A Refugee Log from Day Ten 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.
Clay woke to sunlight, not a shred of fog on the ground. And annoying little birds swooping everywhere--he batted at them irritably until he caught on that they were useful for picking off the disgusting flying bloodsuckers. A quick jaunt down out of the Climber tree to see a man about a horse, and then back up again, balanced on a big branch and giving Payne's sleeping bag hammock a shove, setting it swaying.
"Hey," Clay greeted her. "Let's go to the stream, huh?" His feet and legs were streaked with mud; hair greasy and sticking up in all directions; and a smear of blood trailed across his chest and down over his belly, souvenir of a bloodsucker that had long overstayed its welcome. And those were just the highlights. He was a veritable encyclopedia of filth.
Not that he was going to suggest the notion of bathing to Payne, but if most of the mud had cleared out of the stream, then damn him all to hell if he wasn't getting into it.
Payne hadn't wanted to wake up. She hadn't woken, even when Clay had pulled his arms and legs from around her, removed his heat from her skin and made her mewl softly into the sleeping bag. But she woke now, her empty belly lurching at the swing the hammock gave, and she woke hard, sitting up and almost falling out. "Augh!" her eyes focused on Clay, then, and she softened, drawing a hand through her hair. "MM. Yeah." She wriggled out of the neck of the sleeping bag, following him down the tree and toward the stream, grabbing up a stick to wave about, lazy patterns in the air. "You figure I'll catch fish, if I try t'day?"
"Threw a fish over there, yesterday," he offered, gesturing vaguely off the path. "You could catch that one easy, huh?" There were still a few puddles on the ground, though not nearly as many as yesterday. Clay paused to squish his feet into one, mud oozing up between his toes. An impish grin lit up his face for a moment as he glanced up swiftly to where Payne walked on with her back to him. Balancing on one foot, he kicked up with the other, flinging dirty water and little globs of mud. He waited, foot still raised and swaying a little from side to side, for Payne's reaction.
It was as predictable as could be. She'd slept in her clothing - she always slept in her clothing, since coming to this new, strange world, and the feeling of water soaking through the thin material of her top made her draw her shoulders rapidly in, her thin body whirling, her eyes catching Clay and glaring.
And then she was upon him, with an ecstatic whoop, her hands pushing and shoving, her bare feet trying to hook around his and trip him up.
Clay had just enough time to fling another toeful of mud before Payne rushed him, making it pathetically easy for her to topple him to the ground. He caught her around the waist as he fell, damp weeds and rain-soaked earth making for a soft landing. Still, on instinct he put out his free hand to break their fall, sending up a spray of dirty water as it landed in a mud puddle. His fingers closed around that ammunition and with a bark of laughter he raised his fistful of mud high.
Payne could see it, just out of the corner of her eyes. Heavy, dripping, gloppy clump of mud, arching up above her, dangerously close to her (relatively) clean hair. It made her let out a wild yell, rolling Clay over and pinning his hips with her own, her back arching so that she could look down at him, tearing a handful of weeds and mud from just beside his head. She didn't think, just gave her friend a sadistic, gleeful grin as her filthy, muddy hand spread against the side of his face.
He caught her hand in his, not bothered in the least by the slime slopped across his cheek, though he made damn sure to clamp his lips tight together. Clay's standards of personal hygiene might be getting lower by the day, but he doubted he'd ever get to the point where mud between his teeth was acceptable.
Clay still had that fistful of muck, and Payne's hair was obviously the best target. He dug in his heels and bucked up, not trying to unseat her so much as to distract her--the better to get his muddy hand clamped over the back of her neck. From there it was easy enough to tug her down against his chest and give her a new hairstyle. Very retro-eighties it was, too, and all for the price of a little collateral damage.
Payne found her face quickly mashed against Clay's chest, and though she struggled and even gave voice to an outraged little cry, it didn't prevent the feeling of thick, warm mud slithering against the back of her neck and behind her ears. She set her palms against the dirt and pushed, but the ground was too soft, it gave her no leeway against his grip. And then she noticed that she had a particularly sensitive part of him, as it happened, right under her mouth. Well, since he'd put her teeth there....
