The Field

Who: Clay and Payne and Rook and Milo
Where: heading northeast out of camp
When: mid-morning
What: Leaving, a day early. Because Kenneth is not the boss of them.
Rating: safe to assume it will hit R sooner rather than later
Warnings: Assume that many will be necessary. Check back often, folks!

( ''I'm just a poor, wayfarin' stranger; travelling through this world of woe...'' )

Who: Open to any and all in camp.
Where: Not smack in the middle of camp, but close enough to be noticeable.
When: Mid-afternoon.
What: Tempers flare. Yeah, we know the meteors were yesterday, but Payne and Clay fight every day.
Rating: TBD (It's already R because, um. Payne and Clay.)
Warnings: Language, violence, domestic abuse, tattooing.

( ''...you wish!'' )

Who: Clay and Quinn
Where: Somewhere along the stream.
When: Mid-afternoon
What: Shootin' the shit.
Rating: G

( Murder and Mayhem )

Who: Payne and Clay
When: Day 16, pre-dawn
Where: Payne's hammock in the main Climber tree
What: watching the light show
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cursing; partial nudity; dysfunctional displays of affection/violence; the usual.
Status: in progress

( will there be any stars, any stars in my crown? )

Who: OPEN to anyone in camp!
When: Day 15, afternoon through sundown
Where: in camp
What: Dressing, cooking and eating of eleboar piglet. Also, there's a live eleboar piglet that needs to be confined in a cage or something. :D
Rating: TBD
Notes: Here's a shot at a group thread. Please feel free to comment, pick a threading buddy or two, and make sub-threads conversations with whomever you please! Thanks everybody!

( Let's eat! )

Who: Alex & Clay
Where: Where Clay is making spears
What: THE talk
When: Day 15

( I don't know how immaculate it was... )

Who: Payne and Clay
When: Day 15, late morning/early afternoon
Where: in the woods
What: another attempt at eleboar hunting
Rating: R
Warnings: Cursing; dysfunctional displays of affection/violence; hunting baby animals; baby animal suffering/death; bloodshed.
Status: Complete

( run to the trees; trees were a-swayin'; all on that day )

Who: Ryan and Clay
What: Yet again, the throwing of stones.
When: Eh, whenever. Day 14.
Where: In the field.
Warning(s): Just cursing at the moment, but you never know.
Rating: PG-13

( Li'l David was small but oh my; Li'l David was small but oh my; He fought big Goliath, who lay down and dieth; Li'l David was small but oh my )

Who: Payne and Clay
When: Lucky Day 13, afternoon
Where: in the woods
What: an attempt at eleboar hunting goes horribly wrong
Rating: R
Warnings: Cursing; theft; comedic violence; a death threat (not carried out).

( Today was just his day for things going wrong... )

Who: Clay and Payne
Where: In the woods on the other side of the field.
What: Payne wants a decorative scar to commemorate her first big hunt.
Warnings: Ritual scarification; various bloody topics.
Rating: R, obvy
Complete

( She would draw the prey animals to her. She *would* be a hunter-queen. )

Who: Cross and Clay
Where: the tanning pit
When: afternoon, day 13
What: pissing contests
Rating: PG

Cross had been working in the hot sun ever since he'd returned from washing the blood-stained blanket he'd taken out of the field. He'd taken his time with that task, feeling an instinctive need to be away from everyone else at camp as he processed his frustration at not being able to help the new arrivals this morning. He'd had only soap pods to work with, and most likely all of the blood wouldn't come out, but he wouldn't know that for sure until the blanket completely dried. So he'd hung it up and left it, moving on to other tasks.

By early afternoon he'd sweated his shirt through, so he'd taken it off, not caring if he got sunburned. He was going to develop a seriously thick hide by the time the shirt fell completely apart, which it would eventually. He looked quite a bit like a wild man with his bare chest, dirty khakis, rumpled blond hair and scruffy beginnings of a beard as he strode toward the tanning pit. Several of the men, at least, were helping with the hides in their own unique way, and he would most likely do that if there were no women around.

Who: Sophie and Clay
Where: Firepit and the river
When: Late morning
What: Sophie needs to take some control and Clay can't resist the puppy eyes.

( Who can resist a cute, pretty, little girl? )

Who: Everyone
Where: Around the campfire
What: Catching Up and Discussing The Future
When: Sunset
Rating: G to PG, depending on how the language goes.

Helena returned to her log by the fire and settled down next to the pouch of yarnballs, taking them up once again. She worked at pulling them apart as people began to drift back in to the camp, pausing to breath in the smoking grazer meat and pop boiled pesk eggs into their mouths. Some of them chewed strands of sweetgrind or braided fieldgrass as they chattered and caught up. Once everyone had arrived, she stood up and cleared her throat. "I just wanted to say a few things before we pack up for the night," she said over the din.

"Firstly, welcome back Thorne, Cross, Alex, Kenneth and Jasper. We're really glad to have you back and it's nice to see that you found a few things on your adventure. The grazer hide and meat is especially welcome." She flashed a smile around at the more tanned and sunburned faces in the circle.

