Day 007: Doctor's Rounds
Summary: What started as looking in on one patient turned into something major.
Date: 10 May 2016
Related: Follows after Down to the River to Prey and Smells Like Teen Spirit.
Morgan Quinn Cassandra Cole Niner Asher Ruth Cameron Grey Hanne Silas Julie 


Grounds

With the removal of underbrush and a half-dozen small trees, there is now a tiny clearing around the dropship. It has begun to fill with detritus from the ship, including all of the seating, padding, and removable plates or bulkheads. Several tents have been set up within the clearing, set close together within the confines of the surrounding trees. A three-holer latrine is set up downwind of camp in the prevailing breezes, and the rough beginnings of a wall stretch between trees at the edge of the clearing, dropship plates and felled tree-trunks being stacked up as quickly as the Delinquents can manage.

The forest immediately surrounding the camp has been cowed into near-silence, but is still vibrant and green to a people used to stark metal bulkheads all around them.

Day 7

Since making it back, and after a fitful sleep, Quinn has hobbled her way out into the main camp to watch as more mobile of individuals move around. She's acquired herself a sword, as well as what looks to be a pile of pilfered clothing and armor. She hasn't changed out of her damaged, dirty clothes yet, possibly because it really takes a lot of effort to do much of anything right now.

It's been a busy day for Morgan. First a little tiff about the Grounders and then some foraging with Cam. Now he comes out of the dropship, wearing a sword of his own and a Grounder jacket with no shirt on underneath it. He pauses to ask one of the Delinquents a question who turns and points to Quinn. Nodding his thanks, Morgan heads on over to her. "Hey," he says once he gets close enough.

Quinn lifts a hand up to shield her eyes before she glances upwards at the voice. "Hey," she replies, dropping her hand down from her eyes. "You adjusting back to being a free man again?" It's spoken with a slight bit of humor. But only a little. Can't let people think she's actually got a personality.

Morgan sits down next to Quinn, grunting softly as the hilt of the sword digs into his side when the point hits the ground. Gonna takes some practice in wearing one before he gets used to keeping it out of the way. "Sure am. Feels great to be back among people who hate me and love to argue about stupid shit. How are you doing? I was coming to look for you and here you are out in the open. It's a good sign."

"It could be a good sign," Quinn allows, her eyes falling to note the sword around his waist, then she looks back up at him. "So what were you coming to find me for?"

Morgan is sitting next to Quinn, both of them having Grounder swords at their waists. He's wearing a Grounder jacket that hangs open, revealing a lack of a shirt but still the bandages on his chest. "To see how you were," he answers. "I'm your doctor. I make house calls. They do still count as house calls if we don't have actual houses right?"

"I suppose that it counts as being a house call, even though we don't have houses," Quinn replies after a moment, shaking her head a fraction. "You look like you need your own doctor, though, too."

The sound of muddy boots scraping the Dropship platform can be heard as Cassandra climbs her way on down and into the camp grounds. Like Quinn and Morgan, she has a Grounder sword at her waist — a machete, to be specific, and by the greenish tint to its blade, she's been using it to chop vegetation, not to hunt. She's carrying with her a rather odd item, unlike any that the Delinquents would have seen before, except perhaps in movies. It's a bundle of postcards tied together with a bit of string, and she lifts her gaze from it to survey the teens present before spying the two ex-captives, whom she makes her way towards.

Morgan glances down at his chest and shrugs a little. "I wasn't as hurt as you were. As you are." He's sitting next to Quinn, both of them having Grounder swords at their waists. He's wearing a Grounder jacket that hangs open, revealing a lack of a shirt but still the bandages on his chest. "I'm not entirely positive but I think I have the most medical training in the camp. Which means the most hurt patient gets my attention. You are so lucky," he grins. Glancing up, he scans the perimeter of the camp as he's starting to make a habit of doing. Spotting Cassandra, he nods a greeting.

What's Cole doing? Building the goddamn wall, what did you think he was doing? That's all he ever does, and lord help you if you get in his way of directing traffic. "NO. YOU FUCKIN TONE-DEAF SHITBOXES," he snaps a particular group of teens who are, yeah, doing something stupid. A part of the wall going up was about to give way, and crush another teen under. "YOU WANNA FUCKIN KILL JONES, YOU POMPOUS COCKNOB. MOVE IT OVER TO THE GODDAMN RIGHT AND PUSH THE FUCK BACK AGAINST IT." Yes, he has to shout, otherwise, they're not going to hear him. Almost like a directing baton, the tire iron griped in his hands points to where the wall needs to be placed, not where it, until he finally slides it into his belt and reaches with two hands. "One three, fuckin lift. Use your goddamn dickbeaters for something other impressing your woman. One, two, three… LIFT. TO THE RIGHT."

"Does that mean you're wanting to look at it again, or just asking how I'm doing?" Quinn questions, her eyes flicking towards the rest of the camp as people start to move around again. She seems to be perfectly fine with whichever one of those things he wants to do, she's not actually going anywhere any time soon.

Cassandra might have grown up with the working class down on Farm Station, but Mecha Station is a whole other animal. She leans to the side when Cole's string of yelled profanities grabs her attention away from Morgan and Quinn, slowing her approach and causing her to furrow her brow. Not because she's appalled, oh no — but because this is an era where teenagers are forced to live without television, and outside of her daily rounds beyond the bounds of camp, in the forest, this entertainment is as good as it gets. When it seems like he's taking a break for air, she passes the two her quick greetings. "Hi Morgan. Quinn." Her stormy mood from last night appears to have passed, for the time being.

"Yes," Morgan answers. "Though looking at it can wait till we're somewhere private. I tried to get a good look at what the Grounders were doing but…" He shrugs. "Now they're not here to help you, I need to keep an eye on things and try to figure out what they did. Cam's a botanist and I'll want him to inspect those plants they're using so we can find more." He glances up briefly at all the yelling but mostly tunes it out. "Hey Cass."

Plants are the damnedest things. Trample them down, break the branches, jump up and down on them — and still they get in the way. Why can't they just behave like nice, orderly planks or metal panels? Geez. The undeniable racket of someone dragging a log toward the camp starts to fade into earshot. It pauses on a heavy WHUMP! followed by a grunt and a male voice. "Motherfucking—" Stomp. Crackle. "—bushes—" More stomping. Someone's green thumb is in short supply.

Quinn glances over towards Cassandra, lifting her chin upwards in a brief greeting. "Max knows some of the plant shit, too. He was gathering up some with the help of Keats when we first landed." As for being somewhere more private? Quinn doesn't care. She just starts to pull the hem of her shirt up to expose the bandages, letting Morgan decide if he's brave enough to check here or not.

There's an audible 'thud' on the ground, Cole and his group getting the section of wall to stand upright. For the moment. "Lashings! Now!" he barks out, a few others had been waiting in the wings, ready to tie and lash the new section the parts of it already standing. "Alright, start burying the lower half." This is done to give it stability and preventing it from falling over. Make it deep enough and it'll break before falling over. But considering the construction of it, Cole seems pretty convinced it'll repel a Grounder attack. For a while anyways. "Now, if we're done fuckin around, take fuckin fifthteen, grab some goddamn chow and get back to it." At that, the 'manager' moves away to do much the same.

There is a definitely a sly eye on Cassandra's part spying Quinn when she lifts up her shirt. But for now, she focuses on business. "I like to think I know my fair share of plant shit too," she butts in. "But I'm not a doctor." She holds up the bundle of postcards she was carrying in her hand from the Dropship, for her and Morgan to see. "Found this."

Whole lot of cursing going on today. Makes Morgan feel right at home. Home in this case being the Skybox. Since Quinn's okay with it, he shifts to a kneeling positions and carefully unfastens the bandages around her abdomen. Even more carefully, he peels the plants away to take a look , uses one hand to lightly feel the edges, then leans in to sniff at her stomach. "Oh yeah? What is it?" he asks, sparing Cass a quick glance before he pushes the poultice back into place. All except for one strand which he sets on Quinn's leg for the moment.

Quinn's trying to not look at Morgan with a too weird expression when he leans in to sniff, but it's hard. She doesn't move though, and for the most part it seems to be on track to heal right. No obvious signs of infection, but it's still early. Anything could happen.

Finally, Niner's visible between the trees and the underbrush, pulling a very dead log with him. The bark scrapes off in large chunks whenever it rubs against another obstacle — which appears to be the entire goddamned planet, for the work it's taking him to bring it in close. When the tree's branches get snarled in the latest tangle, he stops, drops it to the ground, and utters, "Fuck this." This firewood? It's going not one step further, in his hands, at least. He slaps his palms against his thighs as he glances around the clearing.

"They're like… letters," says Cassandra, though as Morgan is distracted examining Quinn's upper torso (something she's politely trying not to do), she likewise distracts herself by turning to watch Niner haul a damn Christmas tree in. "I found them on… one of the Grounders." The confession of this statement makes her wrinkle her brow and purse her lips uncomfortably, likely because just last night, she was stripping one of the Grounders down to his buttocks, and that can only be where she found the postcards. "They have pictures on them. Photographs."

Morgan nods to himself and refastens the bandages around Quinn's abdomen. "Tell me if the pain starts increasing, if the area starts to feel hot, or if it starts to smell bad." Though if it's the latter, the former two should happen first. "Letters with pictures?" he asks Cass. "In English? Can I see? And have you ever seen this kind of leaf before?" He lifts the one he took from Quinn's poultice but looks over at Niner a moment.

