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❅ SHITTY LITTLE TOWN ❅ PART 1
Each year in this town, the winters seem to get harder and the summers seem to get hotter, and this was no exception. After several months of sweltering afternoons and sweaty nights, fall is finally starting to break the town’s fever, although with the cooler weather comes the death of the horseflies, leaving many of the town’s flat surfaces coated in bug carcasses. The sky is overcast, the air remains humid, and in the distance thunderstorms can be heard almost every hour of the day.
During the day, people go about their usual routines, working primarily at the slaughterhouse or mines during the weekdays, vegetating in front of the television on Saturdays, and sitting straightbacked and paranoid in the pews on Sunday, fearful less of the wrath of God than the ire of the neighbors. Evenings for the average person are filled with drinking at Nog’s or Auntie’s or peering at the TV until bedtime.
This is where our heroes find themselves, waking with a new lifestory that integrates them into this, the shitty little town.
PROMPTS
a) NOG'S
Nog's bar is the preferred haunt of most of the miners and slaughterhouse workers in this town, who meet to drink their woes away, complain about their supervisors and speculate on the personal lives of the people around them. Despite Mr. Goluboy's constant harassment, Nog has managed to keep his liquor license, and as such is one of the few successful businesses in town on account of all the stress-induced alcoholism. While one won't find fancy cocktails here, if they're just looking for a beer and some scuttlebutt, this is the place.
Nog's bar is the preferred haunt of most of the miners and slaughterhouse workers in this town, who meet to drink their woes away, complain about their supervisors and speculate on the personal lives of the people around them. Despite Mr. Goluboy's constant harassment, Nog has managed to keep his liquor license, and as such is one of the few successful businesses in town on account of all the stress-induced alcoholism. While one won't find fancy cocktails here, if they're just looking for a beer and some scuttlebutt, this is the place.
b) AUNTIE'S
"Auntie's" is the name of the old-school, 1950's-esque, 24-hour diner in the middle of downtown, with big red pleather booths, checkerboard floors and a jukebox. Typically, the only difference in clientele between Auntie’s and Nog's is that the people at Auntie’s wanted a burger or a stack of pancakes alongside their beer – but unlike Nog's, Auntie’s is only barely hanging on, constantly getting ticketed for waterspots on the silverware and not having enough napkins. Thankfully, one can get a full breakfast meal at Auntie's any time of day for a few dollars.
"Auntie's" is the name of the old-school, 1950's-esque, 24-hour diner in the middle of downtown, with big red pleather booths, checkerboard floors and a jukebox. Typically, the only difference in clientele between Auntie’s and Nog's is that the people at Auntie’s wanted a burger or a stack of pancakes alongside their beer – but unlike Nog's, Auntie’s is only barely hanging on, constantly getting ticketed for waterspots on the silverware and not having enough napkins. Thankfully, one can get a full breakfast meal at Auntie's any time of day for a few dollars.
c) THE DOCKS
The town is alongside a lake, and once upon a time there was enough fish to sustain a modest fishing economy and a river that allowed for trade by boat with other nearby towns. However, with the mines' pollution, fish are no longer considered safe to eat, and only the water immediately adjacent to the springhead on the Warren Family Farm is safe to swim in. Draining from the mines has lowered the level of the river enough that it's no longer navigable. Residents will still occasionally use the lake for boating recreation, but fees at the marina keep going up (into Goluboy's pocket) and mothers are increasingly worried about letting their children get wet in that water.
The town is alongside a lake, and once upon a time there was enough fish to sustain a modest fishing economy and a river that allowed for trade by boat with other nearby towns. However, with the mines' pollution, fish are no longer considered safe to eat, and only the water immediately adjacent to the springhead on the Warren Family Farm is safe to swim in. Draining from the mines has lowered the level of the river enough that it's no longer navigable. Residents will still occasionally use the lake for boating recreation, but fees at the marina keep going up (into Goluboy's pocket) and mothers are increasingly worried about letting their children get wet in that water.
d) THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE
The other major employer, owned by Ms. Cygne. Most of the locals who don't work at the mines work at the slaughterhouse, where the work is disgusting, dreary and grueling. Sometimes people get promoted out of the trenches and into admin. Yay.
