maskormenacelogs | I'll take the long way 'round

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I'll take the long way 'round

WHO: Joel & OPEN.
WHERE: Various! Around both Heropa and Pennsylvania.
WHEN: Through July.
WHAT: Doing dead drops, smuggling drugs, being a dad, being a prick… The usual.
WARNINGS: Will edit if anything arises!

» coffee shop in heropa | open

[Joel has a long drive ahead of him to Pennsylvania. About seventeen hours if he drives straight without a break, which ain't gonna happen. He's picked up a rental car - something mundane and bland looking, something that doesn't stand out - and he's said his extremely reluctant goodbyes to Ellie, promised her he'll be back in a few days.

It's pretty early in the morning and so that means he's not going anywhere until he's had his fill of coffee. He's pretty miserable. Pretty grumpy and sullen-looking. Nothing new there. What's prompting it this morning, though, is leaving Ellie. He hates leaving her. It makes him damn nervous. He misses her like hell already and he's barely even a few blocks away from his apartment.

The secret life of a drug mule. It ain't easy.]

» in a diner halfway between heropa and pennsylvania | open

[Ten hours into the trip and he's had to stop for the night. He's paid for a cheap motel room to stay in overnight - paid in cash, of course, keeping things suitably careful and nondescript, so nothing looks suspicious - and he's now he's heading into a cheap, kind of run-down looking diner after having just filled up the car with gas. Not that it's run-down to him. Hell, run-down is like luxury to him, after twenty years of living in streets festering with dead bodies, rotted out cars and collapsing buildings.

If there's anything good about this smuggling job… It's a lot cleaner, a lot easier, a lot simpler than the smuggling jobs he did back in the quarantine zone. At least he can drive a car, not have to go trudging through rain and hail and sleet. At least he can take a break and have some decent food and some coffee. At least he doesn't have to run for his life from Clickers or wonder how the hell he's going to get around patrol outside of curfew. At least there are no kids to smuggle.

Shit, he misses Ellie.]

» calling ellie from his motel room | closed to ellie

[It's kinda late by the time he gets back to the motel room. He's tired and he's pretty grumpy, but he's had a decent meal at the diner and he's had a hot shower. And so now, he's reclining on the bed, propped up against the cheap pine headboard with a few lumpy pillows with the television on while nursing a beer that he's helped himself to from the motel's bar fridge.

He flicks through the channels and upon finding nothing that really grabs his attention, he tosses the remote aside and reaches across to his bedside table for one of his burner phones. He's got two: one with Jesse's number it in, and one with the number of the burner phone he gave Ellie. The last thing he wants is records of long-distance conversations with Ellie where he's got no cover to explain why the hell he's travelling back and forth between Heropa and Pennsylvania all the time. Not to mention he doesn't want to run the risk of talking anything to do with smuggling over their handheld devices.

He flips the phone open and presses her number locked into the speed dial, and holds the phone against his ear as he takes a sip of beer.]

» a bar in pennsylvania | open

[He's made the drops. Picked up the cash from dead drop points. Time to head home. Except it's late, it's raining, he's tired, he could really use a drink. Might as well stay the night in Pennsylvania and drive back in the morning.

Much like his stay overnight halfway between Pennsylvania and Heropa, he's paid for another cheap motel in cash. He'll call Ellie when he gets back there, tell her what's going on, but for now - he's sitting at the bar, dressed in a red flannel shirt and old looking jeans, sipping a Jack and Coke. Every now and again, he glances up at the television playing overhead.

It's only his first drink; as he finishes it off, he sets the glass down and shoves it towards the bartender with a push of his fingers.]

Another, thanks.

» back home in heropa | open

» option 1
[Now he's back home, Joel has got things he's gotta do. He no longer has the mundane looking rental car but his old red '57 Chevrolet, which rumbles loudly due to a hole in the muffler and looks like it needs to be stripped right back and refurbished.

