The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-02-23 02:54 am
carnagecarnival) wrote in thearena2015-02-23 02:54 am
Entry tags:
Tried to come up with an artistic way to say, they don't know you, and neither do I
Who| Initiate, Psii, and Sam
What| Post-amputation drinking and leftover valentine food. Making smores.
Where| Just outside an ice-cave, nearby to the lake and forests.
When| a little bit after the amputation.
WARNINGS| language, drinking
He wakes to stinging, prickling cold on one side, and intense heat upon the other. Neither sensation is quite strong enough to overpower the pain in his leg. It makes him sputter, shudder, and cringe. But, he realises, he's free. He can see stars above. Was it a few minutes, hours, days? He's not proper sure. Morphling and injury like such had disoriented him in the past, though not to the degree of their combination.
It has him all unsure, when he looks over, if what he's seeing is really real. Not only is Sam sitting by, still there-- when he had no reason to be-- but the Psiioniic's there too. The Psiioniic who had even less reason. He blinks and squints like he can cast away the illusion, but it's all truth up before him. Motherfucker's is still being there. There's a grip on his heart and a nervous churn in his guts.
You stayed.
The words get caught up on his teeth and fall back inside.
He turns his head from them, to the backpack laying close. First comes hauling himself up to sitting. He feels the lack up of his other foot, but he tries not to focus on it. Instead, he reaches for that pack to dig up inside it, not saying a word. At least not until he's hauled out the leftovers of his capitol gifted date-meal from days ago, and two bottles of vodka. Two more than he ever wanted. He rolls one over to Sam, and the other to the Psiioniic.
"Ain't need them," He says. "IF YOU GOT FANCY UP FOR IT, THEY'S YOURS. Got some food bits herelike too."
Not 'Evening', or 'Sorry', or 'Thanks'. Simply, 'Do you want food?'
What| Post-amputation drinking and leftover valentine food. Making smores.
Where| Just outside an ice-cave, nearby to the lake and forests.
When| a little bit after the amputation.
WARNINGS| language, drinking
He wakes to stinging, prickling cold on one side, and intense heat upon the other. Neither sensation is quite strong enough to overpower the pain in his leg. It makes him sputter, shudder, and cringe. But, he realises, he's free. He can see stars above. Was it a few minutes, hours, days? He's not proper sure. Morphling and injury like such had disoriented him in the past, though not to the degree of their combination.
It has him all unsure, when he looks over, if what he's seeing is really real. Not only is Sam sitting by, still there-- when he had no reason to be-- but the Psiioniic's there too. The Psiioniic who had even less reason. He blinks and squints like he can cast away the illusion, but it's all truth up before him. Motherfucker's is still being there. There's a grip on his heart and a nervous churn in his guts.
You stayed.
The words get caught up on his teeth and fall back inside.
He turns his head from them, to the backpack laying close. First comes hauling himself up to sitting. He feels the lack up of his other foot, but he tries not to focus on it. Instead, he reaches for that pack to dig up inside it, not saying a word. At least not until he's hauled out the leftovers of his capitol gifted date-meal from days ago, and two bottles of vodka. Two more than he ever wanted. He rolls one over to Sam, and the other to the Psiioniic.
"Ain't need them," He says. "IF YOU GOT FANCY UP FOR IT, THEY'S YOURS. Got some food bits herelike too."
Not 'Evening', or 'Sorry', or 'Thanks'. Simply, 'Do you want food?'
no subject
His attention is split between keeping watch on their little makeshift camp, taking inventory of what they've got left of their combined medical supplies, and keeping an eye on Kurloz. Sam'd already checked his own leg, and he hadn't done anything to upset its progress. Between that and the fact that they're still not bad off, as far as supplies go, Sam's feeling pretty good.
Aside from the fact that one of his closest friends had just cut off his own leg, but there's nothing more he can do about that right now.
He stops everything else he's doing when he hears Kurloz moving, though, turning his full attention on him just in case he's thinking about trying to stand up. "You shouldn't be moving too much yet," he says, but doesn't try to stop him from grabbing his backpack.
Instead, he puts a hand out to stop the bottle rolled at him. "Back in the old days, I would've been giving you this, standard medical procedure. They used to use alcohol as an anesthetic."
