015] video ----> BACKDATED TO TUESDAY MORNING <-----

[unsleeved]

[It takes him a little while to collect himself, as the memories (most jumbled and incomplete thanks to the amount of shit he'd been pumping himself full of for the past few days) slowly filter back in bit by bit, but eventually he gets it together enough to ask what he needs to ask.

When he pops up on the feed his face is drawn and tired, the bags under his eyes even more pronounced than usual despite the fact that he'd essentially been "sleeping" for an entire day.]

Somethin' got me down in the caves. [And his tone makes it obvious that he doesn't mean "got me a birthday present". He looks down then, unsure how to put this in a way that isn't cryptic or confusing... But after a few seconds of lip-chewing and offscreen callous-picking he continues, figuring that if anything had happened, it'll be pretty clear what he means:] ...I hurt anybody?

[If he hadn't, this is gonna drag up a whole bunch of questions he'd prefer not to touch... But he needs to know what he did after the lights went out, and if that means outing himself and explaining his situation back in Georgia, well... It's the least he can do. There could be people who are owed one hell of an explanation.

And he considers elaborating now but thinks better of it, cutting the video feed abruptly to send a private text to America:]

that shit upstairs gotta go if you havent taken care of it already

Comments

[ahousedivided]

[ When he does arrive he's a little winded. Being in shape means nothing when your lungs are literally on fire. One thing he had to hand it to being British, it made things a hell of a lot easier.

But he doesn't want to think about that right now.

Gas masks in his time aren't refined in the slightest (actually 99% of the time they're just a hand kerchief over the mouth), so when he sees Daryl wearing it he gives a little startled jump. ]

Jesus, what the hell are you wearing? What is it with people tryin' to ambush me in creepy masks...

[ And by "people" he means "England." America had an interesting childhood. Once his heartbeat calms down, he walks over and examines his own mask curiously. ]

POOR BASTARD.

[unsleeved]

[Daryl feels that; he isn't suffering from physical withdrawal... But the memory of a weekend of chainsmoking has led, predictably, to chainsmoking. Not great for his overall health, but what's he got to lose, really...? Nope, the trip up here hadn't been a picnic for him either.

Still, he does have the breath to spare to snort at America's response. Little jumpy, are we...? In any case, his voice is muffled but not completely incoherent through the mask.]

Got a real mess in here, bettin' the air's no good... Probably spread down the hall too but we gotta get it outta here before we start workin' on that. [he glances at a burnt-out pot sitting on a desk. It looks like it'd been on fire at one point: the wall behind it is covered in ash.] Ain't takin' no chances.

[Ironic considering the smoking... But that's neither here nor there.]

They got trash chutes around here somewhere, don't seem to go nowhere... That's lookin' like the best place to put it.

[Is that how you get rid of a meth lab? Who the fuck knows.]

HIS LIFE IS HARD AND NO ONE UNDERSTANDS

[ahousedivided]

[ You want tobacco, America is the country for you. He was founded on tobacco. The promise of eternity (or close to it) is bound to excuse bad habits too; for him, it's almost every vice short of women, and he'd indulge in that too if he wasn't so fucking awkward. So really, no judgement on the smoking. The possibility of lung cancer is still better than third stage syphilis.

Since he'd rather not have his lungs burn any more than necessary, America follows Daryl's lead and puts on the mask. It takes a bit of fumbling to get it right. ]

Always wondered where all the trash goes. I know it's all... magical and shit. [ He spits out the word "magical" like the word itself is a piece of trash. ] But still. You can't just make shit disappear. It's gotta go somewhere.

[ But as long as that "somewhere" is nowhere nearby, then it's a good enough way as any to get rid of a meth lab. ]

Think the house will clean up that [ he points to the ash on the wall ] or are we gonna have to scrub that too?

/o\

[unsleeved]

[That's quite the hateboner for magic America's got there, and Daryl can't help but notice it. His own feelings toward it are mostly positive- a little curiosity, too, because there's nothing like that in Georgia... But he can see how it'd be harder to accept for someone who'd likely consider a truck to be supernatural.

But views on magic aside, yeah, he's inclined to agree with the stuff they trash going somewhere.]

Ain't seen it pile up nowhere, maybe it gets recycled into the shit we put up with during the events. [He shrugs.] Could be anywhere. [And he froms at the wall, chewing at his lip for a few seconds and then:] ...Them stains ain't hurtin' nobody. Let 'em sit.

[There will be no Cinderelly shit for Daryl- he's only in here to get the dangerous crap out and that's that. He ain't no house keeper.

