siroccowinds: (internal debate)
Oh Anna Sun! ([personal profile] siroccowinds) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2015-07-05 05:49 pm

"so what's happening now?"

dead person conversation.
Most ghost stories like to paint a scary picture about the spirits of people who linger in the land of the living. But they doesn't always have to be haunting - some spirits don't mean any harm at all and are just looking to make a social call to those they left behind. Sometimes it's to leave a message before moving on, and sometimes it's a regular occurrence. Whatever the case, a (hopefully) friendly spirit has dropped by to visit.

` comment with your character, their fandom, and your tagging preferences.

` make a note: if they are dead, or the one being visited!

* for visiting spirits - How long have you been dead? Are you just dropping by to say goodbye one last time - or have you been stuck on this plane of existence for a while and looking for a way to pass the time? can you talk, or are you doing charades from beyond the grave?

* for the rest - How long has this been going on? Where are you when it happens - having dinner at home alone or somewhere inconvenient, like a baseball game? Can anyone else even see them? Try not to freak out too much!

` remember to have fun and to respect the dead!

madmanmax: (squinty)


[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-05 03:20 pm (UTC)(link)
The bike he's sitting on feels stolen, even though Furiosa told him he could have one, back there in the desert. This one he nabbed from their garages, knocking out a mechanic that yelled and tried to stop him, and there's a shadow of guilt hanging on him like a heavy weight, and it just makes him all the more restless. He settles one foot on the ground, safe in the shelter of rocks and the gathering dusk, and eyes the walled settlement before him.

Furiosa was upright when he left her, but hurt. There's few vehicles left in the Citadel and only children and starving refugees and a handful of young men too sick to fight. They have two weeks, before whoever survived the headlong flight back to the pass gets the remaining party around the mountains, or maybe less if they dig their way through the pass again. Gastown and the Bullet Farm are more immediate threats, each just a couple of hours away, leaders gone for good but they won't know that yet. When they do, who knows if the pacts between them and the Citadel will stand. Men are more likely to grasp for all the power they can see than to settle for a continued peaceful balance. If they ally against the Citadel, it will not stand. Even those rocky cliffs can only hold up to so much gunpowder.

If there's no ammo, there's no war.

Max watches the Bullet Farm, squints and picks out the sentry posts and the best angles of approach to sneak in, and thinks.
seedkeeper: (smirky)

[personal profile] seedkeeper 2015-07-05 03:45 pm (UTC)(link)
"Never heard of asking nicely, did you? 'Reliable' she says, she brings us reliable men. Maybe her standards are different."

The voice is soft and breathy in his ear, but unmistakeably familiar. He may even fancy he feels a lightweight, birdlike form perched behind him on the bike for an instant. A chilly, tingly touch as she prods him in the side.

"So what's the plan, Crazy-Face? You don't get to steal my bike and not have me along for the fun."
Edited 2015-07-05 15:46 (UTC)
madmanmax: (ho shit!)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-05 04:05 pm (UTC)(link)
He jumps, at not just the voice but the poking, startling so hard he half falls off the bike, and that tips it enough that it falls and he barely scrambles away in time to not get his bad leg trapped under it. Sprawled gracelessly on his backside in the sand, one arm supporting him and the other lifted in a gesture that could be defensive or could be reaching out, he stares.

Damnit. Not another one. He's a little surprised Angharad hasn't come to point an accusing finger yet, drenched in blood and gaze full of rightful vengeance. This one, though, is unexpected.

He stares, and his brain flounders in the absence of flashes of blood and death and torment that so often accompanies his ghosts, and instead supplies a gentler memory of a band of women giving him skeptical looks while he talked them into walking back into fire.
seedkeeper: (smirky)

[personal profile] seedkeeper 2015-07-05 04:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Proof that she's not corporeally there can be found in the fact that even after the bike tumbles with him on it, she's standing tranquilly in the sand. She gives a little cackle and shoves her hood back. Her white hair reflects the sun vividly, like a halo, but as far as horrifying, she's...really not.

She just looks like she did alive, only a bit more translucent, and with a very minor bloodstain on the left collar of her shirt. "Jumpy boy. I ain't angry, for what it's worth. It was a good plan."
madmanmax: (puppy-dog eyes 2)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-05 04:18 pm (UTC)(link)
He blinks, hard, and stares a little more, and then one corner of his mouth gives a tiny twitch as he calms.

His voice is getting rusty again already, but the low rumble holds a questioning tone. "...Kaboom?"
seedkeeper: (smirky)

[personal profile] seedkeeper 2015-07-05 04:25 pm (UTC)(link)
She laughs again; seems like she laughs with her whole body, transparent as it is. Must be a carryover from being alive, the way she curls over as she chuckles, and she makes little exploding gestures with both hands.

