#gerry podunk

She never had a real name as far as he knew, but in his mind she would always be Agnes.

She was the highest telephone pole around the block, a dark, towering beaut, covered in wires that draped around her like an assortment of necklaces.

He remembers the first time he saw her and how gobsmacked he was by everything about her.

He had to crane his neck to truly take her in and it almost made his heart jump from his rib cage.

The deep, static hum in his ears… and her smell. He never knew a whiff of wood could smell like THAT.

Everything about her was bodaciously amazing and he spend a lot of days on that street just to be around her, tinkering and building things from trash and things he fished from the lake just to be close to her comforting, low humming voice.

Now Gerry understood why his sister could never stop yappin about her classmate, how she was so smart and wonderful, so kind and how her blue curls shimmered in the sun like waves.

But oh boy, did that lass have nothing on his Agnes.

And one day she was gone.

One bad night, one thunderstorm, one badly aimed strike of lightning and she was gone. Just gone. It would take a while to reconnect everything, to put up a new, “safer” utility pole, a sleeker looking thing, equally as massive but with less cable adorning him, but his Agnes? Gone.

Gone.

And suddenly Gerry understood why his sister was so down in the dumps when her classmate moved away.

But now there was Martha.

A lady as imposing as she was beautiful. A machine whose purpose was lost on him, maybe she was just made to be drop dead gorgeous.

He was pretty much in love as soon as he laid his peepers on her. Strong, loud, noisy. Steamy pipes ssssh-ing and zzzzsh-ing and huffing with every puff of smoke she released into the world. Dented steel and big screws and a wide body that made him feel like he was running out of words by the minute.

And what a smile. Oh what a smile.

How could he not have fallen for her?

It’s the janitor who tries to tellim first.

Gerry doesn’t quite remember what he was doing in the boiler room At the time, he thinks it had something to do with that wacko kid, tried to offer him some vampire protections , but when he was poking around the water to see if some useful junk would turn up, he suddenly heard a voice.

They had a pleasant lil gab at first, exchanging names, were they came from and such.

… But it wouldn’t take too long till he got to the meat of the soup.

He tried to break it to him gently, poor sod, tried to tell him about the big boss and how he could not be trusted, how anything Habit built for this place only spelled disaster, that whatever his beloved was made for, it was something foul.

Gerry also doesn’t quite remember how he reacted to this humbug. He thinks it included a lot of fancy words he picked up from his hometown and would not repeat in front of a lady or his sweet mom, but he remembers how he stepped out of the room fuming more than the boiler itself.

What did he know? Nothing thats what’s he knows.

Next who tries to warn him is the nervous fella from the roof. Sucker, but Gerry has a soft spot for him. Nice to have someone in this place who speaks almost normally compared to everyone else.

He makes pleasant conversation. Pleasant, awkward, stilted conversation, before he finally gets down to business.

Says how he must like that machine a lot.

And Gerry answers that he sure does, she’s the love of his live! His sweet lady! His soon to be Mrs. Podunk. Ain’t no more beautiful machine on the face of the earth!

Nervous guy makes a weird face for a second like he is caught between a bad smell and a sneeze, but catches himself quickly.

Asks him if Gerry knew what she… does…

And Gerry furrows his brows at him behind the wielders mask, pressing the trigger of his torch a few times for good measures.

Tells him that what she does is make him a pretty darn happy man and asks if he gots anything to say about that.

And Nervous guys lips get a bit thinner and he starts to fidget, blabber, oh she really is a beauty, he says, he’s sure she makes him happy, he says, but if … Gerry ever thought she could maybe be… possibly… if he ever felt faint in her presence, if…. You- you know what? F- forget it.

And he turns to leave. Throws one gaze over his shoulder though and says, quietly, like he is taking all of his nerve to say it to him that… he just hopes… hopes that Gerry would be safe in the future.

And then he trucks back up to the roof again, says that Flower shmoe is probably waiting on him.

