BLOOD AT THE ROOT [ weekly task ]

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[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]Marco had never actually been trick-or-treating before, nor had he really taken part in the festivities of Halloween itself. It was more of an American thing, and he assumed the tradition had long since died out after the power outage, because when he came here some four or five years ago, it wasn’t as big a deal as he had inferred from the stories his friends told.

In his old home, there had been one or two small parties revolving around it, but they weren’t anything to write home about. It was mostly kids his age trying to find a reason to have some fun in an otherwise bland, bleak situation.

The concept of trick-or-treating is strange to him. Why would anyone accept candy from a stranger? It could be tainted or poisoned … or just downright nasty. Maybe if it were something more nutritious, he wouldn’t be so creeped out by the idea, but candy couldn’t even be counted as a snack, let alone a meal. It’s just congealed sugar.

Which is why Marco has filled his basket with real food instead of candy. It’s mostly fruit, which he assumes is sweet enough, meat, etc. He doesn’t know what he was supposed to put in the basket, really, if the people of the Badlands preferred real food or shitty, empty-calorie sweets, but so far he’s gotten mixed reactions from all of the people he’s visited so far.

He’s made it about … oh, a quarter down the block. Marco’s tripped one too many times for his liking, and by now he can barely keep himself upright, even with the help of a branch serving as a makeshift cane. So now he sits on the front steps of some old decrepit house, absentmindedly fiddling with loose weaves on the basket. He supposes he’ll just wait for someone to walk by, at least until he can recollect himself and get walking again. He admits, this is rather boring. He’d rather be doing … well, not this.

[capt. salem]

LIES A THOUSAND HORRIFYING MEMORIES | | |

This was Salem's first Halloween on land since he was a kid, so perhaps it held a bit more meaning to him than most. He remembered spending hours walking up and down crowded blocks with his brother, sometimes their mother trailing behind but as they got older she'd just let his brother keep an eye on him while they trick or treated. The candy wasn't good for them and Salem always ate too much, but now those had become fond memories of an easier time.

So yeah, maybe just a little bit he wanted to see these mopey people lighten up and enjoy the season. Every holiday might be their last anyways; who knew if he'd survive until next Halloween? He probably wouldn't, if he was to be honest with himself.

Marco probably would however, if Olga had anything to do with it. She seemed to have a weird relationship to him; Salem would say it's like a mother and a rebellious teenager, except Marco was an adult and Salem wasn't entirely certain he knew what was happening most of the time.

Frankly, he wasn't sure what he expected Marco to be doing for his task. He'd half anticipated someone to help the poor guy, but it seemed like he was acting independently to get it done; Salem could commend his drive, though he couldn't really speak for Marco's stamina as he noticed the long-haired man sitting on the steps of some abandoned old house.

"That's the irony of it, usually people would harass you to get candy and not the opposite." Salem commented, standing a few feet away on the overgrown pathway.

[justify]I feel the unbearable weight, [abbr=Goes by Salem or Monty | He/Him or They/Them Pronouns | 28yrs Old | 6'3"| Officer of the Badlands | Former pirate captain | Sexuality is a unlabeled free for all, romance is questioning]&[/abbr]
I sense the ripping of my shame, [abbr=Medium-Hard Physically | Hard Mentally | Attacks with whip, scimitar or revolver | Open to capture and maim if requested / discussed prior | Not open for death | Difficult but not impossible to defeat or subdue]&[/abbr]
I hear the sigh of indifference [abbr=Guy Fieri aesthetic | Neck-length dull brownish-grey hair | Bright green eyes | Three piercings on both ears (two on top cartilage, one large on lobe), and a lip piercing | Scruffy beard starting to grow in | Both pinky fingers cut off]&[/abbr]
(IC Opinions)[/justify]

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[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]Marco also doesn’t know what he’s doing for this task! Cool, they’re on the same page.

He still doesn’t understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. What’s so special about Halloween? It used to be some corporate American holiday, but now that there’s no markets or money, what’s the point of participating anymore? He supposes people just like the thrill of haunted houses and spooky costumes and being scared shitless, but every day is scary for Marco, so the fun of spooky season is lost on him. He just can’t wrap his mind around it.

