To Grandmother's House We Go [Closed]

A wellness check and Resistance chat.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Adam Spencer
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Tue Apr 23, 2019 6:45 pm

Painted Ladies • Anaxas/ Vienda
On the 20th of Intas, 2719 • Afternoon
Spring in Vienda meant clear skies but crisp temperatures. All was well in the Painted Ladies -- or so Adam hoped. He had just finished chasing down a lead for something inconsequential, so now it was time to ensure someone more consequential was well.

He felt oddly like a physician, doing this sort of wellness check. But at least he had been good so far at making it seem not too patronizing. Pulling his jacket close to himself, he was a gray shadow against the riotous colors of the district, but at least not a dour one. It had been a good day and, as long as Agatha was still alive and kicking, that would hold at least for the next couple of hours.

Yellow, blue, another blue, green -- none of them were the house he was looking for, even if all of them needed paint jobs. A cat skittered across the street before him, yowling its indignity at his presence, but Adam shrugged off the creature's offense. Animals were five fort a dozen here and in the Dives.

When he got to the older woman's house, he'd have to inquire about that mimeograph she'd made reference to. It would be several weeks before he was ready to make use of it, but he hoped he'd be able to. It seemed like he would, but it was a precarious situation. It was always a precarious situation.

The riotous pink of the house he was looking for swam into his vision, and he let out a whistle beneath his breath. It wasn't the first time he'd visited, but it was always a shock to the senses to see the colorful house at first.

Adam strolled towards the impressively colorful house, attracting no other notice besides that of the offended cat, and lifted a hand to rap on the door. Two longer knocks, and two shorter ones. Not a signal exactly, but enough variation to the knock to notify the house's owner that he wasn't there to break the door down. He wasn't sure what Agatha would have done if he were a Seventen officer working to ruin, but he was very sure he didn't want to find out. Her reputation preceded her.

He much preferred being offered a cup of tea to a bullet from a pistol. So he broke into an easy smile, trying to look casual about his visit, and hoping there would be an answer from within.

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Agatha Maplethorne
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Tue Apr 30, 2019 4:10 pm

20 Intas 2719: Afternoon
Aggie's House

Aggie was about ready to smack Brent upside the head. The boy that the strange wick had dropped off at her place that long ago Vortas night had taken up semi-permanent residence in her house, at her insistence. The boy's hand had healed up as well as it could have but, much to her dismay, she hadn't been able to find him a good job. The economy had taken a downturn since the wicks had been banned, and everyone was scrambling for a job. Aggie had promised not to send the boy back to the factories, and she'd be damned if she was going to renege on that promise.

Things were tight, but Brent was able to bring in at least a bit of money by running errands for people around the Dives and, when he couldn't find work, he helped Aggie with her sewing and childcare. He had whined about that at first, saying it was "women's work", but Aggie had told him that he was more than welcome to take to the streets if he wasn't going to earn his keep. After a night where she locked him out when he threw a hissy fit about changing little Victor Cavendash's diaper, he had at least stopped whining about helping with the "women's work".

But Aggie had decided the boy needed to learn how to read and, dear Lady, she had never had a worse student. Every day, when they took out the newspaper and Aggie helped him through a couple articles, Brent moaned and whined as if she was asking him to give her a pound of flesh. No amount of threatening to send the boy back to the factories would stop him from complaining.

Today's lesson had been particularly horrid. The winter had been cold and brutal and, even though Aggie's house had intact walls and a whole ceiling, the bitter winter wind had found every crack in the wall, slithering its way in to find Aggie's bones. The fact that she and Brent had been sleeping on the floor by the stove to stay warm didn't help things. But she was screwed either way – either she could sleep in her bed and freeze and wake up feeling like someone had beaten her with a brick in the morning… or she could sleep on the floor by the stove and stay warm and wake up feeling like someone had beaten her with a brick in the morning. She knew that, when it was this cold, families often slept together in the same bed or pile. Hell, her family had done the same thing. But, even though she may have taken Brent in, he wasn't family. Not yet. Taking him to her bed, even for warmth, was a line she couldn't cross.

