[Winter Open] | We'll be fine, you and I

[300kgbackpack]

Who Sam, Lou, and the island as a whole
What Construction and establishing connections
When Through the chilly season
Where [I've Been Everywhere plays in the distance]
Warnings: Canon-typical morbidity


1. The Routine
Sam has done well for himself, all things considered, when it comes to finding and then settling into the job that he's accustomed to, and yet doesn't require nearly the high capacity running that he was previously beholden to. He could do laps with the load that he carries now, comparatively. He doesn't necessarily need the skeletal upgrade that he had once kept on him at all times. Doesn't mean he wouldn't look into it when he and River managed to touch base again while he checked in on the progress on the non-static bedframe that the medics were thinking about, but that could come later. He could build back up from scratch, just like the last time.

With his pack in place courtesy of the village's couriers, Sam makes his way around the bulk of the island. He touches base with anyone that needs him for something, lifts a hand when he's greeted, and on days when he has a heavier load, a baby sling with his three month old child tight against his chest.

He might have an order for you, or you might have an order for him, tacked to the bulletin board that he passes by every day. Either way, he's fine doing business with you. He wouldn't even really argue against someone walking along with him if he's headed somewhere along their path.

2. Construction
In between work, Sam can be spotted taking heavy loads into the woods. Maybe it's all slung over his back, maybe he's managed to borrow a cart, but it all seems to be construction material; wood, stone, a hell of a lot of nails, screws, and some tools. He won't be particularly cagey about it if asked: he doesn't want to be as close to the village, not a fan of the bustle when he doesn't have a task at hand. He had, during his explorations of the island, come across some hollowed out, dilapidated cabins in Lockwood Forest and that, he'd decided, was exactly what he needed. He would not, of course, make any indication that he wants help with this project. This is his, after all, and he would happily shoulder all of the labor himself.

Most times, when he's actively working on the cabin, Lou is not there. He can't risk having her in the middle of this project. In those instances, she will be with Eddie over at his farm, or else with Sally, making friends with Gwen. He doesn't have a safe place to keep her out here yet after all, and trying to rebuild or make repairs with an infant attached to your body is almost harder than trusting someone to watch her.

He will be working on this from the outside in: Roofing, windows, porch and stairs, then heating, water, and mounting a few lamps. Fixing up the fireplace would probably require more hands than just his. At least he has access to the library and manuals on how to do the basic stuff, but other, more knowledgeable folks might want to step in to shore up what he's trying to do.

It will be cute, eventually. For now, it's a bit of a disaster area.

3. Porter Springs
There are times when Sam disappears for a bit longer than usual. Sometimes, there are stragglers out in the woods, up at the bluffs, other factions that don't come near the village proper but still need supplies or to send messages back and forth all the same. That's where he comes in, taking the jobs that the more skittish postal workers can't, or won't, do. It's part of what could ostensibly be called his mission, to provide for even the most remote preppers that otherwise refuse contact with the wider world.

This is how, after a longer trip out where he has of course taken Lou with him, he's found, at the western end of Crane's Ridge, a geothermal spring that smells very slightly of sulfur and immediately gives him some vestige of relief after the trek.

Sam doesn't care if there's anyone else around. He's going to offload his pack, strip out of the layers of his gear, toss it all off to one side away from the water, and sink right in. Lou is held at the edge of the water to acclimate to the temperature, then allowed to float along just over the top of Sam's stomach when he lays back. Very zen, very comfy.

4. Wildcard
Do you want to come and visit with Sam in his temporary home out on the outskirts? Perhaps visit with him when he's doing his rounds? Touch base for appointments or find him climbing trees, climbing cliffs, occasionally climbing buildings... Maybe you've spotted him sitting on the beach with his shirt off. Maybe you've spotted him sleeping somewhere inadvisable because he sat down for a few minutes too long. The world is your proverbial oyster, if it includes seeing Sam being Sam.