(Then again, to be fair, he can’t wrap his mind around much of anything anymore.)

Marco shoves his hand into the basket and takes a bite out of an apple. He wishes he hadn’t taken up this task. It’s boring and confusing and his legs hurt too much.

“Why?” he asks. “What’s so special?” Not only that, people seem a little disappointed, if not downright angry, that all he has to offer them is real food and not candy … not that he was able to find any of it in the first place (or at least nothing 20 years past the expiration date.) He supposes he could make his own candy, but that’s time-consuming and requires a certain set of skills he just doesn’t have.

Marco misses his violin. He’d rather be fussing with that, trying to will his arms to move well enough to play, rather than trying to hand out snacks to the general population.

“... here,” he offers, outstretching his basket of food for Salem to take and grab whatever the hell he wants.

[CATALYST]

[align=center]

﹝[abbr=don't look back]♢[/abbr]﹞

Trick-or-treating. One of the few times they could get out and not be constantly harassed by the older kids, since their mother was usually with them. Instead interactions were always passive aggressive, casually promising more when she wasn't around and god so help Cat if Molly turned her back on them.

But she was a good mother, and it almost became a tradition for her to scold the neighborhood kids - sometimes even in front of their parents. Their house usually was covered in toilet paper in the morning, which never failed to piss her off not because of the mess but because of the absolute waste. Didn't those little shits know that there was a decidedly finite amount of toilet paper left in the world? Sheesh.

They had never been one to pass up candy. What kid was? But then, they'd eat just about anything. That still held true. Fruit? Sounds great, so what if it wasn't chocolate? This was the fucking apocalypse, they couldn't be picky.

Cat arrived as Olga was asking him why he couldn't have made cookies. "Take your fugging pick, there's no shortage of reasons." They shoved their hands in their pockets. "Mad you can't rot out your teeth?" The world's overall dental hygiene quality had gone to shit, but Cat still took care of their teeth. They weren't getting another set, after all.

[spoiler=IF YOU DONT KNOW NOW YOU KNOW && INFO && 10/14/19]GENERAL  welcome to the end of eras, ice has melted back to life
⇥ Given name is Scott Mathew Darrow ⇥ Alias is Catalyst
⇥ Will accept Cat or Catalyst from anyone, Scott only from family
⇥ Assigned male at birth ⇥ Agender ⇥ They/Them pronouns only
⇥ Twenty-one ⇥ Born 11/27/17 ⇥ Sagittarius ⇥ Real time aging
⇥ Boss (leader) of the Badlands ⇥ Ex prisoner of the Badlands
⇥ Ex cultist (Mourningstar) ⇥ Ex member of the Young Rogues

RECENT EVENTS  done my time and served my sentence
⇥ 09/02/39 ⇥ Returned from vacation
⇥ 08/23/39 ⇥ Went on vacation with Gavril
⇥ 08/21/39 ⇥ Oversaw their parents' vow renewal

APPEARANCE  dress me up and watch me die
⇥ Catalyst is 6'2" tall; they possess a lean and muscular body, one that has a variety of old scars adorning it. One of the easiest to notice is one that stretches down their right cheek. While not a scar, one very notable marking on their chest is the "BL" brand. They have two piercings, one in their tongue and the other in the cartilage of their left ear. They typically dress in dark colors (favoring jackets with some sort of writing on the back), and their hair is black. They're not all dark, however, as they have pale blue eyes that peer out from beneath medium-sized eyebrows.

PERSONALITY  if it feels good, tastes good, it must be mine
⇥ Catalyst is ambitious, with the cunning and ruthlessness to reach their goals by any means necessary. They can be brutal when they feel it is needed, however when it's not they won't bother. They tend to be rather aloof and apathetic to most things and people, with some very rare exceptions. Provided those around them don't cross a few specific lines, they're content to leave them be, though they've been known to take an interest in some people, which seldom has a positive end for whoever their interest is in. They can be manipulative, and will often encourage people to make bad decisions. Those that stick by them will be rewarded, but those that do not will be cast out, as they've been outcast for their entire life and have learned to appreciate loyalty wherever they can find it. Even during the most stressful of situations, they usually keep a firm grip on their temper and keep their calm, though when they do snap and lose their temper, it is uncontrollable. They're remarkably observant, often able to deign much from subtle clues in what people say, how they say it and how they act.

