Tommy Gavin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
goblowadrummer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
recolle2017-05-20 06:01 pm
goblowadrummer) wrote in recolle2017-05-20 06:01 pm
Entry tags:
[OPEN] pretend this isn't weeks overdue
WHO: Tommy Gavin and you!
WHERE: Tribunal Terrace, a nameless apartment complex in Tisse, The Stardust
WHEN: May 19th-20th!
WHAT: Day-in-the-life stuff to get him established in-game!
WARNINGS: Fire! Pyrophobics best stay away >:T
I.
[The Tribunal Terrace fire station is the largest in Recollé. It has to be - not only does it house your bog-standard engine and ladder companies, but it’s home to rescue and Haz-Mat trucks as well, toolboxes on wheels that ensure the department is never left wanting in even the most perilous and dangerous rescue scenarios. It’s strategically placed to make the most efficient use of the major roadways throughout the city (time is life when it comes to fires and MVAs), and is staffed by a couple dozen of the toughest and bravest smoke-eaters in the city. Put these guys in a tinderbox and there’s nothing they can’t do.
But chest pounding like that isn’t Tommy’s style. He’s just the guy they pay to pop doors off their hinges and carry grandmas out of burning buildings. Or in this case, read the sports section of the Recollé Times on the city’s dime.
(The younger guys play Madden 17 on the widescreen in the lounge. Shhh, don’t tell anybody.)
The bay doors to the station are open, and he’s sitting at a desk just past them, leaning back in a chair, resting one foot on the opposite knee as he puffs away on a cigarette, the radio next to him squawking with traffic every so often. Anyone who steps past the threshold may very well feel like they’re trespassing in some sort of sanctuary. Plaques and pictures immortalizing line-of-duty deaths line the walls alongside lockers stuffed full of bunker gear and air canisters. An American flag hangs from the rafters alongside a POW/MIA banner, and further toward the back is a whiteboard where watch rotations are scribbled in messy dry-erase shorthand. Then, of course, there are the trucks themselves, five-ton red-as-red behemoths primed and ready for the call to come in over the radio.
Tommy can’t really blame your muse if curiosity gets the better of them, but he does have to stop them before they end up somewhere they really shouldn’t. A couple of steps past the threshold, and he’ll call to them, not looking up from his paper.]
Can I help you?
[It’s got a bit of a “you-got-some-splaining-to-do” lilt to it.]
II.
[They never tell you in the academy how disorienting being in a fire can be.
Oh, sure, they can show you, put you in a few practice burns with nothing but your Nomex between you and the flames, but the safeties are on - the instructors will pull you out before you’re ever in any real danger. You don’t get a sense of how the heat can press in on you and feel like it’s singeing your skin through your bunker gear, or how every staircase looks the same through sweat-tinged eyes, or how sucking in that desert-dry air from your SCBA can dry out your throat and leave you aching for just a sip of water.
It’s a real bitch.
The call was to an apartment complex in Tisse, an old tinderbox that he’s always had a gut feeling about, that it wasn’t a question of if it would go up but when. When was this morning, apparently, when something provided just enough spark for a gas leak to blow out the first floor and start a fire that quickly worked its way up to floors two and three. It’s a big one, a three-alarm blaze, and he’s got every feeling in the world that before long it’s going to be a four-alarm one.]
Fire department!
[All he’s got for company is his radio and his hoolie tools, a halligan and an axe joined together at the base that ought to bring down any doors standing between him and any survivors that need evacuating.]
Fire department!
[Survivors that hopefully make themselves known sooner rather than later, because this floor doesn’t sound like it’s going to hold.]
III.
[He wasn’t checking his watch in there, but if Tommy had to guess, he’d say that fire took about two hours of his time and five years off his life expectancy. The engine companies have doused the flames, and the ladder companies have handed off the charges of theirs that need medical attention to the EMTs and left the rest mostly to their own devices. Now it’s up to the lieutenants and the chiefs to manage post-incident containment - which, in plain English, means Tommy gets the next half-hour to unwind.
He’s seated on the back of one of the trucks, wiping off his soot-encrusted face with water from a Dixie cup when he catches the eye of a curious onlooker who maybe, just maybe, is getting a bit too curious.]
Wouldn’t get too close, if I were you.
[With a nod to the important-looking guys conversing in a school circle further along down towards the complex:]
Chiefs like their space.
IV.
