ArchivedLogs:Pit Stop, Store-side

Pit Stop, Store-side
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Jim, Ryan, Ash
In Absentia	2013-03-07 Supply run. (Part of Prometheus TP.)
Location Wal-mart!
The drive felt long. Dead winter landscape rushing past beneath weak flurries of dry snowflakes. A sky slowly growing gray. The box truck is not new, and has clearly been used for moving furniture from all the scuffs to the walls. The floor is covered by a blue tarp and, illuminated by a jimmy-rigged single lightbulb industrial-stapled to the ceiling, the aftermath can be seen amongst the refugees. There have been /some/ supplies stocked up in preparation; first aid gear, bandages, gauze, a hotel-raid's supply of towels and a stack of clothes that... aren't much of a step up from scrubs, in the form of bulk-bought black t-shirts (all size Large) and pullstring sweatpants. There's also a small supply of canned food in a box: peaches, string beans and Vienna sausages in equal numbers. It smells in the van; human body and sweat and blood and piss and human terror. So... not much different from anything else pulling into a Walmart parking lot. Jim parks at the far side of the lot, overlooking a garbage-strewn bank where a little stream trickles under broken ice. The door is shoved up and open, casting in a little more light, and Jim surveys the grubby acid-burned and charred faces within. "So. What do we need." He'll then begin his trek across the lot, with a few others. Whoever can still walk, really. And seems sane enough not cause a Scene. Jax doesn't look all that much like himself, really, but then he hasn't looked much like himself the whole raid. No glittery makeup and colourful hair and piercings, sure, but also features /just/ that much altered. Nose a little longer, lips a little thinner, complexion a little darker, short hair and /two/ eyes. Also quite a bit of his skin has been /eaten away by acid/ but the great thing about being an illusionist is that this is also not visible. He looks like any other kind-of-grungy kid save that he's notably limping. And pulling a phone out of his pocket. "Joshua wants triangle bandages and basically a truck's worth of gauze. Sterile four by fours. Roller, too. And water. A lot of water." Ryan slumps in the passenger seat, one elbow bolstered against the door, supportive of his cheek smashed into his upheld hand, gaze lost out the window. Exhausted, and disoriented from the loss of blood, he scratches at the gauze wrapped over his chest through his shirt, watching as they pull into the parking lot. Never buckled in to start, he kneels over to the backpack at his feet to rummage through its contents and retrieve his wallet. One of the few with money, and still able to walk, he spills out the van as part of the mobile shopping team, adding, "Food. Probably. It'd be nice to feed these guys what doesn't feel like rations." Movement seems to enervate him, voice picking up its usual warm candor despite the very visible signs of tire in his mien. Jim strolls along with his own cell phone out, texting with someone in the technologically /devolved/ manner of a man nearing forty. "Maybe we should get some blankets," he adds, offhand. "Heating isn't so hot back there." "Tweezers. Gloves. Ice packs," Jackson says, after a brief pause, although this mental note from Joshua in the van has likely gone out to Ryan and Jim as well. "Blankets, yeah." He is also texting. With one hand. His other arm almost reflexively snakes around Ryan's, partially supportive and partially maybe just tired himself. Bolstering up each /other/. "Something with sugar in." "Sugar, yeah," Ryan echoes, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his palm, letting his hand drop and swing at his side. Shoulder rubbing up against Jax, he leans in for comfort and stability as they approach the automatic doors to be greeted by the bustle and din of busy shoppers. "I'll grab the cart," he grunts, peeling off to acquire a receptacle for all of their supplies. "Feel like I should be pushing you two around /in/ it," Jim mutters, though more /hovery/ than critical. He jerks his chin at the door greeter! Like YO. Even grins! "Alright, moneybags," aka Ryan, "I'll handle the blankets and first aid gear. You two go shopping with your stomachs. -- /well okay/ not just your own, fucking dirty hippies. Get meat. A couple rotisseries." "We're gonna get all the tofurkey," Jackson tells Jim, straightening with a wince as he taps out quick messages on his phone. "Mnnh. I'll go grab some corpse," he says to Ryan, "you get us some carbs. And water. Juice. Whatever." "You're welcome to, I'll hop in front, Jax can sit in the back," Ryan replies with a cheeky grin, passing along the cart to Jim with a gentle push. If it's divide and conquer, they'll require TWO shopping carts. "And our bodies are temples, not graveyards. But, carbs and beverages don't go against my creed," he jests, splitting off to the GROCERY half of the supermarket. "I still want a klondike bar," A young man who looks a bit brown speaks up, hobbling along after Jim. The guy is really brown. His hair is brown and his eyes are brown and his skin kind of has a muddish color as well, almost as if he's been smearing it on himself. "It's not too frivolous, right? And the commercials always say 'what would you do for one,' and I figure - all that? That was plenty