come_sailaway | JUNE EVENT: CAMP

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He nods, taking the carton.]

I'll take a sample from the woods. I think I've narrowed down where the midway point is before the forest loops back to the camp again. Could be different. [Probably not, but they might as well be thorough while they're here. If they do a good job here, they'll have plenty to compare the next excursion against.

...While he's still here, though:] Did you bring any water out here with you? [Because the habit of taking care of reckless teenage girls didn't die with the loss of his suit.]

( clarke nods, like she can still make sense of a place where it doesn't just feel like you're walking in circles in unmarked woods, but you actually are and it's horrifying and frustrating. she likes where skulduggery's head is at, connects the dots to her own conversation with palamedes before murder island where the intent had been to find the weakest seam of the captain's magic and push to see if it would give. who knew, maybe the earth there would be different, and if he's already figured out where the world stitching is, that saves clarke the trip.

so she's back to uprooting the earth, pulling a few blades of thick grass out of the soil and brushing off their roots. but then he's bringing up water and, uh.

yeah, that'd be a no. clarke still squints at him with some weird mixture of surprise and suspicion, but ends up clicking her (dry) tongue and just shaking her head. )

I'm fine, I'm not thirsty.

[Even if it turns out to be a fruitless endeavor, Skulduggery would rather dig up a hundred dirt samples than participate in the camping activities. By the end of camp, his backpack will be full of sticks, rocks, and dirt, and that will be just the way he likes it.

(Little does he know that he's secretly playing into a classic camper trope: "the weird kid who collects rocks.")

He stares at her, which is just like his regular gaze. So help him, what is with teenage girls and their unrelenting stubbornness to accept help?]

Of course. [Mmhmm. Definitely believes her.] Would you be terribly offended if I brought you some, out of concern that you might be close to becoming the first causality of the excursion?

( it's the perceived perception of weakness — whether real or imaginary, it dogs most of clarke's more recklessly independent actions. then there's the dash of self loathing for flavoring, which makes it easy to dismiss each and every personal need if the alternative is something that might benefit her people.

which is why, the more skulduggery draws attention to the impending possibility of dehydration under the hot artificial sun, the more her brow furrows. then he offers to get her some and it'd be super reasonable to graciously accept but — )

Don't worry about it, the lake's not far.

( ...is she.... joking? yes, maybe? hopefully... )

I appreciate the thought, though.

Edited 2022-06-15 12:30 (UTC)

What is it about teenagers that makes you lot so stubborn? [Pot, kettle, etc.] Although, I suppose the lake is devoid of life, so you're unlikely to get terribly sick... [He's absolutely not going to let her drink lake water, though. That's ridiculous.

He lifts the empty carton in his hand and gives it a shake.] I'll collect a few more cartons for my own later on. At least they'll make fun souvenirs. [That is fully making fun of their situation. And while he seems like he's prepared to leave her to it, he fully intends to circle back to the mess hall and get her something to drink. Maybe a hat? Perhaps a rock, to knock her out and drag her into the shade? Who knows. (Probably not the last one. She would definitely not take it the right way.)]

( it's just a lake! there's not even a giant irradiated sea monster that tries to drown swimmers in it! she wouldn't even need to use a giant leaf as a cup! this is a (begrudging) step up from her first or second day on earth, alright?

at skulduggery's question, the only answer clarke has for him is a shrug. simple, causal, and then immediately dropping her gaze to outright smirk at the ground. it's not even a real effort to be this frustratingly stubborn, it just comes naturally. will she take all too kindly to being babied with a bottle of water or sunhat later? no. would she end up drinking or donning them the second he was well beyond the treeline? probably yes, no one likes a sunburn or dehydration.

but until he gives her something to be mad about, clarke's eventually tossing her hair out of her face and looking back up at skeletal fingers wrapped around a milk carton. that should be a weird visual, and yet... )

Let me know if you find anything cool?

[Oh you think he doesn't feel that smirk in her aura? He's going to coddle you so badly, now. There's no escaping the kind gesture coming your way!]

You'll be one of the first I'll tell. And if you dig deep enough to find the concrete foundation, give me a shout.

[With that, he's off! Back into the forest -- well, into the trees, anyway. Skulduggery loops not-so-leisurely around back to the mess hall, breezing through the kitchen area with a forced disregard for anyone who might panic at the sight of a skeleton rifling through the pantry. He grabs two water bottles, debates on adding some sort of snack into the mix, and then decides that Clarke would beat him with his own arm if he tried to actually coddle her. She's a big girl, she can get string cheese on her own time.

On his way out, Skulduggery spots a towel draped over a chair; it's dry to the touch so he snags it. Sorry, ~~Sharky~~ random person who left their towel here, but it's going to good use.

About twenty minutes after he disappeared -- just long enough, perhaps, to be forgotten about? -- Skulduggery resumes his previous position in front of Clarke.]

Now, before you argue with me... [He drops the towel-wrapped water bottles on the ground within Clarke's reach, and then turns around and immediately walks away.]

( there really is just, zero time to argue. one second skulduggery's traipsing off on his own adventure and clarke's returning to the dirt to seek sigil slapped stones, and the next he's back. she can't even get a word in edgewise before there's the thump of a towel against grass, and the plastic crunch of disposable water bottles.

that's... what? but the lake —

she watches his retreating shoulder blades for a few seconds, head cocked and chapped lips lightly pursed. kindness for nothing in return is still an odd concept to be on the receiving end of, but. those water bottles look frosty and damp with condensation, and the back of her neck has taken a beating from the sun hanging overhead.
before the stark white of bones is completely obscured by the treeline, that towel is draped across her shoulders. the cap on a water is cracked, and clarke's taken a few sips to wet a dry tongue. just a little, brief, tiny hydration break with some light introspection.

then right back to it. )

JUNE EVENT: CAMP

CAMP AION

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject