DeShaun (ex_hammerdow169) wrote in thefield, @ 2009-01-31 16:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | clay, payne, z - 1st tribe - day 05 |
Same Shit, Different Planet
Who: Payne and Clay
Where: another climber tree not far from the camp
When: Week 1, Day 5, late afternoon
What: the casting of stones
Rated: PG for a few drug references and foul language
Upon finding himself in the middle of a vivid hallucination--or possibly on an alien planet--Clay had decided that his best course of action, at least for the moment, was to pick up rocks. He had a number of reasons why, not the least of which was that the rocks, unlike the purple grass or the huge, viney trees, looked normal. With the front pockets of his jeans loaded with a couple dozen small stones, he'd found himself a tree with a wide, low branch, a bit apart from the camp. From this vantage point he'd spent the last ten minutes or so chucking rocks at the ground, climbing down to retrieve his stock of ammunition each time he ran out, only to resume his perch and start the whole process over again. Repetitive, monotonous, and perfect for avoiding thinking about whatever the hell he'd managed to get himself into.
The events of the past day just wouldn't change, wouldn't leave. Payne wasn't sure whether she should just accept things and deal with what she'd been given, or...well, there was no 'or', was there? No choice, not really. So she went wandering, books scuffing the purple grass and her hands in her pockets. She wasn't listening to anything but the faint fluting of those strange tree-animals, until the sound of...some sort of clunking broke into her reverie. Her eyes found...what was his name? It seemed best to walk over. "Hey."
"Hey," Clay responded, tempted to throw the rock in his hand between the newcomer's booted feet, just to see if he could. His aim was getting pretty good... Better not, he decided. With his luck he'd hit her in the head or something. Instead, he tossed the stone after its brethren and plopped himself down to sit on the branch, his own booted feet dangling. "What's up?" he asked, genuinely curious. Just waking up in the field had been weird enough, but this girl had apparently managed to top that, waking up chained up to a pipe or something. Clay wasn't one hundred percent clear on the details.
"Not much." it was strange, but she knew this conversation. They were...possibly on another planet, and she knew this. It felt comfortable, as lived-in as her worn leather jacket. He looked like any of the guys she might have done lines with after a night at the club. So she shrugged, walking closer and kicking at a few of his rocks that lay in the grass. "Not much. On another planet. Bored."
Cool as a cucumber, his Gran would call this one. Well, after she'd got done calling her any number of other things, all of them hateful. It made Clay wonder. Was she really as unconcerned as she seemed to be? Maybe hallucinating was just part of the routine for some people.
"Yeah," he agreed, because really, what else could be said? No point in whining or asking questions that couldn't be answered. Might as well be bored. "Where'd you come from?" Clay asked after a beat or two. That, at least, was a question that had a ready response.
A sudden grin. It should be pointed out that when Payne grinned, she looked by turned hungry, predatory or mocking. Usually all three at once. She grinned her quick, wolfsish grin, and flopped down to sit on the grass at Clay's feet. "Chicago, USA. How 'bout you?"
Chicago. The Sears Tower. He had no idea what state the city was in, no clear image of what the Sears Tower looked like or why it was notable, but he knew the damn thing was in Chicago. Some forgotten teacher somewhere ought to be proud of how that little random fact had stuck, he supposed. "Elmira, New York. What's so funny?" He'd instantly interpreted her grin as mocking, was just as instantly ready to take offense.
"Nothin'." she looked up at him, a bit confused. "Nothin', unless you think bein' stuck here is funny, or whatever, but until I find some dank it's not gonna be much of a picnic." she laughed letting herself flop back onto the grass. "Never heard of Elmira. What's it like?"
"It's all right." Elmira was a shithole, its only real industry being the production of crystal meth, but it was Clay's hometown, and therefore his shithole and not to be held up for criticism by outsiders. "I was passed out drunk at a party," he added, still curious about her own, slightly more unique manner of arrival.
"Huh?" her head lifted, interest flitting over her thin face. "Oh, last night, y'mean?" a laugh bubbled up, her thin frame shaking with it. "Shit. Musta been some party."
"I thought so, this morning." He flashed a smile; it was kind of amusing. "Thought they'd dumped me outside somewhere... Would have freezed my ass off if they really did."
"Yeah, that was my first thought, too. That I'd been dumped." she laughed at it now. "Good thing I wasn't right, though. Chicago's cold as a bitch at night. Use'ta sleep outside, almost lost my toes." she grinned.
Clay had spent a few nights outdoors, back in high school, mostly, but never in the winter. That was harsh. This girl looked like she was about that age, though. High school. Skinny little thing, he thought critically. She looked a little worse for wear, too.
"Hope it stays warm," he commented. "Lost my shirt. You come better prepared," Clay added, since he'd been looking her over.
She didn't want to mention having come with her bag. In fact, she hoped that only the two that had found her would know, and not spread it around. It looked like most people hadn't come with anything to speak of, and she was certain that as soon as the group found out about her things they would stop being hers. Clay seemed nice - seemed, in fact, exactly the sort of guy she got along best with - but she knew better than the trust. So she nodded, smiling a bit. "Got m'boots, but m'jacket. All a girl really needs, y;know?"
