Logs:In the Dark

In the Dark
Dramatis Personae Marcus, Naomi
In Absentia	2020-11-29 “Ionno.”
Location <ME> Across the Rift - the North Maine Woods
The north woods are more coniferous now as the teens make their way north. The change from mixed forest, overwhelmed by birches and ashes long since stripped of their autumn colours, to the dark green of spruce and pine is both pretty and practical - denser cover of green needles protects their campsite better from prying eyes. Dark comes quick this time of year, bringing a drop to temperatures just under freezing. Naomi sits on the edges of the camp, every so often glancing back at the rush of eagle fern her classmates are currently hidden in. There is the occasional rustle of polyester as people shift in their sleep, but otherwise the night is quiet. Naomi holds a branch of black willow, tying knots in the soft wood to occupy her glove-clad hands. A dark green toque is pulled down low on her head, covering her ears, and the navy blue shell is zipped all the way to her mouth. Presumably, there are other layers under both the shell and her brown hiking pants, but the only things peeking out are her socks (grey, wool) over the top of her hiking boots. Her eyes are wide open, scanning the trees around them constantly. One of those tucked away sleeping bags is rustling a bit more than the others. Eventually its occupant gives up entirely on sleep, gently wiggling his way out from under their cover. Marcus is full dressed still, boot laces loosened but boots not removed, hood pulled up high and his long tapery fingers poking out from the edges of the fingerless gloves he's been layering beneath mittens during the day. He creeps, quiet, to perch himself on a tree root not too far from Naomi under the shade of several thickly overhung branches, arms curling around his knees and his eyes shifting between the woods, the willow, the girl, his jaw setting. Naomi twists her head behind her when the sound of polyester on polyester becomes frequent, only facing front again when a shape emerges from the ferns, vaguely recognizable as a mutant child and not a rogue, mutant-eating moose or some other forest horror. The thin branch in her hand tightens, adding another knot to the line of them forming steadily along its length. She lets the silence hang for a minute as Marcus settles, not looking at him when she finally does speak. “You really oughta try t’ sleep.” Her voice is soft, small. "Tried." Marcus's voice is very quiet, though not particularly small -- just a careful moderation that even still here among the dark tightens his shoulders a little harder, setting his eyes to darting again as if the tiny intrusion into the nighttime forest-sounds will bring Sentinels down on them right then and there. When none appear, he exhales, rests his chin on his knees. "Next shift. Try again. You can -- sleep. I will not mind." Naomi shakes her head. She straightens her back, eyes glancing sideways just for a moment at Marcus before tracking back to the trees. “Not tired neither.” Some of the bark is peeling off her branch - she picks off one flakey piece idly, then another. “You wanna supervise me, though, I can’t stop you.” Marcus hunches lower, arms now curling behind his calves. "Don't want. Want sleep." His brows scrunch; his exhale comes in a heavy puff. "Safe. Sleep. This --" He extricates one arm long enough to gesture toward their slumbering companions, toward Naomi too. Wraps it back behind the relative warmth of where it was sandwiched between his legs. "Not safe. Sleep -- don't come." Naomi next breath comes in a little shorter, her next words a little tenser. “Yeah. I’m not safe. I got that earlier.” Her bottom lip curls in, scraping against her teeth. “I - I am real sorry ‘bout Blockbuster. For whatever that’s worth.” She pulls the toque a little lower down. “I know it ain’t worth much.” Marcus considers this a good while, lapsing into quiet as he turns back to searching the darkness. "No," he finally agrees, heavily. His shoulders sag, head turning downward for a moment to bury his face against his thighs. He lifts it soon enough, looking back off into the trees. "Not much." A pause, a small shrug. "Maybe. Week ago. Worth more. Little more." His brow scrunches up, eyes narrowing in frustration. "You have -- plan? What? If I don't wake. Don't come to sit here. Not apologize then? Only wait? Hope to forgot you steal my brain?" Naomi’s shoulders have begun to curl inwards, shrinking into her shell as much as she can. “Ionno.” There’s a moment is seems like thats is all she has to offer. “Was no good time for it. Everybody yelling. Everybody mad. Promised Lael I’d keep my mouth shut.” Another knot into the willow branch. “I’m sorry for stealing your brain. An’ I’m sorry for not saying sooner.” This makes Marcus's eyes narrow further. His fingers clench tight against his legs. Stiffly: "I never. Yelling." Again a harder puff of breath, again a scrunch of brow. "This not Lael fault. You fault. Three days, we walk. No good time? Your choice. Nobody else." “I know that.” There’s no more room on the branch for knots, no more space for the willow to bend. Naomi drops it onto her lap. “I can’t never seem to say th’ right thing. Or not say. I keep makin’ things worse an’ I wanna ask you for help like it’s algebra but you hate me now which is my fault anyway so I’m stuck with my stupid choices.” The last sentence tumbles from her mouth in one breath, running faster and faster towards the end. She wipes at her eyes with the back of one glove - it comes back damp. Marcus's jaw tightens. Eases. Tightens again. His shoulders are hunched tight, his eyes still fixed at some middle-distant point in the darkness. "Okay," he finally says, still low, still uncomfortably stiff. "Be stuck then." He untucks his hands -- starts to lift them toward his head -- drops them again with a short sharp breath. "Not much longer. Canada close anyway." “Yeah.” There is a hitch in Naomi’s voice now. “Canada’s close.” Her fingertips press into her legs now, hard. “I’m gonna miss you lots, when we split up,” she says, her voice just only slightly wet-sounding. Marcus turns his head down again, face pressing against his thighs. "Okay," sounds very muffled, as does his awkward, "sorry." He gets up, the pine needles a soft crunch underfoot as he walks to the other side of the small clearing. The new seat he finds for himself has his back to Naomi, eyes fixed out at the dark forest around.