Logs:Charged Questions

Charged Questions
Dramatis Personae Lael, Marcus, Marinov, Zeke	2020-11-27 "Wonder what you think we are sidestepping."
Location <ME> Across the Rift - Hundred-Mile Wilderness - Maine
These woods are deep and dark, oft touted as the wildest part of the state if not all of New England. For all that it is not difficult going, for a group of reasonably fit teenagers properly outfitted for a late autumn hike. By mid-day it's in the high forties and even the wan, watery sunlight has struggled down into the clearing where the somber party of dimensional refugees is taking a short break. The ground is covered with leaf litter and club mosses, with a few saplings pushing up through here and there, straining to fill the gap in the canopy left by the felling of some venerable tree by lightning a season or two past. Lael has been working slowly through his jerky and trail mix, sitting on a mossy segment of log from the great tree that had once shaded this clearing. He's wearing a hooded and insulated camo jacket, unzipped right now over a green waffle thermal shirt and a brown turtleneck underneath, brown hiking pants likewise layered though not so visibly, and new hiking boots in brown and green. Right now his hood is thrown back and his hair is squirming slow and steadily. His bag of rations beside him, he's been whittling on and off as he eats, the chunk of dark wood in his hands starting to look like something more than just detritus, though what it will become is not yet obvious. Marcus is just creeping his way back from where he's been none too far out, a little more relieved now than when he'd left. He's as unobtrusive as he ever gets, grey hiking pants, sturdy black and blue hiking boots, mottled camo jacket similarly unzipped and the hood of the sweatshirt underneath pulled up over his kind of messy fro. He's been largely quiet until he gets back into the clearing, leaves crunching and twigs snapping as he draws closer. There's a subdued cast to his mind, moreso than the frenetic preparation of the past days of focused-necessity-hypervigilance -- leveled out now into something bleaker and resigned. His shoulders hunch and he settles himself back down next to his own pack, tugging a nozzle from it to suck a sip of water from the pouch tucked hidden inside. Zeke sits with his back against a large Chestnut tree. The hood of his bright red winter vest cushions his head against the unyielding tree bark. Zeke's hands restlessly reach for his waist—a habit he's picked up since arriving in this strange alternate dimension. <<"Lord I wish I had my slingshot. Hell, my hunting rifle would be freakin' fantastic right now,">> Zeke thought. He hadn't spoken much since he and his fellow students had decided to split into two groups—one Canada bound and one hellbent on reaching some portal in New York City—Zeke had chosen the Canada bound group. <<"I know better than to stay somewhere I'm not welcome,">> this thought was as bitter as the clump of dandelion leaves Zeke was chewing; his PawPaw had taught him about all the edible plants available in the Alabama wilderness and it turned out, some of those plants were available here in Maine too. Zeke laughed a wry laugh at the thought that the very same man who had kicked him out on the streets just 6 months prior had also saved his life with his years of wilderness survival training. In order to ease up the burden on supplies, Marinov had left earlier to hunt off on their own, an activity which they have enjoyed far more than they have admitted to anyone else in the party. And that their thoughts quickly turn to whenever they see something moving out in the woods. They're wearing a hooded sweatshirt over the sweater they had been wearing when arriving in the rift, and their forest green jacket blends in better with the surrounding than their natural pattern manages to, despite having some darker coloured stains on it now. Now that the thoughts of the enticing, almost intoxicating scent of blood have faded, their thoughts return to their parents. Their eyes turn to Zeke when he laughs, and flatly they ask, "Something funny? 'cause I could use some funny right now." Zeke's eyes find Marinov. He hardly noticed them return from their hunt. Then again Zeke hardly noticed much about his current travel companions; he was far more focused on their surroundings—animal tracks, edible plants, signs of other humans, and anything else that needed to be noticed. "Not funny as in 'haha'," Zeke says finally. "Just thinkin' my Paw would've never in a million years pictured me out here in the woods with a bunch of Mutants." He considers for a moment. "I was tryin' to figure out if he would have still taught me everything he taught me if he had known what I would become...what I am. I reckon he probably would've," Zeke thinks for a moment. "Then again he kicked me out for what I am, so I guess I don't know the man as much as I thought I did." Lael looks up as Marcus returns, and again when Marinov does, the