"Kaboom. That's right. Get up, now. Let's see if we can do it again."
madmanmax: (smirky)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-05 04:32 pm (UTC)(link)
As ghosts go, this one isn't bad at all.

He finds himself grinning as he gets up, just a little, and the expression is fleeting but it's unfamiliar on his face. He clambers up and stretches his leg a little, rights the bike, and climbs back on with the expectation that she's going to be climbing on behind him. Max is not in the habit of speaking to his ghosts much, but it seems to neither encourage nor discourage them when he does, so it's probably harmless. Besides, he likes the way this one thinks.

The approach to Bullet Farm is cautious, and he finds a place to stow his bike among rocks and under an anchored tarp, loading himself up with the gear that might come in handy. There are other methods, and he doesn't bother cooking his food much, but he gets out a little leather bag and checks on his flint and tinder, intending to make sure he takes that along too.
seedkeeper: (plant in hands)

[personal profile] seedkeeper 2015-07-05 07:09 pm (UTC)(link)
She'll find opportunities to give him hell later, no doubt, but for the moment she's happy to participate in this venture. There's no shift of weight as she clambers up behind him onto the bike, and no physical sensation as she latches onto his waist, just a very definite sense of presence. Maybe it's reassuring, even, to know he's not in this alone.

That presence doesn't fade, although she's not visible when he stops to load gear. Still, there is a fleeting murmur, light enough to be the breeze: "We used to make molotov cocktails. Ran out of bottles for it."
madmanmax: (whut?)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-05 07:29 pm (UTC)(link)
It's unfamiliar, that sense that somebody's got his back both literally and figuratively. Unfamiliar, but something he's felt before, and not so very long ago. She's not Furiosa and she isn't even really here, but she's company and he feels privately grateful for it.

Out of the habit of speaking, Max doesn't respond verbally to suggestions, but he does crouch and rummage and well cushioned are a couple of small clay bottles, thick-walled and corked and he uncorks each to sniff the contents. One is something ointmenty that smells strongly of eucalyptus and that's a smell that takes him back. It's probably medicinal, and he sticks a finger in and tastes it experimentally anyway, making a face and writhing his tongue around in his mouth as he resists the urge to spit. Spitting is a waste of water. The other bottle is definitely some kind of rotgut, and he takes a careful sip and that's actually worse, making him gag once. He shakes his head and blinks and grimaces, pours a little of the contents into the ointment, partially unwraps his injured hand and tears off a few small scraps of bandage to stuff into the neck of each bottle. Both get tucked carefully into a pouch, cushioned but in easy reach.

With a grunt he gets to his feet and slips along the sheltering rocks up to the wall of the Bullet Farm, looking for an easy way in. The guard has slipped up, with their leader and best fighters gone, and a quick thump to the head takes out the young man guarding a side entrance. He's inside a moment later, heart beating faster with the anticipation of impending violence.

The place is close and crowded with boxes and buildings, but the people tend to congregate in barracks and around communal cookfires. Mining and smelting and manufacturing requires a lot of manual labor.
seedkeeper: (pensive)

[personal profile] seedkeeper 2015-07-06 01:32 am (UTC)(link)
"Small, but they'll do," she sounds satisfied, still invisible but close. "The hooch will burn but good. Won't explode on it's own, though."

He'll find the place very male-dominated; even more so than the Citadel. There are a few girls around, just this side of adulthood, but they're pale and tense, possibly comfort women, domestic labor, or all of the above. There are a few children, though, spindly and stooped breaker-boys or breaker-girls coming up from the mines.

The Seedkeeper goes quiet, but she's visible again, and now she looks distressed or angry. "Can't blow up the kids."
madmanmax: (wary)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-06 02:58 am (UTC)(link)
The little clay bottles will probably get thrown and possibly break on impact. It's nowhere near as good as a molotov cocktail but it's the best he can do in a pinch. He slides around buildings in the shadows, watching, straining to listen because he knows his hearing isn't what it should be. When she makes the comment about the kids he gives an answering nod before he remembers she's just a ghost. At least they're on the same page, there. The mines aren't where he plans to sabotage things, anyway. They'll be able to dredge up more metal and that's fine, it's the stockpiles of what's already made that he intends to have a go at, and hopefully there won't be a lot of innocent workers hanging around those. There will likely be guards, though.

