JUNE EVENT: CAMP

[sailmods]

early on June 10th, Friday's morning announcements end with a request for everyone going on the latest excursion to meet her in the atrium. she seems in noticeably better spirits than she had been last time, and she leads them cheerfully to the tender. once they are all aboard, and the door is securely shut, the interior fills with gas, and, perhaps, their last thought before they slip into unconsciousness is "oh shit, not again."

passengers wake up on a rickety old school bus, driving down a dirt road surrounded by woods. what is it that they notice first? that, no matter what they were wearing before, they are now wearing a camp t-shirt and legitimately horrifyingly short shorts? the overstuffed backpack between their knees? the words "take one down and pass it around" dying on their lips? the fact that Friday is absolutely driving the bus?

or, maybe the fact that it's already slowing down, pulling up in front of a massive wooden sign, saying:

 

 

 

 

 

CAMP AION

when they get out of the bus, Friday is the one to divide them up into their cabin groups, and she is the one to give the counselors their very official-looking clipboards and whistles. she explains that they are in charge, and that she will be back to pick them up in a week, and... very little else. she responds to nothing outside of whatever is on her unseen little script, and she gets back on the bus shortly after, leaving them there.

welcome to camp. let's make some summer memories!

Comments

ii.

[baring]

( once or twice, it’s been said that bellamy escalates a situation. he takes things too far. he’s spent hours throughout the week rigging ( mostly ) harmless traps in the woods with rope or string, or really any spare supplies they’ve been given or that he’s rummaged for. they’re ultimately time-stealers, obstacles to slow someone down by tripping them. it’s by day five that he’s willing to admit that maybe his antics had been unnecessary and someone out there is probably having a really unlucky week, but old habits.

doesn’t really convince him to stop gathering sticks and large branches with leaves to cover a hole in the woods and make it less obvious. what does get him is the incessant, shrill chirp of an abused whistle going off over and over again.

the man is a sweaty, dirty mess by the time he traipses through the bushes to pluck said whistle out of clarke’s mouth, even if it gets him decked in the nose. it’s on a cord, he can’t gently remove it from her person. having the momentarily reprieve of silence while it thumps down has to be enough. )

Would you stop blowing that damn thing?

[skaikru]

( maybe not an entirely unlucky week, but absolutely one unlucky day — their third day here, actually, when she'd been out rooting through the roots of foliage and so intent on a fruitless attempt to find snails that she hadn't noticed the tripwire and ate absolute, spectacular shit down a small incline. in ridiculous short shorts, there's no leather or military type reinforcement patches to spare her knees the torment of the dirt, and even a few days later clarke's still sporting an impressively raw kneecap; scabbed over, jarringly black, and occasionally cracking open to bleed anew.

she'd let that one slide, hadn't bothered too much with the who or the why when there was no follow-up attack. who was she to talk, she'd spent almost an entire day rigging up snares for nonexistent birds and squirrels too. but by the fifth day, when she almost falls face first into a pit, that's when her patience snaps. there's a rustle of plant life somewhere in the distance, which clarke considers has to be the trap-master checking on his handiwork. she she bellows on the whistle in a sort of aggressive, daring challenge; you've been found out.

and is both floored, and completely unsurprised when it's bellamy who picks his way out from the shadows of the trees to yank the whistle from her mouth. )

I will, when you stop building grounder traps along the hiking trails. ( because the style is familiar, they're just missing an actively dying friend tied to a bleached white tree, sharpened sticks at the bottom, and feral, irradiated jaguar. ) You're going to hurt someone.

[baring]

They're hardly grounder traps. ( here's the distinction. ) There's nothing at the bottom but mud.

( all things considered ( and really, he needs clarke to consider him here ), this is all around bottom of the barrel for bellamy. he could be doing much worse, although without raven and monty's combined ingenuity and echo's ruthlessness, he's relatively tame in his inventiveness. a sweeping gaze tells him that maybe someone already did get themselves injured; someone he would expect to be more prepared than to go stumbling head over limbs down a rock littered hill. but, this is clarke and the boiled down to bones truth of the matter is that her raw knees could have been the result of anything she's gotten up to during the week. she's an explorer, it's in her nature. he's avoided a lot of that by doing recon and rigging traps. )

What should I be doing instead? Singing campfire songs?

[skaikru]

( there's no egregious roll of the eyes, but clarke does press her lips into a thin line and partially scowls at him. no real malice, but not impressed by that distinction; even less impressed with the idea of campfire songs, or the insult that she'd ever suggest something so banal and childish. )

You could help me collect soil samples, or find the exact point where the woods loop back and spit us back out at camp.

( completely unrelated to falling into manmade traps, there's a dirt smeared bandage across the palm of the hand she uses to gesture deeper into the treeline. then a moment of more seriousness, paired with an oddly forced sort of optimism to communicate — )

It's been five days. Friday said she'd be back from us in a week, if anything big was going to happen, it would have started already. At this point there's not a lot of options for the Captain if he's going to try throwing a wrench in the works and hurt us. I guess he could try to start something while we're all sleeping, in which case people would probably flee into the woods. Traps were a really good idea in the beginning, but now all I can think about is innocent people falling into them while running for their lives.