In the Pines

Participants:

elliot_icon.gif ff_nick_icon.gif

Scene Title In the Pines
Synopsis Disinterested in the singalong at the campfire, Nick spies something more interesting in Elliot.
Date July 3, 2021

I-76 Overpass at the Raystown-Juanita River

Western Foothills of the Appalachians


The singing from the campfire finds its way, whether willed or not, to all corners of the camp. The place Nick’s found to smoke a cigarette is far from the warmth and glow of the fire – he can smell it and hear it, but he’d have to look hard and high for the plume of smoke in the sky above the canopy of trees, and go quite a few yards to see its flames through the thick trees.

He stands, watching the outskirts for signs of something or someone not of their company. So far the only company in this corner of the woods has been a constant choir of frogs and crickets somewhere in the distance, as well as some moths and bats spotted in the distance. He’s used to being alone these days; a long day in a bus full of people has been more social interaction than he’s used to, and he is relishing this moment of relative quiet and a fine (if a little stale) cigarette.

Elliot clears his throat because it’s polite to let someone know you’re there when they think you aren’t. “I see we had the same escape trajectory in mind,” he says, stepping out from beside the tree he’d been using to obstruct line of sight to the camp.

Nick doesn’t quite start at the sound, but a little more tension creeps into his posture, before he turns to regard Elliot. A smile curves his lips and he dips his head.

“I didn’t expect there to be a proper Kumbaya Girl Scout singalong, or I might’ve told Epsten to sod off,” he says with a chuckle, one brow arching as he glances over his shoulder at the sound of the voices and guitar.

He reaches out to offer the cigarette to Elliot, one brow arching with the unspoken question of if he smokes. “So you’re the one with the party in your head? How many people you got all up in there, mate?”

Elliot shakes his head to decline the cigarette; as it is, his breath is already hard enough to keep tolerable for Wright's benefit. "Just my partner and I currently," he says, settling back against the tree in view of this world's Nick Ruskin. He doesn't have room to mourn the version who's currently missing in action with Rue, so he doesn't let it sink in. "Wright. Needed a little peace and quiet after the ride. Wasn't thinking ahead when I agreed to get into the radio wagon."

The cigarette is drawn back to himself, and Nick takes another drag, breathing it out without inhaling too deeply – an old vice, and one he knows isn’t good for him, especially in a world without oncology units or oxygen tanks for the eventual and probable cancer or emphysema.

“I can imagine. The bus ride was full of birds squawking, could barely read a chapter in peace,” he laments. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t driving that rig or I might have driven it straight into a ditch just for the peace and quiet.”

He tips his head toward the campfire. “Wright’s the ginger?” He means Gracie.

Elliot laughs quietly at the idea of escaping conversation by driving into something. At least when he was driving Katie, there were long stretches of people enjoying the music in silence, only occasionally interrupted by Gracie flirting at Hart. "Gracie is the tall ginger in my van. Squeaks is the short one. Wright is my lifelong partner in crime, who is not located anywhere near us. She's somewhere with hot showers. Turns out that the reception range on my network is infinite."

“Well, I didn’t think half pint was your partner,” Nick says, reaching out to rub the butt of his cigarette into the damp trunk of the tree he stands beside; at least he’s conscientious about forest fires.

He groans at the rest. “You had to mention hot showers. The best I’ve had in years is a hot bath. We had some decent plumbing back at the Sill, before everything went to shite.”

Blue eyes lined in kohl sweep back over to Elliot, lashes dipping as he looks down and back up in what’s clearly an appraisal of sorts. One corner of his mouth tips upward. “Handy ability, that. She’s back where your lot came from, eh? Rumor has it that’s not a sure round trip.”

Elliot doesn't mind being appraised, letting Nick know this with an appraisal of his own. "Yeah," he says regretfully. "We're stuck here with limited bathing options. I do have an unfair advantage in at least being able to enjoy the sensation of a hot shower, though I myself do remain unwashed. I am inclined to grab the first claw-foot bathtub I see and put it on the roof of the bus, then heat water over the campfire. I should charge admission, now that I think about it."

The mutual appraisal draws one corner of Nick’s mouth upward, but talk of partners keeps it contained – for now at least.

“Very entrepreneurial of you,” the Brit says, tapping his temple. “Wonder if we got anyone who can heat water to the perfect temp – we got some bird who can control water, I know. Put those two together and we’ve got the makings of a proper hot shower.”

He regards Elliot for a moment, before he decides to voice the question that’s lingering. “So your world,” he begins, apparently one of the people who know Elliot and his fellow travelers are from farther away in some regards than even Nova. “Not flooded? And you came here…wanting to what, relive Water World or something? None of us have gills, if you’re wondering, mate.” He’s only gotten part of the story it seems.

"Not a huge Kevin Costner fan, no," Elliot says. "Though more so we're here to reenact Road Warrior, which Waterworld basically reskinned. And somebody must have the ability to breathe under water, I don't know any personally but it seems reasonable."

"No flood though," he says a bit more seriously, having found most locals don't find his apocalypse jokes funny in the current climate. "Almost happened to us too but we were lucky enough to have people who prevented it."

His mind circles back to the idea of showers, or at the very least cleanliness. "Once Nadira cleans some water I'm definitely heating some up for a sitting bath at the very least. I detest griminess."

