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 Darington, Noah, 49 / precariat / john krasinski
Trigger Warning: sloths & moonsand, mostly
Basic Information
full name noah john darlington darington
known alias noah, darington, pops, old man, mom.
birthday may 18
age forty-nine
pronouns he/him
occupation mechanic/junker (and more or less a part time foster parent)
member group precariat
sexuality heterosexual
relationship status taken, probably
original sleeve? no
face claim john krasinski
cyberwear type name (official/black market)
cyberwear type name (official/black market)
cyberwear type name (official/black market)
cyberwear type name (official/black market)
cyberwear type name (official/black market)
You are twelve, your little brother is nine. Your last name is Darlington, but your brother always refers to you both as 'Daringtons.' One day everything is fine and your mother is heading out to start her second job, making up for an absentee father the best she could. Like always, you watch your brother overnight as she works her midnight shift. You tuck him in, tell him an impromptu story of his choice, turn off the light, and head to the kitchen to get into the off limits ice cream because you deserve it.

Because you are just a child.

You fall asleep on the couch with chocolate ice cream on your face, and when you wake up and see the empty container and you scramble to gather the evidence before your mother sees it. You're surprised that she hasn't already woken you up and scolded you. You are even more surprised to find that she is nowhere to be found, and she should have been home hours ago.

You assure your brother that she's just running errands and will be back soon, but you are beginning to worry. She never goes or stays out without calling you first thing, and she's been gone for hours.

It is nearly dark before you hear a knock on the door and you run in hopes of seeing your mother on the other side, but are met with the face of a large man in a black suit. He informs you that your mother had been held at gunpoint in a random act of violence. The criminal had shot her on the spot, leaving her to be found hours later in an alleyway in a pool of her own blood.

Your head starts spinning and you get the sudden urge to vomit, even though the words had not completely registered. She was gone. Just like that, she was gone. And while you don't hear more than a handful of the words, the man is informing you that you and your brother would be taken into custody and placed with a temporary family.

The only thing you can do is nod numbly, not even sure exactly what you are agreeing to. But what else can you do?

You and your brother are placed in a foster home that is filled to the brim with children and the love is scarce at best. For two weeks you try and make the best of everything, if anything for your brother. If he thinks you're okay, maybe he'll believe the lie. And he did for a little while, until your foster father separates you two into different rooms, which causes your brother to begin having nightmares that leave him sobbing into the night. That doesn't go over very well with your guardians.

Your brother begins to get picked on, and while you stand up for him when you can, your guardians have taken to keeping you two apart for being 'too codependent,' and you see less of him every day. You try and comfort him when you can, but you can only do so much while under their watch. But when your brother comes to breakfast with a black eye and informs you that it had been their foster father's response to his latest night terror, that's it. You could sit through the neglect and abuse yourself, but no one beats on your baby brother.

You tell your brother to get everything he needs into a backpack and to meet him in the downstairs bathroom after he hears the television go off, meaning everyone has officially gone to bed. You take the clothes on your back, two pairs of underwear, an extra pair of socks, and a book of your mother's poems that you'd held onto so dearly since her death. So long as you have that and your brother, you have everything you need.

After what feels like forever you and you are prying the bathroom window open and lifting your brother through it, you coming out not far after. Once your feet hit the mixture of mud and dead grass you feel freer than you have ever felt. From there you head east. You have no idea where you are going, but it doesn't matter.

After walking for miles and making your way into the sleeping city you see light and you head for it. It seems as good a choice as any when you have none. As you make you way towards the cement alleyway you can feel warmth and it makes you that much more eager to reach this small light of hope.

Barrels filled with debris lit for warmth and survival, littered with people who had (hopefully) seen better times in tattered clothing and smeared with dirt that had been there for days, the cement safe haven is not what you thought it would be, but never once do you judge. When you and your brother wander in, both of you looking lost and a little frightened, you are first met by a woman who begins begging for your shoes. You begin to get uncomfortable and nearly give her your shoes due to having no idea what to do. Luckily a man stepped out from the shadows and casually shooed her away as though it were an every day occurrence. You would soon find out that was exactly what it was.

The man is soft spoken and kind, despite his appearance, and he asks you if you or your brother had eaten. You admit that you hadn't and he motions for you to follow him further in and he presents you and your brother with broth, crackers, and a little bit of water. It isn't much, but you both down it like it is the best thing you'd ever tasted. The man sits with you the entire time, inquiring about your lives and what you are doing there. You explain the situation and within the hour you and your brother are sharing an old tattered blanket on the ground and a stained. sheet to keep you warm. It doesn't matter the situation, you are with your brother and that is what matters.

