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TEST DRIVE ∞ May 2025
Test Drive ∞ May 2025
The First Collision
The Diadem is an invite-only panfandom game set in a retro-futuristic world where uprooted souls find themselves deep within an eerie wasteland of roads and highways frequently assailed by cosmic storms. Three united strongholds keep the population. Its capital is Panorama, a large metropolis at the planet's center.
Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Calling themselves fluxdrifts, the "locals" have similar stories to you, either for themselves or their ancestry. You speak to an old woman who claims she hailed from another star. You meet a young man who says his great-great-grandfather knew a strange language everybody spoke "back home." As you explore, you stumble across a coin you recognize or your sister's locket. How did it get here? What does this mean? That's for you to discover.
But first, you need to find a ride.
Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Calling themselves fluxdrifts, the "locals" have similar stories to you, either for themselves or their ancestry. You speak to an old woman who claims she hailed from another star. You meet a young man who says his great-great-grandfather knew a strange language everybody spoke "back home." As you explore, you stumble across a coin you recognize or your sister's locket. How did it get here? What does this mean? That's for you to discover.
But first, you need to find a ride.
No invites needed to play on the TDM. Everyone's welcome! Use the Invite Request thread below to request an invite from another player.
∞ Summary ∞
IC-wise, arrivals are scattered throughout the month. Events described on the TDM are also ongoing throughout the month. If you'd rather jump right into the action, you're free to begin in media res with your character having already been on the planet for several days.
Post-impact, characters will wake up in a med tent by the Scrapyard. From there, they must accept a vehicle on loan and make the 2-hour drive to the nearest city, Panorama. If they refuse the car because they don't want the loan, they'll be in debt for medical bills instead...so just take the car. It'll come in handy.
Some things to keep in mind when bringing in your character:
TDM threads can be canon if characters are accepted. Top-levels made to the TDM should be open to all.
Post-impact, characters will wake up in a med tent by the Scrapyard. From there, they must accept a vehicle on loan and make the 2-hour drive to the nearest city, Panorama. If they refuse the car because they don't want the loan, they'll be in debt for medical bills instead...so just take the car. It'll come in handy.
Some things to keep in mind when bringing in your character:
- Pick an injury. At minimum, they got knocked out; at most, whatever they can recover from. Medicine is decently advanced so they'll heal faster if not painlessly.
- Decide items kept. Reasonable items on their person only: photos, keys, clothes, costumes. No pets or animal companions. Wildly out-of-place tech and personal cell phones will be damaged beyond repair.
- Select a weapon. Do this only if eligible. Guidelines about weapons and powers are on the FAQ.
- Choose a vehicle. Decide whether your character gets 2-3 options or if they're stuck with something they hate. Players can pick directly from our collection or source their own images. Anything under a similar aesthetic will work. If your character needs accommodations for driving, they can have them. Ask us for details.
- Get a phone. Characters have to obtain a phone (and a SIM card) themselves. If they've got one from home, it's damaged beyond repair. Phones are cheap. It'll only take a couple of weeks to afford one. You need to know the number before you text or call anyone. Read about phones and the Forum before you hop on it.
TDM threads can be canon if characters are accepted. Top-levels made to the TDM should be open to all.
Fluxdrift
Arrival & Introduction
Date: Throughout May
You've tumbled over a cliff. You were fighting for your life. You're on the cusp of death. You slipped in the shower. Whatever the catalyst, you struggle to cling to consciousness. As darkness overtakes you, a swirling vortex warps light and shadow in a way that defies all physics. A dark wail etches into your very bones. You couldn't describe it if you tried. You can barely comprehend what it is.
Then you open your eyes.
Through the figure's mask ©, you swear the face is grinning down at you. The tent you're in smells of antiseptic, and scratchy blankets line your cot. Injuries you've sustained have been bandaged. In the corner, you spot a MedBot that's fixed you up. Depending on the extent of your injuries, the doctor on duty might give you some painkillers before you go. Thankfully, your belongings are by the exit. Sorry if anything's damaged. Your landing was pretty rough.
You follow the figure outside. They are Yom Crook, here to lend a hand to fellow fluxdrifts like yourself. Their car's parked beside them. Actually, there are lots of cars around, but Yom Crook's stands out with its painted shark mouth. They explain they found you, unconscious, in a diffusion zone and brought you here. The nearest city is a 2-hour drive northeast. Forget about walking. You'll never make it. Also, you owe the doctor a lot of money for patching you up. But you're in luck: they've got some wheels for you and if you accept the vehicle on loan, Yom Crook will cover your medical bills. That's a good deal, right? It's not the shiniest car or motorcycle, but it'll do. If fortune favors, you'll get to choose between two or three options. Plus, if you need accommodations to drive—like adjustments to your seat height or modified controls—you'll receive all that for free.
