RP: Just a ‘Hi’ and a Gift!
Roan has welcome-packets to hand out to all new people in the camp. Matis, being a native Fairco-nian, is unable to resist.
Starring: Roan, Matis Phelan and Breather-Wards.
Warnings: None.
There are no more distractions, no more people; not with jangling bionics nor with charming leopard print. There is only Roan amidst a sea of scattered boxes. There is a stack of finished packages set behind the counter, neatly folded and upon it, with the help of a stencil and some white spray paint, a happy message of 'Welcome'.
Roan's idea, the memory of cold nights accompanied by the silence of darkness and silent roar of an empty stomach enough reason to ensure nobody else would live through the same if she could help it. Perhaps a waste of resources to some, but to her it might show as a sign of gratitude and welcome, perhaps enthralling others to join… Perhaps just-… her way of making this world slightly better.
She puts the torch in the last box, four times 1-0… For now it should be enough to give to the people outside. Her hand rummages through it, accounting for everything she had set out to put in there;
A blanket of thick material — industrial and layered with a fine sheet of plastic on one side for multiple uses, a torch — small, weak but self-sustaining with a crank on its side.
A portion of field-rations — high-calorie bread made with protein powder, pork fat, nuts, and honey, salvaged with just a few spices and herbs, enough to just cut through the gritty, salty taste of the fat but certainly an acquired taste. Along with a re-usable metal tin of water.
The last item: a container with ointment, an off-white in colour, and it's only explanation — a small scribble of felt-tip pen, hastily scrawled: 'for pain//AB-AS'. She'd caught snippets of Rocksalt's little explanation, something about an ointment, antiseptic and pain-relieving because of morphine something or other. Not medication, merely preparation.
Her hands have long since memorised the practise of folding the box and within a second the cardboard slab reaches under and over the rest, sealing it. The last one, she puts it with the others before dragging the chalkboard outside and standing it next to the hairy, plastic elephant. Although heavy and loaded with sand for stabilising she sets it down without much effort. She goes back inside, cleaning what few stray-boxes are obstructing the knick-knacks and wares on display.
For newcomers to the Settlement:
Free welcoming packet upon saying 'hi'.
Ask inside.
It was a bi-yearly tradition for Matis to place his backpack on the slightly worn head of the plastic, decorative elephant outside the sewn together tent as he rummages around to find a new, full canister of oxygen. Even the very faint drizzling rain appears right on time for their arrival.
He hears a faint hiss when he unscrews the empty canister and a soft ‘click’ when attaching the new one to the nozzle. Leaning against the elephant; his eyes rest upon the chalkboard sign next to him as he takes his time to catch his breath. His men wait and continue to do so until Matis pockets his oxygen and shoulders his rifle. Their reticence to speak is their greatest talent, most of the time.
With a small limp in his step, Matis enters the tent the same way he does every other previous time he visited: Like an injured, wary wolf with its upper lip every so slightly curled into a sneer. His men follow soon after.
Roan recognises him instantly, that shrewd and sharp face with parchment-like skin stretched so taut over it it might crack open any moment. His is a ghastly face; pale, defined and aged. His is the face she imagines when there is talk of ghouls and Drowners.
But she knows better than to judge by looks alone. She knows Matis, one of the first outsiders to have arrived in Blue Light after the message went out. She believes him to be kind, a bit of a windbag but kind. She pities Matis and his men as she already stretches her arm sideways, dragging a box with prepackaged waffles her way. Dry, as good as tasteless, but at least filling and likely holding more nutritional value than whatever paste they smashed through those raspy-sounding faceplates.
[Roan] Matis! You made it back again! I was kind of afraid you-…
The young woman trails off, a look of concerned horror replaced with an innocent, if slightly guilty, smile.
[Roan] How are you? You've lost weight again, haven't you?
How odd it can be to hear ones own name spoken with such friendly glee. And how odd it is to hear his name being spoken in the first place… By now, he knows it is almost futile to teach anyone with Dreglanders’ muddied blood running through their veins, to address him the way they should. Yet still he insists. After all, if even a Mother-forsaken Unward can be taught new tricks, Roan will eventually learn as well.
[Matis] ‘Lieutenant’.
The Breathers eye the box she drags closer with hunger. All but N_H know what’s inside. The young woman’s polite questions go unanswered.
[Matis] I am not here for small-talk, girl. Now unless you are guilty of false-advertising… we will take our ‘welcoming packages’.
