1 : THE_BAR

Its deep brown walls and tinted windows almost felt like an escape from the outside world. When ash flew down from the sky out there, and she was inside, she could convince herself it was just snow in July. The walls and windows offered that freedom. That shelter.

Adelaide fingered the ashtray sitting on the middle of the table, tilting it to one side, then another, in a slow rhythm. The ashes and used up cigarettes rolled from one side to another. The ashtray was a sort of dark brown glass, with the logo of the bar printed on. The majority of the logo had faded away with time. Adelaide brushed her finger against the part that was missing. If she squinted, and lied to herself, it almost felt like nothing had changed. As though the bar and the ashtrays were all still young. As though she were still young.

Fresh faced and free from a lifetime of mistakes.

The young were the most capable of adaptation, in her eyes. Rubber children. No amount of catastrophe mattered to them, because they couldn't understand that which they had never lived with. So in a sense, she wondered if being young would have made living in a world like this easier. If she had no memories of a blue sky, there was no way to miss it, right? The sickening sweet scent born from the almost mystical rot of a collapsing civilization would be nothing but the smell of air. The bar wouldn't need to be a refuge. It would just be a relic.

The bell above the door let out a soft ring. Adelaide's head jerked up– and then she lowered it again, rather disappointed. The man who had walked in was not the man she was waiting for. She sighed, turning her attention back once again to the ashtray. This time, however, she could not get lost in her own thoughts. She tilted the tray once again to the side, well aware that the conversation she was in for wasn't going to be a fun or pleasant one. The knowledge of that being slapped in her face again was the chain which held her mind in place.

She tilted the tray a little too far to one side, and its contents spilled across the dark wood of the table. Fuck's sake, Adelaide swore. An exasperated breath puffed its way out from her nose. She shook her head violently after a moment of thinking. She would clean it up on the way out– even if it didn't really matter anymore. She doubted the owner would make a fuss. It would've been some strange priorities to make a drama about ashes on a table at the end of the world, but she didn't want trouble either.

"Making messes as always, 'Laide," Forrest called. He stood outside the booth, smiling at her. She barely recognized him. He had become gaunt, dark circles had appeared under his face, and he had committed the great sin which he'd once declared he would never fall to. He'd grown a mess of patchy stubble all across his jaw. Forrest had always been a little homely in appearance, but Adelaide had never seen him quite so dishevelled. Even as children.

She couldn't help her laughter. "Talk about yourself on that one first, buddy," she said, shaking her head. "You look god awful. What happened to you?"

"Nuclear transport is a nightmare," he replied, dryly. He took a seat across from her. He took pause at something on his chair, before sitting down. "Everyone at my station's been arguing– almost nobody wants to take the nukes to space, but we can't fight our orders."

"I can't imagine why," Adelaide responded, dryly. "You've been taking the brunt of it?"

"Someone tried to put a snake in my mailbox as an assassination attempt– and the only reason they didn't succeed is because the thing froze. I'd never been so terrified checking mail in my life. Haven't checked in the box in a week since."

"You have my deepest sympathies, Snakeman." Adelaide gave a sly grin, and blew on the ashes. They fluttered up, forming a small cloud between the both of them. The cloud dissipated as fast as it had come.

Forrest swatted at her arm, rolling his eyes and looking rather unimpressed with her nonsense. Adelaide just smiled at him, bold as ever. He sat back in the chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "You're as stupid as you were when we were kids."

"I'll consider that a compliment. I have yet to lose the wonder of my youth. Women consider that quite precious, you know?"

Forrest gave a soft kick under the table. It was barely hard enough to be felt, and more like a lame poke at her than anything. They were always a little on the rough side with each other. "Alright Peter Pandemonium, let's not get too jumpy," he drawled. "Besides– I would love to know why you look like you fell halfway down a mountainside instead."

Adelaide smiled. "Oh, you know the kinds of things I get involved in– I saw one of those baby demons on the road, and I had to handle it. An exorcist never sleeps. My job is never done no matter how desperately I could wish for it." She laughed somewhat, leaning back in her own seat. She crossed her legs, putting her hands on her knee. "But I don't think either of us get to win any awards for cleanliness today, Snakeman."

"Now you're just rubbing salt in the wound."

"I'm speaking the honest truth as it exists in mine eyes, however."

Forrest snorted at her. He didn't usually take her seriously– and her own antics certainly didn't help in making him respect her word. Before he could say anything else, the TV behind the bar let out a loud crackling sound, followed by a high pitched whine, before the same video as before was playing again. "They're still playing moon landing videos?"

"They've been playing nonstop since it happened a couple days ago. Guess it's more hopeful than nuclear footage or reports."

Silence fell between them after that. They avoided each other's eyes, letting them dart all around the bar like rowdy children. Both were unable to bring up the topic that they had actually met to speak on. Adelaide attempted to focus herself once again on the ashtray. This was the part of the conversation she'd been dreading from the start. The part that was going to drive a nail into her head no matter how desperately she wanted to get away from it.

"They ought to be giving nuclear reports. There's no knowing how safe anywhere is without them– and I'd rather see a map than just hear street names– those are too easy to miss. If they were smart they'd be playing them nonstop." Forrest crossed his arms, stubbornly clinging to the easier part of this conversation.

