joycewatkins (joycewatkins) wrote in downfallrpg, @ 2010-02-17 09:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2015-08-25, joyce, joyce and terry, terry |
Day Four - Hell's Kitchen... without the yelling...
Who: Terry & Joyce
When: Day Four, dinnertime
Where: The Hotel Kitchen
Terry had spent most of the day trying to think through the things he'd talked to Zane about, the protection of the people living here and the safety of the hotel as a whole. For whatever reason, it seemed to him that more and more the people here were treating him differently, coming to him with things. It wasn't a bad thing, not by any means, but it was something to take into serious consideration. He wanted to be involved, and wanted their new home to be as safe as it possibly could be. If people were going to come to him, he would let them. The last thing Terry wanted was to be left out of the loop on these matters. It was important to him that he remain involved. Whether or not he wanted to, Terry realized he would never be able to shake the amount of responsibility and concern he held when it came to the safety of the group. Other human beings in general were a constant concern, and now that there were so few of them left...
After nearly driving himself mad in his room, Terry left to head down to the kitchen. He was hungry, hadn't eaten anything for most of the day, and as he descended the last staircase he wondered if there were others who were hungry but had yet to come down. Maybe a group dinner was in order... It would probably be better in the long run, anyway, if they attempted to conserve their food supply by cooking meals together. It was something to talk about, definitely.
The kitchen was dead silent as it always was, the polite humming of the refrigerator offering a reason to feel grateful. Terry knew that it wouldn't last much longer. The electricity would go out soon enough, and when it did, they would have a lot more on their hands. Food would be come twice as difficult to secure, considering the heat outside. It was probably likely that the sweltering heat meant that most grocery stores in the area would be filling up with vomit-inducing odors by now, only worsened as the days dragged onward.
Terry moved to the pantry and began digging out boxes of pasta, glancing them over to decide what he would do with all of it.
Information. It was something Joyce lacked in large quantities and something she was seriously frustrated about not having. She knew that her cell phone worked - for now - and she'd been trying to reach her family ever since she'd cleared the crashed bus. Her parents weren't answering and neither were her children. Voice mail. Just voices, asking to leave a message. Voices of people who might have died that first day, along with, apparently, a large portion of the population.
Of the planet or just the north-western United States?
She sighed, leaving message number she'd-lost-count for Stephen and Jennifer, trying to sound calm, trying to be hopeful. She was rapidly losing the ability to be either when it came to speaking with her children again. Maybe that as one reason she kept calling. Once the cell ran out of power and the towers stopped transmitting, all she would have of their final days was the memory of their mundane voice messages.
'Hi, you've reached Stephen's voice mail. If I was able to answer, I would, but I'm probably in the water right now so ha-ha, no cell phone. Flipper, can you hear me now?' (laughter) 'You know what to do...'
Beeeeep...
'Hello, you've reached the voice mail of Jennifer Watkins. I am currently unavailable to answer your call, so please leave your name, number and a brief message at the sound of the tone and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.'
Beeeeep...
Joyce left the same message for each of them.
"Hi, it's Mom. I don't know if you'll get this or not, but just so you know... I'm alive and... I love you, so very much... and if you can call or contact me somehow or get to Michigan...? Please, whatever happens, be careful and remember... even in the darkness, there's always a small slice of light. Find it. Love you..."
It was something they'd said since the kids were small. She wasn't going to stop saying it - or thinking it - now.
She glanced at her watch, which was still running - Timex takes a licking and keeps on ticking - and decided to head down to the sleek kitchen and see what food hadn't spoiled yet. Dressed simply in jeans, a T-shirt and running shoes, she left her room, locked the door and stuck her key in a back pocket. Then she descended the five flights of stairs and crossed to the kitchen, glad to hear the hum of the refrigerator. That was something.
The man called Terry, who she'd first met very early the morning before, was looking at a collection of pasta boxes as if he wasn't sure what to do with them. Poor guy. Maybe he didn't know what to do with them. Not every man, even in this liberated day and age, knew how to do much more than boil an egg. Not wanting to startle him, she leaned her six-foot-one frame against the wall just inside the door and said, "Do you like Italian?"
