Day 003: Nocturnal Discussions
Summary: In the wake of a pyre and a burial, Delinquents talk and life goes on.
Date: 2 May 2016
Related: Follows after Afterburned
Grey Zoe Samson Martin Quinn Lip Max Cassandra Fiona Silver Asher 

The Grounds, The Camp

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. There are no defenses to speak of, save for the usually-open door to the dropship and the ship's metal walls.

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.

3 Days After Landing

Grey is slumped down in front of one of the logs around one of the various fires of the camp, halfway through the night after Day 3 After Landing. He looks like he's barely awake, one of the camp's precious makeshift shovels leaning against his right shoulder. For a wonder, he doesn't have his spears with him, but his hands are red, even in the flickering firelight, and a couple of blisters fresh upon them.

It's about that time that Zoe comes sauntering into camp with a rather scrawny looking squirrel clutched by the tail in one hand, but no weapons visible on the girl, but she's got a baggy jumpsuit on so who knows what she's got concealed. There's her target though. Grey. She moves over to a log near Grey and sets down the dead animal beside herself as she watches him. Gauging his mood. Hmmmm. Not good, not good at all. "You look like you've just had to something you didn't wanna do."

Grey looks up from the coals, "I just buried Grecco, Tides, and Kellie." His gaze travels down to the squirrel at the young woman's side, "That going to Cookie for the pot? Something that small's not easy to catch. Even hittin' an R.O.U.S. with a spear ain't easy."

Grecco. Tides. Kellie. Zoe has a good brain for names and she quickly attaches them to faces. Damn. She could have used their clothes. She sighs and slumps her shoulders, putting on her best mask of humanity. "I'm sorry… it just goes to show that we were right about this place. The Ark doesn't give a damn about us and most of us aren't ready for this." She takes the squirrel and tosses it over to Grey. "I found a deer, and was aiming at it. Missed and accidentally hit the squirrel instead." And the squirrel has a hole in its side, definitely too small to be a spear. "My bow needs a little work. Well the arrows especially. I need practice. I missed that deer so bad I hit a squirrel in the tree above it." She motions to the dead animal. "That's for you, though. You deserve a little something extra for all the work you're putting in around here, ya know? Gotta take care of yourself. Some of us are more useful than others, and those that are… we gotta stay strong."

Something in there sharpens Cole's weary gaze, his eyes narrowing, "Bow? Like, bow and arrow?" A dry, tired chuckle bubbles up from his chest, and he flashes a bright-white grin for a moment, "Well, I was gonna say something about it being good to have an… archer," he's a little tentative about the proper term, "with us, but if you missed bad enough to hit somethin' else, maybe you need a bit more practice." He takes the squirrel, hefting it for a moment, considering. The scales behind his eyes are easy to see, teetering one way, the other, and then he sighs, "You can pass it along to Cookie. Those of us headin' to Mount Weather will draw some extra rations when we leave. Thanks though."

"Oh, you're going to Mount Weather? I wanted to, but… I've got some commitments here. Someone's got to hunt while the best of us are gone, right?" Zoe explains with a flash of a smile. "So if you want to help us out by going out hunting with me to get maybe another deer or two before you guys head out we'd appreciate it. Everyone in the camp, that is." She reaches out and takes back the squirrel, if it's given. "You can leave the meat with me and I'll make sure everyone knows you helped feed them."

Grey places the squirrel back in the proffered hand, "I'll definitely be goin' out as much as I can tomorrow. Don't see any reason you can't come with. We can use all the help we can get." He nods back into the main section of camp, "The Ee-Ess nerds have been picking the spots. I'm the planner and the thrower." Leaning back against the fallen log behind him, he shifts the shovel in his hands, nudging the embers with the metal spade end, "So. You're butterin' me up. What for?"

Zoe holds up her bracelet-free wrist for inspection. There's a little skin irritation there. Whoever helped her take it off was no expert. "I want everyone's bracelets off. Gone. I want to put them in a big sack and bury them deep, where the Ark can't use them to track us. And if I bribe people with meat, maybe they'll do it. The sheep have all had a few days to laugh and play but now's the time to shepherd them. So I'm going to offer people free meat in a bracelet exchange." She comes right out and says it with a cold shrug and a look at two particularly cheerful delinquents who are literally playing patty-cake at the other end of the camp before her attention returns to Grey. "If even one of us keeps the bracelets on we're all going to be under Jaha's thumb again."

Grey listens without immediate comment, his attention on the interplay of metal and coals. "I wondered why people were startin' to take 'em off now." Pulling the shovel out and setting it on the stones that encircle the fire, he looks down to the metal ring still on his own wrist, and the braided cord alongside it, "You know bribes aren't gonna work on everyone, right? How you plannin' to handle people like Faolan and the Princesses who aren't gonna budge?"

"If enough of us take them off, then they won't have a choice. We hold them down and rip them off for their own good. Or if you wanna be more goodie goodie about it, we all stop feeding and including them until they get in line." Zoe stretches her arms over her head, catlike, no sign of really caring which choice Grey prefers. "I know you're part of the cool kids club. I've seen you around with them. If you go along with it, others will follow."

Grey nods his head slowly, "So you wanna be Chancellor of Earth?" It's a deliberately provocative statement, and he knows it by the intent way he studies the other Delinquent. "Have a bunch of Guard around to push people around if they don't do what you want?" Says the ex-Cadet. The latter comment, however, causes him to laugh ruefully, "If you think I'm part of the cool kids club, you don't know squat. A quarter of the kids would love to kick my ass because my Dad put them in here or pushed them around, another quarter would love to kick my ass because my mom was a bitch to them."

A lot of people might have something negative to say about Samson as well, most of the Delinquents probably have people out to get them. It's more important to some than others though and Samson has simply been quiet, observing, not throwing his lot in with or against anyone… yet. For now the large young man is just working. Always working or thinking about working. Like right now he is coming back into camp with a tremendous amount of logs… some might call them mini-trees with which he intends to explore making tents out of or other structures. Long enough to be a pain though as he drags the bundle along.

Zoe bursts into a gigglesnort at the idea of being Chancellor. "If you think I want to be in power you don't know squat either. I'm in it for myself. It just happens that -not- having a bunch of Ark assholes down here isn't just good for me, but it's good for the rest of you too." Zoe shakes her head, giving her squirrel a poke with her finger as she looks thoughtful for a moment. "If it makes you feel better? I don't care about you. Or your parents. Or what you did or who you screw or your favorite color."

Grey looks up at the scraping and scruffling coming out of the dark, rising wearily up to his feet and grabbing up the shovel in his right hand. When he spots that it's a person, actually a familiar person, he nods slowly, leaning over to put the tool down again, "Awful late to be comin' in, man. Haven't you heard, it's dangerous out there now. Well, way out there." And then he looks back to Zoe, shrugging slightly, "Until I figure my own thoughts on the matter out, I'm not really up for pushin' anyone to take their bracelets off… or to keep 'em on." The last point, however, causes him to flash a shit-eating grin that is extremely wide even on his tired features, "Well, my parents are dead, and I killed one of 'em, and I'm not screwin' anyone right now, and my favorite color, of course, is Grey." Not that she cares, of course.

