ph_logs | April Catch All

April Catch All

Who: Number 6 & Open
Where: Around town and on the farm
What: Various prompts for April
When: Currently before Flood, might add some for After Flood
Warnings: [cw: Talk about spousal death, illness, grief, depictions of chronic impending fatal illness]

A. Around the farm

Number 6 is finally starting to look the part out here on the farm. He found a pair of dungarees and work boots stowed away in the attic of their home and he's donned them now along with a wide-brimmed sunhat to protect his pale complexion from the worst of the sun's rays. It can only do so much, and as a result, his face has broken out in an explosion of freckles. Despite that and the sunburns, he's happy. His hands are covered in dirt from plowing the soil and his shirt is soaked from the sweaty work of hauling logs and chopping wood. And he hasn't had to lie to a single person or keep a single secret to accomplish his tasks. It's all good, honest labor.

Unfortunately, the work is getting harder on him by the day. At the start of the month, all seems fine enough. But that ring in the shape of a skull jawbone on his finger is slowly but surely sapping that strength away from him. In the middle of pushing a wheelbarrow, he suddenly falls to his knees, out of breath and clammy with sweat so thick his hair is wet beneath his hat. It's fine, he tells himself. Get up. He has more work to do yet. But... maybe he should just rest for a moment, first.

...Just a moment.

B. Now I lay me down to sleep [cw: Be advised, this is directly following Ava's IC death]

He went out to lay beneath the stars with his wife. But now... now he's walking home alone. There's a bundle in his arms. The clothes she left behind. Still warm, but that warmth is fading. Like she faded.

Tears glisten in his eyes but he blinks them back. He has to stay strong. She will be a ghost. She might see. He doesn't want her to have to watch his anguish. Stiff upper lip. It will be all right. They knew the cost of freedom might be high. He let her pay it this time, but the next... and the next...

"I'll find a way," he says under his breath. "We'll stop this."

But, for now, there is nothing he can do but cross the short distance from field to the front door of their home, drift inside and... no, he doesn't think he can sleep tonight. Not alone. He resolves to go to the kettle instead, to brew something hot. He carries it back out to the front porch and sits heavily in one of the wooden rocking chairs. A matched set. Somehow that only makes him feel lonelier, watching the empty chair creak slightly in the breeze. On a night like this, he could use some company.

C. Wildcard Me
Can be next day, ghost shenanigans, etc. Just throw whatever at me, I'm game.

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"Yeah, sure, I can do that," Snakes says. He comes over closer and takes the wheelbarrow, pushing it towards the directed spot. "I could ... help you into the house or something too, if you want...."

"No, no," Number 6 groans, as he attempts to get up. "I'm sure I can make it. I'm..." he can't seem to get his feet properly under him, try as he might. Perhaps he should have carved a cane for himself before now.

After one last unsuccessful attempt to rise, he looks to Snakes shamefaced and says, "Actually, if you are willing? I find I could use the assistance after all..."

"Yeah, sure," Snakes says, and reaches to help him up, draping an arm over his shoulders and trying to support him around the waist. "I've got you." He hopes. He's not as tall or as strong as some others, but he does his best. He moves to head for the house.

"Thank you..." his cheeks burn with shame of having to admit he can't get up under his own power, but he knows he's going to have to learn to accept help like this. As his condition worsens, he'll lose more and more of his pride. But, for Ava, it's worth it.

With Snake's support, he makes it through the door and to the kitchen table and chairs. From here, he can sit and wait for Ava to come home.

"I've taken up much of your time, already, I know. But if you'd like to help yourself to something to eat or drink while you are here, that is the least I can offer you."

Snakes is relieved to get him inside. He's not going to take him up on the offer, but then thinks differently of it. Maybe to accept would help the guy regain a bit of pride. That, and it is pretty hot out there.

"Sure, if you've got somethin' cold to drink," he says.

"There's a pitcher of fresh lemonade in the ice box. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could you get some for me, as well? Glasses are just there in the cupboard."

"Oh sure." Snakes washes his hands and gets out the lemonade and the glasses. He pours two glasses, hands one to Number 6, and sits down at the table with his. "This is good."

"Thank you. Yes, my wife Ava made this batch. She'd be glad to know you enjoyed it."

Well, since they are taking a rest together now, perhaps Number 6 can do a little social probing.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced, yet. My name is Peter Starr."

"She's good at it," Snakes says approvingly.

"Snakes Tolliver. I'm part of the local law enforcement."

"She is," he agrees brightly. Compliments to his wife will get you everywhere with him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tolliver. I'm familiar with the duties of the bobbies back home in my native England, but I wonder how your responsibilities differ here. Have you got a jail?"

"Unfortunately, most of the crimes here are committed by big, bad monsters, and we can't really keep them in jail," Snakes smirks darkly. "Mostly I patrol around, looking for anything weird going on, and try to protect people when it happens."

"No, I suppose not. And executing them is hardly the answer." Assuming they also come back to life.

