(no subject)
Derek has spent the larger part of the trip up near the front of the pack. The horizon has gradually been getting lighter and finally, Derek holds up a hand. "All right, ladies and gentlemen, I think we're gonna have to stop real soon if we want to get a camp made before the sun's up."
Having moved from his rearguard position, Padraig comes to a halt, sunglasses on and squinting towards the East. "Reckon you're right. What's the guess? Are we slow, confused or screwed by the seniors?" Lips part to receive a tongue running quickly over them.
Ellen squints easterly, the grim line of her mouth pulled into a frown as long legs ease to a halt. She mops idly at her brow with one sleeve. She has been monitoring her vitals as she goes, both for practicality's sake and for something to occupy her attention apart from counting her steps -- hydration levels acceptable, metabolism operating at reasonable levels of efficiency. The lean blonde levels her glance at Padraig. "I imagine these conditions are not mutually exclusive, Blitz."
Lillianne stumbles to a stop, slipping her pack off her back and letting it drop heavily to the ground, following afterwards herself. She's obviously exhausted, despite having already redistributed the heavier items to Chrome's pack. She reaches up to rework her ponytail, keeping quiet for the moment and listens in. "Is this the best spot to shelter, you think?"
"I'm voting for 'screwed,'" Derek responds without any particular animosity. "And after the parachutes, I can't say I'm particularly surprised. We might have just missed by a little bit, though." He looks around. "Hm. Can't see that far. Hey, Lillianne," he raises his voice somewhat, "how do you feel about doing a little scouting?"
"Point," Padraig notes towards Ellen. He shrugs his pack from off his back, immediately beginning a dig through it to check on contents. "We also need to figure who's sleeping where, who's keeping watch and who's going to help me dig a condensation still."
"We should watch in shifts," Ellen observes, mild-voiced, as she shrugs out of her own pack, squatting neatly in the sand to root through it. "I must conserve as much energy I can, but I should be good for a few hours."
Lillianne glances toward Derek and nods blankly, inhaling deeply before pushing back to her feet and scrubbing at her eyes as she walks toward him. "What'd you have in mind?" she asks, shoot a swift look back over at Chrome quickly once the talk of supply distribution takes up.
Derek nods to Padraig and Ellen. "We need to decide on a site, first," he points out, "though we can do shifts. I'm good for one; two at a time, four hour shifts, unless someone has a better idea?" He leaves that suggestion to be debated and glashes a wry smile at Lillianne. "Tell you what I got in mind. You shrink down to doll size, I use telekinesis to pick you way up in the air to look around. See if we're in range of the oasis and just haven't seen it."
Padraig sweeps a look over the other assembled recruits, before returning to Ellen. "I figure you're probably best resting as much as possible, in case someone gets severely hurt." Then it's a totally intrigued glance thrown towards Derek. "Would that make sense to you, Valkyrie?"
"Clever," Ellen notes to Derek, cool as desert evening, before she cants her head to look up at Padraig, balanced squatting with her pack braced on her knees. "Logical enough," she admits, pursing dry lips. "I would of course prefer my services prove unnecessary, but one cannot foresee ..."
Lillianne sucks in a lip and gnaws it before nodding and throwing a look around for any kind of screen. Finding nothing better than a drift, she sighs and scrambles around Derek to slide a little ways down one and dig into a pocket. "Turn around and give me ten minutes," she says, raising her voice to carry, and then turning around her self and sitting down, already tugging at boot laces.
Derek grimaces at Ellen. "I foresee the seniors putting us through the ringer one way or another," he says in response to Ellen. "They gave us tents. I think they expected us to take more than a day to reach the goal. Which means they'll probably have other surprises for us along the way. I wouldn't assume they're here to help if you see them." Just what everyone wanted to hear, surely. He glances at Lillianne. "I got a blanket if you wanna shrink down, like, half-covered by it," he offers, but then turns his head away.
Despite the smirk that twitches at his lips, Padraig does turn away from Lilli. "We got no idea what's coming," he says, nodding quickly towards Ellen. Then it's towards Derek. "Which is why we need people on stag. Someone should write up a roster." Padraig, however, is now stretching out, stopping tired muscles from getting worse.
Ellen draws up to her full height, swinging her pack over her shoulders again, and serenely laces her fingers together before her to crack her knuckles. "I will conserve my energy as much as I can, in that case." She raises her voice, blue-grey eyes sweeping her fellow recruits solemnly. Cool alto raised to a courtroom's pitch in order to carry, she announces, "No minor repairs."
The clothes are already hanging baggy, and both her boots are set neatly to the side. She balls up a sock and sticks it inside, then shrugs. "No thanks. I'll shrink into the clothes." Gradually, the other sock, then her jacket, are discarded and folded, until there's little more left than a bulge left under the waistband of the pants.
Derek is good and continues to not look in Lillianne's direction, idly keeping an eye on the other male members of the Brotherhood to be sure they do the same. "Okay," he answers Lillianne. "So. I think Umbra and Valkyrie should be off of sentry duty; I can't think of anyone else with as compelling a reason. As to a roster...Bugger it. I don't have pen and paper. I say we go alphabetically. By post-human name, or first name for those of us without one."
