havenofseven

[havenofseven]

  It's worse than he initially thought, given how carefully she moves. The fact that Mazie can't even get one of her hands through the motion twinges his expression. As he begins testing the movement and connections of the fine bones and ligaments of the hand he's been offered, he gives close attention to her reactions, looking for winces and resistance, hoping to avoid aggravating her pain any more than might be necessary.

  After. So there was a before, one not tied to the desert or running or the work — though he expects there's a distinct trigger somewhere. It seems too sudden and acute to be otherwise.

  “Well,” he begins, “the good news is your brain is in charge of more or less everythin', so being centered there doesn't make it fake. Just not somethin' a bandaid'll fix.” The bad news, he does not impart, is that minds are subjective and brains, nerves, are difficult to get a sense of out here. His hands idle, gently encompassing hers, and he chews his cheek for a moment, weighing his options. The risks. He returns from his thoughts with clear eyes.

  “I think we should try compression. I didn't notice any swelling, but it could be a recurring sprain or similar, and wrapping would give support to that. If it is psychosomatic, or somethin',” he echoes her choice of phrase, a faint note of joke embedded within, “the pressure and general sensation might reassure that real nerve-y part of your brain than your hands are whole and where they oughtta to be, get it back off. .

  ‘There is a chance it won't help at all. The process of wrapping might be a little uncomfortable, but if the pain spikes after everythin's in place, don't try to wait it out. It won't fade. It means we're making things worse, whatever they may be.”

She manages to get one wrist in his hands, but she moves just wrong in lifting the other. Her wrist twinges, and the pain is enough to make her breathless. She leaves the one wrist in his hold, but after a few frozen heartbeats, the other is carefully lowered back into her lap. The tears in her eyes are mostly from frustration and fear, but the pain causes a few to fall nonetheless. She irritably wipes her cheek on her shoulder.

it takes her several moments to catch her breath again. “It..” she starts, then takes another moment to make sure her breathing’s steady. “It didn’t happen often enough to try very much,” she admits. “It only started after-” she falters, changes tactics. “It didn’t happen when I was a kid. And painkillers have been hit-and-miss. Sometimes they helped and the numbness would go away after a couple hours. Sometimes my hands would still be numb when the meds wore off and it would hurt worse. Never tried compression.” She gives a careful little shrug. “This is only the… sixth time I can remember this happening. And two of those were after the break in, so I figured it was just… I don’t know, psychosomatic or something.”

[havenofseven]

Phantom : [ 🦇 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a fear they never talk about ?

Headcanon Questions

I... don't know that he really has any fears that he doesn't talk about? I feel like he doesn't really have.. many to begin with, beyond the people he loves being harmed, which I know he's talked with them about, and then like. "Losing" in the sense of Better Living's monopoly become total, uncontested, and them getting their hands on certain things that no one should have. (Because the loss of knowledge is on both sides, not just the desert. But there are places one can learn things. People one can talk to.) And he's talked about that plenty with the rest of his airtight crew — it's a major driving force of why they're currently divided and spread out the way they are. Contingencies on contingencies. They are one but they cannot all be in the same place. For survival's sake. They have their instruction, should he fall without the chance to pass things along more formally, according to their traditions. I suppose he may... worry about that knowledge expanding, but it's not so much an active fear, because he trusts his crew. So it wouldn't be a result of betrayal or anything, which would be fearful, it would come down to chance and the discovery of others. So it's a worry. (And, again, he's talked about it.)

I don't think there's really any other fears or phobias at work for him? There's not really smaller fears of mundane things, I don't think. And he does not fear pain —or if he does, not enough to let it stop him— and he does not fear death. If he did, I think he'd express them in some capacity to... if no one else, Des, but he does have other confidants. She's just the closest and the one I've given a concrete form to. And they might hear of such a thing.

The only thing I think might fall into this, might be true... there may be a kernel of doubt you could call fear that he will never see his sister again when he joins her in death. In that situation though it's his thought that there will simply be nothing at all, and so there will be no more absence anyway, so I don't know how poignant this fear is. The options as he sees them are reunion and peace. That's not so bad. Not ideal, not what he would want or feel that he deserves, but. You can't exactly argue with nothingness, can you?

Tech vc yes you can.

[havenofseven]

Fox : [ 💼 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do they always carry with them ?

Headcanon Questions

He is always armed. Preferably with a gun, but he'll take anything. A knife, a pipe, a crowbar. A big fuckin' rock. Something.

Most days it's a ray gun, but he's also got a pocket knife that he carries too that's theoretically more of a tool but would serve just fine in a fight if it needed to. He got the knife from Jack. The gun is a standard gun that Vi jazzed up for him — he runs hot guns, because he's a crack shot (really a good marksman in general, not just with guns) but they don't necessarily want him taking risks so Vi works extra hard to make his guns powerful without compromising his safety too terribly. They've tried talking him out of carrying so much but he patently refuses to go without, so this is the compromise.

