Hermetic Order of Wanderers

[TheGrinningMan]

H

O

W

The Hermetic Order of Wanderers

(The Homeless Heroes Roleplay)


OOC

Post Number One---

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[TheGrinningMan]

POST Number 2

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[idlehands]

The woman sat on her cardboard mat, deftly weaving together several pull tabs from soda cans, her colorful skirt billowed around her knees. It was worn with batik prints of paisley flowers and peacock eyes fanning out in multicolored wheel centered on her stomach, her dirty bare feet poked out from beneath it. Over it she wore an oversized hand-knitted sweater of her own make, blessed and strong against the blows of evil. Her honey colored hair, worn down well past her shoulders, was stringy with grease. She wore it parted in the middle, with a thick lock in a single braid wrapped around her forehead like a crown of wheat.

She wove the tabs together in strands until they formed a sheet like trash chainmail and then she began knitting them with dark blue yarn, interweaving it to conceal the rings, using them for their strength. She watched the people pass by, her eyes round and green as gooseberries, her expression one of someone perpetually on the verge of surprise. The spattering of freckles across her nose and her wide-eyed gaze belied her years, she was just past thirty and had lived on and off the streets since her teens.

Once she had been known as Carolyn Merrick, daughter of the most successful car dealer in Finney County. She was expected to graduate and go to Kansas State but instead she found the pressures of school and her parents too much and dropped out, heading to freedom with a group of stoners she met on a trip to Topeka. That was a long time ago and she rarely thought of her life in the midwest, even the memories of her long road trips with her buddies, dropping acid and fucking in parks had faded into mist. Ember, as she was known to them and everyone else she met, had lived in Metropia for over a decade now. She rarely left for long, only if called by H.O.W to aid other wanderers in other cities but she always returned. Always did she come back in hopes of finding someone she lost long ago.

Ember was nearly finished with the wool cap interwoven with the aluminum tabs, designed to block air waves into the brain from electronic sources such as cell phones and televisions. She knew from past experiences that it could save one’s life or at least their sanity. She leaned over it, repeating a memorized blessing. She looked up and noticed a boy of about ten walking with his mother. Her gaze locked on his and she felt a wave of anger and despair coming from him. She stood, her tabs falling from her long skirt to the ground and quickly moved toward them.

The mother saw her and pulled her son away from the spacey looking hippie who made a beeline for her son. The boy stood still, resisting his mother’s pull as Ember slipped the cap onto his head.

“There, you keep that on and you will keep out the bad. Even inside it will protect you,” she said, cradling the boy’s head in her chapped hands. “And do not watch TV without it.”

“Excuse me! Get your filthy hands off my son!” the woman’s face was livid and her voice unnaturally high pitched. Ember could feel a sickly strangle of fear and loathing emanating from her and she fought to keep from turning away. The boy nodded solemnly and pulled the cap down tighter as his mother shrieked.

“Take that off, Benjamin, God knows where it’s been!” she moved to grab the cap and the boy held it in place.

“Please, I just want to help him, to protect him,” Ember said, her hand reaching out to take the woman’s wrist. “He’s a good boy but something brings him despair. “

“Lady, you have about two seconds to let go of me and get away from my child or I am calling the cops,” she snarled, her eyes flickering with disgust.

A crowd was starting to gather, mostly pedestrians who frowned at her but some were other bums, grinning at the scene. Ember was determined, she could feel the child’s soundless cries for help and had to respond. He had seen something that he could not put to words but she could feel the tide of despair coming from him.

“I just want to help, I don’t mean any harm, only love,” she said as the woman looked her up and down, noting her bare feet and mismatched worn clothing. The boy reached up and patted his mother’s arm.

“It’s ok, I like the hat, it’s pretty cool,” he said, his smile forced and dark eyes hollow. “I want to keep it. Let’s go home or we will miss Bucky Rainbow!”

His mother glared at her again and then dug in her purse, throwing a crumpled five dollar bill onto the ground at her feet. “There, take it and get the hell away from us.”

She grabbed her son and dragged him off, the boy clinging to his cap. Ember knelt and picked up the money, tucking it in her sweater pocket and turned back to her cardboard pad. She sighed, hoping her actions would be enough to protect the child from whatever was frightening him.


