(no subject)
Hmph.
If one presses on for long enough, eventually a decrepit, heavily rotted wooden cabin can be distinguished in the murk. But this particular cabin should hardly be taken at face value. Inside, the squat building is surprisingly clean, with just enough room for one neatly maintained bed, dressed in tan sheets, and several flashlights and canned food items resting on the cabin's single wooden table. Beneath the bed are a pair of age-yellowed board games - chess and checkers, respectively - and a fresh deck of cards, along with a few old pots and pans, and a few bottles of water. If one searches enough, they might even be able to dig up a bottle of wine, or a six pack of beer, depending upon the kindness of their predecessors. Outside there is enough room to build and maintain a small fire in the rock-pit that's been organized a safe distance away from the cabin.
Jason is under the bed, curled up in a blanket. He's sleeping. He's also pressed so far under the bed to be in dust and shadow.
Serge coat of dark charcoal worn open over clothes best classified as the work-out type, close-fitting grey tee and black sweatpants over cross-trainers scuffed from traversing the forest floor, Ellen slips inside the aging cabin with a quiet step but a creak of door. Her hair is bound in a looser tail than usual at the base of her neck. She is carrying a black backpack by one strap, whacking against her calf; she swings it around as she comes in, letting it drop to the floor.
Jason continues to sleep, the primary sign of his presence a light snore, chirping as it's drawn in and out his nostrils.
Thin brows climb. Ellen cocks her head, tracing the source of the sound. She toes off her athletic shoes, feet neat in white socks. A few steps and she is beside the bed. She drops to her hands and knees and lowers her head, tilting it sideways and frowning as she peers beneath.
A blanketed lump, still, the rib area expanding and contracting in time with the chirps. Jason's head is mostly covered, even.
Ellen eyes the lump, mouth twitching into a grimace. She shifts to sit up on the floor, running her hands through her hair; her fingers encounter the band holding the loose tail in place, and slide it out and over her left wrist. She shrugs out of her coat, letting it slide to the floor in a dark pool of twilled wool behind her. One leg bent up with her hand resting on its knee, the other hand planted firmly on the floor beside her, she unfurls the other leg into the shadows beneath the bed to poke at the sleeper with white-socked toes.
SWACK. Jason jerks, stiff shouldered, away from the floor -- which unfortunately brings the side of his head right up against the underside of the bed. It's not his only reaction. The area around him /freezes/ cold, stiff, inert, while he scrambles to roll around and see who/what touched him. Rats?
Ellen sits extremely still, body going motionless to match the foot extended beneath the bed. Her lips thin. She voices a syllable. "Ah."
Not rats. Foot. Jason cannot recognize a body from a foot. An ah, however . . . Jason releases Ellen with a, "Hey. Don't poke me."
Her foot withdraws, it and its mate folding beneath her as her legs cross. She clasps her hands in her lap. She asks, "Why are you under there?"
"I'm sleeping," Jason growls, and begins to drag himself out from under the bed -- with pulls and light kicks.
Ellen moves to allow his escape, unfolding with the slide of fabric-smoothing hands up her torso; she sits down again, this time on the very edge of the bed, and crosses her legs. Her fingers lace primly together over her thighs. "Under the bed," Ellen says. "Here. Why?"
"Just in case someone wanted to use the top of the bed." Jason coughs once he's out in the open, shaking his hair. Cobwebs are, however, persistent. "I'm polite."
"Use the top of the bed," Ellen echoes levelly. She eyes him.
"Maybe other people don't want to sleep in a giant group?" Jason asks and finally just reaches up to remove cobwebs with manual motions of his fingers.
"Privacy is at a high premium around here at the moment," Ellen answers, looking at him with a frown twitching the corners of her mouth. "There are concerns other than sleep."
"I suppose." Jason drags all the way out, curling his legs under him. "I /was/ sleeping, though."
"Yes." The affirmative is flat. Ellen cocks her head. With careful deliacy, she continues, "However, there are other places where you can do /that/."
"Such as?" Jason prompts.
Ellen flicks negligent fingers. "If bunking with the other recruits does not appeal to you?" a fleeting shadow of humor as she tilts her head the other way, brows lifting. "No one is wounded at the moment."
"I don't want to sleep in the infirmary," Jason says, leaning his shoulderblades against the edge of the bed. "This is where I chose."
Ellen looks down at him. Irritation flickers, her expression tightening. "I can see that," she says. "It is most inconvenient of you."
"Why?" Jason presses, stubborn.
Ellen's head lifts, nostrils flaring with a snorted breath. "Because," she answers, not very illuminating, "I came here looking for some privacy."
