versusnurture | twenty ♢ private & spam

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twenty ♢ private & spam

private/voice } ben

I want to go.

[This quiet but insistent. She wants to go. She hasn't been outside in so long. She wants to go.]

[She doesn't want to go alone, though.]

private/voice } will

[She debates not contacting him. She's still angry at what she considers to be his betrayal, but - well, he's still Will. They were still supposed to be family. And she thinks he will understand her need for quiet, for green, for whatever there is to find out there.]

Did you see what it is yet? Outside.

spam } throughout port

[Most of her time is spent with Ben or near Ben. She isn't yet confident enough to venture out on her own much, so she stays close and takes short walks away from their site.]

[She explores the woods, carefully and slowly, making sure not to disturb anything irreparably. Her father taught her how to walk without a sound, and she remembers him whenever she sees an animal. She doesn't try to hunt anything. They have enough food.]

[Occasionally she comes up behind someone and goes still, freezing like a deer in headlights, as if she expects to be reprimanded for getting so close. Occasionally she'll watch someone from a distance. Once she climbs a tree, just to get a better vantage point, and sits twenty-five feet above the ground for several hours, just because it feels nice to be above it all and the breeze is refreshing.]

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[This... is a pleasant surprise.]

Of course, Abigail. Do you require anything before we disembark?

I don't want to get off the ship unless you're coming with me.

[Something familiar in Ben's chest pulls pleasantly, expands, and he settles into it with wary comfort.]

You don't have to. I'll go with you.

Have you...? Do you need me to provide anything for a pack?

Um. Probably. Yes.

I don't want to go unarmed, either. [She wonders if this will be a sticking point.]

Other than that, just normal things for being out in the woods for a while. Do you know if it's going to get cold? I need the right clothes, and food, and better shoes than this. And things for a fire.

[She's thinking. Actually thinking. Problem solving. It's - sort of nice.]

[Ben is quiet, listening, watching. He doesn't interrupt. He just watches it happen and reminds himself not to hope. There's nothing to hope for. This is Abigail, always, and she is his no matter what.]

I do not know what the weather will be like. No one has been reporting inclimate weather of any kind, but I can provide layers if it would be better. The rest is easy enough.

What would you like to be armed with?

[ Seen it. Hasn't gone out yet. His answer is vague and not really an answer at all. ]

Do you know anyone who can get some fishing line?

A warden could get some fishing line.

[She will answer in complete sentences, like this is an SAT question. Won't question it, not yet.]

Are you going fishing?

Layers are a good idea. That's good planning.

[Why isn't he arguing with her? Because he's Ben. Part of her remembers this, part of her trusts it, most of her is confused but doesn't want to question it. There's the sound of her fingers drumming on her desk, then:]

Boots. Hiking boots. Worn in so I don't get blisters.

[And:]

A knife.

[She always comes back to the knife, no matter what.]

[Abigail's incredibly stealthy, she moves with almost no sound at all. If Isaac didn't have the benefit of his werewolf senses, she could have followed him, watched him, done whatever and he probably wouldn't have ever noticed her there. He's not very experienced in the woods. And, look, his mind is kind of elsewhere anyway.

But he does have the werewolf senses. It's her scent that catches his attention, makes him turn. She's closer than he expects and he jumps a little.]

Whoa. Hey.

I was thinking about it.

[ A warden. Right. He supposes he has one of those now too. ]

I was thinking - [ This is a terrible idea, always was a terrible idea, continues to be a terrible idea and yet here he is. He gets a lot of thinking in, when he's not sleeping at night. ] Do you have anywhere you need to be?

[Her heart leaps. Shh.]

Nowhere. In particular. Exactly.

I was just going to - maybe a hike, or something.

What were you thinking?

[Some part of her wants to smile at the fact that she caught him off guard like that. The other part is uncertain she likes this - the whoa, hey, as if she's a wild animal.]

[She twines her fingers together anxiously, uncertain how to proceed with this.]

Hi. Sorry. [Sorry not sorry?]

I was thinking - What else can they get their hands on? We'd need hooks at the least. Poles would be nice. [ A knife, as well. ] We could make our own lures.

[ 'We', he means to say and does; it's a subtle question. ]

That is, if you'd like to.

[ get you out of the house a bit kiddo ]

[All quiet for a minute, just breathing. Then:]

I'd like to.

[Don't hate me, she thinks, even as she still hates him just a little bit.]

