The guy he's been talking to is armed with a sword?! Armed he expected -- in Wolfwood's experience it's a rare traveler who heads out into the worlds without at least a pea shooter hidden on their person, and even kids have knives -- but a sword? It doesn't look like a costume piece either, not with the way the guy's holding it.
Huh.
Wolfwood keeps his head down, hair in his eyes (and his wet sunglasses) blocking out the worst of the glare from the lights. But this guy doesn't seem to be an immediate threat, even with that ridiculous sword. Wolfwood nods past him, towards the back of the laundromat and the door he can just barely see. Is it an office? The restroom? From here he can't tell.
"You could say that again. We alone here?" It's been a stroke of dumb luck to have ended up someplace with the promise of new clothes, and damned if he doesn't want to get these bloody things off and swapped. But first things first. "Tell your friends they can come on out, I don't bite."
With the lights on, Guy can say this with confidence: this stranger looks like hell. He's drenched to the bone, wearing sunglasses despite the storm bearing down on them. It's a strange look, and Guy has seen many strange fashion statements. He gives him the once-over, more than a little judgement in the motion. He refrains, however, from saying anything. Now is not the time to make enemies.
(He makes a mental note how the man didn't answer his question straight out.)
Guy sighs. "I wouldn't have hid if my friends were with me."
From his experience, the presence of a well-armed group was enough to deter solitary troublemakers. He tilts his head towards the back of the room, nods at the door behind them.
"Help yourself to the privy, if you'd like. Just brace yourself for the smell."
Guy will come to learn, in time, that Wolfwood almost never answers a question straight out, especially not one that requires him to admit to any weakness or problems.
Wolfwood, having just learned a new name for the shitter, scowls briefly over the guy's shoulder at the door beyond, then turns that disapproval full force onto the other man. "Do I look like a little kid?!"
And just like that, all the tension in the room -- at least on Wolfwood's end -- dissolves into grumpiness. Asking if he needs the washroom, who is this guy kidding! The gun disappears into his shoulder holster with a smooth, practiced movement, but that scowl isn't going anywhere anytime soon. "You want to get knocked down, just keep sayin' stupid things."
Even as Guy holds up his hands, he's laughing. The way the stranger's carrying on reminds him of an old friend. The bristliness, the snappiness. He shouldn't laugh - but he can't help himself. The gun's been holstered and the atmosphere has evaporated into something lighter.
"I was only trying to be friendly! It's the least I can do after scaring the hell out of you, yeah?"
If there's laughing -- even if he's the butt of the joke -- then there's probably not going to be any fighting. Wolfwood turns half-away from the guy with a huff, directing most of his attention instead to the surrounding laundromat.
He can draw his gun faster than really should be possible, and he hasn't missed a shot in years. So long as everybody stays friendly, there won't be any reason to demonstrate that particular skill set, right?
"You didn't scare me, asshole," he grumps, heading over the the nearest machine and pulling the door open. This place smells awful, but mildewing clothes are still an improvement over bloody and tattered ones. "Bein' cautious isn't the same thing as bein' afraid."
It's really asking too much to find a black suit in his size in one of these dryers, isn't it?
It's not in Guy's nature to continue needling; he's amiable now it's clear there's no immediate danger and he passes the other man to pick up the clothes he'd scattered in his hurry to hide. Oversized shirts printed with strange pictures and writing, jackets, one or two pants made of sturdy material. Guy's picks have all been practical, with a preference for brighter colors - a stark contrast to his fellow laundromat scavenger.
"Name's Guy, by the way." So quit calling him 'asshole,' bud. He pops open another machine and wrinkles his nose. "Pleasure meeting you."
The clothes in the machine he's opened are far too colorful and way too small for him -- they're for a kid, he realizes a moment later, as he closes the door and moves stiffly on to the next machine. There's no point in wondering what happened to that kid, but just because it's futile to worry doesn't mean it's easy not to. Is that kid and their parent out in the rain somewhere, wandering in the dark? Did something come through here and scare them away before they could finish their washing up?
Did something come through here and take them, before they could finish up?
The next machine down is full of black clothes, but they're lacey delicate things. God dammit.
"Wolfwood." He slams the second dryer shut. "What the hell happened here?! Where are all these people?"
Guy straightens up at the slammed door and, for a second, his hand darts for the sword. Instinct. He drops his hand.
It's a good question. All the lights are on, but no one's around. In the hour Guy prowled around...
"I know just as much as you do. When I arrived, there wasn't a soul in sight."
A strange occurrence he wrote off, creepy as it was. Because what could he do? Panorama remained far away. There were still great distances to travel. Nobody could be helped here, because there was nobody to help.