It takes seeing her blueprint to fully believe him and Gerry’s first instinct is to disregard it. Nah. Nahhhh. Why? Who would do that? Who would build such a beautiful dame only make her do something like THIS? What kinda fool of a man would make the most gorgeous machine in the world and design her to puff poison into peoples faces? And draw smiley faces on her blueprints?! Like this was fun?! Like someone was having a big guffaw at making her do such a thing.

He is being played.

His head snaps around looking all over the place. Okay who did this? Who thought they could pull his girls name through the mud like that??

There’s nobody else on his floor when he finds it, which doesn’t help him figure out who the culprit is. His first instinct is the janitor. Then he decides the poor shmuck would not be brave enough to leave anything in front of his door in the morning. Guy never leaves his walls as is…

Goateyes from the roof seems like an obvious second suspect. He hasn’t gots the guts to say things in person, but the story of how he had quit his job had spread round the Habitat like a wildfire… just as him being a giant chicken about stairs. Deadly afraids of em. Only reasons he’s up on the roof is because the elevator stops up there.

… so would that nervous Nelly really have the gall to come up here and show him?

… There is a third option.

That florist.

That florist has been running all round the place a bajigagillion times, doing the weirdest stuff, running errands, kissin folks, waterin plants… for no discernible reason at all, except to make folks… happy.

But why would they?! They helped him out of a pickle before! Got him a gift to give to her! What was this about?? Why fake something like that? What was this blud even PLANNING?!

He makes his way down to her, fuming, blueprints still in hand, as he gets back to work again. Gotta make doubloons somehow, gotta give his lady the live she deserves, a new coat, maybe some new screws, hell, maybe he could even replace that rusty part on her side.

The day keeps going as always, hot, dusty, no customers to speak off even though he almost sells the lawyers watch to himself… but he keeps looking back at her.

… what was Martha made for?

If the blueprints are to be trusted, those big pipes could connect to… something… could be anything really! Water, fire… gas.

He shakes the thought from his head, trying not to dwell on it.

…. The big event… just what was that?

The doc has not been giving anyone much info about it, has been very hushhush in fact. Doesn’t seem to really want anyone to smile, doesn’t really want anyone to skedaddle either. Which is WEIRD. Wants em all here… in one place…. Don’t want anyones to leave.

… The prints mention something like “Nay-trous-ox-aid” if that’s what it’s pronounced like. What was that? What was that? He heard it before… something toxic? Something chemical? His brother has always been better at this stuff… says it smells sweet and irony…

Sometimes his head spins when he’s near her.

Not like he did when he was near Agnes. Different. It’s oughta be love… it’s oughta be real good love that makes you outta breath… till you have to huff to get some oxygen back. Kinda love that gives you headaches….

His hands shake a little as he tries to put something together.

He doesn’t think about it, he doesn’t dwell on it, he doesn’t care… he doesn’t stay in the courtyard as long as he usually does.

And he absolutely does NOT lie in his bed that night, mulling over the evidence, holding tears back. And if a tear did manage to escape his peepers it was a very MANLY and TOUGH tear, the type of tears well dressed men in suits wore in movies before they said something cool like “My life ain’t something for the likes of yours Charlene, the rainy dark cesspools of this city are where I belong.” Before they turned away with a dramatic spin of their coat.

He does not want it to be real. She couldn’t be like that.

The next day the tall lady has started to pack her bags and photos and the funky artist on her floor has already called a cab for the next day.

The place feels so empty.

He makes his way to her one last time, can’t just leave her like this, has to let her know.

Puts his hand on her side. Martha lets out a huffing noise and she feels warm. So warm, so pretty…his Martha.

Stays with her for the entire day like that, leaned against her, watching the sky, listening to her metallic groans and the huffing of her pipes. Inhales the sweet, irony scent… what a horrible scent, makes his head hurt… what a lovely scent, very earthy, very Martha.

Ocs belong to:

Lial Parkers- me

Lane love bug - @l0nelyappariti0n

Wylie- @beaniemace

Favian- @s3al-t3mprr

Lilac- @poppingsmoothie