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@oliver-hardman-blog
oliver-hardman:
Then I should assume you don’t have anyway of lighting one?
Nope. You can thank me later. How about a leisurely stroll instead? If it’s stress you’re trying to cure, it’s the better option.
A leisurely stroll at the end of the world? How romantic.
oliver-hardman:
Then I would suggest that you do not smoke?
Me? Smoke? And ruin me voice? As if. I wouldn’t be caught dead with a cigarette.
Then I should assume you don't have anyway of lighting one?
oliver-hardman:
I uh- I don’t suppose anyone has a lighter or something they wouldn’t mind me using?
Smoking stains your teeth and gives you terrible breath.
Then I would suggest that you do not smoke?
I uh- I don’t suppose anyone has a lighter or something they wouldn’t mind me using?
Dead On Arrival (OPEN)
Morris, NJ // Sunday, 4pm // 67 degrees // Cloudy
Daniel Novatni sat in complete and utter silence inside of the motel room. Sound was a strange concept for him since the disaster. He strained to remember the chirping of birds outside his apartment window, or the sound of grease cracking from the bacon cooking in the morning from downstairs when he was a kid. Now the only noises that surrounded him was absolute dead noise or chaos when one of those things would get passed the barriers. He spent a lot, probably more time that he should, holed up and hugging a shotgun like it was a prized possession that he didn’t want to be stolen. Which, of course, in these times, firearms really were something precious. Daniel never cared for them before, but that day adrenaline took over and he became more accepting of using them rather than having them as conversational pieces and collectors items.
He was zoning out at this point, fixated on how the wind from what he wished was the ocean breeze was blowing branches from the half dead trees. A lot of poetry could be found in the scene outside of the window, but he knew it would take one hell of an excuse to drag him out of the room. Just as his mind was forming a memory of the starry West Virginia nights of his past, a knocking startled him. The grip on the weapon tightened and he leaned up off of the mattress to look, his hands shaking.
Oliver hated this part of the job more than anything, though that wasn’t to say he actually enjoyed any part of his job. The only benefit of being the navigator was that he could spend nearly all of his time in his room away from his camp mates and whatever problems they were having that he didn’t have time to pretend to care about. That’s why he hated this part more than anything.
He had no attachments to the people he lived around. Not really. He barely remembered their names unless they were of use to him, it was like being back at the donut shop again but he outgrew those people for a reason and after all the time and energy he gave to those failures, he wasn’t prepared to do it again.
Back to the matter at hand, Oliver muttered the numbers of the rooms as he passed them, counting the wrong doors until he came to the one he wanted. He hated this, needing assistance from someone else for something that was probably stupidly simple. He told himself that he was making sure the other residents of the camp were being put to use as he knocked on the door.
He didn’t wait to hear if there was movement on the other side before he put on his most charming smile, one he’d spent years practising. He pushed the glasses up his nose as he waited for the man on the other side, easily falling into character.
Tinker Minus the Bell (open)
oliver-hardman:
Oliver watched the blue egg timer on his desk with a frown in his features and a pencil in his hand. Just as the last few grains of sand fell to join the others in the bottom half, he turned the red timer over to start its countdown and placed a line on his otherwise seemingly dull piece of paper. He counted them. Then again. A third time just to be sure he was correct and he was. Every grain of sand that fell now was time that the runner was away from camp and out of communication with him for more than their agreed time.
How was he supposed to navigate these idiots if they couldn’t follow simple instructions such as ‘keep in touch.’
He wasn’t stupid enough to yell it at these people. These was an unspoken rule of politeness between everyone in camp, much to his annoyance. He swapped the timers again when the red finished, letting the blue take over to keep it as accurate as possible before he grabbed the radio on his desk. He checked the frequency, even though he knew it was right, before he pressed in the button that would let him talk. He said nothing, knowing better than to start making noise when the runner could be in danger and instead just released and pressed it again. Then again. He hoped the crackle on the other side would be recognisable enough for the tinker to use his sense and get in contact if he could. There was only so long he would wait before going for further instruction and he hoped that he wouldn’t have to do that.
