It's always good to have something in your back pocket in case of environmental collapse.
[ It's funny because it's probably going to happen. He doesn't miss a step, turns to issue a quick wave before climbing down into the hatch.
Once Nate follows him down, he'll find himself in a slightly condensed version of the original safehouse. Kitchen, canteen, dorm, med room, showers. The far end of the dorm has a couple of cots pushed together and a few home comforts but it's still pretty Spartan in here. Most of Stephen's things are tucked away in the storeroom, ever ready for the space to fall into proper use.
The hatch closes down behind them, security system locking them back in as he makes his way off to his makeshift walk in wardrobe. ]
Make yourself comfortable. I'll get you something to wear.
[ It reminds him of the facility he found in Panama, all reinforced concrete and corrugated metal. Like the Morningstar safehouse it too had been sparse - albeit full of dead bodies - and Stephen's has that similar "prepared to wait out the next Cold War" air. ]
Thanks. [ Nate says distractedly, wandering the length of the bunker and peering into the various spaces. It's impersonal, devoid of any significant number of belongings. Hard to get a read on people who don't have any stuff. ] You didn't really strike me as an apocalypse prepper.
This is Morningstar. The safehouse was the condition for being given a second space.
[ He wanders back with a shirt and some loose pants in case he wants out of all of it, drops them at the end of a cot for collection when Nate's ready. ]
The building over the primary safehouse is in my name too.
[ Politically interesting information is difficult to come by, but here it is, black and white. Nate's understanding of the way things work here from a factional standpoint is still very new, very naive, but having expressed his evident distaste with Morningstar's tactics to other Displaced since they day they woke up from their medically-induced comas, he's assuming he should tread with some reasonable amount of care.
His boots meander over to the cot and Nate drops to its edge, reaching for the shirt and shaking it out after setting the orange juice on a nearby stool. There's some minimal wincing as he pulls the collar over his head, careful of the bandages.
It would be just his luck to open the stitches in his side. ]
You've been busy, then. What's next, connecting them with abandoned maintenance tunnels?
[ Stephen keeps a careful watch on the patient as he pulls the shirt down over his head, a more recent habit than his medical degree might let on. The Displaced have a tendency to open new and old wounds both.
It strikes him as the question's posed that a vast number of the current population weren't here for the birth of the idea. That nobody's been filling them in on what's come before so they can better understand what comes next.
History lessons aren't the first thing that come to mind for a period of experience that doesn't even span a year. But the time that has passed has been crammed to burst and a lot of it is important context. In the spirit of education, Stephen draws a deep breath. The only indication Nate will get that it's story time before he's setting off into it. ]
The bar was the end goal. We saw a need to seek relative independence from Morningstar and they offered us three different business opportunities. Somewhere in the middle of that process, they suffered a leak and their personnel were moved on by the UNA. Operatives were abducted from their homes, leaving behind murdered partners and abandoned children, and those we managed to save were taken underground. But nobody knew where the leak came from, or how safe the safehouses really were. Switching safehouse became a little more pressing than renovating an old bar.
The old coffee shop they offered was too central and too specialised to provide cover and would've been too expensive to run as what it had once been. The garage is in a rougher neighborhood, a safer bet for people coming and going all hours of the day and night without raising the eyebrows of anybody who'd care to report us, and here we're visible and more likely to earn higher profits. Keeping our hidden underground base and public-facing business front separate seemed like a good option, so we asked for both. We were granted them on the proviso that we kept this space available in case of future emergencies.
[ It's a very quick run down, but it's a sign that he has knowledge and isn't stingy with it. He trusts that if there are questions, Nate will be smart enough to ask them. Whether that's now or later down the line. ]
Though if you do happen to find any convenient subterranean tunnels, you let me know.
Edited (icon double ups I REFUSE) 2020-01-29 10:35 (UTC)
[ History is history, new or old, and getting the unprecedented opportunity to fill in a few gaps he's been missing is something Nate doesn't want to pass up, no matter what time it is. So long as Stephen is happy to share, he's happy to absorb.
It occurs to Nate that so much of this feels like the dog days of Hadriel, the panicked and last-ditch efforts to protect people, to build bunkers. Some people rode out the storm while he and others led a guerrilla force in the jungle and Nate can almost feel the sweat sticking his shirt to his back, the damp air choked with smoke and the smell of singed flesh.
