Day 048: Like Teenage Boys
Summary: Luther and Galle discuss the situation. Luther's view is not complimentary.
Date: 16 July 2016
Related: None posted directly
Galle Luther 

Trikru Encampment, The Wilderness
A small camp with tents for 30-odd.
48 Days After landing

There is still another hour of light before the sun will give way to the stars, but a ghostly moon already hangs in the sky. Galle has seen to the clean-up of the night's meal, and is now sitting before the fire while she works on sorting the day's spoils from the northeastern meadow. She has a large basket surrounded by several smaller containers — some glass, some woven, some wooden boxes. She occasionally sniffs the bundles of herbs, and some draw faint smiles of warm memory.

A soft buzzing note precedes Luther's path through the camp, a blade of grass caught between his thumbs and played like a one-note harmonica. Spotting Galle, he looks behind him, as if he might look to escape, and then shrugs and casts aside the blade of grass, "How many of those are for me? I'm sorry for taking the joke too far the other day."

The buzzing noise draws her gaze up briefly, but not enough to search for the offender. She is instead working about the clutch of milkweed she has gathered, carefully splitting apart the flowers from the stems. At Luther's words, the Healer looks up with a slight nod of her chin. She smirks slightly. "Depends on how much mischief you intend to make in the coming days…" At his apology, she dismisses it with a small wave of her hand. "I'm sorry for being unforgiving."

Sitting down without asking, Luther brushes dreadlocks back from his face, reaching back to twist two of them together and hold the rest of the mass behind him. "I don't intend to make mischief. It just happens." He drops down from atop the log with a little thump, letting himself sit back against the front of the log and sprawl his feet out in front of him, "And you didn't actually dose me, so nothing unforgiving about it."

"If you are going to sit, you are going to help," Galle says, immediately shoving a basket of sorted herbs toward him and handing him some pre-cut twine. "Bundle into packs of twelve." Then she tugs back the string, giving him serious look. "Do you know how to do a reef knot?" She will give him back the string regardless of his answer, and then returns to sorting the herbs. She maintains her focus on her work, speaking as she does. "That you know of," she says casually. Then she casts him a quick smile before she sobers once more. "Another war, is it?"

Luther blinks at the basket suddenly in his lap. Her question gets her a very flat look, as in 'of course I know how to tie a reef knot.' Gathering up the herbs, he starts counting and tying, "I'm not shitting or puking wildly, so I'm rather expecting I'm safe. Unless you're even more devious than people say." His amusement fades slowly, "Yes. Another war. There will be plenty of work for you and the other healers. And plenty of work for me."

Galle looks satisfied by the flat look from the Trikru warrior, and she continues to sort the herbs. She comes to a bundle of beautiful wildflowers, and she smiles fondly at them. She draws the flowers to her nose, taking in a deep breath. Then she sets aside the flowers near her while beginning to separate what looks like magenta rosemary. "You do realize that, while I enjoy what I bring to the Trikru, tending battle wounds are not part of it." Then she slips into silence, focusing on her work for a long moment. When she speaks next, her words are soft, "Do you believe that the Mountain can be defeated?"

Tying together the first bundle of herbs, Luther shrugs slightly, "It's not just wounds that come with war, is it?" Another several bundles are made, and then he grumps softly at her question. "I don't know. If the Skaikru are everything they say they are? Certainly. If they are anything else, it may be the end of the Trikru." His lips twist in a grimace, "And they boast like teenage boys." Then again, many of them are teenage boys.

Galle returns to her work silently, carefully breaking the heads off some thistle flowers, and throwing them into a small basket. She looks up briefly, and then one shoulder shrugs. "They believe that we only allow them to live as long as they are useful, hm? So, why not boast if it means no one kills you." Then she returns to beheading the flowers in a sharp, precise manner.

Luther keeps working his way through the basket. Count up to twelve, wrap, tie, set aside. Repeat ad nauseum. "Then they aren't listening. It is like they are perpetually the young Second trying to show off for a crush, 'Watch This!'" He shakes out his dreadlocked head, nearly untwining the restraining dreads, "The most common last words for a teenager. Except if they are wrong in anything, they will get us killed as well."

"Hmph," Galle replies simply. Her blue eyes flit up to watch Luther with her precious bundles, and she nods approvingly. "Fine work… and your reef knots are acceptable," she says, and it is obviously high praise. From one of the smaller baskets, she pulls out a few honeysuckles — a sweet, edible flower. She offers them to Luther. "Thank you." Then she begins to gather up her baskets in a precise stack. "Well, then let us hope that the Skaikru are not wrong."

There might be a couple of radically unstable thieves' knots in that basket of herb-bundles, but Luther was smart enough to tuck them down low in the basket. "Yes, we're all hoping that the desperate teenagers and their equally desperate parents are right. And none of this would have been a problem if we just finished them off at the camp. Or shoved them out into Broadleaf lands at the start." He takes the honeysuckle, however, sticking it straight into his mouth and biting the heads off. He knew those were edible, right? Chew, chew, chew. Right?

Galle gathers everything up into her large basket, and tucks it up against the wide curve of her hip. She looks down at him, dark brow neatly arched and the corner of her lip curved upward. "Mmm… yes, but imagine how bored we would be." Then she starts to step away toward the healers' tent with a sashay of goldenrod skirts.
pose leans back against the log, arching his back to call over his shoulder, "I like being bored." Dropping back to his seat, he looks at the fires, stretching a little to boot a half-burned log further into the fire, "It's comfortable." That's quieter, to himself. "Peaceful." And then he just admits it, "Boring."

Luther leans back against the log, arching his back to call over his shoulder, "I like being bored." Dropping back to his seat, he looks at the fires, stretching a little to boot a half-burned log further into the fire, "It's comfortable." That's quieter, to himself. "Peaceful." And then he just admits it, "Boring."

"Good night, Luther," is all Galle calls over her shoulder, disappearing into the tent with a small duck of her head.

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