[havenofseven]

thinkin about my babies here is an irrelevant fact; the desert's not super traditional but tox is, a little bit, and he has a tattoo on his right ring finger as well as a band on his right forearm, both as symbols toward his commitment to lith. she does not have a ring finger tattoo, but does have a similar band on her right forearm in the same spirit.

[havenofseven]

Des : [ 🧨 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the quickest way to set them off, even if they hide it well ?

Headcanon Questions

This is. phrased like it's specifically about losing one's temper (and personally I feel like if you are hiding it you haven't, actually, lost it, because you're maintaining a control over it still, but that's a personal opinion) so I will answer like that's what it's asking and to be frank I don't think this is something Des does. She's not immune to frustration I'm not saying she never gets irritated, but she doesn't lose control or take her frustrations out on others. That's just not something she does. She can confront people, when pushed (breaking from her general passive lean) but she won't be bringing an active aggression to it. That's not how she is. She doesn't fly off the handle like that. Writing advice posts and books etc. would go like pUsH hEr UnTiL sHe DoEs but I neither want nor need to. She doesn't. It is a mixture of her nature and a conscious choice. She doesn't.

One thing that frustrates her is when people lie about their well being. It's one thing to keep your privacy, she wouldn't ask for total unrestrained transparency where when someone asks 'how are you' you have to spill your entire life's woes, but if there's a chance for support and you lie for no other reason than? What, pride? commitment to isolation? she'll get a little firm with you. Refuse the help, if you like, or say you can handle it yourself, but don't lie and deny that anything is wrong when it visibly is. She butts heads with Jack over this a fair amount.

And if you wanted to upset her in a distressed direction, undervalue and destroy life. This will absolutely set her off, just not in an angry way.

[havenofseven]

Jack : [ 🕯️ ]ㅤ.���what memory do they replay when they’re alone ?

Headcanon Questions

He's not really a linger-er this way. Very in the moment kind of guy — not in an airheaded or empty way but just. As much as they sound like platitudes it's like the past can't be changed and the future is uncertain so he's just here, now, and trying to reach too far beyond that in any direction just... doesn't serve anything he's trying to do. He generally only pulls up memories if he's trying to recall a specific fact or to gain context for a current event. The rest of the time things tend to stay in their boxes. He might think about old events from time to time but he doesn't relive or revisit them, exactly. It's more just like reflection.

He's usually too busy to spend time digging through the past anyway, even if he was the type to do this. Not even in an attempting-to-distract-himself kind of way just in a there's-always-something-to-do kind of way. Living in the desert in general can be high demand, and the demands only get higher if you're looking after multiple others and you're someone who has a high demand level of yourself to begin with. Never a dull moment.

[havenofseven]

The Haven

Just barely beyond the outer limits of zone six to the south east, The Self Storage Safe Haven is built, as one might guess, out of the shell of an old storage warehouse. Far, far out of the way of both the city and most 'joys, its hard work to keep it livable. They've had to built a lookout post –not unlike a free-standing hunting blind– out of recovered material to stand some way out ahead of the building and keep an eye on the quick changes of the weather and dangerous wildlife. Still, it's the safest thing you'll find on the seven side of the line for miles and miles around, and if you need to lay low, there's no better place to do it. As long as you don't mind an empty horizon, the occasional thunderous sandstorm, and long cold nights echoing with the howls of what are probably coyotes, that is.

Surely part of some community or other in its heyday, the Haven is isolated, now. There are no neighboring buildings around as far as the eye can see, except the rubble of some old something that can't even be identified to the north. Whatever happened around it, the Haven stood firm, with only some damage to the roof and several missing windows which have been repaired and patched by the crew over time. Outer walls made of foot thick brick will do that. Inside, a fair amount of old-world junk remained, and the crew have sorted it and sold it and traded with it. Most of what was useful has been put to use or traded away, but some obscure corners still lurk, potentially hiding treasures.

Ground Floor

After shuffling things around and consolidating, the empty and emptied storage units were repurposed into rooms for the crew, as well as an extensive setup for broadcasting, and a 'library' of rescued books and handwritten accounts of the zones which were gathered by an old ally and left at the Haven for safekeeping. Some of the more solidly built units are more solidly locked - the dark units are those crew has yet to find a way into without effectively destroying the structure.

The front office has become a sort of communal area, where an assorted rabble of residents will fall together, but also the landing place for unfamiliar faces. Equipped with the world's most collapsed and yet comfortable couch for anyone just stopping by the sleep on, and plenty of other seating for when the rabble descends. The walls and floor have been heavily painted and painted over and painted over again. Storage of non-vital items —paint, spare bits with no real purpose, books and entertainment, spare jackets or face coverings— tends to collect there.

