leonardo l-word wordriff | d2 | fin
Mar 4, 2023 19:22:58 GMT -5
Post by aya on Mar 4, 2023 19:22:58 GMT -5
Rockfall Ratmas delivers a stellar gift this year: a dark brown pleather sofa, one of the cushions missing, another clawed to shreds, the third one split and patched with layers of sticky duct tape that's clearly spent years melting under strangers' thigh sweat. It's the worst couch in the world.
"It's perfect," Hatchet declares.
They set about pulling the pleather from the couch frame. The back and sides are in much better condition than the cushions, which aren't entirely worthless themselves. Leo starts prying out the staples attaching the brown pleather at the bottom, but Hatchet has the more efficient idea of simply cutting the material free, as though slashing a painting out of its frame. Museum heist: Rockfall style.
The unofficial neighborhood holiday is both a vital part of the Rockfall ecosystem and a symptom of the Rockfall condition. On the first of April, when the winter eviction moratorium expires, the residents who owe too much back rent and all of their belongings are summarily dumped on the street. Those that managed to avoid eviction fill their homes with whatever used treasures they can carry, while the most precarious residents are left to start over from scratch.
Even so, there's not much moral quandary around picking over the Rockfall Ratmas refuse: the first big rain inevitably falls within the next week, and anything left outside will be completely ruined. Last year, when Leo had asked about the ethics of scavenging the belongings of their neighbors who'd just been made homeless, Hatchet only shrugged. "Take it up with their landlords," she'd said. "I didn't evict them."
Besides, anyone getting their shit dumped had all winter to stash anything they really wanted to keep. Larger items, like furniture, were obviously harder to move and store, but with luck this year's victims could replace the rest during next year's holiday.
This year is Leo's second Rockfall Ratmas. This year, instead of simply perusing the trashed treasures for anything that looks both salvageable and interesting, she and Hatchet are on a singular mission: Warrior. Princess. Armor.
(Okay, there was also that side-quest from Leo's dad to "keep an eye out for lamps that still have light bulbs in them, please," but after the tenth bulb they stopped bothering to put any more in Leo's backpack. Light bulbs are less exciting than armor. Get back to the armor.)
They spend the morning picking through the trash piles on the corner. Pausing every few feet to hold up oddly-shaped metal bowls or beaded legwarmers or hideous tasseled valences and ask each other "Pauldrons?" or "Vambraces?" or "Epaulettes?" they work their way from Leo's neighborhood towards Monster Block. Not only is this strategy the most practical, it's also optimal. ("The Cad has better loot," Hatchet had explained the night before, "so we want to make sure we get the good stuff first. But Monster Block has more evictions, so there's going to be more to pick from down there.")
When they spot the couch from two blocks away, Hatchet tugs at Leo's elbow. "Armor," she says, practically bouncing while pointing it out, "Armor. Armor. Armor." They take off in a light sprint, Leo dragged along by the arm, and immediately stake a claim to the revolting couch that absolutely no one is fighting them for.
"Should we be worried about bedbugs?" Leo asks.
"Shhhh," says Hatchet, which Leo takes to mean yes.
They stuff the pleather from the skinned sofa into Leo's backpack, excitedly discussing what they might be able to make with an entire couch worth of material. "The scraps from the cushions could be the strap skirt of course."
"Or vambraces," suggests Leo.
"Maybe both. Maybe armbands too."
"There's probably enough for your vest and a tunic."
"Definitely." Hatchet slings an arm around Leo's shoulder. "Can't let my traveling companion go into battle without armor."