Tradeskill
Apr 27th, 2011, 09:05:49 AM
Hannelore Hughes parked her tiny, rented moving van in front of a small-ish one-story house in Los Santos. Her GPS helpfully reminded her in a flat, male monotone that she was arriving at "Ham's House, on right" as she took the key from the ignition and unfastened the seatbelt. She hopped out lightly and slammed the door, walking up the cracked driveway and past her brother's pollen-green Lancer. The door was open to let in whatever rare breezes happened by. A sticky note was posted on the door frame, written in her brother Hamilton's cramped, all-caps handwriting.
CLEANING KITCHEN, JUST COME IN
Hannelore shook her head and smiled, wandering into the house. The door opened right into the living room, which was covered by fluffy blue carpet and dominated by an enormous flat-screen tv and a wooden-framed futon. The carpet transitioned to plain white linoleum as the living room melted into the dining room. Above the small, round dinner table and it's four identical chairs hung a map of Los Santos which was decorated with pastel-purple pushpins. Beside that hung a small whiteboard whose eraser tray bore a dry-erase marker, the eraser, and a box of store-brand cheap-ass pushpins.
She stood before the map and popped open an Atomic Fireball, clamping it between her teeth as she meticulously folded the wrapper into a tiny square. Each pushpin had a little note stuck with it, noting the significance of each location. One said "HAM 'N HAN'S". Another was marked "R. HOUSE", a few miles to the south. A third stated that "JERICHO" was a lengthy drive away, and a fourth marked "JOB" denoted the warehouse district.
"Ham!" she called in her Southern drawl, idly biting the Fireball, "I'm here. Dig the map, it's very colorful. And why the hell ass balls is it as hot here as it was in Atlanta?"
"Because," replied Hamilton, his accent nearly stamped out from years living in the midwest, "the weather hates you. Good to see you, Han." He drifted up beside her and they shared a hug. "When did you go blonde?" His right hand took some of her chin-length hair and bunched it up. A small, barely visible spark passed between them, and Ham let go. "You look like a stranger."
"I thought I'd try something different," she told him, rolling her candy from one cheek to the other. "You wanna help me move? You can carry the dresser by yourself this time and spare me some sweating." The two siblings were fraternal twins, and their X-Genes had triggered a typical power-set with an atypical condition. One sibling was physically superior, wielding increased strength, speed, agility, reflexes, and stamina while the other was functionally mundane. The two could switch the power by a physical touch; Ham had just taken their shared power back for the first time in two years.
"I wasn't planning on it, but if that's what you want, we'll need to wait for dark. Nobody in this town knows that I'm a mutant. It's probably best if they don't know that you are, as well. So, are you ready for our new job?"
Han shook her head and led the way back out to the moving van. "Nnnnot really," she said slowly, flipping through her keys for the one that would open her van's padlock. "I'm still not sure what it is we're doing, precisely. But after we've been there a week or two and we can get an idea of how our income looks, we oughtta trade up this little house for somethin' swankier. I'm gonna buy a new car, since I sold my old Dodge wreck to make the rental fee on this tank and float myself by while the new job got fired up."
Ham lifted the rolling door as his sister popped the latch and jumped up inside, grabbing a box and handing it off to her. "Well, I hope it's exciting, or at least busy. I could do with a distraction." Han gave her brother a sympathetic look. His daughter--her niece--had been checked into the Jozua Clinic months ago for help with her particular mutation. Han had visited a few times, but hadn't had cause to move until the job. The loss of his daughter to the clinic had also finally started Hamilton's marriage unraveling, and the recent divorce had been brutal.
"Well, I got a Wii and an X-Box," she offered. "We can play games or watch Netflix." Ham gave her a look. "What!? I'm a grown woman so I can't play video games? What ELSE am I supposed to do on post when all my friends are boys shaped like men?" Ham sighed, grabbed another box, and together he and his sister trekked across the yard. They entered the house, turned right, and walked into a decently-sized room that had already been furnished with a desk. Ham set his box on it and Han set her's in the closet.
"It's fine," he said after a moment. "I've still got the DS you gave us for Christmas last year." Silence loomed uncomfortably, and Han tried to figure out how best to approach the subject of "us".
"Any word?" she asked quietly, taking a few steps toward the door. Ham sighed again and followed, taking his sibling's cue to let the work even him out.
"No change, just like always. Can't see her, just like always. I'm getting tired of calling up there or visiting and being told that. I want to do something. I feel like there should be something I can do. I wish I hadn't lost custody. At least then I might have some power." He laughed at that, flexing his fingers and feeling his mutant strength in them. "They're...they're saying the research into nullifying the X-Gene is ongoing and no closer to fruition than it was when they checked her in. They asked us if we wanted to...to pull the plug, so to speak." Hamilton sagged onto the futon and slouched against the side that had been turned up to make it a couch, and Han sat beside him, leaning on his shoulder and hugging him tight. "I said no, of course," he continued. "I don't know what my wife said. If she said yes, they might go ahead since I don't have custody anymore. I just don't know."
Hannelore sighed and noted that Hamilton didn't use his wife's name, "Zoey." He was being particularly bitter about this. Of course he was, being a dad had always been one of his big dreams. Even now, at 36, Han didn't see the appeal, but she'd been a loving Auntie and a good caretaker when called upon. She could hardly imagine the stress it was having on her brother. "Well, let's worry about it a bit later, okay? That van's open and some miscreants could be stealing my tiny, busted-ass TV or my box of crappy fantasy novels. Let's just keep moving stuff," she suggested. Ham nodded and rose with her, though the cloud continued to hover over his head.
