5... 6... Pick Up Sticks

[Red Dawson]

((This is a closed thread for now. It will become open in the near future - possibly after one or two more posts. This takes place approximately one week after "A Fresh Start"))

Existence was not the correct term for it. Lying around, mostly dead to the world as it passes by you. It's worse when the earlier part of this so-called existence doesn't have a clear focus - it was merely a routine, an automated response as the body recovers from being nearly depleted. Thankfully the exposure to the dead of winter did not leave much of a mark on his body: all the digits were accounted for, although there were additional scars that made the calloused tips of fingers and toes much more rough to the touch. The worst damage had been to his feet; upon removal of his boots it had become obvious by the bloody mess that he had spent quite a long time walking, with little rest, in footwear that should have long since been replaced. But even these healed up, and those staying at the Cosway with medical knowledge believed that he'd be walking about much as he had done before.

But the body heals rapidly when it comes to the mind and the soul. Despite the recovery from what could have been a rather unpleasant death from the frosty air outside, it was rare for a word to be uttered from his lips and sleep was the primary activity. Even at his most lucid, he was not that responsive to those around him, although the fact that there was a hint of clarity in his eyes made others feel that the frigid winter hadn't brought damage to his brain as well as his body. No one really had any idea what he may have gone through before his fateful arrival at the hotel... and that was just one of the many things that Red was trying to uncover for himself, as well as trying to piece together all these sensations that had been rekindling some recollection in his mind.

The first thing that popped into his thoughts was the purpose of his last trip outside these wall - how he intended to discover the fate of the Cosway inhabitants and, if what he found was as he had expected, he would continue south towards the barrier the military had set up. This spurred on the reality of this city, how it was an endless cycle of life and death; a repass of living as a resident desperately striving to survive, and existing as a threat to life when living became impossible. He had recovered from one of those episodes before he set off on his journey - again the endless circle was renewed - and he was beginning to find little reason to keep up the charade. The line of defense that separated this ruinous city from the outside world had been doing their best to stop the inhabitants from escaping and perhaps, given enough firepower, there wouldn't be anything left to keep his existence going.

But what now? His grim expectations weren't even close to the truth. There were the familiar faces that he had expected to see - although he did expect to see more - and things seemed to be back to what must be normal in the rundown hotel building. Yet the familiarity usually stopped with the visual cue. Much of whatever emotional impact that they had upon him were still dull echos, most of the memory seeming so faint that it was hard to separate actuality from imagination. The names made sense when he heard someone called by their title but before that occurred, he only had a hunch to go off of; the memories linked to the individual becoming a mesh of dream and experience, of personal viewpoint and reality. And sitting in bed was not helping him find the answers he needed.

With a great deal of effort, Red pushed himself up once more from his place of rest but this time he did not plan to return a moment later. It still felt like he had fought in some epic battle, ran in some obscure Olympic event that required every single muscle to be working in overdrive. The aching, accented by the small creaks and pops of his joints, ran up his arms and into his chest, stealing a great amount of his determinations, reminding him that it was best to lie down once more and to continue to let the world move around him. But, just as he had pushed himself all the way through the winter storm, he was not going to let his condition stop him. He threw his head forward and managed to get a leg out from the bed which had been a cell for too long. He had to make sense of it all or his initial expectation of what he would find when he got here would come true.

[Red Dawson]

As always, it was much colder than it was once outside of the bed; even the ragged extra bits of clothing that he slipped on were chill to the touch. Again, his body urged for a return to the warmth that he just left, to go on as a Rip van Winkle and rest through the days, months, years that it might take to find a resolution to this city's fate. As tempting as it sounded, Red was already committed and reached for his things, only to find that his personal affects were fewer than he had recalled. A lone revolver was the only item waiting for him, standing a quiet vigil on top of a small, worn, wooden crate. He picked up the weapon - its weight seemingly increased since the last time he held if - and then the leather straps and jury-rig that made up its holster, the color blending in with the planks beneath its resting place. He had so much more and yet, it was difficult to recall what he had once possessed.

He sat there on the bed, aimlessly spinning the cylinder of the pistol as he tried to think back upon his possessions. A large bag - one with a strap. That was the clearest image in his head. He had carried that thing since day one, at least it seemed that way. Enough food for two but, for all his pondering, he couldn't quite place a face or a name to his companion. Probably someone he held dear to him and had lost down the road. He didn't want to dwell; he didn't believe that he could take any additional pain at the moment. It would eventually come back, he was sure of it. He had a knife as well, a big one. Probably used to open canned goods. But that was it. There was nothing else coming back to his mind on that article. At first he waved it off as not important but then a larger question entered his mind: Had he lost it? Had he forgotten himself much as others had from experience the continuous 'renewal' of Malton?

