genessia | Let's blow a hole in this town

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theodore satchel

Let's blow a hole in this town

WHO: Allie Stoklasa, OPEN
WHAT: Allie's master plan to get herself kicked out of Genessia crumbled when she saw firsthand what kind of horrible things people could do, and still stick around. She handles her frustrations poorly.
WHEN: April 10th - Dusk
WHERE: Attleton

Allie chewed absently on the tip of her thumb, the edge of the nail lightly running over the bottom ridges of her upper teeth. Her green eyes were locked on a couple walking down the street, the two companions holding their umbrellas and talking to one another as they passed beneath tree branches that shivered with the wind, and crossed pools of yellow light cast by the street lamps. They didn't seem to pay Allie any mind where she stood with her back against the tree, one ankle crossed in front of the other, as if she were merely waiting for someone and forgot her umbrella at home.

The cold weight of an aluminum can was easily felt through her t-shirt. It was hidden from sight under her flannel shirt and secondhand suede jacket, save for a faint bulge under her clothes that she tried to conceal by crossing her arm over her stomach just so.

Her eyes tracked the pair until they turned the corner, their voices fading in the quiet murmur of pattering rain. She leaned forward and craned her neck, looking down the street, then up. There didn't seem to be anyone else around.

Pushing away from the rough bark of the tree trunk, Allie padded across the grass of the schoolyard. Water squished in her sneakers, and her sneakers squished in the mud. She blinked the rain from her lashes and brushed at her face with an irritated swipe of her left sleeve. The red curls of her hair were dark and plastered to her throat and cheekbones, and both ponytail and tying scarf hung wet and heavy against her back where they threatened to soak through her layers. As she walked, she pulled out the can of spray paint and shook it vigorously.

Not too many years ago, her foster father had been livid to discover that Allie was skipping school in favor of hanging out in the alley across the street from the swimming pool, smoking cigarettes with the other dropouts. He'd given her an ultimatum: go to school, or find herself a new home, because he wasn't going to raise a delinquent.

She went to school. And she did it with a bowie knife strapped to her belt. "I'm gonna cut some bitches!" she'd shouted, stomping up and down the halls until some 'brave' football player tackled her and wrestled the weapon away. It resulted in expulsion like she'd hoped, and as predicted, she was kicked out of the house with nothing to her name but the clothes on her back.

Kind of stupid, now that she thought about it. She tipped her head back, staring at the elementary school wall, the shaking of the can slowed and diminished. If she were smart she would have at least packed a bag first, raided her foster mom's purse for a few dollars, worn a shirt she liked better. But she'd been so damn angry...

Pushing the heel of her palm over her forehead in a futile attempt to drive away a rivulet of water, she popped off the canister lid and let the paint fly with a loud hiss. Crimson dribbled down the bricks as she waved her arm. 'Spirits suck cock.' That's what she wanted to write. What came out was a mess. Rain and spray paint apparently didn't mix all that well, something she would have known had she grown up in a state that got more rain than Wyoming. Upon noticing that her first word had bled into incoherence, Allie grit her teeth and went back to start over. She sprayed longer and took her time, sparing only a brief glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, but the results were the same. Paint ran down the wall and pooled at the cement foundation, soaking into the ground.

"Damn it! DAMN IT!"

She bashed the heel of the spray paint can against the building a few times before whirling around to hurl the rotten thing in the general direction of the playground. The silver can glinted as it spun and plopped to the sodden ground.

What did it matter anyway, really? Getting kicked out of school was one thing, but getting the spirits to kick her out of this place...where men were tortured on public broadcast, eyes and feet and arms removed...what the hell did it take for them to finally decide to boot a victim who just wouldn't cooperate? Apparently Wheel O' Torture wasn't going to cut it, so how much worse would a crime have to be to top that?

She paced angrily over the grass, meandering aimlessly on the vacant schoolgrounds as she grew wetter and more frustrated by the moment. Her adolescent threats with the knife were harmless, but the school officials didn't know that, nor could they afford to take any chances. Allie didn't have the stomach to actually go through with that kind of messed up shit back then, and she hadn't changed so drastically to have a change of heart. Even if she did force herself to do it, to butcher someone, could she really live with herself after that? Even if it actually worked and got her sent back?

