Just a Little Bent

[andhiswife]

As far as Darrow antics go, this one might top the list for bloody eeriness. At the cottage, they can almost pretend nothing's happened. Between the garden, the chickens, and the staples she always keeps well-stocked, there's no immediate threat of starvation. The power hasn't failed yet, but even if it does, she thinks they'll be able to work around it — neither she nor Anne are exactly accustomed to being without it anymore, but that doesn't mean they've forgotten how to get by.

And surely things will go back to normal sooner or later. They always do, and she refuses to believe that—that whatever this is might be special in that regard.

But it's still unsettling. Even though it only seems to be the locals who have vanished, there were always far more of them than anyone else, and never has she felt the difference so keenly. Whole blocks are abandoned, shops either permanently shuttered or, more often, left unmanned mid-shift: the lights still on, but no one at home. But what she hates most are the littler signs of lives abruptly interrupted. A lone briefcase sitting at a bus stop; half-drunk beverages glued to their coasters by dried condensation; shopping carts left idle halfway down an aisle.

Regan is taking it especially hard, and no wonder.

It would be easier to avoid town entirely, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't tempted. But she can't abide the thought of hiding out in the countryside when there are still plenty of people who need help. Not when her hands still remember how to feed a Village.

So she's stolen a bakery. Or, well... borrowed. She's borrowing a bakery.

It hadn't been hard to find. Even cleaning it up hadn't been too much of a challenge: people had already made off with the displays' contents, so there was little rotten food to be dealt with. Obviously there were no fresh ingredients worth salvaging, but things like flour, baking soda, and spices don't go bad overnight. There's plenty to start with, at least.

Getting the word out had been the bigger challenge. She's texted everyone she can, and Saoirse has made some very colorful signage to post in the bakery windows and in other places around the city, letting people know that there are fresh-baked goods available. She can't imagine charging for any of it, but after the first few hours (and some discussion with Anne), she'd added some signage suggesting that she wouldn't question where any raw ingredients might have come from, if people wanted to bring some.

It's mid-afternoon when she slides two more trays of muffins into the oven, sets a timer on her phone, and then steps out of the kitchen for some slightly cooler air. Her hair is falling out of its bun and she's probably a mess, but it's satisfying to see people eating something she made: something fresh and good that hasn't come from a bloody can.

[ooc: a mini-gathering for the vanishing NPC plot! If your pup knows Greta, you can assume they've received a text; otherwise, there's plenty of signage letting people know there's still one functioning bakery in town.]

Comments

[annebonny]

This whole thing's been fucked from the start, and were Darrow anything more like Nassau was, the outcome would've been a hell of a lot bloodier. Anne was prepared for it. Still feels like she ought to be. With no civilization left to sustain itself, she'd expect more total collapse than what they've got, which is mostly a lot of quiet confusion. Some fear. Always fear, but no one really feeding on it.

Of course Greta wants to help. It's what she does. One of the things Anne loves about her. It's the reason they met. And of course she's not afraid, not when there's pragmatism to wield. That's the reason Anne took note.

But Anne doesn't trust nearly anyone, and she's not about to let Greta go make herself a potential target in these uncertain times. Moreover, Greta wants to help, and Anne's not about to let her do it alone.

So she stands guard, sort of. Parks herself by the door, not close enough to discourage entry (only at Greta's insistence), but near enough to intercept anyone whose look she don't like.

Not that there's really much to do on that count. So far everyone just seems grateful. As they ought. Anne begins to feel a bit useless, prowling off to the side, drawing a few nervous glances. It should feel natural; it's her usual state of being to stand in a corner and glare. But now, here, it's difficult not to notice the poor fit. She shifts her weight and peers out from below the brim of her hat, eyes fixed on the door for the next person who might come in.

[selkiesaoirse]

"My mum's the best baker in the whole city!" Saoirse declares to a tall ginger lady — John and Martin's friend, she thinks. She remembers her from when they were small, lingering at the edges the way Anne does — who's picking up a fresh loaf of bread in exchange for a plastic jug of milk that hasn't gone off yet.

"Oh," she says, followed by, "Oh? Good. For her." She says it awkwardly, but sincerely, and Saoirse thinks that maybe she's not really used to talking to kids.