Take the vehicle. (And the loan.) Yom Crook assures you that you'll have six months before collectors come around. Any time you're ready to pay a part of it down, return here to the Scrapyard. You'll get a receipt and everything. Paying off the loan in six months isn't impossible, but it will take a lot of work. Just don't get too lax. There's a good chance you'll be juggling multiple loans as you try to get by.
You either know how to drive, or you'll have a bare-bones manual to get you started. Road rules are more a suggestion than enforced, so just hit the pedal and go. The car has some basic features. The built-in compass will help you navigate.
Through the figure's mask ©, you swear the face is grinning down at you. The tent you're in smells of antiseptic, and scratchy blankets line your cot. Injuries you've sustained have been bandaged. In the corner, you spot a MedBot that's fixed you up. Depending on the extent of your injuries, the doctor on duty might give you some painkillers before you go. Thankfully, your belongings are by the exit. Sorry if anything's damaged. Your landing was pretty rough.
You follow the figure outside. They are Yom Crook, here to lend a hand to fellow fluxdrifts like yourself. Their car's parked beside them. Actually, there are lots of cars around, but Yom Crook's stands out with its painted shark mouth. They explain they found you, unconscious, in a diffusion zone and brought you here. The nearest city is a 2-hour drive northeast. Forget about walking. You'll never make it. Also, you owe the doctor a lot of money for patching you up. But you're in luck: they've got some wheels for you and if you accept the vehicle on loan, Yom Crook will cover your medical bills. That's a good deal, right? It's not the shiniest car or motorcycle, but it'll do. If fortune favors, you'll get to choose between two or three options. Plus, if you need accommodations to drive—like adjustments to your seat height or modified controls—you'll receive all that for free.
Take the vehicle. (And the loan.) Yom Crook assures you that you'll have six months before collectors come around. Any time you're ready to pay a part of it down, return here to the Scrapyard. You'll get a receipt and everything. Paying off the loan in six months isn't impossible, but it will take a lot of work. Just don't get too lax. There's a good chance you'll be juggling multiple loans as you try to get by.
You either know how to drive, or you'll have a bare-bones manual to get you started. Road rules are more a suggestion than enforced, so just hit the pedal and go. The car has some basic features. The built-in compass will help you navigate.
OPTIONAL PROMPTS: a flat tire; a body on the road (is it a trap?); a fender bender
Panorama
Explore & Settle In
Conditions: Warm spring temperatures, light showers
After 2 hours on the road, you find civilization. The largest of the strongholds, Panorama is where the economy thrives. Massive power plants glowing red make it visible from a distance. The city is divided into three districts. For now, you can access the Pavilion and the Blocks. Don't worry about the Sanctum; they're not letting you in.
You only need to know two things about Panorama: 1) it's big, the size of a modern metropolis, and you'll need your car to get around; 2) anything goes as long as you don't pick a fight with the wrong person. Street smarts will get you far. Despite its geographical size, the population isn't huge. With roughly a million people in a city designed for over twice that number, Panorama is far from deserted, but nor is it overcrowded. It's a good thing. Resources are limited as it is.
You only need to know two things about Panorama: 1) it's big, the size of a modern metropolis, and you'll need your car to get around; 2) anything goes as long as you don't pick a fight with the wrong person. Street smarts will get you far. Despite its geographical size, the population isn't huge. With roughly a million people in a city designed for over twice that number, Panorama is far from deserted, but nor is it overcrowded. It's a good thing. Resources are limited as it is.
The Pavilion: Free Samples
Like any large city, Panorama features a couple of supermarkets. The stock's not as consistent as a proper supermarket. On occasion, shelves can remain cleaned out for a week or two. Regardless, the long tradition of free samples remains. If you're not already shopping, you'll notice the crowded parking lot and clusters of lines inside.
Try samples, push through the crowds as you shop, or give yourself a five-finger discount. If you're cautious, you can pocket a few small items without consequences. The Pavillion doesn't have the infrastructure for surveillance; unless someone sees you, you won't be caught. Steal from the store or pilfer someone's wallet. Maybe you even make a new friend if you bump into another fluxdrift. Or, start a fight with somebody who cut you off in the cheese line. Don't make too much of a ruckus, or you'll be thrown out.