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He stiffened apprehensively as Initiate moved, but didn't leave where he sat—slightly away from the other two, half out of the circle of firelight, but still close enough to benefit from its warmth. (If they were going to light a conspicuous fire, he was going to damn well use it. He already had sharpened sticks prepared for kebabing his next meal on four legs.)
"Are you theriouthly thuggethting I drink thome mythtery aneththetic liquid becauthe you feel the irrational need to pay uth back for untholithited medical care? And be careful where you roll that, shit'th flammable." He found out the hard way at Signless's Crowning.
He opened the bottle well away from the fire, took a whiff, and made an extremely attractive face. Bluh.
"Conthidering you're not dead, I'd call human Sam'th quick thinking and medical proweth a thuctheth." He made another pinched face as he looked back at the bottle. "I know humanth would normally shove thith down their protein chuteth in a thelebratory fashion, and I thure have imbibed thome weird shit back home, but shouldn't we thave it for fuel or thomething?"
True, when he'd tried his first human alcoholic drink, it had left a warm, relaxed feeling. But that drink had had honey and the faint taste of fruity fermentation to lure him in. This particular brew smelled like it could power two rockets. Sharp and acrid, like himself. He supposed it could grow on him.
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If it really was being some fuel for flame, if made ever more sense than as what he thought of it as a drink. He might not have tried it again if he'd known. But then again, that wasn't arena the Capitol was going to let him win. At that point he'd just been waiting impatient for death to come already.
"YOU WANT AT FOR IT BEING FUEL, I AIN'T CARE." He shrugs his shoulders, then holds out that collection of heart shaped sweets, grahams, chocolates and the like. "Still got these. ALL MATESPRIT MOLDED BUT IT DON'T TASTE NO DIFFERENT. You want some? HOW 'BOUT YOU SAM?"
There was absolutely nothing irrational about a need to pay someone back.
"Hope you two wasn't sitting both by waiting at if I'd died. YOU KNOW THEY FIRE CANON IF ALL THAT GETS DONE." Death meant something, but it was still cheap. Cheap enough to take about causal, qualmless. Least when it was being about his ownself.
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Besides, he isn't going to say no to candy. "Shit, man, you've got everything you need in here for s'mores."
He glances back over at Psiioniic. "You can save yours for fuel if you want. I'll share mine, we've got a couple of bottles back where I'm camped. People keep sending them." He's pretty sure that's because alcohol had been involved when he and Clint had wrestled around in the snow, and again when he got some of the others playing Truth or Dare, but whatever. Even if none of them are actually going to drink much of it, and even now that he had actual fuel from his own Valentine's Day sponsor gift, more alcohol isn't a bad thing.
Sam shrugs, tilting the bottle back to take a decent-sized swallow. He isn't going to drink enough to be impaired, but after all of that, he could use a drink. Then he screws the cap back on the bottle, offering it over to Psiioniic.
And then Kurloz says that, and Sam can't help but frown over at him. "We were sitting by making sure no one came to pick you off while you were out, you jerk. You weren't going to die from that, not after we finished with you. Not like that was my first time."
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"And we weren't waiting around like utheleth fuckth," he backed up Sam, "We were the thetting up camp and taking turnth thcouting the area for enemieth. You know, thmart thingth."
Unlike cutting off one's own leg without a tourniquet, anesthetic, or sterilized tools. Psii narrowed his gaze at Initiate's stump, but only the cant of his head and flicking of his eyelids indicated such. He could be brazen with his weird eyes around those he thought didn't know him well enough. He kept forgetting (or repressing) that Initiate was once his future self's moirail and knew him quite well.
He wrinkled his nose at the chocolates, the notion of romance connected with clowns making him feel ill. Initiate had let slip that Signless pitied Psii in some manner. Psii wondered why he wasn't just a yellow subjuggulated smear on the Tribute Tower floor, then. That was what happened to people vaguely in the way of clowns. Psii didn't know what Sam's Valor Tine's Day was, but he recognized the symbol anyway. At least they weren't diamonds. He'd had enough talk of diamonds.
"I'm not taking your cheethy matethprit candy until you eat thome real food." He brandished a protein bar at Initiate like a taser. He didn't want to accept anything from him outright. It made him feel obligated.
However, since he liked Sam, Psii felt it impolite to refuse his direct offer of human celebratory soporifics. So he relented and took a sip. At least he was mentally prepared for the taste, designed to burn away his worries. It did warm him, which was something to be grateful for. He took a second swallow before passing it back. Always do things in twos.