The other major employer, owned by Ms. Cygne. Most of the locals who don't work at the mines work at the slaughterhouse, where the work is disgusting, dreary and grueling. Sometimes people get promoted out of the trenches and into admin. Yay.
e) BIG TOP CIRCUS COFFEE
Dick's Coffeeshop is in the bottom floor of an apartment building, and many locals have no idea how it hasn't been shut down yet, given that the owner is famously generous with his resources in a way that clearly irritates the city council. Dick offers jobs to those who Goluboy and Cygne won't hire at the mines or slaughterhouse and frequently sneaks day-old pastries to the hungry. The coffeeshop is one of the few areas where artists tend to converge, usually at the weekly open mic night; however, whatever one expresses at the coffeeshop is likely to be picked up by the town gossips, mocked relentlessly, distorted and spread around.
Dick's Coffeeshop is in the bottom floor of an apartment building, and many locals have no idea how it hasn't been shut down yet, given that the owner is famously generous with his resources in a way that clearly irritates the city council. Dick offers jobs to those who Goluboy and Cygne won't hire at the mines or slaughterhouse and frequently sneaks day-old pastries to the hungry. The coffeeshop is one of the few areas where artists tend to converge, usually at the weekly open mic night; however, whatever one expresses at the coffeeshop is likely to be picked up by the town gossips, mocked relentlessly, distorted and spread around.
f) THE FARMER'S MARKET
Because Mr. Goluboy's malicious prosecution of small businesses has essentially shut down any legal avenue for a farmer's market, a few of the residents of the town have established a black market for homegrown fruits and vegetables, small-batch soaps and candles, and other small products. Words gets out through a whisper network, and a few times a month everyone in the know meets in a parking lot, opens their trunk, and does some bartering and selling with each other until they get found out. Sheriff Mallard and her deputies have arrested many people at these pop-ups and confiscated their products. By now, these pop-ups have around forty people trading and selling at a time, and the city council has announced that out of concerns for food safety the sentence for being caught vending homegrown produce will be increased to a misdemeanor with jail time.
Because Mr. Goluboy's malicious prosecution of small businesses has essentially shut down any legal avenue for a farmer's market, a few of the residents of the town have established a black market for homegrown fruits and vegetables, small-batch soaps and candles, and other small products. Words gets out through a whisper network, and a few times a month everyone in the know meets in a parking lot, opens their trunk, and does some bartering and selling with each other until they get found out. Sheriff Mallard and her deputies have arrested many people at these pop-ups and confiscated their products. By now, these pop-ups have around forty people trading and selling at a time, and the city council has announced that out of concerns for food safety the sentence for being caught vending homegrown produce will be increased to a misdemeanor with jail time.
g) THE LIBRARY
The library, once well-stocked and indulgently funded, is now kept alive sheerly by the passion of the one paid librarian, Aziraphale, and the volunteers who work there. There is no interlibrary loan program and there have been no new books in years. The library is reduced to loaning damaged copies missing pages, and story hours or public events are difficult to organize due to the complete lack of resources. The city council has also forced Aziraphale to put up a sign against loitering or using the library "for any purposes besides the borrowing of books." An organization of local busybodies drops in frequently to comb through the stacks for "objectionable material," which is then destroyed at Ms. Cygne's behest.