Past a row of claimed rooms, the broadcasting setup near the back exit is where RKO hosts over the 'waves on WNFC: The Fence. He runs his station most actively at night, where he's on live to chat and report his news of the zones while creating an active music set. During the day it often still plays music, albeit on timers and idle lists. The station draws most of its power from solar on the roof. The roof is also where the (patchwork) broadcast tower reaches up to cast the signal out. There's a backup generator up there, too, for emergencies. Access to the roof is on the outside of the building, near the back exit (hence the station's placement.)

The other employee space on the ground floor has been converted into an infirmary. It houses most of their first aid supplies and they've taken to calling it 'the clinic', as it's where they take care of any medical issues and injuries. Tox manages to make it feel safe and even cozy, despite the sparse nature of the room. The most notable thing in there is a steel examining table; a once-in-a-lifetime kind of find while trading in the inner zones, scavenged by someone who'd been using it as a display for guns. He's happiest when it sees little use, but has been glad to have it on more than one dire occasion.

The bathroom closest to the entryway serves its original purpose, now including a tub for occasions when washcloth wipedowns and other dry solutions simply won't cut it. It houses, of course, many of these dry solutions — communal use. Hoarding is frowned upon. The bathroom nearer the side door serves as the Haven's laundry hub. They keep the detergents (and other cleaning materials that might otherwise be caustic) here for ease of access as well as safety. Wet clothes are taken out through the side door to dry on the hanging line outside. Both 'wetrooms' are supplied by a nearby well, the water has to be hauled in as a chore. They do keep some on hand, of course, in case a storm (etc.) traps them inside, but high demand processes require additional trips out with the water buckets.

Outside the walls but inside the fence, a canopy protects the Haven's garden from the worst of the sun. The more sensitive plants are close to the building's base, though all the plants in question are those that can make it in dry, harsh conditions to begin with, just not always the direct sunlight, more used to hiding in canyons or under taller plants. Regular rotation of the plants keeps them producing the flowers and fruits the Haven needs to keep itself going, and for trade — it's easier than harvesting it all completely wild. Though, the garden is only barely tame itself.

There's an outside area for the chickens I haven't built yet because I keep forgetting but I'll update this post when I do. Just don't want to do it right this second. Yes it's far away from the garden I know about the toxicity issue with chickens and so does Lith. Egg production is intermittent. These chickens are odd and tough and probably stressed at least half the time, and it's hard to get them the right diet so they have the means to produce the shells.

Notes: The unlabeled units aren't necessarily completely empty, but most have been swept clean to discourage any critters or creepy crawlies from moving in. They definitely still get spiders and scorpions anyway. Also, while the Sims build gives a lot of the energy at work in the Haven, it's not necessarily exactly how things look - distress of years and zones weather is difficult to mimic. There's also visible ventilation structures hanging from the ceiling that I have yet to find a good way to display. [ Yes I bought the urban decor kit. No the vents from that pack don't look good + they cover so much of the visibility when trying to show the layout. But that is the correct energy of the idea!]

The Second Level

Mostly empty space over the storage units (which are topped by fencing to prevent climbing from one to the other, but the open design led to easier climate control, when that was someone's concern for this place) but there's two upper office spaces at the front, and "the loft" at the back.

The unclaimed office upstairs, though it has no official or specific purpose and could always turn into something else someday, currently almost serves its original purpose: any time Jack needs everyone in one room, he drags them in there. Tech jokingly refers to it as "the briefing room", while RKO routinely complains of 'conference room' lectures.

The loft, being the top of the rearmost units, was almost certainly not made to be inhabited. That has not stopped the more mischievous among the crew from storing painting supplies there and turning it into another general hangout space.

The Crew

A ragtag bunch, when all is said and done. They come from a variety of backgrounds and hold a plethora of beliefs. Beliefs that don't always mesh well, if they mesh at all. Despite that, they remain a crew. Protective of each other, tightly knit against outsiders.

