joel miller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shittybirthday) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tushanshu_logs2014-04-13 01:59 am
shittybirthday) wrote in tushanshu_logs2014-04-13 01:59 am
Entry tags:
open to all!
Characters: Joel and open!
Date: Mid-April through to... whenever??
Location: All sectors.
Situation: Joel has arrived in Keeliai and is searching for Ellie.
Warnings/Rating: PG. Will edit to a higher rating if necessary!
If you want to do anything specific with Joel, feel free to hit me up at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
spongebong!
Joel has been wandering lost through the city for what feels like hours.
Ellie. That's all he can think about amid the mess of bewilderment racing through his mind about where he is: Ellie. Finding Ellie. From the moment he woke up in that damn tub of water, groggy and feeling like he'd been heavily drugged and finding himself staring up at a severe looking man staring right back down at him, Ellie is all he's been able to think about. His immediate thought had been that he'd been kidnapped and that Ellie had been-- Shit, he didn't want to think about what had happened to Ellie, what they'd done to her. He just wanted to find her.
And so, with the stagnant taste of water from the tunnel still in his mouth, in his throat, with the mental image of frantically applying compressions to Ellie's chest while she lay lifeless on the wet, water-logged ground, as his strength slowly began to return to him and the heavy fog began lifting from his mind, he started to fight. He weren't gonna listen to any bullshit about some great evil or some asshole called Malicant. He needed to find Ellie, god damn it.
Where is she? The girl? he'd managed to demand, his voice weak and croaky as he was lifted out of the water. When none of the strange people around him were willing to answer his questions, he began wrestling against them with all his might. He threw clumsy punches, tried grabbing them and slamming them into the wall, tried throwing them to the ground to stamp as hard as he could on their faces. Where is she? WHERE IS SHE? All to no avail: he'd been too damn weak to do much more than grope and grab and listlessly shove at anyone who tried to come near him. He was easily overpowered. Soon, he was shoved outside, left to fend for himself with no answers to any of his questions.
And now, here he is: navigating his way through a bewildering maze of streets and crowds. He's dressed in ratty jeans and a dirty, threadbare blue denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up his muscular forearms; his skin is weathered and nicked with scars, scabs and bruises. On his left wrist is a wristwatch, the glass face cracked, the hour and minute hands frozen in time. Strapped to his back is a dirty brown backpack, laden with various weapons: a bow, six arrows, a metal pipe with scissor blades crudely affixed to the end of it with duct tape, a shotgun, a hunting rifle, a flamethrower and a military torch clipped to his backpack shoulder strap. His face is tired, world-weary, the wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead deep and heavy-set. His dark hair is greying and there are flecks of grey in his dark beard. Not a shred of mirth can be seen in his expression; but there's a look of something resembling barely contained worry, if not panic, in his hard eyes.
It's the first time in twenty years that he's seen or been in urban civilisation. Civilisation, that is, that isn't overrun by martial law, isn't secured into quarantine zones, isn't surrounded by militia, by the constant threat of Hunters, by decayed ruin and despair. By Infected.
He doesn't trust any of it. As he walks through the streets, he keeps glancing over his shoulder in paranoia. It's all too much. Too overwhelming. Too much noise, too many smells, too much stimulation. He's grown so used to the dead, dank silence of a world torn apart by chaos and sickness and terror that a thriving civilisation is completely foreign to him now; much less a civilisation as strange and almost otherworldly as this. Sudden noises make him tense; sudden movements make him defensive; people approaching him or getting in way makes him itch to whip out his pistol from where it's tucked in his waistband and aim it point-blank at their faces.
Date: Mid-April through to... whenever??
Location: All sectors.
Situation: Joel has arrived in Keeliai and is searching for Ellie.
Warnings/Rating: PG. Will edit to a higher rating if necessary!
If you want to do anything specific with Joel, feel free to hit me up at
Joel has been wandering lost through the city for what feels like hours.
Ellie. That's all he can think about amid the mess of bewilderment racing through his mind about where he is: Ellie. Finding Ellie. From the moment he woke up in that damn tub of water, groggy and feeling like he'd been heavily drugged and finding himself staring up at a severe looking man staring right back down at him, Ellie is all he's been able to think about. His immediate thought had been that he'd been kidnapped and that Ellie had been-- Shit, he didn't want to think about what had happened to Ellie, what they'd done to her. He just wanted to find her.