The library, once well-stocked and indulgently funded, is now kept alive sheerly by the passion of the one paid librarian, Aziraphale, and the volunteers who work there. There is no interlibrary loan program and there have been no new books in years. The library is reduced to loaning damaged copies missing pages, and story hours or public events are difficult to organize due to the complete lack of resources. The city council has also forced Aziraphale to put up a sign against loitering or using the library "for any purposes besides the borrowing of books." An organization of local busybodies drops in frequently to comb through the stacks for "objectionable material," which is then destroyed at Ms. Cygne's behest.
h) WILDCARD/NEW LOCATION
Feel free to set things around town anywhere you want or make up new locations.
Feel free to set things around town anywhere you want or make up new locations.
i) THE SPOOKY WOODS
Outside the town, there are foggy, dense woods, difficult to navigate by foot due to thickets and brambles that come up to a grown man's waist. The city council has done what they can to ban people from going into the woods, and the gruesome animal maulings are a compelling disincentive.
Note: Let the plot mods know when your characters are going into the spooky woods.
Outside the town, there are foggy, dense woods, difficult to navigate by foot due to thickets and brambles that come up to a grown man's waist. The city council has done what they can to ban people from going into the woods, and the gruesome animal maulings are a compelling disincentive.
Note: Let the plot mods know when your characters are going into the spooky woods.
❅ OOC Plotting: Here. More locations can be found there. You can also ask the players running the plot questions there.
❅ Event Length: This part of the plot is to establish CR and characters' roles in town. It will last about a week and half before future parts that allow the characters to start digging into the mysteries of the town.
❅ New Characters: If your character is introing at this time, assume they arrived just in time at the location the plot takes place in to be caught up in the magic drawing everyone in. They would have gotten the Man in the Moon's spiel from the welcome page right before being magically sucked in.
❅ Opt-out: Anyone that doesn't want to play in the plot can handwave their character didn't go on the mission that put the characters in the location where they were sucked in. You can thread your characters back at the Pole or send them on another smaller mission with other characters.
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This town really did have a way of producing miserable people, didn't it?
The door opens with its deep clunk, and he steps out with keyring in hand and valuables on his person accounted for. A tentative amount of trust, but he was still on high alert. This guy could very well try to do some sleight of hand if he had the chance, even if a fight was unlikely.
"Can you change a flat? There's a spare and a repair kit in the back."
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"I sure can." He points at the rim of the flat tire. "But the tire ain't the only problem. See how that part bulges out on this tire but not that one? That's because your brakes ain't applying equal pressure to both wheels. That forces a pressure point on the corner of this tire that warps the radial cord, and then it eventually separates the tire from the liner and pop, there it goes. Happens all the time on these trucks because they were pretty poorly-designed for offroading."
He starts to go through the equipment in the back of the truck for the repair kit. "I can fix it for you in around ten minutes if this kit's got a wrench and a vice. Do you mind giving me a ride into town if I do? I don't want to get in trouble for breaking curfew again."
He feels slimy asking, because he truly did just want to help and now he's sure it looks like he was angling for a favor all along.
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"The company will go for slapdash when the proper thing doesn't look nice on a spreadsheet." he remarks with some derision. Fighting Goluboy on corner-cutting was a daily battle. The boy genius would pay for his expertise and then go on to ignore it and wonder why their specialized machines weren't ready when he wanted or why things kept breaking down. Such as it was.
He opens up the flatbed with his keys, letting Dan have a look while he watches. There wasn't much cargo to make note of. Just a nonsdescript crate with some lights, helmets and other PPE for visits to the mine, and the repair kit with its toolbox. The spare was under a panel beneath the truck bed - easy enough to find with familiarity.
"A ride isn't a problem. I'll be driving that way, anyway." he says, unoffended by the ask. "Need a hand with the tire?"
He didn't want to be rude about it, but he'd taken notice of the way Dan's clothes clung to his frame. He'd had a rough few months in this town, he could tell that much.
