Occams Razor

Gus can be seen moving furniture in and out of the main street house. You see a sign, half finished, with the letters "HHH" printed around a rising sun lying on the porch. When he's not moving beds and dressers, Gus can be seen doing spring clean up; moving snow, raking the dead grass out of the lawn, picking up branches, patching the roof. He smiles and waves as he sees you passing by. "Hey, have a good one," he says in his boston-ese accent and continues back to work.

Alice passed by two or three times, usually armed with her bat and her tac vest and her thigh holster. She barely spared a glance.

The fourth time was different. She was wearing a plain tank top and a pair of jeans, neither stained with blood. A bandana that was probably white several past lives ago kept her hair out of her face. The lines of scripture could be seen running down her arms.

Instead of a weapon in her hand, she had a broom (which could certainly be used as a weapon in a truly desperate situation, but the lack of splintering or blood suggested it probably hadn't yet). She lingered by a nearby tree until she could shyly catch Gus's attention.

"Do you, um... Would you like any assistance?" she murmured awkwardly, her eyes focused near his shoes. "If you do not, I would of course understand. I do not wish to get in your way..."

"Yeah, sure, I don't see why not," Gus says. "Things need dusting and floors need sweeping. These houses have seen a few better days. I always appreciate the help."

He works diligently and makes conversation all the while, "Helping the poor and hungry, that's what I'm about. Being deputy fire marshall here isn't nearly as exciting as it sounds, which gives me time to volunteer."

She kept her distance unless a task seemed like it needed two people to help, but worked diligently none-the-less. She started with sweeping, humming quietly to herself as she worked, only faltering when there was a pause in conversation that needed filling.

"I... was taken in by a Church in New York. I was... in a bad situation and they helped me out of it. I am grateful for the... mercy they showed me, and thus give most of my free time to... assisting where I can with organizations who espouse the same beliefs. And since I do not have a day job..." she shrugged.

"I... enjoy the cleaning though," this more to herself than to him. "I was never very good at people, but when I cleaned I could help without... having to deal with people."

Aurora comes running up Main street. She leaps onto the tire swing beside the Halfway House and grins as she swings. After a few swings back and forth, she bounces off and moves over to help Gus with a dresser. "Nice day huh?" She wiggles a few fingers at Alice. "Hey Alice!"

Kelsey pauses on her way down Main Street, moving to take a closer look at the sign Gus has put up. When she spots Gus and Alice, she waves to them both, a smile on her face.

"Hey, Gus! Is this that halfway house you were talking about starting up?"

She nods in Alice's direction. "Hello, Alice." And then Rory goes sprinting by her. "Hey, Rory!"

The medic waits for a heartbeat before moving any closer, as if she's worried she might frighten Alice away.

Running! Bouncing! The sudden movement clearly puts Alice on Edge, the broom shifting to one hand while the other tingles uncomfortably with energy. It quickly dissipates as she sees that the newcomer is not some Terrible Eldritch Horror, but rather an incredibly perky Aurora. She blinks bewilderedly and then, as her posture shifts away from the Startled-Hackle-Raise, she gives Aurora a very small, very shy, wave.

Kelsey even managed to draw up a very small smile from Alice as that wave was also returned. Her head dipped, broom shifting back into the proper sweeping-rather-than-bludgeoning grip. She kept her distance (as much as the small space would allow) from the others as she returned to her sweeping, pausing occasionally to pull a rag from her pocket (her other bandana, it would seem) to dust over some of the surfaces.

Sally lumbers out of a cabin, bleary eyed and [gasp!] his hair everywhichway. He squints into the daylight and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. One hand is gloved, the other is not. One foot is booted, the other shod in a bloody-stained, muddy running shoe. Rather than his tactical vest, he rocks a crumpled Mossy Oak cammo vest, and matching belt- all but one of the belt's slots for beer cans is empty. He still wears his gunbelt, and Wynona's handle juts out from his hip.

Running a hand through his wild locks, a flash of awareness comes to the man, and he pulls a battered mossy-oak print cap out of his back pocket and puts that hair on lockdown.

"What in tha' blue hell is all this racket?" he says, voice a gritty slur. For the briefest of moments, he looks the very foul picture of every media stereotype of a man from Kentucky. Surly. Ignorant. Unshaven. Belligerent.

As he approaches, seemingly unimpeded by the fact that his boots half a thick tread and heel, while his running shoes seem to be of thin, low-profile variety, the clear, unmistakable sound of a can tab popping up rings out on Main Street.

The can is empty in two gulps, and Sally tosses it back onto his porch. Another of his boots sits on that porch, under the watchful, gaping eye-socket of the Ram Skull.

With a shake of his head, Sally hups over the threshold of the 3-H, sees the ladies working, and says, "Oh, hey there darlins'!" and brightly, no less. "Thought ya'll was them damn techno-wub-wub kids, pukin' on my friggen lawn again. Helluva way to wake up from a nap." He glances back toward said lawn, where there is the definite impression of a body in the snow, beside a dried pile of... something.

When he turns back, he looks to Alice, "Ya got this here Chickadee checkin' fer rad-i-ation 'er somethin, Gustav?" At the time, when Dr. Zinc had told everyone at the front of the final radiation run to wield mops as shields, Sally had thought that sounded like a superb idea. Now, it occurred to him that folks gettin' ir-rad-i-ated were general clad in lead longjohns, no push-broom shields.

He looks to each of the ladies in turn, and says "Ms. Graham, no doubt fresh off makin' sure the Russians don't in-vade the Yook-Raine, I'm sure," and to Rory, "'n here's the sparkplug makin' all that there ruckus!"

Now that the threat of yet more vomit inundating his lawn is over, Sally seems in quite good spirits.

"Ya'll need a hand, 'er 'as the Chickadee here got it covered?" he grins at Alice.

In the small proportions of the cabin, it's painfully obvious that Sally is nearly head and shoulders taller than everyone, as he fills the doorway nearly completely. How he and the even bigger JD Walker, of all people, manage to fit onto the same set of bunks is a marvel of modern wood-fastening technology.

Up close, Sally appears to be encased in a network of bruises, dried blood, and faint acid burns (though, once could assume those could be from the Hot Sauce). He doesn't seem to notice.

A disgruntled Ryan is fiddling with the alarm system when he hears Sally outside yelling about... something. The noise startles him, and he drops the contraption and clumsily draws the small caliber pistol. He aims it at the door for a few seconds until he recognizes Sally's voice.
"Only the neighbors... Thank goodness!" He says with a heavy sigh. He returns to his work, not completely sure what he is doing, as the installation manual was lost months ago.
Outside observers can notice a flash of brilliant blue light, followed by a cry of pain, audible swearing, and a power surge knocks out power to the building for a few seconds.

"Back to the drawing board..." he says with another sigh as calloused hands and burned fingers resume their tasks.

Jan Grey arrives on the scene, towing castoff furniture. "Hello Gus, think you could use any of this stuff? I've been busy sorting out other things, but now that things are calmed down, you need any help?"
Jan chucks his coat and hat on the chair he just dragged inside before swapping out his ancient spear for the rake lying against the wall and getting to work.