OOM: No Man's Land - Supply and Demand
Jul. 25th, 2010 10:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
baptizemyselfHelena looks around her half destroyed apartment and marvels that it is exactly the same as it was over a year ago when she was bound to bar. Not an hour, not even a second has passed here since she found herself in that strange place.
She’d think she was going crazy if it wasn’t for the large box of supplies she’s carrying. She puts the box on the bed and leaves it there while she checks that the few supplies she left are still hidden where she left them: of course they are. They aren’t even dusty. Time hasn’t touched them while she’s been away.
She doesn’t dwell on the strangeness of this for long: this is Gotham, after all, and there is work to be done.
The first job is to sort the supplies from the box. Food. Medicine. She takes the barest of supplies for herself - enough food for a week, if she rations it heavily, and a few bandages and some antiseptic wipes.
Another weeks worth of rations - more generous then those she allowed herself - is siphoned off for Mrs Steinberg down the block. As an after thought she adds a few more tins because the old woman is bound to end up sharing her supplies with those two crack-addicted prostitutes in her building.
The rest is split into three boxes: one for the Blue Boys, one for those do-gooders at the Church - the faith sector they’re calling it - and the last box, with a bulk of the medical supplies, for Leslie Thompkins clinic.
Split down that far it really doesn’t look like a lot so she puts the food she had kept for herself back and splits that amongst the three boxes as well. She figures the Gothamites need it more than she does: she had three proper meals yesterday, at the bar. No one in Gotham had the same luxury.
She makes her deliveries as the sun comes up, leaving the boxes where they will be found by the right people and watching until they have been taken.
It’s not enough, she knows, as she watches Leslie retrieve the last box from a distant rooftop. But for now it’ll have to do.
She’d think she was going crazy if it wasn’t for the large box of supplies she’s carrying. She puts the box on the bed and leaves it there while she checks that the few supplies she left are still hidden where she left them: of course they are. They aren’t even dusty. Time hasn’t touched them while she’s been away.
She doesn’t dwell on the strangeness of this for long: this is Gotham, after all, and there is work to be done.
The first job is to sort the supplies from the box. Food. Medicine. She takes the barest of supplies for herself - enough food for a week, if she rations it heavily, and a few bandages and some antiseptic wipes.
Another weeks worth of rations - more generous then those she allowed herself - is siphoned off for Mrs Steinberg down the block. As an after thought she adds a few more tins because the old woman is bound to end up sharing her supplies with those two crack-addicted prostitutes in her building.
The rest is split into three boxes: one for the Blue Boys, one for those do-gooders at the Church - the faith sector they’re calling it - and the last box, with a bulk of the medical supplies, for Leslie Thompkins clinic.
Split down that far it really doesn’t look like a lot so she puts the food she had kept for herself back and splits that amongst the three boxes as well. She figures the Gothamites need it more than she does: she had three proper meals yesterday, at the bar. No one in Gotham had the same luxury.
She makes her deliveries as the sun comes up, leaving the boxes where they will be found by the right people and watching until they have been taken.
It’s not enough, she knows, as she watches Leslie retrieve the last box from a distant rooftop. But for now it’ll have to do.
