boogie wonderland; ota

[questioningmermaids]

Who: Holland March + open, Holland + Huaisang
What: March spends some time contemplating, talks distilling with Huaisang
When: Nov 2nd
Where: Community hall

Content Warnings: usual cw for alcoholism

i. Weapons cleaning + contemplation;

His supplies are running low. There's only so much you can scavenge in a place like this, but when you chain smoke like a chimney and drink like a fish eventually what you can scrounge up is going to disappear. He's got a little left, sure, courtesy of a gas station raid and the basement Huaisang's got, but supplies aren't infinite.

It gets him thinking. Makes him antsy. March enters the community hall like he usually does, a frequent visitor like most of the small little community they've all managed to put together, but he's never really done much. Drank some coffee, chatted. It's hard to tell if he even realizes he's the village idiot.

Today, though, he's set up in a little corner and is making sure his gun is cleaned along with sipping his morning caffeinated sludge. He's less animated than usual, less talkative, simply staring into space as his hands go through the motions. If not interrupted, he'll eventually speak.

"We're really fucked here, huh? Completely." Holland knows he should curve the negativity, but it's starting to get to him more than he'd like admit. He's been adamant they're all probably going to die within the month since day one but there's less of a joking tone towards it this time.

He wants to help sure. Pitch in, even. Mostly he's just worried about how tiny his booze stash is getting.

After coffee there's a far less depressing revelation, said just as solemnly.

"...Should I hunt?"

ii. Huaisang;

"We gotta do something."

March doesn't bother to announce himself when he opens the door to Huaisang's place, spending far more time there than he probably should. His scarf is taken off, the hat is dumped unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Hey. Huaisang? Huaisang, we gotta do something. You know what I did today? Math. You know what that math was for?"

He's already flopping onto the nearest available surface, aviators still on.

Comments

[fidior]

One more wince as March drops the word yet again—

—but Edward is almost comically obedient at the other man's request, even if he doesn't know what March is about to utilise them for.... The pens and paper to be found in this place are extremely different from what he's used to, but he does know where some can be found (because of course he's taken stock of nearly every item in this Community Center).

"Excuse me for one moment, I'll fetch something...."

He does wonder if he will regret this, but he makes his way to the small office near the front doors, where he picks up a few sheets of paper and a pen (imagine not having to dip them into ink bottles...) and diligently returns to hand them to March with all the severity of a man used to carrying out tasks.

"There we are."

[questioningmermaids]

Oh man, this guy's a schill. He's almost immediately shuffling off before March can say 'nevermind, I've got one in my breast pocket.' It's kind of sweet. The lack of swearing, the concern for manners, the go-fer attitude of it all. The San Fernando valley would eat him alive.

Hell, if he called up March's agency, he's pretty sure he'd milk as much cash out of him as possible. Just seems like kind of a schmuck. They'll work on that.

The paper and pen has been retrieved and March grabs it with a quick 'thank you,' immediately jotting some very important words down.

"You're killing me, pal. Okay. Hang on."

-Groovy
-Foxy
-Freaky
-Boogie
-Dig
-Far out


"Hmmm." There's something more. He's missing things. Think. What's the most relevant for this hellhole?

-Bummer
-Bullshit
-Trip
-Bogue
-Vibe
-Dibs
-Icky

"Alright. Here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna take this list, and every day I'm gonna give you the definition. Word-of-the-Day style. My partner does this all the time."

[fidior]

He hadn't the faintest idea what this man might plan to write out, but Edward will give him the chance to do it, proper and patient as he watches him jot down what appears to be a list. A list of terms that he....... does not in any shape or form understand (apart from "dig", maybe, and of course he is thinking of digging graves for dead men, the most recent association of the word— ....March probably doesn't mean it that way.

The rest, he doesn't have a clue. Boogie? Vibe? Icky? What language is this)

Edward takes the paper into his gloved hands and holds it up to his face, re-reading the words. ....It makes him uneasy, but he's perpetually earnest as he looks back to March, giving a bit of a frown.

"Are all of these associations with our harrowing circumstances?" March did explain the whole 'we're all probably going to die' thing a moment ago, Edward hasn't forgotten... his frown tugs deeper, but with more empathy now. Even concern.