Comments

wildcard

[maltesefalcon]

How hawkward is it to climb a building and find someone already perched there and brooding? Because that's what happens to Sam one afternoon--there is absolutely a bird dad on top of the whatever-building-this-is, sitting at the edge and watching over the town.

[300kgbackpack]

A good thing that Sam doesn't startle very easily or seeing Cerrit perched there where he'd intended to take a minute to rest where nobody would spot and come up to him might have been disastrous. He merely catches himself when his foot slips with a quiet, but vivid curse, and hauls himself up to crouch nearby, one eye on this very fucking weird dude.

"Don't mind me," he mutters, mostly to himself.

[maltesefalcon]

There is a taloned hand offered while Sam is clamboring up, but when that's not taken, Cerrit moves back to settle onto the roof, not crowding. "Course not. Plenty of room."

[300kgbackpack]

Don't take it personally Cerrit, he doesn't take anyone's hand, friend or otherwise.

Sam settles himself down, the belts holding his pack together and secured to him jingling slightly in their slackness. He's got a little bit of time off, so he's gonna use it. Except now there's a Big Fuckin' Bird where he wanted to sit.

Friendly enough, though, so Sam leans himself forward on one knee with the other leg pulled up in front of him, and it won't take long at all for Sam to begin dozing right there as they enjoy the breeze from up high.

[maltesefalcon]

Cerrit's just going to...y'know. Watch over the human while he sleeps? Because clearly, clearly that's his job now. It's like when a feral cat deposits her kittens in your lap, right? You are then obligated to protect them while she cats off like a fucker.

[300kgbackpack]

Anyone else that's seen Sam do this tends to leave him alone, or gently wake him up to convince him to be on his way so that he can sleep somewhere more comfortable that is not kind of in the way. He's not aware of anyone that's just sat and watched over him (though there probably is one or two that just haven't made themselves known).

[maltesefalcon]

Yeah, no, Cerrit is just. Gonna wait. As you do. Once Sam starts to stir, there's a gentle throat clear, a soft hem-hem so Sam knows he's not alone and doesn't freak out.

[300kgbackpack]

Sam jumps a touch. His sleep isn't exactly deep when it's around other people to begin with, but sometimes he just dozes regardless. He turns back toward the bird-headed figure, watching Cerrit warily, but at least he doesn't seem like the aggressive type. He's polite, at the very least.

"What're you doing up here?" He asks, gruff and quiet.

[maltesefalcon]

"Making sure you don't sleepwalk off the edge of a roof or something. What are you doing up here?"

C'mon, he's a bird, this is his domain. He was made for up. Humans were made for down. But he's almost more curious than anything.

Construction (lunch break?)

[thelatechrisfreeman]

So it's a further walk than before. Doesn't stop Chris from coming out with a meal for Sam again -- some freshly made sandwiches and chilled mint tea, this time.

They're feeling a little silly, so when Sam's cabin comes into sight (and earshot), they sing out, "Oh, oh, wait a minute Mister Postman!" to announce their presence. And they give Sam a grin when he looks over.

[300kgbackpack]

While Sam might have argued that his attempting to move further out from the village was a little bit of an attempt to make people slightly less inclined to come and find him, Chris is a friend, and he wouldn't turn them away for no reason. He's seated on the crown of the rough stone chimney and taking a drink from a thermos he'd purchased along with his building materials, though as soon as he hears singing coming toward him, he cracks an easy smile and shakes his head. Now he's gonna have that song stuck in his head for the rest of the day.

"What're you doin' all the way out here?" he calls back, leaning just a little too far over for comfort to look down from his perch.

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"I figured you might forget to eat again!" Chris says, and holds up their basket with both hands, so he can see it, "I brought you lunch, so get your ass down here!"

[300kgbackpack]

"Oh c'mon, I don't forget to eat" yes he does "I just don't eat as much as you guys do." But food's still good, so he's gonna find his ladder and climb down, like a sensible human being, and peek into the basket to see what he's been brought. Sandwiches, awesome. Tea? Sure why not?