restless motion of his hands ceasing for a moment each time before returning to slowly, meditatively shaving wood off into a plastic bag he's kept aside all day for the purpose. His eyes lift to Marinov and then Zeke, faintly disturbing in both their amber color and vertically slitted irises and in reptilian stillness, never blinking. "I reckon it's often hard to have a clear view on your folks when you're a kid," he says, philosophically. "But if you ain't too set on honorin' what he done taught you 'bout survivin', we got plenty'a jerky n' mix nuts n' bougie granola bars what actually taste good. Or anyhow..." His shrug crinkles his jacket faintly. "...better'n dandelion greens." Marcus watches Zeke chewing the dandelion greens with a small, meditative blink of his goatlike eyes. << Americans, >> is the only actual word that surfaces in his mind; it connects with irritated and Deeply Unimpressed mental images of vaults full of guns, grocery stores emptied of toilet paper and angry maskless protesters screaming about haircuts, red-faced men in flag-print cowboy hats with rifles at their hips, coal-rolling lifted trucks. He's unzipping his pack to get out both a chocolate-cherry protein trail bar and a ziploc bag that he has been packing what small amounts of trash he's had so far away into. "You. Not know... your parent?" His brows scrunch uncertainly at this. "But raised you." He's trying to connect this in his mind, but faltering uncertainly. "I reckon I had a hard time seein' much of anything clearly," Zeke says to Lael. "Too busy keepin' my own secrets to pay attention to anyone else's skeletons. I'll pass on the jerky for now. Not terribly hungry, just bored. No use waisting food just to keep my mouth busy." Zeke busies himself by checking his art supplies. He hasn't painted or drawn anything since they first arrived through the Rift, but checking on his supplies helps calm him. He doesn't notice Marcus watching him—doesn't notice Marcus much at all until he here's the question directed at him. Zeke looks up, his eyes are hard yet vulnerable as they meet Marcus'. "My mama raised me. Never met my dad, but I never thought much of that; loads of people don't have two parents. Hell, loads of people don't have any parents." Zeke spit a wad of green dandelion tinged saliva far into the woods at his side. He's a bit abashed when he looks back at the group. "Sorry bout that. You can take the boy out the country, but...well you know," he shrugs. "Anyway, my grandparents took me in after my mama died. That was four years ago. I've always been close to my pawpaw though. He taught me how to hunt, how to forage, how to setup camp. Taught me a bunch of stuff," another shrug. "Paw was grandpa and dad all wrapped up in one. Reckon that's why it hurt so much when he told me that he wouldn't claim no Mutant as kin." Zeke ran a hand over his curly black afro, trying to pat it into some semblance of neatness. "I don't know much about any of y'all. Just go to the school about a week before we wound up here," Zeke directs this to the entire group. "How're your folks?" "Sometimes I guess you can know people awhile without really knowing them." Marinov's jaw tenses slightly and says, "Can't say I can relate. I think my relationship with my parents has always been pretty open." Fond memories come to the forefront of their mind, followed by the fear of losing them. Their tail curls around them where they are sitting. They sniff lightly and look aside. "But I think asking folks about their parents right now is... a charged question, yeah? Either relationship's shit and that hurts, or it's good and that hurts." Lael's shoulders hunch gradually inward as Zeke talks, the controlled sweeps of his blade over the wood in his hand growing a bit sharper. "I was more meaning, maybe you get ideas 'bout how they's s'posed to be an' how they thinks they is twisted up with how they actually do." His hair writhes harder, each loc grasping at the others around it like a living thing in agony. "M'sorry," this softly to Marinov, his eyes deliberately blinking again and looking, at least for the moment, faintly less disquieting for it. Marcus blinks slow again, his eyes lowering about halfway through Zeke's words when most of it fails to fully compute -- he's still kind of reconciling Paw with not dad, the tangles of Various American Accents, Various American Regionalisms, a throbbing headache in his already exhausted mind. He frowns down at the protein bar in his hand, propping his elbows on his knees and hunching forward. "Our school... parents always. Hard question." There's not much thought given to his own parents, here. The faint relief in his mind is abstract and distant; more present is a heavy twinge of regret for the other students. Zeke takes a moment to absorb everything that was just said. It's quiet as the other waits for a response and for a few long moments Zeke decides that this silence doesn't need filling. <<Always did let my mouth run too far.