He goes grocery shopping - and hell, walking around a supermarket is still a pretty surreal experience, seeing all those shelves of food at his disposal, all that fresh fruit, fresh vegetables, meat, alcohol, Christ it's still all so overwhelming even a month after being here. And as for being surrounded by people, well, that's one of the perks of doing these drops between here and Pennsylvania, he supposes: way less people to deal with, as opposed to the supermarket and the mall, where there are far too many people, as far as Joel is concerned. Too many untrustworthy, unpredictable people. Though he keeps it very carefully concealed, he still heads around town with a pistol tucked into the back of his waistband. Just in case.]

» option 2
[Most afternoons, when he's not busy doing a drop, he waits outside the ice cream parlour where Ellie works to walk - or sometime drive - her home. He can be found sitting on a bench nearby, or standing against a wall near the shop with his arms crossed over his chest, just waiting. He does a lot of people watching while he waits, always keeping an eye out for danger. And, like when he goes shopping, always has his pistol concealed in his waistband. Just in case.]

» option 3
[He's got more money than he knows what to do with now. He's hardly spent any of it. Some days, though, he'll go down to the electronics store to browse through the movies and music. Movies he wants to show Ellie, music he wants to introduce her to. He's bought a big TV and a DVD machine, that he's crammed into the small bedroom they share; there are nights when neither of them can sleep and so they stay up watching movies together.

Sometimes, with DVDs or CDs clutched in his hand, he'll head over to the section in the electronic store where they sell pianos and guitars and instruments. He tinkers on the pianos, pressing keys here and there, and sometimes gives the guitars a quiet strum and a longing look as if debating whether to take one down and play it. Damn it, he's missed playing music.]

[[ooc; If there's anything else you'd like to do with Joel, feel free to set up a thread!]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Used to be different, before guns and all that shit. I mean - [she gestures lazily at herself] - viking, so I can't say much about honor and all that. But trench warfare is something else. And then the jungle, landmines, all that. Most of the guy's that came home never really got better.

[Viking? What, like those guys with long beards and horns on their helmets?]

Different, how? War's war, ain't it? Don't matter how it happens. It's still just a bunch of people doin' whatever it takes to survive.

[She hates pop culture for the helmet horns thing.]

About five million people died in the Napoleonic Wars. They lasted over ten years, with muskets and canons. Almost ninety million died in the Second World War, in only five years.

Heh. Guess I see your point.

[He takes a longer sip from his drink.]

And you... what? Choose who dies or somethin'?

[He can't really recall what she'd said about being a Grim Reaper. Something about gods and choosing who stays and who goes to Heaven or some bullshit.]

Used to. I can only choose for people who believe in my gods, and there's not many of them, these days.

[She shrugs like it doesn't bother him, even though she's sure Joel remembers her anger, during their first conversation.]

All I can do for 'em now is give a little luck.

[He purses his lips slightly, glances down at his drink for a moment. Did some asshole God choose for his daughter to die? Or was that just some ruthless act of human cruelty? Guess it doesn't really matter what the reason is. There sure ain't any God as far as Joel is concerned.]

A little luck, huh? Guess that's more useful than faith.

Guess it depends if people wanna put their fate in the hands of someone like me.

[She's aware that most people probably wouldn't.]

[Sitting back in the booth, he just gives her a wry look.]

If luck means fate, then I'd definitely pass. No offence.

Nah. Well, least not from me. If things are pre-determined, it ain't in my hands. I was just using the phrase.

If things are predetermined, then that just means that whatever's predeterminin' things is a whole lot worse than people could ever be. And people're pretty damn awful.

My gods never did that shit. They might have directions in mind for people, but they never wanted to control everything.

[Not that she can really presume to know the thoughts of her gods, but from what she observed.]

[Heh, Joel thinks as he looks away. What bullshit. He's so stubbornly against the idea of God and gods, so bitterly atheistic towards such an idea, that it makes him nothing but cynical and angry.

What did Kara say not long ago? That it would go in their favour if they got along? Time to change the subject, then. Joel isn't in the mood to get into an argument, anyway. He's too tired. He just wants to go home, be with Ellie. Pity it's too late to start making tracks until morning.]

Anyways. [He motions to her glass; his own is almost empty.] Want another drink?

