silentspringlogs | (no subject)

Who: Norton Folgate and Open
When: February
Where: Various (Listed under the cut)
Open/Closed: Open
Applicable Warnings: TDM warnings apply

A. Smoke gets in your eyes: Haven Street

Norton lived through the Blitz, so smoke, checkpoints, and ~~Home Guard~~ civil defense out doesn't strike him as outrageously odd, but it does make him think there's probably something very interesting going on, especially since as far as he's aware, Sweetwater isn't being bombed or under imminent threat of invasion. He'll walk past the checkpoints daily, but doesn't try to cross. He'll strike up conversation with anyone else who might be lingering nearby, however.

And as the week goes on, with access to the market and, more importantly, the local diners cut off, Norton quickly starts to run out of food, or at least out of any food he's capable of making into something. He's never kept much on hand since his cooking skills are meagre at best. So he knocks on his neighbour's door, holding a small basket on his arm. When it opens, he doesn't waste time with pleasantries.

"I've a half cup of sugar, three tomatoes, and and a tin of condensed milk."

B. Everybody's somebody's fool: Marjorie's cocktail party

Norton knows how to dress for a cocktail party and he'll show up in a proper dinner jacket, his hair slicked with pomade. The suit he found in his closet isn't quite the cut he's used to--boxier than what he'd find at a London department store--but he thinks he makes it look good.

He smiles brightly and strikes up conversation with anyone nearby. After two cocktails, he starts to get a bit giggly besides, but his eyes stay sharp.

He's visibly a bit judgmental of people who aren't dressed well, looking them over with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips of disapproval. Just because they're trapped in a suburbia of evil, that's no good reason to be unfashionable. In fact, in a suburbia of evil where fitting in is essential to ones well-being, Norton thinks being fashionable is a survival skill.

C. Don't tell me why, kiss me goodbye: Norton's house

When the telly turns on by itself, Norton pays close attention to what's on the screen. Every strange occurrence is a clue and it's increasingly clear they aren't random. But then the woman's face shifts, becomes the face of a handsome Black man in a fedora and good suit. The sight of him makes Norton inhale sharply in surprise. After the initial shock, his lips thin and his jaw tightens and he refuses to have any further reaction than that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

When she opens the door, Agathe says nothing, only scans her eyes over the sorry sight of the man and his basket, so quick to rattle off what he's able to trade.

She jerks her head back toward the kitchen in curt invitation; on the air there's a distinct aroma of boiling root vegetables, implying she's got something in the works. He can keep his sugar.

"Danke, Frau...Marowski, was it?" He remembers her from the dinner party, although she'd kept herself to the background. He remembers the German accent, though. Even with the war nearly ten years gone, a German accent makes him wary.

Not so wary that he won't come in when there's a chance for food, however.

Leading the way to the kitchen, she stops with a quick, calculating look back at Norton.

"Du sprichst Deutsch?" she asks quietly-- what a relief it would be, to speak freely in her native tongue.

"Ja. Ich spreche Deutsch." His accent isn't very good, but he's otherwise fairly fluent.

This is reason enough for Agathe to switch over entirely as she continues toward the kitchen and takes a bowl from the cabinet.

"Marowski is correct," she begins, ladling some stew into the bowl-- somehow even this very domestic action has a sharpness to it-- "and to bring us here only to starve us is one of the crueler intricacies of this place."

She snorts derisively at some image in her head, takes a spoon from a drawer, and offers it to Norton at the same time that she sets the bowl on the table near him.

"As if anyone with half a brain in their head would think these barricades are for anything other than control. A sick fascist power game."

She clearly has no love for fascists. Her words ease the unspoken concern that took root in Norton's mind when he heard the German accent. He thanks her for the spoon and the stew and digs in.

"To be fair, I don't think they meant to starve us. I just wasn't prepared. But they definitely mean to control us. I wonder what they want. Not our labour, they seem indifferent to whether or not we work. Test subjects for some experiment, maybe?

"If starving is a side effect of the control, all the better," Agathe spits, and sits down in one of the chairs across from Norton, the rigidity of her posture having relaxed only slightly now that she's able to speak without the hindrance of her second language.

"Perhaps." She drums her pointed fingers on the tabletop, considering Norton's theroy. "It's clear there are consequences for struggling. In which case-- the only way we'll learn more is to play the game as intended."

"Safest way to learn more. Not necessarily the only way."

He has a habit of poking his nose into dangerous situations. It's practically part of his job description. Although he does prefer it when he can get other people to do the dangerous bits on his behalf.