge of where the settlement gives way to barren dirt fields and an obliterated stretch of concrete that, once upon a time, was a road. It wouldn't do to bring him into town with her; his insides were hardly being kept in, even with the stitch job she'd done, and even neutral towns like Carthage had their fair share of sharks. A limping wounded animal meant opportunity, maybe even a free meal. Judith knows this because she's a shark herself. (Is, was. The line isn't clear anymore.)

When she finally returns, the rains have moved in and there's water leaking down in through the splayed bits of roof overhead. It runs and dribbles down the corrugated metal walls with a wet, pattering noise and turns what had been dry, dusty earth into mud and more mud, the color of tar. Her clothes are soaked through to the bone as she kneels down beside him, her hair hanging around her face in wet strands. The very tips of it drip down onto Darren's face (plip plip plip); its enough to loosen some of the blood that's still dried there in wide ruddy streaks. Judith wipes at with one hand while with the other she presses two fingers to the inside of his wrist and then to this throat.

Then she's turning away again, digging through her bag to pull out this thing and that, setting each aside. A new needle, better thread. A jar of thick amber liquid with what appears to be twigs floating in it. Her knife. ]

Did you sleep?

Edited 2012-01-14 04:00 (UTC)

amelia sahin (kookaburra) | CONSTANTINOPLE | pre-Event

betina bechkenbauer | CONSTANTINOPLE | pre-Event

mason | OPEN | post-Event

william owens; CONSTANTINOPLE | pre-event

ALEXANDRIA | post-Event

mother charlotte | CAMP | post-Event

noah miller; CONSTANTINOPLE | pre-event

tobias "kid" addison | CAMP | post-Event

seba halifax | CONSTANTINOPLE | pre-Event

claude banks | CONSTANTINOPLE | pre-Event

the hunter | SMALL SETTLEMENT IN THE WASTELAND | post-Event

jonathan linnell | CAMP | post-Event

jessica stanesfeld | CONSTANTINOPLE | pre-Event

sandrina tell | CONSTANTINOPLE | pre-Event

felix laurens | CONSTANTINOPLE | pre-Event

jolie wilson; constantinople PRE-EVENT

evan mckinley | constantinople | pre-Event

jane dahl | CONSTANTINOPLE | pre-Event