"Ah hah. Well." Jason takes this opportunity to bend his arms over his shoulders and spraw his hands backwards on the sheets. He grins. "I got here first."
Pale eyes narrow. "You did, didn't you."
"Sorry." Jason glances at the ceiling.
"I shall have to ask you to please leave." Ellen's request is phrased very mildly. Her eyes are stubbornly steady upon him. Her hands are tight over her thigh. "I should not need long."
"There's portapotties just outside. Use one of those." Jason smiles at the ceiling. Ah, smile.
Ellen smiles, too. She shifts, one palm dropping to the bed beside her; she leans on it, reaching to feather her other hand's fingertips in a tickling brush over Jason's near hand. "Uncouth," she answers, "and anatomically inconvenient."
Jason's hand tenses, the knuckles pink with a white line of pressed strain over the tops. But he won't move. "Plenty of other places. Firepit."
Ellen slides her hand the rest of the way over his, palm's heat firm against his knuckles. Skin to skin, her consciousness expands, awareness sliding contemplatively through his cells, absently hunting for signs of ill health. "I suppose there are."
The hand gives out a mild spasm, then settles. Nothing, as ever, seems to be wrong with Jason. His cells are functioning, his body is working -- other than tension and weariness and a certain depression of energy -- ah hah, maybe a slight edge of fever. But slight. Like a warm breath, that's all. "See? Options."
"None especially pleasant." Ellen's mind meanders through his body with no especial goal, nothing altering where her mind touches. "You have chosen a strange sort of situation to dig in your heels."
"I don't want to move right now," Jason says, explains, his eyes half lidding.
"I suppose I could block your ears and deny you sight if you would prefer."
This gets Jason's attention. "/What?/" he spits, whipping his head to the side.
Ellen blinks at him as though wholly baffled by the strength of this reaction. "I would restore you when I was finished," she says. She lifts her hand from his, head tilting. "Of course."
"What on frigging earth are you /doing/? I was under the /bed/ with my face to the /wall/," Jason blats, terribly bothered. "I'm not going to see /anything/."
Ellen looks at him with an expression of mild reproach. "It is more your ears that I am concerned with. Never mind." The lift and spread of Ellen's palms is quite as though it is Jason who is being unreasonable here. "You did say you preferred not to move."
"I do. You can do your -- talking thing -- somewhere else." Jason's growl is low and emphatic, and a little tremorous.
Ellen gives him a long and measuring look. It is irritated. She does not move to get off the bed.
Jason does not move away from the bed. He does, however, glare to her measure. Grar.
Meeting his gaze, Ellen lifts an eyebrow at him. Very slowly, she smiles.
Jason pulls his lips back in a grin. Beat that.
"There is," Ellen remarks contemplatively, "another option."
"What?" Jason asks through his teeth.
Ellen lifts a forefinger and twitches it at him in a small circle. "Take off your pants."
Attractive as Ellen is, Jason does /not/ look inclined to do that. His expression pinches in, his forehead wrinkling profoundly. "Why?"
Ellen sighs. "Jason," she says, highly exasperated, "I came here seeking the privacy to attend to my needs myself. Since you would not do me the courtesy of absenting yourself, I give you the option of extending a different one."
growls and works at the clasp of his jeans. "Listen. I am a /very/ powerful young man. You do anything funny and I'll have no choice but to act with surpassing /drastic/...ness. This has better be good."
Jason growls and works at the clasp of his jeans. "Listen. I am a /very/ powerful young man. You do anything funny and I'll have no choice but to act with surpassing /drastic/...ness. This has better be good."
Ellen stares at him. "You have doubts," she says, eyebrows climbing high, "about my performance?"
Jason stares back. "I'm sorry, but were--" He suddenly zips his pants back up. "You know, never mind."
Ellen gives him a slow blink. She sits back on the bed, weight supported by her palms, and says, "Fine."
"If you want to--whatever, I'll pull my blanket up over my head and ignore you," Jason is no longer looking at her. Floor's nice.
"If you are so very attached to this cabin," Ellen answers coolly, drawing to her feet and reaching up to bind her hair back into its loose tail, "I shall leave you to it."
"Good." Jason flops onto his side and drags himself under with his heels and palms.
Ellen retrieves her coat from the floor, shrugging into it to fasten it closed with swift and nimble fingers. She retrieves her backpack and slings it over her shoulder. "You are a very strange person."
Jason's laugh is /exceedingly/ dry.
Ellen makes her exit as a stalk.
Jason promptly squeezes back out from under the bed and claims the top.
