IC: "The Night the Lights Went Out"

[sereneotter00]

⊢ TOM DAWSON
HARRINGTON HILLS VINEYARD
HARRINGTON HILLS
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
AROUND 6:30 AM, SUNDAY​

Tom had rolled his eyes at the correction. Then again, he couldn't really benefit from showing his annoyance, especially from a man who was due to give him a pretty amount of money. He wasn't all that enamored with the continuation of their trip up to his home. So many kinds of terrain—did rich people always have to settle for hills? Perhaps, given the energy, he would've gawked at the fine home and admirable landscape. However, as he finally came to a halt at their final destination, he couldn't do much but catch his breath. Cardio officially needed to become a priority for him.

They nearly buckled at the sound of another person and, upon turning to look at her, the sight of her gun. Glenn might not have noticed from the get-go, but Tom's paling face gave away his recognition of the firearm.

Like the average person, the sight of a gun, even something as small as a revolver, was enough to get Tom sweating more than he already was. He instinctively raised his hands slightly as he witnessed the conversation between the two. Was he new to witnessing someone that young with a man of Glenn's age? Of course not. Usually that came with some obvious resentment, though, particularly on the younger partner's behalf. The way the two interacted, especially in Tom's presence, which could easily be misinterpreted, was almost... refreshing? Good for them for actually harboring love in a marriage—he could appreciate it better without the woman's gun in his vicinity. Without the fear, he might've also detected her flirtatious approach better.

"Nice to, uh, nice to meet you," Tom mumbled, contemplating taking a step back the closer she got, shaking Roxie's hand delicately instead. He would never squeeze in a handshake with firmness for such a beautiful woman, but he also didn't want to get a bullet in case anything was misinterpreted. He ignored his urge to leave and instead helped the other man out of the seat. At least the worst part of it was over. Surprisingly, even standing was such a relief to his drained legs. He didn't trust that they'd be able to hold him up for long, though.

The use of his government name distracted him from his heavy legs for a second, leading to a cringe. "No, Tom. Tom is preferred," he clarified, then assisted the two with getting Glenn into their home, relaxing slightly. With a couple of z's in his system, he'd dissect the home's appearance and how he very much could not afford one singular object in it. For now, he stood awkwardly after helping Glenn settle in and listening to his instructions.

"Are you... doing alright?" Tom asked, sliding his hands into his pockets. He was desperate to take a seat but didn't want to appear rude or as if he was overstepping his welcome.

 

[sereneotter00]

⊢ HANNAH BLANCHARD
THE BAZAAR
AUSTIN, TEXAS
LATE MORNING, SUNDAY​

"Oh! No, I'm okay, thank you." Hannah smiled politely, fixing her grip on her box. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the help—she was just nervous at even the idea of losing her work to an accidental drop. Doing the landscaping at her house back in Durango had conditioned her to some decent arm strength—at least enough for this task.

Eleanor's reassuring words on the men with the weapons were soothing to Hannah, whose shoulders quickly distanced themselves from her jawline. She hadn't realized how much tension she was holding the entire walk over. Whether it was Eleanor's kind demeanor or the promise of safety didn't matter; after the disastrous raid of the night before, she was incredibly grateful for a compassionate person. Listening to her anecdote of community only made her breathe easier. With a million thoughts in her head, to know they had something firm at the moment gave her hope of stability... as far as it went in the current Austin environment. As it was, Hannah had to be extra cautious in gathering her items to avoid being hurt in any way by others.

In trust, which she was neglecting to remember could easily backfire on her, the woman followed her new acquaintance into the building, letting out a small breath as soon as the armed people were behind her. Her eyes scanned the various items and services inside, thankful that she had ditched a paper trail the second she withdrew all her money back in Colorado.

At the inquiry about her appetite, Hannah's stomach growled almost as if on cue. Her last meal had been at a gas station seven hours away from Austin. With the bits of food she had on her, she figured she'd fast until she physically couldn't anymore; at the time, it seemed like the only option. The smell was enchanting, whatever it was. Her mouth watered as she listened to Eleanor's food descriptions, especially at the promise of whatever she needed.

Before she could ask for a meal—frankly, she didn't know what to ask for just yet—she observed as another woman brought forth a case. She eyed the items inside it with oddity. What she first thought was Eleanor making sure her staff had entertainment (although Hannah figured poker might not be the best idea), her curiosity grew when she watched the older woman hand some of the chips over and mention others getting their part. Maybe it was like the tokens at pizza places?

She nodded respectfully to Eleanor's explanation, although it didn't answer most of her questions. At least knowing Eleanor and her husband contributed to charity was a green flag to Hannah. The mention of payment and behavior of the next stranger brought back her interest. Thankfully, Eleanor's follow-up explanation came shortly, to which Hannah took in attentively. She couldn't argue with the logic, just as she couldn't ignore the new knot in her stomach right beside her hunger. If they were already taking these measures, especially with a resume to verify their confidence, then things weren't likely to turn for the better soon. It hadn't even been a day, and it had already felt strenuous to Hannah.

When she had asked the universe for change, she hadn't meant this.

She missed the last part of Eleanor's descriptions while she was lost in thought, returning to the real world at Henry's call. Hesitantly, Hannah took the chips Eleanor offered her. It wasn't from a lack of trust of the older woman—she was a saint compared to the others she had encountered the night prior—but in a way, it felt like accepting the items was also accepting this foreign reality, one she never would've expected.

"Thank you," Hannah said before she watched Eleanor leave to find her spouse. She looked down at the chips in her hand, moving them over and over against each other, the faint clicking mixing with the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

 

[Alice2015]

Roxie Harrington (profile) with Glenn Harrington (profile) and Tom Dawson (profile)
Harrington Hills Vineyard
Harrington Hills (an eastern unincorporated suburb of San Diego)

6:30 am, shortly before sunrise
Sunday, 19 January 2025 (almost 4 hours after TLWO at 1:44 am):

(OOC: Continues Roxie from here and the two boys from just above. )

"Are you... doing alright?" Tom asked Glenn as the man settled down into the couch.

Roxie looked back at the pair from the den's doorway, marveling at how different the two men were and yet how much they both intrigued her ... sexually. Her relationship with her husband had started out as sex, of course. She'd been an exotic dancer at an exclusive Gentlemen's Club, and after he'd visited her several times for private room lap dances and -- away from the club -- very energetic, exciting, sometimes kinky sex, he'd gotten her a place to live and then ultimately moved her in here as his wife.

She'd never hidden the fact that she'd fallen for his money in the beginning. But money alone would never have kept Roxie. Glenn turned out to be one of the sweetest, most generous, most understanding, and most exciting men she'd ever met. And while their sex life together was still very exciting and equally satisfying, they gave each other the room to explore and enjoy outside the bounds of their marriage, too.

Studying the younger man as he showed concern for Glenn, Roxie couldn't help but imagine being with him in the most intimate of ways. Roxie didn't consider herself a slut or anything like that, but learning what Tom had done for her husband tonight made her want to do things to him that would make him understand the true meaning of appreciation. Of course, there was a very good chance that Tom's interest in such appreciation might lay more with her husband than with Roxie. If that was the case, she was more than willing to give the two the space and time to enjoy one another.

"I'll be right back," Roxie said, heading out into the foyer. She made her way up the stairs and into their bedroom where the safe was hidden behind a large mirror. $10,000 ... for a bike ride from the city, she thought to herself. It must really be bad down there for Glenn to have made that deal.

Glenn was a very generous person, as Tom was learning tonight. But he wasn't wasteful either. He wasn't the type to throw money around simply for people to see that he had money. Taking out the bundles of cash -- new bills still in their original bank straps -- Roxie began to become really concerned about what the hell was happening out there in the world.

"Whatcha doin'?" a second female voice sounded from the big super-king bed. In a surprised voice, Roxie's friend asked, "Is that ... is that money? How much is that?"