Depends. You buying? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you earn more than me.

[It's not a difficult guess to make, considering the risk levels are different for their jobs. Not that Kara's is exactly safe, but until something goes wrong, she's fine. Joel's the one taking the upfront risks.

Which means he gets paid more. That's how it works.]

Yeah, I'm buyin'.

[No comment about how much he earns, although he is kinda curious to know how much Kara earns. None of his business, though. He picks up his glass, throws back the last of it with a quick gulp, sets it down on the table. He slides out of the booth, digging his hand into his pocket for money.]

What d'you want?

[If he asked, she'd tell him, because it's not really a big deal to her. But she also won't ask him, despite being curious.]

Whatever beer's on tap will do.

[She's not particularly fussy, and she doesn't feel like putting in the effort tonight to actually get drunk, so beer will do.]

Alright. [He looks down as he pulls out a few fifties folded together from his pocket; he plucks one slightly crumpled fifty free, pushes the rest back in.] You hungry, too?

[Do Grim Reapers even eat? Well, even if they don't, he's kinda hungry.]

I could eat.

[So "grim reapers" do actually eat, although she can go without for a lot longer than a human can.]

They do a pretty good chili cheese fries here.

That does sound good. Chili cheese fries comin' up, then.

[And with that, he head off to the bar. He places an order for a large chili cheese fries and two pale ales on tap. He pays for the lot - and damn, if money ain't a whole lot easier to trade with than damn ration cards - and pockets the change, and he takes the drinks back to the booth.]

Here you go. [He sets Kara's beer down and pushes it towards her as he slides into his side of the booth with his own.] The guy says the food'll be about ten minutes.

[By the time he returns, Kara's finished one cigarette and started on another. She's also relaxed a little, settling back more lazily in the booth as she watches the other few patrons in the bar.]

Thanks.

[She curls her fingers around the glass, but doesn't take a drink just yet.]

How's Ellie been doing with all this shit?

[It's a genuine question. Kara likes Ellie a fair bit, so she's wondering how she's doing.]

[Joel lets out a low sigh as he settles in the booth with his forearms resting against the table, the old vinyl on the seat creaking a little. His lips twist into a faintly thin line as he peers down at his beer. Ellie. He misses that girl real bad.

He clears his throat quietly and glances up at Kara. Ellie had said she doesn't mind Kara, thinks Kara is pretty nice.]

She's, uh... She's doin' alright. She's adjusting. I mean, she's never known a world like this one, so... it's been a bit of a learnin' experience for her.

[That's good to hear; Kara could check up on Ellie herself, but that almost seem like being concerned or getting involved, and she doesn't like doing that.]

How many times has she made herself sick on rich food?

[Kara's smile is actually fond, for a moment, rather than taunting or wry. If they were living in a military controlled, half-destroyed world, it's likely they were living on rations, not hamburgers and steaks and soda.]

Heh. [The corner of his mouth quirks, equal parts wry and, despite himself, fond. He gives a small shake of his head. Yeah, she's made herself sick more than enough times. There have been some nights Joel has had to sit up with her in the bathroom.] Lettin' Ellie loose in this place with food is like just lettin' a kid loose in a candy store. Not that she's discovered one of those yet, I don't think.

[God help him when she does.]

She works in an ice cream store, isn't that worse?

[It's weird to talk about normal sorts of things, even if there's an undercurrent of 'we're from some sort of apocalypse universe'.]

Well... yeah. Got a point. Whoever decided to give her that job was pretty mighty stupid. Either that, or determined to punish me somehow.

[How many times has Ellie given herself stomachaches because of that damn stuff now? Or if not stomachaches, then sugar highs. Joel has lost count. He lifts his beer, takes a sip. On the other hand... he kinda likes the way Ellie is always bringing him stolen ice cream, even if he's not a real big fan of it himself.]

What job they assign you with when you first got here?

Would say they didn't realize, but considering the files they've got on us...

[They had to know what kind of world Ellie came from, and that she'd be a little overwhelmed by so much choice of sweet food.]

Assistant in the Pagan Studies department at the college. Fucking ridiculous.

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