"Sure, I can probably do that," Quinn replies, glancing up at Cassandra with a quick smirk before she tugs her shirt back down over the bandage, and she returns to lounging.

The brunette squints down at the poultice on Quinn's skin, looking like she's about to hazard a guess. "That could be anything," she unhelpfully concludes. "It's mashed up. You'd need to get Cameron to look at it under the microscope — he's the geeky botanist. I can identify plants in the wild, but that's…" Cassandra does not like being wrong. She also does not like admitting she doesn't know something, or that someone may know more than she does about Earth's flora and fauna, and so she's swiftly moving on. "They're in English. You can have a look at them, but only if you're gentle. There's not much to see."

Niner lifts his chin in an up-nod of greeting when Morgan looks his way. Yo. He glances back at the dead log, as if he's hoping it will magically unstick itself from all the underbrush it's wedged into. Please? Maybe? "We need ropes," he announces to the clearing as he steps free of the woods. "Like. Miles and miles of ropes."

Cassandra doesn't just hand over her treasure: that would be way too nice. Instead, gently, like she's unswaddling a baby, she unravels the twine that binds the bundle of postcards she's carrying and lifts up the first. She holds it out for both them and for some nearby Delinquents to see, revealing a picture of the resplendent Boston Harbour — not that any of them are likely to recognise it as more than blue water and some lit buildings — then hands it on over to Morgan. On the other side is a faded address, too old to read, and some faint scribbling. One word that can be made out is 'Brother'. The entire thing is in English, though there isn't much of it.

Asher comes out of the dropship and makes his way out into the camp grounds. He's still wearing his own clothing, not Grounder Garb, though he did try to wash some of the blood out of his shirt. He's got his grounder sword slung across his back, his parachute improvised sheath replaced with a proper Grounder sheath. His Grounder axe is slung from some twine attached to his belt. And then there's the rest of his armory, knives and shivs about his person. Asher is also using his spear as a walking stick. Adrenaline carried him through the snake bite to his leg during the battle, but it wasn't that long ago, so he's trying to be smart about how much weight he puts on it.

The draw of Cassandra's postcard show-and-tell pulls Niner in like a moth. He stops nearby, leaning in a little with head cocked to study the postcard for as long as she holds it out for others to see, pale eyes intent with curiosity. "I bet you could see it," he says. "From space, I mean. All those lights."

Morgan takes the postcard and studies it curiously then turns it over to try to read. "Yeah, I bet they could. I wonder if there's any place that has electricity any more. Or again. It's not that hard to make a generator right? If it's manually powered?" Not his field really but basic physics did cover some stuff. "That's really interesting," he says, handing it back to Cassandra.

"We found it on a Grounder," Cass repeats for Niner's benefit when he shows up. She hands him the next card from the top of the pile, this one with an image of the White House, perhaps a more recognisable landmark. Like the one she offered out to Morgan, it bares some faded English writing on the back. She turns at the sight of Asher limping out of the Dropship, raising an eyebrow at his injury and offering him a little upnod in greeting. She doesn't smile, though — although they've had their moments, she isn't sure yet how to approach him. Especially after their moments.

They really could have been something, what with their moments. If it hadn't been for the blood. And the gore. Asher doesn't smile at Cassandra either. Smiling doesn't really seem like his thing. He is much more interested in looming over people, or glaring at them. Cassandra gets a chin jut nod. The others just get a sweeping glare. It's a mild glare though, so that's basically a smile. A glance is spared for the picture… cards. Those he seems to find interesting.

A faint wince passes over Niner's face as he straightens from his postcard-viewing stoop. "No shit?" he says to Cassandra, sounding impressed. "Nice catch." He glances down at himself for a moment, where a dead Grounder's belt is slung across his chest, and plucks at the worn leather. Not nearly as shiny as a bunch of postcards. Colour him envious. "We gotta find a magnet if we're gonna make a generator," he says, making some sort of vague, spinning gesture with his hands. "And then we gotta pull some wire outta the dropship."

Morgan looks over when Asher limps over. "Want me to look at that? Sit down," he suggests, nodding to a spot nearby. "Magnet. Isn't there one on the ship somewhere? Maybe not that big though." Just how a spaceship works is beyond his studies. "Well, something for people to consider."

Cassandra is no techie, so when Niner starts talking about generators and magnets, he may as well be speaking Trigedasleng to her, and she employs a strategy of selective hearing. "What happened to your leg?" she asks Asher as he approaches, taking the chin-jut in place of a mild glare as the beaming smile it's surely meant to be.

A glance is given to Morgan and Asher offers a faint shrug. "Sure." He moves over towards him and sits down in the spot. He doesn't really waste time, rolling up his pant leg. He has some torn fabric wrapped around it. It's damp, though not with excessive amounts of blood, so it's likely just oozing or something. "A huge fuckin' water dragon tried to eat it, remember?" That was only a few days ago. And it was a snake. Or fish. Or river shark. "I had it wrapped up, but that fight didn't do me any favors." Asher looks back to Cassandra as he says that.

Yawn. Quinn seems to have been drifting in and out of things, enough that when she finally wakes up all the way again she realizes that napping in public sucks. She starts to carefully get to her feet and gather up the items that she'd been lounging with.

"Old data disks have magnets. They stuck me on computer refurb in Solitary, sometimes. You could totally make a generator strong enough to start a fire with one. Easy." Cassandra and Niner are definitely on opposite ends of the curiosity spectrum for this topic — as she tunes out, his words are speeding up a little with his own interest. "Maybe the dropship was supposed to record us, or something, and we could…" Belatedly, as he looks back from the dropship to the others nearby, he realizes that the sum of those paying attention is exactly one. Awkward. The rest of his theory trails off to silence. A few moments later, he turns and heads back into the forest. Maybe the firewood magically unstuck itself while he wasn't looking.

Niner should hear Cassandra talk about botany some time. Hoo boy. Or biology in general, or agriculture, or anything Earth Skills related, but right now, she's mellow. Her geek side is politely stashed away. "'Least it didn't succeed," she points out to Asher. That's her, always looking on the bright side of life. When the techie awkwardly and abruptly departs, she turns and gives him what could best be interpreted as a goodbye glance, but nothing verbal.

Morgan heard something about that but he's not the only medic in the camp and assumed someone else took care of it. Definitely going to have to not do that and organize a medical department of sorts. And if anyone calls him Chief as a joke, he's going to beat their ass. "The dropship's not going anywhere. Why don't you take a look and see what's available?" he calls to Niner before turning back to Asher's leg. "Nasty." That's a medical opinion. As Quinn stands up, he nods as she's careful about not stressing her injury and looks back to Asher. "Right. You're very stoic and manly. And not very interested in having two legs, right? Good thing I noticed you limping." He sits back to think about what he's going to need. "Cass, you up to helping? I need a bunch of shit."

"I managed just fine fightin' the Grounders on it," Asher retorts, as if somehow this were a sign of there being nothing wrong. It just hurts. A lot. That's all. "I… I like having two legs," Asher counters. Clearly that was a question, and he answered it really well. Right? "It hurts more since the fight though… I just figured… you know, it'd heal up on its own. It's just some cuts." Asher, tough, and dumb.

The description of Asher as 'very stoic and manly' has Cassandra smirking, and letting out the faintest snort of amusement. Until, that is, she hears her name, in the context she least likes hearing it. Helping? She's allergic to that word, and looks at Morgan with her mouth open to instinctively protest. But she pauses, thinks the better of it, then nods her head. "Sure," she offers, and in the mechanical tone of a robot attempting to run a new program that doesn't quite fit, "What do you need?"

"Several things," Morgan says then looks at Asher. "Give me a knife. Whichever has the sharpest point." Looking back to Cass, he says, "Take the knife and hold it in a fire till it's glowing. Then quench it in boiling water. While it's heating up, boil some cloths I'll need as bandages. Use another cloth to wipe the knife clean after it's cooled off. I could use someone else with medical training. Ruth might be in the medbay which is where you might be able to find some bandages there. Also, did Frankie every get her still working? Alcohol would be a really good idea." Since Asher doesn't seem to have any idea what's wrong, he adds, "It's infected."

That is a lot of stuff… Apparently it is starting to dawn on Asher that maybe he should have let someone treat this. Asher eyes Cassandra for a moment, as in, 'I don't owe you for this, Morgan's doing all the work…' That's a lot for a look to say, but… you know. Asher pulls a wide, flat and sharp looking scrap metal blade with parachute string wrapped around it to make a handle. He holds it out, handle first to Morgan. "I expect that back." Asher is territorial about his arsenal. He's starting to also get the sense that this is going to hurt. A lot. "Infected huh?" he pauses, trying to look at the back of his calf. That's tough to do. "That's not good, then?" Not trained to be a doctor, this one.

The struggle in Cassandra's features is real. Not only is she being asked to help out, but she's being given a long list with instructions. It's so real that maybe she doesn't even catch onto the hint that she's doing it pro bono, because she asks, "Are you going to cauterise the wound? Because I'm not doing that. You can get someone else to do that part." That part, so maybe she isn't backing out entirely. As to the rest of Morgan's questions, her lack of an answer is the best clue to her ignorance.