"Ten grand," Roxie answered, crossing over to the bed to sit, lean over the woman, and engage her in a deep, passionate kiss. Separating their mouths, Roxie smiled and teased, "And no, it's not for you. I'll be right back, but ... you should probably get dressed. My husband's home."

"I thought you said he'd be out all night," the woman said, sliding slowly out of bed to reveal a wonderfully sexy and totally nude body.

"I did say that," Roxie confirmed as she headed for the bedroom's exit. "But things change. I'll be back."

She headed back down the stairs to deliver Tom's payment.

(OOC: Your turn, HumanBean. )

 

[sereneotter00]

⊢ JASON FLYNN
FLYNN-BLANCHARD RESIDENCY
WEST OF DURANGO
DURANGO, COLORADO
AROUND 4PM, SUNDAY​

Where Flynn was supposed to feel culpability, he instead felt lust. He felt the familiar heat in his skin that he had become familiar with every time he encountered a new woman that got his attention. His head followed Angel into the kitchen, his words not too far behind. "If you'll let me, I'd love to get to know you much better."

He'd hit the shower later—right now, he was letting his pants control his movements. He trailed after Angel into the kitchen, watching as she moved around the kitchen. In the meantime, he leaned against the kitchen's island counter, his hands clasped together as he viewed quietly. Not in an analytical way, nor in a critical way—he was just letting his brain turn off for a moment to watch a pretty girl cook. He nodded to both of her questions, knowing damn well that seeing Phyllis again was the last of his priorities or actually saving the food for that manner.

The male observed the final meal, impressed that his guest had managed to salvage enough ingredients to conjure up a proper salad. By all means, he would be skipping on the milk, but the rest appeared alright. He was close to taking a bite with one of the forks he had acquired when he stopped the food headed to his mouth in midair at the mention of Hannah.

Right, Hannah.

He put his fork down and looked at Angel sharply. "You ask a lot of questions about topics that aren't your business," he replied, his appetite diminishing. Was there a need to be questioned? Did the locked bedroom not give enough of a clue that he didn't care to talk about it? He knew he didn't owe her any answers—at the end of the day, she was still a stranger after all—but her courage to ask anyway was only bothersome. "Your mouth is going to get you in trouble."

Still, the fact that she still had the nerve to ask anyway made him assume she'd be stubborn regardless of his aversion. He might as well throw her a bone. "She's out of town," Flynn answered. He didn't even want to entertain the idea of her not being alive, plus technically they hadn't officially split up, so who was to say they wouldn't be able to reconcile?

 

[Alice2015]

Eleanor Gumble (profile, pic) and Hannah Blanchard (profile)

"The Bazaar", Austin, Texas

Late morning, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (maybe 7 hours after TLWO):

(Eleanor's last post here, Hannah's is just above a couple of replies.)

Less than a minute after Eleanor had left Hannah standing alone in The Bazaar, a Latina woman and her tween-aged son came walking up to the woman from Colorado, their faces full of smiles and their hands full of food and drink. The woman, Carlita, gestured Hannah to an empty table near the wall, speaking to her in rapidly paced Spanish with some intermixed words of English. Whether or not Hannah spoke any of the language, it would probably have been obvious that the woman was speaking highly about the deliciousness of the array of foods.

"Yo soy José," the boy said, introducing himself in his native language. Then, in highly accented but passable English, he explained, "Aunt Ellie says you eat. Free, no money. She come to talk to you of..." He paused, missing a word; he spoke to his mother in Spanish, and after she'd responded with propuesta, the boy continued, "Proposal. She come talk to you about proposal."

He looked confused by the word, as if he didn't understand its meaning. But he smiled, took Hannah's hand, and literally pulled her to the table of food. His mother was already heading away to speak to a customer, and Jose was quick to follow behind.

It would be another thirty minutes before Eleanor would come back out to find Hannah and ask her what she had in mind.

 

[Alice2015]

Angel Daniels (profile) and Jason Flynn (profile)
Flynn's home
Durango, Colorado
6:15pm (15.5 hours after TLWO):

(Angel's last post; Flynn's is just above here a bit.)

After she'd asked him about the woman in the pictures around the house, Angel got a response but not so much an answer: "You ask a lot of questions about topics that aren't your business."

She was about to reply with Well, if you want to get to know me MUCH better, it IS my business. But she stopper herself. There was more to Flynn's response, with him adding, "Your mouth is going to get you in trouble."

Angel couldn't help but chuckle to that one, though. That old saying came to her mind: been there, done that.

"She's out of town," Flynn finally said about the missing woman in his life.

Angel thought, THERE it is, out of town ... fuck. Despite having only known Flynn a couple of hours thus far, she'd actually already been contemplating spending the night with him ... with him, as in with him between her thighs. She thought he might very well fill the need that she typically let Roger fill.

Now though? I don't think so. There was something that simply didn't feel right about this. Angel didn't understand it at the moment, but the thing that was bugging her was deep in her subconscious: she'd recognized the woman in the photos but just couldn't place her.

"Out of town," she murmured. mostly to herself than to Flynn. She stuffed a big forkful of salad into her mouth as she studied the man thoughtfully. She looked to her plate and realized she had no more appetite for it. Setting the plate on the floor, Angel made a click sound with her tongue in her cheek. The two dogs hurried over from where they'd been lying quietly, and the plate was cleaned off in seconds.

"I'm going to take Nutter and Butter for a walk before it gets too dark out," Angel said.

She put the plate in the sink; there wasn't hot water enough to clean it properly. Looking out the kitchen window, she realized that it was already getting dark outside. Sunset had been 45 minutes ago, and dusk was settling in all about Durango.

Turning, Angel looked to Flynn again, thinking as she looked him over, Jesus, I'd love to fuck you, but... She said to him, "You did say I could stay over tonight, right...? I mean, you told Phyllis..."

She let the thought fade to get his response.

 

[HumanBean]

Glenn Harrington (profile), with Roxie Harrington (profile) and Tom Dawson (profile)
Harrington Hills Vineyard
Harrington Hills (an eastern unincorporated suburb of San Diego)

6:30 am, shortly before sunrise
Sunday, 19 January 2025 (almost 4 hours after TLWO at 1:44 am):

"No, Tom," the younger man responded. "Tom is preferred." He looked to Glenn, asking, "Are you... doing alright?"

"Yeah ... yes, I am," Glenn answered. His ankle was killing him. As his wife was turning to leave, he called, "Honey, can you get me an ice pack, too. And maybe one of, you know." The you know he was speaking of were the Oxycodone pills they kept in the medicine cabinet of the master bedroom.

"I'll be right back," Roxie said, heading off for the money to pay her husband's pedicab driver and the pill to ease his pain. Glenn looked to the younger man again. "I want to say thank you again, Tom. Listen, I'd get you something to eat or drink if I could stand."

He pointed toward the den's other door. "Kitchen is that way if you're hungry. Anything you want. Don't be shy. Margarite, she's the housekeeper, slash cook, slash heavenly angel who keeps this place running smoothly. She always leaves something in the fridge, middle shelf, for if we get the munchies. It's usually something spectacular. Honduran mostly. The plantains thingy, I don't remember what they're called, are the best."

Glenn leaned back into the couch, closing his eyes. He was exhausted. And in pain.

"And there's just about every alcoholic beverage you could want behind the bar there," he said, waggling a hand in the general direction of the wet bar. "I know it's early, but it's five o'clock somewhere in the world, right?"

 

[HumanBean]

Nicky Long (profile), with Sammi Evans (profile):

Eugene, Oregon
10:00 am (>8 hours after TLWO at their local time of 1:44am):

(OOC: Continues from here.)

Nicky entered the kitchen from the back door. One arm carried as much firewood as it could hold against his chest. Sammi was standing over the wood stove. Her parents stood together a few feet away. It was obvious that something was happening. Nicky assumed it had something to do with his conversation with Carl about staying here a while.