"Didn't have to go far man." Samson says as he goes to drop his newfound building supplies in a free spot by the dropship. "There's tons of down trees from our 'landing' back over there." He brushes his hands off on his pants and then looks up towards the sky. "Still not used to the whole… night time thing either…" He admits, "Didn't think it'd get dark /that/ fast." He itches at the band on his wrist, fidgeting with it for a moment before he turns his attention to the others again especially at the talks of bracelets. "Yeah we know you're a wild beast Grey." Samson rumbles in annoyance, "Not safe to be cohabitating with any of us." Then he looks towards Zoe, "Real question is, if we intend to survive the cold months… we need to start farming. Proper farming. Finding a way to cure and store any game we bring down… bracelets are unimportant. I don't plan to starve to death." Trust the farmer's son to think about food. Then there's the belly rumble that follows it, hunger's a bitch.

Zoe doesn't just not care… there are no visible fucks given on her blank features as she listens to Grey's story. Somewhere in the back of her head there may be a tiny violin playing but it doesn't reach her expression. "Well if you aren't interested in us helping each other…" She shrugs oh-so-casually, sizing Samson up then. He's a big chunk of meat, that guy. The hamster wheel of Zoe's brain starts squeaking and creaking along. "Heeeeeeey, big guy." Grey will see the change in Zoe's expression as close as he is. It's like the flip of a switch. Serious to super, super friendly. Like an actor at the start of a new scene. "I totally agree! We need to start looking to the future." She holds up the dead squirrel that was sitting beside her, waving it at Samson. "We're going to need salt to preserve the meat. So we might need to send a group to look for an ocean." Zoe sounds totally, legitimately concerned.

<FS3> Grey rolls Alertness: Great Success.

Grey flashes his grin over to Samson in turn, "I didn't say I wasn't trying to screw anyone. There's plenty who I'd be plenty happy to 'cohabitate' with." Nodding his head upwards, he adds, "Just don't think many of the folks up there would think I was worthy of it." There's some self-pity there, definitely, but he's also gotten to the point where there's a dry, self-deprecating humor to it as well. Indeed, this close he can see the transformation come over Zoe's features, and that dry humor expands to a little chuckle and a crooked smirk. "You might talk to the rest of the camp before you plant anything, big man. Some people are talking about picking up stakes and movin'."

"Look for an Ocean, or a place we can bash it out of the mountains. They used to mine it… getting it from the ocean is actually harder and more energy intensive." Samson says thoughtfully, looking inwards and trying to remember his Earth History classes no doubt. "Wars were fought over salt…" Then he shakes his head a minute, blinking and taking another few moments to gather his thoughts before he says to Grey, "We're going to have to move. Wether it's to find an ocean, or whatever. We need a place with open ground in order to farm. We've got no way to rip the roots of all these trees out of the ground for conventional farming, obviously no way to do anything with hydroponics… have to move to find seeds…" He's clearly spent the last few days thinking about farming. He looks back and forth between Grey and Zoe, considering them both in silence. "How many people are even talking about the future?" He asks quietly, a little frown following.

"One day at a time, big guy! Step one, get these bracelets off everyone. Step two, sustainable life. Then we can worry about the less important stuff." Zoe's got her priorities straight, it sounds like! A real go-getter who wants to help everyone judging from the beaming smile. Are those truth-dimples on her cheeks? Probably! "Me and Grey were just talking about how to convince everyone to get their bracelets off so we can start on the rest. Unfortunately… some of them are gonna resist even though it's for their own good."

"Not many," is Grey's response to the question about the future, "Or rather, they're all talking about different futures." True to what he said earlier, he's apparently not going to interfere with Zoe's push against the bracelets, or at least not at the point. "Some people are talking about running and hiding in case the rest of the Ark people come down. Some people are talking about staying here and waiting for them. Some people are talking about the next generation. Some people aren't looking beyond tonight."

Samson looks at Zoe like she'd suddenly grown a second head, "The bracelets are irrelevant." He opines, "Waste of energy worrying about them." He looks up towards the sky, where the Ark might be seen as a bright star overhead… if one could see it through the trees anyways. "They sent us down here… they're going to be coming eventually. Would have been easier, and more efficient, to float or recycle all of us…" Looking back down towards Zoe (because he's over a foot taller than she is), "Food, salt, protection. Those are good ideas Zoe." Lifting a wrist he shows his own bracelet, "Taking these off right now? Waste of energy, unless someone's figured out how to take them off but keep the battery going?"

Zoe holds up her own wrist. No bracelet. "You're getting ahead of yourself." She sounds a little frustrated as she rises to her feet, taking her dead squirrel too. Because you never leave a meal behind. "Bracelets off first. Priorities, people!" She even stomps her foot, for effect. But it's just drama, really, and she shrugs then. Casually. Fake anger left behind. "I'm gonna go stash this somewhere safe. If you ever want to trade for some meat or berries, big guy…" She motions to his wrist. "All you gotta do is give me that bracelet." And then she's heading off towards the trees. Hopefully her secret stash isn't -too- far from the camp.

Grey points over to Zoe's arm even as she's holding it out. Shrugging a little, he slumps back down onto the log around the fire, "Not much energy, from what I've heard. Just a prybar and some strong arms." Rolling his shoulders a touch to try to loosen them from his previous efforts, "But a whole lot of debate." He nods to Zoe as she starts to depart, tilting his head back to study Samson a moment after she's gone, "She promised that squirrel for the cookpots as thanks for my efforts hunting." That dry smile is back on his lips.

"I know we're all Delinquents but some people really need to get their priorities straight." Samson says with a shake of his head, "If we want to do things… different… then everyone needs to be able to make their own choice freely without being compelled one way or the other." He looks back towards Grey, "Anyone found a good rock or anything we could use for a shovel? If I remember rightly, I'll need to get these posts," A gesture towards the wood he's brought in, "Halfway into the ground to make sure they're secure for building any kind of structure."

Grey lifts up the shovel laying beside him, with its dropship-metal head. "You can use this one. Just put it in the dropship again when you're done." He offers out the butt end of the haft, since the head is still hot from being used to stir the coals of the fire before them, "And I'd say everyone's got different priorities. For instance, I'd say that food's more important than shelter, since we have enough of that for now, even if it ain't comfortable." Granted, he's one of the few with a standing tent, who isn't sleeping in the dropship, so that might have something to do with it. "But you, you figure shelter's more important. Cole things it's a wall. Cookie thought a kitchen. Fiona thinks it's water. Morgan thinks it's getting away from here."

"Nah… I don't think shelter is more important than anything else, it's just something I /can/ do right now." Samson says, moving to take the shovel when it's offered, "Thanks." He doesn't try to use it while it's still hot though. "Wish we had an axe or hatchet though to delimb these things…" He mutters to himself with a shrug rolling his broad shoulders afterwards. "Anyways… Shelter is important, but I don't think the middle of the woods where we just happened to land is where we should be content to stay." He considers and then shrugs, "I don't really know /what/ we should do, this isn't like what we were expecting I just think knee jerk spite the Ark is a completely pointless waste of time."

Grey remains slumped against a log before one of the outermost fires of the camp. It is near midnight, with the two Landing-dead Delinquents recently burned, and the three missing hunters also found and buried. "There was a hatchet in the survival kit. Some Arrow Station jackhole claimed it. I snagged it long enough to cut down a couple saplings for spears, but that's it." The set of the ex-Cadet's head and shoulders is wearied, for all that revelry still fills the brightly-lit camp, and his voice is roughened by the time of night and emotion.

"Guess I'll have to go deal with them then." Samson says with a firm set of his shoulders and his lips compress into a grim line. "Do you know who it was precisely?" He asks Grey as he looks down at the shovel and tests it's tip in the earth. "Guess it won't matter." The big black kid looks tired himself for the moment and then takes off his jacket to set it atop some wood posts that are between eight and ten feet long he's drug into camp recently. Jamming the shovel into the ground he presses down and then scoops, slowly, to make sure he's not trying to dig to much up and risking breaking the shovel as he starts to dig a hole. "They used to have specialized tools for this sort of thing… digging holes almost perfectly round." He chuckles, amused now, "We've gone from space age, to cave men."

Martin exits the Dropship and makes his way through the camp. Overhearing the two other men, he comes by and gives Samson a slap to the shoulder. "Not quite cave men. We at least have a few tools and know how to use them. Also, we're not living in caves…yet." Looking to Grey then, he asks, "Someone has a hatchet? Damn, we were really needing one yesterday. We really should get a better appraisal of what the group has to work with, so what few tools there are can be put to the best use."

Grey frowns in thought, "Yeah… uh… Trace. Mechanical. Little shorter than you, almost as wide. Somewhere between you and me. Pale skin," which is pretty common, given the fact that most of them didn't see much sunlight for their entire lives, "blond hair, square face. In for Assault." He watches Samson begin to dig the hole, holding up his hands to display the new blisters along several fingers, "I'd help out, but I already did all the digging I want to do for a lifetime tonight. Even if I somehow think it won't be. But yeah, we've done a whole lot of that. Goin' backwards. I was trainin' on an assault rifle up there, now I'm makin' a knife and spears." As Martin approaches, he nods once, "It was in the survival kit with the cord," what they didn't get from the parachutes, "the survival blankets," like… give of them, "and a couple other things. It got torn up pretty quick. I only saw 'cause I was right by the door. I think they're usin' the container it was in to hold rainwater now."

"Oh good. A bully." Samson grunts and then pauses as he looks over at Martin when his shoulder is slapped, "Hey." He offers amiably enough for a guy who is digging holes at midnight. Samson is careful about where he puts the dirt too, he's going to need that later after all to pack into the holes around the poles. "Next time you go hunting, I want to go with you Grey. If we could get five or six of us out there we could build a pit trap and flush the hunt towards it. Make things easier on us, and more efficient." He frowns, stops digging, "Is there /any/ parachute left?" Straightening up he says, "Trying to do this is pointless if there's no parachute left…"

"What? A bully among a group of people that contains thieves, assaulters, murderers, and traitors? Couldn't possibly be," Martin says with a laugh. "It was bound to happen. Hopefully as things become more real and less of a party atmosphere, people will realize we need to cooperate with one another if we're going to survive. Bullies only has strength if the group lets them." He looks down at the hole and inquires, "Need a hand? I don't have a shovel but I might be able to find a rock or something."

Grey shrugs at Samson's judgment, "Coulda been self-defense. I don't know. Just know that he's big and doesn't like me." What else is new. Still, he chuckles at Martin's point, then nods in response to Samson's combined request and suggestion, "I'm gonna be out a whole bunch of tomorrow, getting ready for the trip to Mount Weather the day after. But yeah, there's only been a couple of tents built. Most people figure they don't have to, since they can still sleep in the dropship. But soon enough, I figure people are going to want some privacy, so you might want to get while the gettin's good." He shifts around on his seat, raising one hand up to his mouth, stopping as he remembers just what he was handling with that hand recently, then shrugs, wipes his hand vigorously in his shirt, then nibbles at the nail of his index finger, "Most of the good eating is crapsacular," that would be crepuscular to someone who actually knows animals, "means it comes out around dusk and dawn. So stumbling around blind near a pit trap could be dangerous, but I was thinkin' we could drive animals with torches 'round twilight. I mean, everything hates fire except us, right?"

"Thanks man." Samson says to Martin with a smile. "Actually Grey's right, I'm going to need to find parachute for roof and walls, and some cord to lash the main posts together. I should do that before digging these holes." He offers the 'shovel' back to Grey, "Thanks for letting me use this. You want to come with me to get that hatchet back too? We've got to stand up to the bullies if we're going to stop them." He brushes his hands off on the back of his pants before he grabs his jacket up and slips it onto his broad shoulders. "It's cool if you don't want to. To each their own right?" He shrugs and then looks towards where the 'party' is still going on, that's where he's going to likely find his quarry after all.

Samson also extends the offer towards Martin as well, in case that wasn't readily apparent.

Martin nods at the ide of finding parachute material. "That's probably a good idea. Why waste the effort?" He looks down to Grey to see if he is joining in before looking down at his own thin frame. "Well, I will come along, but I'm not sure I would be good for anything other than bleeding on him if it comes to a fight." He moves to follow Samson, while looking back at Grey to see if someone more competent at the rougher activites will be joining them.

Grey considers the request. He considers it hard, looking from Samson to Martin and back, then nods, prying himself slowly up to his feet, "Yeah, sure. I haven't had enough shit today. Or is it past midnight and I'm getting shit early tomorrow?" He gathers up the shovel, "Let's stop by my tent, and one of you carry this…" He looks between the two, then offers it to Martin, nodding at Samson, "He's already scary enough. Not that there'll be a fight. Maybe a confrontation. Or maybe he's already off with some willing girl. Unless someone's already snagged it, the rest of the parachutes should be upstairs in the dropship."

"Bullies are afraid of a fight most the time. It's easy for them to feel powerful if they are bigger /and/ outnumber someone. Just being there will change things Martin." Samson reaches over and slaps the other guy on the shoulder lightly, "If there's a fight, it'll be between me and them. Don't worry." He nods towards Grey, "Alright, lets go find Trace. Parachute will hopefully wait 'till I get back."

Martin has been promoted to Shovel Knight. Huzzah! He accepts the offered tool and rests it against his shoulder with the spade up and behind him. "Numbers are good, yes. I can serve as a distraction as I dodge out of the way. Though, now I have a shovel, so that helps." He heads in the direction of the campfires, before adding. "If this takes a while, I can sneak off to grab some of the material for you."

Grey shrugs slightly, "Best way to deal with a bully is to hit 'em in the face. Hard. Then they usually won't bother you again." His teeth flash in a tired grin, "Sometimes you don't even have to hit 'em." He nods his head in the direction of his ramshackle tent, leading the way, "Figure he'll probably be in the middle of the party. I think he feels like he's a big man when he's got the hatchet on his hip." Shrugging a little, he ducks into his tent — it doesn't take long to get there — looking around briefly to make sure his few possessions are there, then grabs his spears and comes out again, leaning them against his shoulder, "Okay. Ready." They're simple things, peeled and de-limbed saplings, with shards of metal jammed into the split ends. "How do you want to play this, big man?"

