ɢᴀʟᴇ (traps) wrote in evaluation, @ 2019-12-13 08:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !rooms: 3: day 3, the hunger games: gale hawthorne, the raven cycle: ronan lynch |
Who: Gale & Ronan
What: Gale drops off meat that is not questionable
When: Day 3, evening
Where: Room 31
Rating: Low, but the pigeons are dead and Ronan has a slight sad about having to pluck feathers
Status: Complete
Gale was hungry, that much was a fact. After eating well in that Canadian town, with food available and plenty of cash to purchase it, the sudden whiplash to having to hunt and forage again just like the good old days was jarring. He experienced what it had been like in District 12, when people would eat just about anything to survive - even things that weren’t technically food (he’d scraped bark off of trees before, for example), maybe even things that could kill them, as long as it ended the gnawing pain in their bellies. He’d seen people die in the streets, without having eaten anything substantial in weeks - gaunt cheekbones and ribs showing. Starvation was one of the worst ways to die too, and he’d be damned if he or the people he cared about here got close to that. It was admittedly difficult to think of anything but food when your stomach was growling - yet he’d faced worse than this, and he’d persevere. Scrape more bark off trees if he had to, whatever worked. For the moment, he was okay with trading some of the rations Gretel didn’t want to eat (with such an aversion to sugar, thanks to trauma, this must be like her own personal hell) for things more palatable, even if that meant he was basically fueled by coffee and anger. He’d set up traps though, spending the day he couldn’t cross the border foraging, and he had two pigeons to show for it. Before, he’d put together a makeshift game bag from some extra clothes and that was how he carried the results of his expedition out in the cold - he carried it back to Ronan and Gretel’s room, knocking on the door quietly. The sun was setting, sinking below the horizon. Ronan should be back from the factory by now - Gale was pretty sure he’d gotten across the border this morning. It was lucky Ronan had stopped back by the room at all. Between a shitty day at the factor and his brother and Noah being sick, he had places to be, but he’d come by to grab a ratty old blanket he’d found in the closet. If Declan’s stubborn ass wouldn’t take it, he’d give it to Noah. Or just knock Declan out and turn him into a Lynch burrito. But seeing as his annoyance with this whole place was increasing by the second, it probably wasn’t a shock that he jumped at the sound of a knock at the door, hand outstretched like he could just hold whoever it was at bay with pure force of will. A second passed and his teeth unclenched, and he opened the door like a fucking drug dealer worried the cops were outside. “Oh. It’s you.” Relief cleared the scowl from his face – barely visible through the cracked door – and he stepped back to let Gale in. “Your girlfriend’s not here yet.” “Just me,” Gale confirmed, stepping into the room - he was pretty sure he saw Ronan’s teeth bared for a second there, a wolf behind cage bars, but couldn’t have blamed the guy. If there was any time and place to be on edge, it was right now. In this country that felt like an icy finger gliding up and down his spine, reminding him that Panem wasn’t really that far off. He couldn’t escape it entirely, even if he tried. He placed the game bag down on a nearby table. “I set traps this morning, just found these,” he said. “Thought I’d leave them for you and Gretel. She can have one, the other’s for you - it might not be able to be split up between your whole gang, but it’s something?” It was meat. They’d have to pluck the feathers, but that was no big deal. The pigeons were filled out, at least. Gale’s timing was eerie as fuck. Ronan was just starting to dig through his half rations to figure out what to give to his brother since they apparently didn’t give Declan any food at all. Adam would cover Opal, he didn’t have to worry there. But Noah was in the same boat as Declan, and Gansey was down to half, so Blue’s full rations would be stretched thin. Ronan squinted across the room, dropped his gaze to the birds, and knee-jerked right to cynical. “I don’t have anything to trade for that.” He abandoned his stupid ration box and turned to fully face Gale. He’d never been especially comfortable with gratitude. “Did you even keep one for yourself?” “You don’t need to trade for it,” Gale shrugged. Times were tough for everyone - the entire door-traveling crew was already struggling to stay afloat. He wasn’t about to be greedy. “Gretel gives me her rations, the stuff she doesn’t use to trade for soup across the border.” The borscht wasn’t amazing but a hot bowl of it was worlds better than choking down a sandwich on weird bread with buttercream icing and pumpkin spice ham. He’d been worried about her - before she was actually able to cross over to go to the factory, she’d basically been sustaining on water because she refused to eat any semblance of sugar. “I’m fine,” he assured Ronan. “Really. I’ve made it on less.” And he’d keep hunting, keep gathering, keep foraging - he didn’t expect