Enoch Crosslin (crossedwire) wrote in thefield, @ 2009-05-29 00:23:00 |
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Current mood: | contemplative |
Entry tags: | cross, helena, z - 1st tribe - day 21 |
Awareness
Who: Helena and Cross
Where: On the island
When: Just about dark
What: Is that the tribe we hear in the distance?
Rating: PG
Helena wasn't sure what to think in the wake of her time spent with Milo. He was...definitely an odd child, in her experience. She'd be the first to admit that New York children were perhaps different from the rest of the breed herself. When she'd been a child, she'd played in fields and little wooded lots back in Clearwater. The children she taught had barely known the outside world. It was easy to be afraid for one's children in such a large city with so much danger. It was easy to wrap them in swaddling clothes and never let them breathe.
Milo had seemed capable of breathing but he had almost gone to the extreme other end of the spectrum. He seemed oddly mistrustful and nearly feral. She didn't understand it and the only conclusion she could come to was that he'd either been very traumatized by his arrival in this place or he'd been severely abused or neglected. It was that idea that found her sitting next to the fire, stoking it occasionally to keep the flames high and visible for the incoming tribe, and anxiously twisting her yarnball fibers into thread.
It was a project she'd taken up again and again, whenever she had a few moments to sit. It didn't seem right to not be doing something with the nights growing colder and most of their people woefully underclothed. Mentally she was going over patterns she'd known in the past - hats, scarves, mittens and socks. A few sweaters and shawls. She was dreaming up a night poncho with arm slits for Rowan so that her friend's belly could grow as large as it wanted to. She knew the pregnant woman was already growing out of her tank top. The last thing she wanted was for Rowan to have to cut or sacrifice one of her few garments. She's also been considering the question of pants. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to make herself a pair of pants to keep her legs warm. In theory, they'd be easy to construct. Just long tubes, after all. It was just that she didn't know how comfortable they would be to wear. Maybe a long skirt with leg warmers was the better way to go? So lost in thought as she was, she didn't hear any approaching footsteps.
Cross had spent the majority of his day gathering building materials. He knew that with the influx of people due to arrive, they'd need to have as much wood, vine and anything else they could find prepared. He'd worked hard, barely pausing to eat, and thus when the sun had finally started to go down, he'd felt justified in taking a thorough, soaking bath. His skin was still patchy with sunburn and peeling a bit, and his damp shirt felt nice on it; he'd washed it out as well as he could while he'd been bathing. He had a feeling that another month or so was going to see the cloth of the shirt completely worn through, leaving him shirtless. Ah, well. Not much he could do about it.
Cross approached the fire where Helena sat, his mind already turning to going to retrieve more wood if needed. It looked like she had sufficient for now, so he lowered himself to the ground next to her, exhaling a sigh at finally being off his feet.
Helena looked up and flashed him a smile. "I think I'm almost ready to try knitting some of this stuff," she said, lifting the spindle out of her lap slightly. "I might be selfish and make a pair of socks for myself first." She was sitting with her feet tucked underneath her, trying to conserve a bit of warmth as the temperature dropped with the fading sun. Back home she'd been one of those women who thought thick wool socks for sleeping in the winter was a necessity, no matter how unsexy certain ex-husbands had found it. She wasn't exactly perpetually cold and she thought her internal thermometer was adjusting somewhat to a life lived fairly exposed, it was just that she had less insulating fat on her than ever before.
"I'm curious to see how that goes," he told her. Socks, underwear, shirts, pants... they were going to need all of those things, and unless they found the occasional stockpile left by those who hadn't survived this experience, he couldn't think of any other way for them to get them. He smiled at her, then leaned back on his arms to stretch his back, long legs out in front of him. "You're doin' the knitting," he pointed out. "No reason you shouldn't make something for yourself first." It didn't seem to him that Helena had a selfish bone in her body, actually, now that he thought about it.
"Nah," she actually blushed at the thought that she could put herself at the top of the list. "Rowan's probably grown out of her tank top by now. A couple of the guys had no shirts at all and Rook didn't arrive in anything but his boxers." She worried her lower lip as she continued to twist the fibers between her fingers. "I should work on the bigger projects first. I know I can do a pair of socks in one evening." Her eyes ticked over to him and she gave him a smile. "Even your t-shirt isn't going to hold out more than a few more weeks. If it keeps getting any colder, wouldn't you be glad to have a sweater?" She would. A sweater, tall socks, a long skirt, scarf, hat, mitts, oh man she had a lot of knitting to do.