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"Apparently, being more dead than average means that hunger signals get messed up. At least, that's the impression I get from the Shade. He forgets to eat, too, like me."

Chris smiles. "I hope you like the sandwiches. I bought the meat from Hogwash Hams, the lettuce is from my neighbor's backyard garden, and I made the bread myself. I never knew how simple the recipe for bread is, til I came here!"

[300kgbackpack]

"Huh. Might explain a few things," he muses, picking up the tea to uncap and sniff. He's actually taken aback by the mint. Not what he expected, but he wouldn't knock it until he tried it.

The information about the ingredient sourcing gets an arched brow and the corner of his mouth tilting up in a small smile. "Someone tried to teach me how to do it once, but it never really stuck. Lookin' forward to it now." He nods back toward the creaky front steps, figuring they could sit and eat, if Chris is determined to make sure he's fed.

"You do this for all the new kids on the block?"

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"Only the ones that give me cause to worry," Chris says. They flounce over to the front steps, then sit and wink at Sam so he knows that was a joke.

When Sam comes over as well, Chris explains, "For real, I do it because I consider you a friend. And it helps me, too. For some reason, I can remember to worry about someone else eating easier than I remember to feed myself."

[300kgbackpack]

There's an immature part of him that wants to stick his tongue out over that. That urge gets curbed a lot now that he's in closer proximity to other people.

Plopping himself down in kind, Sam leans to pick out one of the sandwiches, only pausing long enough to make sure it wasn't about to fall apart before biting in. He listens, chewing thoughtfully on his bite, and nods absently. It makes sense, even if it really isn't something that he's used to.

He speaks back up after another bite taken and mulled over. "Never did apologize for bein' an asshat before. Just...I'm not used to people actually listenin' to me. So, sorry about that."

Construction {sorta >.>} CW: mild PTSD flashback

[theydrewfirstblood]

John loves and hates the woods.

In Hope, where he ran might have been the only truly rational thought he had and that wasn’t saying a lot beyond I’ll be safe. Every instant of his training, every second of his military instruction…every horrifying moment in the war proved that he could only ever truly protect himself in one place.

But now as safe as he knows he is, going out to hunt or just to try and escape the nightmares, he’s reminded of Hope at every fucking turn.

And that isn’t helped by stumbling across a man lugging supplies through the trees. He looks rough with his loose hair and the load on his back, but the posture hits the right button in John’s brain to scream military or cop.

…I’ll give you a war you won’t believe.

He doesn’t want the cold fury that fills him. He wants the fear even less—

His footfall is likely heard. But John has vanished behind a tree before Sam can turn to try and spot him.

And he may or may not pick up on the fact that, during his journey to the construction site, he’s being followed.

[300kgbackpack]

The forest isn't his favorite place in the world to be, but beggars can't be choosers when the best place to set up seems to be out in the middle of the trees. It's quiet here, with only the occasional passerby, a sighting of something he doesn't understand but generally has a live-and-let-live relationship, and the forest has plenty of little things that he can stop and pick, or eat, or alcoves in the roots of the bigger trees where he can sleep when the weather is nice.

He might also be keeping an eye on a familiar little patch of coral that he's been actively "growing", now that he realizes that it's actually happening in one of the places where he's taken his rest stops. He's spotted one or two of the cryptobiotes that he'd come to rely on in his former life. He's waiting to see if more appear before he tries to eat one.

Trudging his way through the trees, up the path toward his little in-progress cabin, Sam is acutely aware of the movement of other bodies. The sounds of footsteps not his own. His posture says soldier, in the way of someone trudging with a too-heavy pack that only knows to move forward and not stop.

