entranceway | 03

Entry tags:

03 | Video

[Maggie looks a bit paler and much more exhausted than usual, but puts on as warm and chipper a front as she can. She's clearly sitting on the floor as she posts this.]

Hello again, Wonderland! While it's good to see all of your lovely faces, those nine flights of stairs up to my room are a considerably less welcome sight. Would someone be so kind as to help me up to my bed? A couple of someones if necessary? I've had an eventful week and I'm not at my best.

Once that's managed, I intend to stay there for a few days at barest minimum.

I'll be hosting horror movie marathons tomorrow night and the night after, in room 969, barring Wonderland-interference. Prior acquaintance not required! If horror isn't your cup of tea, feel free to stop by during the afternoons instead. Incidentally, non-metaphorical cups of tea will be available, or your hot or caffeinated beverage of choice. Hope to see you soon, darlings!

((Spam tags for movie night or afternoon visits also welcome!))

[Private to Mahir, Shaun, and Georgia]

[More seriously, dropping any pretense:]

How long was I gone? Let me find my bed, and then all of you get over here before you ask what you've missed back home.

[She doesn't want to do this more than once.]

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A brow arches at that, giving her a look.

"Okay, I'm going to ask how much security you need for things to be livable. Is that the zombie thing or being rich thing? Because, from my end of thing? A home with security is like prison. Well, was prison," he says, figuring there's no reason to hide just how that left him feeling thinking about his time with high security living.

"You sure though? Dying here should be the lowest priority. No sense giving them anything they want, you know?"

Maggie shrugs. "Both. I'm potentially worth billions in ransom money as my parents' precious only child, and I live in a relatively high risk area in terms of rural setting with a lot of woodland cover. If it's a prison, it's as comfortable a prison as possible, and I can leave as often as I want. I can almost forget the security measures, if I try hard enough." She never tries that hard. Maggie prefers to be aware of her surroundings most of the time. Her parents have always given her as much freedom as possible, under the circumstances.

She does nod and offer the assurance, "I've never messed around with my health. I'm sure."

"And going around telling people that you're worth that much is so safe," he says, looking damned amused. More so than he likely should be given where they are and what he's joking about.

"This place is too much of a prison for me, though it's a lot better than the ones from years past. Well, it was." All that he'd enjoyed about it was long gone, and he just holds on hope that it comes back. That they come back.

"Fair enough. I can't say the same, so I'm never good about believing that others are better at caring for themselves." That came with a wry smile, not amused but trying to be amusing.

Maggie laughs softly. "This is Wonderland. I hardly think you'll figure out how to send a note to my parents telling me you have me captive here, or that the Queens are much interested in trying. If you do find a way, by all means let me know. Being able to send messages could come in handy."

She gestures over at the counter set up with coffeemaker and electric kettle. "I'm usually better at taking care of other people, actually, but this week I think I'm going to be sensible and lazy. Help yourself there or the closet."

"Hell, you can get gold through the closet," he points out. "Which yes, does actually say that I totally tested that in my first days here. Bearer bonds of dubious origin, money, silver, gold, platinum. Hell, you could probably get uranium, and that can be worth a pretty penny in the right markets."

Not that he's tried that one, but when you're in the business, you hear things.

"Course. What would you prefer?" He heads that way, glancing at her. "I can handle pretty much being a good host," he teases.

"Maybe put a pin in the radioactive materials idea. I don't think you want any of those in your room." She did note that Seth didn't seem to be speaking from experience on that one. "I'm more familiar with the markets for pharmaceuticals and medical tech. I tried for some of those today, but really, I could have done with continuing to avoid the family business."

In other words, painkillers. She'd prefer not to need any, thanks.

"Tea, please. And I could use a snack. I'm not picky."

With a grin, Seth held up both hands in defeat. "Oh no worries here. Not anything I plan to do. I'm just saying, the closets don't seem to have a filter or care the danger they could cause. Or, whoever is behind them doesn't care at least," he points out, but the conversation amuses him and he definitely needed it.

"Well, that explains the wealth. Drugs are always the way to money, legal or otherwise," he notes, having seen it all first hand. "Don't try and brave it out though. If you need something, take them."

He moves to the table where kettle is. "You got snacks around or should I play with the closet? I know some are more comfortable with what they bring through."

"Mmm. My parents were relatively well off before the Rising. When the dead started walking, they figured that either society would break down and make currency meaningless or people would care more about their health. They transferred every penny they had into med tech just before the stock markets closed. It paid off more than anticipated." Because the success of Garcia Pharmaceuticals wasn't something anyone could have quite prepared for.

"Don't worry. I hate pain. I'm not the stoically-grit-my-teeth sort. When I need the pills, I'll take them."

As for snacks, "There are cookies in the cupboard, and popcorn if you feel like putting some in the popper. Otherwise, try the closet."

"So that's the life you've always known but this..." He glances up at her, gesturing around. "Doesn't reflect that. I never actually met one of those down to Earth types," he admits, sounding curious about it. He's known rich kids, but they lived like it. "Course, my view of them hasn't been that wide." Victims. Cute girls in bars. Clients.