Startled slightly by the sudden company, Terry nearly dropped one of the boxes of pasta as he turned to see who had come in. "Oh," he let out, clutching a box in each hand, "Joyce." He blinked a few times and dropped his gaze to the pasta he'd been looking at, his mind catching up to answer her question. "I, uh... yeah. Yeah, I guess I do." He cleared his throat and shifted his weight, brow drawing inward just slightly as he collected himself. "Really though, I was just pulling out what I figured would be easiest. I was... considering making a group dinner, just to take the weight off of some people's shoulders, and because... well, I don't think I've seen everyone come down to the kitchen yet. I want to be sure everyone is actually eating." It seemed like a sound and reasonable explanation for why he had six boxes set out in front of him on the counter. "What about you?" he asked, "Do you like Italian?" Terry smirked just slightly, watching her out of the corner of his eyes as he set what was in his hands down onto the counter.
She pressed her lips together briefly before offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." Joyce moved further into the room, but not so close as to crowd Terry. She thought he might be even shorter than Charles, just by an inch or so. Her luck she was the Last Amazon or something. "Caring about the group like that is sweet, Terry, and putting a meal together is a good idea. Very... 'proactive', I think, is the word."
Her smile widened. "And I love Italian." She turned so she was facing him better and leaned against the counter. "You cook?"
Terry smiled at Joyce's compliment, but didn't comment on it. He didn't really feel the need. Instead, he leaned against the counter, both palms on the metal as he considered the rest of what she said. "Someone needs to be," he told her. "Proactive, I mean. It's... not going to help anyone if we're all just hiding in our rooms. I'm going up on the roof after dinner is over to hang up a sign I made, too. It'll hopefully let others know there are survivors in here." He glanced between Joyce and the boxes of pasta, shifting to gather five of them in his arms to carry them to where the stove-top was.
"Yeah, I cook. A little." Terry smirked, pushing his hair out of his face on habit before setting about trying to find a pot. "I had to feed myself for a lot of years, so... a man picks up some of that when he has to."
Joyce nodded as he spoke and one eyebrow rose at the smirk and admission. "It's okay, you know. That you can cook. Everyone should know how to boil an egg. 'A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.' Or... something like that. I'm paraphrasing." She watched as he carried all the boxes to the stove. When he started to rummage through the pots, she bent over beside him and spotted a large one that would likely do. Retrieving it and a lid that fit, she set it in one of the large sinks.
"And someone has to, sure. You want some help being proactive?" She turned on the tap, idly wondering when that was going to stop functioning, too, and added with a smile, "So, you cook and you make signs. What did you do before the Apocalypse snagged you?"
Terry grinned as she talked, liking her sense of humor. It was nice meeting those that seemed to have salvaged them, even through all of this. "I would love help," he told her, standing back up to start opening the boxes in preparation. He watched her fill the pot, glad to have company for the time being. "I was a professor at Wayne State. English." He moved to gather a utensil to stir with, bringing it back to set it on the counter near the stove. "Creative writing, specifically. Advanced classes. I also taught piano in my spare time." Terry shrugged, having almost neglected to mention the last bit. It was always embarrassing for some reason. Inevitably, people asked to hear him play... and though he had written his own music since his youth, it was never any easier to share it with others. "What about you, Joyce?"
"Great. We'll have a brain jam session later." The pot was taking a while to fill, which wasn't too surprising. It was big, after all. "Could you set the big back burner on high, please? God, you could boil lobsters in this thing..."
Joyce smiled, It was nice to have some 'normal' conversation. Helping Charles find toilet paper the day before had been 'normal', too, she supposed. Mundane. This was a little more interesting, though. Terry wasn't nearly as nervous as Charles had been. Joyce hadn't really seen Alan or Juan since they'd reached the hotel or Paige or Amberlee since the bar. Still, they were here and 'here' seemed safe - for now.