Red shook his head as he checked and confirmed that his revolver was empty before placing it in the holster and strapping it around his leg. He recalled many things. He recognized faces despite blurs. He knew where he was headed, even knew the name of this hotel. But why was he having a hard time remembering everything attached to them? It was a sickening sensation that grew at the bottom of his stomach, for once taking his mind off of the steady ache he felt all over. All there was to it was to find out on his own, to move about the hotel and see for himself just how much came back. He stood up ready to march on out of that room and find out for himself. The room suddenly shifted and as his body and vision finally sent the right signals, he realized that he was on the floor.

Apparently, either by standing too quickly, getting worked up about his memories, or a combination of both, his legs just gave out and the aching seemed to concentrate in his feet. Sure he had gotten up before to take care of personal business, but it was always a chore and he had moved much slower then. He'd just have to take it slow, a concept that he was having a very hard time coping with. He turned himself around and, using the bed, pulled himself up, first to a seated position and then back up on his feet. He smiled weakly; he was going to be a burden for some time after this. Just the sort of thing that people want to hear when getting by on your own was hard enough. His gait shambling - a familiar motion he quickly placed out of his head - he moved towards the door and slowly opened it.

The hotel seemed dead and, being the winter season, it was hard to determine what time of day it was. More than likely, most of the inhabitants were out on business; searching for food, administering to the injured or dead, or making sure that their little niche in the city was as secure as it possibly could. That was fine by him. He didn't believe that talking with many at once was going to help his recall, and he didn't want everyone to know right away that he was having problems. Using the wall as support, Red slowly made his way down the hallway. The sickness he felt in his stomach was being replaced by the distinct need for food. Hopefully there'd be something small down in the kitchen area. And, along the way, maybe he'd find someone and be able to draw back some of the memories that lied on the peripheral.

((I think this thread is open, if anyone cares to pop in.))

[dray]

((I need to know from Mystic if Agate's zombification thread is before or after this, because I'd like to put Agate in this thread... but if he's being killed at the same time as Red's wandering around, no can do. XD))

[kinrrataiyath]

((After, I think. Agate's healing happens a week after the big reunion. I think this is two weeks(?) later or something.))

[dray]

(("This takes place approximately one week after "A Fresh Start"

May we say the healing happens afterwards, or is it really important that this happens before?))

[kinrrataiyath]

((o.O D'oh. I completely missed his note about the time. Yeah, we can say the healing happens afterwards if you want, but it wouldn't be too long afterwards.))

If Red had been hoping to sneak into and out of the kitchen unawares, his hopes were dashed the moment he entered the dining room. The kitchen, having long since lost the door that deaded noise from within, was alive with clunking cans and tromping boots. The occasional swear word drifted up from the ruckus, as if to add a resounding chorus to a song that no one particularly cared to listen to. Eventually, the kitchen dweller grew tired of searching and the noise level dropped to just the rhythmic thumping of her boots.

Cass emerged from the kitchen with nothing but a piece of jerky in hand. She'd been hoping for something more. Maybe a bit of bread to go with it? However, such items didn't last and thus were not often acquired during the supply drops. She'd have to remember to make a point of getting to the next site early so that she could get her pick of items. Too d*mn often she got there after the crowd had already gathered and had to muscle (or gun) her way to the front.

With the measly bit of food in hand, the small solider woman plopped herself down in a chair and dropped her harness of weaponry on the ground. It hit the carpet with a few thuds and a noisy clatter. Were she not meticulous in making sure that all safeties were set and all chambers cleared before she so much as loosened a buckle, she'd likely have more accidents then she actually did. Finally relaxed, the gun show slouched down and began to munch on her well deserved snack.

[dray]

((S'what I thought. I have mischief in mind.))

For his part, Agate was on the floor with Casey, playing grab-the-ankle if the baby tried to crawl out of reach. At the moment, he was trying to keep her from the shiny goodness of Cass' gun-show, for the child seemed entranced with the assortment of weaponry and wasn't taking kindly to being made to sit still. Agate might have been bothered, but a touch of miserly joy upon realizing that Cass hadn't found or raided the common stash was too much not to smirk for... if everybody helped themselves, after all, there wouldn't be much left over for anybody else. In any case, Red's entrance to the gathering area seemed like a good distraction from imminent gun-wielding, and Agate took his chance to scoop the girl up again.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be up yet," he told the other man, chiding slipping into his voice easily enough.

