re_mybrains | [MW] Pennsylvania

Current Location: Harrisburg, PA

Entry tags:

milliways

[MW] Pennsylvania

It's a pleasant March afternoon in downtown Harrisburg, Pennsylvania -- sunny, partly cloudy.

In the courtyard of Pennsylvania Apartments, the bang of the front door slamming is still echoing when it opens again.

Two dozen zombies, in varying states of decay, are staggering towards it.

A human lighting generator, a superhero, a geek, and two regular schmoes are coming out the door to face them.

Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.

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"Yep," Elle calls, still smiling as she steps over a couple corpses to head toward him.

From her demeanor, you'd think she was a kid returning who just bought a candy store. No one should really be that cheerful right now.

"Yeah. Fine."

He absent-mindedly wipes his hand on his shirt as he goes to join the others.

Andrew's glancing around to make sure nothing's still moving.

"I'm good."

"Still have all my fingers and toes. I'm okay."

The roasted zombie corpses left by Elle provoke a long look. It's maybe not quite up to Black Lightning's abilities, but it's damn impressive.

Meanwhile, she unsnaps her sabretache, pulls out a square of felt, and starts to wipe the bits of gore off of her morning star.

Edited 2008-05-06 04:09 (UTC)

"Okay."

The adrenaline's wearing off. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. "Okay. Don't let any of that" -- a nod towards the gore -- "get inside you, any of you, okay? Wash it off as soon as you get back to the bar."

A deep breath. "And thank you. Thank you, guys. I couldn't -- I would be so dead right now. Thanks."

He takes another breath, and jerks his head towards the door. "Okay, you guys should probably go back."

With a shrug, "Ok."

Elle doesn't take any time to think about it, and doesn't ask why he says 'you guys' and not 'we.' Job's done. Whatever.

She heads toward the door back to the Bar.

Overlapping, Andrew starts "Listen, are you..."

Elle's cheerful departure appears to make him stall out midsentence. He turns to look after her, blinks, and then shakes his head and starts over.

"Are you gonna be all right here?"

"When 'you' go back? Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

Kendra has stopped wiping the residual blood and meaty bits from her weapons. She's stopped so she can stare at Tom.

You know that look.

The Hawk look. The one that you can see even through the mask. The look that says that an immediate readjustment in your plan of action might be in order.

Edited 2008-05-06 04:49 (UTC)

Shaun just stares at him, the cricket bat falling to the ground forgotten.

"You're not serious."

"I am."

Notice how he's not making eye contact with any of them?

Yeah.

(Especially Kendra.)

"Seriously, guys." He jerks a thumb after Elle. "Elle's got the right idea. Get going. I'm heading east."

"The hell you are."

She's next to him in a second, sheathing and looping her weapons away, being careful to not slip in blood (slipping in blood is always an Achilles heel) and various zombie detritus.

She even reaches for his hand. The one not holding the gun.

"What are you talking about? Tom, what's going on?"

Shaun's still staring, and the look on his face suggests he can't decide whether Tom is brilliant or crazy. He quietly picks up the bat and hands it to him.

"Take it. You might need it."

Kendra's got one hand and his gun's in the other, which leaves him momentarily stymied. He holsters the gun in the back of his waistband and takes the bat.

"Thanks, Shaun."

He sounds a little hoarse.

"Elle! Thanks -- thanks for the help!"

(His other hand is tight around Kendra's, in spite of himself.)

There's no mistaking the look of a man handing over a favorite weapon. Andrew manages not to make any aww noises, but he's still visibly moved.

The look deepens a little, and takes on a tinge of unease, as he registers Tom and Kendra's joined hands.

Oh.

That could get ... awkward.

Elle, however, just grins from the doorway.

It's a sort of haughty look, but that is at least better than creepy.

And it's all she does before stepping calmly over the zombie corpse that blocks her path back into the Bar.

Kendra will have to personally thank Shaun later for the bat bequeathing, because that was a generous gesture of altruism that shouldn't go unnoticed or unrecognized.

But in the meantime, there's a roil of urgent unease at the base of spine. She doesn't like this.

At all.

"I need to talk to you alone for a minute, Tom. Unless you want to hear it all right now."

You want stubborn? Tom may have met his match.

. . . Oh, this is gonna go well.

Tom swallows, and shoots a glance at the others. "Excuse us a sec? Keep an eye out and yell if you see anything coming."

Then he looks over at Hawkgirl -- shit -- and leads the way to a spot a little beyond the battleground.

Kendra, in turn, pulls him a little further with a firm tug on his hand, so as to be hopefully out of earshot. She'd throw caution to the winds and simply carry him up to a rooftop, but he's looking a little too tight around the eyes. The last thing she wants is to spook him any further.

But she does insinuate herself slowly into his personal space, moving to stand close and squeeze his hand in turn.

"Tom?"

"Don't--" he starts, and breaks off.

"Fuck, Hawkgirl, please don't talk me out of this."

He's back to not making eye contact, blinking at a spot in the air about two inches from her shoulder.

The lack of eye contact is noticed. It makes it worse, because he's somehow not fully present.

"No, I'm sorry, I'm not going to be quiet while you conveniently act out a death wish. I'm not that woman. Are you trying to commit suicide?"

"No!"

That gets him looking at her.

"Look, if I wanted to get horribly devoured by zombies I wouldn't have brought you guys here in the first place. I survived here five, six months -- I can do it again."

With that, she grabs his hand and slowly (and irreversibly) tugs him backwards a few feet, further away from the madding crowd, so that she can get out of the line of sight of everyone but Tom.

Words usually come easily for Kendra. But there's something undefinably horrible about just abandoning him on a dying world, something that she can't quite articulate while he's seemingly in panicked about-to-bolt-pell-mell-into-certain-death mode. She has to try to calm him down first.

Then maybe he'll actually listen.

Right now, the only thing she can do is silently lift up the gold of her mask, so that she can finally let him look at her eyes.

Really, as Tom's hysterical panics go, this only rates about a 3.

"Look, I have t--"

The mask comes off.

He shuts up.

She's staring right back at him.

Kendra's been rather impressed with Tom's tendency to not panic in a crisis. It's after the crisis that worries her.

She runs a hand through her short brown hair, tousling it slightly, a gesture that betrays more ease than immediate self-consciousness.

"Do I have helmet hair?"

"Nope, you're good."

A deep breath. "This is a big deal."

Whether he means his own situation or the mask coming off is up to her.

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