CLEANING KITCHEN, JUST COME IN
Hannelore shook her head and smiled, wandering into the house. The door opened right into the living room, which was covered by fluffy blue carpet and dominated by an enormous flat-screen tv and a wooden-framed futon. The carpet transitioned to plain white linoleum as the living room melted into the dining room. Above the small, round dinner table and it's four identical chairs hung a map of Los Santos which was decorated with pastel-purple pushpins. Beside that hung a small whiteboard whose eraser tray bore a dry-erase marker, the eraser, and a box of store-brand cheap-ass pushpins.
She stood before the map and popped open an Atomic Fireball, clamping it between her teeth as she meticulously folded the wrapper into a tiny square. Each pushpin had a little note stuck with it, noting the significance of each location. One said "HAM 'N HAN'S". Another was marked "R. HOUSE", a few miles to the south. A third stated that "JERICHO" was a lengthy drive away, and a fourth marked "JOB" denoted the warehouse district.
"Ham!" she called in her Southern drawl, idly biting the Fireball, "I'm here. Dig the map, it's very colorful. And why the hell ass balls is it as hot here as it was in Atlanta?"
"Because," replied Hamilton, his accent nearly stamped out from years living in the midwest, "the weather hates you. Good to see you, Han." He drifted up beside her and they shared a hug. "When did you go blonde?" His right hand took some of her chin-length hair and bunched it up. A small, barely visible spark passed between them, and Ham let go. "You look like a stranger."
"I thought I'd try something different," she told him, rolling her candy from one cheek to the other. "You wanna help me move? You can carry the dresser by yourself this time and spare me some sweating." The two siblings were fraternal twins, and their X-Genes had triggered a typical power-set with an atypical condition. One sibling was physically superior, wielding increased strength, speed, agility, reflexes, and stamina while the other was functionally mundane. The two could switch the power by a physical touch; Ham had just taken their shared power back for the first time in two years.
"I wasn't planning on it, but if that's what you want, we'll need to wait for dark. Nobody in this town knows that I'm a mutant. It's probably best if they don't know that you are, as well. So, are you ready for our new job?"
Han shook her head and led the way back out to the moving van. "Nnnnot really," she said slowly, flipping through her keys for the one that would open her van's padlock. "I'm still not sure what it is we're doing, precisely. But after we've been there a week or two and we can get an idea of how our income looks, we oughtta trade up this little house for somethin' swankier. I'm gonna buy a new car, since I sold my old Dodge wreck to make the rental fee on this tank and float myself by while the new job got fired up."
Ham lifted the rolling door as his sister popped the latch and jumped up inside, grabbing a box and handing it off to her. "Well, I hope it's exciting, or at least busy. I could do with a distraction." Han gave her brother a sympathetic look. His daughter--her niece--had been checked into the Jozua Clinic months ago for help with her particular mutation. Han had visited a few times, but hadn't had cause to move until the job. The loss of his daughter to the clinic had also finally started Hamilton's marriage unraveling, and the recent divorce had been brutal.
"Well, I got a Wii and an X-Box," she offered. "We can play games or watch Netflix." Ham gave her a look. "What!? I'm a grown woman so I can't play video games? What ELSE am I supposed to do on post when all my friends are boys shaped like men?" Ham sighed, grabbed another box, and together he and his sister trekked across the yard. They entered the house, turned right, and walked into a decently-sized room that had already been furnished with a desk. Ham set his box on it and Han set her's in the closet.
"It's fine," he said after a moment. "I've still got the DS you gave us for Christmas last year." Silence loomed uncomfortably, and Han tried to figure out how best to approach the subject of "us".
"Any word?" she asked quietly, taking a few steps toward the door. Ham sighed again and followed, taking his sibling's cue to let the work even him out.
"No change, just like always. Can't see her, just like always. I'm getting tired of calling up there or visiting and being told that. I want to do something. I feel like there should be something I can do. I wish I hadn't lost custody. At least then I might have some power." He laughed at that, flexing his fingers and feeling his mutant strength in them. "They're...they're saying the research into nullifying the X-Gene is ongoing and no closer to fruition than it was when they checked her in. They asked us if we wanted to...to pull the plug, so to speak." Hamilton sagged onto the futon and slouched against the side that had been turned up to make it a couch, and Han sat beside him, leaning on his shoulder and hugging him tight. "I said no, of course," he continued. "I don't know what my wife said. If she said yes, they might go ahead since I don't have custody anymore. I just don't know."
Hannelore sighed and noted that Hamilton didn't use his wife's name, "Zoey." He was being particularly bitter about this. Of course he was, being a dad had always been one of his big dreams. Even now, at 36, Han didn't see the appeal, but she'd been a loving Auntie and a good caretaker when called upon. She could hardly imagine the stress it was having on her brother. "Well, let's worry about it a bit later, okay? That van's open and some miscreants could be stealing my tiny, busted-ass TV or my box of crappy fantasy novels. Let's just keep moving stuff," she suggested. Ham nodded and rose with her, though the cloud continued to hover over his head.