singillatim | ( if i don't get some shelter, gonna fade away )

[ After Levi told him where he could find books, he'd put it on his mental to-do list. It had been put on the back-burner, but he's found himself in that part of town, and he doesn't want to be in the fog, so. A small detour and he heads to the so-called library on somewhat of a whim.

He doesn't know much about Rorschach, thought it would be rude to go nosing around and looking at books when the man isn't there, but he's not sure on his schedule. Night patrols, he thinks, are when he's seen him around the most, so for all he knows, he could be sleeping right now seeing as it's mid-morning. He knocks first, because that's the polite thing to do, and when there's no answer he tries the door — he'd been told this might happen, still it feels rude just entering someone's abode. He opens it just enough to look inside, but can't see anyone immediately obvious, and calls out. ]

Uh, I'm looking for Rorschach?

[Since the library had once been a house, Rorschach had merely taken the small bed that had been there and moved it to the back room when he'd converted the place. He used it on days like this, when he hadn't gotten enough sleep and needed to catch up on a few hours' while still attending to his duties. The small number of Interlopers, relatively speaking, meant there was a lot of downtime even when it came to his job as unofficial caretaker of the place.

He awoke with a start when he heard an unfamiliar voice calling out for him by name. He put on his face, which of course had been lying next to the pillow, pulled on a sweatshirt over a few layers he already had on, and stumbled on out towards the front after shaking off the worst of his bleariness. Even then, he moved almost without sound, especially since he didn't have any shoes on.

When he saw Maccready there, he tilted his head a little forward, acknowledging him without saying anything in a silent version of 'Can I help you?']

[ Conversation isn't something he was expecting, but the small tilt of a head being the only indication of acknowledgment throws him a touch. Though, if Rorschach's schedule is anything like Maccready's, he can't really blame him for not wanting to participate in small talk. He hopes he hasn't disturbed the man, not over something as trivial as books.

Stepping inside properly, he's careful not to let the door shut loudly behind him, and clears his throat. His awkward demeanour is palpable, in part because of why he's here — he's not exactly an academic, definitely doesn't look it either. This little house isn't like those big library buildings at home, at least, with their pre-war secrets. He wouldn't have known it even functioned as such if he hadn't been told. ]

You have books, that you uh, you let people borrow? Like a library.

Exactly a library.

[He said in his usual deep, gravelly tone, though his body language did warm up just a little bit more, less closed-off than it had been moments before. Looked like he had a new patron this morning. That helped him shake off the last vestiges of sleep. Rorschach could sleep when he was dead. This was more important right now.]

Read the rules?

[Rorschach asked.]

[ That's something he's familiar with, people perking up when a topic they're interested in is mentioned, he's used to seeing it all the time at sketchy bars or from people who are listening in to conversations they probably shouldn't be. It's innocent enough here, though. ]

Oh— uh, [ he wasn't aware there were going to be rules to read. ] No, sorry… though, I know how libraries work, bringing books back after you're done with them and stuff.

[ Probably something about not damaging them, they're a limited resource, after all. Making new ones sounds like it would be a hassle at home, and he can't see it being any easier to do so here, either. ]

[Rorschach ticked off the three rules on his pale fingers, not having bothered to put his gloves back on just yet since he was still indoors.]

Borrow for two weeks. Keep them in good condition. Break either of those and you're banned for however long I think of.

[Or if he pissed Rorschach off but Maccready didn't seem like the type to do that deliberately. Sure, he was a bit of a hard ass about the books, but this was still a society and people needed to follow the rules or face the consequences.]

[ Rorschach's rules were about what he was expecting, they're reasonable, and Maccready has no arguments — after all, he's the one wanting to borrow the books here — so he tips his head in understanding. ]

Okay, yeah. That seems fair— [ he hesitates a little, before deeming his follow-up important enough to ask. ] What if, uh, you need more than two weeks? Is it okay to keep them longer?