You end up remaining with the community you would eventually call family for what would end up being three years. And as unappealing and dangerous as it may seem to some, you have never felt safer. These people care about you and will do anything they can to help, even if it isn't much. You learn to pickpocket, hustle, hotwire vehicles, and make something out of nothing. While you feel a little bad about stealing at first, you soon learn that it is about survival, not morality. You always try and steal more food than necessary not because you're greedy, but because you want to share and provide for your makeshift family as well as you can.

By the time you are sixteen you have found an under the table job, managed to rent a grubby studio apartment, and you can finally provide a roof over your brother's head. Life is going well, and while you are humble, you are damn proud of yourself for pulling through and, again, making something out of nothing.

When you turn eighteen you make a decision that will turn your life around forever. You register for the flight academy, and you can feel pride welling in your chest as you read that acceptance letter. You'd done it. You were going to make something of yourself. You had already made arrangements for your brother to be watched over, and you are counting down the days before you can finally put on that helmet and fly a ship that you didn't have to steal. But, as always, life has to knock you down. And this time, you're not sure there will be any getting up this time.

You hadn't even planned on actually stealing the ship. You were just going to borrow it, take it for a spin with your brother (who loves sitting and being copilot more than anything), and then leave it right where it had been a few hours before. It was harmless.

Until it wasn't.

You don't even see the other ship coming. One second you are turned looking at your brother's beaming face and the next... nothing. Just blackness and excruciating pain. If only you'd known it would be the last time you saw him.

When you wake up you are confused and become quickly frustrated when no one will answer your questions. You can see all of the IVs and bandages around you, but you don't care. You stand up and drag the equipment with you. Where the hell is your brother? After a few steps you realize that you are hardly in any pain at all, which only confuses you further. You knew what had happened. After a wreck like the one you'd been in, you should have been in excruciating pain. But you're not.

Finally you find someone that will give you answers, but only after getting incredibly loud and threatening to break everything in sight. The man is calm as can be as he explains the situation to you. It had been a government vehicle that had hit you, and as compensation they had given you the necessary transplants to keep you alive. You don't like that they'd gone into your body without your permission, but that wasn't important right now.

Where is my brother?"

You are told that they could only give one of you the transplants as they cost much more money than they obviously had and had made the decision to fix you rather than your brother. Your heart nearly stops and it takes a while for you to even realize you hadn't been breathing. What the hell did he mean!? Surely they wouldn't have left a young teen to die while giving him not only enough to live, but enough to feel like a brand new person. You don't know what to say. Your mind is blank. Your can feel your heart shattering in your chest and rather than grief, you feel anger.

How the hell do you choose one over the other!? How could they let this happen!? How are you supposed to live without your brother? Your hands clench into fists and you can feel your fingernails digging into your palms. After an extended period of silence you break. You knock every last bullshit knickknack off of the desk, aggressively kick over the chair, topple over a bookcase, and tell the man that he'd better pray he never saw your face again.

Within minutes you are storming out the door, shaking with anger. Rather than head home you turn the complete opposite way and just start walking. You don't know where you're going, you just need to get the fuck away.

You walk for two days. Two entire days, making as few stops as possible. When you come over a hill in the dismal desert you spot a mechanic shop, the first building you'd seen in miles. Desperate for just a short rest, you head towards the dingy shop. Surely they weren't busy.

When you enter you are told to rest for as long as you need. The elderly owner was kind and quite amusing, both of which you appreciated because you hadn't so much as smiled, much less laughed. You stay there for hours just talking to the man about nothing in particular, as you have no desire to talk about what had happened. Before you know it you are being offered a set of clothes and a cot in the brick loft above the shop. It wasn't much, but it was a place to sleep and more than you ever could have asked for.

When you wake up you decide that was the best sleep you'd ever had and you'd never felt better. Until realization sets in once again. Realizations of the transplant and just why you feel so good. Realizations that you are all alone in this world. Realizations that you will probably never truly feel warmth ever again.

You begin to shake as you put your head in your hands and try your best to shove down that feeling of absolute dread you can feel climbing your throats like the most vile vomit you'd ever had the displeasure of tasting. The longer you sit the louder the thoughts get until you can't take it anymore. In a fit of rage at the world you kick over the makeshift cot and are half way out the door before it even hits the ground.

