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

[theoldlie]

"I haven't actually seen an agriculture based system in years," he confesses, "not since I was a kid and you'd see families working the farm." Before he figured out that lazing around did nothing for the war effort, that sitting back and doing nothing meant that later, you'd regret it. "Trust me, I don't mind it," Steve promises. "I've been feeling out of shape."

"My commanding officers would have a field day with me," he guarantees, shaking his head. "Are we rationing?" he asks, and while he'd thought about it (and had been doing it personally), he hadn't thought to ask about the public in general.

[markwatney]

"We will be, yeah," I reply with a nod. "We're much better prepared this year than last, though, so I think if we're just conscientious about things, there won't be too much of a squeeze. And we'll still get meat supplements from the folks who hunt. They don't bring in as much over the winter, but every little bit helps."

I tilt my head, motion Steve's way with my piece of chalk. "You sound like you've had to ration before."

[theoldlie]

"It's no one's favorite thing, but it's necessary," he says, the soldier's mindset well engrained, seeing as the last thing he'd ever want is to feast when the other men on the front lines were suffering. It was good, seeing Chief out there giving them some relief, but it was never really enough. "Before I got here, we were in the middle of the war," he says, and even though he's heard now that there have been more, it's still just The War to him, the biggest, the worst, the hardest to define in scope.

"I'm not really a hunter when it comes to animals, but if you need me hauling things and planting, I can definitely do that kind of work," he promises. "Put me where you need me."

[markwatney]

"I'm assuming you're from Earth," I say, and sure, it's casual, but I don't think that's ever going to not be a weird thing to ask someone. To be honest, I couldn't even tell you why I'm making the assumption — Some intuited combination of word choice and body language, I guess.

"What year was it?"

[theoldlie]

"Yeah, Earth," he agrees, in the puzzled way where he's aware that there could be something else, mainly because he'd just come to grips with gods and goddesses and hidden islands in the sea, so why not other planets? It's just about as much of a bag of crazy as the rest, and Steve's been subjected to healing pools, truth lassos, and more, so yeah, other planets?

Why not?

"It was 1918, when everything happened," he says, the grave expression washing over his face as he admits it. "Early November, I think it was maybe the first week." The last week he would ever see, but Steve doesn't want to think about that too hard.

[markwatney]

"You were at the tail end of it, then," I say, not knowing if this is something Steve might already know or even be comforted by, but I know it's something I'd personally want to be told. "The armistace is on November 11th. The Allies won."

He looks a little haunted just talking about it, so I don't ask how he was involved, if he was in the trenches, although I do wonder. At some point, maybe when I know him a little better, I might feel more comfortable asking. By my time, there's no one left from either of the great wars, nobody to give that perspective books just can't provide.

[theoldlie]

"Diana mentioned," he says, which had been a relief that what he'd done hadn't been in vain and that he'd been able to give her the chance to end the war. It's unfortunate that people didn't learn from their mistakes and it happened all over again, but he's sure that even then, more men had made great sacrifices to bring them around to the peace they know in the future.

At least, wherever that is. "We're not in the future here, are we? I mean, evidence points to this being something like where I grew up," he admits, "but I keep meeting people like you who know all about the things that happened after. So, am I behind? Or are you all ahead?"

[markwatney]

"This place, nobody's really sure when it is. It's obvious enough when it's supposed to be, but we've found anachronisms." Since I've just met this guy, I'm going to spare him my theories on all of it being an illusion — My track record with reactions hasn't been great.

"It was 2037 when I was last home, but not everybody is ahead of you. I think Kate is from a bit before the War. The times tend to run the gamut."

[theoldlie]

"I don't understand the purpose of that," Steve admits bluntly. He's still operating as a spy, trying to find meaning and understanding behind what's happening, despite all evidence that he probably needs to give that up before he drives himself around the bend.

It's a shame that it's so difficult to stop. "What's 2037 like?" he asks, unable to stem his curiosity. Over a century in the future, what could that be like? "After the next war, have we been involved in anything like that since?"

[markwatney]

"Welcome to the club," I reply with a sympathetic yet entirely knowing cant of my head. "I don't think there's anybody here who understands the purpose of any of this."

Some people adapt to that reality better than others. Personally, I just focus on the work of keeping everybody alive and putting what little pieces together I can. Big picture stuff can be overwhelming if you linger on it too long.

"After World War II?" I pause, wondering how someone like Steve would classify something like Vietnam of Afghanistan — Terrible conflicts involving a lot of countries, but lacking the idealogical clarity of the World Wars.

"Sort of? We've had some large scale conflicts, but nothing that felt quite so necessary as the World Wars. And not for a long while. Diplomacy has been working surprisingly well."

[theoldlie]

That's madness, to Steve. How can everyone live here, fight against it, and yet, none of these capable people have found anything out? He still remembers the visceral shock that caught him when Diana had admitted her inability to defeat this place, but meeting everyone else has shown him that everyone else is just as capable.

They're also just as unsuccessful.

"I know I should feel like I have no purpose without war, but honestly, I'd managed to get myself thinking about a life in peace. Good home, happy family," he admits. "This, here, it feels like a war. Different kind of war, but definitely feels like one."

[markwatney]

"I could see that," I allow with a cant of my head. "War with the elements, war with whoever's stuck us here, war with our own limitations."

I find that helplessness is a common sentiment around this place, particularly when someone's freshly-arrived, and even moreso when they've come from a time or place where they're used to a lot of privilege or convenience — Even for me, there was an initial struggle to get back to bare basics. You keep wanting to reach for this tool or that reference, and it's just not there.

"I'd like to say we're making progress in figuring it all out, but it's still mostly information gathering at this point. We are, at least, a lot less likely to starve."

[theoldlie]

"There's always a fight," he says, with the exhaustion of someone who's tired of fighting, but also refuses to hand off that fight to anyone else, so determined to see it through. If it means he saves even one life, he knows that it'll be worth it, it has to be. If it's not, then the weight of all of it will hurt too much.

"Even if all I can do to help in the fight is to make sure that people continue to not starve, I'll be there," Steve promises. "I'm used to orders, so you let me know what to do and you've got me."