Status: All for now, unless anyone wants more. I'm easily persuaded.
ReSoul
Out of the Wardrobe
Felix awoke when music began to play over the intercom. It was a song he knew well, being on one of the few surviving pre-war records that he often listened to. The song was from a musical, called Anything Goes written by Cole Porter. He was also the performer of this recording, which had been memorized by Felix months ago. They were, in part, as follows:
Times have changed
And we've often rewound the clock
Since the Puritans got a shock
When they landed on Plymouth Rock.
If today
Any shock they should try to stem
'Stead of landing on Plymouth Rock,
Plymouth Rock would land on them.
In olden days, a glimpse of stocking
Was looked on as something shocking.
But now, God knows,
Anything goes.
Good authors too who once knew better words
Now only use four-letter words
Writing prose.
Anything goes.
If driving fast cars you like,
If low bars you like,
If old hymns you like,
If bare limbs you like,
If Mae West you like,
Or me undressed you like,
Why, nobody will oppose.
When ev’ry night the set that’s smart is in-
Truding in nudist parties in
Studios.
Anything goes.
By the whole song’s cessation, he found his spirits strangely lifted. His newfound companion had good tastes in music, choosing this one out of the bunch. He strolled down to the living quarters and paged her in the room. A response was sent promptly by his guest.
The voice from the speaker was energetic, lively and even sprightly in tone, which was most unusual to Felix.
“Good to see you’re up now, mister. Just about time for breakfast don’t ya think?”
“Come on out and we’ll go then,” said he. “Heh, seems I can’t stay mad at you for long.”
Obviously she was skeptical at first, but she remembered that she had the plasma pistol he wanted, and the location of the only source of ammunition for it. Triumphantly, she opened the door and stepped out. Instead of her clothes, she was wearing an olive green jumpsuit she found in the drawers. The reason for this wardrobe change was obvious, for she had on old,ragged and baggy casual clothes from before the war, consisting of ripped and faded cargo pants in what once could have been called a shade of ebony, a large red shirt with many patches on that could have once been considered trendy, worn out black and white basketball sneakers, and a thick and clunky jacket (again, with patches) made out of stonewashed denim. These clothes had reached their extent of use, and were adequately replaced by the military jumpsuit she now wore and the boots she also recently acquired. It seemed to Felix that she had roamed the bunker while he slept, otherwise she wouldn’t have had boots in the right size. Surely she visited his warehouse (which contained many boxes of things he found useless, such as the boots she now wore) and knew of his weapon caches. She still wore her hair in the same way, a loose bun that was less for fashion, more for practicality. Felix took more notice of her self importance when he observed how she dressed and maintained herself. Even in a pre war military jumpsuit and standard issue boots, she maintained a sense of beauty and efficiency all in one. This balance was aptly noted by Felix. She seemed healthier and more agile than other people he met in his journeys, potentially rivaling his own well trained and kept self. The last thing he noticed was her eyes, which were vibrant and sharp green. Through all of this he still maintained the thought that she was familiar somehow, more so as time pressed on. Yet he still couldn’t place how he knew her...
Once Felix stopped observing these changes in wardrobe, he suddenly realized how little he cared for his own appearance overall. His old boots he’d been wearing for a year and three quarters now were running thin as far as soles are concerned, and his jeans had certainly seen better days. His jeans were heavily stained by greases and mechanical oils from tinkering with machines he found. The shirt he wore used to have long sleeves, but they got in his way and were eventually cut off at the shoulder. What remained was a heavily torn and tattered tank top that was also stained by oil and grease. The jacket he wore used to belong to a mechanic before the war, by the name “Keith.” He found it at an old automobile maintenance shop that was surprisingly untouched by scavengers. The shop was called Quick-E-Fix, and his jacket bore the emblem on front and back. He had a light beard growing on his face, only shaving when it became too much to maintain. This was true for his hair too, which was shoulder length and swept back and out of the way. He wasn’t old, only 25 years of age. If he cleaned himself up, he wouldn’t be just presentable, he would actually be considered a fair looking man. The only part of him that currently didn’t look scruffy was his eyes, which were bright and clear blue, and seemed to glow with health and life. Physically he was a prime specimen, with immense physical strength and agility. Psychologically, he faltered however, failing to remember much of his past and having trouble with memory in general. His logic was in perfect shape and in working order, ground to a fine point by his main life's goal.
This exchange in observation takes longer to explain than how it happened; the two must have been looking at each other for no more than a few seconds each.
“Never caught your name,” Felix was surprised to hear himself say (for he never cared for such trivialities), “And I don’t recall telling you mine. I’m Felix. Means ‘lucky’ in some places, but that couldn’t be further from true to me. Well?”
She stood for a moment in simple thought, but progressed to a state of pensiveness, then deep confusion and disdain.
“Actually, I don’t have a name. First thing I can remember was waking up in some old pre-war house in a bed, under the blankets. There was a glass of water on the table next to me that appeared freshly poured, which was peculiar to me. The house had a safe with this pistol in it, plenty of ammo too. Eventually I discovered what was going on in the world, and fought to survive. I got tipped off that there was a crate of pre-war military supplies tucked away in the ghost town of Bella Morte, and decided that the legends I’d heard of the town weren’t true. Old world ghosts? Right, and I’m the queen of Scotland. Turned out the ghosts were those... things. That’s where you come in and mess up my plan, and here we are now.”