to do for a klondike bar." Jim happens to be blessed with two fully functioning hands, of which he has TWO middle fingers to split between either Ryan /and/ Jackson, shaking his head. "You're with me, kid," he offers to the brownestKid he's /ever seen/, "I'll get you a fuckin' /bag/ of klondikes. With /booze/ in 'em." They don't make these in real life, but Jim is living in /fantasy/ land. "Maybe we should grab a bag of ice while we're at it." As they make their way down a paper product aisle, he just runs his arm along one shelf of paper towels and lets them /cascade/ into his cart. "S'your name. I'm Jim." Jim is considerably less treebark and foliage here under the sterile Walmart ceiling light. People-fleshed, if still flaky and dry. Ryan can be heard /laughing/ at Jim as he departs for the fresh foods, navigating among chilled produce to diverge down a warmer aisle populated with /boxes/. Sugary foods first, he assigns himself the task of selecting JUNK FOODS first; just because he's vegan doesn't mean he has no taste buds. Healthy stuff can come later -- as he steers for the back of the store, intent to drive his cart down EVERY lane of foodstuffs. Jax offers Jim a crooked grin, too, a quick soldier's /salute/ in answer to the one-fingered one. And then he is off; by the time he limps his way over to reconvene with Ryan he has /three/ roasted chickens balanced under an arm. "Oh man you're getting us a feast. I swear I could eat basically this whole store." It's light, but the look he sweeps over his friend is more seriously appraising, and a casual tone can't disguise the worry underneath, to empathic senses. "At least definitely the entire candy section." "Ash." The BrownestKid wraps a hand around the edge of Jim's shopping cart as it helps him walk a little better. "You probably shouldn't by too much boozecream, as it doesn't stay frozen very well. Property of alcohol and all and..." he stops and stares at the paper towels. "We should go get some. Isopropanol, hydrogen peroxide. Booze would be more expensive to pour over people. "OH! Bags." He peels himself away to find self sealing bags and starts grabbing boxes. "You put ice in these and then the water sticks around and maybe we drink it later." He's putting them in the cart whatever Jim's reaction. Jim blinks, stares at the kid. "-- /yeah/." He totally was thinking that. "Yeah, okay, actually I like your way." He makes room in the cart for Ash's contributions! He catches sight of Jackson and Ryan up an aisle and he /wolf-whistles/ at them, cupping his hands to his mouth, "Nice /meat/." He's also scanning them up and down a few rapid times, pushing the cart slowly enough for Ash to hobble at a comfortable clip. He's collecting up bandages from a shelf along the way, tossing them overhand into the cart like he's shooting hoops. The basket is big enough to make each one a point in his favor. Ryan stockpiles on cookies, chips, and the likes, boxes neatly arranged in his cart compared to the haphazard waterfall technique Jim uses to organize items in his. "Mmm, bird flesh," he mutters unenthused, unfolding the child-seat to store the warm chickens away from his vegan-approved findings. Under examination, he is quick to adopt a grin, voice cool and calm with an empath's reassuring touch, "Right? Or popsicles! Those ones in the plastic tubing. They double as an ice pack and a delicious treat when they thaw." Turning at the wolf-whistle, he calls back at Jim, "How many *cousins* you rescue from the shelves?" He's referencing the paper products of course, DUH. (Paper=trees) "Oh my gosh, popsicles. I'll eat all the popsicles. Can we get some of the kind with chunks of strawberry in?" Jax rests a hand against the cart once he deposits the chickens in the seat, his other arm held kind of protectively against his torso. "Oh, gosh, Jim's whole family was just about slaughtered for the sake of this. We knew there'd be some losses." There's a twinge of something -- pained, under this, a twitch of emotional acknowledgment of the /real/ losses under the jest. Ash cringes as if expecting to be hit, staring at Jim like he shouldn't have done that. When the Walmart remains just as boring and florescently lit as ever, quiet, with suburban America pleased to ignore the freaks as much as possible, he straightens back up, looking a bit sheepish. He then turns and stares at Jim, wide eyed. "Wait. What is this about your cousins? Did they take your family too?" Jim's smile at Ash is hard but warm, crooked up more on one side than the other, "They're just bustin' my balls, kid. Been a while, huh? I'm a tree-man." He picks up a papertowel into either hand and taps them both against the sides of his own head, "Paper's trees." The NICE smile falls into /bland smartass/ seriousness that Jackson and Ryan get exposed to, "You guys just don't know the /culture/. I've already told Hivey when I go, I'm donating my body to a paper mill. I want to be turned into the next article of Sports Illustrated: swimsuit edition. Tits." He points at the middle of his face, "Printed /right/ here." "I want the pineapple ones, mmm," Ryan contributes pausing to peruse the canned soups (the frozen aisle has yet to be reached). He grabs one of each, at least, with several of the more popular ones, setting each delicately in the cart to avoid any clanging of metal. "Their loss will not be in /vain/." His