[Roan] I mean each time you leave here and I'm thinking: 'He'll look better next time. He can't lose anymore, can he?' But by the Benign you get here and it's… It's kind of infuriating… I try my best but your boss-lord-whatever… He's just forgets to feed you. Maybe stick your nose in his face? Works for Waffles.
She babbles carelessly; sweet, delighted but painfully unhindered by certain social stigma. It isn't long before she notices the curious and timid faces of the Breathers peeking up behind Matis. The box is pushed forwards and a friendly nod is given for them to take what they want.
[Roan] Go on, no need to be afraid. They’re fine!
She speaks with a light voice, delicately pronounced as if speaking to a small animal or child despite her likely being the youngest in the entire tent. Her gaze returns to Matis. Her innocent smile breaks open to a wide almost sinister smirk. Perhaps Jangles might have rubbed off on her more than she'd realised.
[Roan] You didn't say 'hi', Matis, dear. Besides that's kind of the reason behind it! Get to know people, friendly talk! Being nice. All that good stuff!
The Breathers linger behind Matis; like sheep behind their shepherd. They will go as far he can see from the corners of his eyes but not a single step beyond that point. Her invitation falls on deaf ears. The younger ones of the small group briefly glance towards Matis but hold their position.
It’s quiet in the tent as Matis assesses both Roan and the boxes she offers. He places one hand on the nearest Welcome Package and slides it closer to him over the counter. She’s right… The one condition to receive a free gift such as this one was indeed listed on the chalkboard outside. And Matis is, of all things, a man who likes to play by the rules.
[Matis] Alright. If you must know, girl; Our dietary requirements are met and maintained. Indulging is an affront to Mother. A sin that weighs... B_W…-
He lifts the box in both hand and passes it to the Breather closest to him.
[Matis] - ...about…-?
The box is opened and the Breather inspects the food-rations inside.
[B_W] -…about one and a half pounds, sir.
The box now remains with the Breather.
[Matis] About one and a half pounds.
His dark, half-hooded stare remains on Roan but is only broken briefly as he glances towards the rest of his men. With a nod of his head he allows them to come forward and take a box for themselves.
[Matis] And you will gain an important life’s lesson: If you would like to continue to talk to me, girl, you will refer to me as ‘Lieutenant’ or ‘Sir’. This is your final warning before your actions will be classified as acts of non-compliance and hostility against the written trade treaty with FAIR-CO. Am I clear?
There is a knife-like sharpness to all interactions with Matis… No, a better comparison would be a fire… in the rain. Difficult to get going but once it's started it might temporarily be comfortable but too close and you get burned. The sputtering fire coughs once, twice and seconds later Roan blisters her fingers due to carelessness.
She fidgets on her feet for a few seconds, knocked off-balance by the sudden wall erected between them. Her brow creases in confusion and worry. Defensively she takes the box of waffles, the stack of welcoming packets forgotten. She takes out one packet of waffles and slides it over to B_W, another one is slid to the position of a Breather near him and continues until every one of them has one in front of them. Her fingers remain on the packet in front of Matis, shy eyes slowly gazing up to look him in the eyes.
The Breathers take what’s now theirs; leaving their waffles and packets untouched as they put it all in their backpacks. They begin to groan under the weight and fatigue. Matis’ face turns the other direction as Roan’s eyes focus on him. Head down; a shadow over his eyes now.
[Roan] I-… I didn't do anything you just said. I'm not trying to insult you. I'm being nice… Far nicer than Jangles ever is with you. I wanna—…
She sighs in defeat, her brain racing to catch up with the scenario she somehow ended up in.
[Roan] I wanna see you happy, Mister Felon, sir. I wanna see everyone happy. Beeyuuw, Eyecks, Ahetch… Just everyone. 'Sirs' and 'Lew tennants' will only distance that.
Matis reaches for his oxygen mask, inhaling several times while Roan talks. His strength is spread thin and the cold rain and aching joints have worn him down to the bone. Some distance is exactly what he needs right now. And speaking of ‘distance’...
[Matis] Tell Jangles -…hgnn…- We will set up camp near the border. Same rules apply.
There is only a solemn nod at his words, a weak 'Will do.' before her eyes dart from one miserable, starved soul to the other. Her eyes stay fixed upon B_W, she stares at them, the side of her mouth twitches.
Her hand returns to the box, the package crinkles in her hands before she slaps another packet on top of the one she just gave Matis. The sadness doesn't stick to her face. A cracked expression immediately broken by sheer happiness and the unmistakable grin of success.
[Roan] But it's helping, innit? My waffles are putting some meat on your bones, finally!