You don't know where you're going but you need fresh air. You need a distraction. And as you accidentally slam the back door behind you you set your eyes on just that. An entire lot filled with half broken down vehicles, various parts in different stages of rusting strewn everywhere you looked. To most this would be off putting, as the dismal look of the place gives off the vibe of some post apocalyptic wasteland.

But it's everything you need right now.

Mechanical work was something you'd always had a knack for and not only had you been tinkering with ships with dreams of one day flying them, but you had worked along side a mechanic under the table on and off for nearly three years. Three years in which your brother was alive. When he would occasionally accompany you and ask question after question as you looked under the engine, trying to learn as much from you as possible...

That thought causes anger to surge through you once more and you begin walking the makeshift aisles of vehicles of all makes and models. While you are more or less pacing you see a few tools that had been tossed to the side and you grab them without thought. You move a few feet further down the line and notice a ship whose undercarriage had been half way removed. Feeling the need to do something with your hands, you don't ask, you just get to work.

Before you realize it hours has passed and you have dismantled the entire troublesome area and are working on piecing it back together when you hear something drop behind you. Startled, you whip around and you clutch the tool in your hand out of instinct, raising it defensively.

You had been in plenty of fights in your life, and you know damn well how to hold your own. Not only do you know how to fight (and fight dirty when necessary), but you're pretty damn big guy with broad shoulders standing 6'3". Not many people had it in them to mess with you due to size alone.

Yet as you turn defensively with your makeshift weapon you are met by the sight of a short blonde girl who has started laughing, clearly not afraid of you in the slightest. Rather than anger, your face slumps into one of confusion. She is absolutely tiny and was hardly what could be considered muscular, yet you still get the feeling that she could kick your ass without hesitation.

"You gonna wrench me to death, slick? Do me a favor. If you want to use a tool at least use a screwdriver so you can strip me afterwards."

You blink a few times as this small stranger's large, brazen presence begins to resonate with you. You realize that she is not being threatening or even off putting in the slightest. She's teasing you, but for fun, not to cause any actual harm. A smile slowly breaks out over your face, slightly amused for the first time in what had felt like forever.

You two begin talking and before you know it both of you are standing beneath the old airship, talking about nothing, giving each other shit, and working together to piece the craft back together. It seems like no time at all before you are holding up the final piece while she sits on your shoulders and drills it into place. She makes a joke and you laugh heartily as she climbs down you like a damn spider monkey, which also makes you chuckle. She's not only amusing, but fun. Fun to be around, fun to talk to, fun to work with.

She is handing you a grease covered bandana from her back pocket which you use to get some of the grime off of your hands when you realize something. "By the way, uh, who are you exactly?"

"Just a girl lookin' for her shadow in all of this damn sun. If you see it, let me know, eh?"

It takes half an hour of humorous investigation for you to find out that she is the daughter of the man who owned the yard. You're surprised, which only makes her laugh. Things turn almost serious as she begins to explain that she'd been incredibly sick a few years back and that she'd needed three new organs if she had any chance of survival. The family didn't have the money so they'd gone on the black market and had the transplants done. This begins the conversation that you'd never intended on having, and it comes out with relative ease, and you know it's not the content, but the audience. Because she's not only listening, but empathizing with your pain and it's comforting. When you finish summing up what had happened she cracks a joke, but it is lighthearted and you actually find a little bit of comfort in it.

Barely allowing any room for any sort of awkward silence, she begins going on about something completely different, and it feels great to not linger on the subject.

"Aye, will ya look here! Been tryin' to get that undercarriage apart fer weeks but couldn't get the carburetor loose from the smash 'n' go. You finally get 'er loose, baby?"

"Dad, please! His name is Noah. You should at least take him to dinner before you start calling him 'baby.'"

The old man is surprised, to say the least, and damn impressed with your handiwork after further inspection. You're nervous at first because you probably should have asked before messing with his stuff and, you know, you'd just met the man last night, but he tells you to hush, it ain't nothin'. And then he goes even further. He asks if you want a job. He can't pay much, but he could offer the area upstairs for him to stay.

After more consideration than it should have taken, you agree. It's not that it was a bad offer, you just hate asking for or accepting help, because you have been the main provider for so long. But you decide not to let your pride get the best of you. You shake hands firmly and chuckle when the blonde tells you two to get a room. When he asks your last name, you stumble. No one had asked that in a long time. "Darlingt-- er, Darington." You are no longer the same person you were. Why pretend?

