Intro Post

[shitstorm_eve]

Welcome to Carlyle... Waking Up It's happening again. All around town. Maybe it's in the cereal aisle of the general store while no mothers with squalling children are traversing it. Maybe it's in the middle of the town's lonely graveyard, full of hundred-year-old graves in the middle of the night. Maybe in the local city hall restroom, eyes opening to a gaze-full of toilet paper, or in the town's settler museum full of wagon wheels and old farming paraphernalia. There are still a few government workers milling around since the first influx. People in bland suits of various shades of grays and browns, nothing particularly impressive, but if they approach someone who doesn't seem to belong they'll bring them through the intake process. Though there's a chance that, instead, they'll meet a kindly marshall. Average middle-class white guy, a tall Midwesterner with some scruff and a formal uniform and a stocky build. He will discretely move them through if it's needed, make sure they have an ID and paperwork and phone and some concealing clothes if they have the body type that works for it. If they look special or like someone the government might want, he'll try to keep things on the down-low for them. Better than to lose people again. Getting Familiarized When investigating the town, they'll find it with trace damage from the night before. Someone is replacing a door that has ax-marks in it. Another is rebuilding a fence, a crashed car ready to be towed away. And yet another person is filing an insurance claim with his agent, his shed completely burned down and the air closeby filled with the scent of settled smoke. Most of the residents of Carlyle are friendly. If you stop and ask for directions, they'll give them. It's also a time of year in which there are lots of outsiders, on top of current events. Unfortunately, if anyone's dressed in an entirely unfamiliar way, someone might over-react. They may excitedly run to get one of the agents, or they might scream about it happening again, or they might be absolutely delighted and want pictures so they can go viral on FaceBook. There's a cafe in town where there's are a slew of reporters, talking about post-Vesanalia clean-up and the lost arrivals. At first, someone who wanders in might be mistaken for another reporter, there to order coffee or jam microphones at the management outside. But someone might be smart. A towns-person might notice something off, a familiarity in their gaze, or might hear them say something suspicious. The next thing they know, those reporters are turning their microphones towards the newcomer. Settling In Someone might need somewhere to sleep. Well, there's a nice little hotel where it's free. There's probably government surveillance if you care about that sort of thing. Otherwise, your rest will go undisturbed and have the average conveniences of a mediocre bed, a Febreeze smelling duvet, a somewhat new TV, and bathroom with a tile pattern installed in the 80s. One could try a barn, but there's a chance they'll be run out by an angry man in honest to god overalls and an unironic cowboy hat with a pitchfork. They could also try to sleep in a vehicle. Let's just hope the owner doesn't come checking before morning.

Comments

[notverycinematic]

I'd say more like 50%. What is it with assholes and ties?

[slowburn]

Because most of them took classes and got a license to be an asshole. They've been specifically educated in how to do it. A tie is like a diploma in how to be a prick.

[So says Mick Rory, an excellent connoisseur of a person's character.]

[notverycinematic]

At least there's a uniform. I'm guessing you're not an asshole.

[slowburn]

[Depends on the uniform. He's not had great experiences with that. But right now, as he's wearing a deliveryman uniform, he can't really rag on his usual dislike of police and soldiers. Probably shouldn't, anyway.]

I dunno, ask a guy in a tie.

[Yeah, he's probably an asshole. But he's an asshole willing to give her a ride. He's getting closer to the town now, ready to pull off onto the main drag.]

[notverycinematic]

I'm guessing there's a few in town?

[slowburn]

Oh yeah. Crawlin' with them. Insurance guys. Federal guys. Movie agent guys. Just slimeballs of every fashion. Like the Baskin' Robbins of bad company.

[But he slows down when he reaches the library. It's a small thing, too. Like it's mostly made for school kids and only a few adults come in- at the same time, it's probably more active than many, what with the militia men and backward thinking folks in town.]

Well, we're here.

[notverycinematic]

You're so sweet to kick me out.

[But she's going.]

Thanks for the lift. Name's Domino.

[slowburn]

Well, some of us can't live off beer alone. We need a sandwich every once in a while.

[He's turning off the car, too. Going through the process of unbuckling.]

Name's Mick. Nice to meet you.

[He offers his hand before she gets out. His current deliveryman uniform, as with all the clothing he chooses, is long sleeved. His hand? Covered by a glove. But there is some bad, healed-over burns in the strip of skin between leather and sleeve.]

[notverycinematic]

[That's not even close to the worst thing she's seen and she doesn't even seem to notice when she reaches out and shakes his hand]

Nice to meet you too. And thanks for the warning about the assholes.

[slowburn]

[He's used to it being otherwise. A lot of conclusions can be drawn from a man with scars. None of them he likes to deal with from regular folks.]

Maybe if I'm lucky you'll take my advice about the bar and I'll see you around.

[But she's the lucky one. So that's very up in the air.]

[notverycinematic]

Oh, I will definitely end up at the bar.