Guy shrugs. "From the looks of things, I'd say the storm kept them from coming back. Or they had to run."
From what, he won't speculate on, nor does he care to find out. There's a reason why, when Wolfwood entered, Guy had hidden behind the machines.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2026-03-16 03:20 pm (UTC)Huh.
Wolfwood keeps his head down, hair in his eyes (and his wet sunglasses) blocking out the worst of the glare from the lights. But this guy doesn't seem to be an immediate threat, even with that ridiculous sword. Wolfwood nods past him, towards the back of the laundromat and the door he can just barely see. Is it an office? The restroom? From here he can't tell.
"You could say that again. We alone here?" It's been a stroke of dumb luck to have ended up someplace with the promise of new clothes, and damned if he doesn't want to get these bloody things off and swapped. But first things first. "Tell your friends they can come on out, I don't bite."
no subject
Date: 2026-03-17 12:38 am (UTC)(He makes a mental note how the man didn't answer his question straight out.)
Guy sighs. "I wouldn't have hid if my friends were with me."
From his experience, the presence of a well-armed group was enough to deter solitary troublemakers. He tilts his head towards the back of the room, nods at the door behind them.
"Help yourself to the privy, if you'd like. Just brace yourself for the smell."
no subject
Date: 2026-03-17 03:58 pm (UTC)Wolfwood, having just learned a new name for the shitter, scowls briefly over the guy's shoulder at the door beyond, then turns that disapproval full force onto the other man. "Do I look like a little kid?!"
And just like that, all the tension in the room -- at least on Wolfwood's end -- dissolves into grumpiness. Asking if he needs the washroom, who is this guy kidding! The gun disappears into his shoulder holster with a smooth, practiced movement, but that scowl isn't going anywhere anytime soon. "You want to get knocked down, just keep sayin' stupid things."
no subject
Date: 2026-03-17 08:13 pm (UTC)Even as Guy holds up his hands, he's laughing. The way the stranger's carrying on reminds him of an old friend. The bristliness, the snappiness. He shouldn't laugh - but he can't help himself. The gun's been holstered and the atmosphere has evaporated into something lighter.
"I was only trying to be friendly! It's the least I can do after scaring the hell out of you, yeah?"
no subject
Date: 2026-03-17 08:52 pm (UTC)He can draw his gun faster than really should be possible, and he hasn't missed a shot in years. So long as everybody stays friendly, there won't be any reason to demonstrate that particular skill set, right?
"You didn't scare me, asshole," he grumps, heading over the the nearest machine and pulling the door open. This place smells awful, but mildewing clothes are still an improvement over bloody and tattered ones. "Bein' cautious isn't the same thing as bein' afraid."
It's really asking too much to find a black suit in his size in one of these dryers, isn't it?
no subject
Date: 2026-03-19 04:02 pm (UTC)It's not in Guy's nature to continue needling; he's amiable now it's clear there's no immediate danger and he passes the other man to pick up the clothes he'd scattered in his hurry to hide. Oversized shirts printed with strange pictures and writing, jackets, one or two pants made of sturdy material. Guy's picks have all been practical, with a preference for brighter colors - a stark contrast to his fellow laundromat scavenger.
"Name's Guy, by the way." So quit calling him 'asshole,' bud. He pops open another machine and wrinkles his nose. "Pleasure meeting you."
no subject
Date: 2026-03-19 04:18 pm (UTC)The clothes in the machine he's opened are far too colorful and way too small for him -- they're for a kid, he realizes a moment later, as he closes the door and moves stiffly on to the next machine. There's no point in wondering what happened to that kid, but just because it's futile to worry doesn't mean it's easy not to. Is that kid and their parent out in the rain somewhere, wandering in the dark? Did something come through here and scare them away before they could finish their washing up?
Did something come through here and take them, before they could finish up?
The next machine down is full of black clothes, but they're lacey delicate things. God dammit.
"Wolfwood." He slams the second dryer shut. "What the hell happened here?! Where are all these people?"
no subject
Date: 2026-03-22 03:31 am (UTC)It's a good question. All the lights are on, but no one's around. In the hour Guy prowled around...
"I know just as much as you do. When I arrived, there wasn't a soul in sight."
A strange occurrence he wrote off, creepy as it was. Because what could he do? Panorama remained far away. There were still great distances to travel. Nobody could be helped here, because there was nobody to help.
Guy shrugs. "From the looks of things, I'd say the storm kept them from coming back. Or they had to run."
From what, he won't speculate on, nor does he care to find out. There's a reason why, when Wolfwood entered, Guy had hidden behind the machines.