Logs:Secret Handshake

Secret Handshake
Dramatis Personae Bryce, Dallen, DJ
In Absentia	2023-06-27 "and can we get your autograph?"
Location <UT> Buckskin Gulch
This is a narrow gorge cut into the high desert over eons by a tributary of the Colorado River. It's the longest slot canyon in the Southwest, and at almost 500 feet deep in some places it is not for the claustrophobic. But for those willing to make the arduous journey it is a place of surreal, otherworldly beauty. The sheer walls of colorfully striated sandstone undulate and curve overhead, almost blotting out the daylight in some places only to allow it through again unexpectedly around the next bend. The stream itself is usually quite low and in some places dips underground, but a big enough storm upstream can flood it rapidly, a humbling reminder of the powerful forces that chiselled this natural wonder out of solid stone. The very spookiness of this place was one of its selling points for Bryce and Dallen's Boy Scout troop. The prospect of camping overnight in the remotest parts of the canyon had seemed like great fun when they were surrounded by other competent scouts and even more competent scout leaders. Now that it's starting to get dark and the brothers are alone, the ghost stories they were gleefully telling each other earlier feel a little more present. The shadows creeping up the sandstone walls are still livelier than they really should be, but nothing like the horror show earlier so long as Dallen doesn't try to move his sprained -- but expertly splinted! -- ankle. "Oh, and remember how they were like, you're too young to take the Wilderness First Aid training?" Dallen is breaking up dried twigs for kindling with more enthusiasm than seems necessary or reasonable. He's definitely not afraid -- it's ridiculous to be afraid when he has his brother and Heavenly Father looking out for him. It's never occurred to him that either one would abandon him, so why does he keep unconsciously pulling at the shadows as if he could stop the sun setting? "I bet you could teach the Wilderness First Aid training. Mom and dad are gonna be so proud of you once they find out we're not dead." Bryce is just setting down some larger pieces of wood some distance from Dallen's twigs, and he's not looking too smug about the skillful splinting job but the bright pride is there in his mind all the same. It's jostling rambunctiously with a worry that flickers and stretches along with the shadows that surround them. "Oooh, maybe, for Eagle Scout we could make emergency trauma kits for," Bryce is scrunching up his brow in an earnest contemplation of The Future here, "underprivileged Scout troops." He's trying not to do too much fretting as he settles down beside Dallen's nicely broken up twigs to add them to a neat heap of dried grass. The small grey stone that he pulls from his pocket -- okay, he's definitely got a working lighter in his bag but is that stopping him from taking out his pocketknife to strike it in careful hope of sparks? It is not. It's while focused on this task and not the setting sun that he ventures: "-- How long do you think -- it'll take them to call someone." "That's a great idea. Not everyone's family and community and Church is as prepared and supportive as ours. Scouting's got to be even more important to them." Dallen doesn't bite his lip or fidget at the question, but the shadows betray him as they shiver and deepen on the rippled canyon walls. At least they don't give away his flush of shame. He tips his head back to study the twilight colors in the distant serpentine strip of sky, searching for and dreading any sign of a change in the weather. Then he concentrates hard on the question. "They went back up the trail." On the map in his mind the gulch is sprouting jagged-sharp teeth, and so do the shadows around them. "It'll be slower than coming down, and there's no signal." He is biting his lip now, unconscious and unashamed but definitely afraid as he works through the math, hating how rough his estimates are. "If they keep going after dark, they could get to the cars by midnight. Maybe...we should keep the fire going in case search and rescue gets out here before dawn?" Bryce sucks his cheeks in, chewing slowly on the inside of one as he strikes the flint again. It sparks satisfyingly, this time, though doesn't quite catch. The quick sparkle-and-fading of thrill in his mind that comes in time with this is a little out of proportion for the small task, almost as if trying hard to drive back the creeping uncertainty within him and not just the toothsome dark. "Right yeah! No but we have plenty of provisions, I'm sure --" A niggling voice inside him is not sure but he's saying it confidently all the same, "they'll be here way before our water runs out." He's squinting upwards, outwards, very seriously trying to calculate what it would take for him to carry Dallen out. Probably he is imagining himself to be a much larger person in this scenario than he actually is. Another strike, and this time there's a catch, a crackle that he gently blows on to coax higher. There's one more shadow among the encroaching ones, though soon enough he steps out of the flickering maw of darkness and into the tiny hopeful light of the boys' burgeoning fire. Does DJ look familiar? Does he not? He certainly wears a face they've seen plenty enough in the news -- but that was years ago, another context and another lifetime. Here, he's just making his slow way towards the edge of the light in very boring quick-dry grey tee, light grey wind jacket, hands in the pockets of his lightweight hiking pants. "Hey," he offers, soft but not tentative to the kids. "I --" He's swallowing, dropping his eyes just a moment before it starts to seem like staring. "-- heard you could use some help." Bryce may not all that confident, but Dallen believes him, anyway. He settles a little more comfortably against his pack, which he's been leaning on and which definitely contains stormproof matches he hasn't seriously considered adding to this firestarting equation. When he starts praying this time it's wordless and organic, not as fearful as he's been, though he's still fervently asking God to carry them to safety. Or, if