Some people don't sleep, they think. Quinn is a thinker, probably also a sleeper, but she's away still as she makes her way out of whatever spot she's claimed for herself. Her hands are tucked into the pockets of her jacket, eyes taking a very slow sweep of the camp as she wanders about.
Martin has partially disconnected.

"I'm going to ask him for the hatchet." Samson says, looking at the spears with a bit of a frown, "And if he acts up, then I'll have to prove he's not the biggest guy around. That hopefully won't involve spears." He rumbles grim in tone but with a bit of a grin at Grey's mention of punching Trace in the nose, "But it might involve black eyes, bloody lips, and a broken nose if he pushes it." He considers, "Wish they'd given us at least a first aid kit." He says of no one in particular then to the Shovel Knight, "Don't try and draw attention to yourself, you don't have to try and back me or anything. Just coming along as a show of support is a big help." With that said, Samson starts the 'party fire' and where the presumed hatchet wielding individual may very well be, if he isn't off with a willing partner somewhere.

"I was just about to suggest letting me talk to him," Martin offers to Samson. "What I lack in the nose-punching department, I make up for in being friends with everone and convincing them of my not-so-great ideas." He shrugs, causing the shovel resting on his shoulder to shift a bit, "If that doesn't work, then you can try talking to him a little more sternly." The Tesla Three member smiles a bit more, "A first aid kit would be handy, but we have some leaves and herbs that can work in a pnch."

Martin turns to follow along as well.

"I didn't make these to be weapons. They're for hunting." Grey's smile flashes again, "But they sure look scary, don't they?" The wish for the first aid kid gets a shrug, "I wish too. But what's scarcer than food on the Ark? Medicine. If wishes were horses, there'd be a lot of shit on the Ark." He follows along to Samson's right, walking casually. As they pass Quinn, he nods briefly, "Samson wants to talk to Trace about the hatchet."

The fires burn brighter toward the center of the camp, and there's the big, blonde Trace with an arm around a likely girl, and a skewer of something in his other hand. Tucked through his belt is the hatchet indeed.

"Oi! This is lookin' less like Hell every day!" That would be the unmistakable voice of Lip as he comes wandering out of the Dropship and makes himself known with some stretching and some shaking of his wild curls. His walk turns into a modeling strut because of a bunch of why the hell not as he moves in favor of heading towards where people are. "Oh, wait, did I get that wrong? We just left Hell. We're now in Under Hell? Hell on Earth?" Lip snaps his fingers as he finally gets to the one he wants. "Ah! I got it!" A quick glance around to see if anyone is even paying attention. "Hellatious Groundus Foreverus." Lip shrugs. "Or least until we all die of starvation, dehydration, boredom…"

"Hatchet?" Quinn's brow lifts upwards a fraction before she turns, and falls into step with the rest of the group heading towards the fires, and the hatchet carrying Trace. She glances beyond Grey towards the others, eyes going up and down Samson for a moment before she shrugs, apparently willing to go along to watch if nothing else. Entertainment is hard to find.

"Sure Martin. Sounds good." Samson says to Martin, "But you know that's going to make you look like a leader, that'll make you a target especially if they end up wanting payback. You don't have to if you don't want to. Not asking you to be a hero." Then to Grey he chuckles, "Yeah, but they might escalate things too. Double edged sword… and yeah, about the medicine, but something to do stitches with would be handy if an eyebrow gets split or something…" He rumbles and then falls silent as the fire grows brighter he looks towards Martin, waits for him to do his thing if that's what he wants to do. Otherwise Samson's going to march right up to Trace and loom. Something Trace probably isn't used to much.

Martin offers a nod and a grin to Quinn as they pass her in their march to the hatchet. "I'm fine with that. I've got plenty of friends around, so we should be even, and, if I'm successful, he'll be a new friend too." He strides ahead of the small group and grins at them while walking backwards, facing them. "If he says 'no' or takes a swing at me, we will know that he just isn't the friendly type." The blonde-haired man turns his head and looks at Trace, "Well, not the friendly type to those who lack without the kind of equipment that he prefers working with." With that he turns back around and heads for Trace, giving an upnod to the other blonde man, "Heya, Trace. How's it hanging?"

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Martin=Persuasion Vs Trace=6
< Martin: Success Trace: Good Success
< Net Result: Trace wins - Marginal Victory

Lip catches the crowd going the direction that he's not heading in and frowns. "Hey! Poor Favor! I'm comin' too!" This might be because he spotted Martin in the group and he's not going to let a Tesla Three member go do whatever this is without some back up. Even though he trails after the mini-group. Far enough to make sure he's not actually /part/ of the group. Since it all seems like this may or may not end well. "The tension. The drama. The what the hell is going on, anyway?" He's pretty sure that question can reach the ears of anyone nearby enough to heed his inquiry!

Grey nods to Quinn, "I… borrowed it… when I needed to cut down my spears. The big man wants to make a tent. With some nice poles." The chatter from Lip draws Grey's attention aside for a moment, listening with weary, narrowed eyes. Grey shifts casually around to flank Martin instead of Samson, although he just leans casually on his paired spears. No threat there. Looking aside to Lip, he adds, "We're borrowing Trace's hatchet." Because acknowledging that it's Trace's will put him in a good mood, right?

Trace stands up from where he sits alongside the young woman, "I don't know you." His blue eyes narrow at the group, "And I don't like bullies. Tell me what you want, or go away so I can enjoy myself…" he thinks that over, then shakes it off, not changing tacts, "…in peace."

Samson chuckles, "I'm about the farthest thing from a Bully you'll get nine times out of ten. Everyone who knows me would know that Trace." He reaches forwards and places a hand on Martin's shoulder to try and draw him back out of the line of fire as it were since things could go sideways. "I just want to use the hatchet." He doesn't try and diplomatically claim it belongs to anyone, it's just not who he is to be a smooth talker. "I need to delimb some trees to make poles for my tent. So how about it?" He holds out one large hand to Trace.

It seems it was hanging well. Really well. The hatchet that is. It hangs so well, that Trace has a fine lady that he will be banging well in short time. That hatchet is scoring him so much action that handing it over to one of the Tesla Three just isn't in the cards. He nods a bit at what Martin is selling, but he isn't buying. "Well we're trying to erect some tents and we could really use a hatchet right now. I figured I would come by and see if you wanted to help," Martin looks to the lady under Trace's arm, "Buuuut, I see you're already busy, so, if you let us borrow it, you won't have to miss out on the party." Martin pauses then and looks around at the group, "Bullies?" He looks back to Trace with feigned incomprehension, "We're working on putting up some tents. Seriously, you can join us if you want."

