hadriel | 1.2: Video

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1.2: Video

[The phone picture steadies on a face-and-shoulders shot, held slightly below the usual level for self-videos. Amos smiles but the cheer is thin and tired, and his dark eyes keep flicking from the screen to the doorway beyond, watchful and wary. He’s in Hope’s temple, back to a wall, watching the door.]

Hey, ya’ll!

Their magic door got me again I guess. Who all of ya’ll is still here?

[Despite his oriental features, his accent is solidly American, and of the New Orleans rhythm and snap, sharper than your typical Southern accent. His voice is a pleasant baritone, but weary. His shoulder-length hair is tucked under a plain black bandanna: he has multiple piercings in his ears, and a Monroe piercing on his left upper lip. He’s sporting a dark tan and the ends of his black hair are sunbleached orange.]

[He also has a hideous black eye on the left, in healing shades of blue and green with a line of stitches just above his left brow. The bruise trails down his cheek, too. For those who knew him before, he’s visibly lost weight, his cheeks a little hollowed now. There’s tension stringing his shoulders tight, foreign to Amos’s typical laid-back cheer. He’s wearing a tactical vest and desert camo fatigues.]

Don’t nobody come hug my neck jess yet, though. Been fightin’ plague-zombies, see, so I figure better let the gods here check me out so I don’t give none of ya’ll nothin’ nasty.

I mean I don’t think I’ve got anythin’ but I kinda wanna be real damn sure, yanno? Can’t be too careful when it comes to this voodoo shit.

Think you could do a fellow a favor, Hope, please?

[He smiles thinly again and waves (revealing scabbed knuckles and dusty hands) before cutting the feed, forgetting entirely to apologize for swearing, which is telling about his current state of mind.]

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I think I'll wait here for a bit an' see if I can get Hope to check me out.

I was...where I was, there was an illness, bad, killin' people, an' some crazy folks raised the dead to keep spreading it.

I've been fighting some of the dead, so I wanna make sure I don't get anyone sick.

[He grimaces, gaze not quite focused: disgust for the walking dead and horror for the often-fatal virus.]

It...weren't a pretty way to die.

[This is one of the things Maketh missed about Amos. Despite how easily and often he smiles, Amos has one of the most practical minds of all the men she's encountered. It makes things simple. She nods.]

All right. Let me know if you need assistance, and when you are able to safely return.

[A pause.]

Some time has passed since you were here last. I have--moved to a different apartment.

[If he had been able to hear human thought, Amos would have howled with laughter at the idea of anyone calling him practical. That is not a word people apply to him at all, given his tenderhearted nature and happy-go-lucky cheer. As it is, he merely smiles at her, and it's warm and fond and weary. The tension in his shoulders drops a notch. He missed Maketh and her delightfully efficient self.]

I will, thank you. Shouldn't be long, I figger, since Hope can resurrect us? So he should be able to see if I've got somethin' extra.

S'alright, sugar, wouldn't've expected you to stay in that big ol' place by yourself.

[Something occurs to him through the haze of exhaustion, and his eyes narrow before he asks her:]

You ain't sleepin' on your desk at that damn guard post, are ya?

[Because no, Maketh,no that is not acceptable, and Amos will march right out of this temple to fix that, so help him God, he will, watch him.]

[Maketh frowns at him.]

Try not to die needlessly. Or trust anything Hope claims.

[At that she raises an eyebrow.]

Only when I must. I am living with Henry Percy now. His cooking is not as good as yours.

[Have a stern frown right back, Maketh, he knows your workaholic type and that was not the correct answer.]

No, Maketh, sleeping on a desk is a no. Not a must. Also bad for your back. You gotta quit that.

[And he's tired and he's been the mother hen to a group of mercenaries for the past month, and doesn't quite realize he's gone off into nagging mode with a slightly whiny-toddler-tone underneath it. Living with people who tend to make poor life choices makes Amos anxiously try to mother them. Like a sheepdog trying to herd rhino. It goes about as well as you'd imagine: that is to say, not at all. But he tries.]

