karen sharpe (boltcutter) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2015-10-06 18:16:00 |
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What better time than a strange circumstance to step out of one's comfort zone? It wasn't even all that much of a step to take, really. It wasn't as though Nina and Karen weren't friends. They'd just always had Cal to serve as a buffer between the two of them, him and his extraverted nature that always seemed to help the two women feel more at ease. Now, though, with him in quarantine -- and it'd started even before that, really, once he'd been put on cow duty -- the two of them had seen more of each other one-on-one than before. Nina couldn't decide which one of those things, the quarantine or the cows, better qualified this circumstance as 'strange.' She couldn't help but feel a bit nervous, even though this evening's get-together had been pre-arranged by them both and Nina sorely needed a normal, calm evening. She focused on this latter fact as she knocked on the door to Karen's apartment. "I found pasta," she said cheerfully once the door opened. “Well then, you come right in,” Karen said, opening the door wide so the other woman could enter the room. As unusual as it might’ve felt to her to have Cal missing from this social equation, the breath she took was one of relief. Nina’s presence and offer of companionship was nothing, she suspected to herself, if not a right blessing. Behind Karen, the apartment (a reconstructed office space like so many others had) was meticulously clean. Bed made, books organized, a repurposed conference table free of clutter and waiting to be of use. She hadn’t been idle in the meantime -- that worry for her friend gnawed at her, though she tried diligently to keep her faith. Shadows lingered, and she wasn’t keen on naming them. “Go ahead and make yourself at home,” she gestured toward the table and chairs. “Reckon it’s a pity there’s no salad, but I did find a bottle of something sufficient.” "Now that sounds promising." Nina did as she'd been told, setting the bowl of pasta, dressed simply with olive oil and some canned, minced garlic, on the table. She'd left her accidental roommate to her own devices in her own apartment, wanting to give the woman -- still a near-stranger to her -- some space. Once the pasta'd been served onto two plates, she added, "I hope one day we'll manage to start growing vegetables." It behooved them all, really, to invest some time into it. Surely humanity couldn't get by on just canned foods for much longer? “Easier than managing a rowdy group of cattle, I’d wager,” Karen agreed jokingly. An attempt at being in right and good spirits, though tempered the gesture was by the inherent weight of certain recent events. But she was not nearly the sort to wear her feelings on her sleeve -- politely she pulled out a chair for the other woman to sit. However new and uncertain the situation was, just the two instead of three companions, Karen was resolute in her attempt at seeing it through. As she was with most things, she appeared just as set in her goals that evening, the weight of the challenge settling on strong shoulders. “A welcome idea I reckon, if we might be able to manage the resources needed.” She poured two glasses of her personal bounty of wine (something that had been threatening to collect dust up on a shelf until now) before attempting to sit down, make herself more comfortable. “Thank you for your company tonight, I hope you understand it’s well appreciated,” she said thoughtfully. “You been doing alright?” "Believe me, it's mutual." Nina sipped at her wine, grasping gratefully to a tiny bit of normalcy -- luxury, even -- in their new way of life. This, too, would run out sooner rather than later. She had to hope the Mayor was planning for some sort of long-term survival plan. Two years felt like an eternity, in certain ways, but the future presented a daunting picture. She shook her head, the ghost of a wry smile on her face. "I've had better days. I know beggars can't be choosers and all, considering the way things are now, but September's been a mess and it hasn't even really gotten started yet. I never thought we'd have to make do " Nina opted to skip the details, unsure how much her friend really wanted to know or where her comfort level was with this level of sharing. Cal, though, if he had been present, would've asked. "How've you been, Karen?" “Keeping busy, doing what I can,” Karen said, taking up a fork and prodding at the offered up pasta. Current troubles could easily be inferred between the two, of course, but the full scope of her concern over it was something she was perhaps hesitant to broach -- even to herself. “Looking real forward to this quarantine stint of Cal’s to be over and done, I suppose.” She gave a shrug that belied her concern. Too many lives lost already in the Department of Resources lately, one more seemed to be one too many friends gone. Loathe to appear to be brooding over it, however, she raised her head. “Though I am sure you might imagine. You been having a rough go, anything I can do? All ears here, at the least.” "You and me both." Nina still considered, sometimes, the rare possibility that the Ghoul who'd bitten him had recently been bitten and just hadn't turned yet, harboring the virus without any outward signs. But all logic pointed towards Cal walking out of La Quinta without any issues on the 7th. She twirled pasta around her fork, wondering what it must be like to have to work without your partner. Law was such a solitary pursuit in comparison. "Just regular wear and tear, I suppose. Loose ends to tie up in the Department from Wolfe's death last month, got a friend staying with me while we wait for the APD to catch the Scout Killer… There ain't ever a boring day here in Austin, these days." Karen leaned forward on the table slightly, the talk of last month’s grim happenings leaving a sour taste in the back of her throat. Her hand moved from the fork and instead took up the glass, swirling the wine in a slow and thoughtful manner. “Hard times those were, for everyone,” she nodded, “harder still to let all those worries fall away just so.” She took a drink, hoping for a hint of solace in the action. “We’ve seen our share and more,” Karen conceded, giving Nina a compassionate look. “I sympathize with your troubles and that of your friend. Here’s hoping for something a little brighter on the horizon.” Glass upraised for a toast, the gesture was small if earnest. Nina clinked their glasses together gently, a hint of a smile evident on her face. She'd not come to Karen's to pour her troubles out in detail; rather, she'd sought a moment's respite from them, some commiseration from someone who knew what it was like to fight and fail, to try again. "Here's to speedy recoveries and quick resolutions to at least a few of the problems we've both been seeing, lately," she said, then added: "Shall we dig in?" |