conning | Apocalypse How Inbox

I HAVE COME TO SPREAD NEWS OF THE NEXT REVOLUTION AHEAD OF US.
A REVOLUTION THAT WILL END THE WORLD AND HEARLD THE NEW ONE.
CORRECTION: HERALD

Edited 2021-09-21 03:32 (UTC)

Neal is not investigating lights. He's not testing them. He hasn't even heard about anything being wrong with the lights. He's kept to himself as much as possible, doing odd jobs for Bonnie and small assignments for ADI and talking to few people outside of his general acquaintances. Even those exchanges have been politely meaningless, but as charming and cheerful as he can possibly be.

He's getting used to being lonely again, which is good. He should have been working on that from the start.

Today he's out doing an odd job he kind of regrets offering to help with--a cranky old woman who frequents Bonnie's wants to put up Christmas lights outside her house. Neal, idiot that he is, volunteered to help when he overheard.

So here he is, weaving a strand of lights around the banister of her stairway, silently grumbling to himself about the cold and how his boots weren't made for this kind of snow.

Neal hasn't wanted to have this conversation. He hasn't wanted to touch this conversation with a ten foot pole, but he's also been increasingly worried about Jeff over the past couple of weeks. He's an adult. Jeff is a kid. He can get over himself.

But it's not just aversion that's kept him from seeking Jeff out. It's the fact that he's curious if Jeff can bring that euphoria back, if he would do it if Neal asked. He's immediately revolted with himself by the thought. It would be like forcing Jeff to deal him drugs in some kind of backward way.

Neal shakes his head, focusing on the task at hand. He spotted Jeff in one of the town's small parks, busking while locals string lights in the trees.

Deep breath, calm and friendly mask in place. He walks straight up to where Jeff is playing and gently puts a folded-up twenty in the guitar case.

When Neal finds out that Meredith has been stuck in medical, he puts together a care package. Some sweet treats, a few smoked savory things that will keep on a bedside table. A bottle of (very weak) wine, just in case alcohol is a bad idea with whatever flare-up she's having. There's also a handful of books, and--if she can't do those--a little knock-off media player with an audiobook program downloaded onto it.

He walks in to the infirmary and his skin creeps a little, but it doesn't show in his expression. He's never been the best in places like this. Sick rooms, hospitals. Too many bad memories and anxieties too close to the surface.

Still, it doesn't take long to find Meredith's bed. He draws a chair up next to her with raised eyebrows, holding up his basket--and ducking a little as one of the attendants almost hits him in the head with a string of lights. "I come bearing gifts."

Neal is paranoid. He's been paranoid ever since he got hit by those lights a second time, ever since he found out there was something concrete happening with them. He'd been one of the people to help round up every un-sold string from every store the ADI identified, not willing to help test anything or risk exposure again. He would stick to the ones that aren't lit. Screw that dice roll.

But paranoia doesn't stop him from keeping promises, and one of the promises he's made--to himself, if no one else--is to leave food near the homeless hot spots around town. He doesn't talk to any of them, doesn't get close. He's heard about what happens to people who spend too much time talking to a non-native. But plastic containers of hot food always end up stacked in places he knows they'll be found.

He's in the middle of one such delivery when he spots Kugrash, which isn't surprising. They've run into each other more than once doing this by now. "Enjoying the weather?"

It's cold. That's sarcasm.

Hi Neal. I know you just got out of jail yesterday but I need your help with something important. If you have time. And I'd also like to see you. If you have time. Maybe I can come by your apartment? Or you can come here. Or we can go to the coffee shop. Anyway, let me know if you have time.

[He hasn't seen Neal since he got back on his meds and a diet he can actually digest and he's not sure if he hallucinated some or all of what happened at the coffee shop. But he's being super smooth about it. As usual.]

Once they realize their trapped and they’ve attended to immediate needs like checking their food supply, Malcolm shuts himself in his bedroom and takes out his phone, dialling Neal, relieved when it rings, but anxious he won’t answer.

[probably not long after this, next day or so, maybe?]

So. My brother's attached to you pretty quickly, huh?

[The alarmed look on his face had, at least briefly, matched her own when Malcolm declared Neal family on the way to lunch the other day. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out they hadn't discussed this idea before that very second.]

Yelena hasn't spent much time in the inn room they've been sharing for the past several weeks, but it's not entirely unusual for her to return once or twice during the day to fetch something, or to change her clothing. As is typical when she returns to find him in residence, she offers a brief, politely pleasant, "Hello."

The departure comes when she doesn't immediately head for her (painfully neat) half of the room to grab one thing or another, but instead pauses, considering for a moment, before adding, "You've been making friends with Cindy, haven't you? I have some intel they might find useful."

And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.

Tim had said his goodbye to the owlbear with a promise to return soon-ish, had scuttled out of the kitchen and apartment and into the halls, and had given Neal enough of a head start that he had to almost jog to catch up to the guy.

Seeing as there was no way Neal didn't already suspect he would be followed, Tim skips the charades. From behind Neal he reaches out a hand to tap the man's forearm, not retreating the ghost of the touch until he's convinced the other will tag along. "C'mon," he says stepping in line with the man. "I have an order to pick up.

"Let's chat."

Good evening, my dear friend!

[Rue is generally put in a very good mood whenever the pair of them get together to gossip, so it's probably no surprise that the owlbear is simply beaming on their side of the screen.]

The Season's Changing festival that young Mercy and I have been working on the last few months is finally down to those last finishing touches, and I find myself most in need of your grand expertise.

Tim did battle that afternoon with the apartment's toaster. It tripped him up. He chucked it at the wall hard enough to put a sizable dent, and the brave little toaster was no more.

The rest of the day is a blur of gray, and then Tim sends the message:

Hey is it cool if I stay the night? Is Malcolm there?

I know you said I shouldn't mess with the milk frother

Anyway we are all out of milk

It's not my fault! We cleaned up.

[...wait, Tim thinks, that's not what he was going to say.]

we = me and stephanie she's from gotham and we really needed coffee

text | un: tequila sunset

[action, backdated to mid-december]

CONFESSIONS (Jeff) - Backdated to Mid-December

CONFESSIONS (Mere) - Backdated to Early-to-Mid-December-Ish

CONFESSIONS (Kugrash) - Mid-to-late December

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