If one presses on for long enough, eventually a decrepit, heavily rotted wooden cabin can be distinguished in the murk. But this particular cabin should hardly be taken at face value. Inside, the squat building is surprisingly clean, with just enough room for one neatly maintained bed, dressed in tan sheets, and several flashlights and canned food items resting on the cabin's single wooden table. Beneath the bed are a pair of age-yellowed board games - chess and checkers, respectively - and a fresh deck of cards, along with a few old pots and pans, and a few bottles of water. If one searches enough, they might even be able to dig up a bottle of wine, or a six pack of beer, depending upon the kindness of their predecessors. Outside there is enough room to build and maintain a small fire in the rock-pit that's been organized a safe distance away from the cabin.
Jason is under the bed, curled up in a blanket. He's sleeping. He's also pressed so far under the bed to be in dust and shadow.
Serge coat of dark charcoal worn open over clothes best classified as the work-out type, close-fitting grey tee and black sweatpants over cross-trainers scuffed from traversing the forest floor, Ellen slips inside the aging cabin with a quiet step but a creak of door. Her hair is bound in a looser tail than usual at the base of her neck. She is carrying a black backpack by one strap, whacking against her calf; she swings it around as she comes in, letting it drop to the floor.
Jason continues to sleep, the primary sign of his presence a light snore, chirping as it's drawn in and out his nostrils.
Thin brows climb. Ellen cocks her head, tracing the source of the sound. She toes off her athletic shoes, feet neat in white socks. A few steps and she is beside the bed. She drops to her hands and knees and lowers her head, tilting it sideways and frowning as she peers beneath.
A blanketed lump, still, the rib area expanding and contracting in time with the chirps. Jason's head is mostly covered, even.
Ellen eyes the lump, mouth twitching into a grimace. She shifts to sit up on the floor, running her hands through her hair; her fingers encounter the band holding the loose tail in place, and slide it out and over her left wrist. She shrugs out of her coat, letting it slide to the floor in a dark pool of twilled wool behind her. One leg bent up with her hand resting on its knee, the other hand planted firmly on the floor beside her, she unfurls the other leg into the shadows beneath the bed to poke at the sleeper with white-socked toes.
SWACK. Jason jerks, stiff shouldered, away from the floor -- which unfortunately brings the side of his head right up against the underside of the bed. It's not his only reaction. The area around him /freezes/ cold, stiff, inert, while he scrambles to roll around and see who/what touched him. Rats?
Ellen sits extremely still, body going motionless to match the foot extended beneath the bed. Her lips thin. She voices a syllable. "Ah."
Not rats. Foot. Jason cannot recognize a body from a foot. An ah, however . . . Jason releases Ellen with a, "Hey. Don't poke me."
Her foot withdraws, it and its mate folding beneath her as her legs cross. She clasps her hands in her lap. She asks, "Why are you under there?"
"I'm sleeping," Jason growls, and begins to drag himself out from under the bed -- with pulls and light kicks.
Ellen moves to allow his escape, unfolding with the slide of fabric-smoothing hands up her torso; she sits down again, this time on the very edge of the bed, and crosses her legs. Her fingers lace primly together over her thighs. "Under the bed," Ellen says. "Here. Why?"
"Just in case someone wanted to use the top of the bed." Jason coughs once he's out in the open, shaking his hair. Cobwebs are, however, persistent. "I'm polite."
"Use the top of the bed," Ellen echoes levelly. She eyes him.
"Maybe other people don't want to sleep in a giant group?" Jason asks and finally just reaches up to remove cobwebs with manual motions of his fingers.
"Privacy is at a high premium around here at the moment," Ellen answers, looking at him with a frown twitching the corners of her mouth. "There are concerns other than sleep."
"I suppose." Jason drags all the way out, curling his legs under him. "I /was/ sleeping, though."
"Yes." The affirmative is flat. Ellen cocks her head. With careful deliacy, she continues, "However, there are other places where you can do /that/."
"Such as?" Jason prompts.
Ellen flicks negligent fingers. "If bunking with the other recruits does not appeal to you?" a fleeting shadow of humor as she tilts her head the other way, brows lifting. "No one is wounded at the moment."
"I don't want to sleep in the infirmary," Jason says, leaning his shoulderblades against the edge of the bed. "This is where I chose."
Ellen looks down at him. Irritation flickers, her expression tightening. "I can see that," she says. "It is most inconvenient of you."
"Why?" Jason presses, stubborn.
Ellen's head lifts, nostrils flaring with a snorted breath. "Because," she answers, not very illuminating, "I came here looking for some privacy."