"Oh good, because it's bad enough I'm that type." Smirking as he moved to get the popcorn and moving to the popper as he talks, moving easily about though it's her place. He's the type to make himself comfortable nearly anywhere, or fake it reasonably.

"I like being comfortable, and I'm not a fan of people looking at me like all that matters is the money in my parents' bank account. The goal is to make them forget that." The furniture reflects Maggie's actual preferences; she wouldn't set up her home in a way she didn't sincerely like. It just also fits perfectly with every calculating instinct she has. She smiles. "I'm good at my job, but one of the best things about it is that it's entirely unrelated to the my parents' work. People just look at me like Maggie."

She smiles at Seth's snack choice. Given all the movie nights she's hosted, not much is homier than the smell of popcorn, except maybe the sound of dogs. She'll satisfy herself with just the former for now.

Breezily, she tells him, "No, I'm a wimp. Leave stoicism for the Irwins and Newsies. Fictionals can afford to be not quite as fieldwork-ready." The first part of that isn't quite true. Maggie's brand of stoicism is all cheerful smiles rather than grim gritting her teeth. She's still good at putting up a front when she needs to.

"Never met someone like that," he admits, giving her another look. "And I've dealt with a lot of people with money. They like showing it off, which is usually their downfall," he points out, sounding a tiny bit smug about it.

"And what do your parents think about what you do for a living? I can't even imagine my dad's reaction to something like that,' he says, looking around to find pepper and then going to the closet to get pepper flakes.

"Giving in to your pain doesn't make you a wimp. You know that, right?"

"I'm very spoiled on the parents front, if not necessarily on the rich girl one. Telling them I planned on moving to the middle of the woods to write poetry and porn for a living and rescue overbred epileptic dogs only resulted in a long pause followed by, 'You're sure this is what you want, Magdalene?' They don't care what I do so long as I'm safe, happy, and have at least some sense of personal responsibility."

Maggie peers over in the direction of the closet, curious what Seth is going for.

She smiles at his comment, though. "That was a joke, mostly. Don't worry, Seth, I don't need a lecture about being self deprecating."

"Okay, in fairness? If I had a kid and they told me that? I would be asking the same thing," he admits, chuckling softly as he told her that. "Because, really, who truly wants to do that?"

He holds up one hand in surrender though. "And yes, I know. You do and did. But you had to know people would side eye that."

Not that he can say much. He's done a lot that most shouldn't do, and wouldn't do, and definitely wouldn't make their life.

"Just making sure. I spent most days wallowing in self pity, but I'm good on encouraging others not to do the same."

Coming back with a couple of bottles of spices, as well as cotija cheese as he waited on the popcorn to pop.

"Massive government conspiracies and the corresponding death tolls aside," something darker flickers across her face, quickly shoved back aside as her voice and expression even out with the ease of long practice, "I'm happy with my life."

"I make no promises on the self pity front, but I try to wallow privately" She inspects the condiment choices and nods approvingly. "If you catch me posting angsty poetry while high on painkillers, tell the others from home to keep me offline. I'd like to at least edit while sober before anything goes up for public consumption."

"Yeah well, if you can say that? You're ahead of the game from most," he admits, not even trying to deny that he's on that list of those that can't entirely say that.

Once the popcorn was ready, he doctors it up kind of like Mexican street corn. Nearly the same, right?

"I promise, if I see anything that could be described as emo coming from you, I'll contact Shaun and George immediately. Scout's honor. I totally never was one."

"I didn't even make it to my own house in my time back home, though." Maggie makes a face. "No dogs, no bad movies with a house full of people, no sleeping in my own bed. I did get to see my parents briefly."

Maggie watches the seasoning eagerly, then reaches out a hand for the bowl. "Gimme," she demands cheerfully. "No one else bothers putting anything on besides butter and salt when I delegate. I love all popcorn, but variety is nice. And maybe you ought to look at one or two of my poems so you can recognize the baseline level of angst."

"Wait, you went back and didn't even get your life for a while? Okay, that sucks," he admits, coming over with two bowls and handing one to her. "Hope you like it. I had it like this in Mexico and liked it. Better than those damn rice drinks my brother loves," he says, taking a seat, considering that.

"So it's not just porn huh? I'd be curious to see what you write," he admits, taking a bit.

"Nope. Just a mad scientist's lair and a fancy hotel. Not that I mind fancy hotels, but they aren't home." Her parents own shares of the Agora. Maggie's suite there is amazing; it's where she took Buffy to celebrate when After the End Times was founded, actually. She could comfortably live in the hotel for awhile, but she missed her dogs and her movie parties and her vegetable garden fiercely. "Not a fan of horchatas, Seth?"

"I write a lot of genres. If you take the tablet from the table and press the dandelion icon on the screen, you'll get my personal blog from back home, which is a mix of journal and poetry. Most of my stories won't show up there, but you're welcome to read those too." That seems like the easiest shortcut to offer, since they're discussing poetry. It isn't as if Seth needs to read her entire body of work today. Skimming through a bit of Dandelion Mine is plenty for right now. There are also occasional videos between the writing if he decides to watch; every time Maggie adopts a new dog, she films her first meeting with it.