"What are th'moreth?"
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He winces. His ears fold down. He'd be all kinds of down for banter in different circumstances. He could laugh at being called a jerk, get his snark on right back. He says, "You both motherfuckers all double timing up on me." But it comes out quiet and weak. Little more than a muttering.
"GUESS THAT MAKES SENSE. Wouldn't want to waste none up at this point. AND I KNOW I'M A FUCKING IDIOT. Had plenty make real evident on that."
He's prepared to pull the candies back away from the Psiioniic, until that sentence is finished. He goes tense, then slowly gets about reaching out, taking that protein bar exactly like it's being a taser what's got the electrified end facing him. He takes while being as far from touching the Psiioniic as possible. But he doesn't open it to eat with his hand still held hesitantly out like that.
He lights up just a little, at the final question. He'd almost forgotten about the existence of such a thing. "IT'S A HUMAN TREAT WHAT'S GOT THE MAKINGS SWEET AS STARDUST TO BE OF CHOCOLATE, THESE MOTHERFUCKING MALLOWSMARSHED AND THEM LITTLE GRAHAM BITS! You stick it on melted togetherlike and--" The words are on out before he even realises the Psiioniic would rather hear speaking from Sam. He looks down. "SAM WOULD BE KNOWING BETTER THAN I."
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Which only grows with Psiioniic accepts the bottle and drinks.
"Cheers, man," Sam says, taking the bottle back and taking a second drink himself before he looks back at Kurloz. "And hell yeah, we're double teaming up on you. You're an idiot, but I still love you anyway." His expression is absolutely unimpressed, but there's no hiding the fondness in his tone.
He notices, the way Kurloz cuts off and looks down there, but that's another thing he won't question right now, another thing going on the list of shit he needs to talk to Kurloz about when they're out of here. "You roast the marshmallows over the fire, then put 'em and a piece of chocolate between two graham crackers. Pretty damn good, really."
if psii thinks he can resist the power of smores, he is dead wrong
"Well how nithe for you," he grumbled sarcastically. "Get a block."
He settled firmly back where he was sitting, chocolate untouched. He swiped the bottle back from Sam though, and took a large gulp. It burned so good. He gasped, and it even made his eyes water.
"I could thtand to lothe a few neuronth after everything'th that'th happened...." he muttered, handing it back. He fished out his sharpened sticks and dumped them vaguely in Sam's direction. Psii would be anxious about the chocolates being poisoned, if it weren't for them being offered to Sam as well. "Th'more it up, human Sam, but I'll path."
It was uncharacteristic of Psii to refuse food. He had grown up living meal to meal, and he wasn't picky. Even here, he never met a human food he didn't like. But he sure did meet clowns he didn't like. Initiate could keep his marshmallows.
pff, psii pls
That whole thought train straight up motherfucking derails up into the nearest trench. He blinks, head lifting back up. He's thoroughly purple behind his paint, as the Psiioniic scoffs.
"Uh, I thought that was being as what humans use on pity..." Which... can't be what he means. The translators must be bugged up, some new capitol trick.
He nods once, mostly to himself. upon the Psiioniic's refusal. He reaches into that pack for the, now emptier, medkit, placing all the food atop its lid. Just in case. Might help if as he ain't touching it. Which is exactly why he won't take any of the sticks what have been thrown to Sam.
He'll focus on that protein bar what the Psiioniic's given him. A large part of him would simply rather to not. But it made Sam happy and it did as the Psiioniic was told, and really? He'd grown living meal to meal just the same and wasn't hardly picky either. He tears the thing open and finds it just as dry and tasteless as he'd imagined. He licks his lips just to get the residue up off, then starts sudden, "MY PAINT!" The bar drops to his lap as feel the smeared mess what's become of his face. Some of it's all clear grey in places. The thought is only slightly less disturbing than the lack his leg makes up.
He lurches upright, groaning. Then comes a quick shifting and turning so neither of them-- the Psiioniic mostly-- can see. He bows his head, in hope to hide it from camera. His hair isn't long enough anymore to proper hide it, but it was enough. He brings his shirt up to wipe off the ruin, quickly unscrews the little tube at his token necklace, and dips his fingers into that white. Its a reverse of his normal pattern, white to dark, with the skin's natural grey becoming the offset and the white the designing of it. Painted fangs like fear, a smile wide, and mask atop. It hardly takes any time at all, but he knows when he shifts back around, he's going to be getting looks for it. He doesn't lift his head to see them.
