taxonomites | 03: [Location: Caritas] + [Accidental Visual] Preparing for the Storm

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03: [Location: Caritas] + [Accidental Visual] Preparing for the Storm

It's during the day and Caritas is technically closed right now. Casey's been moving the crates of booze up from the basement to the main floor. It's tiring work and he's due for a break. His black tee shirt is starting to cling to his back and he could do with a damned coke. Still, Lorne's been hurrying the whole bunker idea along and Casey trusts that if the demon thinks the sky's gonna start falling soon, it's time to start battening down the hatches.

He sets a crate down and pauses, reaching behind himself to work out a crick in his back. He's not getting any younger.

[OOC: Mainly for all the peeps wanting to help fortify Caritas, but open really to anyone who wants to drop by or troll Casey *wink*]

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Guinevere's days were filled with very little while her mistress locked herself away in her room. She is still getting acquainted with her Tablet and upon seeing Casey's discomfort she decides to respond. That seems to be the way this whole system worked in the city anyway.

"You know my father had similar back pain and her received a poultice from a physician to help with it," Guinevere says, paying little mind to the implications of her statement until after it has left her mouth. "Uhm, n-not that you're old...er. Not that you're my father's age-- I don't think that."

She resists the sudden urge to inquire just how old he is and sticks to looking completely uncomfortable instead.

As soon as he hears Gwen's voice he straightens up. It's too late, though, she's seen him. And what comes next can only be described as the last thing a guy who's just past forty wants to hear.

He gives her a baleful kinda look.

"Yeah, thanks. I'll keep that in mind. Just how old do you think I am?"

He stops short of asking how old her father was.

She looks away from the Tablet and bites lip once she sees that look on her face. Visual now seems like her worst possible choice for responding to him. She considers his question for a moment, but decides to be honest instead of figuring out what he wants her to say. That would be rather impossible, considering she understands very little of how he thinks.

"You're clearly established and well into a career," she says, keeping her eyes on his as she speaks. "It's clear to me you're beyond the years of my peers, as they are considered boys where I am from."

Comparing him to her father is the last thing she wishes to do and is quite glad he didn't sneak him into his question.

"Uh huh."

Nice attempt at a save, there Gwen. Is that what she thinks of him as? Some kind of surrogate father figure?

He looks down for a moment, his hand going to his belt.

"That didn't answer my question. How about this one: how old are you?"

Hey, she was being perfectly honest...sans a few details and specifics.

Upon hearing his she can't help but be a little shocked. It is a very forward question, even if she is a servant girl, and she wonders if this is one of the differences between how men and women relate where he is from. She can't help but assume this is more about his own pride than anything, and if there's one thing about Guinevere, she's not one to go out of her way to mend wounded pride.

She conveniently shifts her gaze away.

"If you must know, I am 20."

So, in other words, he was old enough to be her fricking father. Well, that was just swell.

Since she's not asking, he's not gonna volunteer.

"Okay then."

He glances around at the crates, looking for an excuse to cut this conversation short. Still, he knows it'd be kinda rude.

"It was just a twinge. It's not like I have a bad back all the time. I'm fit. I work out."

Gwen looks back at him, both eyebrows raised, a bit confused as she expected more of a reaction out of him concerning their awkward exchange. She frowns a bit at his last comment, as it's clear their misunderstanding has just made their already odd relationship that much more uncomfortable.

"Right, no... I did not mean to say that you weren't. It's very obvious you're fit. Don't think I've ever met another quite as... Strong looking. Even knights." it was no big secret that Casey was quite tall and rather muscular, but that didn't make her trying to explain it any easier. She lets out a defeated sigh and lowers her head to hide heR embaressed flush. Visual was a poor choice.

"I should leave you to your work, Casey. John."

He has to smile at her stumbling to make him feel better. She sounds so...off balance, it's pretty damned cute, really, and despite his earlier annoyance, he doesn't want her to feel guilty for what she said.

"Good to know I could probably hold my own if I had to. Not that I'm looking to be a knight or anything. Just, yeah, doesn't sound bad, is all."

Well at least his mood seems to have improved despite her earlier comment. She makes a mental note to stop making a fool of herself. Once her embarrassment has settles some she nods, returning his smile politely.

"You could. I'm sure of it." There's a pause and she fidgets some before she continues. "Right, well, I wont delay you any further."

"Yeah, I should probably..." He gestures behind him. Then he comes up with something else to say before he signs off. "You gonna be home later? For dinner? This'll just take a few hours."

She nods in return, preparing her goodbye to switch the tablet off but then his question comes in. She's taken off guard by the suggestion; They had meals together now and then, but with his work schedule it was never very well coordinated.

