I'm waving through a window, oh, can anybody see, is anybody waving back at me? [OPEN]

[thegreatexperiment]

WHO: Samantha Moon
WHERE: Various Locations (see below and put one in your subject!)
WHEN: First week of October
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Will update as needed, but just assume Sam's potty mouth

---

Kitchen at the Inn
It scared Sam a little bit that she was starting to develop a routine. But she was. And whether that meant she was settling down or giving in, she couldn't really say. And she wasn't sure she wanted to analyze it too much. At any rate, for the time being, she was just sort of going with it. Which meant that the first thing she did in the morning was swing by the kitchen. She always waited until after people had done their breakfast thing, so she wouldn't be in the way. Or, more accurately, so her Rube Goldberg-esque distillery wouldn't be in the way.

She usually made about three batches of potato vodka every day, at this point. As long as there were potatoes. She was always careful to cut out the eyes and save them for the botany freaks. Sometimes, she would experiment, trying to mix in different flavorings.

They usually all tasted vile.

But that was fine, since the vodka was strong enough to burn off a normal person's taste buds, anyway.

There was something calming about sitting on the counter, watching the way the diamond-like bubbles traveled through the tubes. Like one of those glittery stress-relievers on the corner of a professor's desk. Sam played little mind games, counting and following and observing. Anything she could do to avoid thinking.

Didn't help much. She still saw Avery's name, like a fucking neon sign on the inside of her eyelids, every time she blinked.

Spear Fishing
Sam decided it was pretty safe to assume that she'd never go down in history as a singularly spectacular fisher. But there was a gross, morbid satisfaction to spearing fish. Likely, it was a combination of factors, the most obvious being that what she really wanted to spear was the faces of their generous Overlords. At least fishing was more productive than hitting a tree with a lead pipe. Her hands still stung from all of the cuts and bruises she'd inflicted on herself. Not to mention the ones Danny had given her.

She wadded up to her calves in the water. The Overlords had given her a pair of black, short pants with laces up either side that, unfortunately, delighted her little Goth-loving heart. And they were perfect for getting wet. Sometimes she wore them with her scrub tops or some of the shirts she'd collected over the past year and a half, but today, she was just in a sports bra.

One thing she would absolutely never take for granted again was the way the sunlight felt on her skin.

Schoolhouse Library
Of the many gifts she'd received from the Overlords, the one Sam trusted the least was the large set of colored pencils. She'd watched one-too-many horror movies growing up. She kept expecting some bizarre plot twist. Every time she'd draw with red, someone would lose blood. If she drew monsters, they'd come to life. Somehow, drawing a picture of something might whoosh it into the circus. The usual tropes from her life before she was, in fact, the monster at the end of the horror movie.

But there was nothing.

Which wasn't to say she started to trust or anything like that. But she did start to draw.

And out of a desperate need to be useful to someone, she'd taken it upon herself to start decorating the library with headers for each category of books. Science. Sports. Mathematics. All of it. With perfect, neat handwriting, she labeled the sections, then drew little pictures around and through the letters. Spinning planets with rings of fire. The pennant over Wrigley Field (if only...). An elegant Pi, like a rusty shed with a roof curved by the rain.

The project was good for long nights, when Sam couldn't sleep. But sometimes, she'd be in the middle of drawing something that would remind her of...

She blinked and saw it again. Avery's name.

And somehow, on stolen bits of paper and old napkins, his face started to appear, thin and bony and redheaded. Just like she remembered him. Just like he'd been when he...

...no. There was no point in thinking about what he'd done to her any more.

Comments

The Inn

[our_promise]

Natalia is still very new, and while it only took two attempts for her to be banned from cooking for the group she's still looking for ways to make herself useful around the kitchen. The first time she happens upon Sam's distillery she stops to watch. It's a fascinating operation, but after a minute she has to ask.

"May I ask what you're doing?"

[thegreatexperiment]

Sam could pick out a n00b when she saw one. In part, because she'd become so adept at watching other people live their lives. And in part, from something a little more...ephemeral. The people who'd been here as long as she had, she was half-convinced there was some kind of deadness to their gazes, some sort of emptiness that the folks with new-arrival smell lacked.

Maybe it was just her imagination.

But Sam had never had a terribly poetic soul.

She offered the latest Underwear Model a slight smile. Why was it that the Overlords only kidnapped pretty people? Well, pretty people, and Sam. "Distilling vodka," she said. "You can grab some if you want." She nodded to a small collection of bottles and flasks, filled with a cup or two of murky, clear liquid. "I'd avoid the ones on the left, though. Unless you're into drinking Drain-o."

The first batch was always poison.