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"Yes, please. It's been a while since I hit the gym." Dan makes note of everything in the flatbed but doesn't ask about any of it at this time. He put in for work at the mines at one point, but his application was firmly rejected, which frustrates Dan because mining is one of the jobs in town with no contact with children, so if they're so afraid he's about to kidnap a child why wouldn't they want him out in the mines for forty hours a week? But he was told in no uncertain terms that he wouldn't pass the background check, just like everywhere else in this town.
Fixing the flat and the brakes ends up taking a little longer than ten minutes, but not by much. Dan gives Miguel a few instructions at the end - rev up the engine, turn your steering while side to side, reverse a few feet, okay - and seems satisfied with the resulting work. He climbs into the passenger seat with the tire changed and, if Miguel taps the brakes, the truck a lot more balanced and responsive to the pedals being depressed.
"So, have you lived here your whole life?" Dan realizes, now that he's fixing things and thinking about anything besides being tired and hungry and discouraged, that he's been as starved for socialization as anything else. It's hard to get many folks to have a conversation with him that doesn't involve him running the gauntlet of trying to get their money or spare food; the idea of just being able to chit-chat with Miguel with no stakes has become tantalizing. "Not many Spanish-speakers in town."
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Miguel is pleasantly surprised to find Dan to be professional about his work. Looks like the gamble paid off. He cooperates with the instructions as they are given, and immediately makes note of the better reaction to the pedals once he was done, attuned to the rumbling machines around him as he was. As Dan steps in, he may notice Miguel sending off a written message on his phone before the device is set onto its plastic mount. Probably just an update to whoever he had been talking to earlier.
"If you're thirsty, I keep water bottles in the cab." he offers, gesturing to the red cooler behind their seats. Days out on the mountain were long, even when it was just managing drones and scanners with the survey team.
He flicks on the headlights and maneuvers the truck to roll off the shoulder of the road and into a U-turn towards town. Once they speed up a little, a nice breeze rustles through the open windows as the trees roll past and leaves the lake further and further behind.
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He puts the cap back on the water bottle and pretends he's looking out the window, but he's really watching Miguel's face in a reflection off the glass, trying to put together a mental sketch of this guy he's just met. He wonders who just got texted; Goluboy, maybe, with an update about the equipment.
"I like New York. Been a long time since I been there and I don't know if I'll ever make it back again, given the circumstances." Dan fully expects to die in this town at this point, probably when winter rolls around and sleeping outdoors goes from uncomfortable to deadly. "Is that where you went to school?"
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He nods a 'yes' to the question.
"Columbia didn't send me any stickers to slap on the truck, so you'll have to take my word for it." he adds his dry attempt at a joke. Fancy Ivy League, with all the reputation for scientific research that came with it. Dan might have been able to walk the campus if he visited that part of town.
Of course, that begs the question as to what someone like him was doing in a place like this. Doing business with Goluboy, to boot. He catches a glimpse of Dan through the mirrors and continues looking on ahead. The forest had swallowed up the lake and left them in a sea of pines.
"It sounds like you've traveled a lot yourself. How did you end up here?" he asks.
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Don't they all.
"I was passing through and my car got impounded when I parked it wrong too long. Couldn't might afford the impound fee to get it back, couldn't might find steady work, and things just sort of spiraled from there."
With no bus stop in this town, no wheels and no income, Dan's just the first person to be circling the drain in this town. He knows he won't be the last with the way things are going. Soon Goluboy and Cygne will be evicting people, and those that can't move in with friends and family or drive to better opportunities will end up in the same situation Dan's found himself in. He feels like, no pun intended, the canary in the mine, choking on carbon monoxide, but like no one's taking his dire straits as the warning that they are.
"I been all over North and Central America. Far up as Taloyoak in Nunavut, as far down as Colón in Panama. Being a drifter meant freedom up until recently." He doesn't know if that makes much sense to Miguel, who seems far from the drifter lifestyle. Just from the way this truck is organized and maintained, Dan thinks Miguel's got more of an inclination towards order and structure than Dan's catch-as-catch-can adventures.
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Dream jobs were for the lucky. It felt childish to expect something like that. There were problems with MineCorp, mostly from having to deal with Goluboy. But egos like his were a dime a dozen when it came to rich private funders. It wouldn't be so miserable if he was anywhere but in this town.
He listens to Dan's story, and frowns at the unfairness of it. That tugged at some deeply asleep sense of justice that his apathy couldn't entirely smother. He cuts the sympathy at the knees by reminding himself that even a first-class bullshit rumor mill could have some grain of truth to it. Dan may not be telling his entire story. Still, he didn't deserve to suffer through such harsh indignity for whatever it is he did.
"You've driven that far south by yourself?" he says, which is surprising even with Dan's fluent Spanish. That was a massive undertaking by car, especially if he wasn't local. "Did you have a favorite place to stay? My brother and I used to make the trip to Mexico every year."
Maybe probing a little for a lie. But he was also curious if Dan was really that traveled.
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It’s true that Dan’s glossing over why he can’t find work in town. There’s no good way to tactfully pivot into by the way, I’m not a pedophile, and he doesn’t think Miguel would believe him anyway. He knows what his RAP sheet says; he knows there aren’t any good explanations for a child abduction conviction, and that even the sex offense charges that got dropped - because there was no evidence, because they never happened - popped up the first time he was booked here and got disseminated out into the town. He knows trying to litigate it with people just makes him look defensive, and therefore guilty, and if he’s damned by silence then he’s twice-damned by trying to correct the record.
“Where in Mexico? I did a lot of odd jobs in border towns. I worked a farm in San Agustin for two months, longest I’ve been anywhere before here.” He considers bringing up that he was doing supplies couriering for migrants, but that’s a bit politically loaded. He doesn’t know how Miguel feels about people without papers, whether they’re immigrants or people like Dan, born off the grid. “I typically find places to stay once I get where I’m going. People are more generous outside this town, and I usually can count on being able to sleep in my car until I can find work to afford lodging.”
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Even with a gigantic grain of salt, his reputation leaves Miguel suspicious of Dan's answer. Why stay there? Trying to lay low from the authorities? For what reason? He doubts what the gossips say, but simply enjoying the drifter lifestyle isn't the first option that came to mind.
He adjusts the grip on the wheel, pondering how he should proceed. They pass an old, rusty sign denoting their approach into town.
"Around Mexico City, usually. My brother is an artist. He liked to see the galleries and museums, and we both enjoyed the night life. Plenty to do every year." If there was one kind of chaos Miguel seemed to like, it was the loud heartbeat of the metropolitan. And Gabriel... he knows his sibling would at least be interested enough to give this guy a chance.
"What made you want to go so far, anyway?" he asks, choosing the more diplomatic question. "In both directions."
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"What sort of art do he do?" Dan catches the way Miguel switches between present and past tense for his brother, and he wonders what the story is there. He wonders if he's going to put Miguel off by asking, so he decides to tread lightly.
He finishes off the water and tucks the empty bottle into his jacket. He can probably find use for it at some point, maybe just to pilfer vodka from the grocery store.
"I like meeting new people. I like learning new things. Wouldn't have could ever learned French without spending a summer bouncing around Quebec."
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But then the question and the earnest answer follows and he seems easy to let the light offense roll off. Dan was certainly an interesting character, the more he was coming to learn about him.
"He makes installation art. It's where you build up the entire space, rather than having a single piece. His environments have a historical theme, usually." he says. "It... makes more sense when you see it."
Miguel awkwardly finds himself describing a subject he wasn't an expert in, with words that felt lacking for something meant to be absorbed in person rather than spoken of. But the present tense at least hints enough that his brother was alive, even when the close relationship had grown more distant.
"So, what was the end game for all this adventure? Before getting stuck here."
no subject
These things do tend to run in families.
