Futuristic Space Antics III: Return of the RP

[Moldie]

:: J O Y C E ::
L A C I N - M A I N S T R E E T
Morning

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Jennie carefully looked into her own dark eyes through a dimly lit bathroom mirror. It reflected a pale, deformed and tired woman. As she ran her fingers down the left side of her face she felt the coarse and leathery intricacies of her scarring. She was indeed, a mess. Not more so than usual, but nonetheless a mess. Makeup did the little it could, most prominently through the azure hue applied around her one good eye. A face scrunching yawn broke her out the little trance she’d found herself. She swiped a few small, translucently orange containers of the sink surface and with a bit of scrambling left three prestinely white pills in her hand. Leaning back they all went down effortlessly. Instantly feeling the effects of the medication she was nearly blinded as a wave of saturation and light washed out her eyesight for a swift second. With a deep breath she took, slightly less tired, steps out into the single room of her little apartment. It was to say the least, simple. A small kitchen area, a table with a single chair and a mattress slapped straight onto the dull floor. The walls were mostly made out of pure cement blocks but here and there bits of beige and brown striped wallpaper created gaps in the blocky surroundings. The little decoration there was adorning her abode amounted to not much more than a trashed dartboard and a single shriveled up plant. Although lucky to have a window she kept it covered, only letting a few rays of warm morning light grace her interior. To sum it up, 140 square feet, mostly functional, $ 25 a month.

Not wanting to stay in Jennie looked upon the clock of her tiny fridge, “7:32 AM”, before beginning to rummage through a small pile of clothing articles that had accumulated over the last few days. Finding ample attire was an simple task, mostly because she herself was a simple dresser. A simple tank top alongside a pair of pants belted high up her waist sufficed. As she always did she also put on a long but rather thin brown coat, very weathered and adorned with a near vintage ranger tag. In order to cover the most vile of her scarring an outlaw-esq cloth was tied around her lower face and attached to the collar of her coat. Ready to leave she picked the most important part of her outfit of the metal door. Her old flat telescope hat. The icing on the cake that was her near completely brown and otherwise desaturated style.

Locking the door behind her she now found herself in the little corridor leading to the elevator. Within it laid about 8 cages stacked upon each other, all fitted with mattresses and some of them covered in sheets. Other residents, most still sleeping as sundays mostly allowed, laid within these metal grates all guarded by a different amount of locks. Above the thick metal door leading into the elevator sat a small sign read “Level 42”. A small barred window nearby confirmed the height, although many other buildings around them towered far beyond her what her sights allowed. Routinely it took about five pushes of the button before it with a confirming tone turned blue. The elevator was fast to arrive but did so with a near evil sounding metallic hiss. It was empty. While the contraption brought her down from the skies she took another close look at herself in the much larger but a bit dirtier mirror present within the room. “You look like shit...”. It wasn’t long before she took her first step onto the ground floor, soon emerging on the mainstreet with a single goal in mind. “Breakfast”.

OnyxMule

 

[OnyxMule]

.: J O Y C E :.
[ Black Quarter - Eastbound Isle ]
{ Early morning }​

Hazel eyes peered through the boards and out the window. The street outside was much brighter now, to the point where you could actually see something. Havence stroked his burnt wrist. There hadn’t been much activity during the night, only a lone man walking past the building, only to return in the other direction a short while later. And dungrats of course.
His thick dark hair waved as he turned away from the window. It was getting long again. Maybe it would be harder to recognize him should he cut it short, but he couldn’t bring himself to doing it. Havence grabbed his coat, put it on in a sweep and pulled down its hood onto his head. He figured he should probably head out before it got even brighter outside.

He abandoned the building and walked into the crisp morning air. More dungrats, chasing each other through an alley. The narrow streets were still empty. The only sounds were that of the slightly distant traffic in the direction he was headed.
His stomach gave out a violent groan. Havence realized he hadn’t eaten since his escape.
A week? Maybe more. He hadn’t really had the chance. Now he was determined to treat himself with some good food. With sure steps, he made his way toward the buzz of traffic and soon found himself on Mainstreet. Though it was obviously a risk, Havence thought that they probably didn’t expect him to appear in such an exposed location.
He walked down the road, trying not to get in anyone else’s way, his stomach rumbling ever so often.
"I would kill for a burrito."

 

[Moldie]

:: J O Y C E ::
L A C I N - M A I N S T R E E T
Morning​

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Mainstreet was a crowded place, bumping a few elbows was custom around here. The so called “Ham”, short for hover trams, ran across the street as well as through entire building complexes above. Stalls inhabited by vendors screaming for attention, desperate to sell dotted the stretching road, Jennie having to push one or two overzealous ones out of her way. Splitting the crowd like seaside cliffs did waves a few lone trucks and mopeds carrying crates and various supplies puttered along. The air around her smelled like a mixture of pollution, waste and strong perfumes spread by passerbyers. Yet it was charming in it’s own way. Jennie was however used to this, after a few years in the capital city Joyce was near countryside in comparison. Further in front of her she spotted the homely oozing of cooking rising from the street. Food stalls were not uncommon by any means, but it wasn’t what she was looking for. A proper meal didn’t appetize her mind. Offside near an alleyway branching of the mainstreet she spotted it. Just what she was looking for, a standard Drink’o’mat. Approaching the colorful machine she considered her options, but her mind was made up. With a little bit of tapping and the confirmation of a fingerprint her wares hit the shoot with a metallic thump. Classic Canned Coffee, and a Panchola bar. “Everything you need.”.

OnyxMule