Trip Ryker (silvertongued) wrote in the_dome, @ 2013-04-10 23:04:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | 03-24-2017, december, december and mannix, mannix |
Unexpected Responses
Who: Mannix and December
Where: December’s House
When: Late afternoon
Warnings: Language
Mannix was ready to get out of Delphi. He might have even considered leaving early. Having his brother go temporarily blind was enough to put him on edge, and he’d completely lost track of time. Before he knew it, it’d been night, and then he couldn’t drop by December’s place for the tattoo, assuming she’d already gone into work. So they stayed another day, as they’d intended to do, and things calmed down a little. With their loot under lock and key, Mannix headed out to find December, eventually landing on her front doorstep. He knocked, then slid his hands into his pockets as he waited.
Heading over to open the door, December eyed Mannix. "You're late. Like, an entire day." she told him, turning around to head back into her place. She had the front room set up for tattoos as well as lounging herself. It wasn't like she really needed a proper parlor for giving people ink. It was a much more relaxed atmosphere in her place, if maybe a little weird. "Good thing I'm not busy."
“I know,” he said, giving her his best lopsided smile of apology. “My brother went blind. Things got crazy. I’d bring you ink as an apology, but you’ve already got it all.” And they’d struck a deal, which meant he shouldn’t have to pay, but he should still be considerate of her time. He followed her inside, shutting the door behind him. It was odd to be standing in someone’s living room, more because he hadn’t done that in years than the fact that he was there for a tattoo. “I guess I lucked out.”
December was actually glad for the distraction. "I heard there was a bunch of blindness going around. Temporary, though. I'm guessing it was temporary with your brother?" she asked, going to get her design. She held it out for him, so he could approve or not.
“Luckily, yes,” he answered. He couldn’t imagine what Jack might have done if it was permanent. The whole thing left him feeling paranoid. He didn’t like being in the dome, knowing that there was a roof over his head that just looked like the sky. There was something wrong with it all. He took the image from her and grinned. “That’s awesome. I love it,” he said, then handed it back. “I met your friend Mickey, by the way. He must have seen it while you were working on it.”
"Oh?" she asked. "Yeah, he saw the sketch." she pointed to the chair. "If you're good to go, I am." she said. She walked over to the cabinets set up next to the tattooing chair, getting rubber gloves on and starting to set up the ink itself.
“Yeah, sure,” Mannix said, walking over to the chair and taking a seat. As he rolled up his sleeve, he took in his surroundings, silently amused by the tattoo chair set up in the living room. It was casual, but it worked, especially since it probably wasn’t a huge business. “How’d you come by the chair?”
"Killed a guy and stole it." December said. "...though for clarity's sake, the guy tried to kill me first, with his icky undead cannibalistic charm." she added. It had been really shortly before she and Mickey had been accepted into the dome. She'd gotten to take it in when she got there, because it was a business venture. She set some music playing. "Tell me if you want me to change it." she added, before pulling up her own chair. She carefully traced out the sketch onto the tracing paper, before rubbing a stick of gel deodorant onto Mannix' arm. Then she pressed the design sheet to the skin, and carefully removed it, leaving the traced image there for her to follow.
“A good kill, then,” Mannix grinned. “I’d say he probably wasn’t using it.” Zombies showed up in the weirdest places outside the dome-- tattoo parlors, airports, grocery stores-- but it was all due to where they’d been when they died. He’d never considered dragging a chair into the dome, and he doubted many others had either, so it was a good thing she brought it with her. “No, it’s cool,” he said, fine with the music and watching her set up. This was the easy part.
"Yeah, zombies? Not big on ink." December deadpanned. "They don't have the coordination for it." She got everything ready, then glanced up to him. "You good to go?" she asked. She always did. Most people, especially if they'd gotten tattoos before didn't need a big warning or anything, but it helped to give one in any event.
“I’m good,” Mannix said, appreciating the warning. He could handle the pain, but he didn’t exactly enjoy it, so it was good to know when to prepare for it. “How did you get into tattooing?” he asked, half because he was curious and half because it was a distraction.
