The birds have flown their summer skies to the south;

[markwatney]

WHO: Mark Watney
WHERE: 6I Inn
WHEN: 19 Oct 2017
OPEN TO: ALL Closed to new threads

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I think most people have an unspoken list of things they intend to do when they have the time and inclination. Mine I usually actually write down, even in a place like this where paper and writing implements are scarce — Days with much downtime don't happen often, and my list is embarrassingly long. It helps to have a note so I can look everything over and figure out what's most pressing. I managed to get off of Mars this way, so I figure it's not a bad system.

Today, though, my choice was made for me. I woke up to two things: A box with my name on it, and a sky full of snow. Fortunately, all of the harvesting had been done on the less cold-hardy plants already, and unless this cold snap dragged on into something long-term, it would be good for what we picked later in the season. Sweetens the berries.

I've got plenty of ways I could fill a free day, but the snow and that mystery box left little question what needed to be top of the list: Taking a census before winter fully moved in. As far as I could tell, while various people in various places took notes about events and connections, we'd never had one central, definitive list of everyone in the community, where they were living and how long they'd been around. With a second village in the mix now, this information was more important than ever. A proper census would give us the tools to start to prepare for winter in earnest — Not just in predicting how much food and firewood would be needed, but what roads needed to be cleared, medical preparations and more.

The box I mentioned before, it helped with this. It was full of items that were a huge help in getting organized: Pencils, binders, blessed paper. And chalk. There was only one place to use that.

After carefully copying the information that had been collected on the blackboard at the Inn, I wash down both sides and jump right in: At the top of the outfacing side, I make three headings:

Name - Residence - Apx. Arrival

Beneath this, I start with my own info:

M. Watney - W. outskirts, blue - 1yr, 4 mo

"Why haven't we named the damn streets yet?" I mutter, and then began writing in what information I know on the rest of the villagers, leaving blank spaces for others to fill in next time they're at the Inn. But seriously, though, one more thing added to my to-do list: Street names and house numbers.

Comments

[markwatney]

I don't really have anything to say about any of that — I don't mind kids, but it seems unlikely I'll ever have any, and I can't really identify with dreaming about a future family unit, but Benny seems happy and I'm glad. It's good there's still room for dreaming at all in this place.

"You think you'll get a house now that you've made it official?"

[warriorborn]

He shrugs, an oddly uncomfortable-looking gesture for someone who normally seems so entirely at home in his body.

"I don't know." They haven't spoken about it, although he's daydreamed about having his own little house with a wife to go with it, watching Kate putter around their own kitchen instead of the communal one at the Inn. It's not a dream he ever considered he'd be afforded, but it doesn't really seem feasible for now. "Probably not before Winter arrives, there is too much to do and my Kate is too deeply bound to the Inn to just abandon it for someplace else."

Plus, to be honest, he's quite used to living in communal housing, and he might miss it if they leave.

[markwatney]

"She's definitely very proud of the work she does here," I agree with a nod. I don't think it would be that difficult to find people to take over a lot of the tasks, but I definitely understand having a reluctance to turn it over to anyone else regardless. She's put a lot of time and energy into this place.

"Maybe once of the houses close by will open up," I suggest. It's a small village, but I just can't see Kate being okay with living further than a quick walk away.

[warriorborn]

"As well she should be." It has never escaped his notice that Kate is the de facto Inkeeper of the habble, and he her humble assistant, an arrangement he has gathered is not altogether common elsewhere. He doesn't mind it. What does he know about running an establishment such as this? Well, now he likes to think he knows quite a bit, but at the beginning, he was as helpless as a child handed a weapons crystal.

The problem with one of the houses opening up is that it usually means someone has vanished. He doesn't see Kate being too keen on taking over the house of somebody who disappeared with no warning, but then again, she might. She is just practical enough not to balk at something like that. "Maybe in the Spring," he agrees.

[markwatney]

"Yeah, it's not a good time now," I allow with a nod. "It'll be interesting to see if any people decide to head over to the west side once it gets warm again. Personally, I plan to stay where I'm at."

It seems to me the more logical course to stay near other people in a place like this, but there's no predicting population growth or shrinkage in this place, and some people are just dogged loners.

[warriorborn]

There is a small part of him that thinks longingly of the privacy they'd be afforded if they were to select their own house, especially one in the other side of the habble, but most of him wouldn't know what to do with it all. Benedict has lived in what amounts to communal housing his whole life; first in Lancaster House, where his entire family resided (although he did had his own rooms and his immediate family had their own private wing separate from the rest of the family), and then in the monastery, and then again in the Guard.

Being so isolated would be freeing, to be sure, but he would also feel more than a little unsettled by it all.

"I'm sure once the weather thaws again, people will feel bold enough to explore once more," he replies. "For now, it seems much safer to stay close." Benedict remembers how harsh last year's winter had been, and he doesn't relish the idea of having to dig himself out of the snow again.