Gather 'round people, wherever you roam

[hellosailor]

Date & Time: Mid December onward
Location: New Exsilium
Characters: Victor Sullivan and YOU
Summary: Catching up, Christmas stuff, hanging around, whatever
Warnings: none at the moment.

A. Near His Shitty Ice-Shack

[Home sweet home it was not. Sully set up base near the shores of the Thames, in an abandoned little shack probably originally set up for ice-fishing. Over time he's managed to snag some creature comforts for it, starting with a generator and a heater and working his way up.

Strangers may find him hauling furniture or wood, trying to build an outhouse, or just walking to and from, either from an excursion to the nearest town or a trip to transporter. A friendly stranger might offer to help. A less friendly stranger might laugh their asses off as he tries to dig through the packed snow.]


B. In Town

Well, that could have gone better.

[Pawn shops were never where the big money was, but he didn't have a lot of options. With barely any cash to his name and a variety of sundry goods for trade it was that or nothing. It wasn't like he had any contact here, not a fence to be found.

Still, he was hoping for a little better than this. A lifetime of figuring out exchange rates meant that he knew exactly how little he'd really gotten out of the bargain. Certainly not a fortune. But hell, a bird in the hand. Which meant that he was ready to hit the town.

Blending in with the locals might not be too hard. If someone didn't spot him first.]


C. Other??

[Whatever suits your fancy!]

((OOC- If we've discussed doing something special before, you can either throw up a starter or let me know if you want me to make one!))

Comments

Option I Do What I Want: near his shitty ice shack

[totallytrustworthy]

[Discretion is the name of the game. Or at least discreet is what she hopes to be when Chloe slinks in during the middle of the day to drop off one hastily wrapped care package near the front of the shelter Victor's set up for himself. The pressed cardboard box she's holding isn't light, isn't properly taped shut and damn if the contents rolling about inside don't make it any sturdier as she trudges through near knee high snow.

But it's fine, it's all fine: she'll set it on his doorstep, walk off, and put together a pair of makeshift rackets from torn down pine branches to keep herself on top of the snow for the trip home rather than under it as she ought to have done in the first place.

Ah well, hindsight and all that.]

[hellosailor]

[Alright so the bathroom thing was proving a bigger issue than he'd anticipated. The one-room shack had seemed like a real boon at first, and hell, who couldn't piss into the wind? But it was goddamn cold outside and he was getting about tired of it.

Not that it seemed to matter to the packed-snow he was shoveling. It was slow-goddamn-going, and he really really wished he could just blowtorch the shit. Alas.

Still, he's down a good four feet and bent over when she gets near the shack. No one could blame her being surprised when his head and shoulder seemed to pop up from underground, not far from her at all.]

Hey, watch your step. Hate to see you twist one of your pretty little ankles.

[totallytrustworthy]

--Jesus. [Surprised is one word for it. Mid parcel delivery-- the box barely a few inches above the ground-- her grip stutters for it, slipping through her gloved fingers to slide sadly down into the snow.

Stooped over it, wearing an expression only a few ticks shy of owlish, she supposes she doesn't look anything less than suspicious by all possible standards.] What on earth are you doing down there?

[hellosailor]

Honestly? [Never a great way to start a conversation with Victor Sullivan]

Digging a shitter. The glamorous life.

[With that he drops the shovel and plants his hands firmly in the packed snow around the edge of the hole. Uses the convenient foot hold he'd chipped out earlier to thrust himself out of the hole. It doesn't take but a moment to put him back on level ground.]

But enough about me, what the hell are you doing here?

[totallytrustworthy]

Ah. [Right. About that. Chloe glances down at the proverbial red on her hands, giving the box one sad little nudge with the snow-covered toe of her boot.] Brought you a care package.

[hellosailor]

Well, aren't you a dear?

[He brushed the snow off of his gloves briskly, walking closer to her. She seemed a little guilty. Probably because they hadn't left off on the best food. Well, tough turkey. She was just going to have to deal with that.]