December concentrated on her work, taking it seriously, but she was capable of mutlitasking. And while she usually wasn't all that open, she didn't mind answering that question. "I like ink myself." she said. "I like the expression of it. And, like anything, there's positives and negatives, and all that. I had a little talent with design, and when I was in highschool, someone asked if they could get one of the doodles I did on the back of one of my notebooks as a tattoo. I said sure, and went with to see the process and everything. It was a natural slide into it from there. When I needed money to put myself through school, that was a great way to do it."
Mannix listened, focusing on the sound of her voice rather than the feel of the tattoo gun. He wondered what it would have been like to pick up a profession and run with it, seeing as how his was pretty much set in stone his whole life. Even if he’d had the opportunity, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. It seemed dangerous to dream about impossibilities back then. “I like the expression of it myself,” he said. “There’s so little that we can take with us. It’s something meaningful that you don’t have to carry.” And it couldn’t be taken away from him, not even if he died.
December smiled, ever so faintly. It was rare, an expression that didn't get seen much, because there wasn't an edge to it. It was fleeting, but present, for a heartbeat. "There's something a little zen to the whole process." she said. "But, yes. It's meaning, boiled down to a single image, or images woven together."
Her smile was so fleeting that Mannix almost missed it, and when it was gone he wondered if he’d imagined it. She wasn’t the kind of girl he generally spent time with, more easily drawn to those that could provide an easy distraction, but she was far more interesting than ten of those girls put together. “Was there something symbolic about the bird?” he asked after a moment’s pause. “I noticed Mickey has the same one.”
"Yes." December said, not seeing any reason to deny it. People didn't get matching tattoos for no reason, even if hers and Mickey's weren't a romantic one. "We were part of the same crew who got the fuck out of Chicago. A bunch of people, mostly strangers. But we kind of wound up all traveling together. And getting out of a city? Was fucking difficult. When we were out, I did the same bird on all of our party members. So, if you see someone with this, it's not bad odds that they knew me once upon a time."
He wondered why the bird, but maybe there was no particular reason. He could come up with them, if there needed to be one. Maybe they were giving the zombies the bird. Or they’d flown out of the city like a bird. The dove was the symbol of peace, but he didn’t think that was it. “There more of you in Delphi? Or just you and Mickey?” He had the feeling he’d be watching for the bird as he traveled to other domes. People had become so disconnected these days that it was interesting to see what still tied them together.
"Not that I've seen." December said. "But then I work midnight shift, and am not the world's most social bunny, so it's entirely possible someone else wandered in and I didn't notice." she added. "You two get all buddy buddy or something?" she asked.
“No. I just gave him a box of broken junk and we came to a business deal. If I bring him something broken, and he can fix it, we split the profits,” he said. It would work best with items that were more highly valued, of course, and Mannix didn’t intend to pick up broken things. It just happened sometimes. It wasn’t like they could test the power on the spot.
She nodded. Well, at least Mickey was doing something with himself in that regard. "He's pretty good for that kind of shit." she said, offering truth there. She carefully worked around the curve of the compass, eyes not leaving her work. "So, I'm sure you'll have repeat business."
“That’s always a pleasure.” Mannix wasn’t going to turn away repeat customers and Mickey seemed like a reliable guy. That wasn’t to say that Mannix trusted him, but it was heading that direction. Mannix glanced over, watching her work for a moment. He couldn’t see the art without moving, so he was forced to wait. “How’s it comin’?”
"Just fine." December said. "You want to look?" she asked. It was messy--blotting the ink meant it was full of ink, but you could still see somewhat how she was doing with it all. She sat back, and turned her head, a pop sounding in the room from the motion. She rolled her shoulders, feeling tension in them, though it was familiar.
“Sure,” he said, waiting till she’d blotted it and pulled back the gun before twisting so he could see it. So far it looked good; he was even more pleased by the design on his arm than he had been on paper. “Ow,” he said with a little laugh, looking up at her as she popped her neck. “I’d offer to rub your shoulders, but not with a half done tattoo.”
