Anthony (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scramasax) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
savetheearth2014-01-25 09:44 am
scramasax) wrote in savetheearth2014-01-25 09:44 am
(no subject)
Who: Anthony Janvier and OPEN on the 23rd; Harper Sutherland, Reilanin Bainbridge, and Angeline Strauss on the 23rd and 24th.
Where: Around Locke, rounding a park and ending at one grocery store on the 23rd; the library and Angeline's place of work on the 24th.
When: Backdated to Jan. 23rd to Jan. 24th; midday to evening.
What: The resident zombie is, courtesy of Master Nine-Lived Detective, perfectly alive again for a few days. What better way to spend them than outside a bit, running a few errands?
By the time he has split off from Alex, he's already out and well-out and underprepared for it. No tasks lined up, nothing on hand except for a bit of cash, but that's well and good - he hadn't known what to do with this time in the first place, and he's got another day, at least, in all likelihood - this is hitting the ground running.
And running, he can do! Heads quickly down a few blocks in a store-lined zone, remembering his way around and enjoying it - open space without any need for a hiding spot, not that he feels coming on. Occasional bump or near-bump on his blind side, but open, nonetheless, and the sun's no bother and he can properly feel the wind. Both facts are the winter weather aside.
Meanders into the park for maximum effect of outside-ness within a few hours. He flatly drops into a bench. Brings out the sheet of paper he's got pocketed to check up on the network, unfolds it. Proceeds with the checking to his left, in case - not even thinking to compensate for incomplete view of the right.
And with that similarly cursory check done with he can resolve to get at least one minor thing taken care of - he expects he's actually going to need to sleep today, after all.
Fetching what it surely was that at least some of the money he's got on hand was meant or implicitly encouraged to be used for, it is.
He's at the store picking backing ingredients off a shelf and of all things he's forgotten how to do this without actively thinking. He didn't take a basket on the way over here - and obviously whatever he's going to pick is going to be bagged, but then he's going to need to carry those bags by hand on the way home...
Has his arms a bit full scanning shelves for more manageable shapes, if not sizes, turning a bit - doesn't need to be everything at once, just what he'll need to fill in gaps in or re-supply anything there's an obvious shortage of. He can and should come up with a proper plan tomorrow.
-----
He does set out with a proper plan today. Doesn't leave too early, seeing as technically he should be in school now, and has a backpack on him, which may or may not allow him to stand out a little less in addition to serving its utilitarian purpose.
Firm note to drop by the library, which he does - pushes the door open and promptly slips off into an aisle at semi-random just in case by some chance anyone might be present who might recognize him, ask where on earth he's been or pass on word to certain parties to who might be interested.
Either the layout's a hint different, it's occurring to him, or he's misremembering - he supposes either the earthquake forced some reorganization thinking back to Ms. Bainbridge's network message or he's just a bit out of touch. Goes to wandering back around, peering around and into the aisles to at least clue himself into a quick re-mapping-out.
At the store by the time the sun's started going down, however, he knows just where to go. Has made a proper list, weaved in and out of and picked from the aisles, and is at the front. Makes it to the register, hands over cash, responds to a well-meant inquiry about the patch over his eye with a sheepishly-laughing "Oh - it's -- surgery," stuffs the change back into his pocket and takes the bags with a thanks and a duck of the head.
He slows down towards the door stalling on whether to set down his bags and try to fit the shopping bags into the backpack with the books before or after he walks through it.
Catches a glimpse, as he does so, of what looks rather like long blue hair with streaks back inside.
Does a double-take and freezes to the spot. Partly blocking the doorway. That does look rather like who he thinks it does.
Where: Around Locke, rounding a park and ending at one grocery store on the 23rd; the library and Angeline's place of work on the 24th.
When: Backdated to Jan. 23rd to Jan. 24th; midday to evening.
What: The resident zombie is, courtesy of Master Nine-Lived Detective, perfectly alive again for a few days. What better way to spend them than outside a bit, running a few errands?
By the time he has split off from Alex, he's already out and well-out and underprepared for it. No tasks lined up, nothing on hand except for a bit of cash, but that's well and good - he hadn't known what to do with this time in the first place, and he's got another day, at least, in all likelihood - this is hitting the ground running.
And running, he can do! Heads quickly down a few blocks in a store-lined zone, remembering his way around and enjoying it - open space without any need for a hiding spot, not that he feels coming on. Occasional bump or near-bump on his blind side, but open, nonetheless, and the sun's no bother and he can properly feel the wind. Both facts are the winter weather aside.
Meanders into the park for maximum effect of outside-ness within a few hours. He flatly drops into a bench. Brings out the sheet of paper he's got pocketed to check up on the network, unfolds it. Proceeds with the checking to his left, in case - not even thinking to compensate for incomplete view of the right.