Carl answered the question by telling the ladies (but mostly Sammi), "Nick's going to stay with us for a while. A couple of days. Maybe more. At least until we've figured out what's happening out there."

He casually pointed an extended finger toward a door as if what's happening out there was that direction in particular. Carl could see joy in his daughter's face over the decision. When she looked from Nicky to him, he gave her a stern look. "In the meantime, let's eat. Everything's done?"

"Done enough," Pamela said, heading for the stove. Talking to Sammi, she said, "Help me serve, honey."

They filled platters and serving bowls with bacon, sausage, eggs, and hashbrowns. They delivered them to the table. Next came every bowl from the fridge that had food that might go bad soon. Peaches, pears, applesauce, and more. When Pamela set out the milk, she said, "Don't be shy about a tall glass. We can put this out on the porch to keep it cold, but we should finish it by tomorrow."

They all sat. Carl reached his hands out to his wife and daughter in flanking chairs. He gave his daughter another glare. She would be holding the guest's hand for Grace. They performed the blessing in silence, in their own minds, heads bowed. After a few seconds, the Evans's lifted their head. Almost simultaneously, they said, Amen."

"Eat up," Carl said, looking to Nicky. "My girls are the best cooks ... in this whole house."

"Carl!" Pamela snapped before giggling. Smiling to Nicky, she said playfully, "It is true, though."

 

[HumanBean]

Marcus Washington (profile), with Keri Lee (profile)

(His last post. Continues from Keri's last post)

Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport
Arlington, Virginia
(Across the Potomac from Washington DC)

Almost 11am, local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (7 hours after TLWO):

After Marcus apologized for sounding like he might have been, Keri said, "And it wouldn't actually be that bad if you hit on me."

He smiled to her. This looks hopeful, he thought. She asked if maybe he could give her his phone number or address. He tried to sound smooth, saying, "Sure." But that sounded as if he wasn't excited. And Marcus wanted Keri to know he was. He smiled wider, telling her, "I mean, definitely."

He took the clipboard she'd been taking notes on. "I don't know how long this blackout is going to last or if we will ever get any of what's lost back, so..."

He set to writing down just about everything and anything she might ever need to contact him: cell phone, work phone, home landline, home address in DC, parent's address in near Mount Vernon, their phone numbers, too. He felt a bit silly when he handed the clipboard back. Shyly, he shrugged and said, "Just in case."

They made their farewells. Marcus departed, heading back toward the tower. He didn't reach it, though. It was practically gone. Only some masonry and steel remained. A small plane had fallen to strike a fuel truck 50 yards away. The explosion had sent burning fuel in every direction, including that of the tower.

Marcus made contact with the Tower Supervisor. She, several of Marcus's co-workers, other airport workers, and airport patrols had gathered out on the tarmac. Marcus was told he should just go home. "There's nothing you can do here. Go home, get some sleep. Be with your family. Until power comes back, there's nothing you can do here."

"What about...?" Marcus began, looking off toward the runways and then the air. He couldn't believe he was asking this. "Did they, the planes, did all of them just fall?"

"As far as we can tell, yes," the Supervisor said. "There's nothing in the sky now. Not a single light. No engine sounds." She pointed toward various fires burning in every direction. "Most of them are planes, we think. Some aren't, but most are."

"Do we have any idea of the dead?" he asked. Marcus had been responsible for 23 incoming flights. 3,000 passengers or more. 3 controllers meant almost 10,000 passengers. And that was just Reagan National. Baltimore-Washington International and Dulles handled even more aircraft. And then there were a dozen smaller airports. They handled mostly little private planes. But some specialized in freight, too. Fewer people, but lots of cargo.

There may have been as many as 50,000 people in the air over the DC Metro area last night when this all happened. Marcus asked the Supervisor, "Did we lose anyone? Airport personnel, I mean."

"No, no one from the Tower," The Supervisor said. "There're a couple of guys missing on the tarmac, though."

Marcus chatted a bit longer before departing. He didn't head for home, though. He returned to Baggage Claim. He wanted to see Keri Lee again. He wanted to take her home with him, in truth.

 

[sereneotter00]

⊢ TOM DAWSON
HARRINGTON HILLS VINEYARD
HARRINGTON HILLS
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
AROUND 6:30 AM, SUNDAY​

He wasn't about to ask an injured person to get him things, much less one that was about to reward him stunningly. "No, I'm good; don't worry about that stuff," Tom reassured Glenn, waving his hand in a dismissal. His concern left for a second when he heard about the housekeeper. He could admire many things of the wealthy, but servants—no matter how occupied they were—always gave him a sour taste in his mouth. It could be his lower-class upbringing or the fact that even now he was still in a service career, yet he bit his tongue and swallowed any snarky remarks. His morals weren't enough to bite the hand that was feeding him at the moment.

Regardless of the mixed feelings, he was still appreciative—not enough to ask their cook to whip up a meal, but enough to foolishly accept the offer for alcohol. Who was he to deny drinks at a vineyard of all places? "I appreciate it; thanks, man," he said, instantly correcting himself with a squeeze of his eyes. "Sorry—Mr. Harrington."

While he waited for a response or the reappearance of his spouse, Tom made his way to the wet bar, carefully rummaging through the ingredients and bottles at his disposal. With years of experience (and constant brushing up on new creations so he could keep the big tips coming), Tom could flawlessly create nearly any drink or cocktail requested. Due to the cameras and hovering patrons at his job, he rarely had a chance to swipe a taste or two of anything he was craving himself. He was familiarized with many of the brands the Harringtons had available, shocked at the rarer brands they had in their collection, and curious about some other bottles he had never seen before.

Any other less hectic day, Tom would've happily spent hours upon hours taste testing everything in their inventory. Tom was especially fond of fine whiskeys or crafted beer, but today, despite the hour, he needed a shot of vodka. If he kept himself in his current state of tension, he likely would end up pouring himself a mug or two instead.

Tom located a shot glass and took the first bottle of vodka available. He wasn't in the mood to be picky; if some brief burning brought him back to the currently tedious Earth, then he'd happily argue against anyone calling him ridiculous for drinking so soon. In a few beats, he poured himself a shot and drank it before he could have any second thoughts.

"Fuck," he hissed under his breath. The vodka's quality was excellent and quite the intense breakfast. He carefully placed the shot back on the bar and grabbed the bottle, reading over its label while the burning faded from his throat. Maybe those plantains would've done a better number on his mouth.

 

[sereneotter00]

⊢ HANNAH BLANCHARD
THE BAZAAR
AUSTIN, TEXAS
LATE MORNING, SUNDAY​

The high Hispanic population of Colorado was truly coming in handy to Hannah at the moment. She definitely had an American accent when she spoke, but the comprehension and attempt were there. She gave a small thank you to her parents for forcing her into dual-language education as she grew up and the friends she had made that maintained the language. Tongue aside, the two strangers emit consideration, which was something Hannah couldn't grow sick of—especially with mentions of meals. She did not want anyone around when she dug into that first plate of food; it would not be a pretty sight or impression.

"No se preocupen si batallan con el inglés; si me sale rarito, pero me sale," Hannah smiled, surprised when the kid pulled at her towards the food. It was the startling more than anything. She had been waiting to have something in her stomach for way too long.

There was no prior exaggeration—everything looked incredible. Hannah was never picky with her meals, but even if she had been, she never would've complained with any of the dishes before her. She had to double-check that she wasn't actually drooling at the food or worse: imagining it. Snapping out of her haze, she followed suit with the others who were grabbing a plate and attempted not to make it seem that she was as hungry as she was. Although her stomach could've inhaled an entire tray of every dish, she put enough to carry comfortably on the plate. Later on, if possible or necessary, she could always try for seconds.