"I don't get cold easy," Cross told her matter-of-factly. "Don't know that I'd need a sweater. Another shirt'd be good eventually." His t-shirt was stained and threadbare and had many small holes in it as if an entire brigade of moths had gotten to it. Par for the course, he guessed. His khaki pants would probably last nearly forever; they'd come from an army-navy surplus store, and he thought they were pretty well indestructible.
She shivered despite the fire. The dropping temperature really was a concern for her. "Well, I'm going to need one. And you might not think you need a sweater but what would you do if it turns out there's a winter in this place?" She cast him a curious look, her hands still busy at her work. It was becoming so ingrained that she didn't have to look at her hands for hours on end. She could wind the thread by feel alone.
"Guess I might need one then," Cross conceded. If they were talking an actual winter with subzero temperatures and snow, he'd definitely need something. He glanced at her, holding her gaze when she looked at him, smiling a little. If he'd been one for lame pick-up lines, he might have said something like, I could help keep you warm, but that wasn't his style. He'd begun to be more and more aware of Helena as time went on, but he wasn't sure how to express it or if it was even appropriate. So he stole glances when he could, turned over in his mind some circumstance that might allow him to express himself to her. Thus far, nothing had occurred. But he was patient. "D'you think they'll get here tonight?" he asked.
It would have amused her to hear his pick-up line considering he already pretty much did, though not in the connotation he'd have meant. Sharing a hammock or a blanket with him was just as good as wool socks and sweaters (though she wouldn't have turned them down if offered) in her opinion. If it had gotten much colder while they'd been here alone, Helena doubted he'd have been able to scrape her off of him. Now though, with the prospect of the whole tribe watching them, she wasn't sure if she'd have it in her to be so bold. "I hope so," she answered her question. "The sooner they get here, the sooner I can stop worrying."
Cross nodded, understanding that completely. It was going to feel strange to have everyone together again, perhaps a little crowded... but it was safest that way. He hadn't liked the idea of the distance runner, Jasper, going off by herself, but nobody had asked for his opinion. He hoped the girl was all right. They had the four kids who'd struck off on their own here with them now, but they tended to mostly keep to themselves. When the rest arrived, they'd have everyone together in close quarters again. "Least there's plenty to eat right now," he offered, wanting to put a positive spin on the situation. It was nice not to be hungry; he'd forgotten what that felt like.
Helena smiled at him. "I think the novelty of just digging up dinner has worn off. I'm about ready to go out with a rock and bag us a grazer just for something different." It had been days of lake clams and she was sure they would be on the menu again when the others arrived. They must be looking for something new as well. "Maybe we got too used to variety back home." Ah, the fabled era of the grocery store. Some times she actually got misty eyed when she thought about cheddar cheese or pickles or rocky road ice cream, especially on the hot days. She tilted Cross a curious look, half wanting to ask him if he wanted a favourite food but holding her tongue regardless. Much as he'd pointed out the previous day, pining for their old life was just as pointless as wondering why they'd been taken.
The lack of variety didn't bother Cross all that much. He'd always been a fairly bland eater, preferring simple meat and potatoes-based meals with bread and vegetables thrown in almost as a garnish. It had used to drive his ex, the culinary arts student, insane when he'd displayed no interest in her pates and rich sauces and the decorative touches she'd tried to put on everything. It would all mix together in their stomachs anyway, so why go to so much trouble? "The colonel can shoot one when he gets here," he suggested. "I think we should smoke some meat into jerky, stuff that'll keep." He caught her expression and looked quizzically back at her, asking, "Somethin'?"
Her rather blank expression reignited into something bright and far more youthful than her years. "I was going to ask you what your favourite food was back home," she started. "Then I remembered how much more content you looked once we got some grazer meat." She chuckled. "If I had to guess, I'd say you preferred a nice and simple steak, huh? Maybe some roast beef?" Grazer didn't taste too much differently from cow. It was easy enough to imagine that it was entirely familiar.
Cross chuckled. "Steak," he agreed. "Medium-well. No steak sauce." It was much easier to talk about food now while he wasn't hungry and exhausted. "Least we can get meat here. Wouldn't mind some mashed potatoes, though." He'd always preferred those to a baked potato, any day. Possibly they could catch some fish; that would be good protein and much lighter than the grazer meat for those who preferred that. "How 'bout you?" he asked, shifting his weight and crossing his ankles, comfortable and fairly content as they awaited the rest of the group.