She gave a little half smirk, and a short laugh. "Yeah, that wouldn't work out." she said. "You'd have shoddy work and I can't have that." she said. Though the offer did sound nice, she had to admit. She certainly wouldn't have minded it, even if she wouldn't own up to that at any point. She sat back, shifting on her seat again, just to get the kinks out. "You want something to drink?" she asked, standing up, since she realized she needed something.
“Yeah, you can have a neck rub anytime, except when you’re permanently drawing on my body,” he smirked. It was true enough and he’d gotten a laugh out of her. It was nice to know it could happen. “That’d be nice,” he said, standing just to stretch for a second. “What’ve you got?” Meaning, what was she offering, though he’d be happy with whatever. A beer would be nice... if she was offering beer.
December walked to the small kitchen, which was open to the living area he was in. Opening up the fridge, she looked inside. "Lemonade and beer." she told him. "And water, I guess." she tacked on, since technically, there was that too. She got herself a lemonade, but waited to get his order before she rejoined him. While she was confident she'd be able to do his ink just fine even a few beers deep, that didn't mean she was unprofessional enough to just go for it.
“I’ll take a beer, since you’re offering,” he smiled. See, he had manners, something he hadn’t done a decent job of showing her when they’d first met. Mannix took a look around the place, guessing that the artwork on the walls was likely her own. The movie posters reminded him of days long past, when movies were actually being made. It wasn’t an overly cozy house, but it fit her. “Do you like being in the dome?” he asked. “Having some semblance of normality?”
December got him the beer, getting the cap off the bottle for him before she brought it over. She set her own glass down on the nearest table after taking a drink, giving herself a moment to figure out her answer. In the end, she shrugged. "I don't think I have a great answer to that. Or at least, not a simple one." she said, truthfully. "What about you? Is the open road and the seedy underbelly of trading all you hoped it could be?"
Mannix didn’t think he could handle living in the dome. While it offered creature comforts, the knowledge that he couldn’t just pick up and leave at any second bothered him. There was no open road for those that lived there, and they had to be under government watch more than anyone else. “It’s what I’m used to,” he shrugged. He would have said it was freedom, but it wasn’t. His father was still pulling the strings. “It’s not a glamorous life by any means, but I like the fight, the hunt more than the prize.”
She sat back down, and went to work again, considering his answer. "Anyone can get used to anything." she said. "Doesn't sound like a 'woohoo, I'm totally in love with my life and everything in it!' answer." she noted. "Do you keep doing this just to have the excuse to fight the undead?" she asked, honestly curious. “Or are we talking a more metaphysical ‘fight’?”
She might be right, but Mannix had been fighting in some form or fashion longer than most people, something that started long before the zombie war. “I have a responsibility to my family,” he said, the smile fading. “This is our business now. But I honestly don’t know what I’d be doing otherwise.” He’d never been given a chance to consider it. What was a normal life like?
December glanced up, noting that he wasn't smiling. "Sounds heavy." she noted. She'd never had family like that, she didn't know what kind of pressure that entailed. Though she could tell that it was weighty for Mannix. "What about responsibility to you?" she asked.
“Responsibility to me?” he asked, not sure he followed. There were perks that came with being in the family, but an extended lifespan wasn’t one of them. If he were to somehow outlive his father, he supposed he might have been a very rich man, but wealth was different now and Mannix didn’t know that he wanted his father’s place. Some days he just wanted to get away. Being on the road was the closest he could get.
Not answering immediately, December got a little more ink, and spoke only when she was back to the tat. "Responsibility to you. Your own dreams, desires. You have a responsibility to yourself to pursue something you want to do. Contrary to popular belief, just because someone squirts you out of one orifice or another doesn't mean they get to lord over you or something. So, what about you in all of this?"