[ He's not… well, he's not the speediest of readers. There's an awkward shuffle of his feet, and he doesn't quite meet where he imagines Rorschach's eyeline to be. He's by no means illiterate, he gets by just fine, but if anything is long or particularly complicated… Well, it might take him longer to get through, and the idea of having a deadline for when he's supposed to be done doesn't fill him with optimism. ]

[Rorschach walked over to the desk by the front door where there was a standard spiralbound notebook there open, with a few pages already filled up. There, each book that had been borrowed was written down with a return date in mind, all in various handwriting. He tapped the latest page.]

Just put down the book again with new due date.

[Unless it was something that people were absolutely desperate to read, the problem of which he hadn't encountered yet, Rorschach figured this system was as good as any to keep track of what people were holding onto and who he would have to pay a visit to if they failed to remember to return the books on time.]

[ Maccready glances through the names and dates, he can't see too many duplicates, but then he's not entirely sure anyone other than the man running the place is really going to be paying too much attention to who is reading what. He figures if someone else wants to read it, they'll just have to wait. ]

Makes sense, [ he turns his attention back to Rorschach, posture relaxing a bit. ] I'm looking for something on history, I guess. American, ideally, though I know we're in Canada so something more general would be fine. There's just, well, there are a lot of differences between here and where I'm from, so…

[ Needless to say, there are things that catch him off his guard. If he can read up on things, that would at least do half the work for him. ]

[Rorschach gestured for Maccready to follow him over to where the non-fiction section was at. It wasn't nearly as big as the other sections. Most people preferred fiction to reality, so that was the most of what he'd been able to gather. Still, there was enough of a spread that Maccready would likely be able to find some of what he'd been looking for.

He riffled through the shelves for a moment before found a few he thought that the man could start with and handed them over.]

Can look through the rest. Just don't mess up organization.

[Though Rorschach wasn't as nearly violently protective about that as he was over the books themselves. If they got messed up, he'd just put them back in order. It would just be a new task for him to work on.]

[ Maccready follows the man, careful not to bump into or otherwise disrupt anything. As he walks, he glances to some of the other books that are stored, tries to glean anything he can from their titles. Maybe he can look into some of the literature at some point, but for right now he has his priorities. ]

Of course… Uh, thank you, by the way. I… probably wouldn't have known where to start, honestly. [ He scratches at his jaw, idly. ] Knowing that this world is so different to the one I came from, y'know.

[ While he speaks, he's looking at the cover of one of the books Rorschach set out for him. The binding has an image of a flag printed onto the front with red and white stripes, a blue rectangle in the corner with too many stars to count. While similar to the worn flags he's seen at home, it's a pretty glaring reminder of just how different things actually are. It's almost uncomfortable to think about. ]

Hurm. Yes. Told me you came from the future.

[He remembered that from when he first met him in the woods. Rorschach shifted around the books he'd put into Maccready's hands and then put one on top. It looked like any typical high schooler's history book. He figured for anyone wanting to learn about what this world was like, that was the strongest start he could give him.]

This one. Start here.

Yeah… I'm not so sure that it's the future any more. At least, not in the sense that the history is the same. [ He skims the first few pages of the book — honestly, all things considered, high school level is probably the best bet for Maccready anyway, with no real formal education to his name whatsoever. ] It's just… everything here is so different; especially the technology, even if it isn't working.

[ Not for a second does he think he's alone in this experience, but it doesn't make it any easier; there are others here who seem to be doing just fine, and he wonders if it's because they're from here, or a world close enough. It's weirdly alienating. Still, he gets the sense Rorschach isn't here for casual conversation, and gives a little shake of his head. ]

That probably sounds really stupid, sorry.

[Rorschach shook his head, not in a manner that was to suggest it sounded stupid, merely that he had nothing to say upon the subject himself. It was amazing what people said around someone who wasn't warranted to talking much himself. They just filled up the silence with whatever came into their own minds.

The idea that people might have been coming from different worlds was something he wasn't sure was the truth. As far as he'd seen thus far, most people came from the same type of Earth he did, plus or minus a few factors (vampires for one sprang to mind). To think that might not all be one coherent timeline wasn't something he was certain he wanted to poke too much at.]

[ The fog rolls in as he's returning from the woods, rifle over his shoulder and hands notably free of any kills. By the time it has crept in over the treeline, going around it would take him wildly off the tracked path through the snow and potentially add another hour or two onto his trek back into Milton proper — it's not exactly time he can spare when already losing light.

