(Untitled)

[bitingmybullet]

Money doesn't mean all that much, these days. It's not so surprising, when you think about it: You can't eat money. It won't power your car or generator. It is no use whatsoever as a bludgeoning tool against armies of the undead. So if you're looking to get yourself some food or supplies, you'd better not have money; what you need is something to

Comments

[undermyheel]

In a new post-apocalyptic world, the word 'micromanaging' has lost most of its WASP significance. Instead, micromanaging means that Claire Pullman gets exactly what Claire Pullman wants. Even at exchanges so close to human territory.

Walking through the crowd, she tries not to let her coat touch anything.

[k_gabriel]

Karla's read both the books she had when she came to Chicago.

Which means it's time to trade them for new ones.

She's browsing a rack of paperbacks in varying condition, and hasn't noticed Claire's presence yet.

[undermyheel]

Claire glances over, tilts her head, to watch.

Books. It's interesting the bookworms she's picked up recently.

"Looking for anything in particular?" she asks, just barely inside Karla's personal bubble.

[k_gabriel]

>:O!! Personal space!

Karla glances sidelong at her as she replaces one book and picks up another.

"Anything I haven't read already."

She eyes the book she just picked up--it's one of those romance novels with an extravagant cover, complete with a swooning heroine failing to keep her dress on.

"...Anything I haven't read that's worth reading."

[k_gabriel]

The last time Karla actually went to an exchange instead of just scavenging was a floating market rigged up on some barges along the Mississippi, somewhere in Missouri.

It's been a while since she saw this much stuff in this good condition, in one place.

She's got her backpack slung over one shoulder, filled with whatever she has that's maybe worth trading, and that she's willing to part with.

Between those two qualifications, there's not much.

[bigdamnboots]

It's hard to feel tough in a toga, even with the combat boots. Vanessa has her bag and is prepared to trade almost anything just to get some damn pants already.

...but the irritation is fading in a shopping environment. Shopping!

[undermyheel]

Claire is not quiet, but in the bustle of the exchange, the yelling, the breaking, she might as well be.

Glancing over, she smirks.

"Cherry," she says.

[bigdamnboots]

"Cherry?" Vanessa repeats, not really sure she's hearing correctly.

She's not sure if the redness is embarrassment or anger. Happens a lot lately.

[undermyheel]

"How are you doing?" Claire asks. "Last time we talked, cherry, you were so new."

And there were zombies. Zombies ruin a coversation like wo.

[bass_line_blues]

Preston usually has a hard time exchanging things for clothes. Everything else always seems so much more useful; and besides, if you can get through the zombie gauntlet down to UChicago, everything there is free.

But spares are needed, and so today he's casting a grudging eye towards the used-clothing stalls that have invaded the former Gap.

[k_gabriel]

"Looking for anything in particular?"

Clothes tend to be pretty low on Karla's priority list (under food, CDs, guitar strings, and books, in that order), but a few of the things she has are getting to the "literally falling to pieces" stage.

[bass_line_blues]

"Spare clothes for the club," Preston says - a little ruefully.

"Just want to make sure that Gwen'll have some that actually fit me."

Not that Gwen doesn't know Preston's size, but . . . he did piss her off yesterday. And practical jokes involving clothing are not unknown at the Wasteland thus far.

"You?"

[k_gabriel]

Karla shrugs.

"Anything that's not coming apart at the seams wouldn't hurt."

She moves forward a little, picking up a t-shirt with a considering look.

It's in pretty good condition. It's also very plain and black.

[localhandywolf]

There are such things as werewolf grace and werewolf sense of smell, and there are such things as trying to find a goddamn guitar.

As such, Armand nearly doesn't notice Michael. But it's all right, because then he does and grins and says,

"Yo, Michael!"

[localhandywolf]

Armand gets that, gets the meant to be respectful. He's a pain the arse, but he isn't stupid.

Besides.

Pack.

"Having fun?" He asks in a softer voice once he makes his way over.