The foreshadowing of her vigorous eating hadn't been a passing thought, though. Balancing the plate, disposable cutlery, and a bottle of water, Hannah found her way out of one of the side doors of the Bazaar and found herself in a dirt-covered patio. She didn't care one bit about the surface; she walked along the building until she was far enough from the door, slid down with her back against the wall, sat on the floor with her legs crossed, and started devouring the food. There wasn't much time in between bites. The flavor of the servings only made the experience better; if only she had the right appetite to savor it appropriately. Instead, the woman was inhaling the meal, moaning at its taste.

 

[sereneotter00]

⊢ JASON FLYNN
FLYNN-BLANCHARD RESIDENCY
WEST OF DURANGO
DURANGO, COLORADO
AROUND 6PM, SUNDAY​

Flynn was good at many things—weight lifting, public speaking, and cursive writing, to name a few. He was not, however, good at having human decency when it came to relationships. He knew why it wasn't technically okay to sleep with someone else when the woman you were engaged with was on the run. He knew bringing a stranger—especially a woman you were more than willing to have in every room in the house—wasn't ideal. Deep down, he also knew the aversion of people in town was to be expected, especially with how social Hannah had always been.

He truly, genuinely, wholeheartedly couldn't get himself to care enough not to go through with it.

Maybe a psychiatrist could break down his excuses someday and patch him up into a less self-centered man, but at this very second, he just wanted to have sex with his guest. With the amount of women he had been with who knew that he was engaged—prior to the exposure, no less—he didn't get why there would be much reluctance from a third party. After all, he was the one cheating. If anything, the other person would be without fault... at least that's what his previous partners would insist on.

By the new way Angel seemed to carry herself, it looked like sex would be off the table. Bummer, but he'd survive. He had enough personal anecdotes to recall to pleasure himself when bedtime would come to take the desire off. Unable to hear her muttering, he shrugged, continuing with his meal. Perhaps not a hookup, but at least Angel did know how to pull off a mean salad. He couldn't help but make a disgusted face at Angel letting her dogs eat off one of their plates. Even if their plates hadn't been expensive, it was still something incredibly improper to Flynn. He decided to keep his thoughts to himself, just this once.

"I'm going to take Nutter and Butter for a walk before it gets too dark out," Angel said. Flynn wasn't done with his meal, but watching her put the plate in the sink, he quickly hurried over.

"No, gross, throw that away," he said rapidly, taking the plate and tossing it into the trash. He didn't give one shit about how the woman was raised or if her dogs somehow saw a dentist regularly or anything; he would not be keeping that dish on rotation for future meals. He rinsed his hands with dish soap while Angel made her final comment.

"Yes, I said it and meant it," Flynn confirmed, turning to her while he dried his hands with a kitchen towel. "As long as you stop letting your animals lick off my ninety-dollar dishes, you can do whatever you want in this place." Well, except go into his bedroom and, by the looks of it, him.

 

[Alice2015]

Sammi Evans (profile) with Nicky Long (profile):

Eugene, Oregon
10:00 am (>8 hours after TLWO at their local time of 1:44am):

(OOC: Continues from here.)

Sammi was delighted with learning that Nicky would be staying around for a while. She didn't know anything about him except that he was a sexy hunk of man-meat; she, of course, was a horny teenage girl whose raging hormones could put her into a dangerous situation these days without a second's hesitation. She had never before felt this way about someone she'd only just met; it was a strange feeling that she didn't understand yet simultaneously couldn't and wouldn't fight if she could.

They joked around a bit about how good Sammi and Pamela's cooking was, with the girl using the back and forth sharing of dialogue as an excuse to look at the handsome man again and again without looking like she was looking at him again and again. When he cleared his plate the first time, Sammi was quick to ask, "Do you want more, Nicky...? Or something else? We can open a jar of some other fruit. Momma and I can each year. This last fall, we put up..."

And Sammi proceeded to name each and every fruit, vegetable, root crop, etc., that she and Pamela had preserved; the list went far beyond the fruit she'd initially offered Nicky. After several minutes -- and despite occasionally prompting her mother or even her father to jump into the conversation -- Sammi realized that she'd seriously gone off the rail in an effort to draw Nicky's attention. She went quiet suddenly, feeling her face flush hot again, finishing with an embarrassed, "So ... like I said ... you know ... if you want something different..."

Sammi went almost silent for the rest of the meal, fearing that her excitement might have left her father fearing that his decision to let Nicky stay a while had been a mistake. Breakfast eventually came to an end, and after dessert had been offered -- Pamela and Sammi had made an apple pie the night before, thankfully -- the two women went to work on the dishes while Carl dragged Nicky outside for a project, getting the man started on earning his keep.

As the two women washed the dishes and determined which leftovers could be saved and which should be given to the chickens, ducks, or pigs, Sammi took several occasions to look for the men out the window. Her mother noticed this, pulled Sammi to face her, and warned with her well-known motherly tone, "We don't know this man, dear. Don't ... don't make a mistake and ... and think he's something he's not." Pamela pulled her daughter to her bosom for a tight, loving hug, finishing, "Don't risk a broken heart at such a young age. The damage is so much more damaging when you're just 18, honey."

Sammi returned the embrace with all the love in her heart ... and yet, at the same time, couldn't help but get a chill up her back as she imagined that Nicky's arms were around her body instead.

(OOC: HumanBean, I'm sure you can invent a project, can't you. Also, if you want to push the story ahead until afternoon or even evening, go for it. Let's get these folks closer to the next day.)

 

[Alice2015]

Keri Lee (profile) and Marcus Washington (profile)

(Continues from here)

Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport
Arlington, Virginia
(Across the Potomac from Washington DC)

5pm, local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (>12 hours after TLWO at their local time of 4:44am):

Very shortly after Marcus had left to check in with his boss or with whomever he might answer, one of the organizers of the aid effort taking place in baggage claim had come by to check on Keri again. By that point, she'd eaten, rehydrated, been seen to by first responders, and redressed in clothes that -- while being too large for her and hideous at the same time -- were entirely sufficient to keep her warm.

The organizer did her best to be polite about it but at the same time was making it clear that if Keri was both physically and emotionally capable of getting out of the area, she should. There was no food left to be distributed, bottled water was becoming scarce, and there wasn't enough heated space to take care of both the injured and the mobile, such as Keri herself.

She told the woman that she understood, and -- after pillaging through a collection of coats that had been assembled nearby -- wrapped herself even more warmly and went on a search for Marcus. Keri wasn't eager to head out into DC without a guide, someone who knew the area better than she did. Her familiarity with the nation's capital was limited primarily to the government buildings out of which the people she interviewed worked, the high-end hotels and clubs in which she stayed or partied when in town, and the network studio location in which she sometimes worked.

Outside of those and some of the more touristy locations, Washington DC was unfamiliar to Keri. Plus, there was the fact that she wasn't even in DC; she was across the Potomac in Virgina, of which she knew almost nothing except that it was also the home of the Pentagon, which -- like so many uninformed people thought about Reagan National Airport -- was on the other side of the river from DC, too.

After two full hours of searching for Marcus and -- despite describing him to others in the hopes of them knowing him -- coming up with bupkis, Keri decided that it was time to get on; she'd come to DC to do a news story, to cover the Inauguration, and she was going to keep with that task. After all, the power would eventually come on, and people would want to hear the story ... right?

Right...?

 

[Alice2015]

Roxie Harrington (profile) and Tom Dawson (profile) (and Glenn Harrington (profile) a little bit)
Harrington Hills Vineyard
Harrington Hills (an eastern unincorporated suburb of San Diego)

6:45 am, shortly before sunrise
Sunday, 19 January 2025 (5 hours after TLWO at 1:44 am):

(OOC: Continues Roxie from here, Tom's last post.)

