bad luck, old sport

[goingtobeunwell]

Who: Francis Crozier and OTA
What: Uh oh, more bad luck for Milton's other resident old man!
When: Throughout February
Where: Crozier's igloo, the town and the outskirts, the basin

Content Warnings: The Terror AMC™'s specific flavor of horror -- possible mentions of cannibalism, starvation, illness, murder, gore, addiction, Victorians

Comments

oh look a peepaw to bother

[eighteenhalflives]

It's true that scavengers are wont to prowl at night, and sometimes under the guise of patrolling. There's one at the edges of the graveyard right now, lingering out of curiosity piqued by notice of the man's presence. People visit the grave often, that's not unusual, but someone sitting alone through the night the way Crozier has been...Tobi finds himself wandering back every so many minutes to check if he's still there. And then closer, wondering if he fell asleep or if something more unfortunate has happened.

Though his steps are light the dog at his heel makes enough noise for both of them - trotting through the snow and occasionally bounding around him in an excited circle before taking off in some other direction; a wayward scent has Dogmeat distracted briefly as Tobi finally approaches Crozier.

"Isn't it kind of cold to be napping out here?"

Not the most polite greeting, but there's a touch of honest concern in his tone.

always room for one more at peepaw's graveside melancholy party!

[goingtobeunwell]

There's no offense taken. Crozier sits up a little straighter and pulls his hood back ever-so-slightly to make eye contact easier...and to make it clear he's not out here freezing half to death.

"You've never had to bivouac?"

[eighteenhalflives]

Eye contact, in as much as that can happen when one party is wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night. Tobi knows he doesn't need to worry about people getting nervous about his mutation, here, when there are plenty of other weirdos from even weirder worlds...but he can't quite bring himself to shed that extra layer of security until he really needs to. He hates feeling unlucky.

There's a moment of silence where his surprise and lack of immediate familiarity with the word plays across his face; he needs to think for a second about what it means, where he's heard it before.

Then he says, "I'm gonnna be honest, I grew up underground. And even topside it's not like it isn't easy to find a place, or make something temporary."

There are a lot of old buildings in the capital, and the winters aren't exactly like this. Something playful in his tone when he adds:

"I've never just rolled up in a jacket in the snow."

[goingtobeunwell]

Grew up underground? That's a new one. He can honestly say in all his long years he's never heard of someone growing up strictly underground, and he currently lives in a dome made of ice.

Crozier climbs to his feet with a soft grunt. Damned creaky bones.

"It isn't the most pleasant experiences, but it works. I'm not napping though, no."

A beat.

"You grew up underground?"

[eighteenhalflives]

Living in a dome made of ice probably isn't doing those creaky bones any favors. At the rate Tobi's going, though, he'll be lucky if he even still has bones to creak when he's half Crozier's age; the grunt elicits a flash of empathy he's quick to stifle.

"Yeah, my whole life basically." He's answered this before, for other Interlopers. It's not something he's uncomfortable explaining. "The world already ended where I'm from. Some of the people who survived it were lucky enough to live in shelters built down where the bombs couldn't reach."

And obviously, some of those people ended up on the outside...but that's the relevant gist of it.

Tobi minds the space left between them. Not that he doesn't trust the old man, it's just the wariness has been beaten into him. He's good at hiding it, if anything, nothing but conversationally curious when he asks:

"What are you doing, then?"

[goingtobeunwell]

That's certainly a very different point of view. The world's over where he's from -- Good Lord. He has to sit with it for a moment, the entire civilization suddenly gone one day, until he realizes he's really not all that different. Is living underground really so different than living in a desolate tundra?

Well. That's probably not a fair comparison to make. The world ending is not the same as living in the Arctic.

"I'm watching over the graveyard."

[eighteenhalflives]

People here get that look, when he mentions the apocalypse, and it's hard for him to fathom what they must be thinking of. The Vault was small and cramped, but there weren't very many families. Even here in Milton it's busier than a lot of the places Tobi thinks of when he hears the word settlement; he can't imagine what it's like to be a part of a larger civilization, to know the horror of losing it.

Dogmeat returns to his side as Crozier answers, sitting to lean against him, and Tobi idly nudges back against the mutt's shoulder in acknowledgment.

"For things coming out, or going in?"

Kind of a cheeky question to ask in such a deadpan way, like he's not even fazed by the idea of the dead actually becoming restless.

[goingtobeunwell]

Crozier typically only minded cheek when he was in full Captain Mode and giving an order. Here? Now? The cheek is appreciated. It aligns perfectly with his own sense of humor.

"Yes," he answers, smirking almost imperceptibly.

"Sometimes even the semblance of control is enough to soothe frayed nerves. If I sit here it almost feels as though I'm accomplishing something."