"O-oh well, of course. I have something I was finishing at the Smithy but I should be free after?"

"Okay. Good. Uh...was just wondering."

Casey shuts it off quickly. He's old enough to be her father. He's old enough to be her father. He needs to keep telling himself that.

Still, he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he looked forward to the times they did share a meal. Talked about the smithy. How Morgana was doing. How his shifts at Caritas had gone.

He'd never had as simple a life as he did right now. And even though he still needed more than that, a deeply buried part of him was content.

Martha, with the businesslike efficiency of a UNIT operative, had prepared both medical and food supplies for Caritas. Although the latter had eaten into her monthly supply of credits, her new surgery had supplied everything else, more or less. She still needed to work out what they would do for fresh water, but she needed to visit the building itself for that.

With one of her makeshift medical kits in her arms, Martha made her way down the stairs and into the bar. She spotted Casey over the top of the box.

"Are you all right?"

Casey turns to see some new gal checking him out with concern.

"What? Oh yeah. I'm fine." He tries to ignore the twinge and shift a crate. He grimaces and sets it back down again hastily.

"Well, maybe I just need to take a five."

"I'm a doctor," she said, rather pointedly. Martha set her box of supplies down on the bar, then took a step - the steady step of someone who was used to dealing with occasionally unwilling patients - forward.

"Lorne asked me to bring some medical supplies for the bunker," she added, by way of an explanation. Even as a student, she hadn't made a habit of wandering into bars during the day. She'd been a bit too sensible for that.

"Really? Well you're a darn sight prettier than the last one."

He's actually referring to The Doctor, but he doesn't know there's a connection. Casey doesn't back away. If there's one thing he respects, it's a professional. If she wants to examine him, he's not gonna stop her.

"That's a sound idea, we're probably gonna need it if things are as dire as he says they're gonna be."

Lorne bustles in from the extension in the back where he lives. He has a pitcher full of icy lemonade, condensation pearling on the outside, and a bowl of baby carrots. "Thought you might need a pit stop, buddy," he calls out. He's been in the back taking inventory of all the crates coming up from the basement and trying to figure out where to put them, but he feels bad that Casey's been stuck with all the heavy lifting.

He notices Martha and beams. "Look, if it isn't my favorite lifesaver! Noah Wylie, eat your heart out. So glad you came." He puts the lemonade and carrots on the counter, grabs a glass from behind the bar, and pours some for Casey. "How're things going?"

"Yeah? Well, it saves developing a bedside manner," she joked. She assumed he was referring to a doctor - a doctor that could have been an alien or could have been from a different point in history - that had since left the city. When Casey didn't pull away, she placed a hand on his back. She wanted to find out if he'd pulled a muscle or tired himself out. "Does this hurt?"

"Hi, Lorne," she said, smiling, though Casey still held her attention at the moment. "I've brought over the first box of medical supplies."

He gives one of his trademark grunts of amusement. Then grimaces slightly at the slight pressure.

"A little. Nothing I can't handle."

Then he flashes a grateful smirk at Lorne for bringing refreshments, accepting the glass of lemonade and downing half of it in one go.

"Great timing there, com padre. Taking a short break. Worked up quite a thirst. Once I'm done with these boxes I figure I'll start laying down some sand bags to shore up the walls. Also at the entrances. Gotta also think about rations, water supplies, bedding, what people are gonna use for a latrine..."

It wasn't an ideal examination, but Martha was used to working in frequently awkward and occasionally difficult circumstances. From what she could tell, Casey had simply tired himself out. She'd encountered a lot of patients like that during her time in UNIT.

"You just need a rest," she said, and, thankfully, Lorne seemed to have had the same idea. "I've put water purification tablets in with the medical supplies, but I don't think that'll be enough."

Nazca looks a bit pale, perhaps less rested than normal, but her expression dares him to comment on it. Instead, she says, "Let me guess. They're all full of heavy and fragile bottles of liquid?"

He notices the differences in her appearance. He can guess the reason. Still, he chooses to address her question first.

"Uh huh. I'm clearing out the basement for Lorne. Seems like he's had some vision that a storm's coming and he wants a place for us to take shelter if we need to.

Sounds loony toons I know, but I'm thinking this guy's the genuine article."

"I suppose that it's better to be over-prepared than under. What sort of storm did he mean? I've never seen it do more than rain a bit, here."

She tilts her head. "A underground level would flood, then, I suppose." Not a lot of basements in Camorr.

"Sounded like all hell was breaking loose in his vision. Don't think he meant it literally." He nods, though. "That's a good point. That's why I'm hatching some sandbags to place at strategic locations."