I shall take that under consideration.

[No, she won't.]

Well. Welcome back. Don't die foolishly.

[Consideration, and Amos's eyes narrow. He knows exactly what that means, which is nothing. He rubs a hand over the right side of his face, avoiding the stitches and bruise on the left. His knuckles are scabbed and it's old, not from today.]

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Maketh, you'd drive a saint spare. Please do not sleep on any desks, it's bad for your back.

[He glances up to the door again, a nervous glance, before looking back at the screen. He blows out a heavy sigh and then tries to smile. It's tired and thin but it is a smile. By Amos standards it's a really sorry attempt, though.]

I'll try not to. Thank you.

What is a saint?

[She decides to ignore the rest of that statement. It's not important.

Her expression softens marginally.]

Good. We have had--trying times, of late.

[For a moment Amos stares at the screen, mouth open, looking utterly pole-axed. He had figured Maketh wasn't a fan of religion, given he'd never heard her reference a deity, but he'd no idea she was a heathen.]

[He shakes his head, blinking, gives her a very puzzled look, and at last comes out with:]

A person who's so good an' patient an' forgiving an' kind they're like an angel.

[Wait, she probably doesn't know what that is either.] Uh. Almost a...mini version of a god.

[He continues to frown, hoping that was a clear explanation because he really doubts it was and can't flog a better response out of his tired brain.]

[Maketh frowns, confused.]

So they are like a god...but do not have power?

Uh. Sorta. 'cept their "power" is like, being so good an' patient, an' if you'd try even their patience, then you're bein' really difficult.

[A pause, considering, and he taps the top ball of his tongue piercing against the roof of his mouth, making a muted thump.

It's a...whatchya call it. Turn of phrase. A saying. My grandmother said it to me all the time.

I was a kinda exasperating kid.

Oh. I see.

[She doesn't quite understand, but perhaps it's not important.]

Regardless. You ought to be cautious now. There are---people here from my world. Not all of them are trustworthy.

[Amos is good at reading people - not as good as Will, granted - but she still sees fit to warn him.]

General Hux in particular.

[Amos answers her with his eyes on the door, still unable to keep from watching. Same reason he's got his back to a wall, his rifle to hand. He can't help it right now.]

Oh? Howso?

Should I be watching my back for knives?

[Probably nothing so mundane, if Maketh is seeing fit to warn him. She has sparred with him before, and knows he can fend off an attack like that.]

Edited 2017-02-18 06:08 (UTC)

No. He's a tad too clever for that. [She smiles briefly.] Just be cautious. He's an engineer.

[That means he's dangerous in unexpected ways.]

[Amos blinks a moment, looking back at the screen.]

That might mean somethin' different where you're from, baby.

Most engineers where I'm from ain't dangerous. That's building an' design, work with machinery.

[He's pretty sure, at least. He hasn't known any engineers personally.]

[Maketh gives him a faint smile, though the expression isn't especially kind. Just tired.]

Where I am from, most engineers do not achieve the rank of general. And those that do tend to have ways of making their enemies disappear. Be cautious. That's all.

[Ah, clearly something different, and Amos is too tired and fuzzy to wrangle out the details right now. Cross-cultural explanation with Maketh is an exercise requiring a lot of questions and filling in the blanks, because bless her heart but she's not the most flexible or imaginative soul out there. Besides, Amos just went one round on that and he's pretty sure he lost. But old saws never translate well to start with.]

I see. Thank you. I'll be on the lookout.

Anyone else I should watch out for, baby?

Beyond the obvious dangers? [She shakes her head a little.] Not at the moment. As I said. Try not to die. I'm fond of your company.

[That last makes Amos grin, unexpected warmth in his chest. He certainly enjoys hanging out with Maketh, but he never really expects that other people do more than tolerate him. To hear that she likes his company is delightful and precious, and he curls his toes in his boots.]

Thank you, Maketh.

I'll be careful. You be careful too, honey.

Always. [She can't work if she's dead.]

I'll see you soon, Amos.

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