2nd. ( video. )

[reconnaissance]

( The problem here was, so far as Ellie could see it, was that there were people. Too many people, a claustrophobic press of Transports jammed in so that she felt like she suddenly had some idea what it was like for cattle to be run through the crush. Whether or not they were all destined for an abattoir was another matter entirely.
Not just that, but they weren't the right people. Some of them seemed decent enough, but they weren't her human safety blanket or the guy that kept them all going, or the one that she could always feel superior to. (To be honest, it was a relief none of them were Lee.)

This might be why she is addressing the network from one of the bombed out buildings rather than her place, which she hasnt visited for a few days. Ellie's just surrounded by debris, dirt and water damaged walls, though some of the prior are concealed by some pretty massive piles of paper. She's propping herself up on her elbows, not looking right at the device. )

I was wondering what there is around here in the way of record keeping. I mean, these things have got a lot on them, but something other than that. Pens, paper - the tangible stuff. In case the network fails, or something.

There's probably already something, but I haven't had time to figure all that out yet. And maybe if there isn't, we should make one. Record the people who have been here, what they know, experiences and stuff. Not just stuff that happens here, but before. Or, um, elsewhere, I guess. Wherever home is.

( Despite this being a video broadcast, and deliberately so, she has to yet glanced at the camera. She does now, very briefly, but there is a definite guilty expression to it. Ellie opens her mouth again, but thinks better of it. )

Comments

[whatsupcroc]

Mandatory journaling. There was this one class we had to do it for when I was in middle school.

( She shrugs, not mentioning how it has also been a theory of a few child psychologists over the years, right along with the therapists. )

It's nothing important. Just school stuff! We couldn't write anything about fighting, that'd have been plain dumb!

[reconnaissance]

( Even for someone who loves writing, Ellie makes a face. ) What's the good in it if it's mandatory?

( Although, to be fair, keeping her own records had started as a job, something she had to do, that the others wanted her to do. Then she just kept going. )

I dunno. You could've really brightened up your teacher's day, if you got imaginative.

( Good God, she had a sense of humour. ) You're right. Sometimes you need to have evidence that something happened. That it was real, how you changed through it-- ( Hmm. She grabs up a book, and shows it to Collette. ) Is that overpriced?

( She's not being super loud, but she didn't drop her voice for the sake of discretion, either. )

[whatsupcroc]

For here? Only if you don't like new journals! I can find you an old one that won't hold up for half the cost. it just won't, you know, really hold up to any real use.

( Collette eyed the paper by where she sat. Where was the stuff Caesar had used for the coastal map? Further down the aisle, she thinks, following the route by memory. Geez, she'd never known paper-shopping could last that long.

Ellie had quite a record to live up to, if she wanted to leave Collette bored at a paper shop. )

I did that all the time anyway! Come up with the best stories to tell in all those "what I did with my summer" essays.

[reconnaissance]

Yeah? Okay.

( all right, then. She's going to listen to this girl, trust her on this one. What's the worst thing that could happen? Overcharged for something that might give her a paper cut? It's a risk she's prepared to take.

Though, as she handles it, she pauses by Collette. ) Hey. Thanks for showing me where this place is.

( A shrug, stiff, before she grabs another couple of journals, and moves to the counter. She has a lot of writing planned, apparently. ) You still write much now you're here?

[whatsupcroc]

No. I'm a talker more than a writer. I tell stories from here ( she gestures to her head, then a beat later to her heart ) and here. I don't do so good with the writing thing. The words get all confused when I try to put them down on paper!

( She laughs, admitting to something that's not been precisely helpful to and for her. It's a nonfactor. When she writes, it's to people these days. She seems to do pretty okay with that much, at the very least. )

You're welcome. I'm glad you're finding what you want! In way less time than some other people I've brought by here, too.

( She grins -- like it's some sort of amusing personal joke. )

[reconnaissance]

It can be rough. I mean, I love writing, but there are times when the words just don't come. Talking can be easier, then. Some stuff just isn't that easy to talk about without seeing it written down and reminding yourself it's real, but.

( She doesn't smile, not really. Smiling is difficult, more often than not, but there is more lightness in her expression, less harsh lines. )

I think even my dad would have a few words to say if I spent too long buying paper, and he loves taking his time, "do the job right, not fast."

( Okay she-- thinks she has what she needs, so she's just going to mosey on over to the register. )