RELATIONS  dynasty decapitated, you just might see a ghost tonight
⇥ Molly Darrow x Austin Darrow ⇥ No biological siblings
⇥ Adopted parent of Molly Valentina Darrow-Lupei (Mo)
⇥ Pansexual/Panromantic ⇥ Very much taken by Gavril Lupei
⇥ Not looking but it happened ⇥ Rarely forms romantic attachment
⇥ Holds most people at arms length and doesn't get close

INTERACTION  i'm taking back the c r o w n
⇥ Hard physically ⇥ Hard mentally ⇥ Doesn't let their guard down
⇥ Is most comfortable with close ranged-weapons ⇥ Dislikes guns
⇥ Brass knuckles ⇥ A variety of knives ⇥ Carries a handgun
⇥ Will kill/capture/maim in certain circumstances
⇥ Will leave things be in others ⇥ Will start & finish fights
⇥ No kill/capture/maim without permission
⇥ Attack in bold #0d0d0d and tag @/Bryne
⇥ Peaceful powerplay allowed but they may react negatively
⇥ Dislikes almost any sort of touch unless they initiate or agree to it
[/spoiler]

[DoI]

[align=center][div style="width: 390px; text-align: justify;"]jaque had never been allowed to eat sweets- not often, anyways. that wasn't something that his mother had liked, always insisting it would make him ill if he had too much, and quickly evolving to only having a small cube of chocolate or a lollipop he was given on his birthday by annalise. if she could find any, that is. fruit wasn't something he ate often either, mostly just eating random herbs or animals he had hunted, and fruit was a rare treat these days- to him, at least.

but he didn't trust the food that marco was giving out. he could've poisoned it, or maybe it was a distraction for something else, jaque bet he knew what he did and his was his old groups way of getting rid of him. then again, he was hungry, and the fruit did look very good.. "do you-" his voice sounded like it was being ripped from his throat. it always did. he cleared his throat awkwardly, hating the raw feeling that it brought.

"do you have any peaches?" he loved peaches. if he could, that would be all he ever ate, but he was sure that peaches were more of a luxury than meat was, only to be eaten on special occasions.. maybe it was a special occasion, why else would someone be passing out food to anyone who showed up? god, peaches sounded amazing.

[body.]

[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]
[cw brief mention of abortion]

If Olga were his mother, he would have aborted himself in the womb. When it comes to matronly figures, she would be the last person to ever come to mind. In fact, he wouldn’t even consider her. She’s so … brash and irritating, he feels bad if she ever did have any children. Oh, those poor kids. They might as well be just as messed up as him--if she had been his mother, there wouldn’t have been any need to strangle him, since a minimum of 18 years spent with her would most likely have given him debilitating brain damage already.

Speaking of, Olga’s presence is enough to make Marco scrunch up his face as if he’s smelled something foul. In fact, he goes so far as to pluck the apple she touched from the bunch--the only red one among its kind--and toss it into the street. It doesn’t make it very far. Instead of throwing it, rather, he kind of just … drops it before he can fully extend his arm. It’s clear how much he struggles to do even that. Even so, his point still stands. "Ugh, ve--vete a la mierda..." He cannot stress how much he just does not want to see her.

Catalyst, as intimidating as they are, is a much more welcome sight than Olga. In fact, Marco is somewhat overjoyed to have someone else to focus on. At least they’re nice to him.

He nudges the basket once more, this time in their direction, in the hopes that they’ll take their pick … please, someone take an apple. Marco doesn’t know what he’ll do with all this fruit. Sure, he likes apples as much as the next guy, but after five or six it’s just kind of gross.

“I’ll look,” he mumbles, rummaging through the basket in search of a peach. He doesn’t remember what he packed in there other than apples and about one slice of mystery meat--which, honestly, he’s hoping nobody takes, as he’s craving something dead and right about now it’s starting to look like the most appetizing thing.

There it is--one singular bruised peach, hidden conveniently at the bottom of his basket, ripe for the taking. “Here.” He holds it out with one hand while using the other to adjust everything else to sit evenly in his basket. “Only one.”