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Except it isn't all that different, he'd easily put it in the same category as what he feels for Riley. It's a strange feeling, having something once occupied only by a ghost now spanning over a handful of people, but it's one he's already starting to get used to. He knows enough about moirails not to say something like that, though, and not enough about them that he can make an attempt at trying to explain the difference.
Especially not in the middle of an arena.
When Kurloz starts putting his face paint back on, Sam looks away. It's not like he hasn't already seen him more or less without it, but he'll give him some space there. He doesn't completely understand it - he hadn't gotten around to asking the questions he'd wanted to, back when Kurloz'd first told him a little about the paint - but he can respect it. And it means he can keep an eye on Psiioniic, just in case the paint is a trigger like Kurloz quoting had been.
"You sure?" he asks Psiioniic. "Cause I'm gonna start making them, and they're going to smell amazing."
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By now, Psii had gotten used to a troll of the paint walking around. He was past shrieking on sight, anyway. But he couldn't bear thinking about face paint in too much depth. He stood to pace around with no set direction other than "away." Whereas a human would fear the dark, the shadows were comforting to a troll, and he stuck to them. The fire taunted him with its warmth on his back. Sam taunted him further with s'more temptation. Psii was sure the smell of roasting marshmallows would taunt him next. Stupid ignorant kind-hearted human.
By the time he gave up and grudgingly shuffled back, Initiate had finished putting on his face. Now Psii could cast suspicious sidelong glances at the clown like a proper lowblood.
"I never met a human food I didn't like," he said to Sam, dry protein bars aside. "Show me."
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"Family," He repeats. He starts on smiling. "AIGHT. Sounds fuckin legit. SOUNDS NICE." He'd be watching for it now, a little turn in the way of speaking, like how Alternian word of friend and enemy could be the same, with just the right twist in sound. "Back on the motherfuck at you, brother."
Did Sigma know about that? He wondered. He doesn't remember Sigma saying it, but Sigma was a private person, keeping a lot up at to himself. For good reason and less so. He hasn't seen the man this arena. He hopes he's alright, but, he'd dare not ask either of them here if they'd seen him. Sigma was allied with the Capitol, and he himself was very obviously not so.
Then again, maybe this could help keep Sigma safe. If Sam knew he trusted Sigma, then Sam might help him laterways. "DO YOU USE THAT UP IN YOUR FAMILIES WHAT'S LIKE..." He searches for the right word. Not just brothers and sisters. Not just those bound in otherways. "What's like a father. AND A SON. That human binding particular. WOULD YOU USE THAT THEN?"
Of course, he says this idly, so as not to distract Sam from making them melted miracle snacks. Anticipating the smell filling the air just has him want for it more.
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"You got an option between 'practically charcaol' and 'just barely warm,' he says with a grin, once Psiioniic's given in and come back. "Everyone likes it different. I'll make you a couple and you can tell me which one you are."
He lines up the graham crackers, setting little pieces of chocolate on each of them, and he's rotating the sticks when Kurloz asks him about fathers and sons. Sam looks up, a little startled - if only because his dad isn't what he wants to think about right now, while he's stuck in a place like this, doing what he has to.
"Yeah, you'd use it then. A lot of times, anyway, some people have... complicated relationships with their parents."
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He wasn't sure what to make of the human family thing. Hell, he didn't even know how certain groups of humans determined that they were family, and apparently the term didn't bar people of different species. No one bothered to educate him on how humans were born in mammalian litters and raised by their progenitors. He only thought of "brother" or "sister"—how the translator parsed the troll word—as a term between allies or friends who worked together.
As for parents, he only had the relationship with his lusus to go by, half guardianship and half zookeeping. A lusus was a visceral sort of mentor, both beast and protector. Not that any of it mattered now, since his lusus was dead.
"Ith thith thome human thing I should worry about getting roped into?" he asked warily as he watched the marshmallows soften in the heat.
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It gets a little easier to hide his amusement when Sam comments on complications. Funny, that was perhaps the part he understood best. Lusus wasn't the same thing as human parents. It wasn't common for a lusus to fuck off on their charge or... be all the ways Da was. He guesses it must happen more with humans, which really, is kind of a shame.