[Some of the guys head home after their 12-hour shifts are over. Others head to the bars, or to the gym. Tommy’s got no problems with any of those three, really - it’s just that tonight was a night to head to The Stardust.
The ice rink, on occasion, is host to pee-wee hockey tournaments. They’re middle-schoolers, big enough to hurt themselves or others and yet young enough to need a pretty constant coaching presence on the rink - which is where Tommy comes in. There wasn’t a game tonight - won’t be for a couple of weeks. Tonight was a practice, and a pretty usual one at that. Their goalie needs to put in some work against shots from the crease, and there are a few other minor quibbles he’ll need to take time to sort out, but all in all, they’re not in such a bad place right now.
Of course, lugging all that hockey gear out of the arena makes him pretty ungraceful - those bags are bulky and heavy, and so who can blame him if he accidentally bumps into your muse somewhere between the rink and his car?]
‘scuse me.
[Pardon him, coming through, etc.]
V.
[wildcard!hit me with your rhythm stick]
WHERE: Tribunal Terrace, a nameless apartment complex in Tisse, The Stardust
WHEN: May 19th-20th!
WHAT: Day-in-the-life stuff to get him established in-game!
WARNINGS: Fire! Pyrophobics best stay away >:T
I.
[The Tribunal Terrace fire station is the largest in Recollé. It has to be - not only does it house your bog-standard engine and ladder companies, but it’s home to rescue and Haz-Mat trucks as well, toolboxes on wheels that ensure the department is never left wanting in even the most perilous and dangerous rescue scenarios. It’s strategically placed to make the most efficient use of the major roadways throughout the city (time is life when it comes to fires and MVAs), and is staffed by a couple dozen of the toughest and bravest smoke-eaters in the city. Put these guys in a tinderbox and there’s nothing they can’t do.
But chest pounding like that isn’t Tommy’s style. He’s just the guy they pay to pop doors off their hinges and carry grandmas out of burning buildings. Or in this case, read the sports section of the Recollé Times on the city’s dime.
(The younger guys play Madden 17 on the widescreen in the lounge. Shhh, don’t tell anybody.)
The bay doors to the station are open, and he’s sitting at a desk just past them, leaning back in a chair, resting one foot on the opposite knee as he puffs away on a cigarette, the radio next to him squawking with traffic every so often. Anyone who steps past the threshold may very well feel like they’re trespassing in some sort of sanctuary. Plaques and pictures immortalizing line-of-duty deaths line the walls alongside lockers stuffed full of bunker gear and air canisters. An American flag hangs from the rafters alongside a POW/MIA banner, and further toward the back is a whiteboard where watch rotations are scribbled in messy dry-erase shorthand. Then, of course, there are the trucks themselves, five-ton red-as-red behemoths primed and ready for the call to come in over the radio.
Tommy can’t really blame your muse if curiosity gets the better of them, but he does have to stop them before they end up somewhere they really shouldn’t. A couple of steps past the threshold, and he’ll call to them, not looking up from his paper.]
Can I help you?
[It’s got a bit of a “you-got-some-splaining-to-do” lilt to it.]
II.
[They never tell you in the academy how disorienting being in a fire can be.
Oh, sure, they can show you, put you in a few practice burns with nothing but your Nomex between you and the flames, but the safeties are on - the instructors will pull you out before you’re ever in any real danger. You don’t get a sense of how the heat can press in on you and feel like it’s singeing your skin through your bunker gear, or how every staircase looks the same through sweat-tinged eyes, or how sucking in that desert-dry air from your SCBA can dry out your throat and leave you aching for just a sip of water.
It’s a real bitch.
The call was to an apartment complex in Tisse, an old tinderbox that he’s always had a gut feeling about, that it wasn’t a question of if it would go up but when. When was this morning, apparently, when something provided just enough spark for a gas leak to blow out the first floor and start a fire that quickly worked its way up to floors two and three. It’s a big one, a three-alarm blaze, and he’s got every feeling in the world that before long it’s going to be a four-alarm one.]
Fire department!
[All he’s got for company is his radio and his hoolie tools, a halligan and an axe joined together at the base that ought to bring down any doors standing between him and any survivors that need evacuating.]
Fire department!
[Survivors that hopefully make themselves known sooner rather than later, because this floor doesn’t sound like it’s going to hold.]
III.