to trap enough animals to last for awhile, but what he could trap, he’d make sure his people were taken care of as best he could. “Shit, you really are obnoxiously noble.” Ronan sounded less suspicious, downshifting into the territory of giving a friend shit easily enough. He knew Gretel wasn’t eating the sugary stuff in the box. If he’d thought about it, he could’ve probably guessed where that stuff ended up. Dropping his shoulders, Ronan darted forward to claim one of the birds. “Thanks, I uh…I actually do need this.” Declan did, anyway. But it wasn’t like he needed to share that part. He held the bird up by its legs. He didn’t want to think about plucking its feathers. It was a good thing Chainsaw wasn’t here, though. She’d have cawed her damn head off. “I can just roast it on a spit, right?” Gale chuckled, a smirk reaching gunmetal grey eyes. “Not noble, I just like to help out my friends,” he said. Some of the things he’d done - he wouldn’t call them noble. Pragmatic, maybe. Necessary. Haunting. He could go on and on - but likely he’d never think of himself as anyone worthy of the term noble. And speaking of his lawless side, he’d been smuggling too, trying it out once so far - didn’t have much in terms of payoff, when you thought about it. Just the risk of being caught and arrested, and candy that looked really suspicious. Of course he’d eat it if he became desperate enough to do so, but he wasn’t at that point yet. “Yeah, a spit works - roast it in the oven, whatever. Be careful when you pluck it too. Start with the wings and then move along but do it slowly so you don’t tear skin.” “Gross.” Ronan’s mouth turned down into a childish frown. It wasn’t like he was a fucking vegetarian. He just had a soft spot for birds. Anyway, he’d fucking deal. He rolled his eyes and set the bird to the side for now. “I owe you one.” He didn’t say that often, but when he did, it came out sounding like some kind of unbreakable vow. His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Do you get sick or are you one of those irritating fuckers who can run around a frozen forest without ever catching cold?" Ronan didn’t really owe Gale one, but he too was stubborn about just accepting help without making it reciprocal. Yeah, he got that, it was pretty much the cornerstone of his personality. “Alright,” he agreed, leaving the pigeons and taking his game bag again, adjusting it over his shoulder. Getting sick was something that didn’t happen to him often, admittedly. When he was growing up, he’d always been surprisingly healthy because of the exertion it took to actually be able to hunt and feed his family - plus, coming down with something in District 12 could be a death sentence. They didn’t really have a doctor, just healers - like Katniss’ mother - who utilized natural remedies. Herbs and teas and whatnot. “Haven’t been sick in awhile but I guess we’ll see what happens,” he grinned ruefully. “I think some people already caught something. Cold weather and the shitty food, the close quarters - it’s bound to happen.” He’d try his best to keep it from happening to him, since he needed to be out there foraging, but there were some things that were just out of his control. “Are any of your friends sick already?” “Yeah, Noah and my brother both picked up something.” Ronan glowered and picked up a bag off a side table, rattling the contents gingerly. “I got some medicine, but I don’t know how far it’ll go.” He didn’t say where he got it. Not because he didn’t trust Gale, but because he wasn’t particularly forthcoming when he could avoid it. “Anyway, take care of yourself or whatever. We’ll all be dropping like flies at this rate.” The bag of medicine ended up next to the pigeon and he started digging through his stuff for anything that might help him cook a fucking bird. “You gonna stick around and wait for Gretel?” “Yeah, probably,” Gale nodded, heading for where Gretel kept her rations. She’d taken the candy cigarettes to trade for soup, so there was about half a pack left now - it could be for next time she crossed the border, she’d be able to eat. As for Gale, he hadn’t gotten any food delivered today so he’d have to see what was left here if he wanted to eat anything. It wasn’t looking promising but whatever. If he had to go a day without food, he could. “Make sure she gets back okay. But go ahead, find your people. Hopefully that medicine kicks in soon.” He assumed the black market was where the medication came from, but he wasn’t going to say anything or do anything about it. If it were his brother and his close friend, he’d have done the same thing. There was no other way, right? No other choice. “We’ll see. Declan’s already enough to deal with when he’s healthy.” Ronan smirked and tucked a couple of things into the bag with the medicine. He eyed the bird next, before carrying it into the kitchen with a pinched face. “Guess I better test this shitty little cold war oven before I go.” It was that or start a fire in a barrel somewhere and cook the bird like some kind of post-apocalyptic weirdo. He’d be down if it weren’t so fucking cold outside. While he washed his hands, he tossed a look back over his shoulder. “Make yourself at home? Whatever that even means here.” |