Still, he has to make a decision, and he figures going through is a better course of action; he can carefully move around the thicker patches when he's in it, or at least so he'd thought. He's flagging, enough that he's able to come to the conclusion it's because of the fog — he pushes on, because he has to, even as it becomes difficult to navigate through.

That it starts looking different, green around the edges, goes almost entirely unnoticed — no ticking of a Geiger counter to alert him to it, not that he thinks it would trigger such a response. He feels it first on his hands, his stubborn refusal to wear gloves in favour of maintaining dexterity mean it's one of the few places his skin is exposed. It's an almost instantaneous burn, has him gritting his teeth as it blisters across his fingers.

When he eventually makes it out of the woods, his hands are a bloody mess. His scarf is pulled up around his face, though how much good it's done him is up in the air — he's still coughing, can taste the metallic tang in his mouth. The sun has since dipped below the horizon as he stumbles his way towards the familiar buildings that lie on the outskirts. If he can just make it a little further… ]

"Hey, are you busy?"

Maccready finds Levi in his usual spot in the community hall, places down a scrap of paper in front of him — on it is a rather rudimentary drawing of an orb with strange attachments, some with smaller orbs and one with what looks like a circular saw. It's clear he's no artist, but the shapes are simple enough that it would be recognisable as a Mr. Handy if anyone was familiar with them.

"I owe you an explanation about robots, right?"

It's not a debt that he owes, necessarily, but he still said he would, and he likes Levi well enough that he's going to make sure he keeps his word.

"Hm?" Levi looks up from his book to Maccready then the paper. "Oh. Oh, yeah, you did. Is that what this is?" He nods to the paper, putting his book down.

"Sort of, yeah." He points to the page, a crooked and somewhat amused grin on his face, he's under no impression his drawing is good, but it gets the point across. "These're just one kind of robot we have back at home. There're a bunch of different ones for different kinds of things that need doing."

That still doesn't explain what they are, though, so he pulls up a chair and clears his throat. "You have computers and stuff where you're from, right?"

It gets the point across but Levi has no idea what he's looking at. He's barely seen machinery aside from vehicles. He peers at it for a few moments before shaking his head. "No...w-well, not really. We found something like them in Prehevil during Termina but I'd never seen anything like them before. I learned a bit about them here, though."

"As long as you sort of know what they are, that's fine." Because like, tackling the concept of robots he can do — or try, at least — but computers might be a little out of his purview. Who does he look like, Valentine?

Shuffling in his seat, he sucks in a breath, preparing himself for what is likely to be a terrible explanation of both computers and robots. He's definitely not the ideal man for this job, but he is the man currently here, and Levi will have to deal with it. "So, you know, computers can run programs and stuff, deal with data and things — some can play games — but that computer is the basis for a robot. Like how people have brains."

There's a pause, either for Levi to interject, or maybe, based on the falter of his expression, because Maccready is thinking about Robobrains.

Programs and data and things? Programs are...the things computers do? Like the mail box and whatever the terminals in Prehevil did. Data was just information, right? Maybe data was the word for the information computers had. He's not really sure what any of this terminology is.

"So, um, robots have computers in them?"

Honestly, Maccready barely gets it, he knows what computers can do — like sending mail! — but how it all actually functions? Well, as a wise man once said, it just works.

"Yeah, that's right." See, it's fine, they're doing great. "People would design robots to do specific tasks, usually…" He points to his drawing of the Mr. Handy, smoothing out the sheet, "This one was for things like household chores, and the computer — its brain — would be programmed to enable it to do those tasks. They come in all sort of shapes and sizes depending on what they're used for, though."

Hmm... "So they're like...computers that can move around and do things?"

He doesn't get how this weird orb with legs helps with anything but okay.

"Exactly like that." Maybe… But he kind of has the sense Levi maybe isn't getting it, and that it's probably his fault for doing a poor job at explaining it.

"There are probably some that don't move around much… like maybe they just have an arm that's designed to lift an item and put it somewhere else, y'know?"

