(2016-06-22) Let There Be Light (and so he made electricians)
Let There Be Light (and so he made electricians)
Summary: Around midnight on the 22nd, Mon meets Rhys in the process of turning on the power, finally.
Date: 2016.06.22
Related: None
Players:
rhys..monica..

Where were you when the lights came back on? That's a question people may one day ask, assuming Stratford has that much of a future. 'I was in bed, trying to sleep when the lights switched on and the blender in the kitchen went crazy.' 'My place turned out to have a TV that still works, even though there's nothing to watch.' And so on. Where was Mon? Where will Mon be when the lights come on? Exactly where she is now, doing what she's about to do. She climbs up the storage tank to the valve box that has, thus far, kept water from flowing to the two turbines meant to generate electricity. So much has changed. So much of the triumph has been bled out in the interim but still… She looks at the valve, listens to the water sloshing in the water tower overhead, little disturbed by the small amounts used for showering 30 people, when it was designed for a growing town of a thousand people, with lawns and swimming pools and such. Mon makes herself pause to take in this moment.

Rhys has not let his guard down since he followed his 'guide' into town. With too many people around there were just too many possibilities that things could go… wrong. It's good to be out and alone, feeling a little bit more comfortable. Just a little bit. In any case, whatever he is out here for is clearly his own reasons. At least, now they are. By one of the buildings, around one side where perhaps a storage shed might have been, Rhys is actually lounging. Taking a little break, fingering something small in his fingers even as his other hand rests securely where his weapon is. As his head comes up and Rhys catches movement outside, he frowns, taking a tight grip on the handle of his gun as he scoots out of his hiding place. From below, he frowns up at the figure, cocking an eyebrow curiously.

Monica was taking in the moment. Now she hears movement. "Who's there?" There's the soft pat of a hand against a leather holster, and the ominous *click* of a hammer being pulled back. She's not aiming at anyone. Mindful, Monica. Mindful. But she is outside the perimeter, and it is dark.

A couple steps out of the shed, and his own weapon partially withdrawn, Rhys freezes at the question, giving a little grimace. "Curses," he mutters. The hand gripping his gun tightens, but he doesn't slide it out any further than it is, instead he takes a moment to glance around the area and checking for a place to take cover. "I'd ask you the same question," Rhys returns. His free hand moves a fraction, tucking whatever he had in hand into a pocket.

You say, "My name's Monica." The fact that whoever it is didn't shoot her faster than she could think tells her a lot. The fact that he didn't shoot at her as soon as he knew she was there also tells her a lot. She tries to chase the cold stealing over her away. "I live in Camp Hope. Your turn.""

A murmur of thought escapes Rhys as he considers. Apparently he's not so trustful, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at the figure. A moment of silence, and finally answers, "Scouting mission," he intones. Rhys' lips twist slightly and after a brief pause, he adds in, "For your… Camp Hope." There's a snort. Like there's hope for any of them. His thumb flicks over the handle of his gun as he thinks. "How do I know you aren't one of them?" he asks suspiciously, expecting her to understand what 'them' means.

Monica tries to push her voice a little less "gunslinger looking for an opening," which is how she feels, to "man, I am too tired for this bullshit." Which is also how she feels. "I'm old enough to drink and I haven't shot you already. You must be new, or you'd already know who I am. Like the flush toilets and hot showers? I'm the one who built that place. I'm about to make a little magic up here and make Stratford a little more civilized still." She pauses. She really can't SEE Rhys. If he's going to be a threat, it'd be nice to have clear look at him. "Want to come up here and watch?"

Rhys frowns and gives that a moment of thought. Heaving a sigh, he pushes his gun back into its holster, but he doesn't move. "So you work at getting the water running," he says at last, stepping closer to the tank. "Big deal," he lets out, at least sounding unimpressed. His shoulders lift nonchalantly, eyeing the way up to the tower as he approaches. His gaze climbs the tower to where the outline of the figure is and he cocks a brow curiously. Hmm. "Civilized how?" he asks. One hand rests against the way up, but he turns to place his back to it, looking around the surrounding area nervously. Don't let your guard down, he remembers. "Or I suppose I can keep an eye out down here for ya," Rhys suggests. Oh, how very nice of him.

Monica chuckles a little. "Hot showers and flush toilets, dude. Try 'em." She lets the hammer down on the revolver and slips it back in its holster. "There's a perfect line, but it seems awfuly… pretentious." She reaches into the valve box. "Still. It's been a long time coming, and it's just you and me out here, so…" With that, she pulls the main valve to the turbines open, gradually. The turbines spin up, gradually, so nothing happens right away. But pretty soon, the flicker of electric light comes on: the lights of a few rooms in the apartment complex, the occasional empty business sign that got missed during the "turn everything off" campaign. And most salient, the security lights of the water tower itself. What was dark is now light, and Mon's got a nice, clear view of him if she cares to shoot. When the lights on the water tower flicker to life, she says it. "Let there be light. And so he made electricians."

Rhys would be able to see now that the real energy input comes from a wind turbine, spinning away in the darkness, but even as the wind changes speed, the lights remain constant.

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