IC: "The Night the Lights Went Out"

[Alice2015]

Sergeant Caroline Edwards (profile)

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

19 January 2025, Sunday
0710 hrs, local time (5.5 hrs after TLWO):

After the shootout with the wannabe looters, the night passed by fairly quietly; Caroline frequently cautioned residents who approached the supermarket to stay away, and after the soldiers had twice fired warning shots into the air, the neighbors had done just that.

Caroline had hoped that one of the store's owners or managers would have shown up by the normal opening time, and yet 0600 had come and gone with the store's most senior employee to arrive being one of its many minimum wage teenage stockboys. To facilitate opening the store without a rush on the doors and mayhem in the aisles, Caroline asked the neighbors who were chomping at the bit for panic shopping to pick one representative to come up and come up with a sane plan.

The crowd had very easily picked Wendy Paul, a woman who lived just two blocks away and was also a City Council Member. Wendy understood the need for order, so coming up with a plan had been easy. They'd decided: only twenty shoppers in the store at a time; a max of three of any one item to prevent hording and subsequent price gouging; and a maximum number of 50 items per shopper.

Wendy met howls of displeasure when she took the terms back to the residents waiting out at the edge of the parking lot. But when she told them it was either that or they went somewhere else to shop, the group reluctantly agreed. Someone called out, "Who goes first?"

After a raucous uproar about possibilities available, Wendy quieted them down again to answer, "Everyone puts their ID in a hat ... driver's license, ID card, whatever you have ... and we draw. First drawn, first served." After some more rules about cheating, the crowd spread out in a single line along the property's edge, and Wendy began collecting IDs. The hat was overflowing by the time she reached the end of the line, which had grown by another ten or fifteen people from the time she began collecting IDs to the time she finished.

Caroline was shocked to see that the plan was actually working well. Oh, occasionally someone got mouthy about how long it was taking; on a couple of occasions, people got upset because multiple family members of the same household had pitched their IDs into the hat. Wendy knew her neighbors well enough to know when she had to nix someone for taking advantage, but for the most part she left the IDs in the mix because the more people who resided in a house, the more they might need to survive.

Because there was no electrical power, there was no lighting. They'd gotten around that by distributing little souvenir oil lamps to each shopper. Caroline didn't like the idea of so many burning objects being carted around the store, but there really wasn't another option. The second issue around the lack of power was the lack of working cash registers and product scanners. Each shopper was given a permanent marker from the stationery department and told to write the price of their purchases on the purchases themselves.

"If you cheat by writing down a lower price," Wendy had warned, "you'll be kicked out without so much as a candy bar. And we will sending volunteers around to check." In truth, they didn't go that far. Caroline and Wendy were more interested in seeing an orderly operation than catching someone lying on the price of a can of corn.

Another situation that was far more concerning arose when the first shoppers left, pushing their borrowed carts toward their home. One of the first couples leaving was accosted no sooner than leaving the soldiers' line of sight. Unfortunately for the would-be thieves, the wife-half of the couple was packing heat and put a .38 caliber round through the man's leg. After that, Caroline and Wendy found volunteers to escort others back to their homes in exchange for jumping to the head of the line once they'd returned. Just like that, the highwaymen situation ceased.

There was one problem that Caroline's unit couldn't solve, and that was the looting taking place all about the rest of the neighborhood. Some of the commercial businesses were being protected by their owners, operators, or other concerned citizens. But most weren't, and the sound of breaking glass continued off and on throughout the day.

(OOC: I'm going to end Caroline's Day 1 here.)

 

[Alice2015]

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

(Continues from Marcus'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):

Keri had fallen asleep in a chair under one of the many tall propane heaters set up around the baggage claim area, her head supported by one of those little blowup neck pillows that she'd also thought were so silly looking. She either heard someone speak her name or sensed that someone was paying attention to her, waking to find her savior from hours earlier standing near, smiling at her.

"I told you you'd be fine," Marcus said, happy to see that she'd been fed, watered, and dressed in dry clothes. Examining the very much too large velour track suit they'd found for her in a random suitcase, he said with a laugh, "It suits you."

"I'm just glad no one has a working camera phone," Keri responded. "This'd just blow up on social media. It's a bit of a fashion step down from how most people know me."

Before she'd become a well-known political reporter, Keri had been an almost as well-known fashion model. She preferred the former job to the latter; even though she was considered a beautiful, sexy woman by most who saw her, Keri had never much liked the whole exploitation of the female body issue.

Marcus noticed her lack of shoes and went off on a search for something that would both fit and keep her tootsies warm. He succeeded on the former with an oversized pair of well insulating snow boots. Upon his return, he informed Keri, "I leaned who you are. Here for the inauguration, I assume."

"I was," she answered. "I had some interviews scheduled and even a couple of invites to the Inaugural Balls."

"What're you going to do now?" Marcus asked. "I'm sure they're going to postpone it. I mean, I don't know if they do that kind of thing, postpone for emergencies."

"They did once, you know," she said, quickly adding, "Not for an emergency, but because President-Elect Zachary Taylor refused to be sworn into office on a Sunday. Back then, the Presidential Succession went President, Vice President, President pro tem of the Senate. David Rice Atchison was thought to be the pro tem, so when President Polk's term ended on Sunday and Taylor still hadn't taken the oath, Atchinson because President for a Day."

Keri realized that she'd taken a massive tangent from what Marcus had been asking and laughed, embarrassed. "Sorry, I get that way sometimes. I know things, not that they are always things worth knowing, let alone sharing."

They chatted for a while before Marcus told Keri that he was theoretically still on the clock and should check in with his boss. She was about to suggest that they make plans to get together in the very near future when Marcus beat her to it. He swore he wasn't trying to hit on her, saying, "Enjoy some barbequed coffee maybe?"