The crew I actively write are those on the carrd, of course, but there's also—

Wild — early-mid 20s. Really a child of the Zones, even if she wasn't born there. Various crews kept an eye on her in a it-takes-a-village kind of way after she was left to find her own way at a tender age, but she's always gone where the wind took her. She earns her carbons running errands across the zones. In particular, she finds herself regularly in and out of neutral settlements as something of a go-between when they need to trade with proper Killjoys. She's just as likely (if not more so) to be found living out of her van with her mutt Beans as she is to be making use of the brightly painted space set aside for her at the Haven. [written by @/hvndredzones]

Arachnid — early-mid 30s. Unofficial second in command.The older brother of Boo. A rough home life and mistreatment from the City's systems drove them out to the desert. He and Boo had an up-and-down journey together and separately. Arachnid left his brother in the care of an old crew of theirs for a time, settling into himself without the responsibilities and expectations he'd held himself to for so long. The Haven is home now, and the Haven's garden where you'll find him most often. He's happy to help where he's needed, but keeps mostly to himself unless specifically sought out or charged with heading things up. [written by @/hvndredzones]

Boo — mid 20s. Still going through a delayed rebellious phase and ignoring his personal baggage. Sort of a resident pain in the ass when he's not finding his way inward to the mindless, alcohol-soaked chaos of the Zones' party scene. Not particularly helpful; Arachnid tends to make up for it. (It's probably a point of contention, at least from Boo's end.) He's got a good eye for spotting the unsavory types, if you can get him to focus long enough to look. [written by @/hvndredzones]

Mazie — early-mid 30s. The Haven's newest resident. There's still some tension over the way her arrival unfolded and uncertainty on the way things are going to pan out, but those are internal squabbles. In public spaces the others rally to her as crew, solidly reproaching anyone who might try to single her out of their number. Eager to help out anywhere they'll let her, she quickly made her way onto most of the chore rotations. She's bolstered their skill and speed at clothing repair and, suprising everyone, opened new trade connections. [written by @/lcfthaunted]

Lithium Legend — early-mid 20s. Former neutral, though she grew up mostly in the zones. She is a in-a-pinch kind of medic, skilled mostly with folk remedies and what she's learned from Tox, but her primary role is overseer of the Haven's little garden. They grow mostly plants used in remedies, but some food. She also takes the lead on caring for the miniature brood of hens the Haven has (four occasionally-laying hens who love to escape into the halls and cause chaos.) Aside from Jack, Lith is the person who looks after Colton the most, and is an excellent teacher. She and Tox are committed/consider themselves married. [npc; belongs to a friend not writing on tumblr right now.]

Techno Havoc — early-mid 20s. Jack's younger sister. A regular but arguably not truly a member of the crew, given her come-and-go ways. She's too busy being fundamentally unsettled and running as smuggler for the Desert Deaths and playing games with a certain Snake to stick around all the time. An engineer, hacker, and general problem causer, she earns her personal carbons (separate from the smuggling shtick) mostly by her work with transmitters these days, building customs and jailbreaking the standard arrays. Even when she's not around, her little creations -"tinkerbots"- wander the Haven sometimes on their mechanical legs, whirring and whistling. [@/ru5t, but you knew that]

Other Allies

Desert Vendetta — early 30s. A member of the Desert Deaths. She lives in the city under the name Amber Park and serves as a spy and contact point; Tech's stable landing place on the city side of the wall. [npc.]

Redeye Rush & the Weasel — mid 20s. Scavengers and traders of the Wind Stop trading post (a converted gas station) in Zone Three. Red is an easygoing mechanic and musician. Weasel is a sharp-tongued weapons modifier gifted at irritating people and procuring rare and/or obscure supplies. They talk big (that is, the Weasel does) but cut incredibly forgiving deals for the desert's less fortunate more often than not. Both have been under Jack's wing at one point or another, and are close to Tox, Lith, and Tech. The Weasel is Diana's older brother. [@/hittheredline]

Vivace — mid 20s. Trader of the Wind Stop. former leader and current contact/supplier of the Sugar Babies, an all-femme crew that makes a habit of robbing and beating up the creeps found in the zones, hailing to the notion that dead men don't catcall. Foxtrot is a former member of Viv's gang, and she's also close with Tech, Vi, and Phantom. [npc; belongs to a friend not writing on tumblr right now.]

Regal Riotess — mid 40s. Free spirit and entertainer at heart, and also the queen of brawling. Tess runs a sparing/fighting ring in zone three with a small but notoriously formidable crew. She's real fond of Jack, and any kids of his are more than welcome in her stretch of sand. [@/hittheredline]

Midnight Massacre — ???. Old-world military type who runs deals you're better off not knowing the details of. He's in Tech's corner, at least, if not the whole Haven (though it seems to at least vaguely extend in the others' direction.) The "guest" unit is more or less specifically for him and/or Mouse. [written by @/hvndredzones]

the Mouse Bombs —???. Remnant of the old desert, the last of the House of Snow. More of a shut-in than anything else these days, spending a great deal of her time secluded in a stretch of the ridges in the outer zones. Close with Tech & friendly enough with Jack. The "guest" unit is more or less specifically for her and/or Midnight. [npc; belongs to a friend not writing on tumblr right now.]

