Tʜᴇ Gᴏᴠᴇʀɴᴏʀ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
broughtwhiskey) wrote2015-04-23 11:20 pm
broughtwhiskey) wrote2015-04-23 11:20 pm
♕ 007 spam
spam - slightly backdated to earlier in the week.
[For the first time since Philip arrived on the Barge, it's felt like home. Not in the sense that's he had some sort of sudden attachment to the place, of course, but all of this feels more normal to him than anything.]
[He had been one of the ones left on the Barge and he had immediately hunkered down on his own. As far as he was concerned, it was everyone for themselves once the unnatural things began appearing on-board. Despite the lack of weaponry--something he still resents--he managed just fine without anyone else to look after. Not that there's really anyone here that he feels he might go out of his way to help. But live or die, he thrived while the Barge was falling apart. He felt...alive.]
[And now he busies himself with the clean-up. It's not that he particularly cares one way or another about the status of the Barge, but with the electricity acting the way it is, clear paths in the hallway would be nice. He does this by himself, leaving some of the heavier lifting for those that can manage it by themselves or in teams. But anyone observing him will likely notice the practiced ease with which he drags along the now truly deceased undead before hefting them overboard off the deck.]
[For the first time since Philip arrived on the Barge, it's felt like home. Not in the sense that's he had some sort of sudden attachment to the place, of course, but all of this feels more normal to him than anything.]
[He had been one of the ones left on the Barge and he had immediately hunkered down on his own. As far as he was concerned, it was everyone for themselves once the unnatural things began appearing on-board. Despite the lack of weaponry--something he still resents--he managed just fine without anyone else to look after. Not that there's really anyone here that he feels he might go out of his way to help. But live or die, he thrived while the Barge was falling apart. He felt...alive.]
[And now he busies himself with the clean-up. It's not that he particularly cares one way or another about the status of the Barge, but with the electricity acting the way it is, clear paths in the hallway would be nice. He does this by himself, leaving some of the heavier lifting for those that can manage it by themselves or in teams. But anyone observing him will likely notice the practiced ease with which he drags along the now truly deceased undead before hefting them overboard off the deck.]
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But that's part of what caused this mess and even if it weren't, it is quite literally a mess all up in this Barge. She's had to drop her own revulsion into her back pocket to get the job done and she knows not everyone can, so she's determined to put as much of a dent into this whole body thing as she can so others don't have to, and before it gets any worse than it is.
Which is why when she's finishing up taking a breather on deck about the time he finishes dumping his latest load over she clears her throat and nominates him to join her work crew of one.]
Hey. If you're not done for the day, I could use a hand down on seven.
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[Philip looks at his hands, wiping one off on his pantleg.]
I'll take care of it.
[A man of few words and not a team player. Sorry girl. :C]
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Great. Love the confidence, man.
[She doesn't hesitate to fall in beside him, turned towards the hatch as she reaches up to tighten her messy ponytail. There's a pair of faded yellow rubber gloves tucked into the knee pocket of her stained and torn cargo pants. She is seriously burning this entire set of clothes when all is said and done.]
I'm Letty.
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[Of course she's one of those. Well, at least that's being established early on so he doesn't waste too much effort in trying to make her find someone else to talk to or otherwise bother. Somehow, around here, that just only seems to encourage it. The most he can do is just simply be tight-lipped.]
Philip.
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And this one's being useful, so it's a dual motivation. She nods in acknowledgement of his name, glancing along the cleared but still trashed hallway as they head for the stairs.]
You don't seem too concerned about all this.
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[The question has a bite to it. Enough so that it signals he's not even remotely interested in whatever reasons she might give for why he should be invested in any of this, if she even has any.]
[The way he sees it, this is just simply part of life. Sure, it takes a different tone and there's something a little more blatant in how viciously cyclical it is than back home, but it's all the same kind of ugliness that people don't talk about because they don't want to even acknowledge it. What is there to be worked up about? He's seen it before. He'll see it again. Everyone will.]
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That's not concerning to you?
[It's clearly concerning to her, even though she's dealing with it fairly well, all things considered. The question is an earnest one, completely ignoring the sharpness of his tone.
She's not one of those, but she's not easily scared off, either.]
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[He's not made remotely nauseous by any of the more grisly carcasses. He's not even all that particularly bothered by what might have been. Letty, you may be wondering if you've just asked one cold (generally monosyllabic) son of a bitch to help you out.]
[You did.]
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What, does that make you like, animal control back home? Morgue? Exorcist? What?
[Serial killer?]
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Nothing.
[He tries to stay neutral in his answer, but he can't help it. It's reflexive defensiveness like an animal pacing and patrolling along the edge of its territory.]
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[This is heavy enough skepticism to drown the unwary. If she's aware of the defensiveness, she does not acknowledge it in any way.]
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[This comes after two floors of silence, which is apparently about as much patience as she has for the silent treatment.]
It's not like there are a lot of people climbing the walls to get out here and do this. So your options at this point are either live with a ship full of rotting bodies until someone else decides to take care of it, do it all yourself, or at least act like you know how to hold a conversation and talk to me. Even if it's to tell me to shut the fuck up.
Cold shoulder is the pussy route, man.
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[He bristles more, takes more offense at the reminder than he does anything she says.]
You asked for my help, not my conversation.
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Letty's pleasure is more prickly than most peoples', but she nods in approval.]
Much better. I knew you had it in you.
You should try using your words more often, you might actually get what you want faster.
[Not that Letty intends to comply, of course, but she approves.]
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[She shakes her head, steps off the elevator.]
Pussy route.
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Do you want my help or not?
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[She's oblivious, of course; not to the fact that she doesn't know anything about him, that he's certainly acting like a weirdo, nor to the fact that he's big enough and clearly strong enough to do some damage if he wanted to. But she's focused, for now, on something else and not that he might go from zero to violent faster than her Roadrunner.
Which is why he's getting the strange look as she glances back at him.]
Is it really so bad? Just talking to another human being?
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[Talking to people is how you get to know them and once you get to know them, you get attached. There's no getting attached to anything anymore. Not in his world, not for him.]
It's not necessary. Just noise.
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Of course it's not necessary. We're people. It's what we do. Why be more intelligent than a goddamn ape if you don't talk?
[She knows she's not getting that entirely correct but she doesn't care. He's talking, begrudgingly and not actually giving her much, but talking anyway.]
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[So he simply brushes past her, further down the hall to start making piles.]