Rooms

[locked to adam w.]

Hey. Where are you?

[After reading through what's public.]

[Locked to Gwen S and Billy K]

Are you still in the hospital?

[Locked to Gambit]

Were you affected?

[Locked to Tony S]
[After this.] Robert might need some help. [Opening volley.]

[Locked to Bruce W]
[...] How many?

( Log: Stiles/Scott, cut for length )

Who: Preston and Saint
What: These two will never have a successful date.
Where: Passages
When: After this.
Warnings/Rating: None.

( Preston was a sensible person, the kind with a strong personality he was certain was weak, but even he couldn't separate his own identity from 1.7 billion people. )

[Locked to Pepper P (+Bruce B)]

I figured I should contact you and smooth things over let you know that I'm asking Tony and Robert Bruce for some help with a few business ventures. Advance warning, that kind of thing.

[In the common area inside the prison, a room between the door outside and the bars that lead into C-block, denoted by a small sea of circular tables ringed by benches, Shane cleaned the crossbow with a rag made from an old prison uniform. They'd discovered a stash of the orange jumpsuits about a week ago, still clean and in all kinds of sizes. They'd been appropriated in various creative ways—rags, pillow cases, curtains, some people even wore them—like Shane. He didn't give a fuck. Since he hadn't gone out today, his usual vest was nowhere to be seen, and he sat in a grease and blood covered jumpsuit with an oil lamp lit nearby.

Every day the prison was settled into more. The little group there was getting better at getting along, though it was far from ideal.

It'd been quiet enough lately that tensions had eased some, in spite of the raging apocalypse outside. It was nearing dinnertime now and people would start coming in from their various jobs, shifts, and positions, in from the waning sun and stench of skin rotting. They'd mumble and complain about fuck, more canned corn, but they'd eat it.]