[[ooc: you can totally treat this as a party post. if you see someone you know and want to go up to them, threadhop at your leisure!]]Chicago, the break is not stopping. There have been a string of losses and they've been keenly felt throughout the city. There are ghosts on everyone's faces and soon enough they'll overpower them unless something is
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He's also keeping himself awake with coffee, like usual. And keeping himself calmer with a cigarette, at the moment, even if he doesn't particularly like them much. They just help the itching in his shoulderblades stay at bearable levels.
He stops in front of Phoebe's chair, giving her sign a headtilt as he reads it. He's completely serious as he does, but his expression looks like it could break out into a smile at any moment anyway. "A noble endeavor," he says.
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She can't not ask and do things the way she'd do them.
Phoebe manages to crack a smile. It's tiny, threatening to dissolve despite the brave attempt to hold it in place. "Thank ye," she says, standing up from the armchair. "I kind of fail at doing anything else. Besides, sometimes a hug makes everything a little bit better. Kind of like an emotional Heimlich!"
She's proud for knowing that word. It's a big word.
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"That's an interesting way of putting it," he says. "I suppose you'd have to have pretty powerful hugs, then, wouldn't you?"
He wanders closer, taking another drag on the cigarette and then another sip of the coffee -- the coffee is kind of like a weird chaser for the taste of the cigarette -- and leaning on the arm of her chair. "And I wouldn't say that emotional caretaking of strangers is a small endeavor, by the way." He certainly fails at it; hell, he fails at taking care of those who aren't strangers.
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She giggles a little, shaking her head. "Hey, man. Angel strength can help me with that!"
It's a pretty lame joke, but she's not in the best frame of mind.
"You're not missing anybody, are you?" Phoebe asks with wide-eyed concern.
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It's really not something she can participate in, but...
She'll be damned if she doesn't support her friend's efforts. That's what being a friend is about, right? And, it's part of being a community, too, she reckons. True, this community seems to be kinda violent and wild and all, but she's mostly accustomed to that.
So, before going to the park, Rogue stops by the corner store and picks up several of bags of candy.
When she reaches the park, she calls out Phoebe's name and a "Think fast" before tossing the girl a bag of Hershey's Kisses and Hugs.
She nods toward the sign. "I like your idea, Phoebe." She really really does.
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Phoebe grins at the sight of her good friend, catching the bag and walking up to the other girl. "Thanks! It seemed kind of lame when I was writing it but...I know a lot of people are gonna need support."
So many disappeared. So many were taken. Some were even killed. That's how Chicago works, in a way.
Right now is not the time to think about it. It's the time to be with people and try to make it a little bit better for them.
"Are you and your peeps good?"
Which is to say, please don't tell me someone you love disappeared, too.
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She thinks it's one of those loving things that folks like Phoebe just can do and that the world should be grateful for.
Not everyone would've thought of this.
'Are you and your peeps good?'
Rogue thinks of Wes and Danny and nods, grateful she's able to say yes. "Well, now that I can see you, I can say f'sure that yeah, my peeps are good." You're totally one of Rogue's 'peeps', Phoebe.
The question is slightly hesitant, but the concern is genuine. "What about you? You doin' okay?"
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Her own throat clogs for a bit when Rogue calls Phoebe one of her own. Rogue is one of Phoebe's own so this works out perfectly.
Her smile widens a fraction, and it's sincere, even if it hurts.
"I'm okay," she admits. "Worried about everyone else. Worried about Xander, mostly."
Okay, so she's worried about everyone but Xander's the one making her flail in her head because he lost Buffy, Tay, and Willow in one fell swoop.
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He is more than pleased to come out to her 'Hug Day', though he plans on offering support in the means of a smile and a thoughtful pat on the head back.
Alfred was unsuccessful in persuading Master Bruce to join him in meeting everyone at the park. He feels it is important, however, to come out, and so he has.
"Miss Donovan," he says with a smile, "what a pleasure it is to see you again."
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She thinks of him often, the way he tends to the kitchen at the Conrad and the way he always listens to her even if she sounds insane half the time.
Alfred may only give her a thoughtful pat, but Phoebe's gonna wrap her arms around Alfred's waist and hug him tightly.