"Mhm!" She accepts jug and thanks her with a curtsy of her colorful skirt, then brings it inside to Greta. "Mum! A lady brought milk! She must've read your sign!" The jug is slightly sweaty from the walk from wherever it'd come from to here, but she holds it tightly with both hands on the handle so she doesn't drop it.

[negative_feedback]

This is weird, and wrong, and uncomfortable. The city is empty, and it reminds her all over again of home. Of the way the town looked when they went to the pharmacy for Marcus's meds. Things are broken, stolen from, left abandoned where they lay; there's no movement except for them. It's too similar, and she's spent the last however many days trying to hide in the cottage, and texting Richie, and pretending this isn't happening.

And pretending that she's not waiting for the creatures to appear.

But this is a big deal. People need food, and for all Saoirse might insist it a lot, Greta really is one of the best bakers in the city, even when it's populated by people who believe they've always lived there. This is a big deal, and Regan can — wants to — help, so she's going to. She is. She's here, and she walks with Saoirse to update the signs, and she even goes out to grab some raw ingredients herself, when it feels really necessary.

[ Find Regan pacing nervously in or outside the bakery, or else anywhere within a few-block radius, either adjusting/affixing signs to street fixtures to direct your pup to said bakery, or in nearby convenience stores or supermarkets looking for ingredients for said bakery. ]

[eliotwaugh]

Eliot knows he looks absolutely frightful, but he feels all right about it.

The strange townie Rapture had been an inconvenience at first, and he was only mildly annoyed at the disruption, but he’s started to worry about what might happen in the long term, if things stay like this. There are certainly plenty of transplants who have more civic pride than he does, and have invested themselves in the day to day operations of the city, and he’s beginning to feel just the tiniest bit guilty that he isn’t more involved. It’s not as if he swore an oath to this land, but still.

So Greta’s text offered a welcome distraction, and Eliot leapt at the chance to help. Now, sweating and dusted with flour up to his elbows, he actually feels good. He had the foresight to steal one of Jack’s scarves before heading over, so his hair at least will come out of this unscathed. And it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, anyway.

It’s hard to know what kind of demand they’ll have, but Eliot did a bit of localized fussing with entropy around the kitchen’s proofing cabinet, to get the dough rising quickly and speed up production.

“Behind you!” he calls, maybe a little manic, slipping past someone to put a rack of fresh herbed fougasses into the display shelf. He brought the rosemary from home, and it was a little wilted, but he felt fine giving it a magical nudge back to green. It’s probably not safe (or the most palatable) to do something more drastic like un-spoil milk, so the recipes will likely get simpler the longer this situation lasts. He hopes it’s not too long.

[nextchance]

Having spent her formative years in the care of the increasingly paranoid leader of an insurgent group, Jyn is fairly certain that the tendency to brace herself for the worst is one far too deeply instilled in her to ever rid herself of. That's certainly been the case recently, with the city nearly empty now. Having lost so many people here, the first thing she did was check on the few people she stays in touch with, but after being assured of their presence, since then, she's just been waiting it out, and in the waiting, tense and on guard, her mind has wandered. So many people are gone now. It would be easy to make herself disappear, too. She's good at that — going off the grid, starting over. She would have the perfect cover, and could easily find somewhere to lie low for a while until showing back up again as someone else. Plenty of people here look like other people. It wouldn't be let the same seem to be true in her case.

Though it's a thought she keeps coming back to, she hasn't done anything about it yet. When it really comes down to it, she's not sure she'll be able to. As often as she's been left, she isn't very good anymore at being the one to do the leaving, not when there are people who actually know her, people she cares about. Greta's text is, in a way, a reminder of that. Besides, Jyn has never been one to turn down food.

She's on her way to the bakery in question when she sees a sign mentioning the same, with an addition that ingredients would be welcome, so she stops in a store before she gets there. She's done her share of raiding shops this past while, but in this case, the door has been broken into already, which she supposes counts for something in this case.

With what she can carry in tow — some flour, some cooking oil, and a few bags of frozen fruit, since she doesn't trust anything fresh that remains — she finally reaches the bakery, though she hangs back a bit once she's inside. Helping, she can do, and eating, she can do even better, but she's awkward at best in social situations, something that feels even truer now that she's been around fewer people than usual.