After spending thirty years of my life hiding my association with the Enclave [open]

[taediosum]

Who: Arcade (taediosum) & OPEN
What: Arts & crafts (or some long overdue vehicle maintenance)
When: Some activity during the morning stop & early evening 
Where: His truck
Warnings: TBD but nothing likely

Note: I have an opt-in here for Arcade's vital sense ability, please leave a comment if it's something you're interested in coming up here or in future threads! Otherwise, no worries, it just won't work on/around them.



[ Ordinarily, Arcade only looks for salvage of practical things, at the intermittent garage stop. He doesn't know much about vehicle maintenance beyond the basics, and even that's mostly still only in theory. (Luckily, he somehow hasn't had to field a flat tire or an overheating engine, yet.) But he knows plenty about surviving in a post-apocalyptic waste with little to live on, from place to place. He also knows too much about personally handling triage, in those same circumstances. 

So it's really no wonder it's taken him this long to start picking up things that aren't necessarily needed but still... Well, probably should have been considered, at least, a little sooner. (But he's had a whole host of other things to worry about, these past few months, unsurprisingly.)

He's already started a small collection of patchwork canvas, wherever he can find it. It's going to take a while to actually completely enclose the back of the truck, again, so that it can serve as somewhat more suitable shelter - so he'll be around crudely stitching together the various pieces of cover that he's managed to collect, thus far, both in the early morning hours and at night. He's not quite as good at sewing as he is at suturing, and it's kind of obvious.

Or maybe he's trying to flag someone down to lend a hand with actually fitting his makeshift tarp over the top of the truck's trailer— ] Hey, do you have a minute? I could use some help, here.

[ One particular evening, he can also be found with a small collection of old paint cans, painstakingly hunted down in the latest set of ruins. He's set up alongside the truck's cab, eyeing the faded spray paint stenciled logo on the door in front of him - before unceremoniously dashing a swath of old beige paint over it.

Maybe it's because he hasn't made a plan until now to actually get rid of it (despite all the trouble it's already caused), but covering it up feels better than expected. ]

Comments

[purplexing]

[The (winged) turtle boy's been a bit frazzled ever since the attack of the brains, and while he has things to work on, he hasn't been able to find the focus for it. ...which isn't great when you're left with some free time before everyone is on the move again.

As it turns out, there are other ways to expend restless energy. Like flying!

The only previous experience Donnie's had flying has been technically existed, but he's found some new exhilaration in being able to do it by his own power. He'd actually spotted Arcade from a distance off, circling down from his aerial patrol of the convoy.

At being asked for assistance, he glides around to the opposite side of the truck, grabbing the end of the tarp so he can drag it along with him as he lets himself drop down on the other side with it.]

[serialmurderbot]

[The gloves that SecUnit found on its ATV during the beginnings of the Convoy are long since destroyed, between its fighting style (if it could even be called that) and the general hard-on-everything nature of this journey. Which sucks for SecUnit, because that means the only way it has to hide its hands right now is shoving them into the pockets of its jacket, a tactic it usually doesn't like to do, considering its general paranoia.

It's compromised today by keeping one hand (the injured hand) in a jacket pocket, and leaving the other one free, so it can be only half as paranoid as it might be. That's the atmosphere around it - heightened stress chemicals, and the metal-electric-ozone lingering smell that is bloodlike but not quite blood. It should be in pain, but it's not acting like it, when it comes to a stop at Arcade's call for assistance. It's not looking up towards him, but it's clearly paying attention.]

What kind of help?

[androidvictoriam]

[ Danse no longer deliberately parks his truck in a good vantage point to keep tabs on what's going on with Arcade's, but he's been reassured that he doesn't have to go out of his way to avoid it, either, and this is one of those nights where it just happens to be readily visible from where he's relaxing.

(It's a good thing, probably, that his hearing hadn't begun to feel this oversensitive when he was still attempting active surveillance, because he can hear the conversations in other vehicles now even when he's trying not to, and it would be all the worse if he still felt justified in invading anyone's privacy. But there's nothing in particular to overhear right now, and it's a quiet enough night in general that even the noise headache is less bothersome than usual.)

He tilts his head and wonders what Arcade's up to with the paint cans, thinks about going over to ask, but with that first stroke of paint it becomes entirely obvious. It isn't cathartic for Danse, the way it must be for Arcade, but it's pleasing nonetheless. After a moment, he hops down out of his truck bed and wanders over. ]

About damn time.

[ It's friendly, with a little smile and no actual reproach in it. It's not like he's known where to find any paint before now. ]

[hexrot]

[ the first thing that's showing up here is jayce's "stench" well before he actually shows up. it's not your average corpse-smell, just— incredibly weird, toeing the line between ew and ????. the staggering hoof-steps come next, uneven and overcompensating one side until the limp is as audible as the metal clicking of a brace that's gone through some maintenance. he's tried adding some makeshift padding to keep from chafing his legs— not because it hurt, because that was pretty dulled, but because it was starting to make the flesh around it give way and actually . . . expose the bone. it unnerves him, and reminds him of a time that makes him pick at his wrist.

of course, a weird dream was no real apology, only a reminder of one. so that's why jayce is finally here, after aligning himself and not getting stuck as a massive deer thing. by the time jayce stands some comfortable spaces behind arcade's handiwork, the draugr's cervid ears flop to inspect from afar. he's covered in soot and ends up smudging a good side of his scarred face when rubbing the black discoloring under his nose. ]

Didn't know you were an artist.