No time to be suspicious — Katters jumps onto the ladder, her momentum swinging it and her into the wall behind it. She scrapes her knuckles on the bricks, but ignores the injury in favour of scrambling upwards. It’s difficult, climbing a rope ladder one handed, and her hasty, jerking movements don’t make it any easier. Still, she manages quick progress upwards.
The fact that someone is pulling the ladder up as you climb doesn't help, either, but as you reach the top, a gloved hand snaps out to grab your wrist and haul you through the darkened window and into the building.
Katters throws the kit through the window and grabs the stranger’s wrist with her other hand. She abandons the ladder, bracing her feet against the wall, then the windowframe, as she pulls herself through.
The room is black as pitch, but the body you tumble onto is warm and breathing. The ladder is jerked in after, and the person starts gasping. "Fuck. Okay. You're alive. Cool."
Katters sits, back against the wall, next to the window. She pulls her kit into her lap and wraps her arms around it. “Well,” she says, “one hopes, anyway.”
"How long have you been here?" It's a woman talking, presumably, from their voice. They've scooted away, dragging and curling the rope ladder up.
“Like three seconds.” Katters knows ‘in this building’ is not what the stranger means by ‘here’, but opts to lean that way, anyway. Being a smart-ass is a small comfort in these trying times, but it’s a comfort nonetheless. Gives her a solid place to stand in the world.
“Longer than three seconds.” She peers in the direction of the voice, trying to make out some visuals in the dark. “What is outside?” she asks, and immediately feels a little stupid for the way she phrased the question. “I mean — I suppose I mean, where are we?”
"Way to answer a question," the woman replies bitterly, before easing into the light, rope ladder now stowed. "As far as I'm concerned? Some kind of fucked up purgatory we're not meant to get out of." She steps into sight, just enough to catch sight of her hand and for the splash of red she's wearing to be lit up from the scant light of the window. "I'm Red. Who are you?"
Katters’ ears twitch — down, then up — and her attention is called briefly to the crack in her skull. “As far as you’re concerned,” she repeats. “Then you don’t know. Okay.” ‘Red.’ Sounds fake, which would be understandable. Katters briefly debates making something up of her own, but decides against it. “Katters,” she says. It’s technically fake, anyway. “Thanks for the help, there. Appreciate it.”
"...I don't want to see what they'd do to you," she shrugs. "Call it self preservation." She runs her tongue across the scar that splits the left side of her lips. "...well, I sure as shit know this isn't Kansas. You're the first person I've seen in weeks. Living, anyway."
Weeks. That’s not good. “You’ve seen dead people? Or do you mean those shadows, and Ms. Knives-for-Limbs back there?”
"...kngh. Both, more or less. Though who knows if they were dead people, anyway. If they don't breathe, how can you be sure they were ever alive to start with, especially if they just. Show up. In the corner of a room..." she grimaces. "...been a really great time.'
“I find it’s safest to assume that dead people were alive at one point or another,” Katters says. “It’s not usually the case that dead people just sort of pop into existence in that state. But, then again…” She sits up, relaxing her grip on her belongings. “What have you been eating? Have you been staying in here for the most part?”
"Whatever seems edible. I managed to find a vending machine a few days ago and crack it open... but... eh. They're a little odd."
“Odd how?” Katters stands and looks out the window, leaning through it to get a good look — see if knife-hands is still around, see if the landscape’s changed any, see if there are any obvious exits to be spotted from up here.
"Odd as in dubious in quality but edible for the desperate." She grumbles. "...don't lean out too far. I'd rather not get noticed by more than one." When you look down, knife-hands is staring up at you from three floors down, and upon spotting your presence, begins attempting to scale the wall...
Well. Katters didn’t want to go back out the window, anyway. “It’s gonna try to get up here,” she informs Red, in case that’s important. She moves away from the light, waits for her eyes to re-adjust, and takes a tour around the room. She edges around the walls, feeling her way as she goes. ‘Desperate’ isn’t good, either, especially if they plan on sticking together for any length of time. Limited food for one person can become a problem when there’s two of them, instead. “I wonder—” she starts, but catches herself. She’s too used to a certain kind of company, and doesn’t yet know if Red is cut from the same cloth. Change of tack. “How did you end up here?” she finishes, instead. “I was in a place kind of like this, earlier, and then I wasn’t, and now I’m here,” she offers. “I don’t know how I got out the first time, but maybe if we can figure it out...” She shrugs.
"Yeah, well, if it manages to get up here, I guess it's gong to be time to find out if the fuckers bleed, or if they have to be broken down into their constituent parts before they give up." She pops her knuckles, letting out a slow breath. "Fabulous."