It's not too hard to edge around the areas where people are gathered, but in the shadows between a couple of buildings he has to duck and hide as a guard of some kind passes, and then he starts trying to peer into the buildings, in windows or the cracks between walls and corrugated tin roofs. Some of this requires clambering up on things, and it's hard to be quiet, so it's slow work trying to find the weapons and ammo storage.
seedkeeper: (sober)

[personal profile] seedkeeper 2015-07-10 12:50 am (UTC)(link)
His new ghost follows patiently, now a wispy shadow, now a more solid-looking figure with hair that glistens when she moves. She seems content, quiet and looking wherever he looks with almost the attitude of a child playing hide and seek.

She has no more idea where to look than he does. But it seems that she's capable of being an augury after a fashion, because as the sun begins to set, she fades out, only to reappear very close, a hand resting cold and prickly on his arm. "Shift change! There's a whole line coming down that alley. Get behind something, double-quick."
madmanmax: (worried)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-10 01:44 am (UTC)(link)
There have been times his ghosts warn him of things he has no way of knowing, before, and he's not sure what to make of it. Mostly he doesn't waste time thinking about it, too busy with the act of living. Her touch should make him startled, flinch and maybe fall off the crates he's balanced on. It doesn't, and he can't say why, but his gaze does jerk up the alley and he slithers down off the crate in a hurry to try to wedge himself between it and the building wall and some other junk stored back here. It's a tight fight, and then he's all but holding his breath, straining to listen with everything in him.
seedkeeper: (Default)

[personal profile] seedkeeper 2015-07-12 04:17 am (UTC)(link)
She fades into invisibility again, leaving the air chilly behind her--or maybe that's just his imagination, a thrill of worry or fear as the footsteps of approaching War Boys become audible. There's a little talk and laughter, and there are at least four distinct voices. It sounds like more footsteps than that, but after a moment the sounds fade.

"The others will come back the same way. Move fast or stay hidden," suggests the ghost, whispering in his right ear--and why that should be audible with all the damage that eardrum has taken is anybody's guess.
madmanmax: (wary)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-12 05:37 am (UTC)(link)
He stifles a grunt, and rubs at his ear like he can feel her breath on it, tickling. He's not deaf yet, but that ear definitely doesn't work like it used to, and it's almost disconcerting to hear her loud and clear through it. If he ever does lose his hearing completely, his ghosts will evidently still be able to talk to him just fine, and he's not sure if that's a reassuring thought or not.

This is no place to stay all night, so he wriggles back out of the spot as quickly and quietly as he can, following the direction he heard the other men take both so he can keep track of where they went and to avoid any others who might follow them. Unfortunately he really doesn't know his way around the place. He's careful enough to avoid being spotted following, but as he takes twists and turns he's entering into places where hiding spots are going to be harder to find. Heart thudding, he tries to backtrack a little, only to hear more people. Down another side avenue, and out in the desert his sense of direction is excellent, but in the labyrinth of storage and barracks that is the Bullet Farm he's now utterly lost.

Max is beginning to think all this has been a terrible idea, when he spots a row of big warehouses without windows, and some ratty signs forbidding open flames on the doors. There are guards, because of course there are, but he has a strong suspicion that what they're guarding is exactly what he's there about.
seedkeeper: (smirky)

[personal profile] seedkeeper 2015-07-12 07:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"That's gotta be it," the ghost murmurs as if echoing his thoughts. "Three buildings, right in a row."

She cackles. "Not that bright of them, actually, putting it all so close together. You want to chain them. Fuses, maybe. One goes off and sets off the other two--boom, pow, kaboom!"
madmanmax: (I've seen some things...)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-19 12:50 am (UTC)(link)
"...Guards." He grunts, so low he can't actually hear his own voice, but hopefully her hearing works in some improbable way just as his own ability to hear her does. He doesn't even look, focused and scowling at the buildings. It's a better lit area than some, and decently well manned, so that's bad, but on the other hand the guards look bored and it might be possible to circle around and approach from some less well-defended angle. His mind goes over a quick inventory of what he's carrying and of course he's brought fuse because he knew full well what he was doing when he set down the road to this place. He knew it would end in fire and blood, because those are what he's good at.
seedkeeper: (pensive)

[personal profile] seedkeeper 2015-07-28 12:58 am (UTC)(link)
"Let me look." She sobers, the air gaining a bite of chill across the back of his neck as she moves past. He might be able to see her as a vague shadow, but it's a safe bet no one else would, even assuming she's not just a hallucination.

And that may not be an assumption he's ready for yet. "Stay here, and try not to think too hard on it." Because trying to work out the logistics of sending his own delusion ahead as a lookout might just make him crazier.