Nazca frowns. "A fight? Our captors finally take a firmer stand? Does he know?"

Magic is not something she's used to on a daily basis (at least not the way she thinks of magic), but she firmly believes in it. There are charlatans of course, but making a prediction this concrete is evidence of either reality or stupidity, and she's not betting her life on the latter.

"Wasn't really clear on that point. But he's worried. I've seen that kinda fear in men before. Whatever he saw, it wasn't pretty and now he's busting a gut to try and prepare some kind of safe haven. A few others are doing the same, just in case. Figured I'd help out since I have a little...experience in making places secure and preparing for the worst."

He gazes at her for a moment, his expression thoughtful.

"I know you're the type who can take care of herself. But if things do get rough, Caritas will be one of the rallying points. Understood?"

Edited 2010-06-25 12:17 (UTC)

"I assure you, I'm not so proud I plan to get torn to pieces proving I don't need help. Thank you for the offer." Nazca's thanks is genuine. Back home, she'd have a whole network of people to fall back on. Here, she has to make do as she can.

And she's seen what intense fear can do - and what can cause it. If things get bad, she doesn't plan to take chances.

"Does it have the capacity to shelter people who might come?"

After the warning Lorne had given him, and all the ghosts and warnings, Mohinder was watching his tablet fairly closely. He's not entirely sure what this man is up to, but maybe it's best to ask. After all, when Mohinder can't be of any use scientifically, he can at least act as a workhorse.

"Do you want some help with that?" he asks, with a quirked eyebrow.

Casey's never spoken to the guy before and he doesn't look all that strong but he shrugs.

"The more the merrier, I guess."

"You're at Lorne's bar, are you not? I'll be right over." He gives Casey a wan smile and turns off the transmission.

On the way over, Mohinder forgoes his usual jumping of rooftops and just takes the tram. It's close enough and there's no huge hurry. He continues to watch his tablet and confirms that Casey's helping out to prepare for whatever's happening. Good. Mohinder would like to help with that in any way possible.

He gets to Caritas rather quickly, within a few minutes. A little cautious, he opens the doors and peeks his head in. "Hello?"

Casey's just coming back up the stairs with another crate in his arms. He sets it down carefully before gesturing to the newcomer.

"Come on in. You were part of that rescue op not long ago, right? Your face is familiar. The name's John Casey."

He wipes his hand on his jeans and then holds it out for him to shake.

Mohinder smiles as he reaches out to shake Casey's hand, mindful to keep his grip light. "Mohinder Suresh, and yes I was. I thought I'd seen you before. It's a pleasure to meet you formally, Mr. Casey."

He steps back and looks toward the stairs. "Now, point me toward the boxes you'd like me to move. I assume they're all down there?"

"Likewise." He glances over at the basement entrance. "Yeah, just got another half dozen or so, then we'll move them where Lorne wants. Need to clean the basement out, shore up the walls, get the space ready as a shelter. It's gonna take some time and legwork."

Mohinder nods at all that. He's not terribly familiar with emergency precautions, but that sounds like a solid plan- as well as providing for the most possible problems.

"Luckily, I have plenty of time- and with the both of us, the legwork should hopefully be much less. If you haven't had the time for one already, why don't you take a break? I can get the rest of these boxes." He's not used to being 'the guy that can lift things', so this is rather nice.

He heads downstairs and hefts up the first crate he sees. They're large enough he needs two hands, but they're little detriment to him. Like most things under a ton, he barely registers the weight. He takes it upstairs and deposits it next to the others.

...That looks kind of painful.

Don't start, Summers. I just got a twinge is all. It'll pass. I'd like to see you try hefting dozens of cases and lugging them up stairs.

I'm actually a different person than my sister. And my name is Dawn. It has less syllables than 'Summers'.

Have you considered asking for help?

Edited 2010-06-23 22:22 (UTC)

Yeah, but you share the same last name, don't you? I know what your name is. I'm just used to...you know, a certain way of addressing people.

Help? [Have a scoffing noise.] I don't need no help. This is a piece of cake.

Why? You volunteering?

Variety is the spice of life.

...Right, and your back doesn't hurt at all.

Do you want me to?

I guess I could find a use for ya. Smartass.

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03: [Location: Caritas] + [Accidental Visual] Preparing for the Storm

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[ visual ] ugh Internet died. Have to do this from my phone

[ visual ] /hugs

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[visual] Trolling, you say?

[visual] /is trolled!

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[visual] Yay! Casey of course has no idea.

[visual --> Location: Caritas] :3

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