We could - I could ask Ben. Or someone else. Um, Daneca.

I might not be any good at it, you know.

[She doesn't actually believe this.]

[Ben doesn't argue. Sometimes he undermines, he frequently evades, he corrects, but he doesn't typically argue as a rule. It's as much his leftover conditioning as his preference, but here and now, there's nothing to argue.

Abigail wants to go out. She wants Ben to go with her, so he will. Simple.]

What kind of knife?

The trick is, unsurprisingly, patience. You can make it.

I'll - see what I can do about it. [ Carefully, almost unsure. He's not used to this whole warden lark, but asking a teenager a question isn't exactly an intimidating task. It just depends on what he can get his hands on. ]

Do you know how you find water in the woods?

Follow animal tracks. Look for wet ground.

[She answers instantly, as if she'll be punished for taking too long.]

What other ways?

Those are a good start.

[ It seems important to encourage her, when she sounds quick and panicked like something cornered. ]

It's the moss you look for. It's telltale how damp the region is. You follow the moss, you find the water.

Follow the moss, find the water.

[She echoes. See? She sees.]

I'll help you find it. But we shouldn't try to meet up there. We should find it together.

Ben won't let me too far out of his sight. [And furthermore, she doesn't want him to.]

No, he won't.

[ You did kind of stab him. So it's not the worst idea in the world. Ben's own breed of hovering, which he should really try to be more grateful for. Instead, he just sounds disgruntled. ]

How far is "too far"?

[Iris' memories of trees, of being a small girl in an endless friendly forest, date back to before the rest of her memories even start. This is not the forest in the heart of the city where she may have been born; but all forests, like all libraries, are connected to all other forests on a level of reality deeper than that of planet or universe of origin.

This air breathes to her of home, and she breathes it in giant, delighted gulps.

She's in a tree when she sees Abigail: lying along a branch, her cut-off animal print cargo pants and raw silk tank top blending with the bark and moss, her hatless hair catching glints of dappled sunlight. She isn't silent because she's being stealthy, only because she happens not to be moving.

She reaches into one of her capacious pockets and fetches out a small plastic bottle: this she opens to reveal a plastic loop on a stem, holding a fragile membrane of rainbows. In another minute, cascades of gin-scented bubbles start drifting down around the girl on the ground.]

[Everyone else is off hiking, exploring, running through the forest and enjoying the fresh air and the greenery. Blight on the other hand can't wait to get back on the damn boat.

He's over the physical effects of his deathtoll but in no mental headspace or emotional moodpoint to relax and enjoy himself. Maybe if the port had been a city, a resort, a village, anything that counted as civilization, but this? He's a city boy, born and bred for at least three generations. He might not make as much of a fool about himself with it as say, Chris, but the fact is he simply gets no pleasure from the wilderness. In the caverns there was a goal to focus on - survival. Being chucked into the wilds with no objective but "relax, have fun" isn't literally the worst thing that could or has ever happened to him.

But suffice to say, right now, he isn't happy. At all.

His warden is probably somewhere nearby, probably; yanking at the end of this invisible leash he storms off away from the clearings and into a place where the underbrush is a little thicker, where hopefully he can just be alone with his angry thoughts. He has his fake skin on so he doesn't stand out as much, though a dark turtleneck with rolled-up sleeves and slacks are probably not what most people out there are wearing; for him, this absolutely counts as dressed-down. And he has on sunglasses, because after so long hiding in the darker parts of the ship, his eyes are actually hurt by such vastness of unfiltered sunlight.

He finds a tree and sits down under it, arms folded, brooding silently. He has no idea that much, much further up, far over his head, this area is technically already occupied.]

[He watches her fingers twisting together for a second, then shrugs, trying to dismiss her tension and the lingering unease her sudden appearance left in his stomach.]

Don't worry about it. You make a habit of sneaking up on people in the woods?

A hunting knife.

[She pauses, then, feeling the nagging need to explain, even though she thinks Ben of all people will understand:]

It's multipurpose. I can defend myself, and I can find us things to eat, too. I know how to - you know I know how to hunt.

[She sounds vaguely ashamed.]

Far enough that he won't scare away the fish.

[She is quietly fond. But she also believes that he'll leave them mostly to it, if he thinks it's important to her. If he thinks it won't hurt her.]

[She thinks it won't hurt. She thinks it might help. Then again, she probably shouldn't trust her own judgment.]

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