"Goddamn-fuckin'-bitch--Aaaaah!" Each syllable rose in pitch until it was an incoherent scream of pain. He'd been happily occupied in arranging Payne's hair into spikes; now he palmed the back of her head, shoving her face even harder against his chest. Counter-intuitive as all hell, but Clay had prior experience with biting, and the last thing he wanted to do was push her away. She'd just take a chunk of him with her, and never mind what anybody said about male nipples being extraneous items, he wanted both of his to remain attached.
"Leggo, dammit!" Clay pawed at whatever portion of Payne's face he could get to with his free hand, fingers blindly seeking a grip on her nose. It would be hard for her to keep biting while she was suffocating, or so he hoped.
Payne could feel her nose being smashed mercilessly against the hard edge of Clay's sternum; her teeth clamped even harder for a moment, before parting in a wordless, pained cry of her own. Her face was pretty much the only part of her body that wasn't sore from the day before, and having him crush her like that made her even more determined to get him. She released his skin from between her teeth, turning her head to the side and snapping at his fingers instead. All the while her hands were smearing him with mud, pinching and poking and generally making pests of themselves.
Clay drew his fingers back as soon as Payne let go, having no interest in providing her with a new target for biting. That had hurt! The rest of it was nothing by comparison and he endured her pinching and prodding with his usual stoicism, letting his hands drop to her waist.
"Now look, you got us all dirty," he accused, handily forgetting that he'd started it. The prospect of a dip in the cold stream was looking better and better.
Payne looked down at him. wriggling her hips to that her hipbones dug into him with a cruel little grin. His hands were slick and cool against her waist, nice, and she seemed to share his thought about the dip. "You're the dirty one, Clay." she said, face very serious. "Even your mind is filthy." That was the sort of thing she let drop just to tease him, thinking nothing of it at all. She lowered her muddy head, letting a soft, affectionate nuzzle lay a heavy smear of mud across his face before she hopped up, shaking out her limbs.
"Guh." He'd clamped his lips shut just a second too late. Wiping his mouth on his arm--which was none too clean, either, but he really didn't have any other option--he scrambled to his feet. For a second Clay tried to think of some retort to Payne's filthy mouth comment, but inspiration failed to dawn. Instead he brushed past her, leading the way to the stream.
Where bunches of flowers had apparently bloomed overnight. Huh. Clay came to a halt, frowning in some confusion. That was the same stream, wasn't it? It had been entirely transformed. "Lookit that," he remarked to Payne. Those weird little bat-things were flying around, too, forcibly reminding him that they were in an alien landscape.
Payne, to her credit, did take a moment to admire the beauty that had sprung up all around them. Tender little blossoms brushed her legs, and she watched the little creatures flitting about with a timid, tiny little ha'smile. Then the spell was abruptly broken, and she rubbed her dirty feet in the grass, her hands going to the button of her trousers. It took a bit to get them down and off, but she kicked off the damp, heavy-with-mud garment with an audible sigh of deep relief.
Oh yeah, that was the right idea. Clay would never have thought clean clothes would be such a high priority, but he had to admit that the jeans he'd been wearing nearly non-stop for days now had gotten pretty damned disgusting. With no more thought for the exotic flora and fauna, he shucked them off and tossed them aside. He'd figure out some method for scrubbing them later. Right now he wanted to immerse himself in the water. He clambered down the bank and dipped a foot in with exaggerated caution.
What was she gonna do, let him go in cautiously like that? Payne didn't think for a moment before slinking up behind Clay, spreading her hands against his back and shoving him into the pool. She laughed at the resounding splash, feeling the water cool and sweet and wonderful on her bare legs. Her back arched and she squinted her eyes into the young sun, for just a moment reveling in the perfection of that day. And then her fingers took the hem of her top, and with no ado she peeled it off, dropping it into the grass atop her trousers before letting her body fall to sit on the bank, dangling her feet into the water.
He should have known she'd pull a stunt like that. Didn't she know you could get cramps and drown if you went into the water too fast? Or so Clay believed, back in some dusty half-forgotten mental corner stockpiled with old wive's tales and snippets of gospel hymns. There was an instant of panic until he realized that his feet could easily touch the bottom. Oh, and the water wasn't cold. It was perfect, just cool enough to be refreshing. Clay forgot about revenge... For half a minute. Then he was turning, wiping the water out of his eyes, oh so casually maneuvering himself back to the bank where Payne sat.
Clay grabbed for her ankles, giving a sharp, decisive yank.