It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about the answer to that question, yet he still didn’t know what to say. Sometimes it felt like too much to dream, since he’d always thought that would just lead to his dreams being crushed. Breaking away from his parents had been an impossibility before the zombies, and even though he had a looser leash now, they still had control. It wasn’t something Mannix enjoyed, but he’d never known anything else. “I dunno,” he said. “I don’t know what those are. It’s never really been an option, so I just...” He would have shrugged, except she was tattooing his arm. “I’m good at what I do, but I don’t think that it’s a skillset that easily translates to anything else.”
December had to look at him for a long moment before going back to her work. "Okay, explain 'not an option' to me." she said. "And you'd be surprised where skill sets translate. But still. Do that first bit. How exactly have you not had options like doing your own thing?"
It was rare that Mannix was this open about his family life and he found himself not knowing what to say for once in his life. He’d always been a talker, but that was rarely about personal things. “I was brought into the family business when I was twelve. Maybe ten. Just running errands, but I know better now. There were no other options, unless I ran away from home, and then I’m still pretty sure they would have found me.” Mannix could only imagine how badly he’d have had the shit kicked out of him if he’d tried a stunt like that. “My father wasn’t the kind of man you said no to.” Nor his was his mother, but it was his father who ran the business.
"You say 'family business' like you're in the mob." December said, mostly joking. For all she knew he was talking about a really hardcore grocery store. She didn't think so, though. She didn't have a suggestion of what, though. She'd actually seen a mob hit or two on her table in Chicago, though they of course couldn't really be confirmed that well. It wasn't like mobster types actually wandered around going 'me over here! I totally did it! Me and my super cool crime family!'
His eyes shifted over to December, then forward again. Normally, he would neither confirm nor deny such a statement, but the mob didn’t exist today like it did back then. There were no police outside the dome; in fact, it had pushed more people down to his level. “That’s... pretty accurate,” he finally said, glancing over at her again. Actually, it was spot on.
She blinked, then stopped again, looking at him. "Seriously?" she asked, clearly surprised. "I...er...oh." she was speechless, for the first time in recent memory. "I...well, shit. Then yeah, you probably really didn't have options." she said, if her television and movie knowledge of mobs was accurate even a little bit, and he'd filled in blanks there himself. "Ever consider just fucking off? I mean, with the state the world's in right now, would they be able to expend the resources to try and find you?"
The look on her face earned his smile back, since she seemed as surprised by his answer as he was that he’d given it. “These days I probably could,” he said in agreement. “But now, with the way the world is, it might be more trouble than it’s worth. I have a socially acceptable profession for the first time ever, and we travel so much that I’m more or less free to do what I want.” Not completely, but more than he’d ever had before. His father didn’t want money these days. Money was useless. But he did want the resources that he and Jack could provide. After leaving a dome, they were expected to return home and if they didn’t, then someone would come looking for them.
"And you're good with that. Just...traveling around, doing work for the fam, and...?" she questioned, wanting him to fill in the blank for what else his life might entail. She had no idea, so she was curious.
“I... don’t know,” he admitted. “I honestly didn’t think I’d live this long.” The probability of him surviving had been far less than that of his peers when things were normal, yet when it came to the zombies he’d been far more prepared. “I’m not sure what else I could do. I don’t really see myself working on a farm, and there’s no way in hell I’m working for the government. I could probably sell used cars, if people in the dome used them,” he said with a little laugh. “I suppose it’s something to think about.” Someday. Maybe.
"Well that's cheerful." December said, eyeing him. She realized she needed to get back to the whole tattooing him thing, but damn. "You didn't figure you'd live this long. I saw some mob hits on my table before. Not pretty." she added. Then she made herself go back to the ink. "Pretty sure no one would let you work in the government. You're good with trade--the obvious answer would be come up with something people need then fill that need."
“Never said I was rainbows and butterflies,” he responded with a smirk. He was just telling it like it was. There was a good chance his life would be cut short, though less of one now than there had been before. Now it was just the zombies he had to deal with. The mention of mob hits made him think of his brother. Jack left some of his hits completely unrecognizable. Mannix had done the same, but that wasn’t always on purpose. “I was thinking about that the other day, the goods we bring in that no one is making. Coffee, chocolate, pot. If I were to stay in one place, I’d go with something like that.” Something addictive, that people would want, even if they didn’t need. “I try to take requests if someone’s looking for something in particular.”