Allie stopped in her tracks and threw her head back, blinking rapidly at the assault of raindrops that pelted at her face. "You sons of bitches. You cocksuckers. Why the hell am I here? What do you want from me? I've got nothin'!" Her hands lifted before falling to her sides with a wet slap. "Talk to me, you assholes!"

All of her rage and cursing and demands merited the same results: nothing.

There was a faint choked sound in the back of Allie's throat, which had gone tight for a moment. She threw her middle finger at the sky, held it there, and stormed back toward the street.

"I hate this fucking place."

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[The gods that ruled the world were not content to merely stymie even her pettiest vandalism, oh no. For her rebellion, it would spin the web of fate to place her in a deeper patch of pain: a "chance" meeting with a clown.

Ted, who found gloomy weather a sop to buoyant spirits, had his merry way interrupted by Allie's dramatic protest. Women swearing raised his hackels, but his pseudo-chivalry bid him address the concern, however vulgar it was voiced.

He almost crashes into her, not expecting to meet the world-weary woman quite so soon.]

Oh! Ah, hello, miss. "Hate"'s a very strong word. Is, er, something the matter?

Edited 2018-04-06 00:54 (UTC)

[If Ted isn't particularly nimble, that 'almost crashes' will become an absolute. In such a black mood, Allie doesn't care who she mows down. Knocking a clown over on his ass would actually be really satisfying, enough that she'd aim her shoulder intentionally to collide with him.]

[And she keeps going, not sparing him a second glance at his question.]

Bein' nice t'me ain't gonna getcha laid, asshole.

[Because that's what it all comes down to, isn't it? People act compassionate, but it's never done out of true good will. There's always some expectation, be it sex, respect, gratitude, or heavenly brownie points. Since it's a flamboyantly dressed man freely offering an ear to rain-soaked women, she assumes he just thinks she's that desperate for a shoulder to cry on.]

[Does he really want to console someone who's just going to bite his head off? Is his patience truly that unlimited?]

[Sometimes his agility fails him, usually when, per his clownishness, a pratfall would be funny. Bowled by a woman smaller and lighter by himself, he tumbles, only to kip up a split second later without skipping a beat, like a ~~jerk~~jack-in-a-box.]

Perish the thought.

[His brain is slower to recover, pondering whether he's nice or an (bad word). He certainly wouldn't say "no" to three of those rewards, but for the moment he thinks of conventional duty, which states that, however enjoyable he finds rain, he must act as if it isn't for any woman's sake. That in mind, he produces and unfolds an umbrella, hurrying alongside.]

You might give me the pleasure of manners, if not conversation.

[His tolerance of personal abuse is herculean; he wouldn't have survived Winter's training camp otherwise. So long as she doesn't take it out on a passing baby stroller, he can roll with the punches.]

I might punch you in the damn face, too.

[He'd better not put that umbrella anywhere near her, she's not about to cozy up to some random dude she just met on the street.]

[Up ahead there's the sound of a plinking musicbox and the roll of rubber wheels. Around the corner, a mother pushes her baby carriage, which is covered in a rain shield. The musicbox sounds seem attuned to the turn of the wheels, the melody slowing when the carriage slows, and speeding up when the stroller does likewise.]

[And it's heading straight for them.]

[No, Allie. Think of the baby. Ted stays just out of arm's reach, gentlemanly instincts thwarted momentarily.]

I've been told it's the mannerly thing to do. But if you really insist on rain.

So talk's right out of the question, then? I've been in the world a while. I might be able to allay a thing or two, if you'd only make use of me.

[It doesn't work often, but it works sometimes. Once in a blue moon. He keeps an eye on the stroller, amused by its synchronized melody. He'll have to compliment the women on her choice of vehicle.]

The shouting was what drew him out, really. Jason had been leaning against the outside of a building across the street, sheltered by the overhang of the roof from both the rain and sight - he didn't trust the key they'd given him when he got here, so he'd been avoiding the room and wandering, trying to get a feel for the place. So far, nothing had felt more like it belonged than the woman screaming at the cloudy sky, and so he separated from the wall and approached.

As always, there was a certain tension in the way he carried himself, even though he tried to seem casual, even friendly. His guard was up. He didn't know enough about this place to let it down. But his tone was casual when he asked, "So, let me guess: You got kidnapped by fate or whatever too, huh?"

Allie stopped short, momentarily surprised by the voice. Her hackles were definitely up (and had been up for a while), but the fight-or-flight decision was dismissed after giving him a brief once-over flick of her eyes. Not a cop. Not someone who was going to arrest her for trying (and failing miserably) to vandalize a school building.