"Yeah," He says to Sam. "KNOW SOME ABOUT THAT." He knows a lot about it.
He wants to tease. Joke at for how the Psiioniic's doomed to the wrath of familial relations and ought motherfucking save himself, only for it being too late. But of course, joking won't go so well coming from him. So he answers straight. "It might be. SEEMS A FEW MOTHERFUCKERS GET ABOUT COLLECTING. But it ain't so bad. AIN'T LIKE WE'S GOING BACK TO ALTERNIA, SO FIGURE AS A LITTLE ASSIMILATIONS BY US ALIENS AIN'T HURT." Okay, that's a bit of joke. He's trying.
"Sam's being a brother good," He says, gesturing out to him with a nod. "SIGMA'S GOT SUCH CALL AS TO BE FATHER. For me, I'm meaning." And there, now Sam knows he's got tie to Sigma. If something goes down, Sam might figure that noise up and out. "ONE THING YOU AIN'T WANT TO DO IS QUADRANTS. Best be resigning to never filling them, it'll serve better."
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The smile stays even when Kurloz says he knows about that, though it softens a little, goes a little wry. Doesn't surprise him at all, really. "Me too," he admits.
He gives a little chuckle at Psiioniic's question as he pulls the first of the marshmallows off - the charcoaled ones, because it's quick and easy to stick them in the fire and get them really burned - and makes a sandwich out of them, handing it off to Psiioniic. "It sneaks up on you," he says, only half teasing. "But I promise these s'mores come with no strings attached."
And Sam can't help but duck his head a little after Kurloz gestures at him, focusing his attention on the marshmallows. They're still on camera, and he isn't sure he wants it see the way his smile goes somewhere between pleased and affectionate. But Sigma, he is going to remember that.
...and there's those quadrant things again. Sam glances back up again at that, curious.
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"That'th alright. I'm not really quadrant material anyway."
He bit into the "just barely warm" s'more. He did like both. Where quadrants failed him, his duality was his truest friend.
"That family thing thoundth like a quadrant though, like how it jutht kind of happenth. Quadrantth altho might involve bribery with thweetth."
Psii neglected to mention that was a rather peaceful way of describing romance, particularly when trolls were involved. Psii was the less murderous type. Like most things in his life, he just tripped and fell into quadrants screaming obscenities.
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Still, Sam moves on past like it wasn't being a thing. The Psiioniic kept up with his wanting him gone, but enjoying the shit out of them smores.
Tearing up his pusher a little like it ain't no fucking deal. He can't take that downed look on Mituna's face. "Naw, brother, that shit's some falsehoods preached legit. GOT A WHOLE FUCK TON GOING AT FOR YOU. All motherfucking listed could this be at to be, I tell at you." But, he won't list out loud. He can keep that in his head alone where it ain't bothering nobody else but him.
"THE SWEET BRIBING BE TRUE THOUGH. Or motherfucking popgrubs," He says with a reminiscent chuckle. Because what the fuck, he's already hurting anyway. "I AIN'T KNOW THOUGH, PSIIONIIC, HUMANS GOT ON PRETTY MOTHERFUCKING INSISTENT FAMILY SHIT AIN'T BEING ROMANTIC AS WHAT QUADRANTS IS. What do you say, Sam? YOU'D BE KNOWING THE MOTHERFUCKING DEETS UP IN THAT BUSINESS, RIGHT?" He gives a questioning look. Then goes quick to add. "'Sides, Trolls got on family too. UP IN THE CHURCH, FOR ONE. Shit's more expansive."
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And he is just gonna keep his mouth shut about whether or not anyone's quadrant material. His grasp of it is minimal enough as it is, he doesn't need to start poking into something like that.
His eyebrows raise a little at Psiioniic's comment about quadrants and sweets. "Oh yeah?" he teases, flashing a wide smile. "You might wanna watch out, then, bribing with sweets is kind of my thing."
Sam shakes his head when Kurloz asks him about about quadrants and family. "Nah, humans definitely don't classify family relationships as romance. There's a lot of similar emotional aspects, maybe, but 'romance' pretty much always goes along with 'sex' for humans, and that is, uh. Not something people ever really want to associate with their relationship with family."
...how did he end up sitting around a campfire eating s'mores and talking about that, what is his life.
