Jason Dixon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
awfulcer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
wilderlogs2018-05-29 07:07 pm
awfulcer) wrote in wilderlogs2018-05-29 07:07 pm
Entry tags:
I'm Looking for a Soft Place to Land [Closed]
Who: Jason Dixon and Robbie Baldwin
What: An apology, a scavenger hunt,
Where: The Wawa.
When: After the network meltdown.
Warnings/Notes: Your typical Dixon warnings.
[Dixon's taken a disliking to the library. It's cold and musty, and more frustratingly it seems like everyone's in there, and once again he's coronated himself as King Non-Grata, so he heads out to the Wawa to do some scavenging and spend some time alone, away from what he suspects are annoyed glances and snide comments. No one's said anything outright, but no one's had to; Dixon feels he knows what's on their mind, a sort of projection of his own weapons against himself slotted into the hands of others.
There's always a crash after the explosive bursts of temper. It's like actual wildfire, leveling every other thought to the ground, except nothing new really grows out of it except remorse. And so he isolates, shambling around the buildings with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl, pawing at but having just enough wherewithal to avoid opening that pack of cigarettes he's toting around.
Everyone's going to look for food, he figures. They'll look for water and medical kits and all the obvious things. Dixon can't really be bothered to care about any of that, possibly because he assumes someone else will care about it, possibly because the medical supplies and healing that have been available haven't done jack for the stab wound in his back and the sight of food makes him queasy.
Instead, he's looking for an assortment of things he imagines others won't think to go after. He already has a pack of playing cards he's hoarded away, and now he's searching for a whistle and a flashlight. Maybe sunglasses. Always cigarettes.
He finds a ballpoint pen that's still working, and shuffles his way towards the counter, absentmindedly pulling out his wallet and some cash before he remembers that there's no one here, that he was about to pay an empty cash register for a single ballpoint pen. He glances around to see if anyone saw him.
And sees Robbie, one of the people he snapped at hardest. Dixon stays rooted to his spot, brain stalling like a stick-shift car as he tries to think of a response, ka-thunk, ka-thunk. The fact that he eventually comes up with words at all feels like a minor miracle. Not a Lazarus-from-the-dead miracle, but definitely on the coin-in-a-fish scale.]
Figured it'd just be polite to pay for it. [It sounds like it could be a joke but his delivery lacks the confidence. He gingerly tucks the twenty back into the wallet.]
What: An apology, a scavenger hunt,
Where: The Wawa.
When: After the network meltdown.
Warnings/Notes: Your typical Dixon warnings.
[Dixon's taken a disliking to the library. It's cold and musty, and more frustratingly it seems like everyone's in there, and once again he's coronated himself as King Non-Grata, so he heads out to the Wawa to do some scavenging and spend some time alone, away from what he suspects are annoyed glances and snide comments. No one's said anything outright, but no one's had to; Dixon feels he knows what's on their mind, a sort of projection of his own weapons against himself slotted into the hands of others.
There's always a crash after the explosive bursts of temper. It's like actual wildfire, leveling every other thought to the ground, except nothing new really grows out of it except remorse. And so he isolates, shambling around the buildings with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl, pawing at but having just enough wherewithal to avoid opening that pack of cigarettes he's toting around.
Everyone's going to look for food, he figures. They'll look for water and medical kits and all the obvious things. Dixon can't really be bothered to care about any of that, possibly because he assumes someone else will care about it, possibly because the medical supplies and healing that have been available haven't done jack for the stab wound in his back and the sight of food makes him queasy.
Instead, he's looking for an assortment of things he imagines others won't think to go after. He already has a pack of playing cards he's hoarded away, and now he's searching for a whistle and a flashlight. Maybe sunglasses. Always cigarettes.
He finds a ballpoint pen that's still working, and shuffles his way towards the counter, absentmindedly pulling out his wallet and some cash before he remembers that there's no one here, that he was about to pay an empty cash register for a single ballpoint pen. He glances around to see if anyone saw him.
And sees Robbie, one of the people he snapped at hardest. Dixon stays rooted to his spot, brain stalling like a stick-shift car as he tries to think of a response, ka-thunk, ka-thunk. The fact that he eventually comes up with words at all feels like a minor miracle. Not a Lazarus-from-the-dead miracle, but definitely on the coin-in-a-fish scale.]
Figured it'd just be polite to pay for it. [It sounds like it could be a joke but his delivery lacks the confidence. He gingerly tucks the twenty back into the wallet.]
no subject
So he shrugs it off. ]
Well, yeah. I’m not going to turn down real food after weeks of nuts and berries and magically appearing feasts of dubious origin. Don’t get me wrong – this is the nicest apocalypse I’ve ever taken part in.
[ Watching Dixon write the note, he’s pretty touched to see what he mentioned go on there, but a wave of guilt flushes most of the gratefulness away. ]
Enh, don’t worry about the cookies and junk. We’re not going to find them, and it’ll just waste time trying.
[ We, because he’s obviously coming along. It’s a good idea, he thinks, to search in pairs in case they get ambushed by Dementors again, and they might find something large and useful, like a tent. ]
Did you see any stores that looked good? I always hit the bodega first. They’ve got everything.
[ He looks around at the nothing that Wawa has. ]
This one’s more of an inconvenience store.
no subject
(If it weren't for the injury, he'd probably find another excuse for a sick day. It's his nature.)
"Inconvenience store" is probably the first joke Robbie's told that gets a full-on laugh from Dixon, although that momentarily turns into a cough. His lungs have been throwing a confused riot since his tobacco intake was drastically reduced, taking this window of opportunity to kick up all kinds of nasty tar.]
I saw a K-Mart way back. It looked in even worse shape than this place, but I didn't go inside. There were a bunch of those weird car things out in the lot in front of it, though. Probably best we're not chancing it alone. [As if to reaffirm that at least for now, they're a team.]