The first drops of rain wet the ground and she sniffed the air, looking up into the grey sky. She loved the scent of damp earth that filled even the city air when it began to rain. It was time go as the sun was dim and the weather turning. Ember picked up her Mexican poncho and pulled it over her head, the heavy woolen fabric hanging to her hips. She slipped into the leather boots and packed up her army surplus backpack, then folded her cardboard up and lashed it to the bag.


Ember shouldered her bag and pulled on her own knitted cap, pink and green with glints from the tabs. She walked through the rain, her poncho growing heavy as it got soaked, wondering which way to go. The shelter was near but she could not stand being shut in with the people full of anger and hopelessness saturating the air within the dormitory. She could go under the bridge but she avoided that area, with the outsiders who leered and whispered when she passed, their eyes filled with hunger and hatred. She reached unconsciously to the belt of her sweater, feeling the pair of large sharpened crochet needles tucked there. They were some of her Evilsbane weapons she used against the monsters of the shadows but would work in a pinch against a wannabe rapist.


She found herself wandering toward the Bastion, a local gathering spot at the crux of several alleys. Her feet knew the way and she let her mind go, seeking refuge from the previous assault of powerful emotions. Her sense of empathy was a gift, she could sense those that were under the shadow of evil, whether a victim or a perpetrator. It was overwhelming and painful at times, especially when she could do nothing to help.


She watched the pigeons huddled on branches, coping with the now steady downpour. Ember bowed her head, entering an alleyway that led to the refuge. There was a barrel fire already started, a man standing next to it with cans of soup warming. She recognized him by sight, he was an older man, an elder of H.O.W. but she had not conversed with him in a long time, their paths only crossing randomly even though they occupied the same city. As she approached her mind sharpened and she sensed his apprehension, it was heavy in the air around him.

[GBE]

"Look! If you two do not stop arguing, I will kick you out. No two ways about it!" Looking exasperated a slightly overweight man rubs his face and cheeks with both hands, dragging his dry and aging skin down, distorting the shape of his eyes. He lets go as his fingers reach the bottom of his face causing his features to pull themselves back in to place. George clearly looked tired and fed up, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. Two older and ragged looking men stand either side of him shouting abuse and obscenities at one other through alcohol fuelled breath. George looks like he is barely holding his composure as he stares at each of them. The two men look as bad as one another, dressed in clothes that didn't look fit for burning, sores over their faces and straggly hair clinging to the sides of their heads.

"SHUT IT! Every night you two come here and every night it's the same thing. You argue over what you haven't really got. Over something that doesn't matter. Every night it's the same thing. If I have to listen to either of you say one more thing tonight, you'll both be barred from our services. For a month! Just one word out of either of you!" George pauses, waiting for either of the homeless men to say anything. "Good. If you could go to a bed - away from each other, that would be nice, and we'll see about getting you both a cup of tea." Fortunately for George, the two men depart, heading in different directions. George pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his brow and face as he begins to head off towards his office. Along the way he calls out a name, "SETH" he shouts.

A young male comes running from somewhere in the building towards George's voice and reaches the office just as George takes a seat. Seth casually sweeps a lock of brown wavy hair from over one of his eyes, "You called me over George?".

George looks like he almost jumps, not expecting to have Seth appear just behind him so soon. George turns in his chair, one that he looks like he can barely squeeze in to. HJ takes a gulp of water after swallowing two tablets. "Seth, those two..." George pauses, takes a deep breath and gives Seth a knowing look, "Can you go and get them a cup of tea each, and keep an eye on them for a few minutes?"

"I'll get them the tea, but my shift is almost over soon. I won't be able to keep an eye out for very long. I've told Copper Jim that I would visit him over by the Bastion tonight and keep him company. He's been a bit down lately."

George lets out a sigh and sits back in to his chair. "Are you sure you couldn't stay until those two fall asleep or somthing? I'm going have a breakdown if I have to hear one more inane argument from either of them. I just don't understand why. If they don't like each other, then they can keep out of the way of each other. Look, if you can stay for another, what two or three hours, you can have a bed for tonight."

Seth looks like he's thinking about but shakes his head, "Sorry George, but if I don't go and see Copper Jim, he might have one of his episodes. If I see Charlotte, I'll ask her for you, but I really can't stop."

George waves a hand dismissively "Fine. Fine, go and get them their tea. It'll keep them quiet for a few more mintues at least. Take care tonight, looks like it might be a bit unpleasant."