Roxie reentered the den just in time to hear Tom hiss, "Fuck." It caught her off guard a moment, but then she smiled at realizing that he was getting into her husband's liquor. She continued into the room, asking as she neared her husband, "Did he tell you to feel free to get into the good stuff. I mean, it's all good stuff -- Glenn doesn't fool around with the swill they serve at the Holiday Inn's lounge -- but some of it is really the good stuff."

She made her way to her husband, gently urging him back to the land of the living to swallow down an oxycodone and let her tuck a thick blanket around him. Turning back to the younger man -- Tom was half the age of Roxie's husband yet within months of her own age -- she waggled a big wad of cash, saying, "Ten grand, just like my husband promised."

Roxie could have selected bundles of hundreds or fifties, but -- knowing that it spent easier in this denomination -- she'd retrieved five bundles of twenty-dollar bills instead. She crossed to the bar, dropped them upon it casually -- as if she dealt with this amount of money all the time -- and asked, "Do you know how to make a Mojito?"

Despite her former career as an exotic dancer in a club that served the best alcohols and her job previous to that which had been as a waitress in a dive bar serving some of the worst alcohols, Roxie had never been much of a drinker. She did have her favorite drinks, though, and the white rum and lime juice cocktail was probably her favorite.

She watched Tom as he worked, realizing that this wasn't the first time someone had asked him to make something more involved than a rum and coke. "You've bartended before?" she asked, not realizing that that was his current job.

She made some more inquiries, both to be friendly and to learn more about to whom her husband had just forked over $10,000 for a bike ride up the hill.

"Where do you work now...?"

"How long have you been there...?"

"Have you ever wanted to do anything other than that...?"

And more...

Behind them, Glenn was on the verge of snoring, the Oxy having taken effect and knocked him out. Then, unexpectedly, they were joined by the other woman currently in the house. (OOC: Picture her with her blouse buttoned up but still looking sexy beyond belief.) Viola entered carrying her fashionable, lightweight, leather jacket in one hand and her five-inch tall, open toed, spike heels in another; her blouse was unbuttoned low enough to reveal the white, bosom-lifting bra beneath, and her tight-fitting denim jeans clung to her perfect buttocks and long legs like a second skin.

"What's going on here?" she asked with a playful tone, "Having a party without me?"

Roxie wasn't happy about her lover's suddenly appearance; it was one thing for Glenn to see that his wife had brought a plaything home for the night, but the couple's extramarital fun wasn't something they shared with others. She didn't hesitate to turn to intercept the other woman as she continued deeper into the den, grabbing her and forcefully turning her back toward the door as she growled softly, "You're embarrassing me."

"What, it's okay to lick my pussy but not let the help know about it?" Viola asked as she was being pulled back out of the room. She looked over her shoulder, smiled, and waved to Tom, calling, "Good to meet you, whoever you are."

The two women entered the foyer, and Roxie growled, "He's not the help, bitch, any more than you are. And us sleeping together--"

"Sleep...?" Viola cut in. "Is that what we did together?"

Roxie could feel the anger building up, her skin burning and her heart beating. They reached the front door as she told the other woman, "You're not a very intelligent woman, Viola. You have no idea what you've done, shaming me like this. Get the fuck out. I don't want to see you again."

With her most recent lover on the front steps, Roxie slammed the door shut. She didn't want to look back toward the den, fearful that Tom had followed and witnessed the display. She'd accused Viola of shaming her, but Roxie felt like maybe she'd shamed herself, not for being found out by their male guest as having other people -- women no less -- in the bed she shared with her husband, but in treating the woman so horribly for it having been learned. Roxie knew she could have acted a bit nicer about the whole thing, but something had affected her, and it was too late to take it back.

If Tom didn't follow and see how rudely she'd acted, and if he didn't say anything more about it when she returned, Roxie would try to forget it ever happened. She turned back for the den, wanting to get on with her morning without thoughts of the other woman.

(Interestingly, Viola would find that her car -- parked next to the garage full of expensive rides -- wouldn't start, and realizing that she couldn't get down off the hill, she would crawl into the backseat, wrap herself in a blanket she kept there, and -- exhausted from a night of energetic sex -- fall asleep there, not to wake again until later that afternoon.)

 

[Alice2015]

Angel Daniels (profile) and Jason Flynn (profile)
Flynn's home
Durango, Colorado
6:15pm (15.5 hours after TLWO at their local time of 2:44am):

(Angel's last post and Flynn's last post.)

"No, gross, throw that away," Flynn said about the plate that Angel had let her dogs lick food off of. He tossed it into the garbage can without hesitation.

Angel couldn't help but smile at him in amazement. Her mouth resisted the urge to say what her brain was insisting she say: If you're concerned about that, how concerned would you be if I asked you to put your mouth on my pussy? Of course, comparing a dog's mouth to a human's was like comparing apples to oranges, with each having its own pros and cons when it came to cleanliness or the opposite. Still, Angel couldn't help but find humor in how Flynn had reacted, knowing some of the things he'd likely done with his mouth or some of the things he -- as a typical man -- would likely want to see her do to him with her own.

She said nothing, though, not wanting to fight over it. She had, after all, let her mutts lick off his apparently valuable dishware.

Regarding his confirmation of his invitation for her to stay the night, Angel only said before leading the dogs outside, "Thank you."

<<<<<<< >>>>>>>
​

Angel took the dogs out for a short walk and a game of chase and return with a stick she found ... or sticks she found, since the dogs were always great at chasing after the things she threw yet rarely if ever brought them back to her. It was, by now, getting very dark; the only illumination was the moon, the stars, and a half dozen fires burning off in the distance in seemingly every direction.

Angel was thankful that none of the serious mayhem was anywhere near her ... until suddenly it was. One, then both of the dogs began reacting noisily to something she didn't immediately see or hear. By the time she realized the danger, she was already in the grasp of one assailant, then a second. Nutter and Butter, who were protective of their Mistress but far from protection dogs, barked and leaped around snapping their jowls but otherwise doing little to prevent or end the assault.

For her part, Angel was doing her best to kick and punch and wriggle her way free, screaming all the while for what was now a trio of men to release her. Suddenly, her brain caught up with what was happening to her, and Angel began calling out at the top of her lungs, "Flynn! Flynn! Flyyyyyyyynnnn...!"

 

[Alice2015]

Eleanor Gumble (profile, pic) and Hannah Blanchard (profile)

"The Bazaar", Austin, Texas

Noon, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (>8 hours after TLWO at 3:44am local time):

(Eleanor's last post here, Hannah's is just above a couple of replies.)

To Hannah's reassurance that she didn't have to be concerned that her English wasn't the best, the Latina woman serving her up with a wide variety of breakfast options smiled, nodded her appreciation, and said in her heavy Honduran accent, "Gracias, Señorita ... thank you. Now, you eat. Good food."

By the time Hannah was finished with her meal, no less than half a dozen other vendors selling goods in The Bazaar had approached to either show off some of their wares or to invite her to visit their nearby booths or tables. This wasn't atypical of the marketplace; one thing all of those who sold their goods or provided their services here had in common was that they were all the friendliest of people. And, of course, they were looking to earn some Bazaar Bucks as well.

The chips that Eleanor and Henry were already distributing and promoting had already garnered a nickname: Bazaar Bucks. Later, when people asked around, no one knew for sure who'd started calling them that, but the moniker would stick. Over the hours, days, weeks, and months to come -- not that anyone knew that yet, of course -- the unique poker chips would come to replace cash not only in The Bazaar but across the neighborhood as well. With the imminent failure of civilization, as some would label what happened this day, fewer and fewer people put faith in the "all mighty dollar" that for generations had been the most dependable form of currency in the world.

The distribution of and acceptance of Bazaar Bucks would happen with much greater ease than Henry had expected when first he'd thought of it. He'd told Eleanor not to accept cash, as he feared that it might soon be worthless or at least fluctuate so much as to make inflation and deflation a death nail for both them, their vendors, their employees, and their customers.