He had much better things to do with his time.
“Come on, kid. Say something.” He mumbled to the empty room.
Jamie squinted again at the figure, opening his mouth to say something else before deciding it’s best to take his chances rather than stand and wait for this to unravel in whatever way it may. Keeping tight grip on his radio, he turned in the same direction he had left camp from. Again, without his glasses he was almost totally blind. He more or less was following familiar colors and shapes. However, the clicking of his radio distracted him from focusing on getting home….or, what was now home. It occurred to him mid sprint that he hadn’t heard from camps navigator. Those distracting clips were probably him, he stopped in his tracks. Looking around to make sure the area was clear, even though he really had no idea, he took a few breaths and pressed the button to speak. “Sorry…lost my glasses.” He scratched the top of his head, always trying to maintain his heavily blurred vision on his surroundings. Left to right, Left to right, then turning around once. “I can’t make much of anything out.”
When Oliver heard the voice come over the radio there was a split moment of relief when he realised that for now, he didn’t have to go and tell the runners to organise a search party. It was the words that the voice was telling him that caused the roll of his eyes, something he seemed to do as much as he breathed.
How did he even get permission to go out? Wanderers stayed at camp for a reason.
“Glad to hear you’re not dead, kid. Can you give me something? Anything? To get you back safe? Is there a sign? A particular type of blockade around you?” As soon as he let go of the talk button he set the radio down and focused his attention on his copy of the map he’d given the newly lost campmate a copy of. Shit. He couldn’t let this kid get eaten; he’d spent a good fifteen minutes making that map and if he lost it that was fifteen minutes wasted with nothing in return.
“I’m gonna need something to work with to get you home safe. There has to be something that stands out or you at least recognise.”
Tinker Minus the Bell (open)
Jamie sat crouched low behind a rust tinged car. Murmuring the most PG rated curses under his breath as he fidgeted with his radio which he’d dropped in the midst of running from what he assumed to be a walker. His thick rimmed glasses, which always sat too loose on his face, had fallen while he was tying his shoe…Which was probably why he mistook that tree for something far more terrifying.
He held the black rectangle so close to his face you’d think it was permanently attached, and squinted his eyes as he attempted to fasten the back on properly. His hands still shook from the false encounter and he continued to drop the contraption. Both the backing and the main piece. When he finally manage to fit them together, he let out a long sigh followed by a “Shoot.” The nub that’s supposed to tuck into a crevice on the back had chipped off. It wouldn’t take very much for the back to fall off again. Jamie sat back against the car, letting out another disappointed noise before jolting forward. “Hmmm…” He squinted down at his shoe, quickly unlacing the string from one of them and tying it around his radio. An odd fix, yes, but did it work? Absolutely. He praised himself, a bit too loudly as he soon came to regret. “Darnit, Jamie. Darnit!” He scorned himself. His vision impaired, he couldn’t exactly see the figure coming towards him. But, seeing as it appeared to be getting closer and closer by the second, he knew this time that it wasn’t a tree.
Absolutely. One hundred percent, not a tree.
The figure didn’t seem to have any drag, no suspicious movements. But Jamie was still on guard. Standing up slowly, using the car to hoist himself up, he ran over in his head whether or not he should speak. “H-Hey now…I…I don’t have anything worth stealing….but I have fists of fury if you take one more step!” A bald face lie, he bit his lip. Jamie couldn’t even bring himself to step on a roach.
Oliver watched the blue egg timer on his desk with a frown in his features and a pencil in his hand. Just as the last few grains of sand fell to join the others in the bottom half, he turned the red timer over to start its countdown and placed a line on his otherwise seemingly dull piece of paper. He counted them. Then again. A third time just to be sure he was correct and he was. Every grain of sand that fell now was time that the runner was away from camp and out of communication with him for more than their agreed time.
