fullofmercy: (between the wasteland and the sky)
Nicholas D. Wolfwood ([personal profile] fullofmercy) wrote2012-06-04 12:16 pm

Between the wasteland and the sky

It's truly strange, wheeling the Angelina II out of the garage and under the double suns of Gunsmoke, making him squint even behind his dark glasses.  Human beings aren't meant to travel that way, he's totally, one hundred percent positive of that. Motorbikes, spaceships--hell, even Thomases are preferable. He likes to see where he's going, he likes to know how he's getting there.  Magic doors and multiversal travel are more than he's really comfortable with.

Yeah. But maybe just a little of the disorientation has to do with the place he's reappearing; a little wishful thinking to get him through the sinking feeling in his stomach. Hey, honey, he thinks, gloomy. I'm home.

It's early; one sun has managed to clear the horizon but the other is still only a wavering, fiery line bleeding reddish gold streaks across the infinite waves of dune after dune. A few houses, weathered clapboard, stand between him and the open desert. The morning breeze ruffling the few faded, flowered curtains already has a hint of the coming heat, a little vibrant edge to it, promises of the spike that comes once the second sun rises and burns over the planet for another day. Not a single cloud mars the unbroken smoothness of the sky.

Behind him, around him, the little town is just beginning to wake up. Vendors are opening their shop doors, mothers are coming out of their houses to hang rugs and wash on the porch rails or clothesline, men are greeting each other with silent nods on their way to whatever job they've managed to hold onto. Every one of them is gray and colorless, clothing faded with many washings and hours upon hours of harsh sunlight. Even their faces seem gray and lined.  Still, they smile, they shake hands. Even here, where the sand is already beginning to creep up onto their doorsteps, people continue to believe that everything will turn out all right. They have to--how else could they get themselves up in the mornings?

He finds it insulting. He finds it inspiring. It's the most unbelievable thing he's ever seen--the ability of humans to continue daily life under the constant threat of complete extinction.

He half-turns to his right, one hand in his pocket, fingers of the other already searching in his breast pocket for his pack of smokes, teasing one battered cigarette out, and casts his glance over Michael.

"Well," he says, and sticks the unlit cigarette between his lips. "Home sweet home."
luvs_yogurt: (thinking)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-13 03:33 am (UTC)(link)
He feels edgy as he watches the children play, remembering the small bodies on stretchers as he and William hightailed it for the Charger before the cops could show up. Civilians, people just leading their lives and doing what they do... it seems like the simplest, easiest thing in the world.

Wolfwood's words draw his attention back from where he realizes he's been staring blankly at the shy girl as she played with a rag doll in a quiet space of her own.

"Time to go?" He asks quietly.
luvs_yogurt: (casual)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-13 05:41 am (UTC)(link)
The kids don't have it half bad, really, he reasons that at least they have each other - and the matron seems nice enough. People making sure there's enough food to eat and a safe place to sleep. Part of him half wonders if the kids growing up in the Wasteland have the same kind of protection.

"We should head back;" he stands up with a low groan, stretching out his back. "Get a little rest before we head back into the fray - maybe get you some antibiotics." He chuckles slightly and slips a hand into his pocket, thumbing out a section of bills into his palm before adding; "I'd like to talk to the girl alone for a minute, though - if I may?"

He knows Wolfwood trusts him, and thinks that the girl might - her matron, always questionable. He certainly knows what it looks like when a man of his age and questionable intention wants to talk to a young girl alone.
luvs_yogurt: (feelings)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-13 06:03 am (UTC)(link)
He nods and gestures for the girl to follow him just outside to door and onto the steps where the night's gone just chilly enough that she probably shouldn't be out even if it feels good to him after so long under the blistering suns - but it won't take long.

"It's okay," he murmurs to her, finding a chair to sit in and let himself be on lower level than she is so that he has to look up to her. It's an age old trick for a spy to buy trust, force them to physical look down upon you. "You don't have to say anything, I know what it's like to not want to talk to people - and I'm just some guy, right?"

He chuckles under his breath and withdraws the clutch of folded bills from him pocket; "I want you to do me a favor, Melanie, after we leave I want you to put this in Sister Francis' pocket, okay? Don't tell her it's there or that I gave it to you. It's just some money to help out a little bit and make sure everyone has what they need."

After a short pause, he halves the bills again - easily a third of the thousand he'd brought through with him if not half - and holds it out to her. "And if you know about something someone needs, I mean really needs - medicine, clothes, anything - I want you to tell the Father that Michael told you he'll take care of it and he should find me. Okay?"

It's a tall order, and not exactly one he wants to share with Wolfwood - he wouldn't understand why it's something Michael needs to do. Why he feels the deep seated need to protect this clutch of children in the middle of nowhere in a universe he's barely seen.
luvs_yogurt: (genuninesmile)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-13 06:26 am (UTC)(link)
Michael'd disagree with that thought, and when the girl opens to door smiling and tucking her hands in the small pocket on the front of her dress he's pretty sure she'd feel much the same. Men make things happen all the time, unexpected things that nobody needs to know about to appreciate.

"Come on, time to head out Preacher. I think I owe you a carton of smokes and a drink before bed."

He offers the Sister a thin, but honest smile and nod; "Thank you, Sister, for what you're doing here. Takes the best kind of person there is to watch over the children."