[our_promise]

“Vodka?” Natalia asked, confused. She took a sniff of the end product, coughed a little and understood. Alcohol. Very pure alcohol, from the smell.

“I think I’d rather stick to wine, thank you.” She didn’t even drink much of that. She was too young to have developed a taste for the primarily social drink.

“I’ve never seen alcohol being made so quickly. How does it work?”

[thegreatexperiment]

Sam could appreciate a scientific curiosity. Or maybe the opportunity to be the smartest one in the room. Or both. There was always room for 'both' in her life. At any rate, she gestured to a pot on the stove. "You make a potato and water mash in there," she said. "Basically, just mashed potatoes without any flavoring. But then add yeast cultures." Barley would have been better, but beggars and choosers and all that. "After it ferments, you put it through the distillation process." Her finger traced the path of her jenky-ass still.

Chemistry wasn't Sam's favorite science. But there was a poetry to it. Almost as nice as the poetry of genetics.

"You need to get the heat up to 170. If you can get about one to three drips per second, you're doing something right. Just need to be careful because the first few drops are usually pure methanol."

[our_promise]

She followed most of the first part of that explanation. The rest was a little too technical, and she had no idea what 'methanol' was or whether it being pure was good or bad.

She opts to ask after the first thing that confused her.

"Yeast cultures?"

[thegreatexperiment]

"Yeast," Sam said. "You know. Eukaryotic, single-celled microorganisms?" Okay, that probably wasn't helping. "Uh, a type of fungus. Causes fermentation. Converts carbohydrates to carbon dioxide and alcohols. Basically, it's what makes the potatoes not just potatoes any more."

There was a reason why Sam was better at the science than the teaching of science.

She offered the girl an apologetic shrug. "Sorry. I'm not the best at explaining."

[our_promise]

She shook her head. She most certainly did not know, and the only thing she got from the explanation was that yeast makes alcohol.

“Can you show me? I really would like to learn, if I can.”

Spear Fishing

[spoileralert]

Try as she might to keep her good exercise habits, some days Steph just doesn't have the energy. She sits under the tree she was going to use for pull-ups and instead watches Sam fish, vaguely bored.

"You make that look so easy," she complains after a few minutes.

[thegreatexperiment]

Sam wasn't entirely sure she liked having an audience. But considering the fact that they were all trapped in the clown rodeo together and this was a public area, she kept her trap shut, trying to focus on the fish, instead of the Underwear Model under the tree. Sam didn't know her name, but she'd seen her face around. Enough to know that she should have known her name. But not enough to have actually asked.

The paradox of being the awkward kid. Even if she was no longer a kid.

She glanced up at the comment and let out a bark-like laugh. "Nah, definitely not easy," she admitted. "I'm just too stubborn to quit."

Anyway, it wasn't like her dance card was terribly full.

[spoileralert]

Maybe she looked good from a distance, but no agency in their right mind would make Steph an underwear model. Too many scars, bruises, scratches and scabs.

She huffs, something almost a little like a laugh.

“Maybe I should learn. It’d break up the tedium of hunting.”

[thegreatexperiment]

"If tedium is your problem, this definitely isn't for you," Sam replied, laughing a little. Her laugh was rusty, kind of bark-like. It didn't get a lot of use. Truth be told, she couldn't remember the last time she'd really, really laughed at much of anything.

Or smiled.

Hashtag multiverse problems, or something like that.

"Nine times out of ten," she explained, "I just hit empty water. Or worse, my own foot." And that hurt like a motherfucker.

[spoileralert]

Steph grimaces, though there's still reasonably good humor in her face. She isn't as lively as she used to be and that still bothers her, but worrying about it hasn't accomplished anything so far.

"Maybe not. I hurt myself enough just working out."

[thegreatexperiment]

Sam sucked in air between her teeth. "I hate to break it to you, but if you hurt yourself doing it, you're probably not doing it right." At least, that's what her high school track coach probably would have said.

Funny. Sam hadn't thought about the track team in what felt like a million years.

Laying the spear across her shoulders, with her elbows draped around it, she walked over to where the other girl was sitting. "I'm Sam, by the way," she said, figuring she could at least try to have manners. "The Vodka Lady? Village Vampire? Known in some circles as the Blue Bitch?"

[spoileralert]

"True," Steph concedes. "If I was doing it right I'd be on proper gym equipment." Most of her injuries are minor and come from scratching her arms and hands on branches.

"I'm Steph. Village recluse, apparently."