"And I don't trust anyone in the world who is all rainbows and butterflies. If they are, they're either massively stupid, or completely batshit." she said. "Like ink." she said, since he was going to be looking for that for her. "Weed would probably do well for you. If you could keep up with demand." she added. "Then it's...what. Stave off boredom in any way possible?"
“I’ve got the seeds, but I’m afraid I’d kill it. I think I should start with something easy. Like a bean plant.” Finding Cannabis seed wasn’t as hard as he’d thought it would be, but now he didn’t know what to do with it. Mannix hadn’t grown a plant in his life. “Yeah, that’s the other thing,” he said. “I think I’d be bored out of my mind if I had to stop and stay in one place. I like going on the runs for trade. Sure, it’s dangerous, but I’m addicted to the adrenaline rush.”
"One plant isn't going to supply enough. You'd need like, a greenhouse or something." she said to the first one. Then, to the rest... "Then you're going to live a short life." December told him. "The zombies always eventually win. If they weren't going to, they would have been thwarted already. But, no. Instead, they got freedom out there, roaming around wherever the fuck they want, and look at this shit. Domes. Like that's an answer. Like that isn't just begging to go crazytown bananapants wrong. And when it does? I'm sure it'll be a fucking spectacular display. Atheists praying to jesus type of fantastic fuckery." she said. "Shame, really. I've seen enough of my work on corpses."
“A greenhouse pretty much means I’m staying wherever I set up, so... It’s something to think about.” And he’d been thinking about it since discussing it with his brother. He’d been thinking about it enough to pick up the seeds, even if that was barely a start. “No, I know. It’s crazy out there, but I think at some point it’s gotta be crazy in here. I don’t see how this can work long term, but...” He paused, rubbing his hand across the side of his face. “I guess I don’t know how you don’t go crazy in here. Aren’t you bored?”
"That's what I'd been talking about--if you were fucking off from the fam to settle someplace." December said. "And yes, that's exactly my point. Someday, this entire dome bullshit is going to go tits up." she said, very much believing that. "As for whether or not I'm bored...I work midnight shift in a place where people aren't dropping like flies and no one really gets murdered, and during my free time, I give people ink. I could get by just on my wadge from being a coroner. I just know with that much free time on my hands, I'd very much lose it. It's too quiet. Before, I'd have music, or a club to go to, or movies, or video games or whatever. These days, not so much."
The problem was, he could tell the rest of his family to fuck off, but he wouldn’t leave Jack. He had no doubt that the moment his brother was left to his own devices, he’d somehow get himself killed. The same could be said for himself, but Mannix thought that wouldn’t be the case if he was settling down. “You know, we sold some stuff to a girl in here that wants to build a club. Not that one club is going to make a huge difference, but it’s a start.” He missed movies, as well. It made him want to go out and find a projector, start up a movie theater. And there he went with his grand ideas again. “I could probably make a killing if I set up a movie theater.”
"So you mean I can go out and spend time with the other alternakids in town? Oh goodie!" she said in a sarcastic, mocking tone. "Don't get me wrong. You're right. It is a start. But you've seen the people here, right? I have this top that's low cut in the back. You can see the top of my corset piercing. I wore it out one day and swear people were staring at me like I was foaming at the mouth. And okay, I know I could tone it down and blend in if I wanted to. I just don't want to. I'm not a people person. I guess I'm just saying at least previously, there were a lot more distractions. More going on. I think this place feels..." she paused, trying to land on the word she wanted. "Stagnant." she finished.
“Yeah, the people in the domes tend to be a little more vanilla. More family oriented, I guess.” He understood it, but that wasn’t to say it was him either. Every one of those people would back away from him if they knew anything about him. Mannix just did a good job at blending in when it was necessary. “Hopefully the domes will grow to be a little more diverse, more like a real city, cause I’ve gotta agree with you-- they’re definitely not right now.” Stagnant was a good word for it. It was why Mannix wasn’t sure he’d be any happier settling down. “So, I’ve just gotta ask-- how do you lace up your own corset piercing?”