"Secondly, I want to pass on a bit of bad news before you hear it from others. We lost four women while you were gone." She cleared her throat, clearly upset by this happening and with good reason. No one had voted Helena as the leader of the group, it had just happened. She still felt responsible and she should, if she were actually the leader. "There's been no sign of Annie, Lauren, Nancy and Jeri."

"Lastly," and here her gaze lingered on Bazzer. He looked...not like himself. She wondered what was eating the younger man. Still, she moved on. "Bazzer and I were discussing the tribe's prospects the other day and I said I would bring up an option to the whole of the group when we were all together again." She clasped her hands infront of herself and tried to organize her pro opinion in order to deliver it well. "Plenty of small tribal societies living without large advancements in technology, much like we are, survived for generations as nomadic peoples." She felt more than heard a hum move around the circle. "I believe that becoming nomadic might be a good answer for us. We're stripping the food supply here nearly bare. We don't know how the weather might change here over the next few months as well. Also, how can we know if there is no city in this world if we don't forge farther out than we can do in a day's run? I think it is safer for the group as a whole if we travel together, look out for each other and move forward rather than wait around here for something to happen." That said, she waited for the questions and opinions of the others. "What do you think?"

Who: Rook, Clay and Sophie
Where: In the Field
When: Crack of dawn on Day Twelve
What: Rook is confused, half naked and covered in grass.
Rating: PG-13 for language


( what sort of delusional nightmare is this? )

Who: Payne and Clay
Where: Somewhere in or around camp.
When: Day 11
What: Payne hatches a cunning plan.
Warnings: Cursing; discussion of theft, weapons, death, hunting baby animals, primitive religious burial rituals; dysfunctional displays of affection/violence; implied drug use; mention of dismembered body parts; thumb biting; implied smut (fade to black).
Rating: R for any/all of the above.

( ''But why your tongue? Why not your teeth?'' )

Who: Payne and Clay
When: Morning of Day Ten, because Carolyn had computer woes and it got lost.
What: Bathing, laundry... Plotting to take over the world. The usual.
Where: A convenient pool in the stream near camp.
Rating: PG-13 for language and skinny-dipping.

( Gonna lay down my burden; down by the river-side; gonna study war no more... )

Who: Olivia & Clay
Where: The climber tree, and then a clearing near the camp
When: Early morning
Rating: R (Self harm, mention of rape)

Who: Payne and Quinn, then Clay
What: A crime of opportunity
When: Late morning/early afternoon
Where: About fifteen minutes away from the camp.
Rating: R (drugs, innuendo, violence, gore, all the good stuff.)

( Kids Who Do Drugs Always Die In The Movies )

Who: Ryan and Clay
Where: near the climber tree
When: morning
Rating: PG-13 (language)

Ryan, who was ordinarily cheerful, was feeling more than a little cranky as he slogged back from making a short trip into the woods to relieve himself. It was so foggy that he'd almost gotten turned around, there were muddy puddles everywhere-- his socks and the bottom third of his pajama pants were caked with the stuff-- and he'd stepped on a fish that seemed to have teeth, as his left big toe could have attested to. Fish. In the forest. What the hell? Washed up from the stream by the monsoon, yeah, but it was still weird and just one more thing to have to watch out for.

He had the slippery, scaled creature in one hand as his other trailed over the tree trunks, counting his way back to camp. He should spread out his damp sleeping bag and hope it dried some; it hadn't been the most comfortable thing ever to sleep in. At least he had one though, he reflected. Ryan emerged into the main camp area just past the climber tree where most of them slept and ran right into someone. Par for the course today, he guessed.

"Sorry," he mumbled, squinting to try to recognize the person, temporarily breaching their personal space so he could see them. It was Clay, the guy he'd met the first morning he'd arrived here. "Hey," he said, stepping back again and holding up his hand to show off the peculiar-looking fish. "Where I come from, fish aren't s'posed to have teeth."

Who: Quinn and Clay
What: Misery in the tree
Where: The climber
When: Afternoon of Day 8
Rating: PG to start.

Clearly, he was dying. Quinn was absolutely certain that all of this tossing around was going to cause some broken rib to puncture his lung and kill him right in this ridiculous hammock. Or maybe the whole thing would let go and he would blow away. That would surely kill him as well. He was ashamed to admit that during the worst of the storm and while battling the absolute agony that was shivering a bucking around, he'd wet himself right in the hammock. Not out of fear, just out of need and the inability to get himself up and down the tree. He hoped enough rain had come down on him since to have washed away the worst of the evidence.

Now, as the wind quieted down and the steel gray sky above drizzeled down on him, Quinn was hot. Uncomfortably warm and parched like he'd spent the day out in the desert, not drowning in a lush tree. Bad news. He knew this must be a fever. His jaw ached from teeth chattering even though he felt like his bones had turned to molten lava and now, after the worst of it had passed, he slept fitfully.

It was during one of those deeply passed out segements of his day that Quinn climbed out of the hammock. In the trance of a sleepwalker he somehow managed to make it to the tree trunk without slipping and falling. Blindly, he groped for the handholds and made his first attempt ever at climbing down the tree instead of being lowered with his foot in a vine loop. All the while, he was mumbling about going to the kitchen to get a glass of water.