"A professor? Admirable. Sharing wisdom with the future." She paused at that and sighed. The future. God... "I was a Tai Chi instructor, believe it or not, but that was the most recent gig, as it were..." The pot was finally ready. She turned off the tap and lifted it onto the back burner. It was heavy, but she was a strong woman.
Terry snorted softly and turned on the back burner, not even hesitating after the request. He was starting to feel hungry after all, and the faster they made dinner, the faster he could finish what he needed before attempting to sleep. It seemed like such a distant and foreign concept, just passing out in bed for eight to ten hours. God, what he would give for a decent night's sleep.
"Eh," Terry answered, smiling a little despite himself. He wouldn't call himself admirable, necessarily, but he appreciated it. "It was a good job. Nothing like what teaching Tai Chi was like, I'm sure. That must have been a good time." Terry took a step back when Joyce heaved the pot onto the stove, watching as a small amount of water sloshed over the side. He turned to head to the pantry, opening it up to dig through it for tomato sauce. "Maybe you can teach me... you know, when we get a minute for stuff like that." There was a pleasant look on his face, despite the dark circles under his eyes.
"As with any teacher-student relationship, it was a good time if they were paying attention and not trying to text people during class..." She grabbed a towel and wiped the slight spill of water. "Creative writing. I liked that part of English class in high school. It was a wonderful form of expressing yourself. A shame the teacher wasn't the most inspirational." Joyce shrugged and watched him root around in the cupboard for a bit. He looked at her when he spoke about Tai Chi, though. It was good to see an almost-smile there. "If you want to learn, I'll gladly teach you. We'll make the time. Mom wanted me to take piano and I did, for a bit, but found scales to be boring. I was much more into sports. I wouldn't mind a refresher, if you wouldn't mind a student." She held up one hand for inspection. "They match the rest of me. Long fingers, broad hands, good reach."
It was then that Joyce realized he was holding a tin of tomato sauce. "Ah. Perfect. What else have they got in there? I noticed an automatic can opener over on the wall to your right earlier..." She opened a drawer at random, looking for a wooden spoon.
Terry liked Joyce's sense of humor. She was one of the only people in the hotel so far that he'd found a lot of common ground with, considering she was older, had been through more than half of the others. They were both teachers, too, which helped rather than hurt. He laughed a little at the joke, knowing very well what she was talking about. "Texting was always an ongoing difficulty for me. Some of the students just... didn't want to be there, and there's no amount of lecturing that can change that." Not that Terry had ever done a lot of one-on-one lecturing in his life. "I think we could probably work something out," he told her, taking the can of tomato sauce to the can-opener on the other end of the kitchen. "Seeing as we're going to have a lot of spare time on our hands." After they were finished securing the building, that was. He wasn't looking forward to tomorrow morning, his trip with Zane to the Wayne State medical center somewhat hanging over his head.
Still looking for a spoon, but not rushing about it - the water, even with a lid, would take a while to boil - Joyce said, "If they don't want to be there, that certainly makes it harder. Though really, why take 'Creative Writing' if they don't want to be there? Texting doesn't count as - Ah-Ha!" She held up a wooden spoon triumphantly. "We has spoon! We can has pasta now..." Just the thought of having time to do things made her feel guilty. She tried not to let it overwhelm her.
Breathe, Joyce, breathe...
"'Spare time' is like 'military intelligence', Terry. Those words just don't go together. I've had a busy life and what you did with your time was crucial. If it's important enough, you find the time..." Don't make it sound like your life is over, Joyce... "Can opener. Manual can opener." She waved briefly at the automatic one with the spoon then distracted herself by opening some more drawers. "Power won't last forever..."
Terry couldn't help but laugh softly to himself, listening to Joyce as she went on and on. It was refreshing, having someone like her around to talk to. She seemed so confident. "I got ya," he said, holding up a hand to signal that he understood her meaning. She didn't need to lecture him on making time for things. Lord knew he'd already figured most of that out on his own over the last few days. He headed to the automatic can opener despite what she said, bringing the can up to it with a quirked eyebrow. "Aaand here we go." He flipped the switch on it and watched as it did its job. "We're lucky to still have power at all. I'm assuming it won't hold up much longer." He sighed, blinking before turning to Joyce as a thought crossed his mind. "We need candles. For when we don't have lights at night anymore."