[Red Dawson]

With the audible commotion that Cass had caused during her search, it wasn't surprising that Red had missed seeing Agate and Casey; it also didn't help that he still had a little trouble focusing, which was apparent when it took him a moment to look in the man's direction. The good thing was that he did recall those present, even the small child - although the sense of recollection wasn't as strong. It was still a bit unnerving that it wasn't a raging river of information that came back to his mind. The most memorable of the bunch was the man, probably due to the markings on his flesh. He got the sense of an old soul about him, like a grumpy father, and it brought back snippets of imagery, usually involving him in some sort of verbal disagreement.

"But I'm up now," was Red's straight reply. It had been a while since the last time he spoke and it was as if his vocal chords had been frozen and were still in the process of thawing - his voice coming off quiet and horse. It was a statement, not a challenge or an apology for his actions, but the man was probably right about his condition.

He adjusted the placement of his shoulder on the wall, trying to affect a standard standing position, with mixed amounts of success. As he did so, he turned his head to help his eyes look towards the woman once more. Although familiar, she wasn't as familiar as the man. Red doubted that he had much interaction with her, although he did recall seeing her sometime before he blacked out and arrived here. The way she carried herself reminded him of another resident - a tough guy that surprisingly came readily to his mind. Even his name, Eddie, was immediate with the recollection. And she was often with him, although he couldn't quite place exactly why that was or in what capacity. He decided to avoid bringing him up, just in case the topic was taboo at the moment. Instead he remained quiet, hoping that more information would return shortly.

[kinrrataiyath]

There he goes with the mothering again. Christ, you'd think he'd grow breasts one of these days, Cass mused to herself while eyeing the exchange. She'd almost gotten up the will to move her weapons out of reach of Casey, but that would require some sort of effort on her part not to mention depriving Agate of a sorce of distraction. She could almost believe the man would die if he didn't have someone to nag.

"Leave him be, Agate. Man's been laid up for a week already. If he wants to move about, let him move about. We can always toss his ass back into bed if he falters anyway," the gunshow admonished the hen pecker. She tore another strip off her jerky and began grinding it between her molars. The meat was tough and hard to chew. Just that small mouthful would take a few minutes to get through. In that time, she switched her attention to Red.

She remembered him as being skinny and reclusive, but fit enough to handle himself. The figure that was currently standing through force of will alone was only a shadow of his former self. His mop of auburn hair was a knotted mess, his skin was pallid and sallow, and the effort of holding up his own weight seemed to sap every ounce of strength he had. She felt a small pang of pity for him, but more so a hidden sense of concern. She was the one to drag his ass in from the cold. Though he was making a valliant effort, she didn't want to see him wind up worse off than before. Her comment to Agate had come more from a desire to taunt the man who controlled the food (and therefore was responsible for her not having food) than anything else.

"Hey Red, you startin' to remember me now?" It was hard to miss the fact that he hadn't so much as acknowledged a familiarity when she met him on the rooftops a week ago. Maybe the ice had finally thawed from his mind.

[dray]

"At least give him some room to sit down," Agate retorted, attention faltering on the child for a moment so that Casey had a chance to make a break for it. Almost immediately, the girl scooched back for the strap nearest her and a rather nondescript look pistol that it contained, stubby hands quickly getting entangled in the pile as she played.

Patiently enough, Agate untangled her and brought her back to his knee, bouncing her to keep her distracted. He didn't have anything to say to Red directly if the man was going to resist going back to bed, but any progress on his part would be noted... When Red had first showed up to the Cosway, Agate had wondered if he was in the same boat as Zero and himself. The man was quiet and though he was helpful and sometimes creatively generous (Fa still kept her carved-wood angel hanging over the back of her door, for instance) he didn't seem to have much to contribute to a conversation. Had it been because he simply couldn't remember anything worth saying?

After a while, it'd been proved that Red wasn't as much of a restart as he seemed, but now Agate wasn't so sure. He recognized the signs and remembered, ironically, what it was like to have a fogged over brain. At least Red had somewhere safe to rest while he adjusted...

What Agate worried about most about Red wasn't the fact that he'd barely survived a close encounter with hypothermia and death, but that he could, possibly, be heading down the same road that Agate had been on for some time. It started with a few small symptoms: problems remembering, slower reaction times, pain resurfacing in old wounds that should have been healed in the last revivification, but they quickly grew worse. In a moment of empathy, Agate hoped that Red wouldn't wind up where the blonde was very quickly heading. The thought was swallowed by worry for himself... Kin had arranged 'surgery' with the next sun-up and Agate had been doing his best to pretend it wasn't looming over the horizon.