<FS3> Samson rolls Persuasion: Failure.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Martin=Persuasion Vs Trace=6
< Martin: Success Trace: Good Success
< Net Result: Trace wins - Solid Victory

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Grey=Persuasion Vs Trace=6
< Grey: Good Success Trace: Failure
< Net Result: Grey wins - Solid Victory

"Trace?" Lip looks around some of the people and spots Trace. "… We're gonna' need a bigger boat." Lip doesn't even know why he made that reference but he just made it. He raises an eyebrow and proceeds to actually do something that he doesn't actually do. He quiets down. "We need a hatchet? Why do we need a hatchet? Did we become serial killers while I was napping?" Okay. Quiets down. A little.

The presence of Martin's large assistance seems to get Trace's hackles up, no matter how peaceable Samson may say he is. The blonde scowls at Grey, spitting toward the fire, and then shakes his head, "What's in it for me, little digger?" Apparently he has noticed the shovel. "I've got something you want, so what do you have that I might want?"

Grey shakes his head, "Come on, jackhole. You don't like me, but you know I'll make sure you get the damned hatchet back, because it just ain't worth fighting over. I'll make sure you get some of the next kill early on."

His 'honor' assuaged and something offered, Trace looks around the group, then shakes his head, pulling the hatchet out and offering it to Martin, "One hour." Not that he has any way to tell time. "And it better be a choice bit I get."

Max comes strolling back through the trees from wherever he had been wandering, hands in his pockets. He notices the gathering of people and slows his steps a bit, rubbernecking. He glances over at Trace and his hatchet, and then those persuading him for it.

Martin looks to Grey grinning and nodding. Way to go Grey! "Thanks, Trace." He turns then and starts to head away from the brute, noting to the others as they get further away, "Well, that didn't go as well as I hoped, but it went better than it could have. Now I just have to think of a good reaosn for why we aren't going to give him the hatchet back."

With the hatchet given over to Martin, Samson chuckles and thankfully doesn't open his mouth and make things worse he just pats Martin on the shoulder, "Thanks." He says to the Shovel Knight and then over towards Grey, "Both of you. I'll go on the hunt with you next time to help." Looking over his shoulder briefly towards the fire, Trace, and all of that Samson sighs and looks back to Martin, "It's eventually going to get nasty around here… you know that right?" Though it's said to Martin, Grey, Lip, Quinn, and anyone else who might have left with them. "Not enough food and supplies for everyone and we've got opportunistic people already trying to put themselves in positions of power like some Attila or Genghis…"

Grey nods his 'thanks' to Trace, turning away with the others and making his way back toward the edges of the camp with them. He nods to Max as he turns, "Max." It's sort of a tacit invitation to join them. Arching his eyebrows at Martin, he shakes his head, "Is it worth it? Poking the bear for a hatchet you can get when you need it anyhow? Why start something before we get back Mount Weather?" Shrugging to the other men, he inquires, "What do you think then, if there's no leaders soon, we'll have fights as everyone tries to be Chancellor of Earth?"

"Define 'nasty'." Lip doesn't seem like he's too worried about anything that's happening right now. He doesn't know jack about no hatchet. Well, he ain't talking about it anyway. He's focused on — wait, what? Lip's ears perk up and he starts sliding himself towards the front of the pack. "Chancellor of Earth? Is that a thing? If that's a thing, I nominate me. I also second that motion."

Martin notes to Lip, as they walk closer, "We need a hatchet to get a little bit of work done. We haven't quite gotten to serial killer levels of desperation around here." He gives Lip a slap to the shulder. "When you see me running for the woods like a little girl, that' when you'll know the culling has started." Looking to Samson then, Martin shrugs, "Again, only if we let them. If Trace keeps the hatchet, we will keep having to go through this. If we can set a few ground rules, though, things can go a little smoother. Nothing like the Ark. Simple stuff like no killing other people, no stealing other peoples' stuff, and you can't keep communal property, like this shovel and hatchet, since they count as other peoples' stuff, since everyone owns it." He quiets then realizing he is stating to get all idealistic and heaidng into the territory of telling them all how he thinks things should be run by a parliament with a committee around here. Instead of boring them, he waves to Max in greeting as the other man catches his attention. Then he looks to Grey, "True, it would be smarter to let him have it until the group gets back from the Mount. At some point, though, we need to consolidate our resources."

Max turns his attention toward Grey and gives him a bit of a nod in return, then seems to fall in behind them from where he had been lingering about, perhaps out of curiosity to see what's up or what they are about to get up to. He glances back over toward Trace for a moment, and then follows the others. He looks over at Lip when he nominates himself Chancellor and an eyebrow creeps up followed by a slight smirk. He shakes his head, as though it's not likely he'd want that job. "Hey," he says to Martin at the wave.

"Just saying, things are out of control." Samson says with a shrug of his broad shoulders as he makes his way back towards the other side of camp where he was working on building a tent. "If we don't start working together as a group, we're going to die when winter comes. All of us. I don't know about the rest of you but… I'm not sold on the whole Mount Weather thing either. It's been hundreds of years, who knows what's left for us there if anything at all." He frowns, "I gotta get enough parachute while it's still available. Thanks for the help again."

<FS3> Samson rolls Survival: Success.

Grey eyes Lip again, "You want to make it a thing, you're welcome to try." He snorts to show how much he thinks of that idea. Shaking his head, he shrugs at Martin, "You need power to enforce rules. And two people ain't gonna do it, not unless they've got automatic weapons. And I don't think they packed any on the dropship." He watches the bigger man start working on setting up the tent, then looks around to the others, his shoulders slumping, "Me, I'm going to try to forget how Kellie, Tides, and Grecco looked when I was throwin' dirt on them, and get some sleep. We can found a government in the morning." Or, you know, go hunting like he said he was going to do before. And then he's off, turning around to trudge through the camp toward his tent. Yes, he got one early, because he cut down the parachutes in the first place.

Cassandra hasn't been seen for a while around camp. She made few friends during her time in the Skybox — unsurprising, really, given she got one of the nicer Earth Skills teachers floated in rather suspect circumstances — and doesn't seem to be of the mind to make friends now. She returns now with a bunch of herbs in hand, mud spattering her leggings up to the knees. Spying the tension between Grey and the others, she raises an eyebrow and turns to one of the Delinquents on the fringes of the quarrel. "What's up with him?"

"Lip, you would make an excellent chancellor of Earth," Martin offers. "I mean something is better than nothing, right?" He grins at his friend and gives him a slap to the back as well. He really should patent that, sincs he seems to do it so much. To Grey he shrugs, "You don't need automatic weapons, just the support of the people." He gestures broadly to the camp. "Getting that, though, is going to be the tough part. automatic weapons just make it a little easier. The threat of getting shot somehow manages to engender a lot of zeal." His attention turns then to Cassandra as she notes Grey leaving. "He just had a rough day."

Max watches as Grey heads off, then looks toward Samson and Martin, a flicker of something in his expression, though what it is isn't terribly clear. He continues to follow Samson and Martin for a little bit and then asks, "So what is the hatchet for?" He seems passing curious as to what it is that they were going to do with it now that they've acquired it.

"Yeah, haven't we all," Cass Bonheur retorts to Martin, despite having done little herself, thus far, to rough herself up. She glances after Grey as he heads off, momentarily distracted, then steps on up to join the rest of the group, like a cat that enjoys the presence of humans while still wanting to seem above being petted. "I'm not convinced any of you would make good Chancellors. The last one was a disaster."