>> He considered Marinov's words and the fondness it sounds like they have for their family; it makes Zeke miss his mama. Zeke considers Lael's word—his introspection confuses Zeke; <<Not sure what that one's on about. He's sayin' some awfully big thoughts.>>. Then Zeke looks at Marcus; it's Marcus' words that Zeke decides to respond to. "Sometimes I 'preciate how considerate everyone is about family issues, but sometimes it feels like we're all sidesteppin' something really important." Zeke stands. "I'm gonna go do a quick check around the area. Be back soon." Zeke shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leaves the clearing, disappearing into the woods. "Sidestepping something important," repeats Marinov flatly. "Wonder what you think we are sidestepping." Their jaw tenses a few moments and they nod slightly towards Lael and pull their legs a little tighter towards themselves. <<Who does he think is in denial?>> They're quiet for a few moments, "It's weird to think, though, that... they are in this world, yeah? Somewhere. Maybe if I could reach them--" <<That's stupid.>> Lael's brows wrinkle fractionally. "Ain't sidestepping if we got nothin' to say 'bout it," he replies mildy, "or don't feel right sayin' it. Or it's--jus' hard." He watches Zeke go, his whittling stopped again. As his hand starts moving he adds, a sort of aside to Marcus, "He was talkin' 'bout his grandfather." He does not look back up at Marinov's speculation, his eyes fixed unblinking again on his work. "Once we get north'a the border--maybe you can try lookin' 'em up. Don't got any idea how that'll go, but..." His lips press together and he swallows. "...can't fault you wantin' to find what family you can." In Marcus's mind, not missing his mother but a glaring absence of it, noticeable for the stark lines drawn around where that space should be. A detached curiosity about whether they noticed that he didn't make his train home, brushed aside almost irritably, displaced with more present irritation for the here-and-now conversation. Almost subconsciously, his feet shift an inch or so to the side as he contemplates sidestep; it takes him a moment longer to place this in a different context than the literal. His thickly-accented voice is quiet when he speaks again: "Yes. I also. Appreciate. When people have a considerate." He takes a too-large bite of his protein bar, chewing it hard. "Maybe... maybe K.C. can know." Marinov looks up and then towards Marcus, then look back down, and scratch the back of their neck. "Yeah, K.C. probably knows. Or could know. She's good at knowing shit..." There is a swell of respect and trust for K.C. and an anxiety both about bothering her with it and what answer they might get. "If I'm dead here already, then... maybe they'd be looking for some substitute family, too." <<Or it would be like seeing a ghost.>> With the sense of unease that comes with something that is close but wrong. "She might like havin' somethin' specific to look into, 'stead'a fretting at the news all hours." There's a certain stubborn determination in the way Lael's gaze remains fixed on his whittling now. "Seems to me..." He licks his lips. "Well, who can say? You mighta never been born here, or in a camp but alive, or your folks got out the country in time." His hair is coiling itself into knots close to his scalp. "Don't none'a that mean they wouldn't help you, it's just..." He stops carving, though his eyes do not stray from the vague hourglass shape of the hunk of walnut wood. "I hope you find something you need in 'em, anyhow." "Substitute family." This, for once, does bring up a concrete (and uncomfortable) picture of his adoptive parents, sternly informing him how lucky he was to be given the opportunity to Become Civilized. Something vaguely amused stirs in Marcus's mind about what they would think of this entire situation, but the smile that flits across his face fades away almost as soon as it gets there. "Maybe not -- every world parents -- so --" He flounders here, biting at his lip and searching in vain for an adequate English expression before he settles, with a mild frustration, on, "I hope. Your upside-down parents. Okay." Marinov is quiet for a moment, the memory of an encounter with both-arme Dawson surprised that they were still alive, while they felt disbelief about the same. "I... think I was born here. Or like. Some other me. Maybe I'll have K.C. look me up." They laugh dryly, "It wouldn't be the first time that I namesearched. And thanks, Marcus. I hope, uh, you find something appealing in the upside-down too. If we don't find a way home after all." They have little hope of that happening. Lael flips his pocket knife shut and slips it away, brushing the wood fragments from his work in progress with the pads of his thumbs. Then he pockets the as yet unidentifiable wooden object and slowly packs away his snacks and the bag of wood shavings, as well. "I best go 'round, see if folks feel rested enough," he says gently. "Got a ways to go yet."