Aggie had dealt with yet another crappy night of sleep and her temper was frayed thin when she sat down with last week's paper and started running Brent through an article around lunch time. As usual, he bitched and moaned when she sat him down and brought the paper out.

"Listen, boy. You may not believe me now but trust me when I say you will appreciate this when you're older," Aggie said as she went to grab another cup of tea before running the boy through his paces. She wrapped her hands around the old chipped mug, letting the warmth sink into her aching hands.

"I don't know why, Auntie. None of the boys at the factory knew how to read!" Brent complained.

"And look where that got them!" Aggie exclaimed fiercely as she hobbled back over to the table slowly. God, this winter had taken so much out of her. Aggie would never admit it to anyone, but she wasn't sure she could survive another winter like this. She put her mug of tea down and shook her finger at the boy as she sat down. "I'm telling you, trust me on this! You may be okay being ignorant – that means someone who doesn't know something – but I want you to be able to get a decent job. I ain't gonna be here forever, you know."

That, as always, scared Brent into silence. He wasn't really a bad kid, just one who hadn't had any real discipline in his life. His parents had been too busy working to take care of him, and then they died and he went to the orphanage. The orphanage had rules and discipline, but it wasn't the kind of discipline that Aggie was trying to teach him. It was a discipline meant to keep their charges under their thumbs, rather than discipline meant to help lift them up, like Aggie's type of discipline. Brent was young, a kid who didn't know the difference between the orphanage's discipline and Aggie's. It all felt like it was torture. But he knew that, as much as he hated helping with the sewing and the childcare, Aggie's house was probably the best he could hope for right now. He didn't want to imagine a life without her.

"Now, let's find something for you to read," the elderly lady said as she sat down and pulled over last week's copy of the Weekly. They spent the next two hours going over an article about some inane golly matter, which Brent (of course) complained about. Aggie had pinched the bridge of her nose many times to keep from smacking the boy, but she was at the end of her rope.

"Let's take a break," Aggie said just as she found herself at her breaking point, choosing to get up to throw more wood on the fire and get tea instead of giving the boy the smack upside the head he truly deserved. Her head snapped up when there was a knock at her door. "Oh, hell. Brent, you're faster than me. Go get that," she said as she closed the door of the stove and turned towards the front door. She heard Brent talking to a man, the man's voice faintly familiar. "I'm coming! Just gotta hobble these old bones over," she yelled. "Brent, close the door until I get there. You'll let all the heat out."

She heard Brent apologize and breathed a sigh of relief as the door was closed. Wood was expensive, and they had been having trouble keeping the house warm enough as it was without leaving the door open for Aggie's hour-long trek across the house. (Well, it only felt like an hour. But still. Every bit of heat was precious.)

Aggie finally made it to the front door, shooing Brent and telling him to go fill the stove. She opened the door, a smile brightening her face. "Fucking hell, it's Mr. Adam clocking Spencer!" she said, her voice full of surprised cheer. He was in the Resistance with her, but she hadn't seen him in a few months and had just figured he had decided she wasn't worth his time, like the rest of the Resistance had. "Come in, come in. I ain't got any gollyknockers – you know how expensive sugar is – but I have tea, soup, and space for you to plant your erse," she laughed.

"Brent, grab a tally from the jar and get us some fresh bread, will ya?" Aggie said as she offered Adam a seat. When he started whining, she turned and glared at him. "You gonna bitch about going to get bread, Brent? Really? All we have is the heels and this will save you from having to go out tomorrow. Plus I'll let you out of the rest of your lessons."

The boy's complaints went silent as he realized that Aggie did have a point. He wasn't thrilled about having to go out in the cold, but if it meant that they could get bread and he could avoid the rest of his reading practice, he'd jump at the opportunity.