Padraig is concentrating on the bag, digging out the cooking gear. "Me and Apu first, then," he announces, with a grin flashed towards that recruit. "Also. If we're, er, sleeping, I think it's looking like me and Fred crashing together." Said without so much as a flicker of a shudder.
Ellen cants a glance at Lillianne, regarding her with wholly unchivalrous clinical interest, though the blue-grey eyes move on blandly enough as she determines that there will be, as of this moment, no sussing of the mechanism. "We pitch tents here, then?" Inquiry is slanted Derek's direction, blent with tacit acceptance of impromptu leadership.
Lillianne emerges, tryng to re-do the ponytail with a now too-large band, and dressed in an ill fitting dress and baggy drawstring pants, both a permutation of Barbie pink. "OK!" She yells, jumping up and down to grab Derek's attention. As if pre-planned (or at least well-practiced), Chrome moves in to gather up the clothing once she's away from the area.
"Well, the Blob gets second shift anyway," Derek points out dryly to Padraig. He pauses at Ellen's question, then nods. "Let's get started," he agrees. "This isn't a bad spot, and we won't get far before we get Lillianne's report. This is probably gonna be it." Then he turns back to Lillianne. "All right, here we go. If you start to feel insecure at all, scream bloody murder." Sounds like an easy system. Derek walks a little closer to Lillianne and then the pint sized mutant lifts off the ground, moving up smoothly to a height of around one hundred feet, which is about as high as Derek can see her clearly. Up there, she rotates 360 degrees on the spot slowly, then descends again.
Lillianne squeaks a bit as she's lifted up, hands gripping the waist of the pants to hold them on (just in case). In the gradually increasing light, nothing appears any different than the distance they'd already walked through. She reports as much to Derek, and then asks to be set down on the pile of packs that are hers and Chrome.
Padraig cannot help but watch, intrigued and amused, as the diminuitive figure is launched high and brought low. However, once the campsite is confirmed, he asks "Any volunteers to do a little digging?" He rises to his feet, cloth, pan and pebble in hand.
Ellen favors Padraig with a faintly amused glance, letting her pack slide neatly to the sand behind her. "Unfortunately I believe my assistance there would be somewhat ... impractical," she intones, and crouches to retrieve the tent squared away in the pack.
Lillianne curls up on her perch and tilts her head curiously. "I'd help, Paddy, but I'm not sure how much I'd be? Unless you need small hands for something?" she hollers.
Padraig nods once towards Ellen, with a "No problem," grabbing the nearest non-tented volunteer to help him. Then, he tips an amused, but friendly smile up towards Lilli. "Could you take a look for some small stones for me, while I swear about the bastards that have abandoned us?" A wry snort flips from his lips, before he gets about the business of digging that hole, only thick gloves protecting his hands from abrasion.
Lillianne rolls her eyes. "Small to you are kinda boulder-like to me now, but sure," she says, sliding off the pack mound and scouting around, though in the fine sand, she slide calf-deep. "Uh-oh..."
Ellen treats the tent and pegs, once unloaded, to a cursory examination, mild irritation reflected in the grey-blue eyes. She scans the assembling camp, hunting for idle hands to press into service.
Padraig tips an amused glance up towards Lilli, but immediately gets to the task at hand. Digging with hands is not fun, but with leather gloves is not too painful. The hole takes shape, and Padraig settles back, satisfied, after a long moment. "Lookin' good. Lilli?"
Progress is slow, it seems, but determination renders it possible nonetheless. Ellen's inexperience in the arena of tent-pitching is, however, distressingly obvious, even if only from the pace at which she proceeds.
Lillianne tries pulling her legs free, falls forward, and ends up eating a faceful of sand. It's a minute or two of flopping before she's settled gingerly on her backside on top of the sand. "Um. I don't think I'm going to manage this real well," she replies loudly (for her at her current diminutive size.)
Padraig takes note of Lilli's call, another amused smirk drifting onto his lips. He skips up to his full six feet, scanning around for Barbie pink. "Gotcha." Then he wanders towards her, slowing and beginning to crouch once he gets closer. "Want a hand?"
"Just... pick me? And stick me back on the pack? I guess my feet aren't big enough to support my weight. Need bigger ones. Like snow-shoeing..." she says, a trifle embarrassed at the situation.
"...pick me /up/?..."
Padraig bends, then, reaching forward gingerly to aim thumb and forefinger for shoulders. "Would it be best if you just grabbed your arms round my hand? I mean, er, wouldn't want to hurt you."
Cool stare and imperious manner, coupled with the delicate inclusion of some truths involving the conservation of energy for healing them should it be required, earns Valkyrie the aid of her brethren in the trivial matter of tent-pitching; she watches the process with careful dignity, such that she might replicate it another time, and then turns away, seeking out other useful occupation of her time.
Lillianne snorts lightly and grabs onto the fingers. "I'm small. Not plastic," she grumps, then relents with "Just put me on the pack and I'll stay out of everyone's way. Thanks."
Padraig does as ordered, lifting the girl up and taking her quickly to the pack, depositing her with a grin. "Sorry, Lilli, habit forces me to be nice, you know?" Then it's back to the complicated scenario of finishing the condensation still. Cloth, stone, more pebbles, bit of sand, pan. "Sorted."