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He looked away when Initiate mentioned the Church. Psii wanted nothing to do with it. If what Sam and Initiate were describing was family, then he already had one, Signless's little circle back home. He missed Disciple and Dolorosa with the pain of one separated from their family, even if he didn't know that was what it was. He thought of Dolorosa mending their clothes between daywalker attacks. He thought of Disciple moving unseen through the brush and taking down beasts many times her size.
Luckily, Sam was all starlight and moonbeams to distract Psii from being down.
"Tho bathically what you're thaying ith, you bribe me with thweetth, into human romanthe, which involveth pailing, which ith thomething you don't do with family. Got it, human Sam," he flashed a grin right back, significantly more pointy, but no less amused. "Remind me not to be athimilated into your human family, tho that the pothibility of of uth doing the nathty in the human romanthe quadrant will be open. Got any more of thothe marshmallowth? I want to try making my own."
Psii's brazenness was born of not expecting anyone to actually flirt with him seriously. He cracked worse jokes with Signless, and they had never pailed.
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He knew... a little about that, the Hel--Psiioniic's family. He never got to see it. Never had all four of them gone being here at the same time, and never even with three did it get on no feasibility. Shit was too broken. Because of him, both in pasts of being here and his future that would have been. But still, he heard enough.
Of course it's Sam to bring the Psiioniic to cheer. He settles back, lowering himself down. Then is torn between smiling fond and choking on a horrified laugh.
"LEAST IF YOU GET CAUGHT UP IN THEM FAMILIALS, THERE'S STILL SWEETS. Sam here makes on these things what's is pancakes, like mouth miracles, straight up."
A moment more and he's shifting toward Sam and his smore making to ask, "SAM? Can I have one?" He'd make his own, except those sticks were the Psiioniic's. Motherfucker probably wouldn't want him touching them. He'd not test his luck.
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Yeah, Sam definitely likes this guy. He fights a laugh as Psiioniic keeps talking, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in amusement.
“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Sam gives up on hiding his laugh, soft and pleased, shooting Psiioniic a sly look from underneath his lashes as he hands over some of the marshmallows. “I’ll remember that.”
He ducks his head a little when Kurloz compliments his pancakes. “You’re just saying that because there’s chocolate chips and soda in them,” he teases, putting together another s’more and passing it over to him. “I’ll make you as many as you want.”
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"Now you're jutht making me hungry, inthidiouth thweet-plying family-oriented human."
Psii tried his hand at making his own s'more. He speared his marshmallow a little more forcefully than necessary and waited for it to catch flame.
"Shit, shit, shit--I gueth the nextht one will have to be jutht lightly toathted...." His smile faded. "I hope you know thethe won't latht uth forever. Thoon ath I get thethe in my chute, I'm going hunting. Neither of you are fit to move."
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"NAW BROTHER. I'm making state of true motherfucking fact. THE CHOCOLATE CHIP AND SODA UP INS IS JUST MAKING IT ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING BETTER. Next time we gotta get crickets in that wicked business, is what." Thank Mirth for human pet stores and their bags full up of chirp insect treats.
He takes the gifted s'more with a pleased smile. Could never go wrong with no sugar, not ever. Especially good for gettin distractions by the pain of his missing leg. The longer he keeps focus up off that the easier it will be to keep sane. He's let go all times before in arenas, when he had no one to go to, then when it was just Terezi. He doesn't want these two seeing that more all than they have. The only thing that would come of rambling to these two of what the Messiahs willed was a freakout or getting told to lay back down.
So he focuses on anything but pain. Like trying not to smirk and laugh as the Psiioniic curses. Then frowning when all a motherfucker says at he has to go.
"MY SPEAR," He starts. "Left it on abandoned shoreways. COULD COME IN HANDY. But careful of the waters, there's being a beast up ins." And it wasn't friendly. Naturally. Stupid of him to think for a moment it could be... something else.
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He doesn't bat an eye when Kurloz suggests putting crickets in the pancakes. Fresh from Signless's crowning and the food served there, it's far from a surprise - and of all the kinds of bugs Sam's eaten during training and overseas, crickets are one of the few he actually enjoyed. "They got chocolate covered crickets back where you're from? They were a hit back home."
By "hit" he means one of the army guys they were stationed with had a bag of them and there was a lot of daring people to eat them, until Sam and the other new PJs cleaned him out and bought another bag. After living five days mostly off scavenged bugs, chocolate covered crickets were a treat. But same thing.
