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crossing_lostrpCamp Serenity was coming along rather nicely, George thought. She and Carlos (and Faith and Mara and Ripley and Dr. Pierson) had established their camp on the beach closest to the wreckage of the Council Learjet. That still left them more than an hour's walk from the crash site but since the site had been pretty thoroughly picked over, George didn't expect they'd be going back.
This wasn't the beach where the transmitter crew had found Faith and Mara. That was farther to the south. This section of beach was bounded to the north by a stony bluff. It wasn't particularly high, and it was easy enough to get to the top if you went inland a short distance and walked up the slope. They'd done so yesterday, and seen nothing but an extensive vista of jungle canopy and open ocean with a thin ribbon of beach between them to the north and south.
A small stream trickled down into the sea a short way south of the bluff. It wasn't as large a stream as the one near the original crash site, but it was adequate for the smaller group. A small firepit marked the center of the camp, adequate for cooking but not intended to double as a signal fire. A new latrine had been the work of a long afternoon, but now Camp Serenity, as George had christened it, had all the comforts of Camp Crash if not of home.
George and Carlos were sharing their reconstructed shelter. There was an actual tent set up in camp as well, though George didn't know if Mara and Faith had even yet settled who was using it. And Ripley--George wasn't sure she ever slept, or if she did, whether she did so lying down or perched in a tree.
Mara had collected the books Miss Blake had mentioned. Miss Blake had failed to mention that they were written in Latin. "That's Greek to me," George had said, earning an eyeroll from Carlos and a groan from Faith. Mara hadn't reacted. She'd simply continued to study the books, turning a page now and then. George wasn't sure if she was actually reading the Latin text or just studying the woodcuts and drawings that illustrated them, and she hadn't asked. Mara seemed to have achieved a kind of fragile equilibrium and George didn't want to disturb it. If she couldn't read Latin, George figured, she could always ask Dr. Jackson to translate, or maybe Dr. Pierson.
(Or Verlin,) George thought, then dismissed the idea. He'd settled into a sullen silence in the last day or so, worn down by Mara and George's refusal to acknowledge him when he railed at them or tried to give orders. But he wasn't about to help them read books he didn't think they should possess in the first place.
"Penny for them," Carlos said, sitting down beside George. He looked good. He smelled good, too.
George smiled at him. "Maslow's hierarchy," she said.
"What about it?"
"Well...we have food, water and shelter. We're fairly secure."
"And...?"
"And now I think it's time to see to...other needs," George said.
"Did you have something specific in mind?"
"Actually...yeah," George said. She grabbed a fistful of Carlos' shirt and pulled him into a kiss.
This wasn't the beach where the transmitter crew had found Faith and Mara. That was farther to the south. This section of beach was bounded to the north by a stony bluff. It wasn't particularly high, and it was easy enough to get to the top if you went inland a short distance and walked up the slope. They'd done so yesterday, and seen nothing but an extensive vista of jungle canopy and open ocean with a thin ribbon of beach between them to the north and south.
A small stream trickled down into the sea a short way south of the bluff. It wasn't as large a stream as the one near the original crash site, but it was adequate for the smaller group. A small firepit marked the center of the camp, adequate for cooking but not intended to double as a signal fire. A new latrine had been the work of a long afternoon, but now Camp Serenity, as George had christened it, had all the comforts of Camp Crash if not of home.
George and Carlos were sharing their reconstructed shelter. There was an actual tent set up in camp as well, though George didn't know if Mara and Faith had even yet settled who was using it. And Ripley--George wasn't sure she ever slept, or if she did, whether she did so lying down or perched in a tree.
Mara had collected the books Miss Blake had mentioned. Miss Blake had failed to mention that they were written in Latin. "That's Greek to me," George had said, earning an eyeroll from Carlos and a groan from Faith. Mara hadn't reacted. She'd simply continued to study the books, turning a page now and then. George wasn't sure if she was actually reading the Latin text or just studying the woodcuts and drawings that illustrated them, and she hadn't asked. Mara seemed to have achieved a kind of fragile equilibrium and George didn't want to disturb it. If she couldn't read Latin, George figured, she could always ask Dr. Jackson to translate, or maybe Dr. Pierson.
(Or Verlin,) George thought, then dismissed the idea. He'd settled into a sullen silence in the last day or so, worn down by Mara and George's refusal to acknowledge him when he railed at them or tried to give orders. But he wasn't about to help them read books he didn't think they should possess in the first place.
"Penny for them," Carlos said, sitting down beside George. He looked good. He smelled good, too.
George smiled at him. "Maslow's hierarchy," she said.
"What about it?"
"Well...we have food, water and shelter. We're fairly secure."
"And...?"
"And now I think it's time to see to...other needs," George said.
"Did you have something specific in mind?"
