third ink ribbon ☢ video + action

[bowgunner]

[ after a moment, claire sits down in front of the journal's eye. she leaves a steaming mug sitting at her elbow, and has her hair tied back in a manner that can only ever be described as professional. although it cannot quite be seen on-screen, it's apparent from the bob of a pen cap that she must have some manner of notepad on the desk before her. and she's already taking notes.

after a moment: ] Good morning, Luceti. I have only been here for four months, but in this short time one thing has become chillingly obvious. Many of us come from places -- Earths, usually -- ravaged by plague-like diseases. Viruses and infections and all manner of scientific progress gone awry. For a lot of us, it seems these symptoms target the recently-dead or soon-to-be-dead. I've always hated the z-word, but I suppose there's no avoiding it today: quite a few of us have zombie problems.

And -- as I understand it -- this world is no different. At least two of the enclosures have suffered under viral outbreaks. A vaccine was manufactured, right? Are the people involved still around? I want to speak to them. And to anyone else facing this threat here or at home. It's not much, but swapping notes might be the least we can do.

[ she will stay at her post to discuss any necessary topics for a good chunk of the day before setting aside her career in the early evening. although she still doesn't let her hair down, it's in a more relaxed bun when she steps into good spirits. her journal is left at home and her cream-coloured blazer has been traded in for a reddish-pink vest layered over a black longsleeve. she's here for a beer or two and to mingle, eager enough to approach strangers and ask them about their day. ]

Comments

[snikting]

Maybe I will.

[And while he waits, he'll give a certain blonde bartender the stink eye.]

[bowgunner]

...The prospect of a maybe-date didn't change too many of her plans, and she still arrived at the bar with a clipboard tucked under her arm. But when she climbed onto the stool beside Logan, she left the board face-down on the counter. Ignoring it, for now, and instead signalling for a beer. Any beer would do, really, so long as it was a good beer.

And while she waited for its arrival, she twisted on her seat. "...Maybe I should have asked to have whatever you're having. I never know what to order, here. It feels like Russian roulette some days."

[snikting]

Logan lifted up his bottle of booze.

"It ain't great. But it's the the thought that counts."

[bowgunner]

"...Cute," she breathed her verdict with a smile and only now hinted at some potential knowledge of who he was in any fictional capacity. But the point became moot as some non-descript irish red was set in front of her -- frothing in the glass, and otherwise nameless. Claire leaned into the drink and gave gave it an experimental first drink, quick to swipe the foam off her nose. All in all, she liked it.

"And here I was, expecting you to be drinking Molson or Moosehead or Alexander Keith's." Living in Maine had some benefits when it came to beer variety, but so too did spending hours-long layovers in Canadian airports between business trips.

[snikting]

He wore a hint of a smirk as he saw the foam at the tip of her nose. It was refreshing seeing a woman tipping a beer so quickly. Best he could get Ororo to drink was the occasional wine cooler.

"Had 'em all. Usually I prefer going from one bar to another. But seein' as I ain't got that option, I prefer not to settle for one thing. It's as much variety as ya get around here."

[bowgunner]

"You're just brimming with advice today, aren't you?" A pause for a second drink before leaning her elbow on the counter. "I'll have to give Wolverine," she tipped her hand towards his bottle, "a try. On your recommendation, of course."

[snikting]

Well, back to that, were they? He smirked. "There ain't nothin' wrong about having a little Wolverine in ya."

[bowgunner]

"Hey. I still want assurances that you're not viral any longer." A long pause as flirtation gave way to a light interrogation. "Did you end up vaccinated with the others?"

[snikting]

Ah. That. He became far less casual and stared down the bottom of his bottle.

"Yeah. I probably should've have survived. I was nearly a Shambler at that point, seein' as the Mallies saw fit to turn off our powers."

[bowgunner]

"...Shambler." She repeated the word with understanding, not curiousity. And drank deep yet again. "Can I -- would you mind if I asked how your infection happened?"

[snikting]

"Couldn't tell ya precisely win. I ain't exactly the most sanitary of fighters. I was fightin' my way through cultists. Didn't take much to get soaked in their blood. I got cut open more'n a few times myself. I figure one of 'em must've been carryin' the disease an' hadn't changed just yet."

Which made him a very poor source of information in some regards. He never actually fought the zombies.

[bowgunner]

She didn't even wince. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she wondered whether she should. But it didn't seem worth it -- not when he was being candid and she could accept that candid nature for what it was.

"Shit," she breathed her sympathy much as she'd previously breathed her praise.

[snikting]

"It's a blur after that," he concluded. Logan raised his bottle to his lips and drained it. He felt there was little to say on the subject.

[bowgunner]

"I confess," she watched him while she spoke, "I'm more of a distance fighter, myself. Guns. Bolts. Hell, I'll take a rocket launcher if I can get my hands on one."