"I understand things here are very dire, but please do not lose grasp of your hope. I believe it can be that difference between life and death... We must stay resilient."

(Notice he hasn't said he'll refuse to go do this List thing with him.... because he will do it...)

[questioningmermaids]

"Oh yeah. Some of it is just so I can have a conversation, though." March is genuinely unsure as to whether or not Edward actually has big eyes or if it's just the way he constantly looks like the world is assaulting him with new information and he's trying to absorb it.

Or maybe that's just March's inability to shut up butting up against the fact that he's from where hoop-and-a-stick was the hot new child's game. Whatever. Edward may be a deer caught in headlights but March minds himself oddly excited about the prospect, putting his hands on his hips, confident unlike where he'd been sucked in hopeless almost moments before.

What he's not expecting is for genuine earnest to come out of the other's mouth. There's a distinct lack of anything he's used to so far--annoyance, irritation, the like. Like this guy actually cares beyond wanting March to shut up.

Huh.

His brows knit, relax, and he brings a hand up to smooth out his mustache in a motion he hopes comes across as self-assured rather than sheepish. Maybe the guy wasn't bullshitting him before, either. Maybe he's sincere.

"You really think that makes a difference?" March is surprised that his question is equally sincere when it comes out of his mouth.

[fidior]

Edward pauses at the question, head dipping down just a little, eyes grazing the wooden floors below. He takes a moment to respond, because he's giving it his complete attention, unflinchingly earnest here, too.

"...I do," comes the quiet reply after a moment or two. His heart feels an odd ache; in the end, hope had done little to save him, or any of the men he cared about. The men he was responsible for.

....But holding onto that hope meant that along the way, he did not become like Mr. Hickey, or the mutineers, or the men who had become worse than animals, turning on one another. Doing horrible things, atrocious things. He had stayed Edward Little. Surely that mattered... didn't it? It had to matter. And it had kept him going through the horrors of it all. Perhaps it can help others in this place to keep going, as well.

"Before my arrival in this place, I was in a situation not dissimilar to this. The ship I was serving became trapped in the ice, for some... years. We became low on provisions, supplies." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "Men became.... frightened, angry, and desperate.

...I understand why it is easy to fall to those things, but... there are people in this place relying on us. If we can help ourselves not to fall to despair, then we can help them. We can do good here."

Now he's echoing Goodsir's words to himself, words that helped Edward immensely when he was feeling his own despair so strongly.

[questioningmermaids]

March isn't quite sure what to expect. There are a lot of schmucks in the world, the kind of frou-frou 'never give up' types that make March roll his eyes. At his core March isn't exactly a pessimist, but he's long since given up. What's the point, anyway?

But there's a sincerity to Little's words, an earnestness that's hard to fake. If the whole scphiel about his crew turning on him is true--and why would it be fake?--then the guy's gone through a lot and still has the balls to be hopeful.

March tries to bury down the ugly feeling of jealousy by reaching up and scratching at his facial hair, as if the touch can somehow jostle him out of it. It's fucked up to be envious of someone who from the sounds of it went through hell on earth, but the guy's got gumption. Moxie, even.

"You're crazy," March says bluntly. He means it, shaking his head, and then speaks again.

"I think we kinda need that sort of crazy here, though."

[fidior]

Being called crazy definitely strikes The Victorian off-guard, but more confused than truly offended — especially because he's certainly garnered by this point that so many of the terms March knows are... either unfamiliar to or used differently than Edward's own associations....

And being called "mad" can be meant teasingly. Perhaps that's... how March means it...? Little isn't one for teasing, joking around (what the modern folks might affectionally call 'a stick in the mud'), but even he understands that concept, at least.

So he's awkwardly pausing for just a moment, gathering his thoughts before he offers a little smile.

"I'd like to do what I can, for the people here. And you can, as well — already, you're teaching me some new things, after all."

Words like boogie and icky... the meaning of which he'll look forward to, in the coming days... but he recalls that listless look to the other man, clearly bothered before.

"...But if anything in particular about our circumstances is troubling you, you may always have my ear."