As you look around, you'll see posters advertising temporary positions for the cash register or graveyard shifts in the warehouse. Seems they might've lost several employees recently (how'd that happen?), which is good for you! It's just a 6-week position, but it'll get you on your feet. The city has temporary positions like this all over. Permanent ones are harder to come by when you're new.
Try samples, push through the crowds as you shop, or give yourself a five-finger discount. If you're cautious, you can pocket a few small items without consequences. The Pavillion doesn't have the infrastructure for surveillance; unless someone sees you, you won't be caught. Steal from the store or pilfer someone's wallet. Maybe you even make a new friend if you bump into another fluxdrift. Or, start a fight with somebody who cut you off in the cheese line. Don't make too much of a ruckus, or you'll be thrown out.
As you look around, you'll see posters advertising temporary positions for the cash register or graveyard shifts in the warehouse. Seems they might've lost several employees recently (how'd that happen?), which is good for you! It's just a 6-week position, but it'll get you on your feet. The city has temporary positions like this all over. Permanent ones are harder to come by when you're new.
Samples include: steamed cabbage dumplings, synthetic cherry juice, cheddar cheese, and chocolate-covered alien eggs (it's crunchy and weirdly tasty). They're served in the usual throwaway paper cups with little toothpicks.
The Blocks: Power Outage
Power's finicky in Panorama, especially in the Blocks. Saint Margery's Hospital, located in the same area, has priority for power so the first to go are the motels. Maybe you've been in your room for a couple of weeks, maybe you just got here—and by the way, every motel desk is happy to put the fee on your tab if you don't have the money upfront—but all the motels on the east side are in a blackout, leaving only the west side motels up and running.
What do you do? You have three choices:
What do you do? You have three choices:
- Risk leaving your room and head to the other side where there's power. Knock on some doors and negotiate with another to share the room. They might shut the door in your face, ask for a favor in return, or be nice enough to help you with no strings attached. There's no guarantee your unattended room will be untouched, though, and you'll be on the hook for any damages an intruder causes.
- Sit in the dark and deal. It's not the worst idea, but the TV's down, the vending machines are powered down, and with the entire place plunged into darkness, you risk getting robbed. If you struggle with defending yourself, you might want to find some trustworthy company. You can also sneak out of there and let them take your leftover pizza. It's not like you've got a ton of valuables, right? Plus, clobbering someone in the face with a frying pan sounds great until you realize you've gotta do something with the body. And what if this person's got a friend waiting?
- Get in your car and drive (or grab a friend for a road trip). If you scroll the Forum, you might notice reports on diffusion zones southward. Besides, these motels are hardly your forever home. The city can only provide so much. Why not go for a ride and see what you can find out there?
OPTIONAL PROMPTS: clean up on aisle 3 (what is that goo?); a knock at your door but no one's there; you hear screaming or a commotion down the hall
The Fringes
Quad 3: Lockdown
Conditions: Stormy, with flooding roads
Felix Bjurstrom
> Date: 125-05-17
> Time: 02:15:57
> Emergency road lights have been reported in Quadrant 3! Please, can someone go see what's there? When last we chasers investigated emergency lights, a whole truck filled with sour candy had tipped over. Our stores were stocked for weeks! Oh, be careful - reception looks bad in that zone.
> Date: 125-05-17
> Time: 02:15:57
> Emergency road lights have been reported in Quadrant 3! Please, can someone go see what's there? When last we chasers investigated emergency lights, a whole truck filled with sour candy had tipped over. Our stores were stocked for weeks! Oh, be careful - reception looks bad in that zone.
Through the open windows, a computer awakens and displays a cheerful smile. The lights inside switch on.
Pick your scenario role below. Your thread partner doesn't need to take the opposite role! They can join you in the same scenario (i.e. trapped together). Players are also free to create a generic NPC for the other side to facilitate the thread.
After characters escape, they'll find one bottle of antibiotics in their pocket or car, whether they remember taking it or not.
After characters escape, they'll find one bottle of antibiotics in their pocket or car, whether they remember taking it or not.
A: Sealed In
As you peer through the windows, you see crates of medicine floating around. Antibiotics in the diadem are valuable. Hospitals and doctors are always buying. You can keep it for yourself or make a quick buck. Or maybe you're compelled to help somebody back in the city who's in need. Whatever the reason, you decide to take the risk and step inside.
