HUB 360

[robotdick]

This merry little haunt wasn't familiar to Nick, but the address was correct, for what it was worth. There weren't many buildings with penthouses intact, but Hancock had told him to show up here, so here he was. Honestly, as he came up the stairs, Nick wasn't entirely certain what to expect.

Was it a stash house? No, Hancock and he had a tentative understanding about chems. Nick didn't comment and Hancock didn't do them right in front of him if he could help it. It was about the best the synth could hope for, and a fair improvement on their previous arrangement of: nothing.

Was it a new settlement? Bit of a stretch but Evaris did have ecclectic moods.

Maybe he...Nick came up blank. He didn't have a clue or a chance in hell of divining one, so he shouldn't waste the breath (figurative) trying to hash it out. He just stuffed his hands in his pockets, kept his revolver at the ready in case this locale wasn't secure yet, and trudged up more flights of stairs than he cared to count.

At the top he stepped out of the stairwell and through time. One second he was in the Commonwealth and the next he was standing on fine plush carpet in Boston, MA. This place was an absolute time warp, like walking into a photograph, and Nick was entirely thrown as he let the door behind him close and cautiously wandered in.

No turrets...so that was a start.

Cameras? Didn't spot one, didn't see any mics either but he was sure there were a few. This place had electricity and...was that hum an airconditioner?

"Where the hell am I?"

Comments

[chem_break]

Radio's probably lighter, but yeah, make the guy work for it

[ It's... undeniably comfortable, listening to the chatter of oddly domestic white noise. Hancock doesn't even have a frame of reference for that, for this-- but he likes it, this easy-breezy chill. This coupled, affectionate safety. He doesn't care much to figure out the schematics of it-- is it Nick, this place, the satisfaction of two orgasms in less than an hour?

Doesn't matter. Hancock usually doesn't feel this kind of chill unless it's chemically induced. He's doing the stubborn thing-- not wanting to sleep because it feels so good being here, awake, trading friendly banter and soaking in the insane thread count. ]

Eh? But it's so soft just layin' on it like this...?

[ Since he's employing one of his arms as a sleeping mask, it's the free hand that goes blindly groping about the duvet for an edge to catch and grab. Blanket size doesn't often square up with bed size in his rough experiences; you just can't match blankets to bed-size post-apocalypse. Except when you apparently can.

Hancock finds the edge of the blanket at the edge of the bed-- pulling it on means getting off of it though, and that's a pretty tall order. Instead, after a bit of lazy pulling and rolling, he's become a Ghoul Blanket Burrito. ]

... Yeah this works.

Do we call it for interrogation?

[robotdick]

[Nick watches the whole blind, lazily gymnastic maneuver. Hancock pulls it off one-handed, largely because he refuses to lower the other arm and just grab the damn duvet. He ends up swathed in the whole thing and, honestly, Nick can't find it in him to complain. If he wrinkles it, Nick can throw it in the wash.

The synth turns back after that and tap a few keys on the keyboard. The white lights go out and the blue fade down. He feels like he's in another world.

It's going to take him ages to get used to this place.

But, while Hancock is curled up, presumably sleeping, Nick goes wandering through the rooms of his new home. Taking a tour in the dark while trying not to wake someone was, frankly, more Nick's speed than an open house.]