Kobra Kid — several years into his second life. The desert's youngest prince himself. Another "tied to Tech, specifically", though he's been 'round the Haven once or twice. Ask no questions and you'll get no lies. [@/hittheredline]

TJ & Time Keeper — mid 50s. Former runners of the Wind Stop. TJ is former city, an engineer who fled from the horrors his work was used to enact. Keeper -a close contact of Mayhem (Jack & Tech's mother)- is a remnant of the older desert and someone who never belonged to the city. They went on a nondescript scouting journey and stopped responding to radio hailings after awhile, though now and then a signal persists. missing.

Toxic Fairydust — late 20s. Colton's mother. Singer and dancer once part of a traveling group, Dusty fell in with Jack and Tech early on and stuck with them for a number of years. After Colton's birth and a harrowing clash with a former friend, she became withdrawn. Then, with a single-sentence note ( "I'll be back in a bit") she was gone. Nobody's heard from her since. presumed dead.

[havenofseven]

  She looks like she's bracing for him to strike her. Literally or psychologically, he's not sure which. It doesn't truly matter. Only that there is some expectation of retribution. For what? Asking, or knowing the answer? Hm. He shrugs.

  “How could I not hold on to it?” Letting go of Mads would mean... letting go. He strives for a moment to find the words for it. Something more helpful than I had to or the brewing pedantry in mind. Alas. “It's not a weakness,” he says, apologetic to be arguing while trying to reach understanding. “It's a vulnerability, but not weakness. And nothing's invulnerable – why sacrifice what matters to me to pretend otherwise? Then I'd lose what I have, and might not recognize the next vulnerability before someone else does.”

  Maybe that's the only answer. The city has a thousand -a million- reasons that it works, systems and rules and fail safes. Though all of that, though, it consistently cannot rid itself of opposition because of the flaws found all the way to its very foundations. That veneer of gloss and polished perfection did not, truly, do away with the issues — the vulnerabilities it cannot account for so long as it refuses to acknowledge them. He straightens, then, to his full height, a grey thought pulling.

  That was the sort of thinking that put him so squarely in the position he found himself poised to assume in the city. He forgets, sometimes. (More often these days.) Forgets how much of it was him. The training had given him tools, but they hand picked him out of the unit for a reason.

  “But it's worth...with her...” Hm. His grip on the rail twists. He hates saying it, because he hates thinking of it. “..With her detained, and all the work, it was easy to show my sponsors what they wanted to see.” He does not point out that they couldn't exactly have threatened his sister as a means of controlling him; they were already hurting her when they thought him compliant. Her death would not have bent him to the city, only set them both free, one way or another. “I didn't have to let go, just let them believe that what I was holding onto was what they gave me.”

She winces, just a bit, when he answers her question anyway—too much, too honest, what will the price be for this information—but there’s no helping the fond smile that spreads across her face as he speaks. Of course Tech was trouble from the get, nothing else would have made sense. She knows the feeling he’s talking about, remembers meeting her sister for the first time and her entire world shifting.

Mazie doesn’t quite turn to him, but shifts enough so, when she raises her eyes, she can meet his gaze. “No one ever does,” she assures him quietly. “All we can ever do is our best.” There’s a flinch, a flash of regret as she looks away again. No matter how much her brothers assure her otherwise, she still feels like she’s abandoned her sister.

If he’s willing to answer that one, though, maybe she can ask what she was really getting at, poking at his career in the City. In for a penny. “How did you… hold on to that through S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W training?” Zach hadn’t. She wraps her hands around the railing behind her, her gaze lifted to trace the seam of wall and ceiling. “Can’t’ve been easy. It’s a weakness, makes you easy to manipulate. And the Company doesn’t like anyone else having leverage over their employees.” That comes with the bitterness of experience.

[havenofseven]

  She finally manages to mind her own business and Phantom almost thanks her out loud. The quiet gives him space to lock in on the drive the way he should have already, railing across the desert at the speed of vengeance this way. She -his mustang- was never out of his control, but with the room to focus properly, set aside the squabble and his anger over Fox, it all folds together. Smooths out into familiar ease. Breathing room.

  The dust is patient.

  Minutes and miles go by. The quiet persists, so he gains another few digits to the top of the speedometer's count. Phantom doesn't bother checking the number. He can tell by the roll of the horizon that it's the fastest he's opened things up in... a long time, actually. The climb went so smooth he almost -almost, but not quite- wishes something of it had pushed back a little, growled or resisted just so they'd pull through for the thrill of it. Instead they've sliced through the gears and gauges at a steady purr. She's easy to trust, his beautiful runner. Reliable. Suited to his rage. The distance crushes, crumpled like paper under her wheels. They'll be there well before the time expires, like this.

  Shame the quiet can't stay. But all evidence suggests Diana's pet project can't be trusted to keep sensible once they get where they're going. As Mazie tunes back in, which he guesses at by the way she leans for the door, he sighs.

