Day 006: Plan D
Summary: Fiona seeks Cookie's help in convincing others to attempt diplomacy before destruction.
Date: 06 July 2016
Related: Weather or Not to Take the High Road or the Low & Peace or Bloodshed
Fiona Cookie 


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.

Day 6

A few hours after Fiona gets back from her outing earlier in the day, she decides she needs to talk to the camp's resident chef. It doesn't take long to ferret out where Cookie is, though upon approach, she'll take a moment to see what the other girl is doing.

It's been a day since the expedition clusterfuck to Mount Weather. Cookie has long-since dried off from her unplanned swim. As is often the case, she can be found at the camp kitchen, cooking something in a makeshift pot made from a curved plate of Dropship. (Perhaps it's more of the rabbit soup she made at the end of aforementioned harrowing day and personally delivered to the injured members of the expedition clusterfuck team.) From outward appearances, she seems her typical easy-going self. Of course, she's also immersing herself in something she loves doing, and that's always good for the soul.

"Hey Cookie," Fiona's greeting is quiet but amenable. "Can I give you some help? I was hoping to talk to you."

Cookie, herself, generally comes across as soft-spoken even when she's boisterous. She is not, however, boisterous in this moment. Amiable, though? Oh, yeah. That's generally how she rolls. "Hey, Fiona. Thanks, but K-detail's got it covered." Stirring whatever's in the pot, she asks, "Wassup? Take a seat. Lighten your load." Never mind that the seats are limited to whatever bit of nearby nature the shorter girl is willing to rest her rump.

Fiona is willing to do so, finding herself an edge to plant her ass on somewhere. "I was wondering how much you knew about Grey's plans to get our people back." Her expression is troubled, and clearly her opinion of it isn't the greatest.

Sociable creature that she is, Cookie picks up on Fiona's mood. "That depends on if the last plan I heard about is the one you're talking about." A few more whirls and she stops stirring, sets aside the makeshift spoon, covers the makeshift pot with a makeshift lid, and leaves it be to simmer. As she walks over to Fiona, she pulls out some black cherry fruit leather — a new flavor — and offers it. Why? Because good food is good for morale.

"The last plan - the only plan I know about, is the one where he wants to storm the Grounders to get back our people." She accepts the fruit leather with a soft, "Thanks." Kindness feels rare these days, she appreciates it. Taking a chew, she admits, "You were there. It was brutal. But do you think Grey's plan has any chance of success?"

It shouldn't be surprising that the camp cook hears a lot of scuttlebutt. "Last tea I was served, which I'm not saying is the freshest, is that Lucian wants to create a massive distraction, sneak in, and sneak out with our peeps." Whether or not that's /still/ the plan, Cookie doesn't know. She does know it's, "Infinitely better than what he was rolling with yesterday, which is the kill-kill-kill plan that'd kill any good mood." Not that there was a good mood to kill.

In a comforting manner, deft fingers seek to alight atop the sitting Fiona's head in an attempt to finger comb hair. With a wry smile, the still standing chef notes, "I was drifting downstream," about being there. To the rest, one shoulder lifts into a mild shrug. "I'm no strategist, but I know that doing nothing is less likely to get anyone back home." Yes, home. Cookie's all about community. "What do you think we should do?" Because it seems Fiona is looking for a sounding board, or at least to verbally work through her feelings.

"I think we should at least try to negotiate." Unwittingly, Fiona leans into Cookie's hand. Affection without a price, a rare gem in this rough place. "It may still come to fighting, but god, Cookie - these people know the land, they have better weapons, better resources, better fighters. They'll kill us all."

There, there, Fiona. It's gonna be ok. Or so Cookie's fingers suggest. "It may," she agrees about it coming to fighting, "and they do," know the land, have better weapons, better resources, better fighters, "but they might not," kill all the Delinquents. "Sounds like Lucian knocked over a cairn. I know I'd be pissed off if someone desecrated my Grandmama's grave." Never mind that there are no graves, really, in space. "Not murderous, but I get it. Some people snap hard when they feel disrespected." Light headscritching commences. "Maybe they can be reasoned with, maybe not, but if they're gonna kill us anyway, no harm in trying to make nice first. It's not like we'll roll over if that doesn't work. We do need to do whatever we can to get our people back, though. If it turns ugly, then it does. Family's family, and family sticks together."

"Grey and Faolan just want to attack them." Fiona says in dismay. "They don't even want to try. Which is why I'm talking to people I think can persuade the rest to insist to Grey that we try to negotiate first, or he won't have support." She looks up at Cookie anxiously. "It's why I came to talk to you." Because Cookie may speak softly, but she has a voice that carries.

Cookie's not exactly anxious, but her mouth and brows are too dismayed to quite be pensive. "I'll speak with them." Whether or not that comes to any good remains to be seen, but she's an optimistic sort. "Listen to what they have to say." Because listening is important. "I'm sure we'll figure it out." Indeed, she sounds confident in the way someone who believes things have a way of turning out for the best is confident.

With a final scritch delivered and her hand gingerly removed, she amiably smiles at Fiona. "Chew your cherry chew, now. It's good for you."

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