From now on, I do more than survive.
[OOC: This is Luke's last post where he's not dying. The dying post comes on the 30th of March. This is your warning if you want your character to interact with him. Holy mug, he's been here since the start. Fff.]
Luke Roberts is going to die soon. All the drugs in this world cannot save him. He's never had much of an immune system. The life that ( Read more... )
Luke Roberts is going to die soon. All the drugs in this world cannot save him. He's never had much of an immune system. The life that ( Read more... )
After an hour or so she decides she needs to take a break. She sits on the bench next to Luke's, breathless with laughter.
When she turns to him, she notices the stranger doesn't look too good.
"You okay there, cutie?"
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He's glad he came here, even if it means in the end that he has less time.
"I'm okay. Just wanted to get fresh air. I don't get the chance to get out much anymore. Like I used to," he says, pushing past the pain and looking out into the park. "Always plenty to see outside. In a city like this, yeah?"
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She can also tell he really wants to be here so she crosses her legs and laughs at his own observation.
"Oh, man. Seriously. Rag on Chicago all you want--and hey, there are plenty of reasons, right?--but one thing you can't deny is it' s never boring. City always seems to be alive like that."
No matter what the hour. Glancing back at him, she gives another tiny grin. "I'm Phoebe."
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"There are more than enough reasons," he agrees. The smile turns softer. "I've lived here for awhile. You end up seeing a lot here, yeah? Things you never imagined. It's always... exciting. Never a dull moment."
He watches a rather odd gentleman walk in front of them on the sidewalk.
"I'm Luke." And his smile brightens again. "It's nice to meet you, Phoebe. Come to the park a lot? 've always loved it here."
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It's more the point that he looks tired and he looks like he needs this, and who is she to press for something that he doesn't want to give?
Phoebe's simple like that sometimes.
"I've lived here..." Phoebe sighs, her voice trailing as she thinks about it. "Man, nearly my whole life. My family lived in like, a small town on the outskirts of Chicago but we moved here cause my dad was all ooh, rift activity. Or something."
Phoebe watches the old gentleman along with Luke, before turning to him again thoughtfully.
"Hiya, Luke! I spend lots of time here. I like meeting people. And sometimes you see a lot of Wanderers pop up around here who always need some help and that's cool, too. Plus, there's an area over there--"
Phoebe points at it, giving him a devious grin. "It's perfect for playing Twister."
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"Ooh, rift activity?" He laughs softly, trying to imaging it. His family thought the whole lot of it wasn't to be trusted. "Yeah, my parents shipped me off to this city when I was fifteen. Flew all the way from New Zealand. And yeah, my arms were exhausted."
He is in a good mood, which is evident by his cracking stupid jokes.
"You've played Twister out here? I bet that must have gotten you some funny looks, yeah?" Luke sends her an amused smile. "Would've joined you if I ever saw you out here."
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"New Zealand! That's far away." She wrinkles her nose, head tilted to the side thoughtfully. "You ever miss it?"
At his question, she huffs out a laugh. "Of course I got funny looks. But they're mostly boring people who would be trying out the exact same thing if they didn't care what people think about them."
Since Phoebe very clearly does not care what most people think about her, this means she's played Twister often.
"Hey, you never know, Luke! I'm here with that mat often. Maybe you can catch me next time."
She grins brighter, before settling back on the bench, inching a bit closer so she doesn't have to practically shout.
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Literally.
The narration apologizes for making horrible jokes about her own character in his last post.
"It's best not to care what people think of you," Luke tells her, still smiling. "I bet those same people secretly admire you for it. Sometimes I struggle with it myself. Always did live to love."
He's almost talking about himself in the past tense. Almost. It's scary. The scariness reaches a new level when she says those next words.
Maybe you can catch me next timeIt hits him hard in the chest, painfully. Luke looks forward, swallowing thickly. It's terror like ice in his chest. He hates that he's getting to know someone when this is likely the only time he'll meet her. Well, she doesn't have to know that he died ( ... )
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She doesn't miss the old, creaking house with the bent mailbox and the tinted windows that never let her see out the street.
It was a house with four walls and more noise than it knew what to do with.
She misses her brother Teddy sometimes, maybe. But she doesn't let herself miss things often or she'd miss her brothers and Jo a lot more.
Oh, Luke.
The narration is wibbling forever here, just so the fellow narration knows.
She remains quiet when he agrees and he looks like he's gonna cry. Phoebe doesn't know why she feels like she wants to cry, too. Maybe because Chicago doesn't give happiness to a whole lot of people, and it always ends a certain way.
"Awesome," she says quietly, whether it happens or not. Maybe he just needs to hear it. "Either way, we've got today, right? Today's beautiful."
Sometimes she gets it.
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She wonders if the people are there to make them stay in Chicago. Otherwise, they never would.
Phoebe grins a bit bashfully, a hand wrapping around his middle and pressing for just a moment.
She's a very tactile person.
She's not going to be scared away by a sign of affection, and that's clearly what it is.
"Thanks, Luke," she says, with a little laugh, because she's not sure what she's thanking him for.
Except now, Phoebe can say she met a boy named Luke who hugged her without her having to ask, without her having to hug first.
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