Water splashes around your ankles. The lock buzzes behind you. If you try to break the windows, you discover they're unnaturally resistant to shattering. With the whole place locked tight, the water begins to churn. Then the computer lights up again.
Warning, it flashes in large, bold text. Quarantine in progress. Release code required for exit.
- To find the code, you'll have to search. Duck under the water, go through sopping envelopes and sticky notes or pick the locks on the filing cabinets and desk drawers. You can also try hacking the computers. Use your computer knowledge or fall back on the age-old trick of seeing who wrote down their password.
- The files, notepads, and emails start innocuous, but as you look through them, disturbing phrases jump out at you—a dark thought you've had or a cruel taunt from someone in your past. The longer you're fixed on the terrible words, the higher the water begins to rise. Only another can break you out of your trance.
- With the rising water comes fear. And the more you're afraid, the more the water also rises. You begin to see faces in the water, bobbing like balloon heads. Do you recognize them? If you move to take a closer look, they will sink back beneath the surface as if never there.
- If you manage to swallow your panic, you can eventually find a triple-laminated binder with the release code and instructions. Bad news: you need someone on the outside to punch in the 6 strange symbols in order. The instructions explain that the code panel is located at the back of the building.
B: Set Free
As you peer through the windows, you see not just the crates of medicine but someone trapped inside. They look like they might be in trouble, and from your vantage point, you notice that the water is bubbling strangely. It's definitely not normal rainwater. As you watch, the water rises unnaturally, stopping and starting. It's as if the water level is responding to an external stimulus.
- The glass is soundproof. You can't hear what the person inside is saying, so you'll have to communicate with each other another way. Try charades, typing on your phone, or whatever you think of. Eventually, you determine that they're stuck and that you need to enter some sort of code onto a pad located—according to your trapped partner—at the back of the building.
- Around the back, shadows swallow your surroundings. The panel must be pried open, but a slippery substance makes it hard to get a good grip. Each time the substance touches you, you grow uneasy. You swear you see eyes watching you, though when you turn around, nothing's there.
- You can't seem to keep the instructions in your mind. And those symbols...they burn into your retinas. Through them, you glimpse an incomprehensibly massive figure unfurling in the darkness, pulsing as if in a deep sleep. When you snap back to reality, you realize you've injured yourself, slicing your hand on a sharp edge or a bruise you can't remember getting.
- Once you manage to release the doors, the water inside the office drains upward into the sky as though sucked out by a giant hose. The darkness spreads. Get out of there fast before the shadows drag you or your partner into the void.
Main Navigation ::: ⇅
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no subject
His fingers are steady, firm but gentle, as they start the painful process of pinching the wound together and threading the first stitch. It's gonna hurt like a bitch, and the best he can do for her is to encourage her to distract herself from it — so with his eyes still fixed on his task, he mumbles up at her: )
Where you from? Nash short for Nashville?
( The second part's dry, deadpan — a joke. Not a good one, but... you know. He's busy. Just start talking about something, Nash, do them both a favor. )
no subject
[ As jokes go, hers might even be worse than his. She's happy to take his prompt and run with it, though. Talking distracts her from the misery of having her skin sewed up. Trying to keep still while using deep breaths to work through the worst of the pain is a tall order. A few times, she has to pause mid-sentence and just deal with it. ]
I was born in Massachusetts, actually. Grew up in Taunton. Res kid, you know.
[ Sure, that's exactly the sort of thing this very white ex-Marine can relate to. ]
Moved to Boston for school, stayed for work, and then— fuck— [ ow ] Ending up here was the first time I ever left the state.
[ Still squeezing her sweater between her hands, she scrunches her eyes shut when they start to feel hot. ]
What about you? If you're a Marine, you must have been stationed in Japan at least once.
no subject
He stills himself when she tenses, waiting patiently for the wave of pain to pass before he starts in on the next stitch, piercing through skin and flesh without so much as a grimace. Definitely clear he's done this more than once. )
Queens, for starters. ( He mumbles in a low, steady rasp — a little too rough by nature to be perfectly soothing, but surprisingly, not too far off the mark. ) Then all over. Japan, Vietnam. Middle East, mostly. Kuwait. Iraq. Afghanistan.