And so, with the stagnant taste of water from the tunnel still in his mouth, in his throat, with the mental image of frantically applying compressions to Ellie's chest while she lay lifeless on the wet, water-logged ground, as his strength slowly began to return to him and the heavy fog began lifting from his mind, he started to fight. He weren't gonna listen to any bullshit about some great evil or some asshole called Malicant. He needed to find Ellie, god damn it.
Where is she? The girl? he'd managed to demand, his voice weak and croaky as he was lifted out of the water. When none of the strange people around him were willing to answer his questions, he began wrestling against them with all his might. He threw clumsy punches, tried grabbing them and slamming them into the wall, tried throwing them to the ground to stamp as hard as he could on their faces. Where is she? WHERE IS SHE? All to no avail: he'd been too damn weak to do much more than grope and grab and listlessly shove at anyone who tried to come near him. He was easily overpowered. Soon, he was shoved outside, left to fend for himself with no answers to any of his questions.
And now, here he is: navigating his way through a bewildering maze of streets and crowds. He's dressed in ratty jeans and a dirty, threadbare blue denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up his muscular forearms; his skin is weathered and nicked with scars, scabs and bruises. On his left wrist is a wristwatch, the glass face cracked, the hour and minute hands frozen in time. Strapped to his back is a dirty brown backpack, laden with various weapons: a bow, six arrows, a metal pipe with scissor blades crudely affixed to the end of it with duct tape, a shotgun, a hunting rifle, a flamethrower and a military torch clipped to his backpack shoulder strap. His face is tired, world-weary, the wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead deep and heavy-set. His dark hair is greying and there are flecks of grey in his dark beard. Not a shred of mirth can be seen in his expression; but there's a look of something resembling barely contained worry, if not panic, in his hard eyes.
It's the first time in twenty years that he's seen or been in urban civilisation. Civilisation, that is, that isn't overrun by martial law, isn't secured into quarantine zones, isn't surrounded by militia, by the constant threat of Hunters, by decayed ruin and despair. By Infected.
He doesn't trust any of it. As he walks through the streets, he keeps glancing over his shoulder in paranoia. It's all too much. Too overwhelming. Too much noise, too many smells, too much stimulation. He's grown so used to the dead, dank silence of a world torn apart by chaos and sickness and terror that a thriving civilisation is completely foreign to him now; much less a civilisation as strange and almost otherworldly as this. Sudden noises make him tense; sudden movements make him defensive; people approaching him or getting in way makes him itch to whip out his pistol from where it's tucked in his waistband and aim it point-blank at their faces.
no subject
"She better fuckin' be safe," he replies warningly. Shit, his hand is itching to pull out his gun. His right hand flexes at his side, agitated, fingers opening and closing a couple of times. But even in his panic to find Ellie, he knows drawing a weapon in such a crowded and claustrophobic place would end in disaster.
"And, oh, you are gonna help me find her, and you're gonna be quick smart about it. Get movin'."
no subject
"I'll help you. I said I would. I'm a girl of my word." She pauses, looking at his gun. "But I'm warning you right now, mister- if you pull a gun on me, or threaten me in any, there are plenty of people here that will find you. And they will hurt you. And you really don't want to mess with a man who can control a murder of crows to peck your eyes out. OR one who literally send you to the moon."
Now, the question, where the hell is Ellie, and how to actually find her. Elizabeth has no idea where to start. But, ah, hey, Booker, if you wanna show up and give a hand? Or something? No?
Well then.
"Have you been to your suite? We can connect to the Network there from your consul and put out a video looking for her. Showing your face will help you. That's how Booker found me."
no subject
"How 'bout you just focus on doin' what I told you," comes his hard reply, "and nobody'll get hurt."
If it means finding Ellie faster, finding her safe, then fine - no guns. He'll go with the crazy lady on that negotiation. That doesn't mean, however, that he won't think twice about whipping his gun out of the crazy lady decides to try anything stupid. Especially if it turns out Ellie isn't safe, or if anything has happened to her.
As for the network… Well, he was given the whole spiel about the network by the guy who'd brought him to the city; he was shown how to use the console, and it was bewildering to say the least, seeing technology actually in use, something he hasn't seen in over twenty years.