"No," she murmured, looking halfheartedly for the manual can opener, but thinking about so many things. Her parents, her children, her friends, her future. Anyone's future. How long were those creatures going to be able to survive? How desperate will they become to find the living and have a snack? Were they sufficiently aware and able to plan, and therefore be capable of organizing a group attack?
"No, the power won't last. You can be pretty sure of that." Terry was keeping a nice, level head about all this. It was always a positive thing to not have someone so freaked out that they couldn't function in a crisis. It happened. Everyone was different. Terry was helping to keep her calm, whether he knew it or not. "We need candles and we should raid the hardware stores for barbecues and propane cylinders, for cooking..."
Joyce paused and held up a manual can opener. She just stared at it. "Well, look at that," she whispered. "I found one..."
Terry picked up the opened can of tomato sauce and looked to Joyce as she trailed off. He'd been about to respond to her suggestion of looking through hardware stores wen he noticed just how strangely she'd informed him that she'd found a manual can opener. He shifted his weight slightly, brow knitted closer than before and he returned to the stove-top to set the tomato sauce down. "Good," he said, nodding in distant approval. He could sense her stress, even though she was doing her best to act as though it didn't exist. Wondering what life she'd left behind, Terry felt suddenly, painfully bad for her, his chest tensing as he watched her. "We will have to look for barbecues and propane... that's a good idea. It might be... might be tricky getting it back here, but... we'll do what we have to in order to survive."
Survival was the theme of everything now. It was like she said earlier about making time for other things. A lot of their time now would be spent thinking of ways to improve what they were stuck with and to figure out ways around their disadvantages.
"Are you alright?" he asked her finally, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep with himself - insomnia or not - if he didn't.
She heard his voice and nodded faintly as he said something about barbecues and propane, agreeing with her, she thought. That was a good sign, wasn't it? That someone else thought it was a positive step to getting through to the next day-week-month-year. It meant her brain was still functioning at a decent level.
Barbecue. Line up the family and get the hot dogs going. Wait an hour after eating before you go for a swim. Make sure you're wearing sunblock. Jennifer, leave your brother alone. He likes the water, and your hair looks fine, dear. Stephen, stop teasing your sister. Where the hell is your father?
Then Terry asked a question. Joyce continued to stare at the can opener, as if the answers to all her problems would somehow be revealed by the item.
Can opener. Alphagetti, chili, soup, dog food, baked beans, peaches -
"No," she said softly. She wasn't going to lie. Not when asked directly. "No, I'm not really... alright. I don't know if I'll ever be 'alright' again." She cleared her throat and put the can opener onto the counter. "Is one can of sauce going to be enough?"
Terry held onto the can in his hands, shifting his weight awkwardly as he moved from one foot to the other. He really didn't know what to say in this sort of situation, and settled on taking in a deep breath and stepping forward to the counter. He set the can of tomato sauce down and left it there, looking up into her face as she asked him a question in turn. "I... I don't know. Probably not. I can get another."
He left the counter to head back to the pantry, intending on gathering another couple of cans. Joyce was right, he was sure. He felt a miserable pain in his chest, his stomach turning as his emotions got the better of him. It was hard watching others suffer like this and being so unable to help them. It wasn't something he was comfortable with, or thought that he would ever really get used to.
When Terry returned with the new cans, he put them beside the opened one and reached for the boxes of pasta, opening them up to dump them into the semi-boiling water. "All we can really do is try our best for each other," he told her, not looking at her directly.
There was an awkward pause and Joyce wondered what had possessed her to be so open with Terry when she'd managed to contain how she was feeling well enough - she hoped - with everyone else? Even Juan...
Terry filled the silence with idle words about more sauce and she could hear him searching for cans as he spoke. She stayed at the counter, stared at the manual can opener and took a few breaths. Cooking. Cooking was like breathing. She could do this. Yes. Yes, she could. Just fine.
