darlene. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nastygram) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2018-01-03 04:52 pm
nastygram) wrote in maskormenacelogs2018-01-03 04:52 pm
Entry tags:
closed ||
WHO: Ellie and Darlene
WHERE: Nonah #003
WHEN: early JANUARY, wwwway early in the morning
WHAT: some people live in their assigned government housing, some people just keep their name on the lease to hide their real whereabouts from Big Brother and store their leftover Chinese takeout in the communal fridge! then they meet.
WARNINGS: guns + language. probably no one actually gets shot!
[Darlene nudges the fridge shut with her hip. The door makes that quiet poof as the soft magnetic strip catches against soft magnetic strip, sealing it closed. Without the glow from the fridge, the kitchen at Nonah #003 is dark except for what moonlight falls through the little window over the sink. There are dishes in the drainer, hand towels, a thing of soap. Food in the cabinets. All these homey touches in what is essentially a temporary holding cell, a place to keep recent imPorts before they strike out on their own. A way to keep tabs on people.
Darlene sucks at her straw. The slurp is loud in the quiet of the house.
She has a room here, with a locked door, and nothing inside but the government-issue furnishing. The biggest claim to Nonah #003 that Darlene has is that her name is still associated with it on all the paperwork, and her leftovers, which appear in the fridge overnight without any warning. Little white boxes of takeout that never get eaten. None of them have her name on them. Darla, Diana, Deenah, Dee, Dolores. She's a shitty housemate except that she's basically never here, so at least she doesn't hog the communal living space or leave her dishes unwashed in the sink.
And now it's two in the morning and Darlene the leftovers ghost is making another appearance. Standing in the kitchen, big faux fur coat, sunglasses, boots still on. She isn't smoking. She's not that bad of a housemate, saves the ashtray treatment for her favorite roommate, Jorah. But now that she's made her deposit, and checked on her room, she starts toward the front door, still in the dark.
And blissfully unaware that she's being watched.]
WHERE: Nonah #003
WHEN: early JANUARY, wwwway early in the morning
WHAT: some people live in their assigned government housing, some people just keep their name on the lease to hide their real whereabouts from Big Brother and store their leftover Chinese takeout in the communal fridge! then they meet.
WARNINGS: guns + language. probably no one actually gets shot!
[Darlene nudges the fridge shut with her hip. The door makes that quiet poof as the soft magnetic strip catches against soft magnetic strip, sealing it closed. Without the glow from the fridge, the kitchen at Nonah #003 is dark except for what moonlight falls through the little window over the sink. There are dishes in the drainer, hand towels, a thing of soap. Food in the cabinets. All these homey touches in what is essentially a temporary holding cell, a place to keep recent imPorts before they strike out on their own. A way to keep tabs on people.
Darlene sucks at her straw. The slurp is loud in the quiet of the house.
She has a room here, with a locked door, and nothing inside but the government-issue furnishing. The biggest claim to Nonah #003 that Darlene has is that her name is still associated with it on all the paperwork, and her leftovers, which appear in the fridge overnight without any warning. Little white boxes of takeout that never get eaten. None of them have her name on them. Darla, Diana, Deenah, Dee, Dolores. She's a shitty housemate except that she's basically never here, so at least she doesn't hog the communal living space or leave her dishes unwashed in the sink.
And now it's two in the morning and Darlene the leftovers ghost is making another appearance. Standing in the kitchen, big faux fur coat, sunglasses, boots still on. She isn't smoking. She's not that bad of a housemate, saves the ashtray treatment for her favorite roommate, Jorah. But now that she's made her deposit, and checked on her room, she starts toward the front door, still in the dark.
And blissfully unaware that she's being watched.]
no subject
Ellie has a hard time sleeping in Nonah; she always has--there's too many sounds, too many things that feel like danger in a world where there's so little of it. She misses Joel. She doesn't, at the same time, but she misses the warmth and the safety and the feeling that there was at least one person in the world that gave a shit, that would never let any kind of harm come to her.
She hears the key turn in the lock on the front door and she reaches for her gun that she keeps right under her pillow, just in case. She doesn't put her shoes on; shoes make noise, and she has the advantage of surprise if she plays her cards right. Bare feet thus pad quietly down the stairs, and she watches, carefully, as Darlene leaves her little deposit in the fridge.
The paranoid part of Ellie can't help but wonder what it is, if it's supposed to be some kind of trap. She hasn't talked that much to her roommates, sure, but she's never seen this woman before, and her instincts immediately jump to the conclusion that she's an intruder. Darlene turns to head to the front door, but she doesn't make it out of the kitchen before there's a gun suddenly cocked at her head, from a rather small gunman. Or gunwoman, to be precise.]
Don't fucking move.
no subject
[--Darlene says, immediately, more to the surprise than to the gun, at first, and then she registers the click as gun and then it's like Jesus Christ what is happening.
Her grip on the straps of her backpack tighten. Everything about her feels very tight right now, tense. Dry mouth, quick pulse. It's dark, and she's wearing sunglasses, but she can at least pinpoint the sound of the voice giving the order to over there, so that's where she focuses.]
Dude. What is this.
no subject
Put your stuff down.
[The gun remains trained at her head, its location difficult to properly pinpoint without the light from the fridge to illuminate at least a little of the kitchen.]
Tell me who you are and what you're doing here.
no subject
[She does not move to put her stuff down, but that means she doesn't move. Probably half safe from getting her head blown off at this point. The first rule of a mugging is, give up your shit, but this isn't a mugging, and this is, on paper, Darlene's house.]
Why don't you start by telling me who you are and why you're in here at like three am with a freaking gun drawn on me?
no subject
I live here, and I've never fucking seen you before.
no subject
[Big talk for someone probably still in the sights of this freaking gun.]
Welcome to the neighborhood, hon. You'll notice I didn't threaten you. Do me a solid and do the belated same.