She gave a short laugh. "'Vanilla' doesn't even cover it." she told him. "You know what people want? Memorial tattoos. I can't tell you how fucking sick I am of doing memorial tattoos. And I get it. I do. But people need to be more fucking creative. And after that? Those bullshit like, chinese characters that people were doing before all this shit happened. Or flowers. Or crosses. Or crosses covered with fucking flowers." December sighed. "I've taken to just drawing, to maintain an artistic skill I don't get to use otherwise."
When he asked about the piercing lacing, she glanced up, smirk on her features. "You get help."
“Ugh,” Mannix said, making a face of disgust. Memorial tattoos. He understood it, but it wasn’t something he’d ever get. “How many people do you think get chinese characters that don’t have a clue what it means before they walk in? I understand wanting something meaningful, but yeah, put some originality into it.” He’d known for a long time what he wanted on his other arm. It was just a matter of getting it. He’d never wanted anything so common. “Ah, I suppose that makes sense,” he smiled, then raised a brow. “What else do you have pierced?”
"Many. Too many to count. I actually started refusing to do them back in Chicago. The other people in the shop grabbed those ones." she told him. When he asked about her other piercings, she smirked again. "Many things." she said. A few were right there in her face, of course. "And occasionally I do temporary small corset piercings on my arms or legs or whatever. But that's more of a dress up thing. Which I haven't been able to do in too long."
Based on what he knew of her, ‘many things’ could be anything, and based on her expression, his mind was off wandering. “That sounds so painful,” he smiled. “I think it looks awesome, but I don’t know how you put yourself through it.” Yet he was there getting himself tattooed, plus he’d been shot and stabbed in the past. Piercings should be nothing, except it seemed different.
"Tattoos are painful too, but people get them." December pointed out, since he was currently in her chair, letting her jab a needle into his skin over and over. "And it's more a state of mind thing. Plus, pain isn't a deterrent for some people." Like her. For December...well. She liked pain. Which she knew made her fucked up, so she didn't exactly run around telling people.
“I was just thinking that,” he said. “I think it’s a mental thing. It looks more painful to receive, but that’s because I can imagine one needle, versus the tattoo gun which looks harmless, but isn’t. I’m also speaking as someone who’s never been pierced, so I’m just guessing.” The pain didn’t phase him while getting a tattoo, so he wasn’t sure what the difference was.
"The temporary ones, that's an aesthetic thing. I like how they look." December told him. She seemed to be in share mode tonight. But it was a good conversation, and it had been a while since she'd met someone she could have one of those with. Mickey still didn't actually converse with her that much. He wasn't a talker. "And everything is mental, honestly. Everything is cuttable down to point of view."
“They’re... elegant. In a unique way. You don’t mind the pain, do you?” he asked, looking over at her. Sometimes it was worth it, like being in a good fight, even if it left him with a few stitches. “Most people can withstand more than they think they can. It’s the anticipation that kills them. You form an idea in your head of what something’s gonna feel like, and then that begins to mean more than the experience.”
December had to pause to look up at him again. "You think they're elegant?" she asked, surprised. Most people thought they were disgusting, or cringe worthy at the very least. So, to hear that? It was definitely blink worthy. "No. I don't mind the pain." she told him. "And you're partially right about the anticipation, from what I've seen. People get geared up for a tattoo to kill, but I can't tell you how often people are like 'that's it?'"
“Yeah, I do,” he said, his lips twitching up. There were a lot of things he found beauty in that most people wouldn’t, some of them leaning more towards morbid, but her piercings weren’t something he would have categorized as disgusting by any means. They were just different, and different was never an issue for him. “That’s how I was for about the first thirty seconds of my first one. Then I realized it was nothing.” It hurt, sure, but nowhere near as bad as he’d expected. In that, he supposed, he was normal.