Seth leaves the office and heads to the communal tea room and fixes up two teas, milk and plenty of sugar. He goes to the nearest man first and gives him his tea. No thanks offered, just mumbled grumblings. Seth heads over to the other one and gives him his tea and gets the same response. Smiling to himself, Seth goes and makes himself a tea before leaving the building through a security door. Outside Seth shivers, he reminds himself to hunt around for a jacket at some point soon.

Seth turns and looks at the building he's just left, on the wall is a sign 'Kittagan's Homeless Shelter'. Seth looks up the building and sees a few interspersed lights on. He's never been through the entire building. As a volunteer he spends his time making hot drinks, cleaning anything that can be dirtied and otherwise chatting to the locals who turn up the homeless shelter's doorstep. Seth starts thinking about where he's going to sleep tonight as he has not had chance to give it any thought. His trail of thoughts lead him to think about Copper Jim again. Seth turns away from the building and heads towards the Bastion.

Seth's shivering gradually reduces and has disappeared by the time he gets to the Bastion. He sees an old one eyed man standing by a barrell fire and a lady approaching. Seth doesn't think much of it as he's seen them around a few times. He stops not far from the barrell and looks for Copper Jim taking a sip of the tea he's been carrying. It's lukewarm now, but it's still something.

[idlehands]

The old man shuffled up the steel staircase until he reached the second story landing and he looked down. He was known by the locals as Captain Jack, partially for his claims at serving in the Navy and partly because of his gross public habit. He glared down at the store beneath him. It was the Get n’ Go run by that damned Habib, overpriced and full of the gagging aroma of cheap incense. The man wiped his running nose on the crusted sleeve of his ancient peacoat. It was starting to rain and he was pissed. The store owner had just kicked him out for pocketing a bottle of Mad Dog and some Twinkies.

He watched as another bum, the one-eyed man with a piece of shit homemade guitar, went into the store. The Captain knew him by sight and disliked him, that old bastard was one of those that liked to interfere with things that were not his business. He sneered down and thought about spitting on his head but even he knew the man was also not one to be messed with. Captain Jack lit his pipe, stuffed with old tobacco, and took a drag as the other bum finally exited the store, limping down the wet sidewalk. The Captain threw him the finger and went back to his pipe. The rain was getting heavier and but he was not ready to seek shelter. His rheumy eyes wandered over the people walking up and down the streets until they found something worth looking at.

She was young, blonde and her tits bounced in rhythm with her stride as she hurried in the rain. Probably one of the secretaries from the offices up the street. He grinned, imagining her without her blouse and he reached down and grabbed himself through his ragged pants. Never taking his eyes of her, he whipped out his scrawny dick and stroked it furiously, uncaring if anyone looked up at the fire escape. When the young woman passed on the sidewalk closer to him, he grunted and let fly.

He heard a shout of surprise below him and he looked down at a middle aged man in a suit, reaching up and touching his bald spot. The man looked sticky stuff on his hand, the rain rinsing it away, and he peered up at the sky, muttering, “Damn pigeons.”

Captain Jack chuckled and packed his junk away. He looked back to check out the blonde’s ass but she was gone. He leaned out, maybe she had walked farther but did not see her. It was as if she had disappeared, because there was no way a fine piece of tail like that would go into one of those alleys, he was just not that lucky. Curiosity passed briefly through his foggy mind and then he shrugged, making his way slowly down the stairs. He shuffled along heading toward the bridge to get out of the rain, his navy watch cap already soaked.

He found his way under the bridge where a lot of scummy men hung out. He greeted one or two and warily skirted the rest, finding his favorite spot. It was muddy and he cussed, almost tempted to go down to the shelter but he hated those do-goody assholes who made a fuss if you drank or caught you sneaking a peak in the women’s dorm. Not that there was much to see there, usually a bunch of old bag ladies but once and awhile some young runaway would stay over and he would get a show.

The Captain looked around to see if anyone was sharing some dinner but the sullen dead eyed glares told him he would better off trying to shit pearls than ask for a bite to eat. He growled, cursing his luck and headed back out into the rain. Since he was a local of Metropia he knew of the Bastion, perhaps not a welcome member he was at least tolerated if he did not get up to his old tricks. He wandered along until he found one of the alleys that lead to the crumbled basketball court and the protective awning that still stood despite the bleachers being long gone.