"You should be a detective, you're real smart and shit," she grumbled, hunching her shoulders slightly.

She wasn't buying the friendly routine right off the bat, but. He at least seemed to acknowledge that their being here was a kidnapping, and it was probably safe to say he thought it sucked too if he wasn't trying to convince her that it really wasn't all that bad.

Her weight shifted restlessly from foot to foot. She didn't want to stick around any longer than she had to, but she wasn't dismissing him just yet, not until she had a better idea of who he was and why he was talking to her.

"The hell do you want?"

Blunt, but effective in her opinion.

The corner of Jason's lips twitched at her response, almost a smile. Not because he thought she was funny or anything, but because her honesty and bluntness was refreshing as hell after the reception he'd gotten earlier. He shrugged in response, though, and responded with the same level of bluntness.

"You're the first person I've seen here who's pissed off about this. I got curious," he admitted, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Everyone else seems to be drinking the kool-aid."

"Yeah, no shit." She shot a dark look over her shoulder back at the streets, as if to indicate the popular at large despite there not being anyone around.

Her attention swiveled back to Jason, and she eyed him more shrewdly. It was about time she ran into someone who didn't try to play soothsayer, or pick out silver linings to shitclouds raining down even more shit. That was enough to keep her around for now.

Like hell she was just going to keep getting rained on, though. She ducked under the shelter, but kept her hands out of her pockets just in case she needed them for punching.

"When'd you get here?" she asked, peering at him with a small measure of curiosity. He was probably the first Hispanic person she'd met, but he didn't have an accent, and his eyes were as green as hers. Her gaze went back to his shirt, studying it for a moment. "...You into comic books or somethin'?" She didn't pose the question with any derision or sneering, she was just trying to feel him out for the moment.

"Yesterday," he answered evenly. He didn't see a point to lying about it. He hadn't slept since then, had just been wandering around the city getting a read on the place, until he ran into her. He didn't think he was going to get comfortable here. These alternate universe places always had catches, expectations. He didn't feel like dying again just to please whatever the fuck had brought him here.

Her question got a puzzled look, and he looked down at his shirt, making sure he was in fact still wearing what he'd woken up in. He was, so he asked, "Comic books? Not really my thing."

Her head pulled back as she eyed him skeptically. "Coulda fooled me." She might not have known much about pop culture, but everyone knew about Superman and Batman.

Then again, maybe he just didn't have a lot of clothing options and took what he could get; it was a situation she knew fairly well, having bummed most of her t-shirts from Jin and the rest of the gang.

There was a long stretch of silence as she simply stood beside him, wringing some of the rain water from the hem of her shirt and the corner of her flannel, or wiping at her brow. If the silence was awkward, it didn't seem to be on her part at least. She was fine with saying nothing at all; it was just nice to know she wasn't the only one who hated this. Maybe that would fade in time for him, but she didn't think she'd stop being angry about it, not so long as she was kept away from the one place that had ever felt like home.

"What's your thing, then?" she finally asked, after heaving out the hottest of her frustrations in a resigned sigh.

Well, despite the fact that he had willingly chosen to put these clothes on, she wasn't wrong in thinking he didn't have that many options. Coming back from the dead would do that to a person, and his post-death benefactor hadn't stressed clothes shopping. And of course, ending up here meant he had what he'd arrived in and nothing else, which meant staying in "uniform" for the time being.

At least he was still armed. That was a plus.

He shrugged at the question, quipping, "Oh, you know. Long walks on the beach, firearms, romance novels. Same as anyone. You? Besides shouting at the sky, I mean."

Edited 2018-04-09 21:37 (UTC)

One of those things caught her attention. She was peering at him now with greater interest, and given the way she was staring at his jacket, then his belt, his perception could probably clue him in that she was likely looking to see where he might be keeping a gun on his person if he had one.

Unless it was blatantly obvious, though, she sunk back into a sulk against the wall. Shit, she wanted a gun. At least she'd sleep better knowing she could shoot any giggling skeletons in the face if she wound up being next on the torture list.

The rest of his interests she dismissed as sarcasm, if only because he didn't look like the sort to be into romantic shit, but what did she know? "I dunno. Auto mechanics, I guess." She rubbed at the tip of her nose. Allie couldn't claim to be all that passionate about anything, and it sounded dumb to confess to creature comforts like hot baths, or sleeping in.