There's a small frown forming on his features, more at his own lack of ability, and he figures explaining the one he drew is probably easier. "This one here, the Mr. Handy, it has these three arms that can be fitted with different tools depending on the thing that needs to be done. Some of 'em are pretty singular-use, I dunno what you'd use a flamethrower for, but the little pincer could hold things like dusters and clean up maybe."

Well, he knows what a flamethrower is used for outside of house chores. He can't imagine it having much use in the home before the war…

More the lack of a real frame of reference for this sort of thing. He wonders if maybe he should pay more attention to the computers when they work. If this is where technology went past his time it might come up. But its all so overwhelming and over his head he'd rather not spend much energy on it.

Still, it'd be rude to wave off Maccready's offer of help, so he tries to grasp what he can. The arm idea makes much more sense to him than the Mr Handy. "So you can...or someone can tell them to do things? I guess they can do things people can't or don't want to."

The flamethrower and the saw for 'household chores' is more than a bit confusing. "Maybe the flamethrower was for cooking?"

Maccready's point of reference for technology isn't exactly the most helpful, either, in fairness. What he views as technologically advanced is… well, if some people here saw it they'd think it was rather primitive.

"Pretty much," he nods. "They're supposed to make life more convenient, I guess." Codsworth apparently babysat. Maccready certainly could have used that.

"Oh, oh, no, I don't think the flamethrower was for cooking." Or, he hopes not. He's seen it in action, gotten too close for comfort. "They'd probably cook the same way a person would, but using the little pincer attachment for holding pots or utensils instead of hands."

"I guess that makes sense...like how cars and trains make it easier to travel long distances faster." The flamethrower is still pretty confusing, though.

"Something like that, I suppose," though in truth, he's never actually experienced either — the rusted out shells don't really count seeing as how they're not going anywhere anytime soon; he's sure someone somewhere must have fixed a car up, at least.

"That's just this one type of robot, there are lots of others… other 'mister' type robots that look similar but are made for different tasks; like farming or for use by the military. Some are totally different, one kind of have shapes like people and can fire lasers," Assaultrons, admittedly, are high on his list of robots not to piss off. "I think they could probably do a lot more before, but now they just seem to be used for fighting or entertainment."

Or fighting for entertainment.

"Fire lasers?" Hm, he guessed that made sense. If you fought with robots no one had to die. "They'd make much more sense for the military." Says the boy who's life had been engulfed by war. "I wonder if the flamethrower is left over from that."

He's not going to get over that flamethrower. Why would you do this Robco.

"Yeah, from her face," he points at his own, as if that somehow makes it make more sense that a robot has a laser-firing face. "Honestly, a lot of the technology was probably for the military or eventually got used by it…" Timeline discrepancies aside, some things never change.

Maccready tilts his head to one side, then nods, "I guess it would be. Though, I don't think it was probably standard on the household models, but because they're made by the same company and have more or less the same design, they're probably interchangeable."

He doesn't know Curie yet, but if he did, he'd be wondering if she could use a flamethrower.

He is not sure why robots have faces or genders but he's not going to question it. That was beyond the basic understanding he needed of these things and he hopes he can ignore it. "Oh, them all made the same makes sense. Its easier to make things that way."

He'd never worked an assembly line, but he knew enough about them. The army had definitely cut costs when making things by using stuff like that.

Maccready's never really thought about it either, but if the laser-firing robot tells you she's a woman, are you really going to argue?

"Yeah… a lot of things used to be made like that before the war, I think. Some of the old factories still have all the equipment, but it looks like a lot to get working again." And even if someone managed — and he's sure they probably have — he's not entirely sure that it'd be as effective as it might have been; distribution and everything isn't what it used to be. "Now I think about it, I'm not even sure new robots could be made, at least not ones that aren't made of scrap or something…"

Another one of those cases where he's sure someone, somewhere, could or already has. Ah, the Institute notwithstanding, that is.

"Anyway, that's basically all I know about robots where I'm from," he crosses his arms, relaxing into his chair. "Maybe there're other people who have 'em too, they might be different."