( Your standard array of 'we probably shouldn't even talk about what's going on over there, boy, that sure is complicated' countries. Places American troops have no business being, but you pull 'em out and everybody gets pissed off about it anyway because it's not as easy as bailing without an alternative support structure in place. Complicated. )
After I got out, I went back to New York for a while, and then I started traveling. Was in Michigan when I got dragged in.
no subject
[ It's said offhandedly. A bit of a jape, since she just said she never left Massachusetts. But she definitely isn't going to be asking about Frank's military travels with the man in the mirror still screaming his name. Doing her best not to move her torso, she slowly cranes her neck to glance over her shoulder.
Yup, he's still there, veins straining in his neck as he yells and yells and yells.
And then another wave of pain causes her muscles to tense up warningly once more, and she's too focused on herself to care about whatever is going on here. ]
This time last year, me and my ex were planning a trip to Australia to visit my dad. We would have arrived a few days ago, I think. So I've kind of been thinking of Panorama as Shitty Australia.
no subject
Nah, I hear Australia's worse. ( There's some definite, honest-to-god humor slipping in there, somebody write congress, it's a miracle. It's wry, definitely flat, but by god it still exists. Allow him to elaborate with the simple, obvious explanation why: ) Spiders.
( Big ass Australian spiders. Shadow entities are one thing, but you don't tend to wake up with one of those trying to crawl into your mouth in your sleep, right?
The final stitch goes through; he ties it off, snips it neatly, and then starts the delicate process of securing a bandage over top of 'em. A little added protection against the elements, because these motels are a goddamn biohazard on a good day.
Once it's in place, he shifts back out of her personal space with an air of finality. )
Alright, Boston. You're done. That should hold you over for a while.
no subject
Fucking hell, man. That felt like a punishment for being stabbed.
[ There's no anger in her tone, no blame or resentment toward Frank. He's her suture-wielding hero, after all. But there's a pinched, breathy exhaustion to the observation. She straightens again, takes another deep breath—gulping down stale motel room air like it's a lifeline. ]
I mean, fuck— Thanks.
[ Holding her bloody turtleneck in her lap now, she glances around but doesn't hop off the table yet. When she speaks again, there's something earnest and hopeful in her tone. ] Hey, Frank? [ Turns out, it's fully the tone of someone about to ask for favour number two. ] Is it okay if I crash on the couch for a few hours?
no subject
At length, he relents; )
Fine. But I got an errand to run. Shouldn't take long. You gonna rob me while I'm gone?
( Not that there's much to rob. He keeps his arsenal in the minivan, and most of what's in this room came with it already. There's some canned goods, she could snatch his food and his med kit and bail out, but that's nothing he couldn't replace on his own.
Still, he'd like to get a beat on her reaction there. See if he can pick up any last on any bullshit intentions he might've missed so far. )
no subject
[ Once he leaves, she'll dump her bloody shirt in the kitchenette's sink and attempt to scrub out the worst of the stain. But no man on the planet deserves to be privy to what women have to do when it comes to getting blood out of clothing, and Frank doesn't seem to be the appropriate Subject Zero for such a thing. For now, she shrugs her jacket back on and goes to sit down on the couch. ]
Don't worry. I'm a girl scout. Can't even lie to people. Swear on Tony Soprano's grave.
[ Without taking her shoes off, she settles and lays down flat. Her eyelids are already a bit droopier than they were a few minutes ago. ]
no subject
You're a weird kid, you know that?
( Just for the record. Tony Soprano's grave. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph what is he getting himself into letting this girl stick around?
His parting words to her are a firm: )
Don't answer the door for anybody.
( Frank's got keys. He doesn't need to knock. And with that, he's gone.
A couple assholes behind LuxFilms are busy trying to break into a truck, confused about why the keys aren't working. The only warning they get is an annoyed, truck's orange, dumbass. Apparently in addition to being an absolute piece of shit, Fire Hydrant Jacket Guy's colorblind, too.
It takes less than no effort. He doesn't even have to waste a bullet, he just turns the guy's own knife around on him, and then stuffs it throat-deep into his friend when the pussy starts screaming. If he gets any blood on his clothes in the process, well, this is why he wears black. Those little damp splotches could be anything from rain to whiskey to motor oil.
He's back before an hour passes, and if she's asleep, her keys get tossed onto the nearest flat surface in her sight line.
Now neither of them have to worry about whether or not they'll be back for a round two later. Two brand new ghosts can take turns trading off with Billy Russo in the bathroom mirror. )
no subject
Yeah, I know.
