( Open )

[immeasurably]

Who: David Haller (immeasurably) & you.
What: Market clean-up and investigating.
When: First half of the event.
Where: Around Olympia.
Warning(s): None for now. Will add as needed.


» MARKET DISTRICT.

[ Having run through his meager list of contacts to assure himself that nobody he knew had been caught in the blast, David's next port of call is the market itself. Intending to offer what assistance he can, he isn't remotely prepared for what he finds — the devastation is immense.

Masked volunteers (and perhaps a few of the more entrepreneurial sorts) pick over the wreckage as curious onlookers gather. Anxiety prickles at the edge of his awareness and for a moment he regrets not taking Charles up on his offer of company, thinks that if nothing else the Institute must be quieter.

Still, he perseveres. Retrieving a mask and some protective gear, he heads toward the area designated for volunteers to change. ]

D'you think they'll catch whoever did it?

» RUMORS.

[ If there's one thing the protective gear is good for (beyond making you sweat like a pig) it's blending in.

Hours seem to have passed since he'd first arrived, and David quickly loses himself in the monotony of the task: gathering debris, disposing it in the provided heavy-duty bags. Not exactly glamorous work, but important.

It's during a brief respite that he first catches wind of the rumor — a tattooed woman and several friends have gathered in one of the shadowy corners, murmuring among themselves. He lingers as long as he is able, long enough to catch the gist of what is said — that the attack had been a statement of some kind, that it was something expected — before he is called away again and by the time he is able to return they seem to have vanished.

Yanking the mask from his face, David scrubs a hand through his hair, visibly irritated. ]

Goddamn it.

» WILDCARD.

[ Have something else in mind? Hit me up. I'm reachable at resurrectionist or resurrectionst#2222 on Discord. ]

Comments

[jensaarai]

[Ren doesn't bother saying anything specifically about the length of the day. Not directly. It's a fair assumption that most people have been busy in the aftermath of recent events. That, and he's not one for small-talk.

It wastes time and he'd much rather get to the point.]

Have you heard anything useful?

[Which is subjective, but Ren can work with that.]

always great when icon shuffle fucks one over.

[immeasurably]

[ Fingers tapping lightly against the counter top, David briefly debates whether it's worth mentioning anything of what he'd overheard — it hadn't been much, the tattooed woman long gone before he could follow up on what had been said. ]

Depends on what you'd consider useful, I guess.

[ It's not an intentional coyness on his part, however it might seem. He takes another pull on his drink before adding, clarifying: ] I assume we're talking about the only thing worth talking about these days.

[jensaarai]

Sadly anything but the obvious is of little consequence right now.

[There's been a lot of talk, a lot of speculation about what caused this or that, or who was responsible. But a lot of it is just that--talk.]

At this point, almost anything helps, doesn't it? [Which isn't true. Widespread speculation or targeting the wrong person or people can make things worse. But ultimately, he just wants David to tell him.

He could do some probing, but he understands the benefits of having a decent rapport with someone. Particularly when he has so few allies here.]

[immeasurably]

[ Settled in their corner, it's unlikely that they'll be overheard by anyone but the most diligent of eavesdroppers.

Still, David gives the room another sweep ㅡ extending his awareness slowly, gradually, fingers skimming along the minds in the room. He is met with a soft murmur of thoughts, unremarkable, and satisfied, turns his attention back to Ren.

Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, ] I saw something earlier, at the Market. It wasn't much, but.

It seems like this thing's been brewing for awhile. There was this ㅡ this woman. [ In the forefront of his mind, a vision of her: age difficult to determine, hunched in a shadowy corner with a number of others. She's covered in a winding rainbow of ink, bright spots of color that draw the eye and a winding design that makes it difficult to separate one pattern from the next.

It must have taken her days ㅡ weeks, maybe even months ㅡ to finish. ] She was, well it doesn't matter, but she was saying that the guys that did it were marked. Recently done.