And with that similarly cursory check done with he can resolve to get at least one minor thing taken care of - he expects he's actually going to need to sleep today, after all.
Fetching what it surely was that at least some of the money he's got on hand was meant or implicitly encouraged to be used for, it is.
He's at the store picking backing ingredients off a shelf and of all things he's forgotten how to do this without actively thinking. He didn't take a basket on the way over here - and obviously whatever he's going to pick is going to be bagged, but then he's going to need to carry those bags by hand on the way home...
Has his arms a bit full scanning shelves for more manageable shapes, if not sizes, turning a bit - doesn't need to be everything at once, just what he'll need to fill in gaps in or re-supply anything there's an obvious shortage of. He can and should come up with a proper plan tomorrow.
-----
He does set out with a proper plan today. Doesn't leave too early, seeing as technically he should be in school now, and has a backpack on him, which may or may not allow him to stand out a little less in addition to serving its utilitarian purpose.
Firm note to drop by the library, which he does - pushes the door open and promptly slips off into an aisle at semi-random just in case by some chance anyone might be present who might recognize him, ask where on earth he's been or pass on word to certain parties to who might be interested.
Either the layout's a hint different, it's occurring to him, or he's misremembering - he supposes either the earthquake forced some reorganization thinking back to Ms. Bainbridge's network message or he's just a bit out of touch. Goes to wandering back around, peering around and into the aisles to at least clue himself into a quick re-mapping-out.
At the store by the time the sun's started going down, however, he knows just where to go. Has made a proper list, weaved in and out of and picked from the aisles, and is at the front. Makes it to the register, hands over cash, responds to a well-meant inquiry about the patch over his eye with a sheepishly-laughing "Oh - it's -- surgery," stuffs the change back into his pocket and takes the bags with a thanks and a duck of the head.
He slows down towards the door stalling on whether to set down his bags and try to fit the shopping bags into the backpack with the books before or after he walks through it.
Catches a glimpse, as he does so, of what looks rather like long blue hair with streaks back inside.
Does a double-take and freezes to the spot. Partly blocking the doorway. That does look rather like who he thinks it does.
no subject
Is that what she's saying?
Manages a "Well, it." He cuts it off there suspended. Can't finish that thought without assuming too much - worry could just as easily be over the effects of pulses in general. An obligatory "It isn't that bad" would do worse than nothing if that's it, not even worth assurance considering how unpredictable cases are - the one she'd just mentioned is a fine example; apparently some zombification self-cures...
He's left to do the same, then - make an admission.
"I, uh." Half of what's left of a shallow breath he's been unconsciously stalling on finishing. Thins and licks his lips. "Thought you were upset, over -- before - ..."
Either of the befores - another apology for the fiasco with the other three, a first one for the discouragingly-ended talk over the network.
no subject
For Harper, it was just as important to come back swinging at anything of the discouraging sort. It was the only way to come out on top, even though it could do the adverse and land her in hot water, as she'd just so colorfully found out. Regardless, she's a bad liar, and an even worse sugar-coater. Ironic as that was, with all those sweet baking supplies still hanging from the crook of her arm. So she leaves the word mincing to the more emotionally cunning.
"But," she tacks on, without an ounce of trepidation. "I was upset because I didn't know! That it couldn't have been your fault, the way you looked, or sounded. If I had known that, I wouldn't have been as afraid! So when I saw you looking like this..."
She'd snapped.
no subject
And he blinks loose up from it when she continues.
Anthony stays put watching, holds a response ready behind his teeth... And when she doesn't finish that sentence, he lets it loose. First syllables strong as if delivered on the beat. The rest of them slipping and skewing as the pause catches up.
" -- I'd though it was - the... opposite...!" Fires a glance and another flinch one way up the nearest wall and back on her, and then down - " -- I-I mean that I thought - that -- " A hoarse edge slipping into his voice, swallows it clean. "Uhh, I -- said something I shouldn't've when I said that it was -- the -- pulses' fault..."
no subject
"It was the truth, wasn't it?"
no subject
" -- I don't know - !"
Badly-placed - he defensively shrinks a little lower...
" -- I-I mean that I don't know - what -- I might have done wrong, but I could've -- ..."
Three seconds of pause. Wraps his mind thickly around an obvious thought.
" -- done something better, still!"
no subject
In a matter of moments, she's turned this game of twenty questions right on its head, and looks as though she wouldn't hesitate to do the same to him, if he didn't get with the program. While she isn't directly apologizing, her posture does slack. She pulls her stance into itself, opting to cross her arms squarely.
"I misunderstood you."