"It probably takes a lot to get those things running after they're abandoned or whatever." He shrugs, "Thanks for telling me. I don't know if it matters here but if I come across the word in a book or something now I'll know what it means."

"Sure thing," he laughs, pointing back to his silly drawing, "Even if you did come across something here, I don't know that it'd be anything like that." The assumption, here, is that he's thinking anything that might be found here would be more primitive, simpler. Anachronistic technology and all that, it's left him feeling like he's the one 'out of time' — maybe once they're able to go home, he'll be a little more sympathetic.

"So, robots really just aren't a thing where you're from, huh? It's weird to think about…"

"No, at least I don't think so. I never really learned much about life outside of Prehevil or the front. Maybe people were making things like that somewhere else." Or possibly below where he'd lived? Most of the stuff to come out of the bunkers seemed to be animal or human based though.

[ Now that he's picked out a cabin — a small modest building on the outskirts, there are still a few things he needs; small things, like blankets, pillows, a chair or two — though the cabin itself had more than enough furniture to suffice, especially given what he's used to. The things he needs though, they'd been absent, presumably when the cabins were picked over for supplies, which, y'know, makes sense. He can't begrudge whoever was responsible, he'd have done the same.

Currently, he's trudging through the snow, dragging a pair of dining chairs behind him and looking more than awkward doing so — how he's managed to get this far is anyone's guess. He's sort of attached his backpack to one of the chairs, fastened it up as best he can after rifling through some supplies in the community hall and picking out some sheets and a thick blanket. Atop the other chair are a pair of pillows, tied to the seat with what looks like his scarf.

Really, he would have been better making two or three trips, but he's committed to this now. He stops near one of the older buildings, rests against an old wooden fence and rolls his shoulders. It's hard to tell whether his cheeks have turned a blotchy shade of red because of the cold air or if it's the physical exertion — maybe a bit of both. He huffs, and looks like he might be regretting some of his decisions a bit. ]

Friggin'… stupid…

[ Daisy hates the cold, and with the fog making things so much worse, she really should spend more time indoors than she does. She can't help it, though, when staying in one place without a task is so grating for her. Back home, her days are spent preparing and going on missions, training, or revamping their security systems for the 27th time. Even when she's done all of that, she fills her 'down time' with scrolling through the internet and hacking random systems for the fun of it.

In short, almost three months have passed since her arrival in this frozen hell and she's just trying her best not to lose her mind. So, when she spots someone ahead who clearly needs some assistance, she hurries forward with her usual purple backpack and ugly plaid coat, offering him a smile when she sees the familiar face. ]

Hey, R.J. Need some help? [ The answer is clearly yes, and she's going to force said help on him whether he likes it or not, but she'll allow him the illusion of having a choice in the matter for now. ]

[ Thanks to her coat he sees her coming, and he suspects it's probably because she, like him, hates sitting inside and doing nothing. He offers her a wave in greeting as she approaches, and straightens up a little so he doesn't look quite so put out from hauling furniture around. ]

Oh, nah, it's alright.

[ Realistically he absolutely does need help, he also doesn't want to be the reason someone might go out of their way to do something that causes them to stay in this cold for any longer than they need to. It's not like it's showing any signs of letting up, and the fog isn't helping. Since he's foregone his scarf in favour of using it to secure things to the chair, he's really starting to feel the chill, too. ]

Well, I guess if you don't mind…

[ Because the sooner he gets back to the cabin, the quicker he'll be able to warm up, and really that overrides any petty pride he might have for doing things himself. ]

[ What she wouldn't give for a plain black coat, simple and warm and not at all Lumberjack Chic. But with supplies of every type so limited, she doesn't exactly have much choice in the matter. It's this or her Quake suit, and as much as she's been missing wearing the battle gear, it is far from weather-appropriate. ]

Wouldn't have offered if I did. [ Her smile broadens, the expression genuine, and she immediately turns to size up his findings. The chairs, the bedding... It's not a lot, but it's too much for just one person in these conditions. Pointing to the chair with the pillows, she makes a suggestion. ] I'll take this one if you can manage the other.

( if i don't get some shelter, gonna fade away )

early april — for roschach

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mid april — for tobi

late april — for levi

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early may — for daisy

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