Sam makes a face at Psiioniic when he says he's not fit to move, all exaggerated offense. "I'm a pararescueman, when I put stitches in something, they stay there." It's been a while since he got to do the Air Force braggart thing, and even if there's no army guys to tease, no Riley to back him up, it's still kind of nice.
He doesn't really protest it, though, just digs around in his bag and pulls out his other hunting knife, offering it over.
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Psii had designated himself to run outside errands, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. "Unleth humanth can magically heal, you're thitting the fuck down. I'm altho leaving becauthe quite frankly all thith talk of cricketth and pancaketh ith making me hungry."
Psii considered Sam's knife as he chewed his s'more slowly, then finally decided it would be most tactically advantageous if he borrowed it. These gimps were basically screwed if they were attacked here anyway, no matter how good their knives were. Psii may as well come back alive to feed them while they healed up. He pocketed the knife, then waved his second marshmallow in front of the fire just long enough to scare it.
"Thankth. I'll try it out. No uthe getting mythelf killed while hunting. I'll leave my thtone knife with you, Sam. It'th not all that sharp, but it'th long and I've thtabbed a few thingth with it jutht fine."
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But that's getting to far behind himself when he could be looking ahead, going all to say, "FUCK, YEAH, I'D FIGURE THERE'D BE." Not that he found them often.
Or instead of all that, he could recall the presence of one the universes' biggest cynics. He frowns but lets the topic of the spear go. He's not going to win that one, and really, the Psiioniic had a point. It was mostly his feeling responsible, knowing it was Clementine's gift and she was out there lacking fish and food right about now.
His mouth opens to say something, only for him to falter and spend several minutes up in debate, before at last finding the words. Words he speaks without looking, as not to make this more awkward than it already up and was. "Be safe, aight."
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The mention of snares reminds Sam that he's got more than a few traps out there. For a moment, he considers telling Psiioniic to check them, trying to explain where they are - but it's more hassle than it's worth, really, and they're probably farther away than would make it useful. That, and the rest of Sam's allies back in the caves know where the traps are, too, and might be counting on them for food.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm sitting the fuck down." Sam's never been one to insist on doing everything himself. That's the point of having a team, division of labor, and he's not going to protest the most able of them heading out to hunt. Especially when someone'll have to stay to protect Kurloz, and Sam knows himself well enough to know that the leg injury won't hamper his ability to do that too much.
"Don't hunt on a stomach only full of sugar, brother," he adds, digging out a handful of venison jerky wrapped in some fabric scavenged from a parachute. "And don't try to protest, I've got more than enough for me n' Initiate if it comes down to it."
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"Remember to arrange watcheth while I'm gone. If the wind blowth your thcent towardth the water, hide yourthelveth and all your shit. I'll try to bring back thome water, too."
He was grabbing his baskets and rope.
"And try not to light a fire at night, you're more vulnerable with jutht the two of you--"
Psii found he couldn't bear to have people die on his watch, like a fucking lusus. God damn it. He had a problem. He huffed a sigh and abruptly turned down the slope he meant to navigate.
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This isn't his style. He can't wait dependent on people like this. Maybe it worked for some motherfuckers but for him, it wasn't no good an idea. Waiting was a death sentence. Always had been. All he could hope was that Sam wasn't having no inclusion by that for association.
He remembers the nights alone. No matter how injured, no strife took him out. But he could cull then. He can't now. So instead he watches the trees, every part but where the Psiioniics back has disappeared into. He watches for threat and he watches for any means to make a trap he can, ignoring the ghost of his missing leg.
Sam's still here. At least the company's nice. Even if he can bring himself to even look on over.
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Maybe he’ll teach a class, when he gets back. “Pararescue for Otherworlders.” It has a certain ring to it.
Instead, he just gives Psiioniic an easy salute as he heads out, watching him go before he turns his attention back to Kurloz.
Don’t think he hasn’t noticed that lack of eye contact there. Sam watches him for a moment, then scoots over around the fire so he’s sitting next to him.
He doesn’t say anything, but after a moment he bumps his shoulder lightly against Kurloz’s. Then does it again, hard enough that it’s closer to a shove than a shoulder bump.
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Then the shove is near toppling him over and his hand is going out to balance him. He shoves quickly on back, trying not to smile.