Adelaide chuckled awkwardly. She was slightly thankful. "Come on now, if you can't read your own map, then I doubt you could read a map on TV," she teased. The subject was uncomfortable, but it was easier if she tried to tell a bad joke. Even if it was in poor taste. Anything to make things less awkward. Unfortunately, this time, it seemed she'd failed spectacularly, because the silence didn't break. Adelaide sucked in a breath slowly. "Umm... Anyway, I–"

"Let's just get to the point," Forrest finally said. He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. The ashes clung to his sleeves, and got more spread across the surface. Forrest had an unfortunately rather intense glare. The sort that made Adelaide wither whenever he directed it too harshly at her.

She backed into her seat, feeling a bit like a scolded child as he stared into her soul. "I don't know what we really came to talk about, honestly," she responded, repositioning herself. She turned her gaze away from him. Stop glaring at me... She could hardly look him in the eye lately, never mind meet his glare.

"You know. I know. We both know."

"Your words are a mystery to me, I swear it," she replied, shaking her head as fervently as she could– partially just to avoid looking him in the eye. "I had no awareness of the reason for your calling to me– if there even was one. I swear to that on the hanging man." Adelaide folded her hands in her lap, and focused her gaze once again on the ashtray. However, her eyes kept drifting toward Forrest's sleeves. Her eye would then move up, and it would be right back at his face again, no matter how hard she tried.

"Laide," Forrest called. "In a couple weeks, the planet's going to be completely covered in radioactivity. Everything's going to be toxic. And nuclear winter is going to kill most of what's left not that long after. You get it, right?" he asked, flatly. "You will die if you try to stay here without running off to a bunker. But a bunker will be lonely and even small failings in their systems could leave you dead."

He cleared his throat. "So I want to do something for you– and I know you won't appreciate it."

Adelaide raised a brow. "What are you going to do to me?"

Forrest looked away. Adelaide was relieved for that. He reached into his coat– fumbling around, feeling for something in his pocket. Finally, after a minute or so, he pulled a pair of envelopes out. He placed them down on the table, unbothered by the ashes which covered their backs when he set them down.

They were a plain post office brown, with the slightest hints of discolouration. Evidently, some of the colour had rubbed off in his pocket. How long were you carrying these for? Adelaide could only wonder. Left rather confused, she wasn't even completely sure what she was looking at. "A... cheque at the end of the world?"

"Tickets."

It took her a long, solemn moment to realize what it was he'd just given her. And her heart dropped. "How did you get even– even one of these?" she asked. "Never mind two!"

"I knew I had to get one for you."

"But how?" she wondered, in utter disbelief. Even for men of rank like Forrest, tickets like these weren't a guarantee. And certainly, an unmarried man with no children shouldn't have obtained any more than one. The initial tickets were all quite expensive. Each thousands of dollars a piece. Some people, through their work, would get access to them for free. A few extra for wives or children. Despite their price, the initial tickets had been swallowed up, in mere hours. To get ahold of one now, a week after the first sale, could only be done through backdoor dealings. Sales advertised solely through word of mouth and costing at minimum, triple the initial price. "You've got no family. How'd you convince them to give you a second ticket?"

She asked as though she couldn't conceptualize his answer. It was her bad habit– to make herself dumber, for the sake of appeasing or just gathering answers. It pleased him– a man of his time, of course. To be the smartest in the room, well that was all too alluring to him. It was a trick that had worked since they were children. There was a silent hierarchy to everything, and Adelaide was below Forrest in that hierarchy. So she acted like it.

This time he didn't give in to any desire for flourishes or drama when presented with the opportunity Adelaide gave him. Instead, Forrest lowered his head, shaking it. "You will always be my family. When I was entirely on my lonesome, with nothing to hope for, you gave me all the reasons in the world to live. I owe you a debt– just as you owe one to Jisako."

Adelaide did not answer. A debt... She turned away, looking once again at the TV screen. She'd believe him. Debts, prices— people liked to focus in on those things. It was nice and easy. Adelaide didn't like to talk about those things. To owe someone something. To be owed something.

"Here, I will speak honestly; I know you plan to die on this planet. I want you to live. The ships won't let most people like you on board. So... please."

Adelaide gripped bunches of fabric, tugging and kneading her pant leg– just loose enough for her to do so. "What a sweet thing for you to offer."

"Laide, promise me. Promise me." His voice was desperate, cracking like that of a lost child. He clenched his fist on the table, sweeping ash into his grip without thinking. They had well and truly made a mess. He wouldn't stay to clean it up.

"I should be going."

"Adelaide." He frowned. "You understand how hard it was to get these tickets. Please don't just... leave it."

Adelaide forced a faint smile, humming. "You must be so painfully kind." She slid herself out from the booth. Standing up, Adelaide could barely hide her nerves and her hurry. "I'll keep in contact. But I should be going south soon. I probably won't live long when the radiation poisoning really sinks in."

"At least just take one," he insisted. Forrest looked from her, to down at the tickets. He stared at the tickets as though it would form a face and begin speaking to him in tongues which would give him answers on how to persuade her. They just sat quietly, too intimidated by the human presences around them to reveal any potential hidden sentience.

"What good would it do?"

"For my conscience."

She sighed. "Fine then. But... I promise you, I won't make much use out of it," she declared, bluntly. "I won't be joining you on the orbital ships."

Forrest once again let silence fall between the pair of them. Adelaide sighed, slowly reaching out and picking up one of the envelopes. She pushed the other back toward Forrest's hand. After all, she wouldn't need a second. She shoved her own into one of her many pockets, perhaps far too eager to just forget about it and move on.

A portion of her was tempted to rise up and leave him there. She lowered her head, before shaking it again. "Thank you," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I'll keep in contact."

Forrest did not answer. He did not wish her well or bid her adieu. Adelaide didn't dare look back at him on her way out.