Times have changed
And we've often rewound the clock
Since the Puritans got a shock
When they landed on Plymouth Rock.
If today
Any shock they should try to stem
'Stead of landing on Plymouth Rock,
Plymouth Rock would land on them.
In olden days, a glimpse of stocking
Was looked on as something shocking.
But now, God knows,
Anything goes.
Good authors too who once knew better words
Now only use four-letter words
Writing prose.
Anything goes.
If driving fast cars you like,
If low bars you like,
If old hymns you like,
If bare limbs you like,
If Mae West you like,
Or me undressed you like,
Why, nobody will oppose.
When ev’ry night the set that’s smart is in-
Truding in nudist parties in
Studios.
Anything goes.
By the whole song’s cessation, he found his spirits strangely lifted. His newfound companion had good tastes in music, choosing this one out of the bunch. He strolled down to the living quarters and paged her in the room. A response was sent promptly by his guest.
The voice from the speaker was energetic, lively and even sprightly in tone, which was most unusual to Felix.
“Good to see you’re up now, mister. Just about time for breakfast don’t ya think?”
“Come on out and we’ll go then,” said he. “Heh, seems I can’t stay mad at you for long.”
Obviously she was skeptical at first, but she remembered that she had the plasma pistol he wanted, and the location of the only source of ammunition for it. Triumphantly, she opened the door and stepped out. Instead of her clothes, she was wearing an olive green jumpsuit she found in the drawers. The reason for this wardrobe change was obvious, for she had on old,ragged and baggy casual clothes from before the war, consisting of ripped and faded cargo pants in what once could have been called a shade of ebony, a large red shirt with many patches on that could have once been considered trendy, worn out black and white basketball sneakers, and a thick and clunky jacket (again, with patches) made out of stonewashed denim. These clothes had reached their extent of use, and were adequately replaced by the military jumpsuit she now wore and the boots she also recently acquired. It seemed to Felix that she had roamed the bunker while he slept, otherwise she wouldn’t have had boots in the right size. Surely she visited his warehouse (which contained many boxes of things he found useless, such as the boots she now wore) and knew of his weapon caches. She still wore her hair in the same way, a loose bun that was less for fashion, more for practicality. Felix took more notice of her self importance when he observed how she dressed and maintained herself. Even in a pre war military jumpsuit and standard issue boots, she maintained a sense of beauty and efficiency all in one. This balance was aptly noted by Felix. She seemed healthier and more agile than other people he met in his journeys, potentially rivaling his own well trained and kept self. The last thing he noticed was her eyes, which were vibrant and sharp green. Through all of this he still maintained the thought that she was familiar somehow, more so as time pressed on. Yet he still couldn’t place how he knew her...
Once Felix stopped observing these changes in wardrobe, he suddenly realized how little he cared for his own appearance overall. His old boots he’d been wearing for a year and three quarters now were running thin as far as soles are concerned, and his jeans had certainly seen better days. His jeans were heavily stained by greases and mechanical oils from tinkering with machines he found. The shirt he wore used to have long sleeves, but they got in his way and were eventually cut off at the shoulder. What remained was a heavily torn and tattered tank top that was also stained by oil and grease. The jacket he wore used to belong to a mechanic before the war, by the name “Keith.” He found it at an old automobile maintenance shop that was surprisingly untouched by scavengers. The shop was called Quick-E-Fix, and his jacket bore the emblem on front and back. He had a light beard growing on his face, only shaving when it became too much to maintain. This was true for his hair too, which was shoulder length and swept back and out of the way. He wasn’t old, only 25 years of age. If he cleaned himself up, he wouldn’t be just presentable, he would actually be considered a fair looking man. The only part of him that currently didn’t look scruffy was his eyes, which were bright and clear blue, and seemed to glow with health and life. Physically he was a prime specimen, with immense physical strength and agility. Psychologically, he faltered however, failing to remember much of his past and having trouble with memory in general. His logic was in perfect shape and in working order, ground to a fine point by his main life's goal.
This exchange in observation takes longer to explain than how it happened; the two must have been looking at each other for no more than a few seconds each.
“Never caught your name,” Felix was surprised to hear himself say (for he never cared for such trivialities), “And I don’t recall telling you mine. I’m Felix. Means ‘lucky’ in some places, but that couldn’t be further from true to me. Well?”
She stood for a moment in simple thought, but progressed to a state of pensiveness, then deep confusion and disdain.
“Actually, I don’t have a name. First thing I can remember was waking up in some old pre-war house in a bed, under the blankets. There was a glass of water on the table next to me that appeared freshly poured, which was peculiar to me. The house had a safe with this pistol in it, plenty of ammo too. Eventually I discovered what was going on in the world, and fought to survive. I got tipped off that there was a crate of pre-war military supplies tucked away in the ghost town of Bella Morte, and decided that the legends I’d heard of the town weren’t true. Old world ghosts? Right, and I’m the queen of Scotland. Turned out the ghosts were those... things. That’s where you come in and mess up my plan, and here we are now.”