But Eleanor pointed out that a strict barter system between them, the vendors, and the public might not be feasible. After all, how does one easily trade a life goat for a block of cheese or get paid for guarding The Bazaar from potential looters? That was when Henry remembered the poker chips that they and they alone had possession of.

As the morning led into the early afternoon -- and as would happen day after day for who knows how much longer -- every time someone brought something into The Bazaar with the hopes of selling it, they were offered Bazaar Bucks with the same face value as were American Dollars at this moment in time. Over time -- weeks, months, maybe even years? -- hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands of Bazaar Bucks would be distributed through the neighborhood and then the city of Austin. Henry couldn't have imagined that the poker chips he and his wife had had specially made for one event would become the most reliable currency in South Central Texas.

Eleanor eventually arrived at Hannah's table, bringing with her a pair of small plates filled with an apple dish that came from Central Mexico. She sat down with the transplant from Colorado and asked, "Okay, so, tell me about this proposal of yours."

 

[Alice2015]

Sergeant Caroline Edwards (profile)

Grocery King supermarket
Across the street from Oregon Army National Guard Station (OANGS, Springfield)
Springfield, Oregon

1645 hours, 19 January 2025, Sunday (16 hours after TLWO at their local time of 0144 hours):

Caroline couldn't believe that there hadn't been another casualty-inducing incident the rest of the day at the Grocery King. Beyond it, though, looting and violence -- sometimes involving firearms -- continued. An additional 5 Guard Members had reported for duty, and 12 former members of the Armed Forces -- from the Army, Marines, Navy, and even the Coast Guard -- had joined the Unit to help keep the neighborhood secure. Despite some of them having retired at ranks higher than her current one, Caroline maintained command of the Unit; no one had challenged her to lead.

Caroline spent much of the day moving back and forth between the Grocery King and the National Guard Station, located just over 100 yards away on the other side of a small, urban forest. In her 26 years of life, she'd never experienced life without electronic communications. Landlines, cell phones, computers with the internet, satellite phones, and -- during her time in the National Guard -- a variety of these and other forms of electronic communications had always been available to her. She was now seriously thinking she shouldn't have laughed at her neighbor when he'd offered to teach her his favorite hobby, homing pigeons, aka messenger pigeons.

Darkness was just minutes away, and Caroline had closed the Grocery King for the day. Anyone still waiting to shop was given head of line privileges for the next day. The location was far more secure now than it had been when the Unit had arrived here before dawn. In exchange for free groceries, over two dozen neighbors had helped build a more secure post at entrance, as well as blocked the other entrances.

Caroline was now considering a new mission for the Unit: protection of the wider neighborhood. A unit of mixed Law Enforcement officers -- Springfield Police, Eugene Police, Oregon State Police -- had wandered by at one point to liaise with the National Guard Unit. Caroline and their superior -- who was a Sergeant in the Oregon Police and, ironically, a member of the National Guard unit in Bend, Oregon -- made plans for coordinating patrols to keep the neighborhood safe.

But that was something for tomorrow. Right now, despite it barely being after sundown, Caroline needed sleep. She'd created a watch schedule to protect the market, the station, and the immediate neighborhood around it. She went on watch at 0200, coincidentally 24 hours after all this shit had begun.

(OOC: This is Caroline's last post until all the other characters are on Day 2, Monday.)

 

[sereneotter00]

⊢ TOM DAWSON
HARRINGTON HILLS VINEYARD
HARRINGTON HILLS
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
NEARING 7 AM, SUNDAY​

Roxie's presence made Tom raise his head to look at the woman. He wasn't sure what Glenn did to bag someone as beautiful as her (much less someone who looked around his own age), but he gave him mental props. He watched in silence while she tucked her spouse in. At least they looked happy, or at least happy enough to where they looked after each other. Time ago, Tom believed he was on the path for something similar. Sadly, life has brutal ways of reminding people that things could change in a second.

To prevent his melancholy thoughts, he began to pour himself another shot and listened to Roxie speak. She wasn't kidding—their inventory could make even the most serious of collectors envious. Good for them, if they had earned it earnestly. He finally put the bottle back in its place and slid the glass from palm to palm, hesitant to take another. He hadn't overcome the sting of the previous drink.

He only looked back up when the money was placed before him. With the way Roxie handled the money—hell, with the way the offer had first come into conversation in the first place—he could only assume a couple thousand were hardly worth the word "disposable." He let go of the glass, reluctant to take the money. Never in his life had he seen such a large amount, especially handed to him without a second thought. He was scared to even touch them.

Instead, he gave his full attention to the woman at her inquiry, ignoring the wad of bills for now. "I do. Give me a sec."

It didn't take too long for him to gather the ingredients. As this was his second nature, he only needed to confirm the availability of the items before he got to work. Not only was it a decent distraction for the moment, but it soothed him. He felt incredibly comfortable behind the bar, and this one didn't seem to be the exception. The more he thought about it, the more this felt like a regular shift: a person who could buy a whole country requesting a drink, Tom listening attentively and feeding his most casual answers, and a great tip at the end of the night. Funnily enough, he was still wearing his uniform.

"I have," Tom nodded, scanning the bar yet again and being surprised that the ice available was still intact. Stainless steel did wonders. He gathered some in a cup and stood straight up once again, continuing with both the cocktail and the small talk on behalf of Roxie. "I'm a bartender, actually. Have been for what... three years? Four? I'm actually in music—"

He was just putting the finishing touches on the cocktail when the new woman joined them. He stole a glance at Glenn. Jesus, was this guy collecting hot wives? Maybe they were planning to pitch E! a new reality show. By Roxie's sudden distaste in the new woman's appearance, the chances of that were unlikely. Tom knew much better than to question any of their whereabouts; in his job, even if he played amateur therapist, he knew that the best option was to never cross the bar.

Oh shit, he thought to himself, sucking in his cheeks and acting like he wasn't paying the two any mind in their dispute. He did so poorly, of course, stealing nosy glances every few words exchanged. Garnishing the glass, he nudged it forward and began to clean up after himself out of habit. At the stranger's comment of giving head (and the attempt of an insult), he raised his eyebrows in surprise at the candor but kept his eyes glued on the bar's surface. He was well trained to not let out even a snicker at patrons' comments.

Then again, this wasn't the bar, or his restaurant. He had autonomy here. He didn't want to get into... whatever these two had going on, at least not so far. He did his job, got his money, and realistically there likely wouldn't be much use for him anymore. He needed to form a plan, preferably from somewhere that he wasn't a guest with, much less one where he was getting insulted by whatever trio was going on or something. God, what if this was like those movies where the rich people lured in the lower class for their creepy sacrifices?

He finished tidying up his area and, with a shaky hand, finally took the money. Tom tucked in his white shirt and slid the money into his top clothes. He was not about to accidentally drop ten thousand dollars that he knew he'd be needing for whatever the hell was going on. Otherwise, they'd be great for his debts. He began to make his way to the front door, giving one last nod to the sleeping Glenn before he was prepared to head out. Instead, he lingered back when he saw the women were keeping the main way out blocked. The slam of the door hurt his ears, but based on their talk, he was sure Roxie would be feeling similar.

Inconveniently, she wasn't budging from the door. Tom finally cleared his throat. "Hey Mrs. Harrington, I gotta get, y'know, going. I left your drink at the bar," he said awkwardly, wondering if a change of topic was a good solution. Was there any good way to open after eavesdropping on two strangers? The best way to handle the situation was to just say his goodbyes and find some way to get back to his apartment.

The same constantly concerned voice that had gotten him into this house in the first place decided otherwise. He walked up to Roxie until they were a couple of feet apart in distance. He softly placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, his skin still cold from the ice he was moving not too long ago. "Are you good?"