He snorted out a laugh at that. Girls, in Clay's limited experience, needed a lot more than shit-kicker boots and a leather jacket. Though she was obviously female, it was difficult for him to really think of her as a girl. "What's your name?" He had to ask. He was going to laugh his ass off if she said 'Tiffany' or 'Brittany' or some obviously girly name. "I'm Clay," he added. "Clay Lindstrom."
Pulling herself up to a kneel, Payne held out her hand to him. She felt like she knew him already. He fit so perfectly into the world that she knew, as if a tiny piece had come along into this strange, bewildering world she now found herself in. "M'called Payne." a pause. "Don't laugh."
"Least you ain't named after dirt." Pain. Now that was hardcore, though since she seemed embarrassed by it he reasoned that it was real, not some nickname she'd bestowed upon herself to try and look badass. Clay hesitated a beat before taking the offered hand.
"Come on up," he suggested. The offer wasn't a come-on; once he'd helped Payne up onto the low branch, Clay put a bit of distance between them and resumed his rock throwing.
Laughing, Payne let herself be pulled up and settled herself on the branch, pulling skinny legs up to her chest. She gave him a playful little shove, feeling at east for the first time since she'd come. Not happy, not peaceful, but her internal landscape seemed to level out a little. "Ain't nothin' wrong with Clay. Ain't nothin' wrong with dirt, either." she joked.
Clay just rolled his eyes. He'd hated his name since about the third grade, when some schoolyard wit had come up with, 'He's dumb as dirt, that's why they named him Clay!' He wasn't about to take Payne along on that little trip down memory lane, however. He chucked a couple more rocks, then asked, "So what'd you do, back in Chicago?"
She paused a while before answering, taking a few of his rocks and throwing them herself. It was satisfying. Something repetitive, familiar. What to tell him? She'd had so many jobs, so many way of scraping in a little extra cash. Why not just tell him the one she'd like the most? "Mechanic." a mirthless laugh. "Lotta good that does, here."
"Don't look at me, I make cheese," Clay deadpanned. If ever there was a worthless job for survival in the stone age, that would be it. It was his own private joke, referencing the job he'd claimed when asked by Father Alex. Judging by the way Payne had taken her time before answering him, Clay suspected she might not be telling the whole truth, either. He wasn't bothered, if that was the case--his own damn fault for asking.
"Well!" she grinned suddenly, the moment of thoughtfulness vanishing from her face. "See, if we need a fella t'make cheese, you're the man! Right?" another playful shove, and she laughed at him, not unkindly.
"Shut up," Clay said without rancor, and gave a shove back, just a touch harder than she'd shoved him. "No. I don't know shit about making cheese from scratch--it was a factory, I just moved boxes around." Out of stones to throw, he hopped down from the tree and started picking them up yet again. "Like anybody else is gonna be any better off," he said dismissively.
"You shut up, dirt-boy." the girl laughed, hopping down herself to gather a few stones up her in her hands. "I dunno. Some...kinda...wilderness ranger might do ok. Or. Like. A....mountain..man..." she leaned against the tree now, giggling madly.
Temper flared at the sobriquet 'dirt-boy', though Clay maintained his usual flat affect. Letting her know the comment needled him would be a sure way to get it repeated... Over and over, every chance the kid got. They might have just met, but Clay was willing to bet money on that one. On impulse, he let fly with one of the stones he'd just picked up, lighting up with a cocky grin when the little missile struck her leather jacket.
"Fuckin' cave man," he corrected her, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
There was perhaps a nanosecond of surprise when Payne felt the rock hit her. Not like she could blame him. She'd have done the same. So she just grinned, sending a stone thrown low in his general direction. "Neanderthal-man!" she laughed now, stumbling back a few feet to gather up a handful of tiny pebbles.
"Somebody's cruisin' now," Clay said. There was no real threat in his tone. Neanderthal-man, he could live with. He dodged the stone--no shock there, since he'd expected Payne to retaliate in kind. Watching her stoop to pick up more ammo, he tossed another stone her way, deliberately letting it fall well short. To be honest, he wasn't all that sure of his aim. It would be just his dumb luck to somehow hurt her on accident and make a fool of himself. This girl seemed okay. Really okay; he too felt a sort of kinship, a rare sense of camaraderie.
"What's wrong with yer aim, Clay?" the girl teased, watching his rock miss her by a mile. She sent the little stoned pattering harmlessly off his clothes, laughing and feeling some of the tenseness and worry she'd felt just fall away. Sure, she was lost on some alien planet. Sure, who cared? "You usually have that much trouble hittin' shit?" her tongue stuck out at him, silver tongue-stud glinting in the light.
For once, he refused to rise to the bait, just lifting one bare shoulder in a shrug and taking up his spot on the tree branch once again. "Dunno, never really tried to hit anything before today." Actually, he was mightily pleased with the progress he'd made. Because he wasn't just throwing rocks out of boredom; he'd been serious when he'd told Father Alex that he wanted to find weapons to use against the Laughers. A rock was a pretty piss-poor weapon, but so far that was all he had.
"It must be a mighty dull life you leave, Clay-boy." the game had lost it's fun a bit, and Payne hoisted herself back onto the branch, arms around her skinny knees. The double-entendre left her smiling a bit, but by and by they fell into a conversation that seemed to flow in a familiar, comforting patter. Late nights, drinking and smoking up and talking, she remember that as they talked, waiting for life to make sense again.