Payne had half suspected he would pull her in, and that was all right. She didn't mind. She slipped into the water with a yelp, feeling the mossy rocks scrape at her back as she went in. And then it was all cool water and the blood pounding in her ears, and she opened her eyes under the water, her hands finding Clay's belly and tickling him mercilessly before she came up again, sputtering and laughing.
Clay hadn't been swimming in years. Didn't know how to swim, truth be told. He could remember splashing and awkward dog-paddling... And sinking. Plenty of sinking, because he wasn't built to float, apparently. But this was okay, he decided while putting up a token resistance to Payne's tickle assault. He caught her around the waist as she came up for air, her slender body feeling oddly light and pliant with the water buoying them both up.
It was easy enough to pull her to him, but difficult to find the words for what he wanted to tell her. That he was glad she hadn't been killed by that damn elephant-pig-thing, yesterday. That he was proud of her. Hell, even a joke about bringing home the bacon. Clay gave it up and just bumped his forehead against hers.
Payne let Clay pull her close, his arms were wet and she slid against him, the cool water running between them as it ran from her hair. She rested her brow against his, and after a moment her skinny arms came up to twine around his neck. They'd had a few of these soft, silent moments, usually at night when they were snuggled together under her thin sheet. No words, no need for words. She let her warm breath tickle her nose, just standing with him in the water and listening to the sounds of life all around them. Finally she pulled him closer for a quick little hug, before splashing a bit of water in his face and tickling again.
He splashed back with both hands, floundering backward in the shallow pool to put a bit of distance between them, mildly embarrassed by the brief show of affection now that the moment had been broken. That kind of thing had its place, Clay decided. But not now, and not here. He wiped the water from his face and clawed a hand through his hair. His fingers came away with traces of mud still clinging to them. He held them up for Payne's inspection, noting with a snicker that her own hair still showed evidence of his earlier handiwork.
"Hey, didn't somebody say they had soap?"
"I fuckin' said it, Clay." she splashed to the bank, dragging her muddy cargoes toward her, digging a little bar of soap out of the pocket. She tossed it to him, grinning. There was still a bit of leftover emotion in the air, and she laughed to dispel it, letting her arms spread wide in a crucifixion pose on the bank, her body falling into the pool and letting out a tremendous splash.
Clay caught the soap, hiding a smile for how quickly his query had yielded tangible results. His eyes went wide as Payne teetered on the edge of the pool and he let out a shout of laughter as she toppled in. Then all attention was on the soap, and getting a lather worked up in his hair. Funny how good it felt, this simple thing that he had taken for granted back home.
Fleetingly, Clay wondered if his body still was back home on planet Earth, in St. Joe's or the Arnot Hospital in Elmira, New York. Maybe he was getting a sponge bath from some nurse. He grimaced and held the little bar of soap out to Payne without a word.
She took it easily, dunking her head again and rubbing the soap into her wet hair. She had to rinse it over and over, scrubbing furiously. Perhaps his mind ran over into hers, because the whole absurdity of their situation hit her again, and their conversation the night before came to her mind. She stopped for a moment with a soapy head, squinting at Clay, "So, you decide if we're all on drugs, then?"
It took time for Payne's comment to get processed; Clay was busy washing. And watching Payne washing. Or rather, making sure she wasn't watching him too closely while he washed various bits that really needed it. Needed it bad, he decided, whether she was watching him or not. He blinked once the words got through to his brain, wondering how she'd known what he was thinking about.
"How'm I supposed to decide?" he asked her irritably. Clay waved a hand, the gesture encompassing the bank with its vines humming with alien birds and kaleidoscope-winged bats. "Half the time I think we gotta be on drugs, 'cause this shit can't be real. And half the time I think this shit's gotta be real, 'cause ain't no way I could make it up."
"I think it's gotta be real, Clay." Payne dunked her head again, wiping water from her eyes, lowering herself into the water to her throat. "I mean, would you dream a world like this? I sure as fuck wouldn't. I been campin' twice in my whole life, two times outta the fuckin' city, why would I dream a fuckin' jungle?" she peered around him, a smile tugging at her mouth at his attempts to hide his actions. "An' why would I dream that we ain't got no satellites in the sky, nothin' for my GPS to pick up?" it wasn't any more than she'd said the night before, but she figured he was too asleep that time.
She knew him too well already. Late night talks led, inevitably, to Payne's voice lulling him to sleep.