  “Don't interfere.” He opens flatly. He glances for the sun's position, and adjusts their direction slightly. “I'll name you a witness to the ring. Don't speak. Don't get out unless they insist. They shouldn't ask your name but if anyone does, do not-” sharp, glaring emphasis, Not, “tell them your city name. Pick something else — something right. It's not a commitment just..” He makes half a gesture, his hands fixed on the wheel but fingers illustrating something almost civil. “For Fox's sake.” Pick something right.

  Names, at least, he trusts she's gathered. It doesn't take a genius.

Mazie takes a deep breath and sinks into the memory.

The terror chokes her immediately. Oh, she’s not afraid of the death they’re threatening. To be quite honest, she very sincerely hopes the ones who just want her dead win this— whatever they’re arguing about. It’s the getting answers option that scares her. She knows more than the City realizes, certainly, but not what these killjoys want to know. She tries to back away, to run—

She wrenches herself back to the beginning of the memory. Focus. She needs to pay attention to what was said, to the argument taking place. It’s where she’ll find her answers.

Once she’s wrung out all the answers she can get and a few questions that might actually be answered, she tries to pull herself out of the memory. It doesn’t release her. There’s nothing outside her head to anchor her, nothing she can hold onto to get back out, and even if she could get her body to cooperate, she doesn’t believe reaching for Phantom would lead to the anchor she needs. She’s stuck until the memory plays out and releases her.

Her inhale is louder and shakier than she likes, but at least she’s out of her head again. The arm folded over her chest presses closer, while the arm around her torso reaches to brace against the door. She’s not going to cry here, not in front of Phantom, of all people. She has questions—that he might even answer—but she can’t ask them now. She carefully tucks them away so she can retrieve them easily, then focuses on calming down again. She’s not going to break the silence between them, too much of her energy going towards keeping her present and out of her head to bother attempting any further conversation.

[havenofseven]

  It doesn't readily clarify itself as she begins to explain it. Not with any miraculous moment of realization, anyway, but he's had a lot of practice waiting out strings of words that don't mean anything to him. Listening for more than the configuration of vowels and consonants and catches in breath.

  The dark of his eyes remains distant, skipping over the walls and corners of the measured maze of units. Conscious of the way witnessing often equated weight. Pressure. Living here -the zones?- isn't solid, because it's individual. Variable. But living here -the Haven- is, because he'd done it for his son. (For his son, yes. But because of his loss. But he supposes that's harder to count, with Tech no longer gone. Harder to understand without living it. She'd died. And he had to keep going.) That still didn't help him to see what it explained. Exemplified, maybe? Trading variables for integers? or puzzle pieces. Scaffold. The right idea, he thinks, but the wrong—

  The question and its scathing followup suspend his efforts. This question, though, this one he can answer. If it's what she means to ask, then..

  “Twenty...five? years,” he guesses. “Twenty-six?” He could do the correct math, add from the start or subtract from his own, but stands there not quite willing to acknowledge the number dead on. It seems too much like a challenge. He sniffed a little, hating the idea that he might be getting superstitious, and added on— “So far.” There's the challenge he'll issue, give me another, I dare you. Run the meter up, listen to it tick and tick, climbing on. Jack considers Mazie in his peripheral. Her back to the open air, attention devoted to avoiding him.

  “Dad hands me this... little bundle. The nurse just finished telling us all how tired she'll be, unlikely to open her eyes for a few days, but there she is. Squirming around like she's got someplace to be, trouble to get into. Staring right at everyone. And Dad, he goes 'look after her'.” Like there had been any other choice. Jack looks Mazie's way in full, letting that fact sit open. Look after her, like there that been any other choice. He lives in the zones because there was never any other choice. Drives the same truck because there was never any other choice. Endures the suspicion of rebels and the hatred of old friends, fights demented wildlife and builds lookout towers and lets a young woman surround his son's playing grounds with explosives, takes a knife to the shoulder and pushback from the crew and blood over his hands again and again. Not bitterly or blithely but because there is no other choice. It is not in him. “I don't..”

  ...

  “...I don't always get it right.”

She sighs silently, leaning back against the railing next to him. How to explain what she’s looking for, what she had been digging for with her original line of questioning. “How long—” no, no. That’s her original question, not an answer to his prompt.

“Anything that doesn’t…. say something. Or, could say too many things, and so means nothing at all.” Mazie glances over her shoulder, down to the units below them. “Everyone here has a different reason for living here, so living here isn’t solid. Settling here for Colt’s sake? That’s solid. That says something, that… explains a truth.”

