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

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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?"

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.

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."

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.