Aggie went to the stove, bending down with a groan to throw more wood in the fire. Once the fire was stoked, she scooped out a scant bowl of pea soup, grabbed the last 2 pieces of bread, and made her way over to the table. "Eat," she said as she placed the bread and soup in front of Adam. She knew that Adam would know that she wouldn't take any argument. But she kept silent until Brent left, silently glad that the boy was as eager to get out of his studies as she had expected. "Sorry, Adam, old boy. He's not part of the business and I didn't want to worry about things he shouldn't know coming up," she said as soon as he was gone. "How are you doing?"
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Adam Spencer
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Tue Apr 30, 2019 4:42 pm

Painted Ladies • Anaxas/ Vienda
On the 20th of Intas, 2719 • Afternoon
A
dam blinked, staring at the old woman for a long moment. Her rather over-ebullient response took him aback, but he managed a smile after a few moments. "Right," he responded. "Tea's fine, thanks. I'm glad to see you're not a raen yet." It was a joke, but characteristically dry. Watching as Brent excused himself, he kept his peace, not volunteering a single word about the real reason he'd come.

He did, however, move to press an extra fort or three into Brent's hand for some candy, offering the kid a wink as he disappeared. From the looks of things, Aggie hadn't been able to afford candy for the boy in a very long time -- let alone alcohol-besotted cookies. The thought nagged at him even as he sat down to her offering of soup and bread, heard the insistence in her voice that he'd have to eat. He'd have to find some way to make sure she wasn't struggling that badly in the condition she was in. They couldn't afford to have a dead cell grandmother on their hands.

Spooning a bit of soup, he leaned back, blowing on it to cool it a little. "I'm doing well, Ms. Agatha. Getting the paper together as best I can. But it's slow, and it's going to be out in the summer. I'm still piecing together bits and pieces of information where I can."

Like the Vyrdag, and the information I hope to get from it, and the problems that will result from it...

He couldn't be sure how she'd take that portion, though, so he kept his mouth shut about it, swallowing the spoonful of soup now that it was cool enough. His gaze took in her rather dire surroundings, looking at the blankets by the fire, down at the thin portion of soup he'd been given. His stomach started gnawing, and it wasn't out of hunger.

There had to be something he could do to help, but he'd have to figure out a way that he could do it and not insult her dignity. Slowly, he worked through the possibility he'd latched onto. "You told me once before, when we were talking about the Gadfly, that you had access to a mimeograph. I'm not sure if it's yours or if you just know where it is. Whatever the case is, though, I'd like to rent it from you, if I could. Say... two shills a week, until the summer? If that's too cheap, let me know." He hadn't built up a nest egg devoid of reason, after all. It wouldn't impact his present pay rate at all -- but it would help her. Even if Aggie owned the place, she could put more money towards repairs or heating, whichever she needed. It might not change her life, but it would improve it, certainly.

He leaned back, glancing up at Agatha. "If you're smart, you'll take the offer and not complain about it, because I won't offer a second time." It wasn't cold, exactly, but it was an effort to preempt any claims that she surely didn't deserve this, that she could get along fine on her own. By cutting down whatever avenues of denial she might have, he hoped to make her have no reason to avoid accepting the money he was about to pay her.

Really, though, he needed access to that mimeograph. There was no other way to make copies relatively quickly, and if he was going to get a wide circulation for this initial effort, he had to make sure he had the papers at the ready.

"And I need to use Brent. Do you think he'd make a reliable newspaper delivery-boy? Nothing to worry about, exactly, but he needs to get involved sometime, otherwise he's a liability."
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Agatha Maplethorne
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Sat May 04, 2019 11:28 am

20 Intas 2719: Afternoon
Aggie's House

Aggie chuckled at the joke about being a raen. "Y'never know. The Aggie you know probably wouldn't take in a 12-year-old," Aggie chuckled. "There's a reason I'm happy when parents pick up their kids. But Brent ain't got nowhere else to go and I sure as hell ain't sending him back to the factories. That's how he got here in the first place."

Aggie listened to Adam's spiel, then sat in silence for a few moments. Then she sucked her teeth and shook her head. "It's down in the root cellar and you're free to use it. Hell, I'll happily take money from you to rent it if you have it," she waved her hand. "As you can see, this place ain't getting any younger and I got a growing kid to take care of."

"But 2 shills a week is way too clocking much. I already got a Seventen checking in on me because I'm 'too clocking rich' for a human," Aggie said with a bitter laugh. "I own a clocking house, so I'm too fucking rich and a potential danger. How ridiculous is that? But they'll notice if I have more money or this place is getting renovations. Last thing we need is a nosy Seventen. There's gotta be another way to do things."

