broadcast / open log: into the woods

[snikthatch]

WHO: Logan & YOU
WHAT: Broadcast & the gang has a BBQ.
WHERE: The Ruins -- near the Phone Box.
WHEN: Sometime between Ruth's Adventure Into The Thing and the shadow parasite event.
NOTES: Might contain some body horror?? IDK who knows with this place.

[ The broadcast: ]

OK. I'm done bein' surprised by findin' people here. If we're gonna survive and get out of this goddamn snowglobe, we need to talk. All of us.

There's a place set up near that phone booth in the jungle. If you don't know it, send me a message and I'll give you directions. I got some food and some fresh meat, bring supplies or whatever if you wanna share 'em. It's clear this place ain't gonna let us go any time soon. We need to start workin' together.

All right. See you there.

[ Broadcast ends. He won't be replying to anyone who responds via radio, but feel free to text him. ]

---

It's taken a bit of work to clear a space near enough the phone box to allow for any sort of gathering. Vines and plants have been cut back or torn out to make a sort of clearing between the larger trees. A couple of smaller saplings have been cut down. Logan's even gone to the trouble of dragging in some pieces of a large dead tree that can serve as something to sit on.

The main event is the carcass of one of the river goats, which has been butchered and spitted over a fire. There are also a couple of thoroughly roasted spiders stuck on the end of a branch, some tins of beans and boxes of crackers, and a box of unnamed-but-Twinkie-adjacent snack cakes. And a bottle of whiskey, but that's staying in Logan's hairy paw.

Early arrivals will be told to help themselves as Logan stalks around the perimeter and tends to the fire. If anyone brings food or drink, they'll be told to put it near the rest of the supplies for everyone to share (though anyone who brings beer might have a bottle or two liberated from them by the party host). There's no night-time in the Ruins, but it does begin to get darker as time goes on, so it has a bit of a feeling of early evening to it. Some of the nearby plants begin to glow and the fire seems brighter and warmer in the dim light.

Logan won't be making any stirring speeches or anything (even if he did it would mostly be cursing and growling) -- this is supposed to be more of a gathering than a rally, with the intention of bringing everyone together to share what they've learned and help each other out.

Feel free to help yourself to the food, sit near the fire or explore the edges of the gathering. Drink, eat and.. well, maybe recover a little.

[ OOC: this is something between an open log and a mini event, so probably best treated like the latter. Put up a lil top level if you want with whatever your character will be doing at various points, reply to others, etc. Logan will be wandering around and generally being BBQ dad. Hope you don't mind your meat being served on claws! ]

Comments

[ascocarp]

Ellie lets out a joyful peal of laughter. "Now you're officially part of the team. It's, like, an initiation ceremony."

It's, like, total bullshit.

"I'll plate you up some food, quit sulking. Sulk when you see the food. It looks totally gross." Yet she sounds more fascinated than anything, as she goes to grab some salvaged plastic plates and a skewer for the black-stained meat.

[omniavincit]

William at first takes her literally, the look on his face slipping from embarrassment into dismay. In his defense: he's newly returned to the realm of consciousness, and this does seem like a series of events bound to culminate in a game of touch football. Then he figures it out, what she's saying. You're one of us, now that I've made a laughingstock of you.

How familiar.

“If it's the same to you, I'm gonna go change,” he says, picking up his bag and nodding toward the phone booth, then wondering why he's telling her this. He manages a tepid smile—she's a kid and she seems, if not happy, at least pleased with herself. “You can tell me about your frat later.”

[ascocarp]

"What's a frat?" Ellie asks between bites of black meat. If he's not gonna eat, she'll make up the difference. No skin off her nose.

She turns her back to him, figuring he'll wander off and find some privacy.

[omniavincit]

Which he does.

After poking his head in the phone booth, William decides against using it as a changing room—instead he heads behind it to put on a new pair of pants and, why not, a different shirt. Everything has spider blood on it anyway. The pee-stained pants he tosses into the bushes: maybe fifty years from now someone will find and puzzle over them; maybe tonight some savage creature will pick up his scent and stalk him.

There isn't exactly a crowd to lose himself in, but he joins the line for food and makes a plate of mystery meat, a few crackers, a dab of dip he's not sure he'll be brave enough to touch. He doesn't sit where he was before, by the fire, and he deliberately doesn't sit anywhere near Ellie—he settles down by one of the upended trees, idly tries to match the people with what they might have contributed to the spread.

[ascocarp]

Ellie doesn't really keep an eye on William, either. Maybe the guy's sensitive. She has enough shit to do without worrying about some old man's feelings.

After a little while, though, William may notice her looking at him from across the fire. Or, well, if he's particularly observant, he'll notice she's looking just to the left of him. She tilts her head to the side before pulling the bow off her back and drawing an arrow.

If William doesn't move, it'll fly right past him and hit a chert right between the eyes.

If William dodges to the right, the same will happen.

If William dodges to the left... oops.

[omniavincit]

He tries not to look her way, tries to focus on his food—which honestly is the best he's had in a long time, smoky and greasy and hot. But he does—glancing up every so often, just to keep track—and when she whips out a fucking bow and aims it at his head, William drops his plate and lunges the the side. He's alert, present in a way he wasn't half a second ago, conscious of his heart and his breathing, the dampness of the air. The sound of the arrow burying itself in the chert. Angry, too—if Logan's here Ruth will be, and even if there weren't a blind person among their number, shooting off arrows at a picnic would still be dangerous and stupid.

It's his reaction he resents her for, for provoking what feels like an outburst even if all he does is pick up his bag and sling it over his shoulder.

“Thanks.” It's flirting with sarcasm, not quite there yet. His smile is more than sour enough to make up for it. “It's so hard to know the right time to leave a party.”

[ascocarp]

Ellie rolls her eyes, striding toward, and past, him to collect her winning. A chert impaled on an arrow, just as planned. "It's not all about you, dude."

She begins to take the arrow out, clean it off, and check for any signs of infection or rot on the dead animal in her hands. Black blood slides between her fingers. She pays it little notice. "When I was eleven, the kids in my room stuck porno mags under my bed the night before inspection. I had to do cleanup for like three weeks. You'll get over a little piss."

[omniavincit]

William bristles a moment with rejoinders that will, inevitably, go unspoken. “I'm thoroughly over it,” he says dryly, mildly. His enunciation deliberate.

He doesn't watch what she does with the chert, doesn't gauge her movements. He glances at her face, the blood smearing her hands. He thinks about turning to go, letting her words ooze out same as the dead animal's blood—what's the difference, in the long run? Who cares what happened in some other world when she was eleven? When this whole place is just a tablecloth spread over an abyss.

William breathes in, presses the heel of one hand to an eye. “Why,” he says eventually, more capitulation than question. “Why'd they do that to you.”