Captain Jack surveyed the court, seeing the one-eyed man and that looney hippie near a barrel fire. He could smell the food cooking and he grunted with displeasure at the thought of begging from them. Looking around he caught sight of one of the volunteers from the shelter carrying a mug. He wandered over, maybe the kid had some food he was looking to pass out and he would rather take it from him than ask the man by the fire.

[GBE]

Seth had been stood there for about a minute and was still unable to find Copper Jim. He had asked Copper Jim about his name but only ever received gruff grunts followed by an explicity worded 'get lost'. Seth felt it very important to find Copper Jim tonight, he said he would, just to check up on him. Seth began to wonder about their first meeting which seemed to feel a bit cloudy at the moment. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, his head had been feeling a bit fuzzy for a while. Once he'd spoken to Copper Jim and made sure he was ok he decided that he would find someone from the H.O.W. to get some help maybe.

Bringing himself to his task at hand he looked around again, his concern growing. He took a sip of his cooling tea. Disappointed with the temperature, he holds the cup with both hands. As he does, a small amount of steam begins to escape through the drinking hole. Always be grateful for small favours he thought to himself. Hearing some shuffliing coming from behind him, he turns and sees one of the disliked locals.

Seth had seen him at Kittagan's Homeless Shelter and had seen George kick him out for spying on the womens dormitory. Seth tried to remember his name, but found this fuzziness in his head seemed to be affecting his memory again. He calls over in Captain Jack's direction 'Hey, have you seen anyone called Copper Jim? I'm trying to find him at the moment...'

[SlowPlow]

Metropia stank of refuse. All cities smelled this way, Rufus knew. Whatever else people were, they were excellent at creating garbage. Where they go, garbage trails behind them. Where they gather up in droves, they build an empire of it. So had it had been through the history of man, but never more so than in the modern age. He shook his head again at the folly of men – something he did daily – as he shuffled through a trashcan. This was his routine. Garbage could tell stories better than most people could. Each piece of it had a life of its own to account for. Many of them had led mundane lives, but some had lived exciting ones, and had much to tell of, but you could never tell which had lived how before you touched them. The most mundane of disposed articles could have had a more exciting life than any human could dream of, and some exclusive could have naught excitement to them at all. Thus Rufus had learned not to judge a piece of trash by its appearance only.

He came upon a white, wrinkled paper bag, a crown depicted at the front. Inside it, there was a half-eaten burger which he grabbed. It was only half-a-day old and perfectly edible. Rufus had eaten not an hour before, a feast he had come upon four alleys west, but he couldn’t resist this burger. It was strange how most of his kin would beg for society’s change to be able to buy food, when there was so much delicious to find among its trash. He ate the burger, and completed his search of the bin. There had been nothing of note to be found in that one either, except for a few Bucky Rainbow flyers. Normally he wouldn’t pay attention to commercial, especially not for a silly kids’ TV-show, but there had been so much about that program lately he couldn’t help but feel a peak of interest. His job was to look for anything which stood out, and when he found flyers, toys and pages of newspapers and magazines in every trashcan about the same TV-show, it had to mean something. Probably only that it was a popular show, but he scribbled it down in his notebook all the same, before continuing down the alley.

Rufus wore a ragged wool overcoat reaching to his knees, and dirtied, brown Oxford bags for trousers. Beneath the overcoat he wore a white, stained shirt accompanied at the neck by a ripped silk tie, and a black dress jacket which had seen much better days. On his feet were black dress shoes which were in sore need of repair and on his head rested a tattered, gray fedora. He respected history more than anything else, and the men of the 1920s had known unequaled fashion. Stroking his graying beard, he was lost in thought of that time period, imagining what it would be like to live back then. The optimism of the early 20s, and the darker years in the later intrigued him. The nation had went from good to bad to horrible in the span of ten years, but the people had vigilantly kept fashionable. Dreaming of years long past, he was almost run over by a car, an ugly thing of Japanese design, nothing like the splendid automobiles of the 50s. Those had been real cars, the kind you could drive and feel like a man, the kind which didn’t make you feel like you were trapped in a poor sci-fi flick; the feeling so many of the modern vehicles inspired.

Some way over, a few of his kin were gathering around a fire, but he had no patience for people today, not even his own kind of people. He had already decided to make for the nearest cardboard box, to travel home. It wasn’t much, not anything really, the misshapen shack in which he slept. But it was his home, and he had come to known it as such. Finding a box, he got down on all fours and crawled through, exiting another of them out into the forested outskirts of the city. So handy these things, especially since he was usually refused to ride on the bus or other collective traffic. It was wonderful, being able to leave the city and wander into the freshness of the forest, but the splendor of the wilds wasn’t the only reason he had chosen to live out here. People seldom found themselves out here except for the occasional leisure-walker, which was to his liking. Another reason was inside his shack. The organization forbade one to accumulate wealth, but he had gathered some things over the years he considered to be exactly that.

Reaching his home, he went inside and picked up on of the items he had stored there: a broken porcelain lamp. Whenever he touched it or any of the other items in his collection, he could feel her. The woman he longed for. These garbage pieces had all been in her possession at some point or another. He didn’t know her name, but he knew that he loved her. She handled the things she threw away with such care, as if she knew they had feelings of their own. No, it was more than that. It was as if she had a vast treasury of grace in her, and when she disposed of garbage, she passed on some of that grace to it. Rufus knew it was impossible and that it was the ravings of a madman. But standing, holding that lamp in his arms, he could feel the grace with which she did everything, even when she threw out the trash. He lay down on his broken-down mattress, clutching that lamp until sleep found him. And then it accompanied him to his dreams.

[TheGrinningMan]

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[SlowPlow]

Rufus smelled the city, as he walked. It smelled like cities ought to smell, of garbage and gasoline. The smell always helped him think, it blotted out unnecessary thoughts to help him focus. He had to focus on what he had found, what he had stuffed away beneath his coat. Lying in the middle of an alley had been the find of the year: a costume. Only a child’s costume, but its history was terrible. Rufus nearly couldn’t stomach it. For the first time, he wished this wasn’t his job. He wished he didn’t have to hold onto the costume, that he could throw it away and simply forget about it. Stopping, he reached into his coat, taking out the folded-up costume. A big, dark stain covered the torso of it, and the sleeves were ripped. Holding it, he shuddered. The child who had worn it had done so with adoration bordering reverence, a deep sort of respect a kid shouldn’t be able to feel about anything. And it was mingled with so many emotions it was impossible to differ one from the other. He had bumped into something of the sort before, and he was sad to admit the thing he felt was madness. Not the a-pill-a-day depression type of madness, but a dark, mind-consuming one. Whoever the child was, he no longer existed as the person he’d been. The costume, it was a product of evil. Rufus hadn’t felt the likes since the Scourge in ’77, when all hell had literally broken loose. Something dark was coming, or had already. He stuffed the costume away again, and the sensation of dread disappeared, replaced by the sensation of urgency. He had to find one of the Elders as soon as possible, to alert HOW. Ol’ Bleu, he’d know what to do. Rufus set towards the Bastion. If one needed to find a homeless guy, the Bastion was the place to start.

[idlehands]

Captain Jack looked up and shrugged and grunted, “He ain’t here. And don’t ask me where he’s at, because I don’t know. Say, what do you have there? Got any food, I ain’t eaten all day.”

The Captain shambled closer, his stained dark blue pea coat was missing buttons and his fly was down. He grinned in what he thought was a charming smile, his tobacco stained teeth crooked. “What do you want with that old bastard anyway? He having one of his fits?”

He scratched the stubble on his chin, then coughed and spat a wad of phlegm near the barrel fire, just missing Old Bleu’s feet. Captain Jack glanced at him warily and gave Ember the once over, not bad for a kookie hippie. He turned back to the kid, Seth. He’d recognized him as a do-gooder from the shelter, not a bad sort , though he could be a little flakey and forgetful sometimes. At least he was not like that tool named George.

Seth looked the old man up and down again unsure if he felt comfortable with him. He felt there something off-putting but this fuzziness in his head wouldn't shift properly. Stuttering his first word a couple of times he finally managed to respond "Are you sure you know who I'm talking about? Copper Jim doesn't have fits," Seth unconsciously took a slightly tighter grip on his tea "I haven't got any food either, you'd have better luck at the homeless shelter..."

Captain Jack snorted derisively, “No food? Then you’re about as useful as tits on a boar. As for your friend, I ain’t seen him around and I ain't allowed back at that shelter, dummy.”

He sneered at the young man who seemed a bit confused and shuffled off, his tattered pant cuffs dragging on the concrete. He sat down close enough to the fire incase the old cyclops was feeling generous but not so close that he was obliged to acknowledge him. The Captain picked his nose and flicked it in Seth’s general direction, grumbling about his uselessness.