"You need antibiotics," Morgan tells Asher and sits back to look him in the eye. "Strong antibiotics. We don't even have weak antibiotics. So no, not good. I don't know yet," he tells Cass and takes Asher's knife then extends it to Cassandra. "Ask someone to get the water boiling — remember, 2 different batches — and the knife heating. Those'll take longest. Then you can try to find a medic. And if you see Cam, send him too. Thanks." Pause. "And maybe Grey."

A small fire on the other side of the camp is occupied by an lazily sprawled Ruth. She stuffs berries in her mouth with abandon even as she attempts to fix a hole in her makeshift bag, one leg crossed and the other raised to provide a single armrest. Sitting with her is a redheaded girl who provides idle conversation for the unoccupied ear.

This got very serious very quickly. Luckily, Asher has perpetual 'Whatever' face. Or so he likes to think. Despite his tough guy demeanor, the truth is, this is a lot of seriously disconcerting information being thrown his way. So Asher just nods, frowning a bit at Morgan. "How did it get infected? I wrapped it up. That's what you do with cuts." Duh. He looks again to Cassandra, frown still present. Eyes just a little bit worried now.

With all the attitude this post-pubescent teenager can muster — likely all that she has left — Cassandra turns away with a certain amount of distaste, knife in hand. "I'll make sure it gets back to you," she says to Asher, but she doesn't linger on that worried look, mentally discarding it as soon as she catches it. Here's one woman who has no time for sentiment. And so she wanders off towards various campfires and finds clusters of Delinquents, whom she asks about where to find a medic. One points her towards Ruth, whom she spies by a redhead, but she squints, thanks them for their help, and then moves along again. When yet another one mentions, 'I think I saw Ruth…' out loud, she starts to look downright annoyed. "What about Evie? Or Layla?" But they shake their heads.

"You wrap it with clean cloth," Morgan tells Asher. "And change them when they dirty. Okay, look. Bright side. I don't see any sign of gangrene." Yet. He has yet to clean out the wound. "There's no sign of blood poisoning. You're not likely to lose the leg at this point. Dark side. We don't have any antibiotics. We don't know what the Grounders use in place of antibiotics. And I'm probably going to have to cut some of the flesh away depending on what I find." Pause. In case the implication wasn't clear, he adds "It's going to hurt. A lot."

Cameron has a shirt again, finally! It's a tank top, not totally dissimilar to his original, but its not really his size. Its probably not cutting off the blood supply, so he's not going to lose his arms, but it might be a close thing. Hanging at one side is his captured grounder sword, in a makeshift sling form some spare string, and tucked into his belt is his jagged knife-substitute. He's managed to clean up, more or less, even if that took something of an adventure and half his water ration, but it makes him look less like a teenage mutant swamp thing. He's wandering in from the forests beyond, carrying some foraged stuff in his shirt, which is pulled up to double as a temporary sack (he's not at all showing off his belly button, no; that's incidental). Glancing around, he heads for the food tent first, to drop off his meager collection.

Unlike Cameron, Ruth still apparently hasn't had the chance to properly clean up. She's been doing so by flaking off blood and dirt and other miscellaneous things from her clothing and hair all day; obviously not the most hygienic option, but she's obviously had other things on her mind. "You're up in the dropship in just a few," she reminds the redheaded girl as she scoots a bit closer to the fire, bag placed down on her leg with no shortage of agitation with the task at hand. "I've been practicing." She indicates the fire with a jut of her chin. "I'll be able to make it to the river without losing my fire."

Sitting next to Morgan, his pant leg rolled up and his infected calf from the water snake bite is exposed in all its smelly, oozing glory. Cassandra's attitude seems to be reassuring to him. He goes back to his stern, stoic expression and looks back to Morgan. "Alright, just do what you gotta do man." He sounds confident… Sort of.

Ruth is Cassie's last resort. The very last, by far; if there were other options, she'd have gone and found them, but nope, she's now heading towards the girl who gave her the red bruise on her jaw, knife in hand. In fact, with the look she wears, though it isn't different from the one she usually reserves for Ruth, it would be easy to believe that she means to dole out some payback. She stops short in front of the campfire despite this, outside of stabbing range. "Morgan and Asher need a medic," she announces. "You're helping. Fetch some bandages and boil some water on the fire. Grey's authorised me to stab you in the throat if you don't."

Having deposited the food, Cameron comes over to where Morgan and Asher are, looking between them a moment, his expression questioning. But then he gets sight of the wound, and he winces. "Anything you need me to do, Mor?" he asks, voice calm and steady. Stuff needs doing, emotions turned down to low. That's Cam.

Grey authorized no such thing, but he's probably okay with his name being used to get people to cooperate. Said not-quite-authorizer of throat-stabbings is coming back into camp now, dressed in his newly-claimed Grounder shirt and carrying a Grounder sword, a Grey spear, and no food for the pot. The collection of Delinquents standing and sitting around Asher draws the eye, and he turns his frustrated steps in that direction, chewing on the nail of his left middle finger as he approaches.

"You'll be fine," Morgan assures Asher. Eventually. When Cam shows up, he smiles, looking relieved. "Oh, Cam. Good timing." He picks up the leaf he took from Quinn's poultice. "Ever see this before? Try to figure out what it is and where we can find some. I'll also need you to help hold Asher down." That should be reassuring to the man. "Hopefully Cass find Grey so he can… walk up behind you. Grey," he calls. "Over here."

Ruth doesn't notice Cassandra's approach until the redheaded girl nudges her before scampering off towards the dropship as she's bid; a wonderful friend, to leave Ruth to potential murder. The girl left behind doesn't seem to mind the desertion or be surprised, either. Like attracts like. She neglects to rise herself, simply popping another berry in her mouth with an exaggerated scowl. "You and Grey can go float yourself," she grouses with a glance towards Asher and Morgan. "Just because you kill one guy doesn't make you some sort of authority." After looking over a rather wrinkly berry that she was about to pop into her mouth, she tosses it into the small flame instead with a disgusted flick. "Bring me something to boil the water in."

Asher doesn't seem overly reassured. He watches as Cam is asked to get a leaf. And then he eyes the other boy. "Uh… Yer gonna need more than that kid to hold me down." And then there's Grey. That's good. Sort of. Asher isn't going to like this. He has a strong fight reflex. What's worse than anything at this point is all the people that have gotten involved. Asher's going to have to be… nice. Ish. Niceish. He won't punch them for a day. That seems fair.

I killed two, actually. It's on the tip of her tongue. To cheerfully acknowledge her wrongs is always the easiest course for disreputable Cassandra, but as Ruth is being cooperative, she restrains her often unpredictable behavior for now and turns away, obedient, towards the Cook tent. She spots Cameron talking to Morgan on her way, but as Grey isn't quite there yet, she makes it a point to walk past him. "Morgan needs you," is all she says, without stopping. She makes no mention of having exploited his good name by dragging it in the muck, but eventually returns with two pots: the cooking pot, rinsed out, with the food presumably set aside elsewhere for now to account for emergency, and a spare but less shapely, smaller one made from scrap metal.

Cameron reaches out to take the leaf from Morgan and hold it up, looking closely, studying it thoughtfully. "I haven't seen it before, but it's a water plant — so I'll go scout along the river tomorrow and see if I can find more. Look for a place where the river's calm, chances are it grows there. Looks like its been processed quite a bit to get it into a patch form, duplicating that will be tough. But we can figure something out," says Cam seriously, a hint of energy entering his voice — that's something right up his alley. He pauses. "Can I keep it for comparison, or do you need it now?" That said, he moves to crouch near Asher, looking a little skeptical at this 'keeping him down' business, himself, but he crouches over and is prepared to sorta basically sit on the dude's arm/shoulder if need be.

Grey shrugs as he catches the last of Morgan's words, walking up behind Cameron and inquiring, "Now what?" Trying to force aside his brooding scowl, Grey gives Cameron a friendly sort of shove in the shoulder, then moves around to the other side of Morgan and Asher, looking down at the big man's leg. "What the hell did you do to yourself, Asher?" Shaking his head slightly at Asher's warning, he grins, "We could always just choke you the hell out, Asher. I remember the Guard training on choke-holds." There's a grin behind the words, and he immediately shakes them off. "That looks nasty as hell. You got this, Morgan?"

When Cassandra provides the pot, Ruth provides the flame. Despite her initial reaction to the girl's approach, she is diligent to the task. She does, however, keep watch just in case that knife gets a bit too friendly in her palm. Once the water inside the pot is suitably heated, she stands with every ounce of care she can muster. Water is something the camp really can't afford to waste. "Here," she offers to Cass, holding out the pot with a white-knuckled grip on the handle. "Take it, quickly," she urges. "I have some bandages in my bag."

"I've got this," Morgan tells Grey. "Using stones and sticks and, hopefully, plants. You need to get him though," he says, nodding toward Asher. "I'm going to be cutting, you and Cam need to hold him down so he doesn't kick me or make me cut him." He looks around for anyone else who might help then looks back to Asher. "Ok, on your stomach Asher. Hopefully the knife, hot water and bandages will be here soon. Someone get him something to bite down on."

Cameron moves back again, now that he hears this is an Ash on the stomach thing, and nods, otherwise going quiet. He knows how to kinda keep someone from dying right after their hurt, all this stuff about keeping someone going later on is news to him. So he just makes himself ready for the moment, calm and patient.

