( It's a ten-hour drive across Quadrant 1 to get to the mall. He arrives at nearly dusk, with the last fading orange light of the setting sun bouncing off a hundred pristine parked cars in a jam-packed parking lot. Can't help but stop and think about how this is the second god damn time he's had trouble finding parking in a presumably empty building that fell out of the sky, but here they are anyway. Some things don't change across universes, apparently.
He parks his minivan at the very edge of the parking lot. It's an absolute soccer mom vehicle, from the drop-down DVD players in the back to the coexist bumper sticker, the jesus fish symbol, and the stick-figure family on the back glass displaying two very happy lesbian mothers, a stick-figure son, and a shitload of stick-figure cats. It could not be more at odds to the guy who emerges from the driver's seat.
Frank shows up in gear that strongly suggests he's not here for a quick trip to the Abercrombie and Fitch. He's wearing a bulletproof vest adorned with a skull that might be iconic to the right audience, there's a rifle strapped to his back, and keen eyes might notice other little bits of gear or weaponry on him tucked away in tactical locations. Hard to spot, easy to reach.
He prowls through the place grimly, keeping a respectful distance from everyone else, showing a healthy wariness but no real hostility toward any other fluxdrift. It's not them he's here for — although, if he spots one reaching out to touch a shadow-person, he might break his silence to calmly call out to them: )
I wouldn't do that if I were you.
( Eventually, somebody in the wrong place at the wrong time might get the chance to see what he's actually locked and loaded for. Near the exit of the mall, a pack of nearly two dozen raiders linger, waiting, watching, laughing, shoving one another — but occasionally peering across the wide open expanse of shadow figures dotting the hallways, searching for signs of life unfortunate enough or unobservant enough not to spot them first.
If he sees another fluxdrift before they notice they've got company, he'll quickly reach out and tug them around a pillar out of sight with a low, unhappy hiss of: )
Shhhhit- ( And then a hushed, hurried, ) Don't move. Listen- listen to me, those assholes out there? Are not your friends. They see you, you're gonna have a real bad night.
ᴏᴘᴇɴ → ᴀᴍᴏɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡs
He parks his minivan at the very edge of the parking lot. It's an absolute soccer mom vehicle, from the drop-down DVD players in the back to the coexist bumper sticker, the jesus fish symbol, and the stick-figure family on the back glass displaying two very happy lesbian mothers, a stick-figure son, and a shitload of stick-figure cats. It could not be more at odds to the guy who emerges from the driver's seat.
Frank shows up in gear that strongly suggests he's not here for a quick trip to the Abercrombie and Fitch. He's wearing a bulletproof vest adorned with a skull that might be iconic to the right audience, there's a rifle strapped to his back, and keen eyes might notice other little bits of gear or weaponry on him tucked away in tactical locations. Hard to spot, easy to reach.
He prowls through the place grimly, keeping a respectful distance from everyone else, showing a healthy wariness but no real hostility toward any other fluxdrift. It's not them he's here for — although, if he spots one reaching out to touch a shadow-person, he might break his silence to calmly call out to them: )
I wouldn't do that if I were you.
( Eventually, somebody in the wrong place at the wrong time might get the chance to see what he's actually locked and loaded for. Near the exit of the mall, a pack of nearly two dozen raiders linger, waiting, watching, laughing, shoving one another — but occasionally peering across the wide open expanse of shadow figures dotting the hallways, searching for signs of life unfortunate enough or unobservant enough not to spot them first.
If he sees another fluxdrift before they notice they've got company, he'll quickly reach out and tug them around a pillar out of sight with a low, unhappy hiss of: )
Shhhhit- ( And then a hushed, hurried, ) Don't move. Listen- listen to me, those assholes out there? Are not your friends. They see you, you're gonna have a real bad night.