shatterverse | (no subject)

Current Location: The Cooper Farm, Kansas

Entry tags:

(no subject)

A black Ford F-350 pickup truck moves along a narrow unpaved road towards the Cooper Farm. The exterior is a mess of cracked glass, dents, bullet holes, scratched paintwork and mud spatter, but it seems to be running smoothly. In the back, a more pristine-looking motorbike is held in place by bungee cords and a large pile of duffel bags, gas cans and other outdoor survival gear. There's also a tool box behind the cab, containing a sizable arsenal of guns, explosives and ammunition, and one very hi-tech bow. It's clear that this vehicle has been on the road for quite some time.

Jamie's at the wheel, keeping a sedate speed and tapping along lazily to a Steve Miller Band song. Eleanor is dozing in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard.

Since their arrival and subsequent alien encounter in Nebraska eight months ago, the two of them have conducted a fairly thorough tour of the United States: northerly parts in the fall and warmer climes during the winter. In that time, Jamie has learnt how to drive automatics and stick shifts, and Eleanor has figured out what his 'episodes' are, and how best to control them. They've roughed it at times, at others they've taken advantage of civilian abandonment, and there've been plenty of monsters, fights and adventures along the way. It was only a few days ago that Jamie accidentally tuned in to Barbara's automated radio transmission and discovered the existence of the Kansas safe-zone. They decided to check it out.

The truck hits a deep pothole as it enters the main yard of the farm. Eleanor's head thumps against the side window, jarring her awake.

"...Ow," she mumbles, eyes still closed. "Nice road. Are we there yet?"

[OOC: Two pups, two muns. Tag either or both.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm not sure we're planning on sticking around quite that long," Eleanor says, matching her tone to the wry smile that's now on her face. "At this farm, or in this world."

Tailing the wheelchair, Eleanor finally tucks her gun into the waistband of her cargo pants. This woman seems sincere, but so have many others they've met on their travels. Hence, it remains handy.

"How about bacon?" she ventures as they proceed indoors. She doesn't sound too hopeful.

Jamie is content to bring up the rear, especially as it allows him to follow the path of Eleanor's gun.

"We could start one," he offers quietly, eyes still glued to those hips. It's not that he's given up on finding the way home; he's just stopped looking so hard, and takes each day as it comes.

"Bacon covered apples?"

He had a cast-iron stomach.

"I don't know if we've got any left, but you're welcome to check," she waves at the refrigerator. "It's really a question of whether one of the Sokka's has been in here recently or not."

She snags an apple from the bowl on the table and tosses it absently toward Jamie in a lazy arc that will take it over Eleanor's head.

"No," Eleanor says to Jamie.

She makes no attempt to snag the fruit. She's already making a focused beeline for the fridge. The door is flung wide, and the contents inspected. The contents are then rummaged through with increasing signs of desperation.

"Fuck," she says eventually. "Nothing. Not even ham."

She turns away morosely and the door flumps shut.

After easily catching the apple and sending Babs an appreciative grin, Jamie takes a bite. Watching Eleanor is one of his favorite pastimes in this world, and she doesn't disappoint. He snickers at her expression as she turns around.

"Goddess, I wish it were otherwise. She'll be inconsolable the rest of the day."

Quick, someone go slaughter a pig.

"She doesn't need it for nutritional reasons, does she?" Like, she's not going to actually die without bacon, right?

Babs is glancing over at a laptop which displays all sorts of indecipherable data. She might be able to swing something if it were that important, after all.

"No she doesn't," Eleanor grumbles. "It's just her favorite food in the whole universe."

A product of being fed it as part of every breakfast from a very early age. And for other meals too, whenever Eros could swing it.

She concludes with a glare in Jamie's direction, and a petulant grunt.

"I hope you choke."

"Aye, you do now. But you'd miss me."

His grin is wide and a little juicy. Another bite, and he tosses her the half-eaten apple. It isn't bacon, but it's still filling.

To Babs: "My thanks for the hospitality, but I don't even know your name."

She snorts. "I'm Barbara." She offers a hand.

Eleanor catches the apple and shakes her head at it. Then reluctantly, like a child being forced to eat a brussels sprout before it can have dessert, she takes a small bite.

If she hadn't got her hopes up about bacon, it would be fine. But shattered dreams taste like manure.

Smiling, Jamie slides both his hands over hers and turns it over, just brushing his lips over the back.

"A pleasure. And it truly is, given where we've been and what we've seen." Not to mention done. "I'm-"

Eleanor interrupts brazenly, while still chewing.

"He's Maurice." She breaks off to give a little wolf-whistle. "Professional gangster of love, and aspiring space cowboy."

A smirk returns to her face. "And I'm Eleanor."

"Maurice, huh?" Babs snorts in amusement.

"You two come in together, or did you just stumble upon one another after arriving here?"

"Some people call me Jamie," he laughs. "She doesn't approve of my singing."

As he draws back, he shoots Eleanor a fond look.

"Stumbling upon one another is one way to put it. But I'm from Tortall." His smile widens. "She's not."

"I'm from a different Earth," Eleanor volunteers. "One that's not quite as fucked up as this one."

She takes another bite from the apple, then lobs it back to Jamie.

"We both arrived about eight months ago, somewhere near the Iowa-Nebraska state line. I knew an alternate version of him and his mother from another place, but he'd never met me."

"It was love at first sight for Maurice," she snickers. "And he's been hanging around me like a bad smell ever since."

"Tortall," Babs repeats. "Feudal government structure, right?"

She smirks over at Eleanor. "This alternate version thing can get pretty confusing. And it's unfortunately common around here."

"Yeah," Eleanor agrees. She's had more experience of alternates than she's willing to let on right now, having been a part-time Milliways child. It's never easy to get used to though.

"Speaking of, are you the Barbara who set up the radio message?"

"Guilty as charged," Babs grins. "I did IT back home, so it sort of came naturally here."

"We're glad you did," says Jamie, though he's watching Babs much more closely now. "You've heard of Tortall, then?"

"Heard of it," Babs shrugs, "that's about it."

She lifts an eyebrow. "If you want to fill me in on the world I'd be interested."

Fascinating as it may be, Eleanor isn't ready to let Jamie start waxing lyrical about his homelands right now. She cuts in before he can even muster a reply.

"Are you in charge here then?" she inquires.

"Not really," Babs laughs. "We're not really organized enough to have an official leader."

"I guess the closest thing we've got around here is Mel."

That's all right. Jamie will corner Babs later for a more civilized conversation, and he'll tell her all about Tortall. The highlights, at least. He does have some restraint.

"Is he also from another world?"

Babs grins as if at a private joke, but simply nods. "Yeah. Though apparently Mel's a world-hopping veteran. Came here via some other place that wasn't home."

She shrugs. "Kinda hard to miss. Short, wiry, strong, and generally accompanied by a pair of really cute twins."

"Okay. I'm sure we'll run into him at some point."

Eleanor perches herself on the kitchen table and diverts her attention onto Jamie. "Not bad so far. Might make a decent base camp if it's really as safe as she says?"

The longer they've been together, the more she's invited him to weigh in on their important choices. It may not be a direct invitation, but it's better than nothing.