She looked down into the cup of jo he'd brought her, laughing. "It's kinda thick, but ... better than nothing." Looking up to the handsome man, Keri said, "And it wouldn't actually be that bad if you hit on me."

She smiled and, surprising herself, blushed. She didn't want to lose touch with Marcus after he'd helped her so much -- particularly with that smile and body -- so she snatched up the clipboard on which she'd been taking notes about the situation and asked, "Maybe you could give me your phone number...? You know, if the power comes back on some day. Or ... an address where I might find you...?"

Keri knew that now it was she who was hitting on him, but -- to be honest -- she didn't give a rat's ass. She was a grown woman, he was a grown man, she owed him, and -- she'd already determined -- she wanted him as well. Plus, she didn't have a place to stay right now, unless somehow, she could get into DC and somehow her hotel reservation still stood.

(OOC: Sending you a PM with answers to questions Marcus might ask, so that you can include them in your next post IF he asks them. If he doesn't, then I wasted a little time, boo-fucking-hoo. )

 

[Alice2015]

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

Eugene, Oregon
9:45 am (8 hours after TLWO):

(OOC: Continues from here.)

From the kitchen where she was making breakfast, Sammi overheard her father talking to someone. Her mother was busy moving food from the refrigerator to the front porch -- it would be colder out there than in the powerless fridge -- so her father's conversation mate had to be their guest. Sammi snuck over to the back door, looking out to find Nicky; she almost didn't realize it was him as he was bundled up tight in some of her father's winter clothing, but the big, brawny, muscular body style gave it away.

She couldn't hear everything that was being said -- Sammi could hear her father more easily than she could Nicky -- but from key words, it seemed as though her father was quizzing the man about his life. Then she heard Nicky say quite clearly, "I'm a pretty capable person. Hard working. Trustworthy ... I could help you around here. For room and board."

Sammi almost called out Yes! Yes! Yes, let him stay, daddy! She restrained herself, though, pressing her ear to the very cold glass of the window in the hopes of hearing her father's response just as clearly. They talked more on topics she couldn't hear; she heard the word terrorism and ... aliens, really?

Then came the words from her father that made Sammi's heart skip a beat: "Here's the deal..."

"Samantha!"

The teen just about jumped out of her shoes at the chastising voice of her mother. She spun and moved away from the door, her face exploding red and hot. Without even considering that it only made her look more guilty, she snapped back, "I wasn't eavesdropping, momma."

After that, Sammi was back at the antique cast iron stove that -- despite the house normally having an electric range available -- was still used during the cold months to heat the kitchen. Despite not having heard the rest of the conversation, Sammi was certain that her father had been offering Nicky terms for his remaining around a while longer.

Carl came into the kitchen a couple of minutes later, ambling over to his wife and leaning in close to her to whisper in her ear. Pamela's gaze shifted quickly to her daughter; Sammi was watching the pair with great interest and didn't like the expression on her face. A moment later, Pamela only said before returning to her work, "If you think it's best."

Sammi's heart was pounding anxiously for news about what had happened between the two men...

 

[HumanBean]

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

(OOC: Continues Glenn and Roxie (with Tom) from here.)

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

(Note: I advanced the time to 6:30 for two reasons. I mistakenly said earlier that they could bike to Harrington Hills in an hour, but I seriously down that they actually could have. And two, "shortly before sunrise" doesn't work for 5:30am. Dawn would be 7:10 and actual sunrise would be 7:45, according to the internet.)​

"Jesus Christ, I should have just stayed in the Gaslamp and burned up with it," Glenn complained from the basket on the back of the trike.

"I'm sure your boytoy would have liked that," a female voice said.

Glenn craned his neck to find his wife standing on the steps just outside the mansion's open front entrance. He didn't immediately notice the handgun dangling by her side.

She asked, "And who might this be, hubby?"

"This might be the King of Persia," Glenn said. His traveling partner helped him out of the basket. Glenn found he still couldn't put weight on his sprained ankle. "Who it actually is is Thomas. Thomas Dawson."

Glenn could have called the man Tommy or Tom or Big T for all that. He was sort of a formality kind of guy, though. And when a man saves your life as Thomas had done tonight, he deserved to be addressed by his formal given name.

Glenn noticed when his wife transferred the pistol before her to shake hands with the younger man. He snapped his fingers playfully at her, saying, "Gimme that. Yes, I'm fully aware that you know how to use it, but it packs enough punch to put you on your cute little ass."

"Roxie ... Roxie Harrington. Glenn's wife," she said. Her eyes took a walk up and down Tom's form. "So very nice to meet you."
Glenn couldn't help but chuckle softly at his wife's ogling of the man. He, too, had also let his gaze and imagination take the man in. He couldn't help but wonder which of the Harringtons Tom would be more eager to have sex with. Both maybe? Together? The possibility made Glenn's cock dance in his slacks.

"Honey, can you help here," Glenn said, indicating his injured ankle.

It took both of the other adults to get him up the steps and into his den. He had a very comfortable couch there. He'd slept on it on many occasions. Usually, it had been because he'd simply fallen asleep while doing other things. Watching television. Reading books. Getting his cock sucked by some younger man he'd invited to play but not stay.

On other occasions, the bed Glenn shared with his wife was being shared by her with someone else. That didn't happen often. The two of them did their best not to let their extracurricular sex lives get in the way. But there'd been times when Roxie had a friend and Glenn was supposed to have been out of the house for the night. Rather than interrupt them and/or possibly embarrass his wife's partner, he'd sack out downstairs instead.

"Honey, I need you to go to the safe for me," Glenn said once he was comfortable. He explained that he'd agreed to pay Tom $10,000 for getting him home safely. Looking to his savior, Glenn said firmly, "I've never welched on a deal."

 

[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.