Her eyes are soft as she studies him. She only gives him a heartbeat and a half to think before her earlier question bubbles up again. “How long has love been your driving force?” She hadn’t intended on asking that aloud; a short, self-deprecating laugh escapes as her gaze drops to her hands. Suddenly, her nails have all of her attention. “You don’t— Never mind. Never mind, ignore that.”

[havenofseven]

  He draws up short at that, an uncharacteristically quizzical look commanding control of his face. “Explains a truth?” Do truths need explaining?

  He tries to consider it, not just what she's asking but the apparent why. Is he really so fragmentary, outside looking in? ...He might have thought so just a handful of years ago, but wouldn't think it true now. When so much of all that he cares for is so contained to the little home they've made at the edge of the world. Loose ends newly tied. He rests his elbows on the platform's railing, overlooking the Haven for a moment. Lights humming out of several of the units from lanterns and string lights, the murmur of someone's radio lifting up through the open top of their unit.

  “Tell me what isn't solid,” he lands. Tell me what you're asking, I don't understand it yet.

Check. “You’re going to be the death of me,” she grumbles good-naturedly. He does have her cornered. She might ask Tech anyway, but he’s right, she’s certainly not going to push for anything if Tech doesn’t give it easily. Her fingertips dig into her temple, rub across her forehead. He and Tech seem to be the causes of most of her headaches, as of late; so many pieces, and yet not enough structural information to build on. Their puzzles remain scattered, small sections completed with too much space left between them.

“Can’t you give me anything?” she pleads. “Some sort of thread to tie all these little pieces together so you…” she gestures helplessly at him. “I’ll even— I will answer any question you put to me if you give me just one solid fact. It doesn’t have to be from your work in the City, just… one thing that explains a truth about you.”

[havenofseven]

well now im just thinkin about it cause like

obviously the Haven all know he's former better living, former S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit. i think that's easy to clock, really, at least on jack. i don't know that he's hiding it. and someone familiar or who just pays attention can definitely figure out he was A Crow in particular, i don't know that's very hard to figure out either. a little less obvious is there's Something above that, in him. something a little extra, though it's not exxie training. and he doesn't telegraph that but i think. it's something someone paying attention can realize. that he was A Crow but there's something a little different about it. i think most of the Haven has figured out and/or gossiped their way into that. knowing it was Something. the thing he keeps so close, that nobody (desert side) except Tech knows is what Something is. the specifics of regiments and the work they were doing. where it took them, how the results played out. I think Tech knows a little, and was disavowed of her curiosity for it before getting to Everything. I think Midnight probably has some really educated guesses but doesn't technically know. I think Phantom thinks he knows, and is wrong. i think it's sometimes a topic of speculation, but ultimately something that doesn't matter to the rest of the haven. he doesn't deny there was Something. he can't stop someone with the access from finding whatever official reports exist. he will not be telling. there will not be clues - nothing around him now invokes it, nothing echoes it, nothing shadows.

there's a lot of blood on his hands, though. that might be obvious. whose and how and why, though, that's what no one needs to know. what it's safer for them not to know.

[havenofseven]

  “Glass...” he echoes, mulling over it. Faint notions of shining silver and cold ripples of light cling to his thoughts and the edges of the lonely word as he stares at the shifting wall that hems them in. Everything at hand and yet nothing to reach with. His fingers tap against the side of his leg. Then still.

  All of him stills. His sight lost on some unimaginable out of focus depth of the mass beyond the windows. Empty before the whistling wind and the swirls of sand and dust.

"It might still be worth the effort." His brother wants less and less to do with sharing a ride every month, it feels like. An extra car means more flexibility. But it's also means another mouth to feed, in a manner of speaking. More parts. More gas and oil. "A cover for the truck would be good," he agrees. "'specially if you take more 'n one or two out. Or bring something sensitive back and get caught out." It should be easier to rig something together than a whole car, in any case.

"Could get more tarps for it- eh, the garden." Extra lines of them might give their crops some extra buffer from the winds and sands. Wooden gates they can open and close to wall it off might be better.

Arachnid huffs a quiet sigh. "Wish we could make glass."

[havenofseven]

  She's interesting. That's not the nicest way to put it, or even probably the best way to think, but it's what pushes to the front of his mind all the same. Sitting there in his brain, rolling the familiar threat shape around. I'll go around. I'll find a way. I'll figure it out so you might as well say it now, avoid the unpleasantness. Set the record. Get ahead of it. Control the story.

  Interrogation tactics.

  She's interesting. She's also underestimating the level of confidence he's kept his past at.

  “The only one who knows is Tech,” he intones, the rest of it left implied. You love her too much to pry it out of her. (He's not sure anyone actually can pry it out of her, come to think of it. However much of it she's managed to dig up — something he's always feared asking her. So even that, how much she knows, is something of a mystery.) He shrugs lightly. “You should try asking Phantom anyway, though.” He gets a certain amount of amusement out of watching her make the younger man's eye twitch.