"Didn't have no end game. Just keep moving and meeting people and trying new things until something stuck, I reckon." He wrings his thumb over his knuckle, fiddling with the cap of the water bottle, walking it back and forth over his fingers. "I don't do well with rules, so I was probably going to relocate somewhere rural and south of the border eventually."
Instead of dying here, and as the seasons here change, Dan's realizing that he's just slowly approaching an inevitable death when the cold moves in. It's not that Dan's afraid to die. He just didn't expect it would come this way, spending months circling the drain getting more uncomfortable and unlikable and ostracized until he eventually freezes to death sleeping on the kitchen vent behind a diner.
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"Some tinkering here and there. More like the carpentry than the needlework."
He opts to play off whatever half-birthed pet project was occupying the shed next to the house. Both he and Gabriel liked to build things. Miguel supposes he has enough pride for the tinkering to be an expression, in its own way.
A wrinkle sits between concern and consternation on his brow as Dan explains his plan - or lack of one, rather - for his life. He was right about Miguel being structured, it didn't make a lot of sense to him. Life in a quiet town has lost all appeal to him after this place.
"You must be disappointed in the nature of people after being stuck here."
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He thinks of how, in a different world, he might be invited or invite himself to work on Miguel with some tinkering, to develop a friendship over some common interest. It would be shortlived, naturally, on account of Dan's itinerant nature, but it would be a point of connection.
He sighs. "Yeah. You know, the way I think of it is that everyone's got something decent about them, some good quality I can find and appreciate. I can find a great smile or a quick wit or an earnest heart in anyone. But usually it's easy, and instead these folks turn it into work."
no subject
Miguel listens to that response and finds his mind settling on Dan being far too soft-hearted and gentle for the radioactive accusations lobbed at him. He knows better than to judge on incomplete information, but for some reason it felt right. As unreliable as feelings could be, this one rose up strongly in his chest and stayed there.
"I'm sorry to say that this place is a black hole for artistic talent." he says dryly, and feels a bit silly expressing that in his MineCorp work suit and in the loveless MineCorp truck. It almost punctuated the point. "What would you want to make if you had your options open?"
As the pine trees part away to reveal the town center, he muses on what a Dan-style exhibition might look like. Would they be a series of portraits? Or maybe he would rather lean more on trade skills like the carpentry.
no subject
Dan's smiling at the idea, and then the smile drops off his face as he sees the flashing lights and hears the chirp of the police siren. He automatically puts both hands on the dash where they're visible.
When Miguel pulls over, one of the deputies taps on Miguel's window with her flashlight. She gestures at the scratch on the paint. "Piss someone off?"
She shines her flashlight in Dan's face. "I don't know how many times we have to tell you to be in by dark."
no subject
The conversation is interrupted, swiftly bringing them back to reality in this place. Right. The curfew. He was figuring this might happen.
The truck rolls to a stop off the side of the road when the lights flash in his rear view mirror. Miguel has an ID in hand by the time the deputy steps up to driver side window, in case she asks for it. In the instances where they didn't already recognize him, all the very official MineCorp-Goluboy markers tended to be enough to not get bothered overmuch. The window rolls down.
"Had an interesting afternoon, actually. Some guy on the road attacked the front tire and scratched the paint. Dan helped me get the spare on, that's why he's out."
He figures that's sufficient explanation for being caught. Plus, he has no reason to protect the other asshole after their altercation. If he could toss some fresh meat her way to get them home a little bit faster, he doesn't see why he shouldn't.
[cw: deputy making a CSA joke]
Dan considers pushing back for a moment - he hasn't done anything wrong - but he's technically a fleeing felon and doesn't have any privacy rights. If she wants to pat him down, she's going to pat him down. The deputy doesn't even really look at him as she continues to address Miguel.