 

[sereneotter00]

⊢ HANNAH BLANCHARD
THE BAZAAR
AUSTIN, TEXAS
NOON, SUNDAY​

Eleanor's return was timed perfectly for Hannah, who had vacuumed every crumb on her plate. Maybe even a second, if you asked the right witnesses. She piped up as the older woman came to her, unsure if she could handle any more in her stomach. While she was sure it was delicious, the best she could do was mouth a thank you and play with the food with her cutlery.

Sincerely, knowing Eleanor wanted her pitch, she would've lost her appetite anyway. Hannah took a deep breath and placed her hands flat on the table. "Okay, since you've already established currency and other... systems, then the chance of this... whatever is going on, going away anytime soon is slim." They had touched on it prior, but it had given Hannah a chance to expand her speech. "Evidently, you and your spouse are very resourceful people. I'm not sure if you're aware that no vehicles are working. Not one, at least not the ones that don't solely rely on manpower. Now, I can't tell you if this will be solved or even understood tomorrow or ten years from now, but I'm sure you're already attempting to prepare for either reality. Getting ahead is the best way to be ready for anything; we both know you're on top of that already."

"Great minds think alike," Hannah spoke, bending over to the side and reaching for her box on the floor. She placed it on the table and reached inside, pulling out a small bundle of soil inside a soda can cut in half with holes poked at the bottom. In a pinch, her car keys had done wonders. "This little fella here is called Jarvis. Right now, Jarvis is a tiny seed that came from a discarded jalapeño."

Yes, Hannah was one of those plant people who thought of her greens as children. Yes, her hands had burned with picking apart the seeds, doing her best to dry them, and keeping them safe until she could pot them. Although she had studied chemistry, botany was a big interest of hers. In a normal setting, she would've devoured books about the flora of central Texas. In a pinch, she had to remember the demographics and played off the brands she could recall. "It's obvious Jarvis and the winter won't mix well. Jarvis needs a safe home, more space to spread when he grows bigger, heat, and someone who knows what they're doing, such as a person who not only specialized in organic chemistry in her college career but who also has been featured twice in Colorado's Fine Gardening magazine."

God, she would miss her green babies back at home so much. She hadn't even stopped to think about them. Hopefully there was some part of Jason that wasn't cruel enough to let them die. Hannah tossed the thought to the back of her head. "In the long run, and with a lack of transport—or, if there's any, a more expensive one thanks to more manpower—importing anything sourced from agriculture will just be more difficult and expensive. That is excluding how many of the fields nowadays rely on technology, so many of their products will likely die or spoil without these mechanisms."

"Another downside is the possibility of those same crops being raided already, at least the ones available right now. Greenhouses will be no exception—sadly, hunger can lead to robbery. Criminal charges mean nothing to someone who wants to feed their loved ones. Tragically, not everyone is as willing to help the less fortunate as yourself. Your presence is a blessing."

Hannah lifted the can once more. "Now, Jarvis could one day become a large jalapeño plant that could feed multiple people. Utilizing the seeds of the discarded ingredients or spoiling food you currently have could lead to a variety of food. More food, more meals, less hunger, more stability—all with an educated person kickstarting this project."

She placed the can back into the box and took a seat before Eleanor once again. "Now, I know I was... wary about your protection. I have never liked guns, but the need for protection is crucial, especially when people don't hesitate to target those as thoughtful as you. Jarvis won't survive in anything but a greenhouse at the moment, but running the risk of someone looting it is very much alive."

The woman leaned forward, trying to muster any drop of confidence she had in her body. Even with her serious eyes, one thing still flooded her gaze: good faith. "I'd like your help in starting a garden and expanding it in the way of a hidden greenhouse."

 

[sereneotter00]

⊢ JASON FLYNN
FLYNN-BLANCHARD RESIDENCY
WEST OF DURANGO
DURANGO, COLORADO
SHORTLY AFTER 6PM, SUNDAY​

When he first heard the screams, Flynn was sure he was making his name up out of them. He had been tidying up the master bedroom, which was a disaster after he had rummaged through every corner or hiding place available after he had come home to Hannah's note in search of any clue of her whereabouts. Clothes were thrown everywhere—both his and the ones she had left behind; a mattress flipped over in desperation; even the lamps were missing their top pieces. He had now forced himself to tidy up, knowing he could start his quest to find his fiancée better with a clean slate. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could find a clue in the last touches of bringing the room back together.

The second time, the clarity of his name was unavoidable. Done straightening a lamp, he looked out his window, relying on the moonlight to make out the faint shapes. He had to squint his eyes, but they grew wide when he realized what was going on. He quickly left the window and went into one of their guest rooms, cracking open the closet and tossing things out until he found a hunting rifle Flynn's father had gifted him a long time ago. Hannah had been entirely against firearms since he got it, but Flynn had lied that he had gotten rid of it. His deception had finally reaped a benefit, at least at the moment. In a handful of moments, the weapon was loaded, and Flynn was sprinting down the stairs and to his backyard.

Exiting the area of his backyard, he fired a warning shot: the pretentious training with his cousins with clay birds (and eventual deer) had granted him a good aim and slim reaction to recoil. The shot didn't delay his running, instead driving him forward much faster when the shapes became nearer and clearer. He knew it had to be Angel, but the microscopic chance of the voice belonging to Hannah sped him up. In a rare moment of vulnerability, his heart sank at the thought that it was her, having somehow changed her mind to return back to him.

He finally caught up to the altercation, relieved to see Angel was still intact before aiming the weapon at the men. "Let her go now, and I'll give you the chance to leave with your lives intact," Flynn warned, cocking the rifle with a sharp aim and a finger on the trigger.

On second thought, the fact that these men were so close to his property with the bravery to attack others was enough to make his blood boil. To verify his intention, he rapidly turned to the man closest to Angel, precisely aimed at his calf, and pulled the trigger.

 

[Alice2015]

Roxie Harrington (profile) and Tom Dawson (profile)
Harrington Hills Vineyard
Harrington Hills (an eastern unincorporated suburb of San Diego)

Nearing 7 am, shortly before sunrise
Sunday, 19 January 2025 (>5 hours after TLWO at 1:44 am):

"Hey Mrs. Harrington," Tom said, "I gotta get, y'know, going. I left your drink at the bar."

"Roxie," she said, smiling. "Call me Roxie."

She could see the discomfort, the awkwardness in Tom's face; he'd obviously heard more of the argument between her and Viola than she'd intended. Roxie disliked public encounters such as she'd had with the other woman. She wasn't a drama queen and disliked them very much, too.

Tom closed the distance between them, placing a hand on her shoulder as he asked, "Are you good?"

"I'm fine," Roxie lied. She looked toward the open door of the den as if looking for her husband, then looked back to the younger man. With a sincere tone, she said, "Please, Tom ... don't leave, not yet. I..."

She took his hand in both of hers, holding it almost intimately. Roxie wasn't above flirting with a man to get what she wanted from him. The only problem was that she didn't know whether or not her husband already had designs on Tom. She wouldn't horn in on a man who held Glenn's interest. It would have been easier to decide what to do if she knew whether the man was straight, gay, or bi.

"Listen, Tom," she continued, releasing her hold on his hand and looking up into his eyes. "I think you should stick around ... you know, if you don't have to be somewhere else this morning. I don't think Glenn would have made that deal with you just 'cause he needed a ride home. I think he sees something in you. He's good at judging people. I think that he thinks that you're a good guy ... and I think he would be disappointed to find that you left so quickly."

She stepped past him, her shoulder brushing his as she took his hand again, saying with a chipper tone, "C'mon, stick around. You won't be sorry. My husband's a master over the grill, and with the power out, he'll be firing up the brickettes for lunch. You already know we have the best booze, and you could teach me how to make a Mojito."

As she was talking to him, Roxie was trying to pull Tom back deeper into the house. She laughed. "It's been a long night. If you want to nap, we can put you up in one of the guest rooms ... a hot shower, change of clothes..."

