The Field

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: Helena and Ryan
Where: In the western woods
When: mid-morning on Day Eleven
What: A trip west to retrieve a chunk of clay and whatever else they might find.
Rating: G to start!

Helena had taken her usual walk into the field on Day Eleven and come back empty handed. Not another soul out there today, for which she was grateful. Then she'd turned her face eastward and wondered if the scouting party was ever coming back. Tomorrow, she decided, If they aren't back by sundown tomorrow, I'm going looking. Even wordlessly, she wasn't willing to admit that it was Cross's fate she was the most worried about.

She busied herself gathering a bit of food that she and Ryan could eat throughout the day. She borrowed one of Rowan's pillowcases to carry the berries and moss in, as well as a couple dozen hardboiled pesk eggs. They seemed to lay them almost faster than they could eat them, which was good. Once that was all gathered she lounged by the fire as she waited for Ryan to be ready. She knew the young man was up, she was just waiting for him to be ready. They were not too terribly pressed for time. She thought that just a day spent away from camp would do them both good, even if they didn't make it to the clay flats. She knew that she could really use the break.

Who: Angelica (CLOSED)
When: Morning of Day Eleven
What: Any version of an apology is still an apology, right?
Where: The climber tree
Rating: G, Angelica's nice today

( I'm sorry.... )

Who: Ryan and Arlo
When: early morning
Where: the woods, at the stream
What: random encounter
Rating: R (language, of course!)

As Ryan washed his face in the stream, he was wondering how his socked feet were going to hold up to the walking he and Helena planned to do today. He could only hope that he wouldn't step on something he hadn't seen and get it rammed up into his foot. Not a happy thought, there. He sighed and paused with water still dripping off of his skin, then decided to immerse his entire head. Sure, the water was chilly, but he was definitely awake now.

The blond sat back on his heels and pushed his hair out of his face, shivering a little as icy water dripped down his back. He squinted up through the trees into the sky, wondering what the day would end up being like. It was really too early to tell, and he couldn't see anything but a vague impression of color. He hadn't expected to, but somehow he couldn't stop himself from trying. His chin lowered and he got to his feet as he heard someone approaching through the woods; he half-turned and waited to see who it would be.

Who: Quinn and Carlita
When: Morning of Day Eleven
What: Taking care of the homestead.
Where: The climber tree
Rating: G so far!

Quinn had decided that treking out into the middle of nowhere, freaking out while Payne was killing a huge eleboar and then having to help rescue her, butcher and carry a chunk of the animal home was...more excitement than he was up for, honestly. The pain in his chest had been awful the day before and he had pretty much lingered on his flat rock by the stream. Counting stirpips and flying leeches, watching their unending struggle against each other. He'd dozed through most of day ten, just rousing long enough to chow down on a crispy skewer of eleboar meat when it was handed to him. The meat was juicy, salty and sweet at the same time. So amazingly like pork.

Day Eleven saw him feeling much more like himself. Someone had made a spade out of shale and climber vines left to harden so he had ventured away and dug himself a small latrine to use for theday. He knew that the librarian guy wanted people to pee in his leather pit but Quinn couldn't quite bring himself to do that. Call it a touch of lingering fragile modern sensibilities. Once that was taken care of, he's gathered as much wood as he could carry and brought it back to get the firepit going. Since then, he'd sat at the edge of the camp next to the fire, gazing out at the field, chatting idly to anyone who passed by as he fed to the fire.

After the usual sort of active night, Day Eleven dawns overcast and drizzly. It never full out rains, just stays gray and cool and damp. In the clouds, there isn't even the faintest rumble or flash of lightening. All along the stream the glasswings are drinking the nectar of that lovely vine flower and don't seem deterred at all by the grayness of the day. The women who have gone missing over the past few days still don't arrive and it provides some things for people to chew on. Perhaps there is more danger to this place than just laughers. Maybe there is something else that will hunt a human.

Also, homesickness is worse than ever today. Especially for those who have been there the longest. There is still lots of eleboar left over but people should be cautious about cooking it well before eating. It will have to be buried after today and if the eastern party doesn't return, it'll be back to scavenging for food tomorrow.