ukan | IC CONTACT

I have some nutritional bars we should stash, along with basic supplies--flour, bran, sugar, salt. How much can you take?

More than that. You bring me what you want. I'll let you know if space gets low. You should talk to the new Warden that's handling food inventory, if you're taking from the kitchen. I'm not gonna be fucked for doing favors.

I will. But I was thinking of my own stores. If you have a place where they can't be fucked with, where we can get at them if we really need them for the ship, I'd rather leave them with you than in my cupboard.

Let me know the when and where and I'm confident we'll work it out.

Cabin 404, tonight around ten.

There's no return text, but promptly at 10, there's a double knock on the door.

Lark is quick to answer the door.

He has his supplies on the counter. There's enough there to make meager rations for a week for the ship, which is better than nothing. Might keep them from eating each other for a while.

"If the admiral sends you home or you disappear with all of this I'm going to burn the place down."

Sweeney leans against the frame to speak to him from the hall outside.

"A'right." Seems reasonable.

"This just fer you an' yers then?"

"It started that way. But if we stretch this we can get single rations per day for about a week for the ship. Those who eat, anyway. I don't know what the vampires will do." It's a bad prospect.

Hmm.

Sweeney's eyes narrow on the food as he silently debates the proposal. There's some complicated details in that.

"So...assumin' it ain't needed, yer gonna be wantin' it all back? Yer not just donatin' it straight up?"

A faint laugh. "The part of me that likes to bury food wants to say I want it back but honestly, I don't want to set a precedent for hoarding food and letting the rest of the ship starve. So consider this donated to the community."

Thank fucking Bran.

A flicker of relief passes through his eyes, and he takes a slow breath. He returns his focus to the counter, though he remains at the doorway.

"A'right."

There's another thought and he's quick to amend. "Ya end up wantin' it back, yer gonna have ta trade fer it." It's more of a note than a proper warning, but it's something that should be said before the transaction happens.

"I won't," Lark already knows he won't be asking for any of it. But he looks at Sweeney curiously. It wasn't a threat, like it would be from anyone else. More like the terms of a contract. "It's freely given."

You know what Lark Tennant is homesick for? Contracts.

"But I have to know: what terms would you take for a trade back?"

Sweeney only takes time enough for a slow blink.

"Somethin' important 'nough ta ya that it's worth the week of eatin' fer all those folk." His tone remains completely even. He doesn't know shit about this prick. He most certainly isn't going to bid on a blind hypothetical.

"So that kinda d'pends on you."

Lark nods, then shrugs. He likes those terms, but not for this when, as he said, it's freely given.

"Listen, if things get to the point where we're using these reserves and I'm not around, I need you to do something. Make sure the inmates get the larger portion. I'm going to be fighting with the wardens when it comes time and I actually announce this idea, but I'm placing a premium on inmates getting their calories. Wardens can fuck off home if they get hungry and don't like doing their job anymore, inmates can't. All right?"

He listens, patiently indifferent. The fellow is clearly passionate, which is something, he supposes. Putting others before yourself, giving to those most in need; that sounds like some grade A Warden shit. Eh.

When he concludes, a moment hangs, Sweeney just leaned against the doorframe and staring as he calculates.

"How much larger?" Just a detail to be noted.

The Devil's in the details.

"Two to one." It's an immediate answer, easily given. "Iris or Alec can help adjust that, they're both experienced with food insecurity and they're both going to be willing to fight it out if someone else balks."

His expression gives nothing away, but he's watching Sweeney with quiet, wolfish intensity. "Can you do this or do I need to find something else? It's better for us both to know it now. If you say no, no harm no foul."

"I can do it." The assurance comes without concern. He's handled far more complicated situations.

"How much is it worth ta ya?" It's not a sarcastic comment, nothing born out of greed or moral high ground. This prick's just adding line item details, and that's how this works.

"It's worth a week of food for me." Meaning he's willing to just give up his portion of these rations in exchange and just having nothing at all in exchange for Sweeney following his instructions.

Hmm.

He appreciates the man's intent, but his offer has holes.

"How ya plannin' ta pay that if ya ain't 'round?" Sure, the food would be available, and he won't be using it if he's dead or gone, but Sweeney would just have those rations anyways.

"If I'm gone, I can't eat it and my portion is yours," he shrugs. "Whatever I would have been party to would default to you. Instead of to my husband."

And that? That's the sacrifice that hurts. He's worked for years to make sure Alec never sits in a cell alone, never goes hungry, never suffers. While this deal does ensure Alec gets some food, it also means Alec wouldn't be entitled to Lark's share even though he helped build this stash.

No wonder Annie's trying to get up on him all the time. Maybe he is the only one with a prick that wants it buried deep without the risk of his nuts smacking into any others. I Dream of Jeannie and Shit For Brains might do well here. Blend right the fuck in.

"Alright."

Sweeney stretches his neck a touch. "Anythin' else?"

He's content to stand at the door for as long as this takes.

With the terms set Lark finally takes a step back and gestures him forward. His assigned cabin, 101, is set aside for Pagan--and now for Anita and Taylor. But this one is his home and he doesn't let people in lightly.

"Go ahead. Hide it however you do it."

Don't have to ask him twice.

Sweeney crosses the room with confident strides, and he promptly sets to squirreling things away. Smaller items are tucked in pockets, but the larger ones are banished to the Hoard directly with a passing pause of focus.

He watches every move, managing his own instincts which scream at him to guard the food, to get some kind of leverage over Sweeney to make sure he won't break his word.

He doesn't do anything but watch. "How many people are going to know you have all this?"

There's a right answer and a wrong answer but he didn't make it part of the deal because there needs to be room for flexibility down the road.

IC CONTACT

Re: TEXT

Re: TEXT

Re: TEXT

Re: TEXT

Re: TEXT

Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

Re: Spam

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)