commentary is double-edged in humor and guilt, hand clasping over the top of Jax's with a firm squeeze. His touch lingers, gentle sentiment, however, is lost on the cackle he hosts under his breath at Jim, dismissing him with a roll of his eyes as he pilots on towards OMG COLD THINGS. "Ohgosh pineapple," Jax sounds /just/ as eager for this, despite following it up with a rather regretful: "I'm allergic. Sometimes I eat it anyway though. I always regret it. Hey, I'm sorry," he says to Ash, "we're just playing. Sorry, I didn't catch your name? I'm Jax." "Ash," he states simply and grabs the cart a little harder as they walk. "Can I have chocolate? Jim says I can have a whole bag of klondike bars, but really, I could only eat one or two. Why would you eat pineapple if you are allergic to it? Wouldn't that be bad? Are you trying to kill yourself by pineapple? Please don't. The world isn't that bad, I swear. It's full of nice things like puppies and rockslides and mountains and candies and did you know that there are places where kids can just run around and play and eat berries off of trees and not die? See? It's great, so please don't die." Ash has abandoned his grip on the cart and is making his way over to Jax with such concern on his face. "Besides, didn't a bunch of people just come rescue us? It's great. We'll be fine now. Don't die." "Yeah, asshole," Jim grins at Jackson from behind Ash, going for snark and a dragging of hand down the side of his face, leaving it /plastered/ over one eye and half his grin to keep from being absolutely baffled on how to deal with this rampant /sincerity/. Though he follows it up with a pat on the kid's arm, "Don't worry about it, kid. These two are the masterminds of the rescue squad, I don't think they'd do anything dumb." Beyond... rushing headlong into a laboratory guarded by murderdrones, armed guards, a blood-crazy monster, a dragon and a THUNDER GOD. "We'll stick with stra--" Ryan cuts himself off when confronted with all that Ash(en) worry, frowning to himself. "Woah, woah. Slow down. No one is going to die. We're all-- safe together. No harm is going to pass." Any anxiety finds itself assuaged even further by his empathic influence. "I'm Ryan. And you can have -- whatever you want. Just put it in the cart." Moneybags calls the shots since he's -- well, paying. Opening a freezer door, he collects a few boxes of assorted fruit flavored treats and adds them to the cart. "Crap. Drinks. I'll meet you guys at the checkout stand." "It is great," Jackson agrees, with a quick, small smile. "We'll get plenty of chocolate. Pineapple don't kill me none, don't worry. Just kinda makes my mouth itch. Bit queasy. S'/delicious/ is why. But w'ell stick with strawberries today. Um, rockslides --" He looks a little confused at this inclusion into the list of Good Things, but his smile doesn't fade. "You'll be find now," he affirms, "we're going somewhere safe. Let's -- let's check out. We got a bit to go yet." And a lot of injured people in the back of their van. "Really? It was you guys?" Ash looks a little confused and skeptical as faces are put to his rescuers, but he gives each of them a polite little nod and turns to look at the promised land of frozen goodies. He opens one door to obtain his much desired klondike bar, and grabs a whole box - and then a tub of chocolate ice cream - which he rapidly switches out to grab rocky road instead. "It's a bit on the nose, but it might be funny to someone else?" He offers to Jim before grabbing a handful of spoons from the salad bar. "Okay. I'm ready." Jim grins at Ash, but blinks, "Wait, on the nose for what?" He was too busy reading the ingredients on the klondikes, like the compulsive child-of-a-hippy that he is. At least he didn't say the obligatory 'you know what they put in these things?' Not like it would stop him from devouring them later. "How older you anyway? -- get ice!" He calls this after Ryan last minute, pushing the cart in between Jax /and/ Ash to imply FFS, dudes, you both should probably be leaning on it. That, or he wants to look like he's got body guards. "Rocky road," Jax answers, a twitch of amusement pulling at his lips. "But I think s'gonna be smooth from here till home." He claps a hand against the side of the cart, only too happy to lean against it with Ryan off and no long available for leaning on. He grabs a box of strawberry popsicles. But then just leans against the cart, falling into tired silence as they head through the store. Ash is a big, tough, scrawny underfed teen and will guard their precious cargo until a stiff breeze takes him out. "I dunno. What's the date?" He looks over at Jim and then down at the shopping cart. "I bet I'm twenty one now and can totally drink booze, vote, play the lottery and own a home, but I can't rent cars yet, because you gotta be twenty five or something - or have lots of money. I think they make you pay more when you're under twenty five, which is dumb, but an investment, I guess." He considers, rubbing a grubby finger around the lid of his prized ice cream and leaving some grub behind on it. "How old are you?" "Older'n you." Jim grunts, "Don't ask a guy that." He is grinning at his own delightful hypocrisy though. "Let's get outta here." They head for the checkout. The checkout girl snaps her gum and doesn't even look up a she starts scanning them out. Such is Walmart.