Her smile widened. "Oh, you mean other than ice cream?" she chuckled. Helena had been one of those women who rewarded herself or drowned her sorrows year round with some delicious sounding frozen treat. Rocky Road was definitely her favourite but she'd rarely turn down any flavor. "When it comes to meat I liked pork best," she confided. "pork roasts, hams, bacon. All of them were good. My absolutely favourite though were my mother's dry pork ribs." She wound the length of her yarn around the spindle in her lap and went back to twisting.
"Pork ribs," he mused. That sounded delicious. "D'you think those boars count as pork?" On what was probably another planet, who knew? He wondered if there were any of those creatures rooting around in the grasslands. It might not be a bad idea to have a hunting expedition before long, to see what they could find in the way of meat as well as any other edible foods. He idly watched her twisting the yarn around the spindle, admiring her patience at working with the bits of yarn seemingly tirelessly.
She sighed blissfully. "They did taste awfully close. Did you never get to try that big one that Payne and Quinn and Clay killed while you guys went east the first time?" She wasn't sure but she thought that maybe that meat spoiled by the time they had come back. Fortuitous as well, since they had brought meat with them. "They sound like they're terribly dangerous to hunt though." She pulled the two long quills that she had put aside to use as knitting needles and handed them to him. "Their backs are covered in these." The stalk was clearly hollow but the quill was hard and barely flexed. It was creamy white at the base and darkened to a chocolate brown or black at the tip. "Pretty deadly, hmm? And Payne had said that it attacked unprovoked but it did have babies with it. I guess a good defense is still a good offense, even here." She shrugged and when he handed the quills back to her, she gathered her thick dark hair up and twisted into a knot at the back of her head, casually jabbing the quills through it to keep it in place.
"Nah, I missed that one," he said of the eleboar meat to which she was referring. He examined the quills curiously before handing them back, and he'd have to agree that they were formidable, though he couldn't imagine they'd be any match for a gun. It'd definitely be a lot more dangerous to hunt them with spears. "Might be something else out there we can hunt for food, too," he said, watching as Helena twisted her hair up and pinned it with the quills. It was such a female thing to do that it had him fascinated, as he was anytime he truly thought about the otherness of women. He kept his head turned toward her, his face cast slightly down as if in thought, glancing through his lashes at the exposed curves of her throat and jaw. The fire crackled and spat, the nearby lake lapped at the shore, and for a few seconds in time, there was absolute silence.
Helena nodded and turned her face a little bit more toward him. "There's those gold colored animals, the small ones, in the sweetgrind," she pointed out. "They're fast but maybe we can figure out a way to trap them." The pelts would be lovely. She could close her eyes and imagine a heavy winter cloak or even lovely soft bedding out of their furs. It would be like a golden ermine of some kind. "Could you imagine sleeping on a bed of furs? Especially if it gets colder." Her eyes unfocused just for a moment as she tumbled into a daydream before she chuckled it off. "I swear, I will have bed fantasies for the rest of my life here." Shaking her head, she focused on pulling more of the free fibers out of the pouch and setting them up to be twisted.
Cross' face lifted toward her, just a little, when she turned hers in his direction. "If there was any metal, I bet I could come up with a trap." Possibly a wooden one could be built, though that would take a lot more work. He was distracted from his thoughts by Helena's musings about beds and furs, and he was rendered speechless at the visual images that invoked. He was having a daydream of his own, one involving Helena's lithe, tiny body spread out in a bed of soft fur. Fortunately, it was dark enough that she shouldn't be able to see the slight flush to his cheeks. He could not think of a thing to say, so he kept silent, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
The wind shifted and her head came up from her work. "You hear that?" she asked. Was that...people, calling out? "Is that Payne and Clay?" she asked. Those two were known for making noise. She started to stuff her fibers and spindles back into her pouch and gather herself together. "Or is that the rest of the tribe getting close?" Peering across the water, she didn't see anything yet. If it was the others, they'd be coming mostly out of the sun.
"We'd better go see, get ready in case it is them," Cross said, shaken out of his sensual reverie. "I hear somethin'." He figured they'd need help getting themselves and everything else across. He hauled himself to his feet, brushing the palms of his hands off on his pants and then extending one hand to her in case she wanted his assistance getting up. Certainly not because he wanted to feel the slight weight of her small hand in his; no, never that.
Helena nodded and curled her slim fingers around his thick and calloused ones. She smiled as he effortlessly drew her to her feet and even, with secret boldness, took a moment to press her small body against his sturdy one. Under the guise of getting her balance, of course. "Yeah, let's go see if we can help them." She was anticipating a dangerous crossing in the mostly-dark. The lake was cold at night and she worried about the exhausted people just being undone by the last taxing leg of their journey. That, and the laughers. On the wind, the distant hilarity blew toward them.