( open ) our ag wing's back and you're gonna be in trouble (hey now! hey now! our ag wing's back)

[initiates]

Date & Time: October 31st, 3313, 11:59PM - November 3rd, 3313, ????
Location: Agriculture Wing, Moon Base to start. Cafeteria, warehouse, docking bay, VR rooms, Transport Pad, or Observatory later on.
Characters: Any & all!
Summary: Space Zombies are allowed out of the Agriculture Wing, slowly revving up their systems to try and infect and absorb as many of the Transports (or 12 Initiative Members) as possible.
Warnings: Log will be locked for potentially graphic violence. Please warn in threads should the violence or gore become graphic.
Notes: Specify a date and location in your top comment. You may specify multiple dates/locations. Specify a time if you wish as well.

Everything is a success at first, from the cool rush of air out of the Agriculture Wing once the doors are fully unlocked, to the heady sense of accomplishment for finally moving forward on something good for the long-term usability of the Moon Base. It's intended to remain a resource, after all, but not be a permanent home. Fraying tempers and the sense of cabin fever descending on Transports continues to showcase how important it is to get back down on Earth to regain some breathing room.

There's little enough dust between all the unmoving, unlit structures, many even supporting the barest dried husks of what once grew there. Upon the lightest touch, they disintegrate, turning into a dust that falls to the ground. The silent rows will be reclaimed and turned into functioning units, based on Transport efforts, and Transport time invested in the project.

There's just one problem. Something stirs in the reclaimed wing, among tangles of hosing and wiring. Skitterings and movements that make no sense for a long abandoned Moon Base. The further in Transports go, relying on magic or technology to generate light past the bare minimum maintained by the base, the more disturbing sights they may run into.

Of course, the most disturbing of all might be lying just around the far corner -- but don't worry, it's only a flesh wound. Try not to get surprised in the machinery, caught suffering from not looking up or caught making out with anything unsavory this holiday season, Transports. We need all of you to stay alive!

We can't bring you back right now!

Comments

[totallytrustworthy]

[Not so quick to drop off the S.S. Irritable, Chloe's brow stays low and furrowed when she responds] You stuffing your nose in your tablet.

[alittlesweptup]

Oh, because you usually take so well to me ordering you around. [Christ, he's tetherless here.]

[totallytrustworthy]

I don't take well to anyone ordering me around-- [Dense creatures, the both of them.] but that's not what I was asking you for, was it?

[alittlesweptup]

[He scrubs his hand abruptly across his face, leaning into the heel of his palm like if he does it hard enough, it'll push something back into place and this conversation will go back to something sensible. By the time he drops his hand, the only thing he's really more aware of is the headache he's got blossoming] Would I rather you stay here with me? Absolutely. But it's not my bloody decision, now is it?

[totallytrustworthy]

[She stops at that, fingers abandoning their current assignment of wiping at the side of her arms, so that when those hard angles start to even out she's somewhat more aware of the chalky texture coating her hands from dried sweat and dust than she is how on earth they wound up at this point.

Whether it's exhaustion making them stupid or the thought that they might really be screwed over this time: wind up zombies for the rest of their un-lives.

Or maybe just the frustration that comes from being in two separate places when neither of them really feels comfortable in the role they're currently playing. When they could actually have one another's backs.]

No, it's mine. [a beat] And I could use some place to lie down for a while.

[alittlesweptup]

[The storage room they commandeered isn't in the housing block itself, meaning there's no immediate place for either of them to retreat to for however long this zombie nonsense happens. Which would, all things considered, probably go a long way to explaining why the pair of them are at the end of their ropes, exhausted from being on foot and doing things they're not really suited for.

Charlie scuffs his hand across his cheek, mouth pulling at the corner. It's not a smile.]

I can probably find you a bed for a few hours.

[totallytrustworthy]

If it's not too much trouble. [It comes out far too sterile; too informal. Too late to fix it with a nudge or the faded edge of a smile.]

[alittlesweptup]

Just-- [He should say something - apologize?] --wait here and keep an eye on things.

[He moves off, leading with his shoulders. The housing blocks are crowded with people, but he's wide and tall enough that losing him is hard. He doesn't really go very far anyway before he catches up with someone he must know, has a few quick words and then raises his hand to wave her over.]

[totallytrustworthy]

Sure. [There's a pounding ache in the base of her heels and her shoulders are so stiff she doubts a few hours will set them back on track for another pass, but she'd rather stay put while he goes; they need a few moments of clarity in all this.

So when he motions towards her she nearly misses it-- scrolling through his tablet means he's stuck off in her peripheral vision-- tucks the flat bit of tech under her arm before moving to catch up.] What's the verdict?

[alittlesweptup]

Found you somewhere to sleep. [He takes the tablet off her and hands it over to his contact with explicit 'I had better not come back to chaos' instructions before he briefly catches his fingers out toward her arm, then leads the way down the corridor.]