Roxie had forgotten that the electric pump at the water well was without power. Luckily, though, three years back they'd installed a 1,500-gallon water tank at the highest point on the estate to increase the water pressure to both the home and the vineyard's irrigation system. With it full at the time of the blackout, they'd have water pressure for at least four or five more days. The only issue, of course, was that there was only one shower's worth of hot water left.

"Whatcha say?" Roxie asked, playfully pressing the issue.

 

[Alice2015]

Angel Daniels (profile) and Jason Flynn (profile)
Flynn's home
Durango, Colorado
6:15pm (15.5 hours after TLWO at their local time of 2:44am):

(Angel's last post and Flynn's last post.)

The two men attacking Angel -- no, three, there were three! -- had finally ceased her flailing about and had firm control of her arms and legs. As she screamed for Flynn yet again, one of the men held a hand over her mouth; he was clumsy about it, and Angel got ahold of a finger and bit through the skin enough to fill her mouth with blood. The man screamed and cursed, then punched her in the cheek. It stung like the dickens right now; tomorrow it would be swollen, black and blue.

Then, a loud boom cut through the night, startling the men and causing them to turn their attention away from her.

"Let her go now," a man's voice called out in the dark, adding, "and I'll give you the chance to leave with your lives intact,"

Angel almost immediately realized that it was her host and screamed out, "Flynn! Stop them!"

A moment later, there was another shot ripping through the otherwise quiet night, and one of the men grasping Angel cried out in pain and dropped to his knees. She took the advantage to return to kicking and flailing, getting a hand loose and reaching out to rip her nails through his cheek, despite them being cut short to a utilitarian length. Again, another scream broke through the black.

Then, suddenly, Angel hit the ground, only one man still holding onto her. She was rattled enough not to realize that the man's who'd been shot was on the ground grasping at his wound, trying to control the bleeding, while a second man had taken off directly at Angel's savior. She punched the man still holding onto her in the nose, breaking it and, yet again, causing one of her would be rapists to cry out in agony.

Angel looked toward the third man and screamed, "Flynn! Watch out!"

 

[Alice2015]

Eleanor Gumble (profile, pic) and Hannah Blanchard (profile)

"The Bazaar", Austin, Texas

Noon, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (>8 hours after TLWO at 3:44am local time):

(Eleanor's last post here, Hannah's last post here.)

"Okay, since you've already established currency and other... systems," Hannah began her Shark Tank-like presentation, "then the chance of this ... whatever is going on, going away anytime soon is slim."

Eleanor could see that the younger woman had a good grasp on just how bad she and her husband saw the blackout. It simply made no sense that everything would simply quit working all at the same time if it had simply been a power outage.

"Evidently, you and your spouse are very resourceful people," Hannah continued. She talked more on the situation, complimenting, "Getting ahead is the best way to be ready for anything; we both know you're on top of that already."

"My husband and I aren't necessarily what you would call preppers," Eleanor said, "but we are well aware of how fragile the world around us can be at times and how people can be left with nothing in the case of an emergency. That is what The Bazaar is all about, in a way."

"Great minds think alike," Hannah spoke.

She brought up a box, then brought out a can with the tiniest of sprouts just barely breaking the surface. For the next couple of minutes, she explained all about Jarvis and what he needed to become sustenance for people who might very soon be desperate for food. She talked about her education in organic chemistry and her kudos on the front of Colorado's Fine Gardening magazine. Eleanor was very impressed, not that that surprised her; she'd seen something in Hannah almost from the moment she'd met her.

The young woman brought up an issue that had been in the forefront of many a conversation between the Gumbles and others in the community: the transportation and sometimes importation of the food that kept this country fed. It had been obvious to Henry and Eleanor for years that Austin's population needed to eat closer to home; too much of what people here put on their table came from too far away, be it from across the state, from another state, or even from another country.

Hannah's warnings about raiders hitting stores of food were something that worried Eleanor as well. One only had to recall the images of the people of the Gaza Strip raiding relief trucks for food and water to know that desperate people would go to any length to feed their children.

Hannah made her pitch for a place to grow Jarvis and his brethren, ending, "I'd like your help in starting a garden and expanding it in the way of a hidden greenhouse."

Eleanor thought about both the possibilities and the potential drawbacks, finally saying, "I think I know a place where you could do this ... grow your plants, without anyone knowing or presenting a danger." A local approached, asking Eleanor if she was interested in buying some things she'd brought to The Bazaar from home. Eleanor told her, "Take these back to Henry. He's at the grill. Tell him I said to buy them. He'll pay you and feed you and your children, too."

The woman's face showed her incredible gratitude, and after she and the two toddlers sticking close to her were gone, Eleanor returned to Hannah. She told the young woman about a building that had had it aluminum roof sheeting ripped off by a tornado. "Most of the windows were broken. They're covered by plywood. Everything else, though, is intact: rafters, walls, doors..."

She sipped from a bottle of water she'd brought with her and thought. "If we replaced the roof with plastic sheeting, then covered it with that transparent corrugated roofing material ... polycarbonate sheeting ... we used some on our home's porch a couple of years ago..." Eleanor's lips were wide in a smile by now. "Would that work? You'd have sunshine, a double layer ... we could use propane to heat the place if you needed it warmer in the winter and spring months..."

They were interrupted yet again by someone wanting to sell five warm sweaters she no longer needed. Eleanor could see that the woman was desperate; she pulled five $5 Bazaar Bucks from the pocket of her smock, handed them to the woman, and told her, "Go find Gail, over in the rummage sale area. You know her, yes...? Tell her to hang these up and mark'em $8 each. Then, you go back to the barbeque and tell Henry I said he was to give you a to-go meal for you and the little ones."

Again, the woman was obviously appreciative, leaning down to hug the generous woman around the neck before hurrying off. Eleanor again turned her attention to Hannah, smiling and asking, "Whaddaya think...? Would that work? If you need something different, I'll see that you get it. I love this idea."

She listened to what Hannah had to say, then said, "Now, Jarvis and his buddies aren't going to provide for a few months ... which means that The Bazaar isn't making money, which means that you aren't making money. You said you have an education in chemistry...?

"I can almost guarantee that we're going to have a need for someone as smart at you, Hannah," Eleanor said, her tone very complimentary. "So, here's what I have in mind in the meantime. You do your greenhouse thing ... put the time into it that you need to put in to make it work ... and ... I'll make sure that you have room and board ... some Bazaar Bucks in your pocket. All you have to do is put that brain of yours to work for the benefit of The Bazaar and the people who work or shop here ... and, when you have time, do some whatever work around the building. Earn that room and board. Fair?"

 

[HumanBean]

Marcus Washington (profile), with thoughts of Keri Lee (profile), who last posted here.

Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport
Arlington, Virginia
(Across the Potomac from Washington DC)

6:44 pm, local time, Sunday, 19 January 2025 (14 hours after TLWO at their local time of 4:44am):

Marcus had spent an hour, maybe two, searching for Keri. He didn't initially know that she had been doing the same, searching for him.

Then he bumped into a ticket counter agent who he used to bump into some nights after they'd both gotten off work about the same time. She didn't show the same excitement about seeing him this night as she had in the past. It turned out that a pretty blonde woman had earlier been searching for him. Marcus explained very briefly that she'd been one of the crash survivors, and that he was only trying to ensure that she was okay.

"Then you'll walk me back to my place?" the agent asked with a hopeful tone. She lived just half a mile from the airport. She hoped that Marcus remembered that. It had to be a better option than walking to his place, several miles away.

Marcus considered the options. He could continue his likely fruitless search for a woman he'd only just met. Our he could escort home the ticket agent who he knew in the most intimate terms.

"Sure, let's go," he said. The second option, he knew, ended with him getting his dick wet. The first maybe, but only if Marcus actually located Keri. He found that unlikely.