Sam stops moving just before his cabin comes into view. The footsteps had been on the approach, but had stopped, and slowly Sam's hand creeps toward his belt and the heavy duty rope clipped to it. He doesn't have his preferred weapons, but he doesn't need them. He's destroyed terrorists with nothing but his fists and a rope. He can do it again if pressed.

Slowly, he turns, eyes narrowed as he scans the trees around him. He spots the movement of foliage, but nothing more.

"C'mon man," he mutters under his breath, still surveying the area, until he finally starts back down the path again.

[theydrewfirstblood]

The longer John follows the man, the more he calms--the rage leaves him, at least, but the fear of that familiar posture won't leave him. He can't turn his back, can't walk away, can't be certain he's safe.

John doesn't feel truly safe until he hears that quiet, gruff voice. He can't make it out, but in the quiet of the forest it's as audible as a gunshot.

Could still be a cop--but it's less likely than more likely.

Which is why, when a hand shoots out of a bush as Sam starts back down the path, it grabs his ankle and holds on so he doesn't just go flying. John emerges from the brush, reaching for Sam's collar to try and control his descent so he won't get hurt--and so he can try to put a knee on the small of his back to immobilize him.

[300kgbackpack]

Sam knows when he's being followed, but he doesn't realize he's about to be grabbed until it's too late and he's starting to overbalance. He would be grateful for the hand in his collar steadying him on the way down, but it means that someone is close enough to grab him.

That also means that he's too close to be able to swing on, but Sam isn't new to being attacked. This doesn't feel like the MULEs trying to rob him or one of the Demons trying to engineer a catastrophe.

With the weight of his pack swinging on the fulcrum of the hand holding him up, Sam twists around the knee in his back and whips the rope's slack between his hands up and around to bind the arm to its owner's head and give himself the chance to make some distance. If he can do that, he can face down his stalker and swing if necessary.

[theydrewfirstblood]

The rope doesn't quite surprise him, but also doesn't faze him: the moment his prey twist, John takes advantage of the weight he's carrying and positions his arm to make sure the rope can't tighten while making no effort to fight the momentum.

John lets it carry them so that the guy's back on the ground, and slips out of the rope to get his arm around the other man's neck, yanking his head back just far enough to make breathing a problem if he struggles. The headlock he keeps the man in is solid, and applies similar pressure to his windpipe: uncomfortable, but ready to cut off his oxygen if he fights.

"Tell me what else you're armed with besides that rope and I'll let you up. S'all I wanna know, buddy."

[300kgbackpack]

It sucks, going up against someone that's a way more experienced fighter than he is. Briefly he remembers gunfire, the echoing orders of the man searching for his BB even in death. With his neck straining to keep pressure off and his weight forced onto one knee, Sam raises his hands with the coils of rope still between them, though he only holds it pinched between his thumbs and the meat of his hands; not letting go, but not about to yank it taut either.

"This is it man, honest," he grits out, teeth clenched and muscles straining. He doesn't have what he would have liked to be carrying around with him, the testing just wasn't done yet and he wasn't going to run around with a weapon that a) might not work or b) would work entirely too well and snap someone's neck. "What're you doin' out here, anyway? Thought nobody else actually came out this way..."

[theydrewfirstblood]

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.” John replies. Shifting his grip, he slides his arm so he’s got the guy by the throat, steps back, then releases him slowly so he won’t pitch forward uncontrollably.

When he releases him, John steps out of reach, ready to run if he tries to pull any other weapon…but as the guy composes himself, the rope appears to be it. Heavy rope, too, not a tactical garrote…

“You a soldier?”

[300kgbackpack]

Sam stumbles, but steadies himself on a tree and takes a moment to wind his rope back up to clip onto his belt again. In that time that he's finally able to turn around and face John, anywhere that the man has made contact with him is starting to welt up, particularly around his throat. Sam is more concerned with straightening his pack back out though, cinching it to keep it secure across his shoulders.

"Nah," he replies with a small shake of his head. "Just a porter. What're you, a friggin' marine?"