"Me? Make something a thing? When do I ever make anything a thing? I never make a thing a thing. Mart Mart! Tell 'im I don't make things into things!" Lip frowns a bit as he starts pondering his past. "Okay, there was the whole Tesla thing but that was a special case. There was a girl. There still is a girl. There's a few girls, actually." Lip is barely even listening to the fact that people are talking to him. He's always talking so it's kind of hard to listen. "Hey! I would make the best Chancellor! Watch me start this chant: Give Me Lip! Give Me Lip! Give Me Lip!"

No surprise to anyone that Quinn's been quiet this entire time. She watches as people talk, move around, reorganize themselves. She eventually moves to follow after Max and the ones he's following, her arms crossing over her chest as she approaches.

Martin handed the hachet and shovel off to Samson, as the other man left. "Samson is building himself a tent and he needs the hatchet to get the wood into shape," explains Martin to Max. It's currently midnight and several campfires are going with many of the delinquents enjoying the revelry. Looking back to Cassandra with his blue eyes, Martin notes, "Well, that's why we don't have a Chancellor. Or, if we do, we do it differently. Personally I would like to see the whole group elect five or seven people as a committee, or maybe we should divive ourselves up into groups of people by occupation and let the groups elect one from among them to be on the committee. That's just me, though." His attention focus on Lip then. "Keep practicing, and you'll have it down in no time."

Martin also gives a wave to Quinn who has snuck into the group.

Cassandra quirks an eyebrow mock-suggestively at the chant Lip takes up, though she dare not verbally interrupt him. "Committee," she repeats, speaking up again only when Martin does. She tastes the word with a tone that implies it's made of salt; her expression remains dryly amused, if the smirk on her lips is any tell. "That sounds to me like a council. You know it's probably going to be made up of ex-Cadets like Grey there." She ticks her head in the direction of the forest, where he's recently head off. "Since they're the ones going to be able to take physical control of things. Traitor like you, would've thought you'd come up with a better plan."

Max looks over at Quinn when she falls in with them, giving her a slight shoulder-bump. Then he wanders off again, as idly as he'd strolled in on the scene, without any particular indication of where he was going. "Good luck with the tent," he says, seeming to genuinely mean it, "And the campaign," as an aside to Lip before he heads off into the trees.

"A council we choose not one chosen by a Chancellor. It's a key difference." Martins grins a bit, "They might, but if we can talk a few of them into coming along, that may not happen. You have to get out ahead of these things with some deft and socializing." He runs a hand through his hair to brush it back, before nodding in Lip's direction. "He is a traitor too. If we were good with plans, we wouldn't have been arrested." He chuckles a bit before giving a wave to Max as he departs.

Quinn's brow lifts upwards a bit as she listens to them talk about councils and traitors, eyes shifting towards Martin to give him a nod. But then this ex-Cadet just goes back to listening for a little while longer before she turns to start off after Max.

"Give Me Lip! Give Me Lip! Give Me—" Lip finally stops with his own chanting when things are started to be thrown at him. Things about the past. "Hey, I'll have you know I didn't want to actually /be/ a traitor. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time! I swear!" Is the obviousness of this lie even too much? Probably. Unless he's secretly telling a deceptive truth! "Unless traitors are hot to you. In that case, it was all my idea."

Cassandra 's eyebrow game couldn't get much wilder. It starts with one furrowed, one raised, and grows increasingly disbelieving as Lip spins his Byronic tale of innocence. Does she find it hot? Who can say. She seems to find it funny, though, and everyone knows that chicks love funny. "Yeah. We were all in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now we're down on Earth." At least on that last count, she manages not to sound too bitter. "I'd ask how long before you two plan to stage another failed coup once Grey takes charge, but honestly, I'm more worried about her." She turns to look pointedly over at Quinn. "Beware the quiet ones."

Martin gives a nod back to Quinn then a wave to her as she departs after Max. "Take care out there in the dark." His attention shifts back to Lip, "I'm pretty sure it was mostly Fiona's idea." Cassandra earns a chuckle, "So we're definitely in the wrong place. Literally since we didn't land where we were supposed to." At Cassandra's comment, he pivots and looks at Quinn. "Oh, I'm sure Quinn could easily have me begging for mercy, but I'm sure the idea of her being in charge would be boring for her. Am I right?" he asks loudly of her in a somewhat teasing manner. "As for Grey, I don't think he wants to be in charge either. In charge means a lot of decisions and responsibility that comes down on you when you fuck up."

Quinn pauses at the question, glancing over towards Martin, "Are you right about my making you beg for mercy, or being in charge being boring?" She lifts one brow upwards slightly, arms unfolding to let her hands fall to her sides.

"Oh wait. Chancellor of Earth means being in charge? I don't like being in charge. That means, ugh, work." There's some serious shuddering that happens when he actually has to say the word and think about the actuality of doing something that resembles work. "Nevermind! I withdraw my self-nomination. How 'bout we just wing it? Winging sounds good. And safer. Especially now that we've got the hatchet. Right?" Lip is /not/ about to get forced into work of any kind. "… Why haven't we thrown a party yet? I mean, we got a whole world to ourselves. What could possibly go wrong?"

Martin gestures to the party going on around the campfires, "I think there already is one of a sorts, Lip." His attention turns back to Quinn and he shrugs, "Both? I would hate only be partially right."

"You really think we need someone in charge?" Cass chimes in with a dubious tone of voice, glancing between the traitors and the quiet blonde. "In my estimation, that always goes south. Parties are fun, sure, but so is surviving. When resources get scarce, you really think the ones at the top are going to be giving you two lazy-bones a fair deal? Better find someone who's going to help you rather than work and use you."

"Without guidance of some variety chaos happens, and then out of chaos comes order…and that order usually comes with someone being the voice of reason. Which is usually a someone in charge." Quinn points out to Cassandra before she then shrugs at Martin, "Sure, although one sounds like it'd be more fun than the other."

"Hey! I'm a lot of things but I am not lazy. Do you know how hard it is to look this amazing in these dark and trying times?" Lip's eyes are drawn over to the campfire and he makes a face. "Meh. Needs more me." Apparently, he's not thinking about this party. Or he's judging it. He's a judger. "Did you know you can survive on sex alone? Just sayin'. I read it. In a book. Seriously."

Martin turns slightly away from Quinn to address Cassandra, "Again, that's why we vote them into the position. If they start to abuse the position, you vote someone else in. As for resources getting scarce, they already are. We had to trade a bunch of meat to the one person who managed to grab the hatchet. It's a community resource that everyone should be able to use witohut needing to throw meat at the man." He shrugs then deciding he is likely beating a dead horse at this point. No, instead Quinn suddenly has his attention. "Well, considering you just said 'sure' to both statements and one statement was that being in charge is boring, that only leave the one being the fun sounding one. I will be sure to keep a few yards distance from now on. Also, have I mentioned that Lip is much more entertaining to wrestle?" Then Lip opens his mouth. "Though, why a woman would want to wrestle with him is a mystery."