Belatedly, he pulls a pair of gloves from the closet, and then another which he tosses to America.]

Best get to work. [He's just gonna... gingerly handle a broken bottle with its frothy contents leaking all over the place into the large bin he'd dragged out of the closet.]

no it's not over yet it will never be over i am sorry

[ahousedivided]

[ You would have a hateboner for magic too if you had England as a father figure and grew up with "hang the witch" Puritans. Interesting childhood. (Now voodoo/voodun, that's some shit he can get behind...) ]

Recycled? [ what do you mean you don't dump your trash in the nearest lake????? ] Man, as long as it ain't pilin' up in my room, my world, and isn't harmin' no one, I'm gonna leave that mystery at the bottom of my priority list. I'm still figuring out the communication system, I don't need any more complications!

[ He's silent for a few minutes. Putting on the gloves, gingerly putting things in the bin, pouring all liquids down the drain (and hoping it doesn't taint the water supply). Then suddenly his shoulders start to shake. He makes some wheezing noises. At first it looks like he might be having some kind of asthma attack, but then he croaks out a single word: ]

Butts.

[ YES HE IS STILL LAUGHING ABOUT THAT SHIT and he will laugh to himself if he has to. ]

Aw man, if the guys back home could do this, they'd be in tears! Can't waste much paper to do it with letters anymore. I just-- you can make endless butts, dicks, and tits on this out of symbols! Endless! It's a butt brigade!

[ He has to lean against a wall he's laughing so hard. Give him a couple seconds he'll get back to work soon. ]

LOL NEVER BE SORRY FOR BUTTS.

[unsleeved]

[Daryl's knowledge for voodoo is limited- and yeah, pretty god damn racist, thank you, Merle. Far from the wand-waving and funny words that he'd seen James do and say, he'd probably just laugh at any of that "jungle shit".

Again, thank you Merle.

All of the "ain'ts" and dropped 'g's are a relief- good to hear America's back to his usual, Southern self- and so Daryl makes zero effort to interrupt or explain the merits of Reduce, Reuse, Etc. He thinks nothing of it when there's silence for a while (since he, too, is busy picking through the almight pile of crap that's strewn all over the place. It looks like a college kid's kitchen- bowls, pots, mystery fluid...

Yeah, he's a little distracted and a lot unprepared for being serenaded about the merits and glory of... Text butts. He turns to stare- though the effect is probably lost or made a million times creepier with the gas mask (are you my mummy...?)- and really just... What do you even say to that?]

...You gonna be alright?

[It's the little things, he supposes, in a situation like this, that are all you can really cling to. In his case it's, well, he ain't clinging to much; in America's case, it's butts.

Christ.]

[ahousedivided]

[ America is in the peculiar position of looking white in a white supremacist society and holding some pretty damn racist ideas himself, yet he can't deny (nor wants to) that the other groups so looked down on are his people too. They're just as much a part of him as any others. But then you get into issues of citizenship and throw in the Native American nations and it gets even more confusing. Point is, shit's complicated and he has a lot of problems dealing with it.

It helps that a lot of Louisiana voodoo is tied to Christianity. It's easy to justify learning "magic" when you say no, he's just cursing/blessing people with the power of Jesus, and is voodoo any worse than Catholicism I mean you've seen that Eucharist shit right???? (Because battling prejudice with more prejudice is the way to go.)

That said, watching his lily white ass try to make charms and perform spells is equal parts sad and amusing. He wants to be Facilier and Mama Odie but no, he's that Cajun firefly who always talks about butts.

God that was a whole tangent no one needed let's move back to what's actually going on.

He nods at Daryl's question but is obviously having a little trouble breathing. He takes a few deep, rattling breaths to calm himself. The mask is lifted as he starts coughing and he has to double over again. Blood flecks the floor with each cough, though it's pretty easy for him to move his body and hide it from Daryl. The Georgian doesn't seem too interested in getting the place spic-and-span anyway.

Eventually he does get himself under control and puts the mask back on. ]

Yeah, yeah, I'm fine! Sorry. Guess it ain't so special to people who already know about this kind of technology, but it's a novelty for me. So's this.

[ He taps the side of the gas mask. ]

Hope I can take one of these back home! Sure would help the stench of battlefield cleanups a little more bearable.

[ Maybe???? Can you smell dead people in gas masks I have not tried. ]

I'll give it this, Wonderland sure lives up to its name. And at least I'll get outta here with the knowledge how to make... [ Gestures vaguely to what equipment is left. ]