Grab it and come on, it's cold out here. Lets get you warmed up. And a drink.

[He reached past her to the door, opened it and gestured for her to follow him inside.]

Don't take all day though, I don't want to let all the heat out.

[totallytrustworthy]

[Fortunately for the both of them, Chloe doesn't argue: the box is tucked under her arm, boots tapped clean just inside the doorway before she goes in to start pulling off her gloves (a touch awkward with a large parcel in hand, but Chloe does all right).]

Well it's-- [hum] charming.

[hellosailor]

I thought you were supposed to be a good liar.

[It was definitely not charming. There was paper and insulation stapled to the walls and the little heater buzzed. The furniture, what little of it there was, was mismatched or cobbled together from scrap wood. The low table had a pile of, to put it kindly, shit, he'd managed to scrounge up for trade or had stolen from their little expedition.

But it was warm. There was a bed (of sorts). Hell of a lot better than most of his days in the Navy. Better than a lot of days afterwards, too. The life of a treasure hunter.]

Make yourself at home. If you can.

[He shoots her a crooked grin at that, fishes down in a box in one of the corners for a bottle which he then clanks on the table.]

Care package, huh?

[totallytrustworthy]

Been more comfortable in worse. [Though usually there's a lot of beer and a lot of condoms involved. Chloe shakes her head, smile coming easily enough before she surrenders, passing him the sad, slanted box-- its contents protesting via a heavy roll and soft, metallic clink.]

Care package.

[hellosailor]

[The laugh comes easy, and he twists the cap off of the bottle with the palm of his hand. He didn't have any trouble believing that. By the time he throws himself down into the nearest chair (nearest, as in directly under him. It was a small shack) he's got the mouth of it at his lips.

Which means that when she holds the box out at him his first reaction it to squint over the top of the bottle for a minute before setting it back down and holding out his hand.]

Care package, huh? What day is it again?

[totallytrustworthy]

Oh c'mon mate, just open it. [Passed off, it's heavier than it looks like it ought to be, and Chloe shakes off the relief of a free arm while she leaves him to uncover her gifts, eyes set elsewhere.]

[hellosailor]

[He takes it from her, surprised by the weight almost instantly. He manages not to drop it on his damn foot though. Carefully sets it on the table in front of him.]

You get me coal? I know I've been a bad boy, but Chloe...

[It's something to say more than anything else. He looks at her from under his brow and sees she's playing it off. So he pushes the bottle across the table, well within arm's reach.

In the meantime. Box. He slips his hand in a back pocket, an awkward little shift forward to get his hand under his ass, and pulls out a knife. Slits the top of it and puts the knife back away before opening it.]

Oh.

[totallytrustworthy]

Mm. [Doing her best to sound casual about it doesn't negate the lack of casual anything inside that box-- seriously, even the lager's a prize bottle.] Thought it might be best if you could buy yourself that pub anywhere you like.

Built or half built or underground if you'd prefer.

'Never know how long a lifetime will last in a place like this', right?

[hellosailor]

[Victor Sullivan is many things. Shy is not one of them. He doesn't bother to keep the things in the box or downplay the situation. Instead he fishes out the bottle, holds it up and turns it around in the dim light of the shack. There's a crooked grin on his face.]

Just when I think I've got you figured out.

[It gets set back down, next to the decidedly less impressive bottle that's already there. Then he fishes out the real prize.]

You going to tell me the story behind this?

[He gently shakes the heavy weight of metal in his hand, makes it clear that he wants to know exactly how she ended up a fortune in a cardboard box.]

[totallytrustworthy]

[Somehow she's not surprised.] Just before you turned up the Initiative sent us back to ancient Egypt to burn someone's lovely stick figure drawing. We took it upon ourselves to rob the local temple-- and when the old Exsilium was destroyed they forgot to bring us back from that mission.

For a month. [So...] Plenty of souvenirs that time around.

[hellosailor]

Well hell. Doesn't that sound like a barrel of laughs. Remind me again why everyone's so up in arms about their stellar leadership?

