Breaking Fast

March 08, 2017:

Lunair finds Ravager after long silence between them and they discuss what has happened, til now.

Gotham Arms Apartments - Gotham

A simple brownstone, six-storey, walk-up apartment building. It's a
little on the run-down side, but not actually bad. Rents are reasonable, at
least, and the super is as conscientious as he's paid to be (which is to say
adequately, but this ain't the Ritz).
There are six floors, and six apartments on each floor, with stairs
at either end of the corridors and fire escapes off small balconies.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

//Your name isn't proud,
demented man.

Hold tight to the lie you sold to them…//

Ravager comes back from the assault, a stiff legged walk that tumbles her through her window to land upon her back and leave the opening agape while she reaches to the side, limp-wristed and gathers up a bottle, uncapping it and flicking the metal casing in a skip across the apartment floor.

The place itself is just as slummy as the city's surroundings hates Gotham too, but it fits, no frame for the bed, no seats for chairs, a leaky faucet drip-dripping… and if the fridge is opened it bears alcohol, vials, and nothing else save condiments.

Jalapeno's, Sriracha, cheese, and the end pieces of bread.

Ravager's bank account definitely does not reflect the squalor, but she chose this for now… The half-mask is peeled off her face as the bottle is risen and tipped back while she lays on the bare-splintered wooden floor of the flat."

Poor Rose. Lunair's been off doing her own thing. Either way, she's bringing a few things for Rose. Whether Nate tells her or Lunair finds out individually, she'll turn up. Probably with some better food, for man cannot live on bread elbows and such alone. It's gross and not healthy. She doesn't look out of the ordinary, at least. People carry groceries up all the time, right? Right. There's some healthy premade and frozen meals. Lunair can't really live here, considering she gets tranq darted on a near weekly basis. But she can at least /visit/. Someday, she'll have a benzo tolerance of a hippo and on that day, there will be a reckoning.

She knocks three times on the door. "Knock three times if you looooove— no wait, that was a pipe. NEVERMIND."

The knocking of an unexpected visitor has pistols within palms and aimed at her door, despite being up-side down.

Luna will find it unlocked, but all through a recognition mechanism, not "luck" or happenstance. Despite the time passed between, Rose still considers Luna a friend, and the words draw a smile from lips, arms falling just above head from poise with a smile, retracted mechanically by the rig where a bottle is quickly in place with a sweep of her hand.

…I'm ready for war..
.. Don't know if anybody's been this fuckin' ready before.

"Long time!" ..No see.. But Luna finds no resistance to come in, the door practically opens itself.

Hello, my name is human. "So, you're the giving tree?" That mismatched gaze shifts while her still-armored body rolls to its side and rises to meet Lunair.

"About time you come in person." The words may seem sardonic, but despite it Rose smiles.

Lunair isn't stupid, she cautiously nudges a bag in first. Better frozen waffles get shot than her. "Something like that," Lunair smiles. "I heard about what went down and figured getting food was gonna be tough for you. There's vitamins and actual food. I can make us something if the kitchen - works," She does close the door behind her. She seems oddly unbothered by Rose having been alarmed. She probably understands. "Yeah, sorry. I had to stab the person who created me in the throat. He had another batch of kids made." Blankstare. She shakes it off after a moment. "Also there's a bath bomb or two. Are you um, holding up okay?" She looks worried, as much as her stunted state allows. It's flattened, a pale, learned facial expression.

A marker of detachment. "And also I didn't want the assholes with the dart drones to follow me here. Took a little to shake them. I swear to god, every freaking Tuesday." SIGH.

Stacks of empty delivery, and take-out boxes litter counter space, to which Lunair's query of the kitchen working gets a shrug. "The water needs to run for a bit before usable." A warning heavy in Rose's tone as Lunair shuts the door behind her, locking mechanisms clicking into place well on their own, and heavily. The only thing Rose spent money on. A door befitting a top notch safe, even her plaster wall seems…new.

Reinforced as well. Ravager is -all in-.

But when Luna speaks about her creator, There is an evident tension in Rose's shoulders while the rigging is meticulously detached. Like cleaning a sniper rifle, every join and lock counts… Fits..

"And the kids?" A look over shoulder and Rose is unzipping, but only so much as to loosen, not reveal fully before she peers curiously at "bath bombs". "Why would a weapon smell like coconuts?" A flare of nostrils and Rose smiles at her friend, pulling out foam cups from a package and pouring herself a vodka. Luna? A Sprite.

"Just peachy! Yourself?" A casual flow of words while she pours their drinks and sups from her own bottle aside from the pour.

"If you need help…" But she let it float there, that offer while a folded seat upon the floor is taken.

Who needs dinner when you have alc-ified potato!

…. Breakfast on the other hand… Luna just made her day(s)…

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License