The true purpose of the weapon in Cassandra's hand is revealed when she instructs Ruth to split the water into the two pots and boil the bandages, but it's a little touch-and-go there. First she crouches down to stick Asher's sharp, sharp knife into the flame until it glows red hot, intently watching the blue-eyed teen heat up the water — likely doing wonders for her intimidation act. But exactly like Morgan told her to, she then quenches it in one of the untainted water pots to sterilise it, and tips her head on over towards the small group surrounding the ruffian's festering bite-wound. "Take the pot with the bandages with you. Try not to spill it all over yourself. I'll take this one."

A grimace lines Asher's features and he narrows his gaze when Morgan tells him to roll over. This is already starting off poorly. "I could lose the leg, huh?" He seems to be considering it before he sighs and he starts to shift around. "This is fuckin' humiliating," he states sourly at Grey. "You best hold on tight. I can't promise I won't start fightin'." Maybe a choke hold would be good here. And so Asher lays on his stomach and takes one of his shivs with a wrapped grip, putting it between his teeth. Apparently he's as ready as he's going to be.

A dirty look is granted Cassandra as she bids her take the pot, her nose wrinkling a touch. "You think this is my first time boiling water?" she challenges. She'd probably bat her hair behind her shoulders, as is signature, if she weren't holding the pot with such dual-handed care. "I repeat: float yourself." With that sentiment granted, she roll-steps over to those gathered around Asher. "Move," she says a bit harshly to those both in her way and not essential to Asher's immediate health.

Cameron glances back at Ruth, tilts his head slightly and arches a brow just so. It's, for a brief moment, an essscuuuse-moi expression, clearly readable on his features. But, without saying anything, he shifts over out of the way, then moves back in to prepare to apply the whole er, 'mass' of his weight to bearing down Asher.

"Not if you do what I say," Morgan answers. "One of you sit on his upper leg, one of you grab his ankle to hold the leg steady." He can do some prep work while everyone else does their thing and tears open the pant leg further to give him a good working area. After a look, he grabs one of Asher's shivs to just cut the pant leg off completely at the knee and uses the cloth to clean up the area and part of the wound. It hurts but is just a precursor. He's obviously not worrying about dirt at this point. "Did anyone make soap yet?" Since Cass didn't know if Frankie finished her still, there must be no booze. The entire camp would have celebrated booze.

For the purposes of carrying the second, smaller pot without melting the skin off her hands, Cassandra goes ahead and takes off her shirt, wrapping it around the handles. The drab grey sports bra she has underneath offers little in the way of a show, especially given rationing on the Ark, but who knows, maybe it'll serve as a form of painkiller in the absence of booze. Her postcards are stashed into her Grounder-made bag, and she soon follows after Ruth to arrive in front of the crowd. "Wasn't sure if you wanted this water," she tells Morgan when she sets the pot down, glancing from Asher to his exposed, oozing leg. "Who do I hand the knife to?"

Grey waits until Asher rolls over, then kneels by the man's right shoulder. "Maybe next time, you won't be a big baby about lettin' someone look at it." He jerks his head in the direction Cassandra wandered off in. "Get your girlfriend to do it." Is there something a little bitter there? Maybe a little. He shifts his weight, starting to put his knee into the back of Asher's shoulder, and then Morgan speaks up again, and he shrugs, shifting down to grab the larger man's ankle. "If you punch me while I'm trying to help you, Asher, so help me God, I'll heat my club up and shove it up your ass." He sounds like he's joking. Mostly.

Cameron moves over to carefully sit himself on Asher's upper leg, pushing down on his lower back at the same time to try to make it so the guy can't leverage himself up. "This is reminding me eerily of those mechanical buffalo I read about in a story. Something done in a bar in old earth." This is said with a bit of a dubious tone of voice, too. He glances over at Grey, gives a quick grin and a good luck thumbs up, then prepares to brace.

Ruth watches without a word, crouching down with pot and bandages in hand to observe Morgan's process. "I don't remember hearing about that in Earth Studies," she notes dryly to Cameron, then falling silent.

Hanne has no idea what is happening when she comes stepping cautiously out of the dropship with Quinn. She is a bit flummoxed by what is happening on the grounds, particularly when there's talks of punching Asher, or sticking something up Asher's butt, and something about mechanical buffalo, which sounds very counterproductive to Hanne. She hesitates at the bottom of the ramp, looking at Quinn quizzically. "Get the feeling we missed something?"

Asher merely growls at Grey. "Who the fuck you talkin 'bout." He grumbles further and looks over at Grey with a scowl. "Fuck off," he follows that up with. He considers, "Ok… before you get too stabby back there Doc, I'm gonna make sure these two actually got me held down good, alright?" He pauses and puts his arms into a pushup position. "If I can get loose before he starts really hurtin' me, I'm gonna hurt someone when he really goes at it." A beat pause and he replies to Cameron, "You callin me a big dum animal?"

"Hang onto it for now," Morgan says to Cass as he inspects the wound. With a lot of the gunk, blood and dirt wiped off, he can see exactly what he's facing. "I'm going to need a second knife," he decides. No alcohol, no soap, no antiseptic, antibiotic plants. "Treated the same way as the first but then held in the fire to get good and hot. But not quenched." Meaning he's going to go the cauterized route to be safe. Asher trying to get free gives them time to prepare.

"I always get that feeling," Quinn replies to Hanne as she starts to head down the ramp, the progress pretty slow going, but she's at least up and mobile for the moment. She glances towards Hanne, giving her one of those looks meant to be heavy with meaning, but likely just comes off as weird and creepy, then she begins to head towards Grey and Asher.

Cameron reaches behind him and pulls out his makeshift knife. "This is the best I have, unless anyone has one of the grounder knives?" He glances left-right. That said, to Asher he says, "Yep," in a voice that's almost cheerful.

"Me neither," a shirtless Cassandra admits dubiously to Cameron. "And I had the worst Earth Studies teacher, believe me." Believe me indeed. Until she got him floated, plenty of people liked the guy, which is by and large why many people disliked her. "You heard the man," she then says to Ruth, nodding her way when Morgan makes mention of a second knife. Couldn't he have said that earlier? At Asher's indignity, she leans forward to assure him, "He called you a big dangerous animal. That's what he meant." The unhelpful Cameron gets a look.

"Who ever said the buffalo was dumb?" Grey nods slowly as Asher gets into push-up position. "Do what you gotta do, man. Let's just get on with it." And then he gets back to the important topic. "And your girlfriend. Cassandra, right? Boner. From the fight. She got real fond of your spear, right?" He hasn't noticed the DoomGirls yet, his attention focused on the monster with the dyed hair.

Hanne has become very used to weird and creepy after three years in The Box, so she doesn't seem terribly set off by it. She does quickly fall into step behind Quinn, shadowing her like a little sister. She frowns as she gets near, and her brows arch high above her brown eyes. "What… what are you guys doing?" Then her eyes focus on Grey, and her throat gives a little jump.

Asher grunts and shoves against the ground, pushing hard, a vein on his forehead popping out as he tries to pushing them off. Asher's strong, but then so is Grey. It looks like the two of them together manage to keep Asher from really being able to budge. He exhales loudly and gives up that fight. "Good, I ain't gettin out of this." Hopefully it doesn't get worse with adrenaline. His gaze flickers to Cassandra at Grey's words, and it lingers. "Ain't nothin' goin' on," he says flatly, but he's mesmerized by the uniboob of the sports bra. "Let's just get this shit over with."

"Morgan is performing surgery, something something infected something," explains Cameron to Hanne. "Honestly I don't know, it doesn't involve first aid so it's not my field. I'm riding an Asher in a completely nonsexual way to try to keep him from killing Morgan when Morgan cuts into him without anesthesia, because that's going to hurt. Wanna help? Everyone, pile. Also I read about the buffalo in the fiction section, not earth studies. Sheesh." He, the Explainer in Chief.

"Keep talking," Cassie advises Grey. It's a good thing he hasn't noticed her yet, because she comes up from behind to deliver that line directly into his ear. "I'll drive that spear straight into your arsehole. No need to get jealous." Did the scrawny little ES geek just threaten the burly ex-C with physical discipline? Oh yes, she did. Perfectly conscious of the uniboob mesmerisation, as women always are, she leaves the shirt off — despite no longer needing it as an insulator to carry the boiling pan.

Grey manages to hold down Asher's lower leg despite his twitching and pulling, although he does have to duck back at one point to avoid Asher's other leg. The look to Cassandra's chest by Asher is followed, and he blinks once. "Morgan, I got a new idea for keeping guys distracted during surgery." And then Hanne's query causes his eyes to dart up, and he looks to her, then to Quinn, and then back to Hanne, clearing his throat before he explains, "Asher was a dumbass and let a cut," or a giant lamprey bite, you know, "get infected." It's the same description as Cameron gave, but a lot more on-point in Grey's view. He shrugs a little helplessly at Cassie, "Hey. I'm just tryin' to keep him distracted. Totally your business what you decide to do with his spear. Unless it happens in camp. Then it's everybody's business."

"Why not just knock him upside the head?" Quinn questions as they approach whatever the hell is happening. Cameron's explanation only partially illuminating the situation. She glances at Cassandra, a brow flicking upwards just a fraction, eyes narrowing before she looks back at Grey. "Stick a stick in his mouth, knees on his hands. It'll keep him from screaming too much, or breaking his teeth." She read that somewhere, or saw it. Something.

Ruth spares a glance towards Cassandra, her mouth twisted rather angrily. She breathes swiftly out through her nose in a half-scoff, gathering her hair back behind her shoulders. She mutters something about shameless whores.

