sixthiterationlogs | 07 { August Plot Opener: Primitive Weapons

WHO: Jo Harvelle & Killian Jones
WHERE: The Inn, The Far Northeast/The 'Earlier Village'
WHEN: Friday, August 19th
WARNINGS: None as of Yet
STATUS: Closed for August Plot Opener

Jo's mornings start at the Inn & Pub every day. Almost always the earliest riser in the building, because it's rarely even begun to slink toward morning when she gets there. It's been a long time since she slept well and long. Even with this as the second world and, cumulatively, fourth month without monsters scratching at her door every day, four months is a paltry blip of a thing compared to all the years of them that proceeded this, or the legacy of them, forever beating, in her veins.

She likes having a purpose more than she likes waking from nightmares, and this morning and day have a even greater purpose. She's in a scouting team with Killian to cover an area that's been done, but since the log book got started they've had a number of more detailed things to start tracking, which means a little dancing.

Two steps back, to hopefully jump three or four steps forward because of it.

~ * ~

Her hair is pulled back in a braided ponytail that hangs out the back of her black, flame insignia, hat. She'd rather a bun, but it has to be in the nineties today and she wants the brim of the hat even more than she wants her hair to stop sticking to the back of her neck or her tanktop to stop sticking to her sides. Jo fishes out dried jerky, vegetables, and berries in strategic small handfuls, depending on how far the sun has moved since her last handful, as they walk further and further Northeast.

"Shouldn't be too much further off that way," Jo says, after swallowing her last, even though she knows he knows it just as well. It's the heat and the long jaunt with someone she doesn't know all that well. The pervasive eeriness of the place no matter how long they stay.

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First, kidnapping. Then, supply boxes. Now, magic'd dead villages and colored crates.

Crates . . . with weapons? That tension in her shoulders and her neck only intensified as she counted a brand new bow, arrows, a harpoon, and then, took note of the fact one of the snares seemed broken. Everything else in perfect condition and then one broken thing, sticking out just as much a sore thumb as this decrepit village with brand new boxes. Something broken next to everything else in perfect order.

While her mind ran paces on why anyone might be sending them crates of weapons, and whether the rest of them were.

"Get those ones. I'll get these." Jo started on the box to her side of the middle one. First, the light grey flame insignia box. Then, the green flame. Both of them the same as the first one. The weapons were different, and the percentage of broken things to new things, to lightly used, to well used, was different, but that they were full of weapons the village hadn't had anywhere, in any of their buildings before now, was the same.

It's not good, and what it will bring, what it will stir up and cause, will be even less good.
Which she's pretty certain is exactly why they were given them.

Which had her subtly watching him as he opens the others.

He glances over the items revealed when she opens the crates. A harpoon. He could use one of those; it would be much more effective for fishing than the nets made out of vines that he's using now. Most of the rest of the weapons don't seem that helpful to him, with only one hand.

He opens another crate himself, and then the last one. He reaches in to pick up one of the weapons -- a bow, broken. "Some of these seem more helpful than others." He puts the bow back where it came from. Even if he were tempted to pocket anything, nothing would fit in his pocket.

He taps at the insignia on one of the lids. "What do you suppose the colors mean?"

Jo looked at the one he was pointing at, but her voice was firm and certain. "Trouble."
The colors were only trouble, and the colors were only ever meant to be trouble.

Since everyone started appearing in them, making people question from the beginning. What it meant. Why were certain people in this color and certain people in that. It's an interesting commentary of choice for Jo who hasn't worn a black top again, except while sleeping, since her first day. It's always been this white tank top and either her black scrubs or black overalls.

A medium grade between the black she was given and the white that is absolutely recognizably her everyday clothing choice.

She huffed, "--and a whole lot of it at that." Beat. Frowning. "We have to take them back."

Because there was no praying they'd just vanish under her hands as the place had appeared.
She did not pray to Gods or Jailers, even if they were about to draw lines in their fragile sand.

Edited 2016-08-21 03:35 (UTC)

"I meant the ones specifically on these cases, but..." He nudges one with his foot. "I suppose so did you." It could potentially be trouble to attempt to figure out what these cases are for. Is this some sort of competition? Separate them into groups, give each group a cache of weapons, and see what happens? It wouldn't surprise him if that were the case.

"Aye. How do you suppose we can get them there?"

A muscle in Jo's cheek twitches. Maybe like, if they were in any other situation than this, she might have smiled or smirked there. Him puzzling out for himself, without her saying it again, that she had answered the question. But they are, right here and right now, and it's only the twinge of a muscle, and the flicker of relief, and maybe even respect, without her lips moving in the slightest. The question though is a good one. Especially given their size.

"The most we could move is two at a time by hand. If that." Depending on the size and what all exactly was in each of them. "It'd be easier with less boxes." Not that they'd all fit in one. "But they should see all of this, shouldn't they?"

Edited 2016-08-21 05:04 (UTC)

"Maybe we could make some kind of straps for pulling them behind us." It wouldn't be perfect, over uneven terrain, but that way they could get more than two at a time, and there's his lack of a hand to consider. He hasn't made a net that large yet, but there are plenty of vines, and two of them. If she can get the hang of knots they could probably get it done fairly quickly.

"That would probably be easier than trying to get everyone to come out here and take a look." Plus he doesn't want everyone to know where he likes to fish. He depends on trading some of that fish for other items.

Jo was staring at the boxes and frowning, running through too many possibilities.

What was to say the village or the boxes would stay put here if they left them here. What was to say the weapons and boxes they left, wherever they left them in their village, would stay untouched and unpilfered from, if they left there to come back for more boxes. She hates this. She hates it so much. She doesn't want to doubt anyone here, and she doesn't want to trust the people who put her here.

This is how it starts. Even in her own head. Jo shoved the thoughts hard away. Focusing on Killian's suggestions. Thinking.
Her eyes fall to the ground, and then she looks over at him, asking, "Maybe we could use the vines, somehow? Tie them together?"

"Aye, that would perhaps be better than trying to make a net for them. Ropes are easy enough. I've done that before." He's made nets too, but just tying them together would work better, and they shouldn't have to worry as much about something snapping as they drag it along.

He goes over to the tangle of vines where they found the crates. "There are plenty of vines, of varying sizes. We could rig something up with them. I know several knots that would work."

"Me, too. Thought it's been a while. So together--" If he could get the vines and she could tie them (unless he had a way to tie thing with that hook of his, and who knows, he really might), they could get these back and start down the drop side of this rickety, click, click, click of the roller coaster reaching the top of its summit and about to plunge down into the free fall. "--we should be able to make some short work of this."

Jo closed the two crates she'd freed and opened for the contents search, then started sizing up vines for hacking them down into a pile for tying. At least they didn't have thorns. She was probably going to be grateful for then when her hands were blistered red from pulling these back, even without them. But it would have definitely been a steeper kind of hell with thorns.

He tugs a couple of the crates into an area that's more open than the area around, to give them more room to work.

"I think we'll need some sturdier vines for the heavier work, and some thinner ones to hold it all together." So it's a good thing that there are a variety of sizes around.

He reaches for vines and starts pulling them free.

07 { August Plot Opener: Primitive Weapons

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