@havenofseven • Jack sent : “It's safer if you never know the truth.”

Anyone else, it would have earned an eyeroll. It very nearly earns him one, anyway. “If I cared about safe, I would’ve gone back to my gilded cage,” she reminds him, somewhat tartly. “And never is longer than you can guarantee. I’m going to figure it out eventually. Maybe not soon, maybe not entirely, but enough that keeping the truth from me is pointless.” She shrugs, and her pale eyes are almost challenging. “It’s always better to control the narrative if you have the chance. Your facts, instead of someone else’s speculations.”

A terrible idea occurs, and she half-turns away, considering. “I could always start asking questions. Tox. …Maybe Phantom.” She expects exactly zero answers from Phantom, but the way he’d tell her to fuck off could give her plenty of insight, maybe even point her in a fruitful direction.

[havenofseven]

  There's something to be said –many things perhaps– for the stability of the city. The defenses, and the resources, the accessibility. But if there's one thing he's noticed, it's the way light out in the desert just suits everyone better. Golden hour indeed.

  “Depends,” he drawls, gliding through the door in her wake. His hands find his pockets while his eyes skate the horizon in all directions. Looking for nothing and everything. “How do you feel about canyon ledges?” Narrow, occasionally unstable ones. “And-or driving through the night?” Half joking, though they're both technically options. He's thinking of the pass for now, not the ledges, especially in the truck and at this time of year. But if the pass is covered, he just might change his mind.

She’s distant when he joins her, but a couple blinks and she’s back, easily falling in behind him as he heads to the door. His pause is unexpected, and she falters to a stop closer than intended. The proximity brings a faint flush to her cheeks, and she hopes—perhaps in vain—that he doesn’t notice.

His explanation makes her grin; she’s learned enough about the desert to know absolutely nothing goes perfectly. Barring absolute catastrophe, though, she’s fine for a few days—her rough and tumble days may be half a lifetime behind her, but she hasn’t been irreparably softened by her time in the Center. She dips her head at his question, offers a dry, “I’m fine.”

Her fingers tighten slightly around the handles of her bag on her shoulder. “C’mon. You’re letting all the cool air out,” she teases, and—quick inhale—squeezes past him. Over her shoulder, as she heads to the truck, “D’you think we can still beat Tech there?”

[havenofseven]

@lcfthaunted || What If They Kissed?

Jack + Mazie edition

  Far too early in the morning, madness escapes into the Haven. That is, the chickens do. It's hard to know if a latch didn't quite land, someone stood too long in the doorway, or if it was more a moment of impulsivity, but it doesn't take long for it to escalate. The cat chases the chickens. The dog chases the cat. The girls chase the dog, trying to bribe the spotted cattle hound off of the game in alternating calls, threats, and promises of scraps. Feathers and curse words fly everywhere as everyone else tries to catch the hens or has to dive out of the way.

  Once he's worked out what the cause of all the noise is —run of the mill chaos and not, as the first shouts had scared him into believing, a genuine crisis— Jack takes up his part in the ridiculous business. He keeps an eye on where the chase is going, and tries to head them of. Him standing ahead of a hen is usually enough to confuse it into doubling back, or stop it dead, and let someone grab it before the cat can. Haul it back out into the pen. It works like a charm on the pale hen with the speckling around her collar: she skitters to a stop, feathers on end, and Lith seizes her before she gets any clever ideas. The marbled pair trip over each other as Jack rounds the corner just in front of them, letting Fox snatch one while K practically tackles the other. That leaves only one, the boldest, a regular monster of a bird with a crown of orange feathers.

  Time after time, corner after corner, the hen evades all efforts to corner and capture, jumping over head and right through the arms of her would-be saviors. Tech finally catches Glitch, which means Wild reins in Beans, but also that the easy way of finding where the bird has gone (follow the much louder beasts chasing it) is also no longer an option. Those left on the hunt fan out, and of course it's Jack who spies the last of the tail feathers disappearing into a unit.

  He approaches the unit mentally preparing himself for a fight. Scratches and pecks and wing-beatings of refusal to return to the coop. Instead, he turns the last corner and pulls up short to the sight of Mazie with the damn bird cradled in her arms, perplexed-looking but seemingly no worse for wear. The look she gives him feels like a teasing ‘lose something?’

  The hen transfers from one set of arms to the other in a careful ritual that results in only a single cluck of protest, and while he's still leaning down Jack kisses Mazie's cheek. “Thanks.” It's a quick bump, really more gestural than actual kiss, as casual as if he'd done it a thousand times. But this is the first. Then he straightens and turns without ceremony, gone to put the last of the ruffled feathers straight. Always busy.