Hanne just frowns deeply when Grey looks at her, the expression alone may conveying more than words. She looks over at Quinn at her words, and she nods slightly. She doesn't attempt to help or intervene, however. Too many docs in that operating room, so she just waits to see how this all shapes out.

As everyone gets into position, Morgan washes his hands with some water. Beggars can't be choosers and he has to make do. At least he can use a boiled piece of cloth after though which he then uses to clean off Asher's leg. Any germs from that pale in comparison to what's in the wound. And then taking the sterilized knife, he punctures the leg where it's been scabbed over, letting a mixture of blood and pus flow out. As disgusting as that is, it gets worse from there. Morgan has to cut some of the tissue away that's too badly infected since there's no way to actually kill the germs. He flushes the wound several times with water that's just short of scalding and goes back to cleaning it out with the knife. Fortunately, it's not too deep; it spread outwards more than inwards which is a very good thing since it means it didn't get in the blood. And since there's no antibiotics, not antiseptics, no way to sterilize anything and not even any sutures to close up the wound, he takes the handle of the glowing hot knife. "This is going to hurt," he warns Asher. If he feels the need to say something now after what just happened… He presses the glowing blade of the knife across the open wound. The sizzle of flesh is less nauseating than the smell of seared flesh and charred leg hair. But it's done.

Cameron does less good with keeping Asher down then Grey did, but his weight had to help some, right? His eyes are a little bit wild: this is a rather new experience for him. Usually, wrestling is a mutually entertaining activity as far as he's concerned. "Is it just me or are we all a very interested in sticking foreign objects up people's butts lately?" He pauses. "Wait I didn't mean I did, too." Pause. "Then — never mind." And Morgan begins. Cameron looks over his shoulder a bit, and pales, because, whoa. That's pretty gross. But he also looks impressed, at the same time. Aaand then there's a time of a lot more struggling with Asher in an attempt to keep him down.

People often think they know what pain feels like. Asher has been beaten by his alcoholic father more times than he can count. He's been burned and cut. He got bit in the leg by a huge water snakedragonshark. It was really huge. Point is, he's felt pain. All of that pales in comparison to what happens to him here and now. He'd placed the wrapped handle of one of his shivs into his mouth, but his hands were free, so when the first cut happens he slams his fists into the ground in pain, growling against the shiv handle. As the cuts get deeper, broader and more of his skin is cut away his attempts get weaker. Pain takes a lot out of you. Tears definitely move down his cheeks, trailing against the dirt stained there and smearing it, though he doesn't drop the shiv out of his mouth. Uniboob only seemed to help in the very beginning, after the cutting he barely had enough left in him to stare. And then comes to burn. This time he opens his mouth in a noiseless scream, the shiv falling to the ground. He strains against Camgrey, but to no actual effect. Most of the fight is gone from him at this point. He huffs slowly, taking small, shallow breaths, but appears to be mostly passed out at this point.

Quinn glances over at Hanne, a brow lifting upwards at her before she turns back to watch the activity with strange passivity. She did warn them about the hands! "Grey, when you're done I need a favor." She assumes that he heard, because she turns around, moving to bypass the rest of this to go find herself a place to sit to deal with her own bundle of pain and exhaustion. Assuming that Hanne follows, a place for her to sit as well.

Cassandra does not deal well with the sight of blood, even a little blood. She is extra squeamish tonight, which is somewhat odd considering she saw a lot worse last night when she actually killed human people. She grimaces, bites her lip and ducks her head into her shoulder while Morgan plays doctor (literally, rather than of the variety that involves shoving things into orifices, despite the mad banter) and does her best to drown out both the sight of skin being cut and Asher's muffled sounds of pain from around the handle of his shiv.

"Because I'm wearing the shirt and sword of the last person I did that to, Q." Grey buckles down as Morgan gets to work, "Damn, man… that shit smells nasty." And they haven't even gotten to the burned flesh part. He has to focus on keeping Asher down and keeping the big man's free leg from kicking him. He does, however, nod up toward where Asher has the hilt of one of his shivs to bite down on. And then the glowing blade is coming in, and Grey leans as far away as he can while still keeping pressure down on Asher's leg, and… yup, it smells just as bad as he'd heard. Probably worse. Disgust is clear on his face, and he goes a little grey under his chestnut skin. "Ugh. Nope, that smells worse. Way, way worse." Finally, it's done, and he straightens up, giving Asher a light slap on the unwounded calf. "That'll do, Asher, that'll do." Wait, he's seen Babe, and not Singin' in the Rain or Princess Bride? Some astronaut has a lot of explaining to do. Standing up again, he looks from Quinn to Hanne, Quinn to Hanne, and then he's nibbling on a fingernail again. "So. Favor." He's wary now, but at least he's not thinking about the completely useless hunting trip he just finished.

Cameron has to breathe slow and careful after all of that, a bit wide eyed. Once its over, it takes him a bit to remember he really doesn't need to be sitting on Asher anymore. For however long that took, staying sitting on Asher was like the most important thing in the world. Finally, he shifts over, and sorta does this pat pat thing on Asher's shoulder. "You did good, man." Then he looks to Morgan, smiles his small smile. "You did good, too." And he looks to Grey, and gives him a respectful nod which is all sorta like laced with meaning. What meaning is there is anyones guess, a sort of shared camaraderie of going through crazy shit together might be implied. Or he's just looking weird at Grey. Depends on how good one is at reading faces. Then he's standing up, and brushing off his knees. The blood and pus didn't really bother him, nor did the smell. Or at least, if it did, he hid it behind the steady, cool, getting-work-done face he wore to go kill people. Same face, different place.

And indeed, Hanne follows. She doesn't sit immediately, half-entranced with what is going on with Asher and crude medical procedures. But then she slumps on into a displaced dropship chair and draws her knee up toward her chest as she considers Grey. When he comes nearer to them, the nerd tries to hide her own wary interest in what favor Quinn is about to drop on Grey.

"Yes," Morgan agrees, nodding to Cam. "It's what I trained for." Not that he ever really did any doctoring like this since there were real doctors on the Ark and he was just a criminal. He only learned it because it was interesting and honored his father, not because he ever thought he'd use it. He'd be dead. Reaching up, he checks Asher's pulse then nods. "He should be kept warm and covered with lots of blankets. He can have lots of willow tea for the pain and given some as soon as he can concentrate enough to swallow.

Silas comes stepping out and from the dropship, his brows furrowed as he holds his hide in his hands and he stares at it in a trouble manner. "I don't suppose we found any mo —" he begins, before he looks up and lets his eyes widen as he watches the emptying and cauterizing of Asher's injuries. He blinks once, staring as he watches everything going down and begins to quietly step along and over to watch from the sidelines, his brows furrowing as he purses his lips and turns somewhat pale at the sight.

He quietly brings the hide around him, a rather stinky thing as he ties it at his front. The smell prompts a slight gag from Silas, making him take a few long steps back as he furrows his brow and lets his right hand come over to pinch his nose. "Fuck…" he grunts, as he watches everything going down, before he simply looks around at those present. "Do we have any fresh animal hides?" he asks, his right brow slowly rising somewhat as he looks around somewhat uncomfortably at the rest of the group. His thumb comes over to point at the hide he has right now. "I kinda fucked up with this one…"

"Hanne and I need a place to sleep outside the dropship, and I'm not in any condition to try building even the shittiest of shelters," Quinn lays the favor out to Grey with all the class she doesn't have. "You think that you might be able to help out?" She then glances towards the Asher party, then back to Grey. "How'd he cut himself, anyways?"

"Dolphin," Cassandra answers Quinn, simple and straight to the point. Because the question has already been answered a dozen times, and no one really knows what that giant water snake-eel-thing was; but the Earth Skills enthusiast happens to know that dolphins exist, and as no one else has mentioned them yet, she feels it is her duty to sound smart by referencing an obscure animal. So long, and thanks for all the fish.

Glancing about, Cameron brushes his hands on his pants, and notices Silas enter, so he heads over to him, glancing at the hide. "What'd you do to it?" He pauses, then adds, "I mean, tomorrow my #1 job is the water plant, but I can keep an eye out for a deer, if I can find one. I've taken one down myself once before. I didn't know we were saving the hides." He pauses, then adds, "Though that makes sense. I just have no idea how you'd… uh, process? It? Into leather. Or something else useful. Botanist." A gesture to himself with a quick grin.

<FS3> Asher rolls Brawn-1: Success.

Oh, that was what Quinn wanted. Hanne actually relaxes a touch, and she looks to Grey with a small tip of her head. "Doesn't have to be anything great, but something with, you know… walls, a roof, and a point of entry would be nice." At least Hanne has maintained a hint of wit despite recent days. There is a short pause from Hanne, and then she releases a slow exhale, fixing Grey with an oblique look. "And… we should talk."

So, Asher has a tent set up somewhere. Like most of the brawner kids, he was quick to take what he wanted and set himself up. Unfortunately his attempts to move are pretty lame. He tries to push himself up, and while it is slow going, he manages to at least stay awake and keep his face out of the dirt. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…" he mutters in a long, drawn out breath. With a sigh and a weak, fumbling gesture, he manages to grab his shiv that he'd been biting down on. He isn't going to get anywhere on his own, but he has a knife in hand, which is how he likes it.