The fact that Aggie wasn't arguing because she felt she didn't need the money was a clear indication of how bad things had gotten. Aggie was prideful to the point of sometimes shooting herself in the foot, but she couldn't deny that feeding and clothing Brent on her slim income doing seamstress work and childcare was straining things badly. Soup that was more water than soup and plain bread didn't give a growing boy the nourishment he needed.

She sat for a few minutes, frowning in thought. "Hell, I think they'd notice if I get a new visitor visiting regularly. If we want to keep the mimeo here, we'll need to come up with a cover story for your visits," she said, tapping her fingers on the table. "The only other option I can think of would be to rent a warehouse to keep it in, but it'd be much more secure to keep it here. The Seventen haven't found the root cellar yet. It helps that the entrance is under the rug under this table," she said, slapping her hand on it lightly. "You'll get a good workout moving it," she laughed.

"Brent… He could be a good newsboy. I could see it," Aggie sighed. "He's young and undisciplined, but me and Lady Time are working on that. My only worry is that I'm not sure he's disciplined enough to be part of the business. He can't read, so he can always claim that he didn't know what he was delivering, but I don't know if he'd keep his mouth shut if he got caught," the elderly lady said, reaching up to rub her forehead.

"But I think he could be swayed to the cause. He got injured in a golly's fucking factory and saw a lot of bad shit going down there. I know he's got a lot of anger inside him over what happened, over the fact that kids are getting permanently disabled or even dying and nobody in power gives a shit. Poor thing's getting nightmares over it, though he pretends he doesn't," Aggie said. "Poor kid's a pain in my ass, but it breaks my heart to hear him crying."

She looked at Adam in thought. "How about you interview him? You don't have to tell him you're Resistance, but just that you're interested in telling the truth about the factories. That'd be a good way to gauge whether he'd be trustworthy, I think."
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Adam Spencer
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Sun May 05, 2019 5:06 pm

Painted Ladies • Anaxas/ Vienda
On the 20th of Intas, 2719 • Afternoon
I
f he couldn't pay Aggie two shills, at least he could bargain her down to one. That would be something. That would let her have actual soup, with things in it resembling meat and vegetables. It wasn't so much Brent that Adam was worried about -- kids found ways to survive. Instead, it was Agatha. But he would never tell her that, because he knew what her reaction would be.

"I'd like to keep the mimeograph here. Not just because I'm too lazy to move it -- you never know; i might surprise you -- but also because if we move it somewhere, we'd have to secure that place, so on and so forth. If it stays here, in your root cellar, then there's only one entrance to its location and one way out. Far fewer variables to worry about; far less concern to be shared beween us. I'm willing to let well enough alone if you're comfortable with having the thing here."

Adam spooned another portion of soup, listening, considering. There was a way to use Brent, for all of Aggie's uncertinty about the matter. He saw it clearly, as inspiration struck. "I'll hire him on at the Weekly, clear it with the bosses. That way he's delivering the fake newspaper, and we can decide if he's suited for the real one when it happens. That way, the fact that I'm coming and going from your house is perfetly fine. Who's going to disagree with that?"

He grimaced at Aggie's words about Brent, though, moving to take a sip of tea. "You'll have to give me details about that for the Gadfly at some point, you know. Or -- yes, of course. Brent could do."

Just as he said that, the boy returned, a loaf of bread in a paper sack in his hand. He'd squirreled away the candy before Aggie could take note of it, but he did toss Adam a conspiratorial smile, so the journalist knew he'd gotten it. Adam smiled back, the gesture loose and friendly, and let his spoon clink down into the bowl with a tiny discordant note.

"Hi, Brent. We didn't get properly introduced; I'm Mr. Spencer. Let's have a chat. I've been talking with Ms. Maplethorne about you, and I'd like to know some more about those factories." He grimaced, expecting a protest, and added quickly, "You may not know me, but I write for the Vienda Weekly. Ms. Agatha gives me recipes for her delicious cooking,"[/b he grinned a little insouciantly at the old woman as he said that, daring her to object, "and I avoid publishing them, because I'm too jealous to put them in the paper. But I want to write a more serious story, and I think you might be just the kid to help. Want to?"
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Agatha Maplethorne
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Tue Jun 11, 2019 1:17 pm

20 Intas 2719: Afternoon
Aggie's House

Aggie nodded at Adam's decision about the mimeograph. "Good, sound logic. I'm fine with keeping it here. We can take the table leaf out and that'll make the table a tidge easier to move," she said, rapping the extension that rested in the middle of the table. "Neighbor kids don't visit as much, since most of them are working nowadays."