"Yeah, gotta be," Clay agreed easily, distracted. He let himself sink down into the water until his eyes were on a level with hers. "You ain't never been camping," he scoffed. How dumb did she think he was? He didn't need to meet her family to know with rock-solid certainty that whatever parents she'd had, they had never taken her camping. Not any more than his own family had taken him on any adventures into the great outdoors.
"Fuck you, I been campin' twice. In fuckin' Wisconsin." she shoved at him, pushing his head down under the water for a moment. She twisted her fingers into his hair. and watched him come up sputtering. "It was some...fuckin' juvie camp, s'posed to teach me....discipline. Or somethin'. Fuck." she tossed the soap back up onto the bank, letting herself lay back in the cool water. "Anyhow, my point is that.....that....shit! Whatever I was fuckin' sayin'."
He gave Payne a hard poke to the ribs, his mind trying to summon up an image of Wisconsin, and failing utterly.
"You was saying that all this shit is real," Clay reminded her. He maneuvered himself awkwardly over to the bank, retrieved his jeans, and began dunking them in the water in an effort to rinse off some of the caked-on muck of the past few days.
Payne followed behind him, taking her own clothes and starting to give them a good scrubbing. She looked up then, considering her next words. "I'm jus' sayin'. We can't dream shit, or hallucinate it, or whatever, unless it's in our heads to begin with. Right? But who the hell thinks up a place like this?" she paused then for a moment. "Though, the animals an' plants are weird as fuck, but they are still animals an' plants. They have a fuckin' taxonomy, though we don't know it." A shake of the head, and she dunked her trousers again. "But on the off chance we 'are' dreamin', I wonder what happens if we get back home."
Clay wondered, briefly, if the amusement value of asking Payne to do his laundry would be worth whatever torment she would inflict on him in retaliation. Then she spoke of returning home, and his stomach lurched. It was an unwelcome sensation, far too reminiscent of the day before when he'd feared for her life. If they went back home, he'd lose her! No, Clay decided, because he wasn't going back. If somebody found a way, he just wouldn't participate.
But what if whoever brought them here sent them back? He picked his jeans up out of the water and gathered the denim in his fists, scrubbing them vigorously as he scowled.
"Don't wanna go home," Clay blurted. He realized that he sounded petulant. Stupid, like a little kid. He didn't care. "Do you?" he asked Payne.
She shrugged. "Shit, man, I don't even fuckin' know. I mean...maybe I fuckin' miss my friends. Gettin' fuckin' wasted. On the other hand, .a girl don't gotta worry about a habit here, or cops, or some dealer with a grudge." or a criminal family intent on dragging her in, she thought grimly to herself. And she leaned against the bank, her chin resting on her crossed arms. "But you know, if we do ever get home, I ain't never gonna see you." a pause. "Unless you, y'know..."
Payne's summary was similar to thoughts Clay had tried to express to Ryan. There wasn't much he missed about his old life. Weird and uncomfortable and potentially dangerous as this new reality was, he could see new horizons opening up--possibilities that had simply never existed back home. To lose those, and Payne too? It didn't bear thinking about. But she was holding out a possible solution. He stopped wringing his jeans into knots and looked over at her, carefully keeping his face expressionless.
"Unless I what?"
She looked up at him, her teeth working her lips for a moment before she spoke. Maybe it wasn't worth saying, but she had to finish her thought properly. "Well, unless you came and found me." she told him, letting her head tip. "I lived in Chicago. North side. You wake up, come and get me. Maybe wake me up too, if I'm rottin' in some hospital bed."
The very notion was ludicrous, laughable. Clay wasn't laughing. He went back to twisting the water out of his clothing as his mind ran over a limited set of possibilities. Maybe Chicago wasn't all that far away from Elmira. Relatively speaking. Maybe it wasn't all that big. The North side--that narrowed it down a little, didn't it? Maybe she was in the phone book. How many girls named Pain would there be in the phone book? Pain. Yeah, that would stand out.
"Yeah. I'll come get you," he promised. He just had no idea how.
She liked the idea now, laughing at the silliness of it all. "When we get back to camp, I'll write you down an address. My uncle's bar. You wake up, come get me. We'll fucking take over the place." A harsh laugh, and then she went silent, her face serious. "Or, y'know...we could just stay here. Take over the fuckin' place."
Payne's confidence washed over him, making him feel as if either one was possible. Yeah, him and Payne, they could take over the world. Clay grinned at her.