“Kevin Costner’s not in that one. That’s, what’s his name, Bill Pullman in the lead,” Nick says, entirely without irony. It must be one of those Berenstain/Berenstein moments that seem to be adding up. “Not a good movie, either way, to be honest, but I only saw it the once.”

He smiles a little at Elliot’s reiteration about needing to feel clean. “Reckon it’ll be a long three thousand miles for you, then, Godly.” It has the ring of a nickname that will stick, much like the dust and grime taht Elliot so detests.

“Tell you what, I found a couple tubs of those, what, wet wipes or whatever? When I was cleaning out the vehicles earlier. The moisture’s obviously all dehydrated, obviously, but you get ‘em wet with clean water again, they’ll be not bad for keeping clean, at least in the spots that matter. Figured I’d keep ‘em for those late night nature hikes we all’re goin’ to have to take sometimes, but I’ll spare one of the tubs for you,” Nick says, jutting his chin in the other man’s direction. “Just keep me in mind if you find anything else worth sharing, yeah?”

"I will absolutely take you up on that deal," Elliot says with a laugh. For starters, he leans back around the tree to lift a battered tin bucket by a rusty handle. "In the spirit of sharing, I just found a gold mine of blueberries if you're in the mood for something tart. There's not a lot I can cook with them, but I'm going to roast some for breakfast with a little honey and the last of my balsamic vinegar." He holds the bucket out enticingly.

"I have other utility I could offer as well," he says. "Internet access, among other things, if you need data of questionable accuracy. Because in my world, Kevin Costner was the fish man in the movie. So there are discrepancies beyond two thousand ten, but that doesn't mean everything is bad data."

The offer of blueberries draws one of Nick’s expressive brows upward, and he reaches for just a couple of the little blue berries to pop into his mouth.

“Cheers, mate. Never had them that way, but not a gourmand by any means,” he says, around the small mouthful, then he chuckles at the mention of Kevin Costner and internet accessibility.

“I think I can do without seeing Water World with or without Costner, and as far as ye olde internet goes, I can’t think of much that would be useful to access, but that’s kind of you. I ain’t got anything utility wise to offer except a few books, but you probably have a proper Kindle bookstore up in your loaf.”

“I have access to the Library of Congress,” Elliot says, lowering the bucket to his side but not setting it down in case the mood strikes for more. “So let me know if you’re looking for a good read. Obviously, books are probably going to have the same problem as movies, so maybe don’t use them to cheat in your college classes.”

Elliot samples a berry himself. “I don’t believe you don’t have other utility though,” he says. “You seem like a very resourceful sort. You have a keen look about you.”

“Oh, sure. College,” says Nick with a smirk, and then he raises a brow at the assessment that comes from Elliot. Keen and resourceful.

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” the Brit says, shaking his head. In another world, in New York City, that might have come off as an offended narcissist’s scoffing dismissal, but here, Nick seems pleased by this marvel. “That’s bloody fucking refreshing.”

The pack of cigarettes comes out; another world’s Rue would note that the carton isn’t Nick’s preferred brand of imported Capstans but Pall Malls. The cigarettes within have a home-rolled look, so it’s likely he grabbed them from an agrokinetic who simply reuses the old cartons.

He lights the end and takes a long drag that makes the end crackle into gold-and-gray ash. “Nothing unique, you know? Just an ordinary guy who has to survive in an extraordinary world, so you gotta have skills.”

"I don't know who you are," Elliot says, a half truth. He recalls Rue sharing a cigarette with this man in Sweden through the network. "But those skills that kept you kicking are probably at least partially shareable across the network. Like my skill at infiltrating is somewhat limited by muscle memory; I could share the knowledge of picking a lock, if not the steady hand. So if you do find the urge to contribute, let me know. Perhaps we could teach each other a thing or two."

Nick’s brows lift, and he looks away to watch the silvery plume of exhaled smoke rise against the darkness that surrounds them. He turns toward the campfire as another song rises from that direction, and he shakes his head very slightly.

“Trust me, I know how to pick a lock, mate. As far as skills useful on this trip? Not a lot that translates to land travel, if I’m honest, and most of the rest is blades and fists and keeping what’s the house’s the house’s in a casino when half the people can cheat in any manner of ways,” he says. “I’m a little leery of letting people in to this head of mine, but cheers for the offer.”

His lips curve up into a smirk. “You got other things to teach me that don’t include this network of yours, you let me know.”

“I’m certain I can think of something,” Elliot says with a smirk that’s decidedly playful. Jesus, he thinks, how long has it been since I flirted with a man? Ace doesn’t count, that was an operation and he’s gross. “I’m full of tricks.”

Taking another slow drag of the cigarette, Nick regards Elliot and his smirk, before he chuckles, another stream of smoke coming from his mouth.

“You can decide whether to let your little Network in on those lessons or not,” he murmurs, voice low as he leans a little closer to reach into the blueberry bucket, picking up a few more of the little berries. It puts him close enough to drop his voice into a whisper just at Elliot’s ear:

“I don’t mind an audience.”

On that, he turns to head back toward the vehicles, the glow of his lit cigarette making it easy to track his progress through the dark before it grows too small to see.


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License