[He wasn’t checking his watch in there, but if Tommy had to guess, he’d say that fire took about two hours of his time and five years off his life expectancy. The engine companies have doused the flames, and the ladder companies have handed off the charges of theirs that need medical attention to the EMTs and left the rest mostly to their own devices. Now it’s up to the lieutenants and the chiefs to manage post-incident containment - which, in plain English, means Tommy gets the next half-hour to unwind.
He’s seated on the back of one of the trucks, wiping off his soot-encrusted face with water from a Dixie cup when he catches the eye of a curious onlooker who maybe, just maybe, is getting a bit too curious.]
Wouldn’t get too close, if I were you.
[With a nod to the important-looking guys conversing in a school circle further along down towards the complex:]
Chiefs like their space.
IV.
[Some of the guys head home after their 12-hour shifts are over. Others head to the bars, or to the gym. Tommy’s got no problems with any of those three, really - it’s just that tonight was a night to head to The Stardust.
The ice rink, on occasion, is host to pee-wee hockey tournaments. They’re middle-schoolers, big enough to hurt themselves or others and yet young enough to need a pretty constant coaching presence on the rink - which is where Tommy comes in. There wasn’t a game tonight - won’t be for a couple of weeks. Tonight was a practice, and a pretty usual one at that. Their goalie needs to put in some work against shots from the crease, and there are a few other minor quibbles he’ll need to take time to sort out, but all in all, they’re not in such a bad place right now.
Of course, lugging all that hockey gear out of the arena makes him pretty ungraceful - those bags are bulky and heavy, and so who can blame him if he accidentally bumps into your muse somewhere between the rink and his car?]
‘scuse me.
[Pardon him, coming through, etc.]
V.
[wildcard!
II
He'd always thought it was a bit of a rat trap, but he'd never realized what a fire code violation it was until he's woken by the sound and rumble of an explosion. Climbing out of bed, he hurriedly dresses, because that did not sound good. Too big for a vehicle backfiring and the way the building had shuddered? The smoke starts seeping into his second floor apartment about the time he gets his shoes on. And that's when it hits him that the building is on fire.
Shit!
[Logically he knows he should drop everything and run. But all his brain can think about is the things he needs to take with him. Running back to his bedroom, he stuffs his cellphone and wallet into his pockets and grabs a sports bag from his closet. As much as it pains him, he leaves his beloved sneaker collection. Instead, he grabs his laptop and external harddrive, the only photograph he has of his mother, and the various objects people have asked him to look into that he hasn't returned yet.
By the time he gets everything into the bag, the smoke is almost too thick to see through. Coughing, Tatsuo slings the sports bag across his back and drops to the floor. Alarmingly, he can to feel heat as he quickly crawls over to the window where the fire escape is. But to his absolute horror, the window won't open. Muttering choice words about inconvenient laws of physics, he crawls his way toward his front door. Around the center of his living room the smoke starts getting to him and he stops to cough, trying to catch his breath. That's when he heard someone out in the hallway yelling.]
Here! [coughcough] In here!
no subject
(Bad news, dude: your lock is B-U-S-T-E-D. Good news: you won't need to worry about the security deposit after this.)
Tommy is at Tatsuo's side in an instant, sizing him up for injuries as he calls it in on his radio. Nothing looks to be out of place to him - the EMTs will check him out once he's outside, but Tommy'd put money on him walking out of here shaken but unharmed.
The radio call is a quick formality, and Tommy's next question is for Tatsuo:]
You okay? Can you walk?
[Tommy's already looking around the apartment, barely paying attention to the answer. Bringing him back down to the first floor would be just stupid at this point, and so he eyes the window - if he finds it's stuck, he can still use the halligan to break the glass and let Tatsuo out that way. It's inelegant, to be sure, but it'll work.]
Anybody else on this floor with you?
no subject
Yeah, I can walk.
[Dragging himself to his feet, Tatsuo pulls his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth.]
Mrs Johnson in 306 and Mr Peters in 304 are retired. I'm not quite sure when everyone else leaves for work or classes. There's eight apartments on this floor total and they were all occupied last I checked.
no subject
(On the bright side, odds are they'll be light if he has to carry them out. He's yet to meet a retiree heavier than him. But there are still seven units that need to be checked - he'll need backup.)
Tommy tries to work the window. Yup, still stuck. He hefts the halligan in his hand and looks at Tatsuo, his voice muffled through his SCBA mask.]
Okay, listen - I'm gonna bust this window and get you out of here. Get yourself down to the street and get the EMTs to check you out. We're gonna be up here for a while.
