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The Wasteland

I will show you fear in a handful of dust

The Wasteland

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August 12th, 2008

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pimp hat
[OOWL: Two weeks ago, in which Beth meets Tequila! And other things.]

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smile!  :D!
Salah looks very pleased with himself as he putters around behind the bar.

It might have to do with the fact that he is behind the bar, and Gwen hasn't yet killed him and stuffed his body in the fridge.

Or he might have Canadian grass. Bless those Canadians!

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The couch in this living room is beat-up, worn down at the edges; it's like dorm room furniture, Rebecca thinks occasionally, from the wry distance of thirty-seven and the memory of her own tidy apartment. But this is the Shelter, and what matters is that the couch is there and it's comfortable, and it holds together.

Rebecca is desultorily reading a battered paperback of Little House On The Prairie -- somebody left it on the table here, and she's read and reread most of her own stash. She remembers adoring this book as a child, but she's finding the real thing suffers somewhat by comparison.

Might end up with some more ideas for survival tricks, though. You never know.

August 12th, 2008

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quiet
Anna has been working in the garden, but she did take pains to change out of her dirtied jeans and into a neat blue-and-green skirt.

It makes her feel better.

And slightly less inclined to shoot people.

She does need blood, though, which may be why she's stopped in the Wasteland.

Well, blood and conversation.

Sometimes the Crabapple isn't the best company.

August 11th, 2008

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freckles!
Beth has a Day Off. Two per week, to keep up with pre-apocalypse labor laws.

She is in jeans! And a tank top! And in no way looks like a hooker!

Grinning, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and settles down at a table to people watch.

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garters
Claire Pullman is in the house!

Ok, so without any bling, just a business skirt and high heels, her shirt casually unbuttoned down to here. She's sitting at the bar, a book of accounts in front of her.

Who knew operating a business in a barter-based economy would be so difficult!

July 22nd, 2008

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shoulder
Opening the door, Beth looks around tentatively.  She doesn't come here often enough to quite be confident.

Deciding that a drink is her best option, she heads towards the bar, deciding that whatever moonshine they have has to be better than standing around awkwardly waiting for someone to ask the inevitable, "Hey, don't I know you from the bordello?"

If someone asks that, she at least wants a drink in her hand.

July 21st, 2008

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eheheheheh
It's another day, another week, and another idea of Armand's.

Well, you know.

Another idea that he's had before, and likes to bring out every now and then. Just to keep the Boss on his toes, you know?








And yes, before you ask, he is walking into the Wasteland with another pink flamingo.

July 20th, 2008

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Today, Rebecca told herself, she was going to go to the Wasteland for a drink come evening. (Early evening. Dusk's dangerous; nighttime's more so.) This is maybe one part PR, one part socializing impulse, and one part a fervent desire to get the hell out of these same few buildings, even just to an only marginally less familiar building.

One of the downsides of the Shelter is that it involves lots of people living in relatively close quarters. And when couples decide to break up messily, and share their drama with everyone else, and flounce off or weep and wail in corners instead of doing their fair share of chores -- well, it's been a long few days.

So it's definitely time for a drink, because otherwise Rebecca's going to start snapping at folks more than even they deserve, and Jessie and Neal deserve a whole lot of snapping right now.

And then, of course, it started to rain.

Hell with that, she decides; she's going anyway.

Little rain never killed anyone. Zombies (etc, etc) are good at putting that kind of thing into perspective.
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