[He tucks the thing back in it's box, but doesn't close the top. He intends to bask. He hasn't seen gold that yellow in- hell. Ever? This was pure. Most of the stuff he saw that was this old was in trinkets. Beads. Had too much history to melt down, or so people tried to tell him.]

That where you get that doohicky you had me holdin' onto?

[totallytrustworthy]

Previous adventures were not always that kind. [Unfriendly subject aside, she says it cheerfully enough; moves on towards the next topic.]

No. That was made for me.

[hellosailor]

Huh.

[There's a moment of dead silence. Not on purpose, he's just focused on the small fortune sitting in front of him. Thinking about what he's going to do with it.

Finding a fence in this place might be hard, but he doesn't trust himself to cut it into pieces. A sliver of it was probably worth a pretty penny. He'd be best off looking for a jeweler straight off. Hopefully one that wouldn't ask too many questions. Shouldn't, not with a prize like this sitting in front of them. He could try a bank, take out a loan against it. But the truth was that financial institutions made him nervous. Too many rules. Too much money that wasn't his.

Ah well, something to think about. Speaking-]

Hell, right. You wait right there darlin'.

[There's not much for her to wait, it's not like he has to go to another room. Just over to the box he's got sitting on the small table by his bed. Opens it up and digs around for a second before weaving his way back with his palm wrapped tight around something.]

Now I didn't have time to wrap it, so I'm gonna need you to hold out your hand and close your eyes.

800 years later I am home flutters into your arms!!

[totallytrustworthy]

I swear, Victor, if you're planning on pranking me... [But Chloe does oblige, holding out her hands (cupped and set against one another) and waiting patiently with her eyes pressed shut. ]

[hellosailor]

Where's the trust?

[He waits until he's sure she's not peeking, then holds his fist over the top of her hands. All it takes is opening his hand and the rabbit's foot is successfully transferred.]

Now, you're not allowed to judge. I might have sprung for something a little more ostentatious if I'd known what you had planned.

[It hadn't been easy to get, though. Lucky rabbit's feet apparently went somewhat out of style in the future. He'd had to explain the idea to local taxidermist. Still, he'd managed, and it was fitted with a little clip and everything.]

Figured you'd need this, if you and Charlie plan on going the way you're going.

[It could be a harsh thing to say, but it doesn't sound that way at all.]

[totallytrustworthy]

Aha, very funny. [Which is said just as fondly, just as mildly as his own remark as she turns it over in her hand. Soft fur, even in a society that's drowning in it, is no less soothing against her skin.

And honestly she could use a little luck.] It's lovely, darling. Thank you.

[hellosailor]

Hey, it might have saved you from lockup. Who knows, around here they might actually work. Can't hurt to have lady luck on your side.

[He was fond of lady luck, even though she was a bitch most of the time. Prone to stabbing you where it hurt when you weren't looking. But weren't all the best women?]

No, thank you. And merry goddamn Christmas Chloe.

[He threw himself back down into the chair and picked up the open bottle again. When wasn't a good time to drink, honestly?]

[totallytrustworthy]

Maybe if you got it enchanted.

[Chloe pockets it, gives it an affectionate pat before she closes in to give the sorry bastard a legitimate hug. Deal with it, Sullivan.] Happy Christmas, sweetheart.

[hellosailor]

[He takes it, only slightly fumbling the bottle in his hand. He manages to maneuver well enough to set it back on the table. Then it's easy to return the motion, even with the bulky coats in the way. Just a fold of the arms and a solid pressure. No half-assed hugs from this guy.]

Hey now, don't get all sappy on me. I've got a reputation. Or at least, I plan on getting one.

[There's a crooked grin there, the promise of future misbehavior.]

[totallytrustworthy]

Secret's always been safe with me.

[A promise she's glad of, and proves as much when the hug's broken and he earns himself a friendly pat on the bum in parting. Christ. Professional coin-bender right there.]

So long as you keep mine, of course.