Cassandra looks to Lip with feigned wonder at his claim. "Really?" she asks, turning towards him with hands on her hips. "Well you should definitely get to it, then. I'd ask… her." Funny, considering her reputation in the Skybox was that she's a bit 'loose', but she turns her gaze towards Quinn, the Quiet One, who notoriously beat the crap out of someone in a premeditated attack and has been acknowledged as being able to likely make Martin beg for mercy. She smirks at Lip after making this suggestion, practically daring him, before she glances back over her shoulder to Martin again. "I'm going to vote for Lip," she tells him. "He's less likely to abuse his position. You have no idea that you're going to be able to just 'vote someone else in' once this lot get drunk on power."

"This…lot?" Quinn's brows inch upwards a fraction at Cassandra, giving her a longer, more considering look before she tucks her hands into her pockets, "Just as a note, I'm not fucking anyone, even if someone comes up with a goofy line like that. But thanks for volunteering me for the experiment, I'm going to go do something more useful than endlessly running my mouth."

"Did she say she was going to go do something useful with her mouth?" Lip looks to Martin and then off in Quinn's direction and then back around at whoever else. He then throws up a hand into the air, "I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" Lip cracks a big smile with that line and then immediately drops his hand. He really should be taking this whole 'survival' thing more seriously, huh? Eyes cut over to Cassandra. "Now now, just because you're the first to vote for Essential Lipness doesn't mean you're going to get special treatment when I'm the Fearful Leader of this here ragtag group of teenage offenders. Nope. You're going to have to work! You're going to have to earn your keep! Unless we're going the sexual favor route. If that's the case, you're good." He grins and looks around. "Anybody else want in on this? A vote for me is a vote for uh… what're we worried about again? Food! And water and stuff!"

Martin waves again to Quinn as she decides she has had enough of the talk. Turning back to the three of them, his grin has changed from the light humored one he had just a moment before to something more confident. "See? Bored. Dealing with people whining and complaining, needing this and that. Some people don't want to del with that, and that's what being in charge is all about." He takes a deep breath, as though fighting a bit of sleep. "There you go, Lip. You have your first supporter."

As soon as the attention is off her, at least mostly, Quinn turns around on a heel and heads off.

Something shifts in Cassandra's expression as Lip delivers his speech. For a moment she looks out towards the trees, distracted, bored, or a little disgusted… and then she turns back to Lip. She smiles. Charmingly. "Well, we'll have to see about that," she says. "I think I'm going to find myself a bonfire to dance around. Later, peeps." She doesn't look like she has her dancing shoes on, physically or metaphorically, but she does head off towards one of the smaller campfires.

Fiona emerges from the forest. She has a coney tied off with a strip by the feet, hanging off a loop of her belt, and one of the makeshift shovels resting jauntily over one shoulder. There's a fierce little grin on her face, probably because she's managed to brain a rabbit with far too many ears.

Martin raises an eyebrow at Cassandra's sudden shift. "Well, enjoy the dancing." He shakes his head then as the woman heads off. "Let's start working on your campaign speeches, Lip." He chuckles a bit, before noticing making her way out the woods like the cat that caught the canary or the Fiona that caught a rabbit. "Excellent work!"

"My speeches are epic and you know it." Lip follows Martin's eyes for a second and the moment he spots his friend, his eyes go a bit wider. He almost looks like he's feeling a genuine emotion for once. "Fiona!" He's hopping off in her direction and within two hops he realizes he's not fronting and slides right into his usual posturing swagger and strut, "Hey. Did you know everybody wants me to be leader? I told 'em I'll think about it. Priority is survival, right?"

"To be leader, huh? Are you sure you wanna deal with all that organization? I mean, the speeches are all adrenaline, I get it." Fiona smiles indulgently at Lip. "But then there's all the decision making, and listening to people complain, and dealing with the people who don't agree with you. And down here, some of them have shivs."

Martin grins at Fiona as she joins on on the Lip love. "Hey, Shortstuff. So nice of you to bring me dinner." He turns his attention to Lip and nods, "Yeah, we just had that conversation with Cass and Quinn. It isn't all ordering people around and sitting back." At the comment about shivs, his grin grows, "Yeah, think about that Lip. I'm pretty sure you have been wanting to be the one poking not the one getting poked."

"Shivver, please. I got this. Everybody loves me. I can make decisions. Or need I remind you that it was /I/ that chose the chains we used to make our case." He probably didn't but he's still going to take credit for it. That's Lip. "Old shit aside, I'll make one of you like… co-leader or something. Vice! Vice Leader! Then you can do all the real work and I'll handle the speeches." Grin.

Silver has been working on those bracelets. Working. And working. And eventually, she needs to take a break. She comes out of the dropship at a careful pace, rubbing at her eyes and looking up at the sky. Sky. That's just…weird. Once she's sure the path is clear, she steps out onto the dirt of the camp, getting a look at where everyone is. And probably making sure that there's not a riot going on at the moment.

Speaking of shivs and people who don't agree with anyone, Asher makes his way from the drop ship landing bay to the general grounds at a slow pace. The direction of the conversation causes his to raise a brow, but he's only caught a few pieces. As he's coming out at the same time as Silver he slows up, nodding to her, "You know how to get one of these off without taking the hand too?" He makes a motion like he's going to jangle the bracelet…except it's so stabby it doesn't move.

"Yeah, I'll pass. No offense, Lip - but you'd see a pretty girl and then we'd be left hanging in the wind, like your pants that one time." Fiona snickers and whether or not that that one time ever actually happened. She's sure Lip got caught with his pants down on more than one occasion and she's playing the odds. At Asher's greeting to Silver, Fiona turns, offers the other girl a smile, though it promptly turns thoughtful.

Martin doesn't recall that one time. He likely purged it from his memory as a defense mechanism. Hopefully no other important neurons were next to those and died as collateral damage. As Silver and Asher exit the drop ship, Martin looks up from Fi and Lip. "Aside from getting them off, any luck in figuring out if we can use them to communicate?"

"Hey," Silver smiles faintly to Asher. "Sort of. I heard there are some kids who've figured out how to pry them off, if you don't mind taking your chances with cutting yourself in the process. Problem is, getting them off without damaging them is a little more complicated. And to get them off without damaging them, I'd need to open the case and get into the programming. Hey, Fi, Martin, Lip." She pushes a hand through her hair, heading over toward the others. "Pretty sure we could use it to send something like morse code if I could get one off and open without breaking it. Just hit it with a charge from something else with a batter on a regular pattern. But I'd need more practice."

"I don't really care if it breaks, just don't want it on." Asher states as he continues towards the others as well. "Don't really care about communicating with the Ark either. So if you can pry it off, make with the pryin'." He nods to those others gathered, glancing around between them. "What're you guys talking about anyway?"

Fiona inspects her own bracelet - not that it's any different from the last million times she's looked it over. To Martin, she offers, "I'll share some." she offers. Typical Fiona. She indicates the multi-eared bunny she has hanging off her waistband with a tilt of her hip and pats the polearm portion of her shovel in answer to Asher's question. "Not to mention, discouraging Lip from the trappings of power."