"I'm real glad you're still here, Mr. Pennyworth," she whispers, and she is. She really, really is.
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When she wraps her arms around his waist, he does the only thing he can do. Alfred hugs her back, much as he's done with Bruce, when he was a child, and Rachel. It's a simple thing, to offer comfort and love, and it's an important thing. It's comfort and it's support.
She's welcome to hold on as long as she likes.
"I'm very glad we both are," he says quietly. He is very happy that Phoebe is all right. He's happy so many that he cares about are all right. His heart aches for those lost, but he can find joy in those that remain. "It may not be my place to say so," he says, quieter still, "but I am very proud of you. You've done a wonderful thing today for everyone."
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Hugging him a little tighter to her before releasing him, Phoebe lets out a laugh and wipes at her cheeks.
"I think if anyone would have a place it would be you, Mr. Pennyworth. Are you and your loved ones okay?"
She chews her bottom lip. He seems fine so she is assuming they are. She can't really bear the thought of so much loss.
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PROMOTIONAL EVENT - TODAY ONLY!
FREE COFFEE
FREE HOT CHOCOLATE
FREE ITALIAN SODA
~THE COFFEE SHOP~
and Dmitri steps around her station to offer a hug.
"Good old Chicago," she says. Actually, it sounds a little fond.
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Phoebe hugs Dmitri giddily, staring at the coffee carts in utter fascination.
The coffee beckons others that are passing by, and soon enough there's a respectable line forming.
Phoebe turns to the woman, her mouth shaped into a perfect O.
"You are a goddess," she proclaims.
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Yes. The cling is something she needs, right now. A lot of good, old friends just vanished on her, and while goddamnit she is going to handle this like a Chicagoan, nothing says Chicagoans can't cling. Chicagoans get to cling all the harder.
When she does break away, she plants herself between the coffee cart and the chair, ready to hug. "Minor deity at best," she says, flashing Phoebe a grin. "Possibly a patron saint. Possibly the Patron Saint of Coffee Carts, Wanderer Solidarity, and Not Falling Off Ledges."
The barista glances up at that, shaking her head. "I keep wanting to say she's the weirdest person I've ever known, but I live in Chicago," she says.
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Phoebe kind of remembers what it was like to hug her mother. It's a distant memory, a fading lullaby, and she hates she can't remember as well.
Her eyes sting, but only for a moment. Then it's gone, and the moment becomes another one.
"Have you ever considered making that a t-shirt?" Phoebe asks, following Dimitri to the cart. "Because it'd look pretty nifty."
Phoebe looks over to the barista and grins. "I think you're just jealous."
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Jo hadn't read the journal entry. She hasn't read any of the journal entries because no one's really told her about the journal network and so she hasn't noticed her own.
She knew some shit was going down because it was blatantly obvious and she's not a dense cookie. All one had to do was walk out the street and see the heavy warring ghosts people wore on their faces.
She's seen that kind of look before, even if the situations have been different. It makes her throat clog in an unpleasant way, though something about everyone rallying up together--even if it's for something like a hug--is something Jo can respect.
Right now she's just gonna...stare at the sign. And stare some more.
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He's been in Chicago a long time. In theory, he'd be used to something like this. In theory, he'd have checked his whole journal, not just the first entry or so, and seen what the heck was going on. But maybe he's just come to expect the worst from Chicago.
He looks around again and sees Jo. And points.
"Is this for real?" he asks. Just to make sure.
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"Looks like it," Jo answers, sticking her hands in her pockets. "As for the why or how of it, not a clue. I just got here."
Well, it's been a few weeks but still.
Surprisingly, it's felt a lot longer than that. Oh, Chicago, how you break them.
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He eyes the coffee, and then glances once again at Jo. "What do you think the odds are that the coffee is poisoned?" he asks, before realizing that perhaps that is not the best way to hold a conversation.
"I'm sorry. Uh. When you meant you got 'here' did you mean here as in this very spot, or..." Because it totally matters. If she just got here as in this very spot, well, good luck escaping the nice men in the white coats, Vaughn. But if she got HERE as in Chicago, then he's safe because even when you've only been here a short while, you realize how crazyweirddangerous the city really is.
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