"Huh." she said, taking clear mental note of that. It was...different. She didn't think she'd ever actually met anyone post zombies that were good with them, let alone liked them. "And yeah, I don't know what people are bitching about sometimes. It isn't that bad."
“It depends on what you have to compare it to, I guess.” Being stabbed repeatedly with a needle definitely stung, but he’d take it over broken bones any day. “I’d think that these days the average person has gone through so much more. But some of that’s as much emotional pain as physical.”
"Oh, I'm pretty sure everyone's hitting up the trauma train these days. If anyone claims to have missed it, they're liars. Seriously. Corpses got up and wandered around and ate people. That was a thing. Anyone who isn't disturbed by that is a sociopath." December said. She smirked faintly. "I guess it weeds out the true psychos though..."
“Yeah, I definitely didn’t see that coming,” Mannix said, shaking his head. He’d thought he’d seen everything, but nothing prepared him for the dead coming back after him. He supposed it was a good sign that he wasn’t a complete sociopath. “You ever worry about that now? That someone on your table’s gonna get up and walk away while you’re not looking?”
December was quiet a moment. "The first zombie I ever ran across was one that had landed on my table." she told him. "I mean, there were reports of outbreaks, shit like that but nothing specific? Not 'ZOMBIES!' being shouted from the rooftops yet. And yeah. I went to go autopsy some dude, I was filling out some preliminary paperwork, and up he got, coming straight for me. So...yeah. I'm still worried. I know it's unlikely, I know it's probably stupid, but I can't quite shake it."
“Oh, shit,” Mannix muttered, his lips tugging down to a quick grimace. He hadn’t meant to cut so close to home. That would make anyone paranoid. “I don’t think that’s stupid. A little paranoia can be healthy. I know it’s kept me alive once or twice.” He always checked under the car and in the back seat, just in case. He checked the closets and under the bed. Chances were nothing would be there, but if there was, he was going to get it before it got him.
"It's less paranoia and more just...anxiety." she told him, owning up to that. Because that was really what it boiled down to, for her. Anxiety. She twisted her head again, her neck cracking in the process, and she started up the finishing touches. "Paranoia is a survival trait, I'll definitely give you that."
“I don’t blame you.” It was perfectly understandable, especially in her situation. He was fairly certain his family had adapted as well as it had was because they were already in survival mode. It was just a new kind of enemy they had to watch out for. “I still wonder what started it all, whether it was some man-made virus gone wrong, something supernatural, or God smiting us for who knows what.” He doubted God had anything to do with it, but there was no way of telling now.
"I don't believe in a higher power. Do you?" she asked. She wondered too, though she knew it was a moot point. Still, it was something she wished she understood. Something she wished she knew people were even working on an answer for. But she had no clue if it was even a priority for the world. Finding out what the fuck happened might just not matter anymore. It sure as hell hadn't in the beginning. All that mattered was surviving.
“I do,” he said. “But I’m a piss poor example of a good Catholic boy.” He couldn’t even remember the last time he went to confession, let alone confessed everything he should. Mannix was pretty sure he was going to hell, but he liked to believe his beliefs might save him. Maybe. Probably not. “I think the zombies were a product of our own doing. Maybe it was science, maybe it was witchcraft, but I have the feeling it was our fault the world went to hell in a handbasket.”
"Witchcraft, huh?" December said. "Huh. You believe in that too? You've got a lot going on in the spiritual arena." she noted. "I can't decide if that would make things better or worse. If it just means you're worried about whatever invisible forces there are that could be judging you or working against you, or if it would mean you just have a sense that nothing's actually your own fault."
“I don’t see why not,” Mannix said. “Something made those fuckers get up and walk.” The Bible referenced witchcraft at some point, he was sure, and he knew there was demon possession as well. That left room to believe in just about anything, though some things he’d have to see to believe. “Let’s say I’m not as worried about a higher power judging me as I should be, but I acknowledge that some things are my fault. Kind of a muddy middle ground.”
