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

[hellosailor]

That I do, [He grins at her, wickedly] But I'm sure I'd appreciate a little help. You know how to dig, right?

[It's obviously a joke. She probably hadn't had to dig a hole in her whole life. Not when there was a man over the age of twelve in her general vicinity.]

[totallytrustworthy]

Haven't got a clue, darling. Shame. [And oh, it's a sharp grin she's wearing when she says it.]

[hellosailor]

Alright, if you're going to be like that. Get the hell out of here and leave me to toil.

[He pats her on the back, comfortable enough (not even as low as he thinks he could get away with).]

I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon

[totallytrustworthy]

To [Wait for it:] toilet, you mean?

[hellosailor]

[His face goes blank immediately, and when he speaks his voice is dead serious]

Get out of my house.

[totallytrustworthy]

Oh come on, you wouldn't throw Nate out for saying a thing like that, would you? [Because he would and you know it-- well, you do know it. In the future.]

[hellosailor]

God, now you're telling me I've gone soft? Are you trying to make me cry?

[But he can't keep up the offended farce long, so the grin is back again. Toilet. Really.]

[totallytrustworthy]

Well I try, but it hasn't worked yet. [So frustrating, that.]

[hellosailor]

Vicious! [He rubbed his hands together, ready to head back into the cold. Or at least, as ready as he was likely to be.] Alright, alright. Get the heck out of here before I decide that sitting and drinking sounds better than working.

[totallytrustworthy]

Mmm. I'm going, I'm going. [It's waved off with a grin as she makes for his sorry little exit.] Try to stay out of trouble, would you?

Or at least don't get caught when you do.