Two more cans appeared. Terry started opening boxes, but the water hadn't completely boiled yet. "Just... don't put those in the water yet. And how do you like your pasta? I... I like mine with a bit of tooth to it still." Joyce picked up the two unopened cans and glanced at the manual can opener. Not yet. She crossed to the automatic one and set the first can in place. "And we'll do that. Look out for each other, that is, as best we can. Not everyone wants help or... knows how to accept it." She sighed, removed the open can and set the next one in it's place.
Hesitating before dropping the pasta into the water, Terry blinked at it curiously. He'd always done it this way, and he'd lived until now just fine. He shrugged, though, assuming she had to know what she was talking about. He wasn't exactly a master chef, anyway. "Yeah, I like my noodles a little more hard than soft for sure." He watched her as she moved to the can opener, feeling bad for not knowing exactly what to say. He wanted to help her, badly.
"Eventually everyone is going to have to accept it. We'll just... have to be there for them when that time comes. And... there are people... that will need our guidance. You know, just..." Terry glanced to the side, thinking over what he wanted to say. "People that aren't going to necessarily throw their weight into the survival effort," he settled on. "Those people are going to need that extra push to get them going. We can't afford to not have everyone behind us."
She noticed his hesitation and sighed. "Sorry, I just... I'm used to waiting until the water has really boiled before I put my pasta in. I don't want to be anal about it, though. My kids like it that way..." Joyce pinched the bridge of her nose with the finger and thumb of one hand and just... breathed. The second can finished rotating and stopped with a click. She didn't move. "Guidance. Yeah, some people won't... take well to the end of the world or to someone trying to help them deal with it. As for this 'us'?"
Joyce let her hand drop then and she looked directly at Terry.
"Who is 'us', Terry? Is there some sort of council at the hotel that I don't know about yet? I mean, I can see that you've put yourself into a position where you're available for advice and guidance, already. You're a brave man, to be doing that, and I admire you. Tell me you aren't alone..."
Terry took in a deep breath, more than sure where the conversation was going before it had really even gone that far. "'Us' as in... the survivors in the hotel, I guess. Those of us that are doing their best for the rest of the group. Those of us who want to see us all do well. I don't know..." He reached up, scratching along the back of his neck underneath his hair. "For the moment, I'm just doing this because it's what comes natural to me, I suppose. I couldn't just... sit back and not do anything. If I can help someone, then I've done my job."
A natural leader. Could they have been any more fortunate to have him in the group? And him, willing to put his best foot forward like that? Joyce bet some of them wouldn't appreciate his efforts.
She nodded. "Those sound like familiar reasons, Terry. I want to help, too, but I'm not a leader." The water was coming to a boil now and she picked up one of the boxes. "I'm a mother. Can't stop being who I am. I've never used a shotgun before, did you know that? Juan gave it to me. Crazy kid. Trusting me with a gun. At least I didn't... send him to his room or something..."
Laughing at the joke about the shotgun, Terry shook his head and turned to lean against the counter, folding his arms over his chest as he watched her. "That would have been awkward," he agreed, nodding. "If you want, I can show you how to use a handgun at least. I'm not good with much else, but that... I've got that." He had his gun up in his room, left there for the day, as he figured he didn't need it for just milling about the hotel. The comment about being a leader lingered in the back of his mind, coming up over and over. He had never seen himself as a leader in the past. It was difficult to really come to terms with. Maybe it had just taken the right circumstances to bring it out...?
He laughed. Well, that was good. "Sending him to his room? Yeah, it would have been awkward and ignored. Juan is a bright spark and a teleporter, apparently. He'd take himself off, maybe, but to where he wanted to go." She was pleased that Juan seemed to know how to handle himself - as far as it went, anyway. He was a survivor. Still very young, but...
Joyce raised one eyebrow at the gun scenario. It meant two things: the obvious, he knew how to use a handgun, and the implication - that he probably had one.
