[ It becomes, very quickly, easy to tell apart those who are suited to the supply runs and those who aren’t. Sometimes the cues are physical: people who don’t look like they could run very fast or for very long; people who couldn’t comfortably carry the loads they’d need to if they did make it back, or people who are too clumsy for stealth. Other times, there’s a shaking in their limbs or a gnawing of their cheek, a terror in the looks they cast around or a vacancy that speaks either to being too young or too bold to understand. Or to knowing well enough what may come and having already switched off the lights.
The first few days people don’t really understand what they’re in for out there. History lessons can't prepare. Fear is present in almost everyone, for excellent reason, but it’s only once the first groups return (very few the way they’d left, many more drifting in from untrod tunnels at strange hours, unannounced and dazed, ghostlike in and of themselves) that reality really starts to settle cold hands around throats. There’s little first-hand information. A whispered awareness of the returnees who sit speechless in their beds, unresponsive to anything except the encouragement of the building managers ushering them off to their work. Those who flinch away from touch. Those who weep.
Some return battered and bruised, some have hands worked raw. Many drink.
One thing is certain. The supply runs are not for everyone. In fact, if this were a kind world, the supply runs would not be for most.
This is not a kind world. ]
[ There is someone in this group who shouldn’t be here. Maybe many someones, but you can’t save them all. Stephen is never on the guestlist but it never matters. He makes his dogged way from dormitory to the supply group gathering spot once each day, weaving amongst those better prepared for the outside to stop near the one least suited. ]
I’m sure you have somewhere else to be. [ or ] Thanks for holding my place. [ or ] You're okay. Go back.
[ The conversation happens over and over. He’s always calm. Always steady. The quiet dismissals carry with them quiet authority, and more often than not they get the job done. ]
i. [ Maybe it’s the early days and he’s fresh as a daisy. Are you currently here doing the exact same thing? Are you pre-assigned to the supply run team and think it’s worth asking him why he’s this way? Or telling him what a nice thing he did? ]
ii. [ Or is it later on? There are many days when he appears as though he's just slept for a week and come back via the barber, though others too when he’s far from fresh. No matter how badly scratched up or worn down or covered in bruises he is on arrival, it’s never quite enough for him to look like he ought to be somewhere else. A focus in him that bridges no argument.
Perhaps you're waiting for him as arranged, or as not yet arranged but soon to be. Maybe you meet him en route. ]
iii. [ Or it could be that it’s you he’s approaching today. Either because this really isn’t somewhere you should be, or it’s a not so subtle hint that on this particular day you look like you need to sit this one out. ]
( ooc, don't feel obliged to make use of the shorter prompt options if they don't fit your thoughts! just a few options for entry points, you can launch anything at me and I'll run with it. )
(open) supply runs - volunteering,
The first few days people don’t really understand what they’re in for out there. History lessons can't prepare. Fear is present in almost everyone, for excellent reason, but it’s only once the first groups return (very few the way they’d left, many more drifting in from untrod tunnels at strange hours, unannounced and dazed, ghostlike in and of themselves) that reality really starts to settle cold hands around throats. There’s little first-hand information. A whispered awareness of the returnees who sit speechless in their beds, unresponsive to anything except the encouragement of the building managers ushering them off to their work. Those who flinch away from touch. Those who weep.
Some return battered and bruised, some have hands worked raw. Many drink.
One thing is certain. The supply runs are not for everyone. In fact, if this were a kind world, the supply runs would not be for most.
This is not a kind world. ]
[ There is someone in this group who shouldn’t be here. Maybe many someones, but you can’t save them all. Stephen is never on the guestlist but it never matters. He makes his dogged way from dormitory to the supply group gathering spot once each day, weaving amongst those better prepared for the outside to stop near the one least suited. ]
I’m sure you have somewhere else to be. [ or ] Thanks for holding my place. [ or ] You're okay. Go back.
[ The conversation happens over and over. He’s always calm. Always steady. The quiet dismissals carry with them quiet authority, and more often than not they get the job done. ]
i. [ Maybe it’s the early days and he’s fresh as a daisy. Are you currently here doing the exact same thing? Are you pre-assigned to the supply run team and think it’s worth asking him why he’s this way? Or telling him what a nice thing he did? ]
ii. [ Or is it later on? There are many days when he appears as though he's just slept for a week and come back via the barber, though others too when he’s far from fresh. No matter how badly scratched up or worn down or covered in bruises he is on arrival, it’s never quite enough for him to look like he ought to be somewhere else. A focus in him that bridges no argument.
Perhaps you're waiting for him as arranged, or as not yet arranged but soon to be. Maybe you meet him en route. ]
iii. [ Or it could be that it’s you he’s approaching today. Either because this really isn’t somewhere you should be, or it’s a not so subtle hint that on this particular day you look like you need to sit this one out. ]
( ooc, don't feel obliged to make use of the shorter prompt options if they don't fit your thoughts! just a few options for entry points, you can launch anything at me and I'll run with it. )