not both of them then at least his brother, who's selflessly -- He gasps and sits bolt upright when DJ emerges from the shadows. His mind scrambles to make sense of this sudden additional person, taking in his hiking clothes and absence of a pack and his strangely familiar face with a slow dawning realization. He trades a look of wide-eyed amazement with Bryce as he struggles to sort his tumble of incoherent thoughts into something useful, but what he finally blurts out is, "Can I shake your hand please?" Bryce looks up sharply, too, his attention turning away from the building fire that he's just been starting to add larger sticks to. He looks at DJ -- looks at Dallen -- looks at DJ. His eyes have gone wide, though his realization comes after Dallen's. Has he read the D&C lately? Probably not, because, not to be outdone in matters of angel etiquette, he's digging through the front flap of his pack for a small (waterproof!) notepad and (underwater-writing!) pen to ask, "and can we get your autograph?" ... probably none of this is quite the reaction DJ expected. His brow is scrunching, and he's starting, reflexive, to extend an absolutely bewildered push of psionic awareness in hopes of some kind of clarification before this is yoinked back sharply. He takes a breath and lifts his head, takes his hands from his pockets (one of the hands, today, is painted in a pattern of detailed white feathering with slight darker barred accents, in the intricate and very lifelike-looking plumage of a snowy owl.) He's kind of uncertain as he gets down on a knee, extends a hand (the flesh one) towards Dallen. "Oh, I'm -- I'm not --" The notepad is eyed in some bemusement. "It just seemed like you could use some help getting home." Dallen sits up even straighter when DJ crouches down, and shakes his hand firmly. His eyes widen yet again, skip over to Bryce, and back to DJ. "Oh gosh thank you, we could definitely use some help!" He ducks his head slightly, embarrassed but not embarrassed enough to stop from asking, "Are you going to like, sweep us up into a whirlwind? Which prayer did you hear? Or is it more like, He heard us and told you to come? The scriptures are kind of vague." The shadows are weaving and dancing on the walls around them, not as menacing as before but definitely still unsettling and, if nothing else, distracting. His voice goes a little hushed, "Oh no are you not allowed to tell us?" << oh my fucking god >> whispers somewhere deep in DJ's mind, horrified and delighted and grieving all at once. << tell them (don't tell them) >> "Yeah, which prayer?" It's not a competition, probably, maybe, but Bryce is definitely hoping that his prayers were better, he's been a priesthood holder an entire year longer (almost) and that has to count for something. "Oh wow if we're about to whirlwind we should --" He's starting to move towards the fire, starting to scrape the toe of his boot down into some loose dirt, but stops with a gnawing uneasiness about removing this source of light quite yet. "Our troop went to get help, can you tell them we already got help? We don't have reception." He's confident DJ must have reception, Angel Radio probably has its entire own special frequency. "We --" DJ pauses at Hive's commentary, outwardly just a small hitch before he continue, "-- heard both of your prayers for safety." His handshake is firm, and despite himself he's shivering just a little at the twisted dance of shadows. "I'll -- let them know. Did your troop leaders," he's asking this with a careful calm that doesn't match the disgust and fury in his mind, "just leave you here alone while they went for help?" Dallen feels quite smug about his prayers being heard -- for just a fraction of a second before catching himself at it with a guilty shapeless reprimand. He sucks in a sharp breath and goes tense when Bryce starts to extinguish the fire. The tension eases when he stops, though not all the way -- it isn't as if he were relaxed, before an Angel of the Lord descended to save them. He shakes his head emphatically at DJ's question, but then says, "Well...yes, but it wasn't their fault. They're usually very brave!" He looks to Bryce for backup. "When I hurt my ankle all that went crazy, it was super scary." He waves one hand at the shadows on the canyon walls. Though his ankle is merely throbbing now in his memory it's a sharp stab of pain that explodes the shadows into monsters, engulfing their troop in suffocating darkness. Somewhere in the midst of remembering he has started rocking unawares. "They probably think we're dead and they had to get the other scouts away to safety and..." At this thought he suddenly perks up, a glimmer of hope in the glance he throws Bryce this time. "Maybe they don't know it was me and I don't have to tell..." And they're sagging back against their pack. "But that would definitely be lying." "They knew we were tough," Bryce explains, with a strange combination of pride and anger that he doesn't quite clock in himself. "I can take care of him fine until they come back." Though here he's abruptly feeling a spike of terror, and very hastily adds: "But we'd still love a whirlwind. Or -- however you take people." He's looking at the shadows on the wall, then quickly back at his fire, the dancing darkness somehow far eerier here than it was back in the comfort and safety of their home when Dallen had first told him about this development. "If you took us back to them," he's venturing with an appraising look at DJ, "maybe they'd be so impressed they would forget the shadows." Almost as soon as he's said it though he's feeling a small (small) pang of uncertainty << should we be showing off our angel? Is that vain? >> "It's not about being tough. You both are definitely tough. But basic hiking safety --" DJ presses his lips together, saying a quiet prayer himself to help restrain the anger simmering within him. "Oh, I plan to go have some words with your troop leaders," he assures the kids, "though I'm not sure how impressed they'll be, I'm --" He shakes his head and gets back to his feet. "Why don't I get you all out of here first and then we can talk about how to approach --" There's another small swallow, here. "-- your parents."