You work at the shop for sixyears, and despite the fact that you'd lost your only family, it felt as though you'd gained a selected family. A family that had selected him, in fact. With it being just the three of them working (surprisingly the dismal shop didn't get much business), you get to know the family incredibly well. You eat together most days, you are not only invited to dinner at their home (which is just a walk away from the yard), but it is made very clear that you are more than welcome to come for any holiday, because you are indeed family. And you appreciate this more than absolutely anything in the world.

While you are there you notice something interesting. It seemed as though 'strays' would show up every now and again in desperate need of shelter and any food you could spare. You watched time and time again as the man spoke kindly to them, fed them despite not having much money at all, and gave them a place to stay (upstairs with you, which you absolutely never mind) for a few days or sometimes a little longer if they needed it. This is the most admirable thing you have ever seen in your entire life, and you take it to heart, having been one of those strays.

Unfortunately after six years working under him. the man who had not only saved your life, but given you one, passes away of an organ failure he'd not told anyone about. It is devastating for you, but when you look at the man's daughter who you have come to know so well, you can tell that she is broken. They were all they'd had (especially before you had come into the picture), and now he was gone. You wrap your arms around her and hold her tighter than you ever have before, and she doesn't push you away and make fun of you like she normally would have. Instead she sinks her head into your chest and embraces you. You can feel the tears running down her face and getting your shirt damp, but you couldn't care less about a damn shirt.

When things settle down a bit you mention something about her officially owning the yard, as he hadn't had a will and she was his only living relative. This caused her to groan loudly and let her head fall against the table dramatically, and you can't help but chuckle. "Oh yeah? Tell me how you really feel."

She sits there and groans for another moment until she finally speaks. "You take it."

Your brows furrow in confusion and your head quirks to the side. "What?" You say with a laugh. "Oh, yeah. Alright. I'll just take over your father's company, no problem." You are joking. That was absurd. He'd only known the man for six years. She was his daughter.

"Perfect. It's settled then. Congrats, Darling, you got yourself a shop n'n yard."

She holds out her hand for you to shake and not knowing what to do, you reach out to shake it. Little did you know that she would hold you to that shake. For once she hadn't been joking. You officially owned Pan's Auto and Junk Yard. What the fuck.

As time goes on you begin to get the hang of it. It's not that much different than it was before, just a bit of paperwork and a few more responsibilities that you hadn't already been taking on. While you are technically the owner (which you still don't completely understand), she is helping out and it is making things a lot easier. With it just being you and her it's... kind of fun. Not that you don't miss her father, but things were a little different since he'd passed. She had moved up into the loft area that he'd turned into a true living space because she couldn't stand staying in her childhood home any longer and you begin to get a lot... closer. Even closer than you had been.

The first time a random teen knocks on the door and starts stumbling as he asks if he could possibly have a cup of water, you do not hesitate to open the door to him and get him just what he asked for. Just like the owner before you, you treat him just as kindly as you'd been treated. You feed him, you give him clothes that are a bit too big but warmer than the ones he'd been wearing, and offer him the cot he himself had slept on before doing manual construction on the entire place and finding an actual bed. The look of gratitude in the kids eyes was the best thank you you ever could have received.

That was the first of many visitors to come. Soon enough you were building bunk beds in corners of the dingy loft so that those who ended up staying for a while would have a place. And some of them did stay for quite a while. And then some of them never left. They became a makeshift family, and as dysfunctional as you all fucking are, you are family none the less.

While a few of his 'lost boys' were pretty damn good under a hood, not all of them were. And while you had no problem letting them stay, they have to contribute. Some went and got jobs elsewhere, but with it being so far away, it was hard. Especially when some of them are little shitheads (and you love every one of those shitheads) and were not taught very many skills in their time at home. So, you start showing them a few things they can do. Things that you used to do to survive. How to have someone cause a distraction while you steal whatever food you need to grab, how to slip your hand into someone's pocket without them noticing, and other things that you probably shouldn't have taught them, but you don't feel nearly as bad as you should. They needed to survive. All of them. And you gotta do what you gotta do when it comes to survival.
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    Noah Darington
    24 // eastern

    player badger
    age 24
    pronouns she/her
    time zone GMT -12
    Permalink / May 4 2018, 01:28 AM

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