Grey doesn't hesitate, although he does provide a verbal jab first. "I'm gettin' put out of my own tent? What the hell, man?" Granted, neither of the people he's talking to is a man, but, you know. Shrugging slightly and looking between Hanne and Quinn, he adds, "My tent's big enough for two to live in, but not three. I can probably get enough material for someone else to build me another one. A smaller one." The 'answer' to Quinn's question from Cassandra gets a gesture in her direction, indicating that Grey certainly doesn't know any more than that. Hanne uses the worst words in the teenage language, and he shrugs a little, tension seeping into his shoulders and neck. "Yeah. Sure. Whenever." He glances to Quinn, his slightly-widened eyes desperately asking if this is a good thing or a bad.

"Your tent?" Quinn might not actually have been asking for that, but she's not going to say no, either. She just accepts with with a shrug of her own, glancing in Cassandra's direction to just give her an incredulous look. "Really?" She's totally going to buy it. Horses are real, why can't dolphins? She then turns her attention to the Hanne/Grey issue, and she gives him a faint twitch of her shoulders, perhaps not sure if it's good or bad yet either.

The mentioning of dolphins offers some staring from Silas. He's smirking, and looks rather amused by the statement before he looks over to Quinn shortly after. "Really, it was probably some form of snake. A dolphin has a fin, doesn't it? I didn't see a fin," quietly adds Silas, looking back to Cassandra with a shrug. When Cameron speaks up about keeping an eye out for deer, he simply nods. "I tried making this into leather… But to be completely honest, I think I skipped some things. But I know another method aside from modern tanning, but I wanted to avoid it 'cause uh, it's kinda gross. If you can get me a deer — I'll also need it's liver and brain. Not really intact, but just in general. And we'll need them preserved enough that I can use them to help prepare it. It's… Gross, like I said, but yeah." Silas quietly looks up as Hanne and Quinn talk about shelters, and Silas shrugs. "If we can get enough water, we could start making mud huts. And then we could make ovens, which would be useful," he says, his right hand coming back to scratch the back of his neck. Silas also looks down to Asher, and seems like he's moving over to offer a hand — but looks about as confident in the action as would a rabbit threatening a wolf, and still looks thoroughly confused about what he walked in on.

Hanne blinks when Grey seems to suggest them all living together, but he spares himself further rejection when he continues. She offers a small nod and even smaller smile of thanks at his offer, but she lets Quinn handle the ultimate deal making — or as ultimate as Quinn manages. She starts to pull herself out of her chair despite just sitting in it a moment ago. "Well, I'll go pack up my stuff." Beat pause. "No hanging herbs," she promises Quinn. There's another pause, and she regards Grey. "Wanna help me?" You know, move my one makeshift bag of stuff that I can totally carry on my own.

Well, with the surgery over, Cassandra has no more excuses and has the decency to pull her shirt back on. She retrieves Asher's knife from Morgan and holds it to one side, away from her body, to prevent it from burning anyone else, even including Ruth. The girl just got back from possibly being tortured by Grounders; she deserves a break. Quinn gets a nod, and she backs it up with, "I'm pretty certain." She doesn't offer the injured, staggering man any words, but she does patiently gesture with her hand forward for him to get up, and indicates that she'll help, if needed. She nonetheless lingers just an inch or two far enough away that Silas can get there first.

Cameron pauses, realizing that Asher was all, 'fuuuuuck', and that Morgan had some last minute instructions. He winces slightly, but its a is very mild. He's not really bothered, his expression is more like he forgot where he put his keys. Still, though. He gestures at Silas, gestures at Asher, and goes over to grab an arm and help lug the big guy up. That said, he glances sideways at Silas. "Man, I bring the deer here. I do not do anything with the deer. I do not skin it. I do not divvy up its parts. I assume Cookie is not using its liver or brain, but I do not make any promises, but if you want first claim, you can have first claim, but, seriously here, and I'm not kidding — you're handling it. I am a botanist. It's enough I sneak up on it slit its throat, then drag-carry it back. A deer is heavy and I'm not that big of a guy. Any… harvesting is not in my job description."

Grey shrugs at Quinn's question, her own noncommittal response to his silent query not exactly reassuring. "Everywhere else has people livin' it it. I don't think I can get enough material to make another big tent." He shrugs again, perhaps even a little uncomfortable by the relative largesse of what he's offering. "It's just a tent. I'll crash in the dropship until I can get someone else to put together a new one for me." Hanne's invitation-slash-olive branch causes him to shrug again. "Sure. Gimme a sec." And then he's moving over to collect his spear again, back again in really just a couple of secs. "You musta been collecting a ton of stuff to need a hand. You been holdin' out on us, Keats?" He's trying to joke, his smile broad, but it's a little forced.

"Uh huh." Quinn replies, letting Hanne and Grey wander off to go do whatever they need to do. She's perfectly content to just sit here, and resume her laziness. Even if right now it's pretty much an imposed laziness.

"I have to," Hanne replies, the quip coming naturally. "You are all a bunch of greedy bastards." She starts back to the dropship, hands back in her pocket with a kind of subdued quality. She does glance back toward Quinn, giving her a quick and thankful smile. Then she's heading up the ramp.

The shirt being put back on is noticed by Asher and he just eyes Cassandra with as much of a smirk as he can muster. It's kind of half grimace. "I think I like you better with the shirt off." At least he isn't limited to just the word 'fuck' anymore? He eyes Silas and the hand he offers. The lack of confidence doesn't seem to inspire much in Asher and then there's Cassandra's offered hand, but she too has kept her distance. He is starting to get up on his own, but Cameron's help is accepted. "Just get me to my fuckin' tent," he says, to basically anyone who is helping him move at this point.

<FS3> Cameron rolls Brawn+brawn: Good Success.

"She says to the guy giving up his tent for her." And Quinn, but Grey's either too smart or too focused to say that. And then he's off after her, giving Quinn a wave, and a nod to those still helping poor Asher-the-temporarily-lame.

A quiet chuckle rises from Silas. "Alright, alright fine — just bring it to me and I'll gut it and get what I need and give the meat to Chef Cookie-ardee. That way I can try and make us some bone needles anyways," says Silas as he begins leaning down and moves to grab the opposite arm from the one Cameron, but Asher instead simply employs the help of only Cameron. When Silas hears the words, "You're all a bunch of —" followed by "— greedy bastards" from Hanne, he shoots her a quiet glance. "Well I guess no matter all of the stuff I try and bring in I can at least fit in," he says aloud, but mostly to himself as the people begin to disperse. Silas looks back and over to Asher and Cameron — and while he was somewhat blown off by Asher, he moves to see if he can forcibly wriggle his way in on assisting, with somewhat feigned confidence in not totally making Asher scream in pain. Not like he knows how hurt and where he's hurt.

"Me too," Cass retorts to Asher's half-smirk, half-grimace, with mostly the former on her part. Then again, she hasn't just had red hot steel pressed to a festering wound. She remains wary of helping him directly, especially once two burlier delinquents step in to haul him up by either arm. "I'll drop this by in the morning," she promises, waving the blade in a 'goodbye' gesture. "Once it's less likely to sear your skin off."

"Don't be gentle, Sil. Dude got a red hot knife pressed into his leg. He might decide to collapse, then I'll collapse, and I'll take that personal like and blame you both. Grab his arm and make him go. He'll bitch tomorrow or say thank you or pretend none of it happened, I don't care which." Cameron's voice is firm, but there's a flash of a grin that shows a hint of dimples on his feature as he does so. He nods, anyways, "Come on, to your tent," to Asher, and then over him to Silas, "Hey, YOU any good at hunting? I've been trying to organize classes. We need to come together and share our knowledge and to some group-teach things, because too many of us lack basic skills. Defense, survival, evasion. We can't rely on friends, don't get me wrong, I like friends, but we have to be able to do for ourself to pull our own weight, and that means no one can't carry themselves at least in a basic way."

Asher may have been less than inspired by Silas's initial attempt, but he doesn't actually stop him from helping. He's not entirely dead weight, but he doesn't have his wits about him really. Still, he manages towards Cassandra, "Don't make me come lookin for it…" in a drawl, sounding like he's nearly drunk. Once they get him to his tent, he collapses into one of the chairs he'd taken from the dropship and passes out there basically immediately.

Silas looks over towards Cameron as he speaks about not being gentle, his eyes flitting over towards Asher somewhat with pursed lips and furrowed brows, looking back to Cam and nodding. He quietly grunts as he pushes against Asher somewhat, pulling one of his arms around his shoulders and applying his weight to let himself be leaned upon as he moves to help guide Asher along and to his tent. He looks back as he hears Cassandra talking, blinking as he mutters to Asher. "Guess she's the robin to your batman," he jokes to the injured man. Probably earning an annoyed grunt, chuckling for a moment before he's addressed by Cameron. "Uh, I'm not the best at hunting from afar, but I'm decent up close. I'm better at making stuff, I guess. And tracking, too," he says as he helps Asher over and into his tent before he grunts, moving to step out. "I mean — I can help teach people how to make and prepare necessities though, if you want. And maybe how to improve some stuff. But beyond that, not too much I can do."

Was that a challenge? Cassandra decides to take it as a challenge. She doesn't return that knife in the morning, but that's a thing for the drunk-seeming, post-surgery ruffian to worry about later. With the boys carrying their compatriot off, she decides that her duties to Morgan are done, makes a mental note to avoid this sort of thing in future, and heads off in the other direction, towards a rather small tent that's situated right by Cole's mounting wall.