It occurs to her belatedly that reading on her device as opposed to somewhere else means he also has access to any unpublished entries, but she doesn't really mind a friend seeing those. She just doesn't want the whole world seeing them, or in a few cases couldn't afford the danger that came along with the whole world seeing them. Maggie hasn't yet synced her phone to the tablet since she got back to Wonderland, so it cuts off on June 24th and starts with that entry, going newest to oldest.

"Well that sucks, even if I'm of the same mind about fancy hotels," he admits with a bit of a smile. Though he snorts at that, rolling his eyes. "So... I went away for five years. Even before I got out..." Not let out, got out. "I find out my brother has basically gone crazy and is hiding in the woods. Yet he shows up then, looking like himself but for a while, he was out of his mind... and the whole damn time we're dealing with all this shit after? He's going on about horchata."

Which isn't true. Not really, but so much of Seth's life before he came to Wonderland is emotions and pain and confusion and just trying to get his life back from before prison and not wanting to accept that it is gone. Forever.

Even in Wonderland it is gone, but least he doesn't have to worry about growing old without his brother.

So her distraction even as that moment brings to the forefront that Richie isn't there is welcome, and he puts his bowl on the table and picks up the tablet.

He thumbs over the pad, his attention between her and the tablet. He does chuckle though. "Whose Dave?"

"Not a pleasant first association," Maggie remarks sympathetically, letting the rest of Seth's words slide easily by even as she makes note of them. Seth clearly wants the subject changed. That's easy enough to give him.

Or she thought it would be, but the question draws her up short.

"Never my boyfriend, unfortunately," she answers softly after a moment's recovery. Of course that was the first entry that showed up. It was the last thing she posted before she came to Wonderland for the first time. "We'd been circling the issue for months. We both knew how we felt, but we kept waiting for the timing to be perfect, as if there's any such thing. The fucking CDC staged an outbreak in Oakland to wipe out the After the End Times office."

"Dave was an Irwin. He loved wilderness survival expeditions. As usual, he was too brave for his own good and much more noble and self sacrificing than I will ever be in my life. He stayed behind to delay the security measures long enough to let the rest of our people out. He got a last broadcast posted telling me how he felt, then the CDC bombed the city to contain the outbreak that they started in the first goddamn place." She drops one hand to her stomach, resting very lightly over the site of her injury. "A bullet wound is the least of the scars they left on me. At least morphine does a little for this one."

He talks about Richie all the goddamn time. Everything is related to Richie, and knowing the Gecko brothers, it always will be. Yet that doesn't stop him from having no clue how to truly talk about himself and his brother and all they've been through, all the pain he's suffered because of his brother, or that he's put his brother through.

Seth falls quiet, listening to what she went through. The shit in their world is madness, and he wonders if eventually it will be like this in his own if they can't find a way to stop the Culebra and the Seven Lords from basically taking over the world. Least he doesn't have to worry about that now.

"Well, that sucks," he says, though there's the weight of sympathy in his tones. "Both your fucked up government, and him waiting until then."

"It wasn't all on him. I was too busy grieving to deal with the idea of moving on." She folds her hands in her lap to keep from fidgeting, because she can't very well tuck her knees up to her chest and wrap her arms around them without wincing in pain. "He gave me time and paid attention in the meanwhile. We were friends. We talked constantly. He started showing horror movies on the roof, thinking that eventually he'd lure me down to join the rest of the team."

Maggie smiles crookedly. This is the first time she's talked about Dave in detail with anyone outside their team since he died. She's never had to describe him before.

"It wasn't a bad way of catching my attention. He was also better at predicting my absurd sleep schedule than anyone I've known. He only sent messages when I was awake, which nobody else has ever managed." Even if she was listed as offline, Dave knew when Maggie would be on a normal human sleep schedule and when she'd be mostly nocturnal. He didn't usually bother checking whether she was online.

He pauses then, head canting because she's said something there that makes him curious even if Seth isn't sure if he's asking too much or not.

"Doesn't sound like it was too bad, though sorry you had other losses. I assume all related to your psychotic government then?" Because given what she's mentioned, he has to assume all the things in her life all come back to that.

"Glad he showed you how much he cared," he says, knowing it had to mean a lot to her.

"There was just shy of a year between Dave's death and the death of the woman I loved before him. And yes, it was related to the CDC and the government. We knew, but we finally managed to get proof the day before I came back to Wonderland." Or her team did, as Maggie holed up in the Agora getting medical attention and watched the After the End Times servers like a hawk while she waited for information to roll in.

"Just before the bombs came down, one of the last things Dave said was, 'I loved you a lot. I loved my job a lot. I guess that makes me one of the lucky ones.' I didn't get the message till after he was dead, but I suppose I am grateful it exists."

"I know I probably sound like a dick, but I would think that's better than not having it at all," he says, showing how Seth's mind works.

"Also, not maybe the best thing to say but it's Wonderland. For all you know, there's a chance that he could show up here. Wonderland's done things like that before," he notes. "Not that I'm sure that's comforting or not though."

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