whatmatters | ♖ IC inbox [SANCTUM]

H-hey. Ringer. Sorry I kinda dropped off the face of the earth the last couple of days. It's been--so how are you? How's the injury?

What's wrong?

What? No. I'm asking about you. How are you? How's the injury?

I'm fine. How are you? Is Whiskey okay?

Good. I'm good. Whiskey is fine. Tried to go back to work like three days ago. Still couldn't talk though. [And he hasn't seen him since.]

I'll visit him.

Can I come see you?

Had to relocate. But I'll come to you. You did just get shot a few days ago. Where are you?

[There's a deliberate pause.]

I can meet you on base.

Ah fuck. I forgot about work. Uh. That might not be the best place to meet. The place we camped out in district two?

[Ringer sighs a little. It takes effort to save her questions until they're face-to-face.]

I'm in District Four. I can be there in about.. twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes... [Yeah, he hears that sigh, but he's not going to address it right now. And there's some shuffling as he moves about.]

Okay. Twenty minutes.

[Ringer arrives in just under twenty minutes to the area, wondering where FDR went, what being relocated means, and why he seems to have forgotten about work. She almost invited him to visit her at Alpha's, she was so worried, but this was easier and probably safer. Alpha liked his privacy, after all, and not many knew about his house in District Four.

She tugs at her backpack and tosses her hair back over her shoulder. Yeah, she was shot only a few days ago, but the wound is already entirely healed. There's only a faint line of a scar that she was told would disappear in a few more days' time to as evidence of her trauma. Ringer tries to be tough, but every once in awhile she succumbs to the fear of her situation - and this place is nothing but reasons to be afraid in context.

At least she's developing some friendships, for whatever they're worth. Anchors to hold her, tethers to keep her grounded, reasons to lose herself when they inevitably die. Because they always do. But she pushes all that aside, because FDR's situation is more important right now, whatever it is.]

[He's there just a few minutes later, and he doesn't exactly look his best. There's a pallor to his skin, a glow that just isn't there anymore, and pants that hang off of him just a tad looser than they had before the riots started. He's dressed simpler too, blue jeans with a bloody stain on the pants, a white t-shirt.

But there's a smile when he sees Ringer, a casual two fingered wave until he's close enough to actually talk to her.]

Man, it's good to see you up and about. Looking good.

[She immediately frowns and his smile does little to alleviate her concerns. Like Zombie, FDR is the type to smile even when the worst is happening. While he doesn't necessarily look the worst she's ever seen him - physically yes, but not emotionally - he's definitely not doing well. For her own part, Ringer actually looks more well rested than she has in weeks. The benefit of finally caving and sleeping in a safe place.]

What's wrong with you? [She asks levelly, almost offhandedly. It's not an accusation as to his behavior, but a sincere question of what is wrong with him, what's going on and why he looks the way he does.]

[He could make some shit up. He's good at that. But Ringer's good at seeing through it. And she asked him not to lie to her. And he's trying, trying this honest friendship thing. It's new to him. While he was open with Tuck, he wasn't always honest with him.]

Nothing. I'm fine now. I am, really. Just feels like a lingering hangover.

[Ringer looks at him, listens to his reply, and her brows pull together with both skepticism and concern. The girl crosses her arms, silently, debating between wanting to know what happened to him and letting it be enough that she believes him now. Finally, she sighs and shakes her head a little, giving up on willing disclosure. As much as she's curious to know, she tries not to pry when she can stand to do so.]

Can I help?

[He waits. He's not sure whether she'll let it go or demand more. He'd rather not tell her. Not for any other reason than he hates looking weak. And he had been. He had crashed because he had refused to quit.]

Just picking up the pieces now. My place in D4 got trashed. What about you? Why the hell couldn't we meet at your place, Ringer? What's going on with you?

[She's not surprised when he doesn't offer to fill in the blanks, but that he turns around and asks her for her own details is less than thrilling. Ringer will oblige because she has no reason not to. He's seen her at her weakest already and is apparently still around. As long as he doesn't take to playing overprotective big brother, they'll be fine.]

I wasn't at home. I think there's a spare room in my house if you need a place to stay. I'll find out and let you know. [She shrugs to show that the whole situation doesn't matter. Which it does, or she wouldn't shrug.]

Wait-what? [She thinks there's one. She'll find out.

She hasn't been home.]

Where are you staying?

I'm going home after we talk. "Home." [She adds some air quotes at the repeat of the word. Nothing is home anymore, even back in her own world. The closest she can come is being around the people she cares about, the ones who care about her. That's why she stayed elsewhere.]

I stayed on base during the riots, then with a friend. Where were you? [She gives him a pointed look. Ringer doesn't owe him any answers and, while she'll give the ones she feels like, the lack of reciprocation is noted.]

[There's an understanding nod. Home. Yeah. He gets it. He was never emotionally attached to any location. A bed was a bed. But after his place in D4 got trashed, he definitely felt a little violated.]

I was working. [And she reads into the fact that he didn't stay anywhere during the riots, that he didn't stop, well, then there's not much he can do about it. He could lie. But he doesn't feel like lying. Not right now. Not to Ringer. Evasive however, well, it's hard to kill every old habit immediately.] My place got trashed, hole where one of my walls used to be. So I'm staying at a friend's extra place until my house is built.

[She listens and accepts his answers. FDR's working himself too hard and now he's staying with a friend. As fucked up as they might both be, at least they seem to be pretty good at taking care of themselves when it really matters. That's worth enough that she's not going to worry too much. Ringer has spent enough of her life already mothering her own father; she doesn't need friends that require the same.]

With Whiskey? [He has other friends, she has no doubt, but the vague comments she caught while half delirious make her wonder at FDR's and Whiskey's relationship. It's a subtle way of asking for details without overt prying.]

With Whiske-no. [and he shook his head, a little surprised to hear that question come from Ringer.] He's got a house full of people I've never met. Not exactly the ideal sleeping environment. a friend in District One, Juliett. She's got an empty place she's letting me stay.

[There, now it's fair game for him to ask, right?] Are you staying with Alpha?

[Ringer makes a face at his mention of Juliett. She can't help it. Last she heard, the woman was being taken in by Compliance. And it was Alpha telling her about it, her boss who had a too-sad cadence in his voice for his relationship with the other Callsign to be strictly professional. She suppresses the surprised and slightly disapproving expression away, replaced with only mild surprise at his question.]

I was. [A beat.] Are you spying on me?

[Well, that's an interesting face.] What? What'd she do to you?

And no. I mean-I wasn't trying to. It's just that outside the hospital room, I heard you guys talking. [But that's not really what's important there.] Are you and him-you know- a thing?

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