apocalypsehowcomm | Always leave 'em [Open]

Who: George Milton and You!
When: December
Where: Around Gloucester, in the woods and on the streets
Summary: George gives survival training to those who need it and makes a warehouse discovery. Eventually, George meets his demise.
Warnings: Character death, violence.

1. Survival Training

George has spent most of the day with you, teaching you how to choose a good campsite, the signs to look for when it comes to flood zones or low spots, and how to make a solid lean-to with nothing but a pocket knife and some elbow grease.

The last lesson has been starting a fire with two sticks and a shoelace, a grueling exercise in stamina and willpower. You've done it, though. There's an ember in the hollowed out bowl of the base stick.

"Awwright, let's get that over here to our tinder," he says. "Quick like, before it goes out again. Then you's gonna need to blow."

2. Warehouse Intel

George isn't sure if he's been followed or not after what he witnessed outside the warehouse. He has already reported the church members he has seen going in and out of there over the past several nights, the boxes brought out.

Now that he knows what's in them, it's imperative he gets the info to someone else. Of course this would be the night he forgot to charge his phone. He's hurrying toward the more populated and lively part of town. As soon as he sees you out, he trots to catch up.

"Hold up," he says if he recognizes you. "Think I can use your phone?"

If he doesn't, he slows to look less suspicious and tips his ballcap. "Nice night, ain't it?"

((OOC: Will edit with the final prompt soon.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The last time Malcolm ever went camping was with his dad, when he was ten, when his father considered cutting his throat and leaving his little body in the woods. He only has fragments of memories.

Learning this with George, no fancy equipment, no baggage, has been a completely new page.

He tips the ember into the tinder and blows, just like George said.

George watches closely, on hands and knees and bent down enough to have eyes on exactly what's happening. "Blow a little harder, or you're gonna lose it," he says. "Move some a' them shavin's closer, too. You ain't gonna burn yourself."

It's not hot enough yet, and there's no flame.

Malcolm gives it another blow, looking up and sounding a little breathless as he asks "Maybe this is a material lesson in why we should always have a lighter in our pocket?"

"You ain't always gonna have a lighter. You may wind up without a pocket. You never know. Knowin' what to do if that happens and knowin' you can do it jes' might save your bacon," he says. "That's good. You got that flame lickin' up now. Grab you a few a' them twigs and feed 'em in bit by bit."

Malcolm does as he says, feeding them in carefully.

“Has that happened to you? Stuck in the wilderness without anything at all?”

Donna's out doing some early Christmas shopping, and the person she'd been shopping for turning up out of the darkened streets at night is a bit of a shock. "Oh! Um! Yeah, sure." She shifts the bags in her hand and pulls out her phone, unlocking it, before handing it over.

"Forget your phone or just run out of power?" Casual conversation. Just be casual. They hadn't said anything about exchanging gifts, so he doesn't need to know about this. Play it cool, Donna.

"Outta juice," he says. "Thanks." He takes it and immediately shoots off a text to ADI about the elves from the box, the faces he recognized and what he heard, and lastly identifies himself as George and not Donna with a promise he'll fill out a full report as soon as he gets back. He offers her phone back to her.

"Listen, it ain't safe out here right now. I jes' saw somethin', and I don't know if I'm bein' followed or not. You wanna head back to the compound with me?" He can't tell her what to do, but there's a tense sort of urgency in his eyes and posture.

It seems that shopping is going to wait. "Yeah, I was just finishing up." She offers a brief, tight smile and moves to start walking them back. "Be a sweetheart and take on of these bags, would you? Like to have a hand free for my purse. Never know what sorts are around. Keep a bottle of pepper spray in there, just in case I need it."

In case any would-be stalkers get any bright ideas about attacking them. "Is this something... big enough to cause major problems, d'you think?"

"Sure." George takes the bags in his off hand, leaving his right one free to go for his knife if he has to. He's not even bothering trying to disguise that he's walking with urgent purpose, putting more distance between himself and that warehouse.

"Could be, yeah," he says. He drops his voice further. "Crates a' elves. That ring any bells?"

Donna keeps pace, trying to keep more of an eye out without looking too paranoid. "Oh, flippin' hell. Those things?" Ugh! "They're... well, they were here last year, right? But they didn't do anything to anyone. Did they?"

Apart from raising everyone's anxiety level.

Her arms hurt. Survival stuff sucks. Like, it's survival and on some level it's neat? But also she's out of shape and this is hard and she had to get up well before noon for this and hasn't recovered.

So that tiny little spark is like the most exciting thing that's happened in weeks. "Oh my god! Oh my god oh my god. Wait." Tail flicking back and forth as she goes, Mae plucks up the bowl and hastily moves the ember to the tinder and then blows like all of the air needs to leave her lungs immediately.

"That's right," George says, encouraging. "Jes' keep blowin' like that until you see a flame lick up that tinder." He has been impressed with her determination at least. Nobody starts out great at this. It takes practice and some stamina and muscle behind it.

As soon as he sees the flame, it's on the tip of his tongue to tell her to stop, or she'll blow it out. However, she's got to watch for that herself. He already told her. It remains to be seen if she will or not.

She blows a little too long and the little flame that jumps up flickers dangerously and Mae winces and clamps her mouth shut to watch. Except...it just sort of collapses again into a glowing thing. "No! Don't die, I'm sorry!"

She blows...a little more gently and the little ember glows brighter until she eventually coaxes a flame out of it that actually starts to smoke and catch at the wood it's under. Mae sits back, ears flicking backward as she looks from the flame to George. "Surviving's hard. Can't I just keep a lighter on me all the time?"

She didn't smoke, but she'd been compelled to buy that stupid lighter, so it was hers now.

He watches, thinking for a minute or two it's really touch and go, but she pulls it through. Good. Another one who won't freeze to death if worse comes to worst. He pulls his ballcap off and runs a hand back through plastered curls. "What happens if the lighter runs outta fuel? Or whatever you're wearin' gets torn off or left behind? It falls outta your pocket? I ain't sayin' don't carry one. It don't mean you'll be sorry you done this if it ever comes to that."

He stands and moves over toward the wood pile they've gathered, taking up some of the sticks and branches and setting them down near her. "Keep you a pile, but don't never leave it alone. You might come back to a burnt up campsite or even start a bigger fire 'n that."

Winter gives him a look that might actually be concerned, and is certainly wary. "Sure." But before he hands it over, he asks, "Are you okay?"

There may be some things that go over Winter's head when it comes to the reactions of other people, but one thing he knows intimately is when someone is nervous.

"Think so." Once he has the phone, he texts in his report of what he saw, identifies himself as George and not Winter, and promises to file a more detailed report when he can get to a computer. When he's done, he offers it back over.

"Might've been followed, though. I'm headin' back to ADI. Would appreciate the back up if you ain't busy." What he saw spooked him enough he's taking no chances. "You know that warehouse? Finally saw somethin' that paid off. You know anything about Christmas elves? Not in general. I mean how it might relate to any weirdness here."

"Of course." Winter accepts his phone back, pockets it, and falls in beside George, eyes moving around for potential pursuit. "I remember the elves. They were probably related to the Eye, too, in that they spied on us. Followed us around. Made us paranoid."

More paranoid, in Winter's case. "I hated them," he adds. "I tore a few apart. Kind of violently."

Always leave 'em [Open]

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