inkwreaths | METRO MASTERPOST.

(reply from suspended user)

[Sometimes, being a Ranger meant patrols aboveground. It's a job nobody truly wants. Demons roamed the skies, as did packs of Nosalis. If neither of those got you, the cold and radiation would. There had to be something worth scavenging for... or worth hunting down.

Guy readjusts the filter on his mask, his breathing heavy and stilted as he keeps an eye on his surroundings. All this open space makes him uneasy. Years of living down in the Metro has enforced the concept that tunnels and walls were "good" -- without them one was exposed to danger.

From the corner of his eye he spots movement. Guy startles, finger already hovering over the trigger when he realizes that, thank god, it's just another human being. And a familiar one, at that.]

... still at it are you, Kyrie?

[The exasperation comes through, even with the filter muffling his voice.]

Ordinary citizens like you should be keeping their noses out of trouble.

(reply from suspended user)

[Andersen is simple. In a world of people where everyone wants something, Andersen's demands of her are no more or less than that of a storyteller to one who retells stories. He wants to share tales with her, and she, voracious always for new knowledge, new stories, can for once answer someone's desire with more than the facade of acceptance. Smiling, she stops for him, inclining her head.]

Andersen, I am always pleased to see you. Thank you for your offer of escort.

(reply from suspended user)

[A true smile flickers over her mouth.]

Would you like me to ask you what the caravan brought, Andersen?

[She will do it. Andersen is so endearing.]

(reply from suspended user)

[If there's one thing that hasn't changed, it's humanity's desire to buy and sell. Even if money no longer holds its original value, entrepreneurs will always find a way to turn a profit. If life in the Metro was crowded, the markets were the pinnacle of claustrophobia. Stalls crammed beside each other, masses of bodies seeking goods, and not to mention the excuses for bars that have been scraped together. It's lively -- a testament to human resilience -- but at the same time it's an environment where you don't want to dawdle in.

Guy is checking out some groceries (rats and pork, along with mushrooms, what else is there to eat?) when he spots a familiar face.]

Lucina!

[He has to shout to be heard over the din, but his voice is strong. Guy throws his hand up.]

Hey! Long time no see!

[ The metro feels claustrophobic.

She tries to keep it from getting to her — it's evidence that humanity will thrive even in the harshest conditions, but there's a reason she keeps retreating to the surface every chance she gets. Being a ranger helps — she has nothing against her home in theory, because while it's not perfect— it's safe. It's just the finite ceiling and the sheer number of people make her shoulder tense, jaw clamped shut.

( The same part of her longs for the open skies, clear air. )

But it's a necessity, and she knows it. She's keeping her eyes forward and shoulders straight as she tries to weave through the crowds as quickly as possible. It shouldn't take her longer than an hour before she's back in her apartment, where things are ... better.

Her estimate doesn't account for running into familiar faces. ] — Guy? [ Familiar, friendly faces. She skids to a stop when she hears her name, expression brightening despite her best efforts ( the man behind her almost crashes into her back, grumbles as he walks around. She hardly pays him mind ). ] Guy! [ Luckily, he's not too far, and the path she has to take doesn't have her backtracking too much ( even if it was a lot, she'd do it anyway ). Once she's closer— ]

You're — [ alive. alright. healthy. ] here. Blast, it really has been a while, hasn't it?

[Safety is enough for many, miserable and cramped as it may be. It's not a condemnation against the common man's nature -- sometimes, surviving was all one could do. But it's these little moments like these, where he sees another familiar face, that brings back the long-lost sunshine to these dark tunnels.

Being a ranger means pinning your life on the flip of a coin. Those who wander to the surface are gambling, be it with the radiation, the mutants, or god knows what else. Guy wasn't worried -- no, if one worried about each ranger who forayed into the unknown, he'd shut down at some point -- but he's relieved to see her. They've been stationed away from each other and to run into here, it's almost like fate.]

You look as perky as ever.

[Guy grins, reaching out to clasp her by the shoulder.]

What's with that dour look, Lucina? Aren't you glad to be back in the hole?

[ She has long lost the ability to worry — or, more accurately, she tries her best to cast the sinking feeling away every time it returns. It's unproductive. The more she can do as a ranger, the better their chances of survival ( of a comfortable life, a life on the surface, maybe, one day ) gets. Which means there's no time to waste on hoping that the people she cares for are safe; she just needs to trust that they will be, because there's nothing else she can do.

But still — the knots in her stomach loosen at the sight of familiar faces, no matter how long it's been. It'll be this way for a while longer, along with the occasional, idle thought that worms into her brain. This much, she can live with.

A hand reaches, instinctively, to rest on top of his. Gives it a gentle squeeze, a silent acknowledgement of everything else she won't voice, while she lets out a small huff of exasperated laughter. ] I'm thrilled. [ No she's not.

And because she's not— ] You, on the other hand, seem rather excited to be back. Was your mission cut short?

[Despite all the layers he's covered in, the weight of her hand is warm somehow. Maybe it's just the naturalness of the gesture, the little laugh that accompanies it. Guy lets his hand stay where it is, a lingering touch. He'll let go when she makes a movement to pull away.]

It was a dead end. [He says it with a smile, though it's not exactly good news.] Our scouts thought the tunnel went further than it did. But all we found was a nosali nest.

[Nothing but mutant rats. Guy says it with a blase tone, as if its no big deal. Such is life in apocalyptic Russia.]

I'm starting to think we should pack bigger rat traps.

Where's a lovely woman like you going?

[ She hums in response, perhaps just as casual as he is — this is their life now, whether they want it or not, and humans are incredibly adaptable. Finally ( reluctantly ) lets go of the hand on her shoulder, if only to fix the bag strap on the other. ]

I'm certain they have outgrown rat traps decades ago. [ Just saying, the last thing they want these days is cheese. Probably. The "lovely" in his question is ignored ( sorry Guy, you know how much of a flirt her brother is ), but she does answer— ]

It's been a while since I've been at my apartment. The lamp for the peace lily needs to have its bulb changed, [ Because obviously, he needs to be kept up-to-date on the plant he gifted her ] among— er, other things. [ ... Yeah. ]

And yourself?

[Touch is something the underground has too much of -- accidental, violent, fearful. But there's always a comfort to Lucina's presence that helps calm Guy down. Helps steady and focus him, even in the heat of a fight or simply the jostling of the crowd.]

Sounds like it's about time for me to lend a hand.

[As if he knows any more about plants than she does. (He doesn't.)]

I'm on leave. So... if you don't mind me taking up your space...

Not at all. [ — And maybe that answer comes a moment too quick, her jumping at the opportunity to see a friendly ( comfortable ) face as soon as it's presented in front of her. She pauses, wills the color creeping up her neck to stay down ( it moves behind her ears, hidden by her hair, small mercies— ), before clearing her throat. ]

That is— if you're certain you have nothing else pressing. [ She couldn't take his time away, after all. ]

METRO MASTERPOST.

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