Martin notes to Asher, "I mean communicate between them, rather than the Ark. It would be helpful to be able to talk to people out in the woods. It's probably too much to hope for." He looks down at the rabbit and grins, "Well thank you! I'll prepare it, if you want. Well, as best as it can be prepared with what we have." Rabbit on a stick. Mmmmmmm! "Discourging Lip from anything just involves dangling a pretty girl in front of him." He laughs as he moves to undo the rabbit from Fiona's belt.

Silver nods to Asher, setting her hands behind her neck to stretch. "Well, you've got dibs. Though if you're willing to hold still and let me jimmy with it, I'd owe you one. I really do think I can get one off without breaking it and shutting it down, it's just…Well. You know. Need more practice. And if it's communications between people you're looking at," she muses to Martin, "Short-range radio's probably not impossible. With enough of the right components. Not sure how durable it'd be, though."

A shrug is offered by Asher and he holds his wrist with its bracelet out towards Silver. "Knock yourself out." See, he can be amiable! A glance from Martin to who he has to assume is Lip at this point, "Him? Power?" He snorts once. "You gotta be able to deal with people who don't want to follow if you wanna be in charge." He pauses and falls silent, looking back to Silver. "You need tools or something?" He pulls a sharp looking shiv from its position under the offending bracelet, apparently he's been using it to hold the shiv somewhere easy to access it. "I got this if it'll help."

"Heyheyhey!" Fiona flails her free hand to smack at Martin's grasping one. "Hands off my bunny! I'm perfectly capable of giving it to you myself." And then, when when Asher pulls out his makeshift knife, she says to Lip, "See? Shiv." She hands the coney over to Martin. "Dibs on the fur."

Martin avoids the swats at his hands then just pauses at what Fiona says. He looks then to Lip. Come on, Lip. How can you pass up such a golden opportunity with what she just said. He bites his tongue, since he's suposed to be somewhat serious. Finally he simply states, "Alright, fine. I'm just a touch ipatient. I've never had multiple-eared rabbit before." Once she hands him the rabbit, he heads off to find another shive with which to begin skinning the animal. "No promises that the fur will be good for anything after this."

"Let's go with less sharp around the major veins and arteries," Silver smiles ruefully back at Asher, pulling out a smaller, less sharp tool of her own. It's not much, just a slender scrap of metal with one end pounded flat and the other end wrapped in a bit of string to give it better grip. "Come on, let's get a seat, get that braced up against something."

A deft motion of his hand and the shiv is stashed in his belt along his back a moment later. Asher nods once and eyes the tool Silver produces, "I guess, if you wanna take the safe route out." He smirks once and moves off towards a seat. Once he sits down, he plants his elbow against his knee and looks over to Silver, bracing his own arm with the other. "Good enough?"

"Your thigh's also full of veins and arteries," Silver points out helpfully, glancing back toward the ship. "Here, let's go back inside. Can prop it up against one of the seats or some of the structure to help brace it. Fair warning, there are needles feeding signals to that thing, so it will probably hurt a little bit no matter how well I manage to do this. Try to hold still, though."

"My folks," Silver explains as she heads inside, "Are in food service and sanitation. But I spent most of my time in medical pretty early on. These things?" She taps at his bracelet. "New since I went in. I wouldn't've done them like this. The needles are stupid. Precise, maybe, but you could actually get similar results from a decent vapor sensor without the risk of infection or rejection. Looks like Johnson's work on the design. All weight, no art."

Uh huh. Asher just sort of watches her with a quirked brow as she speaks. "Look at the big brain on you…" he comments idly and glances back towards the dropship, "Mecha. My mom worked in janitorial, but her route was in mecha." He pauses a beat and looks to Silver, "Didn't pick up any real skills there though." He falls silent there and starts up the ramp into the ship.

"Big old brain," Silver agrees idly, picking out a spot with a good place to brace the bracelet. "Big old brain that got me framed when one of the doctors stole my prototype to try to help her husband. If they'd just waited another couple of months, I think I could've had it ready. But no. And then when it came down to it, keeping the doc alive was worth more than the truth was."

Asher remains silent while he listens to Silver tell her tale. He puts his arm up to be braced and eyes it for a moment. He then looks back to Silver, frowning just a bit, "That's pretty shitty." he comments quietly. "Must suck gettin' stuck down here with a bunch of thugs and killers, huh?" He smirks just a bit at her, gaze sticking to her for a moment. His gaze is a challenge, and probably a game. See who blinks first. Out of the cages, the animals like to establish themselves.

"Sucks less than the two years of lies up there," Silver drawls, deadpan. "Though yeah. Not super looking forward to when things get ugly. Because they will. Not everyone down here is here because they're violent, or sociopaths, or real trouble. But it doesn't have to be everyone. Just takes one or two to cross the line. Then everyone else'll start. But hey. I learned something from it. People'll keep you around if they think you might still be useful." Pulling out her prybar and a heavier piece that functions as a hammer, she taps a bit of rebar inside the ship. "Brace it up here? Let's see if we can get this off."

Asher puts his arm with the offending bracelet on it agains thte indicated rebar and uses his other hand to brace his forearm. "Yeah. Either be useful or be dangerous. Those are your options. And yes, more than one or two will get violent. Really violent, not just a fight. I had a small gang back on the Ark. We were tough for kids, but even we only got into fights. Nothing major." Which begs the question about why he's here if it was nothing major. "Whenever you're ready…"

<FS3> Silver rolls Mechanics: Good Success.
<FS3> Silver rolls Medicine: Good Success.

"Two years," Silver repeats, shrugging slightly as she wedges the narrow edge of the prying piece into the casing on the bracelet, then carefully starts to tap at it with the heavier piece. Like a hammer and a chisel. "The wink nudge when I went in was that if I kept my mouth shut and I didn't cause any trouble, then when I was up for review, everything could go back to normal. I got pretty good at staying out of the way when things went down. For all the good it did me."

She manages to get the pry piece into where the components of the bracelet meet the band, carefully positioning it. "This is where it might…pinch a bit," she warns, getting it all in place before twisting against the attachment. There's a sharp cracking sound, and the casing pops off, spilling electronic components across the floor. "Son of a bitch!" Silver grimaces. On the up side, the bracelet is off. And needles are out, though the area right around them is a little red from the added pressure.

Asher falls silent again, hmmming quietly as she sets in to work, "Well, if that hadn't happened, you might never have gotten stuck down here with all of us. With the trees and the mutant animals." He nods once, ever so seriously. Very important. The twist causes him to wince and then it falls apart on the ground and he takes in a sharp breath. He rubs now at his wrist, nodding to her, "Thanks, Doc." This may have been more mechanics, but she fixed him up.

Silver looks glumly at the pieces of bracelet on the floor, sighing as she goes to collect them back up. "No problem," she says. "Thanks for being my test subject. I was hoping I'd get it off in one piece, but…Just need to try a different angle next time. At least it's a start." Straightening, she looks back with a tired, crooked smile. "Anyhow. I should probably try to sleep. Keep that clean until it's at least scabbed over. Cover it up if you can, and you should be fine."

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