After Asher is settled in his tent, with not perhaps the most gentle dropping as far as Cameron is concerned, the young man brushes his hands together and turns to Silas. "Well, hunting up close is good. Don't underestimate your skills, man. Tracking is important: I'm poor at tracking, but I'm quiet as a fly, that helps. Don't hedge and doubt, look in and figure out what you can do and figure out what you can do you've never thought of doing before." He shrugs, grinning suddenly, broadly, such that his dimples show. "It's hard, I know. Believe me. I taught myself evasion in the Ark, and this ground with its uneven earth and tiny sticks that make tremendous noise… and yet, there's no echo here. How crazy is that? But I adapt. You'll adapt. We'll get you your hides, liver, brains, whatever. We need material, that's essential. God, do you know what I'd trade for a sack? Something to carry stuff in? A blowjob to suck the blood out of someone's toes, easy." Pause. "Except I'm taken now, so I need to find something else to trade. The point is, if you can make stuff, that's invaluable. That's not 'not too much', Sil. That's the start of civilization."

Looking back as he slips out of Asher's tent and begins back towards the camps center, Silas nods as he listens to Cameron's words. He brings his arms over and stretches overhead with a quiet grunt before sighing, shrugging. "I'm really only putting everything I learned up there into action now. It was frustrating reading all this interesting stuff on Earth Skills and history and not being able to really try out any of the practical stuff. Sure there's Agro and stuff, but I was all interested in making stuff. Like obsidian arrowheads, and primitive furnaces — hell, maybe even trying out blacksmithing. Now I can do that — and I've kinda got to if I wanna survive and not get shit on for being useless," he says, nodding.

"If you can help me out with becoming sneakier though, that'd be awesome. I can track, but I'll be giving myself away quite a bit when I go out and try to hunt." Silas tilts his head to the side, stopping as he reaches his usual stump and sits down upon it, reaching back and taking out a bark-fiber sling. "I can teach you how to make stuff in return, as well as making and preparing some things," he says, putting the knot in his palm and the loop of the sling around his thumb as he quietly swings it around a bit with the empty pouch. "And if you need a sack…" says Silas, he stops and slips his sling back into his pocket and unties the half horribly tanned hide and balls it up before tossing it to Cam. "Get someone to sew that," he says with a nod. "It's big enough to be made into a fairly decent sack. Nothing else it can be really used for either way."

It's that blonde girl that few, if anyone knows. Jamie? Jules? Jackie? Julie? Whatever. When she was brought aboard the lander she looked to be in a complete panic and totally lost when one of the guards slapped a note into her hand. She'd never been to the box before and few people probably recognized her in passing. Pretty without being super memorable. When the lander left she didn't handle it well and cried quietly. During the debriefing she passed out. Since then she's mostly been looking after a girl about three or four years younger — though the blonde looks early into 17 or so. Mostly they keep to themselves and try to eke out their own, but it's getting harder to not interact. She steps out of the lander and hugs the light jacket around her, looking for a fire. It is rare to see her without the younger tween by her side.

"There's not a day went by in the Ark that I didn't dream of being free on earth, Silas. Not a day. I'd have volunteered if Jaha his Fucking Highness had asked instead of demanding. I get that, seriously, I do. There's no useless, but your brand of not-useless is like gold to fool's gold. We need you, man." Cameron catches the half-tanned hide, looks it over, and flashes a grin of appreciation at Silas, folding it over and slipping it under his arm to carry. In return he steps closer, and reaches out to lay a hand lightly on Silas arm. "The first thing you gotta learn, is how to walk." Cameron nods his head, his expression serious as he comes parallel to the other young man. He lifts a foot and steps forward, and lowers it down. The thing is, it doesn't quite touch. He slowly lowers it that last inch, slowly, slowly, putting only the least amount of weight as possible from one moment to the next until his foot is down. Then he leans forward, his full weight on that foot, and his other light, and it lifts and goes forward, repeating the procedure. It might seem simple, just walking in slow motion, but Cameron seems to make it seem seriously important. He turns, and sees someone new come in, and it's one of the few strangers since the landing. He gives a nod, and a smile — it's subtle, but it's a smile to her. "Sorry if the screaming disturbed you. Ash needed surgery." And they have nothing like medicine. So.

A quiet sigh leaves Silas for a moment or two as he leans his head off to the side, his brows furrow somewhat before he looks back to Cameron as he talks again. He listens carefully to the other young man, his right hand coming over to rest his chin in his palm. He offers a nod as he watches Cameron tuck the hide under his arm, and he offers a somewhat confused glance to the hand on his arm. He looks back and over, watching Cameron's foot. He watches for a moment or two, and seems to be rather serious — but the slower the movement gets the more it looks like Silas just really wants to laugh.

He grunts a bit, taking in a breath and calming himself before he sits up straight somewhat and brings his left hand to gently brush Cameron's hand away. "Alright, I got it. You can stop making yourself look like an idiot. You're in public," he says, a lopsided smirk playing on his features before he brings himself to stand up. "I'll uh, take my steps as you call it," he says with a shrug, slipping his hands into his pockets before his gaze is caught by the sight of a younger and rather short blond girl. Is it Jacklyn? Probably. He quietly watches her for a moment before he looks over to Cameron addressing her, listening for a moment before he looks back and with a nod. "Apparently for the bite he got by that river… dolphin?" says Silas, the last bit said somewhat skeptically. "I still think it's a snake," he adds with a shrug, his right hand coming over to rub his chin. Silas had seen the girl around with the younger one a few times — and that's mostly the only times he's ever seen her, and so he comments upon it. "You not have little-r one with you?" he says. Probably a height joke.

The blonde looks over to Cameron, watching them for a moment. She keeps her distance, maybe ten or fifteen feet, holding her jacket the same way. She doesn't look scared anymore, so that's at least something. The apology to her has her shrug and she finally speaks to someone except the kid, "Oh, no, I thought as much. I didn't figure popping my head out would have helped whatever was happening." She sways a bit with her hip and leans to the side a touch, slightly away from the two guys as she looks them over. Seems she's not sure what to make of anyone around here just yet. The joke gets a low smile. "Har har." Her hair curtains her face a moment as she tilts forward and to the side to look back towards the lander entrance, then back to Silas. "She's asleep behind a crate. Figured I should probably talk to someone else and see about maybe doing… something. Though I'm terrified that in a situation like this I may be useless. Where did you all learn to…" A hand is flit gently around. "— Learn to do this? Make this stuff? You know, survive?"

Cameron shakes his head firmly, serious still. "You don't get it. Every step will give you away. Feel your feet. Honestly, its better with no shoes — but I'd wear some socks with all this shit on the ground, if we could get some thin leather sandals that'd be good. But to start learning, going shoeless is good. You want to enhance your awareness of what your foot feels. Not an ounce goes down you don't mean to go down. At first you're dead slow, but you feel it as time goes on. Watch ahead of where you step. Place each step on purpose. You don't just walk from here to there, you choose each step. This will seem painful, slow and tedious, but it becomes instinctual soon enough. It's about awareness, awareness of every part of your body and where you are, awareness of every single ounce of pressure you put on anything. You feel what you step on, you feel this slight give, and you know it'll break and make noise. So you move, re-adjust. You don't get it, you don't even begin to get it, because you're joking and thinking you've got the point. Walking without an ounce of weight is a very hard skill, Silas." That said, he turns to Julie and flashes one of his dimpled smiles. "They gave us earth skills training before the exile, though we didn't know what it meant. Why. Other things? My father was a senior botanist on the Ark. I was going to take his place, eventually. Except, the Ark was a prison only a slight size bigger then the Skybox, and I made my art and pushed the barriers and dared criticized King Jaha of the Council Lords, so I was put in a box instead of my criticism being answered." He shrugs. "And hiding from goons on the Ark, while not perfectly translating to the forest, did translate somewhat."

Silas quietly looks over towards Cameron, and lets his smirk fade as he takes the young mans lecture rather seriously this time around, offering a few nods here and there as he listens attentively. He quietly looks down to his feet and purses his lips, raising his legs somewhat awkwardly that, if no one were to know the context, he'd look like a goose having a stroke. He quietly begins to take a few steps, moving down to slowly and carefully put pressure on his heels first and setting it down — before lifting it and doing it again with the toe of his foot, seeming to try and get the feeling of each movement down. After a bit, he lets out a sigh through his nostrils. "I doubt I'll get it anytime soon, but thanks for the info. I'll work on it a bit later," he says, looking back to Cameron before he looks to Julie.

"Well, I learned a lot of what I know from Earth Skills before I was even thrown in the Sky Box. And then, along with that, there was some personal studies before that kinda went downhill… The Earth Skills stuff we got before we were dropped made a difference, though. I also got a bit of a work out early on helping my parents out with their work. Had me running around a lot," he says as he brings his right hand over to rest on his waist. "Good to hear the young one is doing well, at the least. I'd personally keep an eye on her quite a bit, especially with all the stuff happening lately. I think the wall is… Grey's work? Or someone that Grey works with?" he says, looking to Cameron for some confirmation in he last bit before he shrugs. "I'm not sure. The wall is one big communal thing between the Brainiacs, the Cadetlettes, and the Musclebrains," finishes Silas, with his unique name for the three groups as he looks back to Julie.