[Ready or not, Tatsuo, here it comes. Tommy swings the iron bar like a third-baseman trying to knock one out of the park, and the glass shatters under the force. Another swing, then another and an overhand to finish it off, and then, after he rattles the hoolie around the edges of the frame to clear what glass remains from it:]
Okay, go! Go!
no subject
[Tatsuo is no fool. The moment Tommy tells him to go, he is climbing out that window. There are no attempts at heroics here. Tatsuo knows he'd be of absolutely no help inside a burning building, as much as he worries about his neighbors. That's for the firefighters to handle.
Luckily, the fire escape is in working order, unlike that disagreeable window in his apartment. So Tatsuo is able to slide the ladder down without much trouble and is soon stumbling his way over to the EMTs. Within a few minutes, he's sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, and sucking in a little oxygen.
He keeps an eye out for the firefighter who rescued him though, wanting to thank him again for saving his skin.]
no subject
With a perfunctory wave of his hand, he dismisses the other firefighters and starts to head over to the engine when Tatsuo catches his eye. He adjusts his course, taking off his helmet and SCBA and wiping away some of the sweat that's gathered at his brow.]
Hey. How're you doing?
[As though anticipating a question of the sort:]
Your floor's okay. We got everyone out, but, eh-
[He purses his lips, tucks the helmet under his arm.]
-some of them are headed to the hospital. Smoke inhalation.
Lucky you stayed in your unit. That first floor was a mess.
no subject
Do you have any idea what happened? It felt like I was woken up by some sort of explosion.
[Even though his apartment had been spared to some extent, Tatsuo has a feeling he's not going to keep living there. It's high time he lives someplace that at least has smoke alarms installed.]
no subject
Gas leak, looks like. Someone didn't smell it and turned on a stove or lit up a smoke or whatever and-
[He spreads his arms out to the side to pantomime an explosion.]
-boom.
[He looks past the ambulance, back to the flame-blackened facade of the complex, and shakes his head.] Couple of bad burn cases from the first floor, but no fatalities, far as we can tell. Goddamn miracle.
["A goddamn miracle" is selling it short, if he's honest. He can't say he's seen anything like it in his career, and neither can the few guys who've been on the job longer than him. Usually, with a blowout like this, they have to carry at least one kid or senior citizen out with a blanket over them.
He holds out a gloved hand to Tatsuo - there's traces of soot still on it, but he'll wash them off back at the station.]
I'm Tommy. Listen, you got somewhere to go, a couch to crash on, something like that?
no subject
[Tatsuo can think of a number of smokers in the building. Or any number of outlets or appliances likely to be used at this time of day. It might be a while before they determine the exact point of ignition, but in the end, the result is the same.]
Tatsuo.
[He grips Tommy's hand through the glove and gives a firm shake.]
I texted a couple friends while I was enjoying some oxygen. I've got a futon lined up, so I'll be all right.
[He glances back toward the building.]
Listen. Did anyone happen to find a chihuahua?
[He dislikes his landlady's vicious little ankle-biter with a passion, but that doesn't mean he wished Ripper dead.]
no subject
[Tommy's a big dog guy, but he's a big dog guy - as in, German shepherds, rottweilers, golden retrievers. Shih tzus and the like - they can stay 200 feet back from him, pls and thanks.]
Can't think of anything right off the bat. But we got a couple ladder trucks here. Odds are good one of these guys got it out.
[He'll look at Tatsuo a little differently now - an eyebrow cocked, and with just a pinch of judgement.]
Why, it yours?
no subject
God, no! The landlady's. He's a menace, but she's inordinately fond of him.
iii.
She's never met an older man who didn't try to coddle or patronize her, but then again, maybe being just shy of 20 and having a personal style that tends to skew youthful means she plays that to her advantage.
Nui jumps as if startled, hands raised in supplication. Her eyes sparkle.] Oh, jeez, mister, you scared me! I just wanted to see if everyone was all right.
no subject
Yeah, we got it under control.
[He's not going to say everyone's all right because not everyone is all right. The EMTs are still dealing with some cases of smoke inhalation, but there weren't any fatalities - a lucky break for a fire of this size.
Idly, he gives Nui a quick once-over. She strikes him as an ordinary teenaged girl, not unlike his daughter's classmates - well, a few years their senior. But still - what harm could she do?
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the complex.]