He doesn't succeed. Even if it's a weak one, it's there.
The next bump is just him leaning on Sam, letting slip a sigh. There's a lot he could say. But then, there's also enough he ain't sure he ought to.
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When he leans back, he slides his arm around Kurloz’s shoulder. There’s a lot they could talk about, but Sam doesn’t really want to talk right now.
Well. Not about any of what they probably should, anyway.
“Last time I was in a place this cold sitting around a campfire, I was in the middle of the desert. It’s crazy, you know, most of the time you’re cooking, but in the middle of the night it’s goddamn freezing and you’re huddled together around a fire, missing the heat. Ri, he was the worst one of all. Midafternoon, he’d be bitching about feeling like a hot dog or a fried egg or whatever other food he was craving right then, come nighttime? I swear, that dumbass had the coldest hands and feet of anyone I ever met.”
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Sam's a human. Humans don't feel this sort of things like trolls do. The Psiioniic can't and wouldn't and motherfucking shouldn't. The Signless deserves so much better-- no matter how he pities the whole world, it doesn't seem right doing the same. It already doesn't feel right because he killed him. He just wants to not think about it. He just wants the comfort Sam gives easy and to pretend it's just as easy back.
Sam starts speaking and he just closes his eyes, just lets the tale be told. It makes him smile a little more. He almost feels like he can know the brother, through things like this. Get a little proper picture of how he'd be kicking back in shangri-la. He imagines him with shades and one of them big fuzzy nut drinks with the umbrella straws as was like on Capitol messaging pictorials.
"BET MINE ARE COLDER," He says, knowing full damn well they will be. Especially compared to him. Brightbloods, all humans, bright as his Signless. Warm enough he sometimes wonder at how they ain't burn. Right now he just saps the heat off Sam and he ain't even sorry.
"Never went out to the deserts so much. TOO MANY DEAD GETTING THEIR WALK ON. Shores was cold sometimes but never like this. ONLY SAW THIS THING AS YOU CALL SNOW HERE. So beautiful." He shivers despite himself and laughs a little for it. "CAN DRAW ON THE WINDOWS, YOU KNOW? Pictures stay on even later. TILL THE AVOXES COME. And then in the morning it sparkles like a billion bitty little crystals." He asks, "YOU EVER HAVE SNOW AND ICE WHERE AT YOU WAS FROM?"
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So he can just sit here with his arm around Kurloz's shoulders and talk, the way he used to do with Riley, telling him stories of Sam's siblings back when they were stuck with nothing to do but kill time. The way he'd started to do back home, now that talking about Riley doesn't hurt so much, now that it helps keep him alive.
He chuckles Kurloz's bet. "He'd take that as a challenge, you know. Least you're not shoving them under my shirt like a jackass."
Then he falls quiet, listening to Kurloz talk. This is familiar, too, trading stories that don't have much to do with where they are now, just a way to get their minds of things. Then he grins at the question. "Hell yeah, man. Anyone teach you about snowball fights?"
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It'd been a nice moment. Kind of like this is.
He raises his brows at Sam. "HOPE YOU AIN'T CALLING DARE OF ME. Would warn not to dare, brother. I'LL MOTHERFUCKING DO IT. All sapped up will you be and I'll be the warmest highblood as ever fucking was." By all right and logic, it probably ain't a wise choice right now.
"HATE TO PREACH IT. Your homie Riley wouldn't stand no chance against me, yo. VICTORIES AIN'T TO BE DENIED WHAT'S MINE," He teases.
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All things that Sam had done as a kid - and honestly, well into his teenage years and even more recently.
Despite everything, Sam's eyebrows raise right on up back at Kurloz when he tells him not to dare him. "Yeah? You can try, Makara, if you're actually thinking you got a shot. I promise not to gloat too much over your disappointment."
This is probably a terrible idea, but Sam goads him on anyway. It's what he's used to - he and Riley'd always done it to each other, it's so damn nice to fall back onto it.
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But then Sam says what he up and says and he's already reaching his hands under snow to get them even colder than their corpse-cold normalcy. He's one shot away from a seadweller. Ice ain't hardly melt in his hands. Sam is a motherfucking dead human.
The dare is on. The Initiate grins wickedly, made all the worst by his rows of fangs. He spins into a position that will better allow movement and dives for Sam, grasping on to drag him close.