Julie seems in no hurry to try and interrupt training. She does seem to pay attention to what's being said, but without a lot of context she seems a measure lost with what and why. But when Cameron talks about the training her brow furrows. "You were all given training." A hand comes up and she plays with the necklace, running a fingertip over the smooth surface. The Box. Sky Box. "Everyone here was a prisoner," she mutters, more to herself as she looks around and then back towards the direction of the girl inside. "It sounds like everyone here has had some schooling to all this. I'm not sure I wish I'd had it or not, all things considered. I'm not sure how to look after my charge." An odd way to put it, but there it is. "She's almost 14 and most of her training was in computers." And none to be found here. "Is there something I should be doing? Some way I can earn her keep? …Is the water safe? Food?"

At Silas simply trying, Cameron gives him a full-dimpled smile and nods, encouraging. "It's tedious, but slow-and-steady is how you start. Then you get fast and begin to impersonate a ghost," he says, by way of encouraging, lifting his hand to his head to give a salute before his attention turns to Julie. He asides to Silas at a seeming question, "Cole's doing the wall, though I don't think Grey objects — though personally, I think its a waste of time. We can't even vaguely survive a week's siege, a defensive barrier to keep is a waste of resources. If the Grounders come at us in force, the wall won't do anything but slow our dying briefly. I'm worried about us surviving winter. As it stands, right now, we all die in winter." He shakes his head, his expression pensive, thoughtful. "We need more people on food, and if we can find a way to get salt for preservation, we need to start not only feeding ourselves, but every single day — every one — saving food. Because winter rations are going to hurt, even if we start right now… and we aren't starting right now. The Grounders aren't our enemy. They're our hope: our only chance of finding out how to survive or what to expect after the seasons turn and we have to deal with months under snow. The enemy is the earth. And we, with our ark-bred instincts, are ill-prepared to survive it." Cameron does acknowledge a nod to Silas. "Present company perhaps better then most." He gives a wistful look to Julie. "There's more than a few who had poor training for basic survival, so don't think we're all prepared. We're not. The real question is, what can you do? Did you have basic earth skills training? If so you can forage — you know the signs of what food is likely edible, likely not. There's no limit to how useful that is. Not right now. Starvation now, and starvation come winter, is in my opinion, our greatest threat."

At the mention of grounders not being enemies, Silas opens his mouth as though he's about to speak up — but simply purses his lips and shrugs. "I guess," he says, brows furrowing somewhat. "As it stands though, we won't learn much from them. We should be trying to get as much information out of the hostages we have and then trading them off to broker a non-aggression agreement," says Silas, followed by some gnawing at his inner cheek. "But winter is going to be hell. We'll need to begin collecting charcoal and making mud-huts fast so we can even barely hope to survive, but it feels like no one's listening to me when I say that. We need to get close to a water source, too, that is extremely important," he adds, before he crosses his arms across his chest and lets out a slight sigh.

"But right now I'm more concerned about getting the resources to make some leather. I'll also need to boil some of that leather so we can make armor in case of any Grounder attacks if we can't come to an agreement. It'll prolong the inevitable, but I don't exactly feel like just lying down and dying." he says, before he looks over towards Julie. "The best thing you can do for her at the moment is make sure she remains calm. As far as we've seen, there haven't been any problems with the water, but I would boil it for safe measure just so you don't catch any parasites. An easy way to do that is get a few decent sized rocks and a large pot —" he begins before he stops and furrows his brows, looking to Cameron. "Has anyone gone out and gotten clay for pots?" he asks rather suddenly with a bit of a bite to his lower lip.

Julie nods a little, slipping her thumb back and forth over the necklace. It's a nervous tick she must have developed a long time ago. "I know what some of the edible flora looked like a long time ago. Assuming it's safe and all. And assuming none of the nuclear fallout mutated them to be toxic." She looks towards a puddle with something like uncertain disdain. "You've got my attention with grounders, though. Have you seen them? Do they show signs of deformity or malformation?" Food, for the moment, is on the backburner while she's thinking about Grounders. "They shouldn't exist." Both of them can probably tell that Short Stop there would probably like to speak to one. "Oh, yes, boiling water helps with parasites. I mean more has anyone shown signs of abnormal bleeding? Bruising? Flu-like symptoms?"

"We need to know who they are as a people, Silas." Cameron turns to face Silas firmly, walking towards him, his expression open and very serious. "We need to know who they are, what they value, what they trust. Because we need to find a way to forge a bond between us. They've survived a century here — even that apocalypse after the bombs. A non-aggression agreement is insufficient. We need an alliance. We need to show them we, the sky whatever — Morgan heard them call us that — are brothers and sisters of earth, like them. We aren't invaders, we aren't takers. Yes, they killed two of ours. But we crossed their territory, broke their shrines. Holding hatred won't help us, Sil. We have to reach out and make a real, real, peace. Or all that we are." Cameron takes a deep breath, shakes his head, glancing above. "My parents are up there. I love them. I'd do anything for them. I don't hate the Ark, I don't understand those people who do. The Ark is families. Survivors. Peace with the Grounders is the only chance we have of surviving this hostile world that gave birth with us." That said, he nods, turning to face Silas again. "And of course you should be concerned with making leather. As I said, that's a corner stone of civilization. Making things." That said, he blinks and shakes his head. "Clay? Like… dirt?" He's clearly not aware of really what clay is. To Julie he turns. "The Grounders we have captive appear human, one at least understands english. They shouldn't exist, we were all taught that, but they do — they survived." Otherwise he shakes his head. "To my knowledge there's been no overt signs of radiation poisoning from the environment. If it exits, its slow acting and we aren't seeing it. At least, not obviously. Someone takes injury and is weak, they have a reason, you know? Nothing that seems to be just happening."

With hands stuffed in his pockets, Silas offers a quirked brow over towards Cameron, gnawing on his cheeks as he listens to the lecture he's given. Silas takes in a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment before letting out a sigh. "I guess. It's just hard to think about it like that," he says, looking away and to the side. "But if it'll let me see mom and dad again," says Silas, when family is brought up. "I suppose I'll try and look at it that way," he says, tilting his head to the side. "It's hard to even know what's going on when all I know is that the prisoners are defending them and a lot of the folks who went to save them are completely against that. And I haven't really been told anything to know why they're vouching for the Grounders," says Silas with a brief wrinkling of his nose.

"Whatever, no need to start an argument or something," he decides, and looks over towards Cameron. "Clay is the material that is used for pottery — think of it like mud that's much more useful for making pots, cups, bowls, very basic bricks and the sort," he says in a brief form of education. "As of now, it's going to be our equivalent to ceramic," he says before he looks back to Julie. "I've… killed one, and I fought the one that can speak English up close — I never heard her say anything, but they look just about the same. At first I thought they reverted back into a form of Neanderthal, but the prisoners say otherwise. Still, it's quite a major leap back from how it apparently used to be," he says, tilting his head to the side. "And as far as I've seen, there haven't been any signs of illness just yet. But then again, I'm off doing my own thing a lot of the time."

Captives. Julie suddenly doesn't look so excited at the idea of speaking with one. Especially with this talk of killing and hostages. Seven days ago she was studying in a lab, working on a paper, preparing for an exam. "If they survived then they must have had access to underground shelters. Obvious supplies, but also space. I suppose this is something surmised already." She chews the inside of her lip. "If the radiation is still low-level but present, and given half-lifes, we probably won't know until some poor woman down here miscarries." What a lovely thought. He eye drift down and she lifts the necklace to her chin, touching it to her face on and off. She watches the older boys go back and forth like that, still feeling very unsure of her place in this whole mess. But whether or not to resent the people upstairs on the station? The unnamed blonde girl goes pointedly quiet. She doesn't fit in here. At all. How many girls bring a necklace through processing and into a cell? "Reverted? That's very, hrm, odd? I suppose I should look at one up close eventually." Another face made, but she's already backed away a few feet. "If anyone runs into someone organizing a food collection party, let me know. Beats washing other people's clothes." She hugs herself with both hands, letting the necklace dangle. "I'm Julie." Fingers waggle once before she heads back to the girl she's apparently been assigned to or something.

Cameron nods to Silas with a slight smile, brief and almost a grin. "It might not let you see them, I can't promise that, but its the best chance you have of doing so. Us making this work and laying the foundation of peace between Grounders and us is the only real hope we have. Or we all freeze and starve." He turns to Julia then, serious in his expression. Seven days ago, Cameron was in a cell he could just barely not touch on either side. They've all been through things. "Regardless." Cameron is firm, "They survived a hundred years, two, three generations. And we're here now." He nods to Julie. "And the Ark is coming down soon. Keep your bracelet, like I have, and they monitor your adaption to the environment. Or don't. Your choice. My family is up there. They'll be down here soon, and we'll have to make it work. We're past making choices." That said he gestures. "Every morning our foragers come out. Meet me as the sun rises, I'll get you in touch with the others. Tomorrow is about medicine for me, but I can get you in touch. Cameron. Cameron Scott."

Silas quietly looks between the two as they both off their names, his hands slipping out of his pocket to bring his hand out and through his hair, picking out a few twigs and other forest debris as he glances to his own bracelet still in place before he nods and brings his hands out as he turns. "I'm Silas Pike. I'm gonna go get a drink," he says as he quietly turns and begins to saunter off, yawning quietly as his right hand comes to cover his mouth somewhat. "And maybe nap," he murmurs to himself with a smack of his lips.

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