You know someone who lives here? They can meet you across the street if you do. We'll be out of here in a few minutes.
no subject
She doesn't try to muscle past Tommy, at least, but she does walk back and forth on the pavement in front of him, trying to steal looks from different angles. Of course she's worth the once-over; she knows girls like her aren't usually interested in fires, especially not when they're all dressed up with places to be. But, hey, who's the weird-looking one? A girl wearing pink or a big guy in a reflective, monstrous suit and covered in soot? Exactly.]
I hate getting dirty, so I probably couldn't do a job like that... [She purses her lips.] Don't you all have to be able to lift a ton, too?
no subject
Tommy's not about to stop her - he's not a cop, and even if he was, there'd be nothing he could do. But put in enough years on the job and you begin to think just a little bit less of people who stop just to gawk.]
Yeah. Yeah, we do.
[(Seriously, don't get any of the younger guys started on who can out-deadlift whom. That's how you lose the rec lounge to them for the day while they sort it all out.)
Something about her is starting to rub him the wrong way - maybe it's the way she's actively trying to sneak looks at the complex while he's talking to her. Sure, idle curiosity is normal for bystanders, but something in his gut tells her she's someone to watch. It's a stretch at this point, but she could very well prove to be a firebug.]
We have it under control, miss. Best thing for you to do is move along. [A jerk of his thumb over his shoulder towards a large gathering of people.] We got everyone evacuated and assembled across the street. If you want to look for your friends, they'll probably be there.
[Or the hospital, but he figures they'll call if that's the case.]
III
"Sorry," he nods his head a little. He looks up at the building again. "I just know this place. One of the guys lives here." He glances at Tommy. "He's checked in, he's all right, but it makes you think anyway."
"Need anything?" Togusa is of the full opinion that the beat cops, like him, are just on these sorts of scenes to help the fire fighters do their jobs. Stay out of the way, for the most part, keep anybody else from getting hurt. He knows exactly what's going on in that circle of people over there, and it is thankfully above his pay grade.
no subject
He reaches into an inner pocket of his turnout gear to dig out a carton of cigarettes and a Zippo. Give him a few more moments to dig a cancer stick out, tamp down the tobacco inside, and light up, and he'll bring his attention back to Togusa, giving him a cursory look as he takes a drag.
With a nod back to the blackened complex:
"Hell of a way to lose your security deposit, huh?"
(It's a bit dark, but what can you do? Get a front-row seat to some of grungiest scenes you never want to see again and see if your sense of humor doesn't turn a little dark.)
"He's lucky it wasn't worse. When we showed up it was about ready to spread next door. Probably would've taken a chunk of the block with it."
Another drag, and Tommy'll tap some ash out onto the asphalt, wiping away some sweat and soot that's still on his face.
"Makes you wonder how they skimped on fire code all those years."
no subject
Now, he gets it.
Just like he gets the black humor, even though it's not his coping mechanism of choice. "It's too easy to get away with shortcuts in this part of town. Worse near the University, because they know the kids won't complain."
Togusa's hands go to his hips, and he looks up at the building, around to the next, and the next, all similar, all probably with the same internal problems as the one that happened to catch. "No reason Kihara should have still been living here with his paycheck. More, no damn reason the city shouldn't be fixing their infrastructure. Between this and the subway still out of commission? Public servants not doing their jobs, means we have to do extra work to clean it up."
Togusa tilts his head to the side. "Knew that when I signed on, don't get me wrong. But it just kills you to remember it every once in a while."
no subject
"Eh. What can you do, write your councilman? Not like they'll ever come out here and see for themselves what it's like. I got better odds of getting my oldest to take out the trash."
Don't get him wrong, Tommy's just as pissed as Togusa about how this went unfixed for so long. It damn near killed more than a few civilians and a few guys in the company. But after how long it's taken them to acknowledge the subway (and the brokenness thereof)? He's got no real confidence in the city government to fix anything when it comes to infrastructure.
So until then, they buck up, keep on doing what they can, and hope it doesn't take someone getting killed for things to change.
He holds out a hand for Togusa to shake, should he be so inclined. "Name's Tommy. Tommy Gavin."
no subject
"Unless it's some big public event, it seems nobody'll notice it. Least nobody who actually writes policy. I can't even tell you what my schedule's been like for the last few months," Togusa rolls his eyes. "Run traffic or extra security for every flavor of festival or gala, turn around and pull a kid out of a car wreck where they can't see it." He holds up a hand. "Know I'm preaching to the choir, but." He shrugs. Times like this, the frustration just spills out.