His elbows brace on his knees as he listens, thumb absently rubbing his ring finger, nodding along. If he happens to come across any tunnels their use might be invaluable to an operation like this, no matter his personal feelings on how Morningstar executes their work. ]
...you live here, though. [ He points out, curious. ] Why?
[ The hesitation has him wondering if something had gone wrong to facilitate Stephen's move to the Cold War bunker of affordable housing, but no. The truth is more existentially depressing.
Nate stares at him for a long moment, expression neutral, fidgety fingers stilling. ]
[ Oh. Stephen blinks at him. His brow creases into the softer workings of a frown-in-progress... and a second later, he lets out a breathy huff of laughter.
Of all the times to be asked that question. ]
Okay is relative. I'm looking at this as a sabbatical.
[ Not a yes, but it is at least an I'm grateful for what I've got. Which might be more depressing than his being here in the first place, but that's life. ]
[ Nate points out with a grudging tilt of his head, but doesn't pursue further pressing. He knows the nimble dodging of a question when he sees it. After a long moment Nate slaps his hands on his knees and stands, sore but not uneasy. He meanders over to the carton he left on the table and starts hunting for glasses.
[ Glasses appropriately retrieved Nate pours the both of them healthy helpings of orange juice, moving to close the space between them as he hands it over. They could both probably use something a lot stronger, but with his current blood loss he knows better than to push his luck in any direction that spells potential inebriation. ]
Managed to kick her off me, scrambled to the edge of the roof and jumped. Caught myself on some scaffolding coming down and lost her in the crowd.
[ Accepting the offered glass, Stephen fixes Nate with a very particular look. It's the kind of look that says yes, sadly and but not for everyone. There's curiosity there that's only just overruled by the gently mounting stress of another looming problem.
Chances are she'd have killed him if he hadn't hastily thrown himself off a building and had the skills in place to avoid death by sidewalk. And a ravenous vampire no longer on a diet doesn't simmer down by itself.
A long, slow sip is answer enough, right? Here's hoping, because it's the answer he gets. On the swallow, there's another pressing question. ]
[ Chances are she'd have killed him if he wasn't so goddamn quick on his feet and accustomed to people actively trying to kill him, so Nate doesn't have particularly high hopes for any other potential victims she might try to divest of their blood. It seems as though Stephen is in agreement with Nate's wordless assessment, given his equivalent wordlessness and the lull that develops between them. ]
Wade Wilson. New hire for security and other odd-job stuff.
[ He takes a long sip of his orange juice. ]
Would've patched myself but he happened to be locking up.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's always good to have something in your back pocket in case of environmental collapse.
[ It's funny because it's probably going to happen. He doesn't miss a step, turns to issue a quick wave before climbing down into the hatch.
Once Nate follows him down, he'll find himself in a slightly condensed version of the original safehouse. Kitchen, canteen, dorm, med room, showers. The far end of the dorm has a couple of cots pushed together and a few home comforts but it's still pretty Spartan in here. Most of Stephen's things are tucked away in the storeroom, ever ready for the space to fall into proper use.
The hatch closes down behind them, security system locking them back in as he makes his way off to his makeshift walk in wardrobe. ]
Make yourself comfortable. I'll get you something to wear.
no subject
[ It reminds him of the facility he found in Panama, all reinforced concrete and corrugated metal. Like the Morningstar safehouse it too had been sparse - albeit full of dead bodies - and Stephen's has that similar "prepared to wait out the next Cold War" air. ]
Thanks. [ Nate says distractedly, wandering the length of the bunker and peering into the various spaces. It's impersonal, devoid of any significant number of belongings. Hard to get a read on people who don't have any stuff. ] You didn't really strike me as an apocalypse prepper.
no subject
[ He wanders back with a shirt and some loose pants in case he wants out of all of it, drops them at the end of a cot for collection when Nate's ready. ]
The building over the primary safehouse is in my name too.
no subject
[ Politically interesting information is difficult to come by, but here it is, black and white. Nate's understanding of the way things work here from a factional standpoint is still very new, very naive, but having expressed his evident distaste with Morningstar's tactics to other Displaced since they day they woke up from their medically-induced comas, he's assuming he should tread with some reasonable amount of care.
His boots meander over to the cot and Nate drops to its edge, reaching for the shirt and shaking it out after setting the orange juice on a nearby stool. There's some minimal wincing as he pulls the collar over his head, careful of the bandages.