Aggie couldn't keep the look of disgust off her face when she mentioned children having to work. Sure, it wasn't like things hadn't been that way throughout her life, but things had gotten worse over the course of her long life. When she was young, kids worked, but they worked in relatively safe jobs. She, herself, had started working as a cook's assistant when she was 7 and many in her family had worked as servants, where the worst injury was an ankle sprained while trying to dust the top of a painting. Nowadays, children, barely 5 years old, were chasing rats that bit them and left festering wounds, falling off roofs while attempting to sweep chimneys, or getting sick from having to pick up trash and animal crap left behind as people traveled through their days. And, even worse, Brent had told her the stories about the factory orphanages forcing children to work as soon as they could take orders, as young as 4 or 5.

She had always believed in the Resistance, but her resolve to overthrow the gollies had only gotten stronger as she aged and saw the world get worse and worse. The damn gollies gathered massive amounts of wealth while the humans and wicks sent their children off to work just so the family could both afford a roof over their head and bread to fill stomachs aching with hunger.

It was disgusting, and it had to stop.

Aggie smiled brightly at Adam's idea. "That's perfect! And much easier than trying to pass you off as a long lost relative, which was my idea," she laughed. "I think it'd be good for Brent too. He needs something to do that's not going to risk his life."

The elderly lady smiled at Brent as he came back from his little shopping trip. "Thank you, dear," she said as Brent handed her the bread. "Oh, and it's still warm! Good, good."

Aggie bit her lip for a split second when Adam mentioned the factories. She knew that the boy didn't like talking about the things he had seen. But she also knew that he needed to talk about them.

The boy's face darkened some at the question and he ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair. His eyes had a sadness in them that no child should have, even if that child was on the cusp of being a teenager. "Those places are bad, Mr. Spencer. I seen things that would make you have nightmares," he said quietly as he grabbed the loaf of bread from Aggie and moved over to the counter. It was clear he needed something to do to distract himself from the memories.

The boy cut off a piece for everyone at the table, ladled himself out a bowl of soup, and sat down to eat. He kept silent the whole time, obviously thinking about what Adam had said. Aggie let the silence grow, knowing the boy would speak when he was ready.

When he spoke, his voice was full of bitterness. "Why do you want to write a story like that?" he snapped out. "It's not like the gollies that run things will put it in the paper. And, even if they did, it wouldn't change anything." The boy slammed his spoon into his soup, splashing some of it on the table. "We're trash to them, you know," he said, his voice tight with rage. "That ain't ever going to change, no matter how many stories you write."

Aggie was taken aback by the boy's anger. She knew it made perfect sense for him to be so angry, but he had never expressed anything more than sadness to her. Perhaps he felt like he had to protect her because of her age. He didn't know of her past in the Resistance, so maybe he thought she had accepted her lot in life. But, for whatever reason, Adam's question seemed to open a dam of emotion that had been bubbling under the surface. Aggie couldn't help but be a bit relieved, even if she was startled by how angry Brent was.

Perhaps the boy was ready for the Resistance. Of course, she and Adam would have to carefully shape and direct that anger, to ensure it didn't become violence. The two of them knew that the Resistance was lopsided, focused on violence and ignoring the fact that the masses didn't support them. It was as if Serro thought that, if they killed enough people, it would turn the tides and the masses would suddenly support them. But, in Aggie's long experience, that wasn't the way things worked. And when the newspapers blamed the Resistance for small dangerous events like a mugging or murder and big events like the riots, it was harder to convince the populace that they would be better off if the gollies weren't in control.

The elderly lady gave Adam a look, one that said volumes. "Should you tell him or should I?" it asked. She suspected that it would come easier from Adam, but she didn't want to push Adam into that position if he didn't think it was wise.
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