Or steak.

"You wanna get outta here?"

Edited 2018-04-09 21:43 (UTC)

Jason's firearms mostly weren't hidden - he wore a handgun on each side of his waist on his belt. He also had a pretty big knife on his belt. Other than that, he had hidden backups, in his coat or boot where they couldn't be seen, just in case. And if none of those worked, he had close to a decade of intense training, not counting the time he'd been dead and buried.

He leaned back only slightly while she was looking at him, just to be sure he had the distance to stop her if she tried to reach for one of his weapons. He didn't know her well enough to know if she was that stupid enough to try - she was angry, he could see that, and angry people did stupid shit, so better safe than sorry. Anyway, he couldn't afford to lose any of his weapons without knowing when he'd be able to get new ones.

Her answer to the question gave him pause, but he answered, "Huh. Me too, I guess." If you counted being able to remove car tires in record time at the age of twelve, anyway. Which probably wasn't what she meant, but whatever.

"Sure. Got a destination in mind?"

Edited 2018-04-09 21:55 (UTC)

In that case, she did stare longingly at the guns, but she didn't make any move to wrestle them away.

She just really, really wanted one, and her gaze was envious more than greedy.

His answer caused her to snort and roll her eyes. "I meant outta this place in general, dumbass," she replied with a slightly amused quirk of the mouth. There wasn't any real bite in the insult, she just didn't know his name and wasn't sure yet if she wanted to trade. "But shit, you didn't wanna stay in those free apartments either, huh?"

She looked away, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a moment.

"How 'bout I trade you my couch for one'a your guns?"

He probably wouldn't go for it, but it was worth a shot.

"Oh." Well, that made him look a little stupid, but he responded amiably enough, for him, which meant heavy on the sarcasm, though remarkably low on malice, "I figured that was pretty fucking obvious. Can't believe people aren't trying harder to figure a way out of this place."

Well, he kind of could. People could be complacent little shits. They'd deal with all kinds of crap as long as they had a bed and food. He'd been like that, once upon a time, putting up with the bullshit of Crime Alley and all it entailed as long as he could scrounge up something that resembled a living on the streets and help his mom. He'd been a kid, and that was a good excuse. These people? No.

He shook his head when asked about the apartments, replying frankly, "I don't trust kidnappers. Whatever they wanna give me, there's definitely a catch." He wouldn't take shit from these people outside of the communicator and the travel necklace thing and the cash. He knew better than to trust someone he couldn't see or talk to, whose motives he didn't know, and whatever brought them here and gave them the keys and shit ticked every one of those boxes.

Or you could just as easily sum that up with 'Jason Todd has trust issues'.

Her question had him thinking for a minute, and he returned with, "What do you need a gun for?"

That wasn't a 'no' which she was kind of expecting.

Well.

Shit.

That was worth sharing a couch if he actually went for it. She shifted, pushing away from the wall so she could pry out her communicator from the back pocket of her jeans. Good thing the devices were sturdy and apparently waterproof; Allie was pretty rough on hers.

"I could tell ya, but if you only got here yesterday, I don't think you'd believe me. Let me show you some'a the shit that goes on in this place."

Hopefully he was patient. It took her a good five minutes to figure out how to make the damn thing work the way she wanted to. Cars were one thing, but high tech devices? Forget about it.

Finally she got the right video she wanted. She stared at it for the first couple of seconds before wincing and passing it to Jason.

"There," she said, as the picture of the maimed and groaning man filled the screen while a modulated voice giggled and chattered. "THAT'S why I want a gun."

Never mind that she had no idea how to use one, how complicated could it be? Point, shoot. Easy.

Jason isn't exactly patient, but he doesn't start pacing or hurrying her - he waits, checks his own device once, and does a mental check up of his level of armament. When the video loads, he watches mutely, eyes widening slightly at the view.

It's not unfamiliar. Jason has seen men in every kind of pain imaginable. He's not shocked by the violence, even if it looks strange, bloodless. It's the laughing skeleton that gets under his skin, that feels familiar in a way that crawls under his skin and digs in claws and rips.

His vision swims for a moment, blurring the screen, and he's hearing someone completely different, the laughter filling his head until it fuzzes out like a bad television set. He holds his breathe through it, or he can't breathe, he can't tell the difference.