It would be just his luck to open the stitches in his side. ]
You've been busy, then. What's next, connecting them with abandoned maintenance tunnels?
no subject
[ Stephen keeps a careful watch on the patient as he pulls the shirt down over his head, a more recent habit than his medical degree might let on. The Displaced have a tendency to open new and old wounds both.
It strikes him as the question's posed that a vast number of the current population weren't here for the birth of the idea. That nobody's been filling them in on what's come before so they can better understand what comes next.
History lessons aren't the first thing that come to mind for a period of experience that doesn't even span a year. But the time that has passed has been crammed to burst and a lot of it is important context. In the spirit of education, Stephen draws a deep breath. The only indication Nate will get that it's story time before he's setting off into it. ]
The bar was the end goal. We saw a need to seek relative independence from Morningstar and they offered us three different business opportunities. Somewhere in the middle of that process, they suffered a leak and their personnel were moved on by the UNA. Operatives were abducted from their homes, leaving behind murdered partners and abandoned children, and those we managed to save were taken underground. But nobody knew where the leak came from, or how safe the safehouses really were. Switching safehouse became a little more pressing than renovating an old bar.
The old coffee shop they offered was too central and too specialised to provide cover and would've been too expensive to run as what it had once been. The garage is in a rougher neighborhood, a safer bet for people coming and going all hours of the day and night without raising the eyebrows of anybody who'd care to report us, and here we're visible and more likely to earn higher profits. Keeping our hidden underground base and public-facing business front separate seemed like a good option, so we asked for both. We were granted them on the proviso that we kept this space available in case of future emergencies.
[ It's a very quick run down, but it's a sign that he has knowledge and isn't stingy with it. He trusts that if there are questions, Nate will be smart enough to ask them. Whether that's now or later down the line. ]
Though if you do happen to find any convenient subterranean tunnels, you let me know.
no subject
It occurs to Nate that so much of this feels like the dog days of Hadriel, the panicked and last-ditch efforts to protect people, to build bunkers. Some people rode out the storm while he and others led a guerrilla force in the jungle and Nate can almost feel the sweat sticking his shirt to his back, the damp air choked with smoke and the smell of singed flesh.
His elbows brace on his knees as he listens, thumb absently rubbing his ring finger, nodding along. If he happens to come across any tunnels their use might be invaluable to an operation like this, no matter his personal feelings on how Morningstar executes their work. ]
...you live here, though. [ He points out, curious. ] Why?
no subject
It is what it is. He doesn't feel any particular way about it. ]
Because I have a depressing apartment across town and spend most of my time here. Eventually I just stopped going back.
no subject
Nate stares at him for a long moment, expression neutral, fidgety fingers stilling. ]
...are you okay?
no subject
Of all the times to be asked that question. ]
Okay is relative. I'm looking at this as a sabbatical.
[ Not a yes, but it is at least an I'm grateful for what I've got. Which might be more depressing than his being here in the first place, but that's life. ]
no subject
[ Nate points out with a grudging tilt of his head, but doesn't pursue further pressing. He knows the nimble dodging of a question when he sees it. After a long moment Nate slaps his hands on his knees and stands, sore but not uneasy. He meanders over to the carton he left on the table and starts hunting for glasses.
Over his shoulder: ]
Juice?
no subject
Why not? Top door to the right.
[ The cabinet for glasses. Let's drink to the release of a held breath, a reprieve from being seen, and a casual change of subject. ]
How did you get clear of her?
no subject
[ Glasses appropriately retrieved Nate pours the both of them healthy helpings of orange juice, moving to close the space between them as he hands it over. They could both probably use something a lot stronger, but with his current blood loss he knows better than to push his luck in any direction that spells potential inebriation. ]
Managed to kick her off me, scrambled to the edge of the roof and jumped. Caught myself on some scaffolding coming down and lost her in the crowd.
[ He raises his eyebrows. ]
Just another day at the office, right?
no subject
Chances are she'd have killed him if he hadn't hastily thrown himself off a building and had the skills in place to avoid death by sidewalk. And a ravenous vampire no longer on a diet doesn't simmer down by itself.
A long, slow sip is answer enough, right? Here's hoping, because it's the answer he gets. On the swallow, there's another pressing question. ]
And who was your midnight medic?
no subject
Wade Wilson. New hire for security and other odd-job stuff.
[ He takes a long sip of his orange juice. ]
Would've patched myself but he happened to be locking up.