modernknight (modernknight) wrote in the_colony, @ 2011-03-15 09:37:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ^ week 34, abigail theien, gregory blair, | abby and greg |
Week 34: Monday
Characters: Greg Blair and Abby Theien
Location: By the woodpile.
Summary: Abby sounds Greg out about staying at Grants Pass.
Rating: G
Abigail finagled the things in her hands to keep from dropping them as she trotted down the porch steps and onto the slick, cool grass. In one hand, a bottle of water pinched together with a reused baggy of the cinnamon bread Meg baked the other day--in the other, the rubber band she planned on using to hold her hair back (and just hadn’t gotten around to it yet) as well as her watch, who’s latch decided to fail right as she was heading out the door toward the wood pile.
“Crimany...” she muttered to herself, pausing in the morning light to rework her juggling act: the bottle was caught in her teeth, the baggy pushed gently into her pocket--her watch followed suit, just into the other jacket pocket, and both freckled hands sifted through her hair, fastening it to a low and loose ponytail. She could hear Greg out at the pile, the thunk of an ax head into splintered pieces of oak and maple and pine. He was ultimately her destination.
Greg brought the axe down in a swift arc and split the log cleanly in two. He’d been at this for close to an hour and had worked up a good sweat, his jacket long since removed and placed to one side. The axe was left in place and Greg leaned down to pick up the split pieces to place on the pile.
He spotted Abigail’s approach out of the corner of his eye and turned to face her, smiling. “What brings you out here milady? A fair sight to be sure.”
“The usual,” she answered him, grinning warmly, despite the fact that there really was no ‘usual’. She offered him the water bottle first, then checked her pocket to make sure the bread hadn’t been crushed.
“I see,” Greg grinned back at her, took the offered water bottle and took a deep pull from it. “The usual is it?” He eyed the baggy holding cinnamon bread. “You bring food and drink to everyone when they’re out splitting wood?”
“Oh yes, everyone,” Abby teased with a ginger grin his way, and handed him the snack.
Once his hands were busy, she side-stepped him--planted a quick kiss on his cheek--and grabbed the ax handle herself. “Take a break.”
“Well in that case, I shall do just that.” Greg shook his head in amusement and took a step back from the redhead to get clear, then took a bite of the cinnamon bread. “Far be it from me to keep working when someone else volunteers.”
Abby smirked pleasantly in his direction, squared up the blade and swung it down into the next block. A near complete split, it just needed another nudge before the two pieces fell away.
“When do ya think it’ll start stayin’ warm?” There was a reason why she asked, though her eyes were on her task at hand, setting up another log.
Greg swallowed the bite of bread and pondered the question for a moment, both the information requested and what might be the reasoning behind it. “I would think another month at the latest, but surely within the next few weeks. It might be some weeks after that before we start running about in shorts and t-shirts, but I would imagine the trend would be steadily warmer. Why?”
“Jus’wonderin’.” Another log thunked in two pieces. Abby flicked an annoying piece of hair out of her eyes, then snuck a sidelong glance his way.
“Ya think maybe, we’ll start seein’ more people then?”
“I’d not be surprised if we did.” Greg nodded as he watched her work. “The passes will be opening up soon, or people will come up from the south like Evie’s folk did. More people, if they’re friendly, are all to the good.” He peered a bit more closely at her. “Worried?” Abby didn’t answer him for a moment, only concentrated on setting up another piece of wood.
She had to hand it to him--Greg didn’t dance around subjects. Neither did she, once upon a time; now some things were hard as hell to get out. Never in her life since the last year had she been so quiet, and the more she recognized that, the more Cabin Fever-ish things got in her mind.
“Maybe,” she confessed quietly, while other things stayed silent, except the ax through the block.
Greg wasn’t sure how to respond to the admission. He was no psychiatrist and he probably could use one himself. “Abigail, no one will judge you for being nervous around strangers.”
“I know...” That didn’t stop her from disliking the fact that she was. Big blue eyes peered back up at him as she jangled the ax to work through a piece of maple. “I want them to come,” she breathed, even though something small and deep inside her twisted when she said that. “I jus’...” Another sigh cut through her words, and she dropped her eyes to her task.
“You just can’t help but worry?” Greg asked before finishing off the cinnamon bread. She was right to worry, no one expected her to feel completely safe around strangers yet. Greg would be surprised if she was ever completely comfortable again being alone with a man she didn’t know.
She nodded quietly, but put on a small smile when she looked at him again. Something inside her was sorry she brought it up--wanted to keep it quiet like everything else. Another part of her, though, was starting to nag at her more consistently as the days grew longer, and the freezes less frequent.
“Ya think anyone here’ll think ta leave?” Abby took some extra care saying those words, and focused it on the next piece of wood. Like she was actually that covert.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if a few people moved on.” Greg allowed. He’d briefly considered the idea of leaving once the weather warmed enough to survive out in the wild when he first arrived, but the redhead currently splitting wood in his place kept him where he was.
“I’d planned on continuing down to SoCal originally, but plans change.” Abby paused, her hand still on the ax handle, to look at him.
She felt her lips pull up a little at the corners, comforted on some level, with questions still on others. Still, it was better than nothing.
He smiled back at her and chugged some water. “I gather you’d prefer to stay here rather than move on?”
“Ya mean its that obvious?” she teased herself a little, comfortable wrapping her words in a thin veneer of pleasant sarcasm.
“Just a tad,” Greg teased back.
“So does that mean you are?”
Greg’s expression turned serious and he turned so that he faced her squarely. “I’ll not leave you behind, Abigail. If you’re staying, then I’ll stay as well.” Truth be told he’d rather be back in southern California, maybe in one of the little valleys west of LA that had still been rural back before the plague, but if he had to stay in the north Grants Pass was pretty nice.
Abby pressed her lips together and rolled them. Strange how words could both comfort her and twist something deep. Still, she molded them into a small, quiet smile, then a nod.
“Wherever you are is where I want to be, Abigail.” Greg reached over and touched her cheek. “If you’re happy here that’s good enough for me. ‘Tis a nice place, I’ll not mind staying.”
Her smile came a little easier, though she couldn’t help but just let her mind wander. This place was nice, and she could trust the people here. Abby sighed softly, and let the ax stay embedded in the block. She curled into his chest and just breathed for a moment.
“It’ll be all right, Abigail.” Greg wrapped an arm around her waist and held her. “We’re safe here.”