"Why wasn't my creative writing teacher as interesting as you?" she asked with a small smirk and started to empty the boxes of pasta into the water. She wasn't bothered by guns. The owners of guns were more of a problem.
"Oh?" Terry questioned, curious about this teleportation thing. He'd seen Juan do it, but wasn't sure what it was all about, and hadn't bothered to find out. "I saw him... when I found you guys, but... is he good at it, then?" Unable to help himself, Terry wondered if there was some sort of hidden ability inside himself, waiting to be discovered. Maybe he'd been given nothing, and that his survival was a gift on its own. He couldn't help but feel a small bit of something very much like jealousy though, wishing for something that would stir interest in others. Being a creative mind himself, it was difficult thinking he had perhaps been given nothing. Surely he would have found out by now...?
"I don't know why he wasn't as interesting..." Terry smirked, watching as she dumped the noodles into the pot. "Because he wasn't me?" He laughed, obviously not genuinely full of himself. "I don't know... it's not something everyone learns. It isn't exactly a common skill. I just happened to be familiar with guns because of my dad." Terry shrugged, waving a dismissive hand. "But seriously, I'll show you sometime. It'd be good to know in case you need to know at some point."
She finished with the third box, reached for the wooden spoon and pushed the pasta - spaghetti - down so it all sank into the water. Then she reached for another box.
"I'm assuming we aren't going to eat all this by ourselves...? And yes, he seems good at it, though it seems to exhaust him and he needs to rest... and eat. It's interesting. Almost everyone I've met so far has... changed somehow. If I've changed, I don't know about it. I don't feel any different. Have you noticed anything about yourself?" Terry hadn't mentioned anything, but maybe it just hadn't entered the conversation yet.
Joyce chuckled at his response. "Oh, he wasn't you, that's for sure. You're cuter and you know how to cook. Important stuff, Terry. And thanks. I think I'll take you up on the lessons, though I hope I never have to use them." She still had the shotgun and ammo, though. "So... piano and small firearms. All I've got for trade so far is Tai Chi. Hmmm... I know how to decorate..." That last part was true, but said in jest. She doubted decorating was high on anyone's list of 'Things to Do'.
Terry shook his head at her inquiry about whether or not they'd be feasting on the spaghetti on their own. "No," he answered, smiling as he continued with, "I imagined we'd go and let everyone know there's dinner down here. That way they can come and feed themselves as they please." He shrugged, shaking his head when she asked if he felt any different. He couldn't recall anything unusual, aside from - "Unless you count my inability to sleep lately as a superpower, then probably not. Sad to say, I don't think I've acquired anything extraordinary in all of this. Funny how it works... evolution, I mean." Maybe something would pop up later on down the road...
And then the comment came about him being 'cute', and he started to laugh. Unable to help himself, Terry laughed through most of what she had to say, shaking his head about the trading, and how lopsided it was. "Don't worry about it," he told her, shoulders shaking as he tried to silence himself. "Decorating is a handy skill. You should show me what that's all about someday, and we'll call it even. Sound good?"
"Good idea. That or is there a triangle we can ring?" She was kidding again, as she was pretty certain the hotel wasn't set up with something used by ranchers to call in the hands for meals. "I don't think insomnia is a 'super power', no, though it's completely understandable, given the situation."
Stirring the pasta, she paused in speaking and raised an eyebrow at his laughter. "And what is so damn funny?" Joyce grinned. "Decorating is the last skill you need right now, Terry. Trust me. Okay, we'll be ready soon..."
Terry shook his head, waving off the comment about insomnia being a superpower. Hopefully, if something did happen to come out, it'd be far better than not being able to sleep right. "Okay then," he said, glancing around the kitchen a moment as though considering it. "I suppose I'll go start letting people know while you finish here? And maybe..." Terry began to back up, headed toward the door, "if this goes over well, we could make this a ritual. Making dinner could be good for all of us... bonding, eating right, all that."
He gave her a sweet smile and then turned away fully, picking up the speed to go and alert everyone he could find about the waiting dinner.