And then it's over. To the casual observer, someone who doesn't know Jason, it probably looked like the video had unnerved him a little, but there weren't that many outward signs other than his slightly labored breathing, the slightly wild look in his green eyes.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked, voice just hinting on the side of hoarse, accusatory or upset - hard to tell. He was distracted by the part of his brain that was screaming for this to stop following him.

Edited 2018-04-10 02:00 (UTC)

"Hell if I know." Allie was peering at him. That shook him up a little more than she thought, but it was to be expected. She'd seen ghosts before, felt their presence. She was used to spooky shit. Clearly he wasn't.

If she only knew the truth of the matter, she would have probably apologized.

When she was sure he was satisfied, she took the device back and switched it off, jamming it back into her pocket. "Just one'a many reasons Everglade ain't worth visitin', but seems like each city's got problems. Least with this one all you gotta deal with is the mundane stuff, y'know? Gang violence, muggings, that kinda shit. I'll take that over trolls or vampires or tentacle aliens any day of the week."

Allie folded her arms, shoulders hunched. The cold of the rainy night and the dampness was starting to get to her, but she wanted to see how things shook out with this guy first before she started complaining.

Jason shook his head, mentally shaking himself to try to free his mind from the ghosts of the past that had dug into him during the video. It's over, shut the fuck up about it, he thought to himself, harsher with himself than he would be with most people - and he was usually pretty harsh.

"Everglade. I'll remember that," he muttered, and spoke up after that, adding, "I know how to handle criminals. That supernatural shit is too much trouble." That was a good cover. He wasn't about to spill his guts about what the creepy skeleton thing had reminded him of. Fuck that.

"You know how to use a gun?" His voice was still slightly choked, but he was starting to relax again, at least as much as he ever did - the tension in his back, shoulders and neck didn't ease one bit.

It was a little tempting to lie, just because she didn't want his decision to swing out of her favor. On the other hand, if she did lie and he realized it, it might shake his trust enough that he'd just flip her the bird and saunter off, and that would suck.

Allie sighed, pulling in her lips, and shook her head without a word. No. No, the best weapon she was ever able to get her hands on was that bowie knife, and she sure didn't get to keep it.

She also wanted to know what he meant when he said he knew how to handle criminals, but that could wait.

Yeah, he'd suspected that might be the case. He peered up at the sky as he thought over a response, finally saying, "Yeah, that's a no." But the memory of the video and the fight she seemed to have in her prompted him to add, "You want lessons I can teach you, but I'm not giving you a gun you don't know how to use."

He was sensible that way. He wouldn't promise her a gun, at least until he knew he could replace it, but at least if she knew how to use one she wouldn't be screwed if she got her hands on one somehow.

So much for raised expectations. Allie shrugged and toed at the grass, trying to dig it up with her soaked sneaker. Value-wise it probably wasn't a good trade, but as far as needs went, it would have been good for them both.

Then he offered lessons, and Allie stilled. She was quiet for a moment, thinking it over. She didn't like owing anyone, that was for sure. Having a gun and the knowledge of how to use one would have been...kinda awesome, and a huge boost to her own sense of security. Not that guns did much good against ghosts and shit, but even so, it could still keep a lot of nasty crap at bay. Far better than a tire iron.

"What do you want for the lessons?" she asked, slanting a glance at him out of the corner of her eyes before she looked back down at the grass clumps around her feet.

Jason shrugged slightly at the question, still looking at the sky, watching the rain. At least they were relatively sheltered, so he wasn't getting water in his eyes. Finally, he offered, "Your couch for a night or two til I find someplace else?"

He didn't like to admit it, even to himself, but he had to get some sleep or he wasn't going to be a whole lot of use to anyone. It was one of the lessons he'd learned so long ago that it came to mind unbidden, like muscle memory: You couldn't protect anyone if you were too tired, hungry or thirsty to protect yourself.

A huff of breath. "I already offered that for the gun, I'm talkin' lessons."

She didn't mind letting him crash on the couch, honestly. At the very least they could watch each other's back for a night or two, and that was something that benefitted them both.

But since he wasn't coming up with anything, she decided to make the bargain herself.

"I'll throw in some cereal, and we can go rummage through the secondhand store drop-off box once the rain lets up to get you some clothes that fit. I can lend ya one'a my shirts, since I always get the big ones anyway, but you're screwed for pants." Her foot thumped lightly against his ankle. "Too tall."

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