Schoolhouse

[notsoangry]

Bruce admittedly could find contentment in the strangest of situations. He'd been blown from one bad place to another at this point, so he just sort of accepted where he ended up for as long as he was there. It was why he went to the camp fire, and why he and Tony were working on a community idea with Frank and Kamala, and why he allowed himself to be glad when he saw the schoolhouse. And books. And a library. He never got past that feeling of excitement in his gut whenever he read something new. He joked that his true soul mate was books, or knowledge, and that seemed pretty accurate.

He already made it through a few, after sheepishly digging and finding his glasses in his bag, and he was bringing them back now. Bruce walked in, his mind going through its usual amount of calculus and question marks, puzzling over a dozen different issues. It made him absent minded, so when he looked up, he saw the back of Sam's head and jumped. Oh! It was her. His memories were very blurry, and also very embarrassed, but they were good too. Bruce had this hovering moment of indecision. Leave her to herself? Say hello? Make some noise so she'd see him and do it instead? This time he would probably not pass out from alcohol.

He decided to pick B and C. "I wondered who was responsible for the little sketches." His voice was quiet and intentionally pitched to not startle someone. Bruce was no spy. He put his borrowed books down to the side, uncertain what to do with his hands, so he slid them together for now. "Hi."

[thegreatexperiment]

Sam didn't startle. Maybe because her mind was somewhat desperate for an excuse, any excuse, not to think of Avery. Fitting, then, that she turned around and saw Bruce, the guy in town who probably most reminded her of fucking Avery.

Of course, she remembered him. Their encounter in the kitchen had been...

Been...

Okay, it had been weird. Like, really, really weird. But not the bad-weird that Sam was kind of used to these days. Except for him walking out and not coming back. She was incredibly used to that.

She couldn't tell if he was being contrite now, or if that was just his personality. But she decided to at least temporarily afford him the benefit of the doubt. It wasn't something she did often, though. And she was already prepared to be disappointed. "He lives," she said, setting down her pencil. "I did warn you about that vodka."

[notsoangry]

"You did. Ordinarily I'd be smarter, but, well." Clearly he hadn't been. Bruce was generally a contrite and apologetic person. He was the type of person who someone could intentionally knock over, and he'd apologize to them for being in the way. It was a trait he never outgrew, he just got better at dodging them. "I'm sorry about that. I'd never actually been drunk, or drank ... anywhere near that before." He was an older man, but in some areas he was inexperienced. Drinking and drugs were top of the list, and he had no intention of suddenly changing that. Outside of extenuating circumstances. "I passed out, got sick, and passed out. In that order I think."

He didn't mind admitting to it, because if there was an embarrassment or shame spiral going on with him, it was on a much higher level than getting drunk. Bruce drank a lot of water and got his head on straight. He also learned a lot about the situation they were in, and took as many notes as he could while still saving space. They had some plans. And more research to do. This place was far from boring, and honestly, he kind of liked it. He felt badly about it every time he admitted that to himself, but he did. Luckily no one else had to know.

"As bad as I'll be right back and passing out is, it probably would have been worse to be hi nice to meet you, I'm going to vomit on your shoes." Not that he had anything in him to vomit up, but that was unnecessary details. "No moer liquor for me for awhile, I think."

[thegreatexperiment]

Contrite. Okay. That wasn't so bad. Sam afforded him a slight smile. "You say that now. But believe me, eventually you'll come back for more. They always do." Well, a lot of people did, anyway. And given the nature of their prison, Sam couldn't blame anyone for wanting to get good and sloshed.

A part of her wished she could. But, of course, then she remembered what had happened when she got drunk off of Bucky's blood and...

...yeah.

That never needed to happen again.

She shook her head and started to put her pencils back into the case. "If you're looking for a good read, they have some Gregor Mendel here." She gestured to the science section. "Man, I used to love that dude. Because I was a total and utter nerd."

[notsoangry]

"I'm giving my stomach a break, but maybe another day. I at least should learn moderation." Bruce liked the concept of casually having a drink with his friends, even if he was fairly certain the alcohol was poisonous, because it seemed almost normal. In abnormal situations, yes, but theoretically. "My, uh, the super powers I had before kept me from being able to get drunk, so it's new." He was fairly sure he mentioned that he had them before, since he'd been startled about losing them, but he was only vaguely certain. He remembered what she said, but not everything that he did.

"Gregor Mendel?" Bruce was surprised to hear it, and also, delighted, smiling. "I'm fascinated by the choices they have here. I think it might all be part of the experiment, as if encouraging us to read up on specific things will help." There were stranger things that could happen. He felt like either everything was a clue or nothing was. Or there were red herrings, but they didn't know what it could be, so they might as well note everything.