"Ah hah. Well." Jason takes this opportunity to bend his arms over his shoulders and spraw his hands backwards on the sheets. He grins. "I got here first."
Pale eyes narrow. "You did, didn't you."
"Sorry." Jason glances at the ceiling.
"I shall have to ask you to please leave." Ellen's request is phrased very mildly. Her eyes are stubbornly steady upon him. Her hands are tight over her thigh. "I should not need long."
"There's portapotties just outside. Use one of those." Jason smiles at the ceiling. Ah, smile.
Ellen smiles, too. She shifts, one palm dropping to the bed beside her; she leans on it, reaching to feather her other hand's fingertips in a tickling brush over Jason's near hand. "Uncouth," she answers, "and anatomically inconvenient."
Jason's hand tenses, the knuckles pink with a white line of pressed strain over the tops. But he won't move. "Plenty of other places. Firepit."
Ellen slides her hand the rest of the way over his, palm's heat firm against his knuckles. Skin to skin, her consciousness expands, awareness sliding contemplatively through his cells, absently hunting for signs of ill health. "I suppose there are."
The hand gives out a mild spasm, then settles. Nothing, as ever, seems to be wrong with Jason. His cells are functioning, his body is working -- other than tension and weariness and a certain depression of energy -- ah hah, maybe a slight edge of fever. But slight. Like a warm breath, that's all. "See? Options."
"None especially pleasant." Ellen's mind meanders through his body with no especial goal, nothing altering where her mind touches. "You have chosen a strange sort of situation to dig in your heels."
"I don't want to move right now," Jason says, explains, his eyes half lidding.
"I suppose I could block your ears and deny you sight if you would prefer."
This gets Jason's attention. "/What?/" he spits, whipping his head to the side.
Ellen blinks at him as though wholly baffled by the strength of this reaction. "I would restore you when I was finished," she says. She lifts her hand from his, head tilting. "Of course."
"What on frigging earth are you /doing/? I was under the /bed/ with my face to the /wall/," Jason blats, terribly bothered. "I'm not going to see /anything/."
Ellen looks at him with an expression of mild reproach. "It is more your ears that I am concerned with. Never mind." The lift and spread of Ellen's palms is quite as though it is Jason who is being unreasonable here. "You did say you preferred not to move."
"I do. You can do your -- talking thing -- somewhere else." Jason's growl is low and emphatic, and a little tremorous.
Ellen gives him a long and measuring look. It is irritated. She does not move to get off the bed.
Jason does not move away from the bed. He does, however, glare to her measure. Grar.
Meeting his gaze, Ellen lifts an eyebrow at him. Very slowly, she smiles.
Jason pulls his lips back in a grin. Beat that.
"There is," Ellen remarks contemplatively, "another option."
"What?" Jason asks through his teeth.
Ellen lifts a forefinger and twitches it at him in a small circle. "Take off your pants."
Attractive as Ellen is, Jason does /not/ look inclined to do that. His expression pinches in, his forehead wrinkling profoundly. "Why?"
Ellen sighs. "Jason," she says, highly exasperated, "I came here seeking the privacy to attend to my needs myself. Since you would not do me the courtesy of absenting yourself, I give you the option of extending a different one."
growls and works at the clasp of his jeans. "Listen. I am a /very/ powerful young man. You do anything funny and I'll have no choice but to act with surpassing /drastic/...ness. This has better be good."
Jason growls and works at the clasp of his jeans. "Listen. I am a /very/ powerful young man. You do anything funny and I'll have no choice but to act with surpassing /drastic/...ness. This has better be good."
Ellen stares at him. "You have doubts," she says, eyebrows climbing high, "about my performance?"
Jason stares back. "I'm sorry, but were--" He suddenly zips his pants back up. "You know, never mind."
Ellen gives him a slow blink. She sits back on the bed, weight supported by her palms, and says, "Fine."
"If you want to--whatever, I'll pull my blanket up over my head and ignore you," Jason is no longer looking at her. Floor's nice.
"If you are so very attached to this cabin," Ellen answers coolly, drawing to her feet and reaching up to bind her hair back into its loose tail, "I shall leave you to it."
"Good." Jason flops onto his side and drags himself under with his heels and palms.
Ellen retrieves her coat from the floor, shrugging into it to fasten it closed with swift and nimble fingers. She retrieves her backpack and slings it over her shoulder. "You are a very strange person."
Jason's laugh is /exceedingly/ dry.
Ellen makes her exit as a stalk.
Jason promptly squeezes back out from under the bed and claims the top.