[Red Dawson]

Her voice aided in his attempts to recognize the woman and, as his eyes followed the child as she moved towards the handgun, the exuberant amount of armament helped bring her more into focus of his thoughts. Still the name escaped him, despite the recollection. "Yeah," was Red's response to Cass as braced himself for another bit of travel, testing his legs as he shifted away from the wall. The thought of food had slipped his mind, even after seeing the jerky she was eating; he was more hungry for the knowledge he had apparently lost. More slipping his feet forward than taking a true step, he made his way into the room towards a spot that he could sit down at away from the young girl - he didn't wish to take a tumble and inadvertently hurt her.

"Don't mind me," Red said roughly - a bit of confidence was there based on his success so far - and he continued with, "I'll find a spot." This seemed to be working. He was already getting a better grasp on what was real in his head, although he couldn't shake the notion that a lot of what he knew was being left out. Sure the voices, the attitudes, the way they carried themselves helped amplify the corresponding images in his head, but what about those that he had no image of? Was this a matter of obfuscated memories or was this an all out loss of remembrance? The last thing he wanted was to get worked up about it and, to that point, he had been successful. But how would he react to the frustration when he found something he had no point of reference to?

[kinrrataiyath]

"There's plenty of seats," Cass retorted, watching Red's movements witht he critical eye of a mother bear. She wasn't about to jump in and start coddling him. Agate might complain that she was muscling in on his terrirtory. However, she wasn't about to ignore the fact that Red being up and about was a big step either.

The man had guts, she had to admit. He'd walked himself most of the way to the Cosway with hypothermia, survived their care and attention, and now here he was walking a week later. Even so, she realized that if he pushed himself too far, he'd get set back worse than before. Yet there was no use worrying about that bridge until they'd come to it. Her attention switched to Agate again.

"Why don't you get the man something to eat? You're the only one who knows where the d*mn food is anyway." She waved her jerky about to emphasize the point. One strip of dried meat did not a meal make.

[dray]

"This inn't a bed and breakfast," Agate shot back, "and there's no snacks to go around. Red, I'm sorry but supper's not goinna to be for a couple of hours... if you want something I can re-heat some water, but we're low on fuel so don't expect miracles." Jouncing Casey on his knee, he softened his tone, "I can bring you a blanket or something if you get cold, at least."

[Red Dawson]

He half-listened as he focused on his movement, catching the heart of the conversation if not every single word. After a few steps, Red found himself a chair and took time to ease his way down on it, cautious of what a sudden plop down on the furniture might do to his head. "I can wait," was his late reply as he finally settled into the seating arrangement placed around what was now the gathering spot at the Cosway. Looking about, it was clear how the past years have been affecting everyone just by taking in the details of the room. It was like an aging photo - the colors slowly losing their vibrant hues, settling for a neutral sepia tone - although there were splotches of color to be found as the city dwellers tried to keep a semblance of life in the city.

"When do you expect the others to get back... Agate?" Saying the name helped him feel how right it was, helped pull a few more of the pieces together and lay them out straight in his mind. Red doubted that he would be able to rely on others mentioning people's names in a sentence; he was just lucky that this time the woman had said the man's name. He concluded that eventually he'd just have to go with his instincts when put on the spot. Perhaps asking when the rest of the Cosway crew was due to return would jump-start the other flurry of thoughts in his head. And even if it didn't, it might help with the clarity he was lacking concerning the woman and the small child, although the guns were peeking some hidden memories on that point.

[kinrrataiyath]

When Red artfully turned the topic of discussion, Cass subsided into a few mutters and a sour look directed towards Agate. To say their relationship was unfriendly was putting it mildly. They both tolerated each other for the sake of survival, but given a better situation, Cass would've likely smacked the man upside the head then left him to fend for himself. He talked too much about innane topics for a social recluse like herself. That combined with his self-appointed status as cook and food monitor made her all the more uneasy around him. She didn't like giving anyone even a sliver of control over her actions, but leaving Agate in charge of everything food related meant that she had more time to spare for everything weapon related. It was a working relationship, if a bit of a rocky one.

The soldier woman slumped in her chair, making it creak with the shift in her weight. One leg stretched out, overshadowing her collection of discarded weapons as if to say "Mine! No touchy!" while her expression gave a more general "screw off" message. Her arms folded across her chest and her other leg began to bounce as it often did when she sat idle or became agitated. To keep her mind off the subject of Agate (which was a constant annoyance), she turned her attention to Red. From what she could tell, he was struggling to remember. That jaunt outside must've done more damage than she had expected at first. At least he was making the effort to recover though. She remained quiet, letting him pull at the pieces as they came to him. She only knew bits and pieces about the man anyway.