He went over to the section in question. "You're in good company. This was my pleasure reading as a kid." Bruce had good memories of that, even if not so much with the rest of his childhood. His brain could never get enough of trying to understand how the world worked. Exactly like how he felt about this place and the situation they were in. Sometimes he felt terrible about it, but most of the time? He was fascinated. Absorbed. Curious.

[thegreatexperiment]

Superpowers that prevented inebriation? Well, that meant they probably were connected to his metabolism. Which...she would not have guessed from the looks of him. But who better than a Kindred knew looks could be deceiving? Anyway, none of them had their fucking powers now anyway. Something that was currently bugging her, both scientifically and personally.

"Wow," she said teasingly, know full well about glass houses and stones and all that shit, "you must have been a serious nerd. I don't know about you, but I never found that Mendel really killed at parties."

Now keg stands, on the other hand. Yeah, that was a golden ticket to popularity.

She hopped up onto the corner of a table, letting her legs dangle over the floor. "Guess that explains what you're doing here with a loser like me at this time of the evening."

[notsoangry]

"I am the nerdiest of all the nerds. I'm pretty sure Harvard considered taping my picture next to the definition at one point." Bruce was their super star student, so there was a lot of good natured jabbing, and also a lot of not so good natured jabbing. "I never went to any parties. It does sound like me to bring up Mendel at parties though, maybe that's why I was never invited." Going to a party sounded like a disaster for him growing up. "I did go to a few at the last place I lived, because Tony owned the tower and Tony likes parties, but I'm still the wall flower at heart."

The tower was a great home, and he was the fool for giving it all up, but that wasn't really something to think about too much right then. Bruce walked away from the books to head back to her, leaning on a table across from her with the back of his legs. "So I guess that makes us a couple of losers. I'm in good company." Bruce wanted to ask why she was so hard on herself, but they didn't know each other well enough for that yet. But he did remember something.

"You asked me to read your pulse, but I didn't want to vomit on your shoes. Was there a reason for that?"

Fishing

[fishermansweater]

Annie had been checking the traps for him, because Finnick hadn't had the energy to do it himself since he saw Snow's name in the bunker. He's gone back to his work the last few days, though, forcing himself to take the walk out through the woods to the river, a woven basket at the ready to hold the fish he brings back. Today, it's been easier. Today, he's even in a better mood as he heads out, Coco the crocodile dog darting around into and out of the trees and running off in chase of interesting sights and smells.

He'd given Sam some basic fishing lessons, the sort of thing he'd have tried to teach a tribute if they'd asked him, so he's not entirely surprised to come across her in the shallow water with a spear. He watches her for a moment, taking some satisfaction in the fact that she's putting what he taught her to use.

"Hey," he says, after a few moments. "Looking good."

For a beginner, at least, and it would hardly be fair to judge her by any other standard.

[thegreatexperiment]

It had taken considerable effort on Sam's part to stop thinking of him as 'The Underwear Model with the Ginger Girlfriend.' And she still had a tendency to call him 'Finnicky' in her head. But Sam had come to respect Finnick. At least as much as Sam was capable of respect. He'd been pretty patient with her in the beginning, especially in her initial frustration. Sam was terribly used to always being the best student in the class. Failing was hard, as Danny had predicted. But she got better. In no small part thanks to Finnick.

She glanced up at his comment and made an awkward shrug, one shoulder bunching up her synthetic girls. "Work in progress."

Which was about the highest compliment she was willing to give her fishing skills, at this point.

"At least I haven't stabbed myself in the foot lately," she added, with a dry and wry smile.

[fishermansweater]

It had been a while since he'd done much teaching or mentoring, and he'd been reminded of how much he would have enjoyed it, if the people he was teaching weren't usually on their way into the arena to probably get killed. At least here, he was teaching something that could be useful for Sam and for the village.

"You met me once I was past the foot-stabbing stage."

It was a little confession about the truth of learning to fish.

All the fisherfolk he'd known growing up had scars all over their hands, and arms, and feet from exactly the sort of thing she's talking about. Finnick had had his body scrubbed clean so many times, going into the Games and going back to the Capitol as a victor.

"Good to see you're still at it. There's good fishing here most of the time if you have the patience."

[thegreatexperiment]

That made Sam laugh. Patience had never really been her virtue. "You know," she said, "I don't think I told you why I developed the urge to start fishing in the first place. It was an assignment. My friend Danny. He said I should learn something I didn't know anything about. So I could learn how to fail."

She couldn't help but laugh. It was such a Danny thing to say. One part Yoda. One part Karate Kid. One part cheeseball.

Not that he was wrong. Sam was not a fan of failing. And not a particularly graceful failure either.

But she was doing better now. At least, Finnicky seemed to think so.