The idea of putting his face over the network, though, of talking about Ellie over the network. Giving people easy access to find both their asses and hunt them down? Shit, no.
But before all else, he needs to get the hell out of this place, away from the crowds and as far away from the noise and people as possible. "The guy who brought me here said somethin' about Earth sector."
And that's all he's telling her, so she better start leading the way.
no subject
Of course, Earth Sector had to be a bit of a hike from where they were. The easiest solution would be to open a Tear to the sector. But she wasn't about to tell this new man what exactly she could do. She very rarely told anyone. Pavel hadn't even seen her pull something through. And he might think she was doing something fishy, and therefore, pull his gun again.
"Earth Sector. Of course. We'll go there, find your suite. You can put your things down, and go from there." She'd even offer to do it herself- or send out an anonymous message. That was very much possible. "And if we have your suite, then we have a place for Ellie to find you at. Come on. Follow me."
no subject
Of course, assuming the woman is going to actually take him there. Joel isn't stupid or gullible; in the back of his mind, he's aware that this woman could be leading him into a trap. Well, if she is, he's prepared to fight his way out of it. But until that happens, if it happens, she's the closest lead he's got to finding Ellie, and that's what matters most.
He sidesteps someone walking past too close to him. Pushes past someone else with an edge of paranoia. Shit, he really fucking hates how crowded this damn place is.
"So, you gonna explain to me what you said about your father bein' friends with Ellie?"
no subject
She waltzes through the crowd like it's absolutely no problem. Odd, considering how she hadn't had to deal with crowds of people, not really, until she'd gotten here.
"That's just what I meant. He brings her food sometimes. We have a lot of leftovers. He's... For as tough as he likes to act, he has a soft spot for girls on their own." Like her.
no subject
The woman makes it seem innocent, like the guy is just doing an act of goodwill, but Joel doesn't trust anyone, especially people who seem charitable. It usually means they want something. Usually means they're up to something no good. Joel can feel himself tensing up and not just because of the crowds and the noise all around him. If he finds out this guy has laid a finger on Ellie, one damn single finger--
"Yeah? There a reason for that?"
no subject
And she really didn't want to open tears for ammo. That sort of thing was extremely rare here, anyway.
"Yes. There is." Her voice is clipped, tense. "But it's a private matter. You haven't given me any reason to share it with you."
no subject
"Whoa, whoa," Joel cuts in, and he takes a long, fast stride, rounding in on her and stopping her in her path. A private matter? A fucking private matter? Well, if that don't sound highly fucking suspicious, Joel doesn't know what does.
"That girl," he begins in a low, dangerous tone, bringing a hand up to point at the woman to punctuate how clearly he wants her to pay attention to him here, "is more important to me than anythin'. And if I hear that your father has laid even just one single god damn finger on her, I won't hesitate for a second to put a bullet right between his god damn eyes."
no subject
"I understand how important she is to you- you're not listening to a word I'm saying. I'm just that important to Booker. And he's that important to me. He won't. Hurt her. I know him." She didn't trust him, but that was another story. He'd changed.
"He has saved me countless times, before he even knew I was his daughter. So I think Ellie's going to be more than okay. Now, would you like to threaten either of us some more, or can we get going?"
no subject
"Yeah? Well, I don't know him, just like I don't know you, and I could give two shits how important this Booker guy is to you."
Even if this guy hasn't done anything to hurt Ellie, Joel is going to make sure this guy gets the message loud and fucking clear to stay away from her. He's got reason to trust this woman, and he sure as hell has got no reason to trust this Booker asshole.
Joel steps aside to let the woman keep walking, and says, "Get movin'."
no subject
Which, for the record, will not do. She is no one's captive. Ever again.
"You should work on being more polite to someone who's helping you."
no subject
And he don't. Being polite just eats into time, gets him nowhere, makes him antsy. Survival and trying to find Ellie after what he'd gone through back there in the tunnel in Salt Lake City doesn't have any damn time for politeness.
But seeing this woman seems so insistent on telling him she's helping him, he adds after a few beats, "Mind tellin' me where the hell this place is in relation to Boston?"
no subject
Now, in relation to Boston?
"We're in an In-Between. Somewhere between life, death, and dreaming. So, we are absolutely nowhere near Boston."