[ By the time he comes back, Nashua is sound asleep. Head crumpled to the side, she's clutching a mug she grabbed from the kitchenette's sparse dishware collection to her chest. Her bloody shirt has been scrubbed to the best of her ability and draped over the shower curtain rod in the bathroom. (With Frank gone, the mirror had only showed Nashua her own face: strong featured, pale, sagging with exhaustion.)
It's two hours, give or take a minute, after her keys clink theatrically against the couchside table that she yawns herself awake. There's no sunlight yet filtering in through the ugly curtains, so— ]
Shit, what time is it?
[ She hasn't even noticed her keys yet. Swinging her feet down to the floor, she sighs out with agitation—she moved too fast, and her injury is protesting. ]
no subject
Almost two. ( Comes the bored drawl; he doesn't even bother peeling his eyes off the screen. ) Pick a lane, Boston. Go back to sleep or go home.
( Which is to say, he's been waiting her out. Tempted to knock out himself, but leaving her to wake up in a strange motel room with a strange ass man snoring across the room's a little awkward, and she can't exactly deadbolt the door behind her if she sneaks out. That's a cardinal sin against home security considering the type of city they're in.
He's not gonna kick her out, but they're also not gonna have a chatty little tea party together. )
no subject
[ She needs to brush her teeth and her only toothbrush is at home. And by home, we mean the shitty room she's renting in a building filled with shitty rooms.
Setting the mug down on the little table, she snatches up her keys without thinking about it. In her defense, she's short of sleep and recovering from a mugging and an injury. But it doesn't really require an explanation, does it? You see your keys, you grab them. ]
Gonna use your toilet.
[ The door to the bathroom closes, and locks, behind her.
When it opens again a minute or so later, her expression is very different. Juggling the keys in one hand, she stares down at them. ]
What did you do?
no subject
Unfortunately, she only makes it as far as the bathroom before it must click. He still doesn't even take his eyes off the television, but he does flip the channel. Black and white becomes color as The Price Is Right flashes cheerfully across the screen. )
Saw a man about a horse.
( Actually, he saw two men about a truck, but he's not gonna say that. He's not gonna say jack shit, actually. She can extrapolate as much or as little as she wants; she can assume he roughed them up and took them back if it helps her sleep at night. )
no subject
Curling her hand into a fist around her keys, she leans against the threshold's doorframe and forces herself to look at him. The dancing colours of The Price is Right throw neon shadows on his face.
The mug had been to smash in his face if he had come at her with no pants on. Now, she's wishing she hadn't put it down.
Slowly, softly — ] Did you kill them?
no subject
When the killing happens a little too close to home, when the terrorism is domestic, when it's not somebody with a different nationality that speaks a different language, people start getting real up in arms all of a sudden. It's the highest form of hypocrisy, if you ask him.
But that's not the point — the point is, coming onto sleeping young women fifteen years younger than him is just never gonna happen. Taking advantage of a woman in general is never gonna happen. His pants stay firmly on, thank you very much.
Not that it's much of a comfort to her now.
He stares at the television screen, but he's not really looking at it. He's not seeing it; he's seeing her out of his peripheral vision, the way she's gone rigid, the way she's gone cold. )
Don't ask questions you don't wanna know the answer to. ( Or that you already know the answer to. Finally, finally, he peels his eyes away from the screen to level them at her. If you squint, if you really pay attention, he sounds maybe a hair more gentle when he says: ) Go home, Boston.
no subject
[ Her tone had flattened in fits and spurts while she had been nursing an open wound; the desperate need to make a good impression on her unlikely surgeon had buoyed her back up. Now, she remains precisely, impeccably in control of her voice: quiet, careful. She creeps around the idea of Frank like he's a spider in her shower.
This isn't new to her. Lingering, frantic, restless dead are in every room, every home, every building. It's why she doesn't go to museums or old theatres or bars built before 1980. In her third year of university, she rented a house with some friends. The first floor bathroom's tub had housed a young boy, maybe six or seven, his head caved in and his right eye gouged out. The second floor had contained the boy's abusive father, or uncle, or mom's tweaker boyfriend, whatever — bellowing, mindless, bloated with rage and desperate for a rematch with the child. More than once, she had woken up with him breathing right in her face. One time, the smell of his breath had been so unimaginably foul that she had vomited right in her sheets.
All that time, it had never been about her. Her whole life, she tip-toed through a minefield of the dead due to some fucked up gene disorder, some cosmic joke at her expense. But not because of anything she did. She's never killed, never harmed anything bigger than a millipede.