[totallytrustworthy]

[Bothering to say thanks seems like a lot of effort at the moment, so it's a quiet trip through crowded halls (the stuttering electricity issues make collision unavoidable at times, but it's nothing too bothersome to be brushed off) till they hit their intended destination. Chloe's fingers find their way to the cuff of his sleeve.]

How many hours? [It's not an innuendo - not this time, anyway.]

[alittlesweptup]

[There's something strangely comforting about the weight of her grip at his sleeve, a desire to twist his hand around and grip her wrist in return. He fights it down, moving through the press of the crowded corridor.] I don't know, probably four. Five if you're lucky. [He shoots a glance back at her, mouth tugging anxiously.] Sorry. It's not much.

[It doesn't take much longer to reach the correct unit. Charlie knocks on the door but no one answers - not surprisingly, there's plenty of people running around dealing with all this nonsense - so he lets himself in without much ceremony. All four beds are empty.] Yours is the lower bunk, left side.

[totallytrustworthy]

[And this time, moving past, fingers still wound up in his cuff, she says it:] Thanks. [And it's not forced, not heavy with sarcasm or an attempt at humor; all things considered, it's one of the few things right in this endless blur that's been the past two days.

So when she walks far enough into the room that it's either stop or break all contact, instead of letting go, his sleeve's tugged on. Hard enough to get the point across. ]

[alittlesweptup]

[He may be dead on his feet, but he's not so dense that the meaning of that tug doesn't translate. Whether he follows it or not is an entirely different matter - he ought to get back, really doesn't feel comfortable leaving a whole stack of supplies up to the protection of someone he barely knows and frankly doesn't trust anyone to do much of anything.

But the fights he puts up is barely even a pause before Charlie allows himself to be tugged gently into the room. The door hisses shut once the threshold's clear.]

[totallytrustworthy]

[Door a solid barricade (she thinks of it as something immovable, some sort of promise that he'll stick around without locks or jammed circuitry) Chloe lets her grip ease off, goes to crawl into the lower bunk and presses herself as flat against the cold metal wall as much as possible before one arm is slid under the pillow to prop it up high enough to be comfortable. More comfortable.

Boots on, gun holstered, staring at him like there aren't seconds to spare.] Four hours.

[alittlesweptup]

[He cants his head sideways, mouth opening just slightly like he's on the verge of saying something-- and then thinks better of whatever it was. Charlie moves to follow her, sitting down on the edge of the bunk. They're built close enough together that he has to roll his shoulders not to bump his head on the top one.

He doesn't lay down beside her, but he does catch his hand at her thigh. When he speaks, his tone is mild.] I ought to get back, magpie.

[totallytrustworthy]

I know. [Is the response he gets, though it's low and her knuckles bump at the side of his hand when she says it, eyes set on the opposite end of the room before meeting his.

It doesn't mean 'okay', or 'do what you need to', though there are times when she's selfless enough to manage something that runs along those lines - passing off an ancient dagger or gracefully bowing out before emotions get complicated. But for now her hand's still up against his, and it doesn't mean anything because opening her mouth to ask him to stay's too far out of bounds for her to leap for.]

[alittlesweptup]

[She knows and he knows, but the room's dim and the blanket doesn't crinkle every time one of them shifts. Charlie's mouth works - going thin, pulling at the corner - and he bumps his hand back against hers as well.]

Come and fetch you in a few hours, shall I?

[totallytrustworthy]

Mmm. [No tone, no implication. The thought of him leaving is a tangled knot in her stomach, but she knows-- gets it-- doesn't fight it. Keeps herself against that wall and her hand near his and shuts her eyes to kill off the noise outside, the rapid fire beat of her own heart in her chest that's come on from too many hours with her eyes open.

Doesn't take more than a minute for it to work.]

[alittlesweptup]

[Charlie sits for the full minute, watching the set of her mouth and the flick of her eyes under their lids. When he draws his hand back, he's careful about it - shifting his weight on the edge of the bed. He checks his watch to mark the time, absently turning it on his wrist. He looks to the door, then back to her.

After a second or two, he touches her hip. The weight of his hand's gentle, but not light.] Chloe.

[Strange: he feels like he could count the number of times he's said her name to her directly using one, maybe two hands without much trouble.]

[totallytrustworthy]

[Breathing deep and even, it's nearly a sure sign she's already slipped off; the press of his hand prompting nothing in the way of a response confirms it. For all the racket seeping in through the seams in the door, despite the sound of his voice or the heaviness of his palm, the rise and fall of her chest stays exactly the same.]

[alittlesweptup]

[Christ, trust her to pass out. Charlie makes a low tired noise; he shifts his hand, fingers hovering briefly near her face. He's exceedingly careful about brushing her hair back behind her ear, hardly touching her cheek as he does it (even if he wants to).]

Fuck me. Alright, I'm going. [Why he's even bothering to say it out loud-- but Charlie draws his hand back, catching the top bunk and swinging himself up and out. He checks his watch again and actually looks at it this time. Four hours, if she's lucky.]