[OPEN] Standing on the cliff face, highest fall you'll ever grace

[totallytrustworthy]

Date & Time: various; post zombie madness
Location: Places
Characters: Chloe Frazer and YOU-- or at least we all hope it's you in there
Summary: last boarding call for the S.S. Disaster of the Century (viva la revolution)
Warnings: copious amounts of Robin Hooditis

 

A: Cafeteria

[She doesn't much care for the idea of borrowing anything when supplies are scarce. Doesn't like the thought that this is-- for the moment-- all they've got left. But plans are plans, and change is necessary, and nothing in this world (or any other for that matter) comes without a cost. If they mean to hole themselves up long enough for negotiations to leave them all in a better state than the one they're in right now, then spare packets of food and water are more necessity than nicety.

Still, doesn't make the pill go down any easier; Chloe spends more time hovering near the kitchens than what's appropriate for anyone that isn't Gordon Ramsay. Might be worth looking into, honestly.]

B: Corridors; farther away from housing

[And the damage isn't as noticeable as it ought to be, (years of abandonment means the base already looks a half step away from collapsing like a house of cards) but considering she'd rather not experience what it's like getting sucked out into the endless vacuum that is our known universe any time soon, Chloe's quick to lend a hand wherever it's needed amongst the more battle scarred sections of the station. Sure, she's exhausted-- looks the part, sporting a good layer of salt and dust that's been there since the start of the undead fiasco-- but the sooner they get the base back into (relatively) good shape, the sooner she'll feel secure enough to sleep like a proper human being.

If it takes hammering at a few panels for that to be a reality, count her in.]

C: Housing

[Supplies seen to for the moment, holes patched up and wiring duct taped together, Chloe's just about done. The past week hasn't been kind, the past year hasn't stopped digging in under her skin: she's spent. Walks like one of the staggering dead they'd just spent all they've got in them to kill off, on a mission to just get through that last bloody section of the station to hibernate so hard they'll have to hire a prince to wake her up.

So it's safe to say she's not really watching where she's going, arms full up with pilfered foodstuffs and scrap-- and it's also safe to say she won't appreciate any incoming distractions. Or collisions.]



---



[ooc: Use whatever format you like-- and if none of these prompts suit you, feel free to create one of your own! Chloe's out and about and prone to dozing off in a few inappropriate spots for impromptu naps; it's a terrible habit someone should do something about it.]
 

Comments

a!

[lexiconning]

[ Syllona isn't really one to come up to complete strangers doing strange things, but it's pretty obvious what's going on. For awhile, she doesn't even do anything about it either, keeping her eyes on her meal and off the woman at the kitchen. It's only when putting so much effort into ignoring it backfires and she begins to think -- supplies are limited, and she can recall what it's like when there isn't much to go around. They aren't happy memories.

When the few other people about the cafeteria make their leave, she comes over, slow, stopping just a yard off to stare at Chloe, frowny and quiet. ]

[totallytrustworthy]

[Oh boy. It's not exactly a discreet task, scavenging. She could've waited till it was dark, but there are more than enough excuses as to why rooting around in the kitchens for supplies is a necessary course of action.

And that eerie feeling at the back of your neck? The one you get when a pair of eyes are burning their way right into the back of your neck? She's totally getting that right about now-- just before she turns to spot Syllona giving her one impressive stare.]

Jesus, darling. Tell me you don't make a habit of pulling the whole children of the corn routine.

[lexiconning]

Ah-- Er, nno. Not... really.

[ The last word just tapers off, snagged on the confusion of... whatever that means. Shoot. But this isn't a good start for trying to seem dauntless, so when she feels her shoulders begin to sink she forces them up in a shrug. ]

What are you taking?

[totallytrustworthy]

Food. Just food. See--? [Chloe holds up a spare packet of-- something. Hard to tell when all the bags look the same, but it's definitely food. Probably freeze dried at that judging from the faint shuffling sound.]

[lexiconning]

How much? [ That's what she asks anyway, but her eyes trial from the packet down and around the kitchen, at the cabinets and counters. The real question is obvious enough: Are you hoarding? ]

[totallytrustworthy]

Ah. [Because she does get it then (though most people that are unfamiliar with starvation tend to assume just about everything else, Chloe's...not. Her line of work, the places she's been-- all of it tends to paint a clear picture of what it's like when food is scarce.) so she stops, sets the packets down on the counter and gives the girl her full attention.] Enough to get some of the crew from starving when they can't make their way into the kitchen.

[Which isn't actually a lie.]

[lexiconning]

[ She frowns, corners of her mouth pulling a little as she thinks that one over. It could be true, it could be not, and really it shouldn't be her concern so long as she's not the one to go without. ]

Crew. Who? Initiative?

[ Yet somehow she's still here, of course, and somehow her voice cracks on 'initiative'. It's a bitter push of air through her throat, and it's unexpected. One hand finds her other arm, as if just that will rub her discomfort away. ]

[totallytrustworthy]

No. The ones who do any amount of work this place. The only ones that actually count.

Transports, love.

[lexiconning]

Oh... [ That gets her head up again. But now her heads tilted, nose crinkling with confusion. ]

Really?