John James Searle (inneedofrepair) wrote in the_colony, @ 2010-05-11 10:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | ^ week 07, john james searle |
Week seven - Saturday
Characters: Sam and Searle.
Location: Siena Suites; garden.
Summary: Sam and Searle are taking care of the garden after the irrigation system gets working, and get to talking about heavier things briefly.
Rating: PG
Sam pressed her fingers into the soft, moist dirt, shaking her head with amazement and approval. She let it crumble through her fingers, enjoying the rough, yet almost slick texture of it slide back down to the ground, and then she lifted her hands to the irrigation nozzle to clean her hands off. Getting up, she dusted her knees off, and called out to Searle. "Remind me at some point to give Peter a huge hug and kiss. That man is a frigging genius."
She beamed over at the young man as she carefully crossed over the garden, picking up her boots to step over the lines. Her short legs were just short enough to cause her real problems if she didn't mind her step. "We're getting serious growth, and not a single plant dead of either under or over watering."
These were the moments that Sam loved - watching something that lived thrive and grow under your fingers. She felt this way birthing a new colt or a new baby calf, and she definitely felt that way, watching their green things grow towards the hot Nevada sky. Breathing in deep, she put her wet hands on her hips, inspecting all the work they had gotten done.
"Gonna take a moment, and soak this all in, but you let me know when you want me to get back to that list of yours, Searle."
"Take your time." Searle smiled in amusement as he watched Sam completely in her element. Compared to her, he was just a pair of hands to help out under strict direction. Despite all of the farm land around his home in Vermont, he'd never had much experience with it.
"So, what do you think of Peter? He's a nice guy, right?"
"Yeah, I think so. A little prickly now and again, but he's not a total prick." Sam answered, as she breathed in, and then out, then in again. Green growing things had a particular odor that always reminded her of her mother. She relished and regretted the memory, and shook herself out of her thoughts to speak again.
"Why, has he given you some kind of trouble?"
"No, not at all. I'm glad he's helping us out in the garden. I mean, I wouldn't know how to put together the irrigation." The greenhouse alone was giving him something to scratch his head over. "We're lucky to have you, too. I got dragged into gardening, but I don't know how to do it." Searle wasn't sure if Sam had already picked up on that or we was good at acting.
Sam looked away from the plants, and to the young fifteen year old. She gave him a wry, but pleased smile, before lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "Nothing to it - I suppose - if you've been at it your entire life. I'm not sure if Peter has, or his job was just designing gardens, but you learn it, in time. You're catching on fast enough on your own."
"Thanks." Searle got up from his spot on the ground and went to wet his fingers with water from their irrigation system, spreading it across his warm forehead. "What about those chickens we got? Do you have plans for them? Do they need a coop or something?"
"You're welcome." She shifted on her boots, moving out of the garden proper itself, so she could go and grab a water bottle. She took a long slurp off of it, before she wet the bandanna keeping her hair out of her face. His question caught her, and she gnawed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. "Bridget and I met a ... well, we met a total dickhead a little while ago. He said he was on construction. Maybe I'll contract him, get our chickens set up. The sooner they feel comfortable, the sooner we'll start having ourselves eggs."
She beamed at him, then pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I'm going to have to set up an incubator."
Although he nodded about the incubator, Searle was still focused on the guy Sam mentioned before. "Why would you invite a dickhead over here? I can do it. Alice was talking about a flood light before so I could work at night, too. It wouldn't be a problem."
"Because you have like, fifty projects already. Besides, I need it built to really specific standards, and only a carpenter can handle it." She looked at him, hazel eyes thoughtful. "Tell you what, though. This guy doesn't work out, you're my man."
Sam had a point, so Searle nodded. "Okay." He went and sat down next to his notebook again. "How'd you meet this guy?"
"He pulled a gun on Bridget and I, when we went out to get compost box supplies." Sam answered promptly, as she tied her bandanna back around her head, after thoroughly wetting it. "Weird, how that's the normal way to meet people these days. 'Hi, pulled a gun on you so you don't try to kidnap me and make me part of your weird religious cult, how are you doing?'"
Searle laughed. "Leo pulled a gun on me the first time we met." Or maybe he'd already had the gun out - Searle's memory was a little fuzzy. "Did you belong to any group before you joined ours?"
Sam's expression tightened briefly -- but honestly, what did it matter? She shrugged her slender shoulders, going to flop next to Searle. "Not by my own choice, no. I was forced into one, against my will, a few months ago in Oregon. One of the main reasons I never go anywhere now if I'm not armed in one way or another."
That was not the answer Searle had expected, and he was silent for several moments. "Oh, sorry. Was it a religious cult?" he asked, just because she'd brought it up before.
"Very. With a crazy breeding program, to boot. Luckily, there was a kindly older woman, helped me escape. After that I decided two things - one, always help someone in need, because the next time it happened, it could be me again." Sam tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, looking thoughtful, thinking of that kindly woman. A smile approached her lips. "And the second - when I joined a group, I'd be the one who picked them."
"Yeah." If Searle thought he didn't know what to say before, he certainly didn't now. The world was crazy, but joining up in gangs for protection and starting breeding programs were two very different things.
"Hey, Sam," Searle asked after a few beats of silence, "how far would you go to help someone in need? Would you kill someone else?"
"How far?" Sam said slowly, pressing her lips together briefly before she looked over at him. "Well - depends on the situation, I guess. Not unless it really mattered. Not unless the only thing left to me, if I was completely out of options."
"I don't know what I'd do," Searle admitted, suddenly unhappy about bringing up the subject. He looked down at his notebook, reaching for it. "I guess we should go back to the list."
"Why did you ask?" Sam asked, both eyebrows lifting upwards. "I mean - that's not something that comes up in normal conversation. Searle."
"I've just been thinking." Searle didn't look at at Sam and flipped through his notebook instead. "The way things were and how they are now is different. I've always wanted to be a good person, but I'm not sure what that is anymore. Before Swine Flu, it was obvious good people never killed. Now, what if someone comes in here and it's us or them? What's the right thing to do?"
Sam thought about it for a moment, gnawing on her lip for a few seconds. A quick, wry smile touched her face, and she pushed herself to her feet. "Well, I think the answer is obvious there, Searle. In that sort of situation - we shoot 'em all in the kneecaps. Humane, smart, and above all, good common sense."
At first Searle didn't know how to react, but his body decided for him as a laugh rose up in his throat that even surprised him. "Yeah, why didn't I think of that? And we have the fork lift to carry them all out afterward."
"What did I tell you? Good common sense reigns, once more." She waggled her eyebrows, stretching all the way to her tiptoes, then lowered herself down. "All right - now - let's get to that list. What's up next?"