"It's not safe to pick up hitchhikers, you know, even the ones who do pretend to be roadside mechanics - alright, hands against the car - and you do understand that we have to ticket you, Mr. O'Hara. Keeping this community safe is all of our responsibility, and you don't just endanger yourself by being out after hours. You're endangering me, who has to check on you, and any passengers that you have in the vehicle." She steps away from Dan with a nip bottle of bottom-shelf rum in her hand from where she dug it out of his jacket pocket. "Alright, you're done. Guess you did a better job hiding the cocaine and kiddie porn this time."
"It ain't illegal for me to have a little alcohol," Dan mutters, getting back into the truck.
"The cap's unsealed, so you should be kissing my ass for not booking you on open container. Again." She shoots a glare at Dan and then at Miguel by association before returning to writing the ticket. She peels it off her pad and hands it to Miguel. "You can pay this or contest it at the courthouse next week. Now, I'm going to be following you on the way back to make sure you get home safely."
Dan turns his head away so he can look out the window and roll his eyes at her framing this as benevolence.
no subject
"Hey-" he begins to protest, but catches himself. Contesting now wouldn't get him very far. Even if they were entirely in the right, arguing with any kind of outrage could be seen as a threat, and would certainly make things worse for Dan. There's not much he can do when being fined was still nicer treatment than spending a night in jail. So he accepts the lecture with the most civil expression he can manage, mouth drawn into a barely-disguised scowl.
"Not even going to ask about the guy that attacked me?" he says dryly. "I feel safer already."
Miguel accepts the paper, reminding himself that the best place to respond on both counts will be at the courthouse. He deeply resents the feeling of helplessness, but at least has some manner of recourse. He catches Dan staring out the window, wondering how the hell he's going to manage.
"You have a place you wanted me to drop you off?"
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Dan waits until the doors of the car are closed and they're already driving before he says anything. "How much did they charge you? If you take it to the courthouse that deputy probably ain't going to show up and you'll win on default, but it'll take the whole day."
He almost apologizes because he wonders if he could have fixed the car a little quicker or only changed the tire instead of getting the brakeline fixed, but he doesn't think that Miguel would have gotten home any sooner if he'd waited for a tow.
"I'm sleeping behind Auntie's. If you can drop me on that block I'd be real grateful."
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Cynicism is easy to default to in this place. He might be able to push his bosses to lend him a day of leave to take care of this as part of the splash damage of the vandalism. That depends entirely on how they're feeling about him that day.
"Are you sure that's an okay spot to drop you off? Won't they still get on your case for being outside?"
Offering Dan to stay with him doesn't come immediately. They had still just met, and he was exhausted and feeling desperate to just have things return to normal. Still, he was mulling the option over in his head - the pros and cons, his read of Dan as a person up until this point.
no subject
His own face is flushed with the lingering sense of humiliation.
“They usually leave me alone once I get back there. Reckon they don’t enjoy fishing me out from back there.”
From the wedge of space between the dumpster and the kitchen vent where Dan’s accumulated enough small comforts - blankets and containers and the like - to make habitation undeniable, he means. It might rain tonight, so Dan would prefer to be there, sheltered by the building’s eaves, than return to his other residence, a tarp tent and some hunting equipment at the edge of the woods.
“No need to tell me details, but who beat up your car? So I know who to avoid.”
no subject
Handcuffs were an apt metaphor, but so were blinders. It was easy for him to hole away in a town he didn't know well and didn't really need to ask much help from. The more he is forced to look closely, the more difficult it is for him to ignore what was going on.
He doesn't press the topic - Dan seemed to be uncomfortable with the line of questions and that wasn't the point of asking. He can fill in the blanks at what sleeping behind a diner does to a person, and how the deputies must see him as an easy target.
"The guy? Pretty sure he's one of the town drunks. Must've been what, in his 50s? About my height, pissed off looking eyes and giant sideburns with the shaggy hair."
Miguel uses one hand to shape gigantic side burns over his mostly clean-shaven face. Okay, maybe he was exaggerating - but they were distinct!
"He was using his keys like little cat claws. Complete nutball."
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