[open] down in the abstract, looking for a concrete artifact.

[blackagar]

▶ WHO: Black Bolt & you!
▶ DATE: Anytime during the month.
▶ WARNINGS: just, you know, zombie gore. the uzhe.
▶ SUMMARY: Come run into a creepy silent guy who does a lot of staring and zero talking! Love charades? BOY IS THIS EVER THE LOG FOR YOU. (prose or action is fine by me, i'll follow suit!)

a: a shield

He wasn't sure where this box had come from, but wasn't that just the nature of this place? Inexplicable mysteries and no one in a place to explain them. A little bit of investigation had easily turned up what the box was meant for, at least. It's a shield.

Today he means to test it.

He'd taken flight, headed away from the generally acknowledged safe zones, searching for somewhere as thickly populated by the undead as he could find. It's dishearteningly easy to locate such a spot. He spends some time rounding up an unruly crowd of the poor creatures, which stumble after his provocative swoops and darts. Finally he has a good sized crowd, about twenty or so, and he folds up his fanned wings and drops straight into the middle of them.

The shield is up instantly, glowing a soft pink and, he's happy to see, completely impenetrable. The zombies thump against it, pound their bodies into it, and it doesn't even waver. Black Bolt sits himself down carefully in the middle of it, the box held in his lap, and watches the shielding energy intently. He might be able to learn a little more about who brought it to him by seeing how it works.

b: a cozy abode

It's taken him a while, and it's a laughable accommodation compared to what he was used to in his own world... but Black Bolt is tentatively satisfied.

He's essentially gone and built himself a treehouse outside the gates of the compound. The wood is stripped from abandoned shops and useless houses, repurposed into a pretty decent, if small, house. There are two distinct rooms, a surrounding fringe of wood that could be used as a porch (it's additional defense, really — if something did manage to reach the level of the house, it would have to then climb over this additional obstacle), and it's covered from the ground by leaves and branches. And best of all, without flight or an excellent tree-climbing ability (he's stripped off all the lower branches), it's impossible to access from the ground.

It's only designed to keep out the mindless undead, though. A clever explorer could certainly find their way up, maybe climb a nearby tree and jump over. Maybe a grappling hook. Either way, if anyone happens to find their way up and inside, they'd discover a well-stocked little house, about as cozy as anything this freshly built can get.

c: the compound

Black Bolt has been surprisingly absent lately. (Building his cool little treefort, mostly.) But he does still appear sometimes in the Compound. Anyone he's met before might find themselves being checked up on. He doesn't have anything to say (of course), he just wants to know that they're still alive and well. This might translate into the living shadow that is Black Bolt stepping into sight, glancing at them, and striding off to disappear again — but he can be stopped, if anyone's interested in some one-sided conversation.

Otherwise he can be found raiding the kitchen, glancing over the books in the library, taking stock of the medical supplies. The last one is the only place he doesn't take anything from. What need would he have? He drops off a few found supplies sometimes, but otherwise leaves it intact and untouched, after a quick survey.

He certainly doesn't invite conversation, the imposing, silent figure that he is, but he's perfectly willing to stop if someone wants his attention.

Comments

[kamikaze]

Crackers might be new and strange but jerky is a familiar sight. The irony being something salted so heavily in a world devoid of water meant the obvious: dehydration. You could hold off and decide to starve instead, but either way, there was a constant pang of something in the stomach or the mouth, something unrelated to the cancer. Nux doesn't hesitate this time, grabbing the bag and taking out a piece, devouring it fast enough he barely chews before swallowing. That's when his guts twist and the hunger previously ignore comes back in full-force, reminding him. Another piece is nearly inhaled as he mumbles, all stifled, "Hhgh-- thank--" Kind of like last time.

A mute demi-god who dispenses food! Yes, Nux likes Bolt a whole lot, and he'll just keep shoving these shreds into his mouth unless he's made to stop. The box of crackers, just dropped, ignored now.

[blackagar]

He has no intention of taking his store of jerky away before Nux is done with it, even if Nux outlasts the jerky. He just, with a silent and nearly invisible sigh, resigns himself to making more.

Black Bolt moves away while his company gorges, to another part of the room. He leans over a makeshift table for a moment with a pen and small notebook found somewhere in the Compound, writing. After a while he returns, pad held out when he's near enough.

In small, neat handwriting: Can you read?

[kamikaze]

Unfortunately he is going to eat all of that jerky. Every last delicious bit. At least he's got a flamethrower, a precious thing also stashed away in some confounding spot. Could certainly help with attaining more.

He's down to the last few strips when Bolt returns. Returns with words. Nux is already frowning, knee-jerk reaction because it reminds him of that board and all the mysterious scribblings on it he can only sometimes piece together. But when Bolt nears, it turns into a knot of concentration as he focuses on the letters. His brain says ree-add but he gets all smart for a second and concludes, that must be reed, like he thinks it's spelled.

So Nux nods, not daring to let Bolt know he's less than mediocre at it, instead blurting out-- "I can read all sorts'a things."

[blackagar]

Black Bolt watches Nux carefully, and the answer he comes away with is yes, but not well. That could make this somewhat more challenging, but at least Black Bolt has the patience for it. He drops his attention to the pad, flips a few pages, and returns with another message held out.

My name is Black Bolt.

He keeps that held out for as long as necessary, but as soon as Nux looks to him from the writing he'll gesture toward him with a curious arch to his eyebrows. And you?

[kamikaze]

Takes him several seconds longer than probably everyone else Bolt has met so far, but in the end, Nux's eyes widen. Black... Bolt. He whispers it, lets it feel itself on his tongue. "Black Bolt." So that's this entity's name.

An incredulous look is flung at Bolt, jaw dropped, the works. "I'm Nux!" A faint smile touches at his face. Finally he can put a name to the Bullet Man.

[blackagar]

Nux. Good to finally know. Black Bolt does another of his small nearly-not-a-smiles and tucks the pad away again, a sign that he has no further questions. Reading is a struggle here, clearly, he won't press it unless he needs to. He gestures back toward the various foods stored here, carry on.

For Black Bolt's part he turns away, heading back toward the table he'd gotten the pad from. There's important table business to be done over here.

[kamikaze]

Allowed to stuff his face again? So he will. Nux recovers the cracker box and shoves the expired remnants of that into his mouth, taking less than a minute to finish it off. It's then he's too curious about what Black Bolt is doing to raid the cupboard again. Trudges toward him, boots scuffing the floor, and trying to peer at what he might be doing at this here... table. This den is full of rare things!

"What're you doin', Black Bolt?" A pause of a second or two, then, "'s this your den? It's nice. Snugging little den, carved really nice." Nice nice nice.