And then she knocked on Frank Castle's door after the previous two doors she knocked on had remained dark, remained closed to her.
Gathering up her things, Nashua is careful not to twist her side or bend too quickly. It still hurts when she moves, although not as bad as before. The old TV set is shiny, its casing thick and its screen curved. If she tilts her gaze just so, she almost thinks she can see Movie Star Handsome Guy reflected in the glass.
She won't forget about it. Maybe one day she'll ask. For now, though — ]
Take it easy, Frank. Get some sleep, okay?
[ Hovering at the door, her voice is soft. One arm is curled defensively around her stomach, fingers gentle over her wound.
And then the door is open, closed, and she's gone. ]
no subject
He's not expecting the quiet way she says goodbye. The gentle parting get some sleep, and the concern written in there. He doesn't know what to make of it, and his eyes track her as she slips out, as the door closes behind her. They linger on the space where she stood, and it's only after a few silent seconds have already passed that he murmurs after her in a voice she certainly will not hear: )
You too, kid.
( He likes her. She seems like a good girl. And the fact that she can safely walk back home tonight without worrying about either of those assholes finishing the job they started? Makes him feel even more justified about his decision. She's safe, they're dead, it was the right call, and he is not sorry. Even if she'll never be able to look at him again, her opinion of him doesn't matter so long as she's alive to have it. )
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So, when her quote-unquote cushy job as at a news station is no longer available to her—hold for temporal-dimensional displacement, etc.—she hardly turns up her nose at working in a bar. She even makes the effort to tame her frizzy mass of curls and put on some makeup. Tips are better when the violet creases and drooping bags under her eyes don't threaten to take up her whole face.
The music is shit, but she paints a conciliatory grin over the sentiment. When men—customers, after all—try to buy her shots, she fills her shot glass with apple juice and chugs it down like they're the best friends in the world.
It's just for now. In a few weeks, she'll try to introduce herself at whatever news outlet or newspaper office Panorama offers. In the mean time, she needs to eat. She's pretty, when she bothers to make the effort, and doesn't struggle to talk to people. It's easy. It's fine.
Making her rounds through the tables, Nashua drops off a pitcher of beer and a tray of depth charges to a particularly exuberant table, and then pivots to the next in her section.
She only pauses for a second, before plastering the face of Pleasant And Agreeable Customer Service over her features. ]
Hey, can I get you a refill? We also have two-for-one baskets of nachos on special, if anyone else is coming.
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Well, shit.
He didn't come here to bother her on the job. He's not that kinda asshole. He's here because he likes music. Band could be better, but he isn't expecting much in a shithole city like this one. Won't make it weird, either, by acting overly familiar with her when she knows good and goddamn well she's serving a killer. No sense holding her hostage with good customer service. )
Nope. Just me. Take another beer, ma'am, if you don't mind. Just one at a time.
( Ma'am while she's working, not kid or Boston. Murder man has good manners.
He's not here to get fucked up, and he's not a functional alcoholic at this point in his life. Pacing himself while nursing a beer is easy enough for a marine, and anybody that's ever had the misfortune of drinking with one knows that. )
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[ It's chirped out with the practiced pleasantness that everyone in a customer-facing role has perfected. This includes pitching up her voice a few octaves to sound more agreeable, more feminine.
It's another five minutes before Frank gets his next beer. When she sets it down, one hand holds her side—discreetly favouring the still tender wound. ]
So the band goes until ten. Last call is at one, but the kitchen closes at midnight. If you walked here, I am required by law to advise you we cannot guarantee your safety in the lot surrounding the building in the later hours. Cab numbers are posted there, there, and there.
[ With each there, she points to a different bulletin board along the walls. They're all filled to the brim with paper adverts: The Panorama Players Perform Grand Theft Hamlet, guitar teacher wanted, roommates wanted, open tryouts for roller derby, and other miscellanea of human interaction distilled into 8x11 poster paper. And yes, a single phone number belonging to Henry's Cab and Grill in immensely readable printed text. ]
I wouldn't recommend it, though. It's just one guy with a yellow car and he smells really bad. I think he cures meat in the trunk.
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But then she rolls back in and starts giving him the spiel, and he can not for the life of him help the way his lips twist up a little on one side, or the pure, unadulterated amusement that flashes through his eyes.
She can't guarantee his safety, huh?