"Sounds like it." December said. She finished up, blotted his arm, and sat up, setting the tattoo gun aside. She stretched, more cracks and pops from her neck and back. "If something supernatural caused the zombies, shouldn't there be a supernatural answer?" she asked, wondering where he stood on that. "Like, some answer that would pull all the zombie's plugs at once?"
“Could be,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure what would it would be though.” With her work finished, Mannix turned to look at his arm, pleased with the result. “Love it,” he grinned. He’d really lucked out on finding her; she’d done a nice job at complementing his other ink with a flare of her own. Mannix stretched, but his neck and back didn’t pop like hers did. “You know, I really would take care of that, but I don’t need Mickey coming after me.”
December started to tape some paper towel over the fresh ink, and had to pause. "...an he would do that why?" she asked, confused. It was probably stupid that it had sounded damn good in the first place. She wasn't exactly 'let's get massagey!' with strangers or anything. But she actually kind of liked this guy. He was different. He was interesting. He'd been able to hold up his end of the conversation in a way she'd appreciated.
Her question forced him to rethink his conversation with Mickey. Had he said they were together? No, but it had been strongly insinuated. Enough so that Mannix had assumed, though now he was reconsidering that assumption. “Because... you’re together?” Mannix said, raising a brow.
She just finished up and then stared. "...okay back up." she said. "You would think that because...?" she said. "Because we aren't. We've known each other forever. He comes and bothers me at three in the morning when I'm working, but he brings coffee. But we never went there." she said. "Did he tell you that? Or were you guessing or...er...?" she was mystified.
“He said you’d been together for years,” Mannix said, remembering the conversation. “I guess I just assumed that he meant together. My bad.” How had he read that wrong? He had to admit, it seemed like a weird match, but they’d been through a lot together. That could bring people closer in a variety of ways.
"Yeah. Physically present." December said. "We came out of Chicago together, and stuck to the same group, and when shit happened, we wound up here, but yeah. No. It's never gone there. He isn't even someone who talks to me a whole lot. I don't think he'd even consider it. Wouldn't be his type..." she trailed off. "So, yeah. Big no on that front."
“Okay,” Mannix said with a little laugh. “Got it, together like my brother and I travel together.” Though that wasn’t the impression Mickey had given him. Huh. He wondered how spot on she was about him never even considering it. “So anything specific you want me to look for while I’m out?” he asked, completely changing the conversation. “Or just anything along the same line of tattoo supplies?”
"Yes. So, no rubbing genitals together." December confirmed. She went to wash her hands, taking another drink before she did so, leaning her back against the sink when she was done, drink cradled in against her shoulder. "I just really want blacklight ink. I have a few things I want to do there, but beyond that, I don't know. If you happen to see something that catches your eye, I wouldn't say no to a present." she smirked at him.
“Understood,” he grinned with a nod. It was good to know, even if he wasn’t sure he would do anything about it. A part of him didn’t think December would appreciate it, plus he’d have any number of girls in a few days, once they left the dome. “I’ll be on the lookout,” he smiled. “There can’t be that many people looking for blacklight ink. Would you like a blacklight, by any chance?”
"A blacklight I have, though a back up wouldn't hurt." December said, not sure if the blacklight was an offer of the present she'd thrown in there, or if he was ignoring her attempt at playful. "I like the ink, though. I actually have a blacklight tattoo, and I've given it, even if it's a little more difficult than usual."
“Awesome,” he smiled. “And as for a present, what would the lady like?” He hadn’t missed her request; he just didn’t want to forget asking about the blacklight while it was on his mind. He’d seen them about before, but not picked them up, figuring they were a novelty that people might not pay for in comparison to other items.
She gave a little grin. "That's up to you. Get creative." she told him, knowing full well she may just never see him again for one reason or another. Still, it was actually kind of fun to set up, even if it didn't pan out.
“I think I can find something appropriate,” he grinned. Mannix had no idea what, but December was different enough that he suspected something would jump out at him and scream her name. It would be fun to look for either way, and it would give him just another reason to come back to Delphi sooner or later.