How was he supposed to navigate these idiots if they couldn’t follow simple instructions such as ‘keep in touch.’
He wasn’t stupid enough to yell it at these people. These was an unspoken rule of politeness between everyone in camp, much to his annoyance. He swapped the timers again when the red finished, letting the blue take over to keep it as accurate as possible before he grabbed the radio on his desk. He checked the frequency, even though he knew it was right, before he pressed in the button that would let him talk. He said nothing, knowing better than to start making noise when the runner could be in danger and instead just released and pressed it again. Then again. He hoped the crackle on the other side would be recognisable enough for the tinker to use his sense and get in contact if he could. There was only so long he would wait before going for further instruction and he hoped that he wouldn’t have to do that.
He had much better things to do with his time.
“Come on, kid. Say something.” He mumbled to the empty room.
I can hardly even read a map, which is weird considering I’ve done a hell of a lot of travelling.
Well, and I’m taking a guess here, that’s probably why I’m in charge in navigation instead of you.
Whatever floats your boat I guess. Yeh man, I’ll get ‘em to you, no worries.
Yes, because my passion is mapping. How did you know?
Maybe some of the kids saw them and took them. You should check the play area.
The play-? I haven’t checked there actually. Thanks.
“No problem!” Justin promised, following Oliver’s lead through the tables. He listened to Oliver’s explanation of his job at the camp, nodding in understanding. “Oh, okay. That sounds like a tough job. I’m sure it’s appreciated. How do you get updates about which routes are safe? That has to be a lot of pressure on your shoulders, keeping everyone safe.” He acknowledged with a small smile of gratitude.
As the question was deflect back on him, Justin buried his hands beneath his sleeves to occupy his frantic hands, his anxiety flaring. “Oh um I’m just a freeloader for now. Help out a little at camp, but I’m interested in doing more hands-on work with rehabilitation, and providing support or treatment for campers with trauma. I feel like we don’t have a system in place for helping each other through this, and if we don’t focus on that we’ll end up losing our minds, as well as the physical injuries. I want to help people through that. So that’s my goal.” He explained, his voice slightly stronger than how shaky it was at the start.
Oliver listened to Justin as he spoke, fighting the urge to shrug up his shoulders. All he had to do was relay back his information and speak to people without the awkward or annoying small talk. The most of the work probably went into making sure his own maps were readable for quick relays on information and even that let him keep to himself for the majority of it. “The runners tell me of what obstacles they come across. I just make sure to remind them of that when they’re out and if they need a new way back, I can help them find it easier than scrambling around. They do the hard part.” The false modesty easily rolled off his tongue, one of his best traits.
Oliver listened to Justin, nodding his head gently when he felt it appropriate to acknowledge that he was listening, even if he was putting more attention on looking for his crayons. “You want to help people. You want to care for them in a way that we’re forgetting to care for ourselves. That’s really kind of you.” He mad sure his words were spoken with a friendly tone, a kindness in his voice whilst his head was screaming at the thought of all that patience he’d have to have.
Hopefully, I won’t be made t’quit soon. I don’t think I’d make it.
I wouldn’t like to imagine what would happen if we ran out for good.
Crayons? Nah man, I don’t see many people doodling nowadays. Who has the patience to sit down and do a colour me by number.
Apparently just me. Thanks though, if you see them just.. Hand them over, I guess?
I’ll help you look for ‘em, got nothing better to do.
That would be... helpful. I’m sure I can find something to give you in return.
Moodboard [1/?] - Killing Time RP Prompt
jonahdanielsofficial:
Alright, fair enough. Good luck - if not, Seth is sketching all the time. He could help.
That’s perfect, thank you very much.
Thanks. He’s offered me some pens but I still need to find my pencils.
You’re definitely something, either way.