He'd laugh outright if the concept weren't disturbing on a deeper level. If it's so bad she's obligated to give a disclaimer about her god damn work parking lot, what must it be like to walk to her car after her shift? Or, god forbid, walk home by herself if she didn't drive? This city really is filthy, absolutely lousy with scumbag shitheads chomping at the bit to stick anything they can into a woman, whether or not it's made of metal. It makes him god damn sick to his stomach.
That sideways smirk dissolves quickly. )
Appreciate the lecture, ma'am, but I think I'll be just fine. ( He doesn't plan on sticking around that late anyway. He's almost forty years old. Sticking it out in bars until one in the morning is for a younger crowd than him. He chews his cheek for a moment, and eventually caves into the urge to ask: ) What about you? You got a safe way to get home that doesn't involve a trunk full of short ribs?
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[ And the room she's subletting is just upstairs, but she's in no hurry to announce that fact in particular. Frank isn't actually special in that regard; he's another man in a bland sea of straight guy jeans, five-foot-nine masquerading as six feet, and nope, not interested.
A quick glance over her shoulder, ostensibly to make sure no one else is trying to get her attention. When she looks back at Frank, the megawatt smile that doesn't reach her eyes vanishes. Her voice roughens back out. ]
Look, my dinner break is in forty-five. Can we talk then?
[ She's had a few days to think and come to a conclusion on the whole ugly matter, for better or for worse. ]
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He picks up on the tone shift; shifts tones with her. His lips press into a flat, unhappy line, and he spends a short couple of seconds just studying the look on her face like he might somehow telepathically divine how this conversation's gonna go.
Thinks he has a pretty good idea. Thinks it probably isn't gonna be great, but he's nothing if not willing to own up to what he does. So. )
Sure, if that's what you want.
( He could also just get the hell outta here and find another dive bar to frequent. Wouldn't dig in his heels about it if she asked him to, but if this needs to be a conversation first, fine. He'll man up for it.
She'll know exactly where to find him forty-five minutes from now. )
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It goes on and on.
When she does reappear, she's thrown a hoodie (rescued from the bar's lost and found a few days ago; she's not made of money) over her t-shirt and is balancing a little treasure trove of bar sundries in her arms. ]
This is for getting my keys back. I left without saying thanks.
[ Stated matter-of-factly, without a great deal of emotion, as she pushes a basket of hot dry wings his way. He looks like a wings guy. Definitely not a vegan, Nash would stake her life on it. ]
This is from the woman by the stage, with the red hair. She wanted you know her name is Kara.
[ An unopened, cold beer bottle is set down with a triumphant clink of glass on table. It's the same thing he's been drinking all night. ]
And these are mine, so— Hands off.
[ A basket of fresh nachos with every conceivable nacho topping known to man and dive bar alike, including an artery-clogging amount of melted fake cheese. She drops into the chair opposite Frank and starts to stuff her face. ]
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What he gets instead is hot wings. Hot wings and a thanks.
Sure is a shame all his murder doesn't come with positive reinforcement like this.
It isn't exactly the sexiest, trendiest personality trait these days, but the fact is: Frank's a pretty traditionally masculine man. He likes a lot of traditionally-masculine-man things. These things include Bruce Springsteen, Hockey, and hot wings. He scoots the basket over toward himself without a scrap of reservation, even though the fleeting thought that she might've dosed them with something does briefly pass through his mind. Seems unlikely. He's willing to gamble on this one.
An appreciative mutter shakes loose of its own accord: )
Ho-lee shit.
( Just as he's about to bring one to his mouth, treasure number two shows up courtesy of Kara, and he can't help but flit his eyes up toward the stage to seek her out. It's automatic, despite the fact that there's virtually no reality where he'd make any kinda move. Not here. Not now.
But hey, he appreciates the gesture. Appreciates knowing he's still passable enough for this kinda thing, so he raises the beer in a quiet salute Kara's direction; thanks. She smiles coyly at him, but he peels his eyes away before anything else can come of it.
She starts eating. For about a minute, he doesn't. He spends it studying her, debating on whether or not he should question what the hell's going on here — and then ultimately decides not to. She asked for this, this is her one meal break all shift — or so he assumes. If she wants to spend it eating in silence with the guy who got her keys back, hell, she must not be too broken up about the whole thing.
Sure. Fine, kid. This is what they're doing, then.
He tucks in and starts eating the damn wings. They're not half bad. Not as good as you can get 'em in New York, but not bad. )
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