"Protecting others is a noble task. I commend you and your colleagues for facing the dangers no matter how great. If I were not already retired, I might have joined you in that calling." But he is hardly fit to protect anyone in this state and it will only continue to be a problem.

"Heh. Yeah. I wish," Snakes says with a grim smirk.

He looks a bit awkward at his actions being called noble, but then he supposes that's true in this situation. And even with his criminal activities back home, he had tended to think it wasn't really that bad since he had built up wayward towns and arranged for decent buildings, food, and jobs. The people had certainly been grateful.

"... So you were a police officer or something back home?" he says.

Number 6 makes a mental note to dig a little into that awkwardness if he gets half a chance. Oh, he won't be shocked if there's a dark past behind this man. He won't mind it much, either. His beloved wife was an assassin in her former life, after all. He can overlook a lot.

"Not precisely. I was a secret agent. We didn't get uniforms."

Snake would have been surprised by that some months ago, but by now he's getting used to how accepting the people are here.

"Yeah? You must've been involved in some high profile cases."

He's picturing similar things to what the Secret Service was handling in his time.

"Some, though I still am not at liberty to say which ones," he answers coyly.

"My role was less about being involved in large cases and more about nipping the small ones in the bud before they grew larger. If I've done my job right, no one hears about it."

"Not like anybody would probably know you told out here, but you must've been pretty good to still be that dedicated," Snakes says. "Sounds like what you did was a lot like what the Secret Service guys were doing back home."

"It's the principle of the thing. I was one of the best." Which is why his sudden fall from grace hurt so much.

"Oh? What involvement did you have with the ones from your home?"

"I can believe it," Snakes says sincerely.

He gives an awkward laugh. "Mostly I tried to stay away from them. There was ... uh ... one who was around right before I ... ended up here. He didn't have anything to do with it, but he was there. What happened to me was ... my own fault."

"Would you like to talk about what happened?" They have a drink to sip and Number 6 has time to listen. He can read between these very wide lines that Snakes is most likely talking about the manner of his demise. That's not going to shock him.

"You can rely on my discretion, of course."

Snakes is a bit surprised by the question, and he has to think about the answer for a bit. Does he want to talk about it? He hasn't told anyone there. This guy seems like he can keep a confidence, but the truth of what happened might or might not be a turn-off. It would be back home, but here ... it's hard to say.

"... If we'd met back home, you probably would've been assigned to nip what we were doing in the bud," he says. "I was part of a worldwide criminal organization, one of the six regional leaders. But I ... didn't like it and I wanted out. Gettin' out wasn't easy once you were in. I was trying to help the Mexican Secret Service bring them down from the inside, but then I couldn't reach my contact and we were having a sudden, secret meeting. I was sure I'd been found out, so I panicked and ... tried to kill my boss. That ... backfired."

Nothing about Number 6's demeanor changes even after hearing all this, not even the tone of his voice. What good would it do now to look harshly upon this man for his past, especially knowing he paid the ultimate price.

"You aren't the first person I've met in that kind of situation, and I'm just as sure you won't be the last. In fact, I often worked alongside men like you, who wanted out and offered their service in exchange for that chance." Those were some of the greatest assets any secret service could ask for.

"I won't heap admonishments on you now; you've more than proved your resolve to change. I'm truly sorry it went the way it did for you. If we succeed at our goal here in this place, do you plan to return to finish what you started or are you more inclined to retire here?"

Snakes slowly relaxes. It does actually feel good to have told someone, he realizes. But it feels even better to not be condemned for it.

"Thanks," he says in relieved surprise. "If I get the chance to go back, I feel like I'd rather go to the future. I've heard so many amazing things about it. If I went back to my time, I'd probably find everything in shambles. There was a famous American Secret Service guy at the meeting, somebody who didn't know me or my part in things, but he and his partner probably broke everything up and I wouldn't be needed. I'm not sure I did any good with what I was trying to do there anyway. I had better success being on my own. I helped build up a lot of small towns, gave people jobs and secure futures." He pauses as he really thinks on all of that. "Since I was running criminal operations on my own to help fund all those towns, those've probably been stopped too." He frowns now. "I wonder if everybody's okay. Maybe I should go back to my time, to find out...." He wasn't sure the law enforcement would have provided replacement jobs for everyone. "... I'd be a washed-up has-been, though.... Would I really be able to help anyone there if I did go back?" It's a troubling question.

"I pride myself in being a good judge of people, and I was right about you. It's that, what you just said, that gives me great hope for the good you might do in the future. You're wondering after the well-being of those people, even knowing the danger you might face. I believe you'd stand a good chance of rebuilding if you put your mind to it. Daunting as it may be."

Snakes ponders this, definitely surprised and even quite moved to hear such positive comments about him even after telling more about his criminal activities.

"You really think so, huh? Yeah ... I guess it wouldn't be right to go skipping off to the future without making sure they're alright first...."

Of course, he doubts he'd have any way to get to the future if he didn't simply choose to go there at first. Maybe it wouldn't be an option anyway; the only choice upon being able to leave might be to go home.

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