"Actually...yeah," George said. She grabbed a fistful of Carlos' shirt and pulled him into a kiss.
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[Carlos] Think my break just started (tag George)
Date: 2006-06-26 12:51 am (UTC)Carlos knew now that one of his main motives for getting the hell out of camp had been a frantic desire to cover the fact that the wounds that had made Amanda a fucking psycho-killer no longer existed. He had no faith that Daniel would have even tried to explain the situation to the camp at large, even though George was completely up-front about no longer being human. Daniel seemed entirely too wrapped up in maintaining a facade of "normalcy" for the human survivors, which had ended up costing people like themselves and Ripley. The idea that he and George would have to face the derision of camp idiots because of George's "catfight" and Carlos's loss of control put Carlos into an utter and complete fury.
In the end, it came down to this: if the facade of normalcy--and catering to the paranoid fears of those normal folks who couldn't adjust to the way the world really worked--became more important than the actual needs of their superhuman members, the superhumans would get alienated one by one and leave the main camp. And their powers, combined and used for the greater good, were the best bet the group had of defending themselves and getting the hell out of here. Alienating them for the sake of "normalcy" was thus about the most extravagant way of shooting himself in the foot that Daniel could possibly make. Carlos had explained this, albeit quite civilly and peppered with examples and facts, in the Book, and advised Daniel to have conversations with Ripley, Mara and George as soon as possible. Twenty minutes each would have cleared a lot of air, especially in Ripley's case.
Aside from all the scribbling, chores and George-snuggling, Carlos had spent a chunk of yesterday taking some of his own advice and creating a lookout for the good of the beach camp. Though the bunker Quentin and Jack had found could provide them shelter from almost anything in a pinch, for now they were spending their time on the beach, and so he had built a substantial, railed platform amid the thicker boughs of the tallest tree he could find at the treeline. It was a little like building a treehouse, although he had gotten his real practice back in the Amazon--using native woods to build fucking snipers' nests. A rope-ladder of knotted vines was easy. Without the Doctor around, he would have to work out a lamp that didn't involve metal. But the platform was a start. Next, traps, noisemakers, more stick-fighting lessons, and, since they lacked sinew for bowstrings--he was damned well making some throwing spears. They'd come in handy for fishing too.
He was thinking about all of this as he headed for the cookfire and saw George sitting there. She looked distracted, and so he came over to see what was up. And found out, in short order, that George had decided it was Nakey Time.
"MMph!" he said happily as he got yanked into a kiss. "Hello there, is it playtime?"
"Oh, you bet your pretty ass." She slid into his arms easily as he stood.
"Right!" Mara was some distance away under a tree doing more of her obsessive-reading stuff, and didn't look inclined to move. Ripley and Faith were off down the beach, and Pierson was somewhere--probably checking out more local flora. A siesta sounded like just the thing. He scooped George up theatrically and headed for their shelter.
[George] Take me now, sub-creature (tag Carlos)
Date: 2006-06-26 07:17 am (UTC)Carlos ducked with George still cradled in his arms and duck-walked through the low entrance and into the relative cool and dimness of the shelter. He set her gently on the sleeping mat and pushed her down onto her back as he kissed her very thoroughly.
George wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and returned the kiss, doing her best to take his breath away. They dueled this way for a timeless interval before they separated and sat up. George felt hot and flushed with excitement and wanted his hands on her, wanted him inside her. "Clothes off," she commanded him a raspy voice.
Carlos just grinned, the ferocious gleam in his eyes a match for her own eagerness. He started stripping. George did the same. It turned into a brief, unspoken race, ending with George throwing herself at Carlos, pushing him down beneath her.
She wriggled around, teasing him with the touch of her skin, reveling in the feel of his hands on her body and getting him worked up. This went on until Carlos groaned and sat up, picking her up as if she were weightless George just had time to wonder what he was doing when he lowered her again.
George gasped as she settled down on his lap. Oh, he was worked up alright....
[Carlos] Take me now, sub-creature (tag George)
Date: 2006-06-27 12:05 am (UTC)He shuddered, eyes hooding as he slid into her and wrapped his arms around her hips. As she sank down on his lap, he let out another groan and buried his face in her neck, holding her for a few moments before he started to thrust.
The frantic tussle started up again within heartbeats; mouths fused together and hands all over each other, they moved together sitting upright for as long as they could stand, and then tumbled over sideways in a tangle of limbs. Carlos was vaguely aware that they were still in a war of who's-on-top, but it was almost reflexive now as sweat slicked their limbs and he had to fight to keep his voice down.
She got him onto his back--she seemed in that sort of mood--and started riding him; he heard himself panting out endearments that were decidedly not in English--when he could manage speech at all. He arched into her again and again, meeting her movements halfway, pausing only to reach up and push her stray hairs back from her face so he could look at her in the amber half-light pushing through the walls of the shelter.
...I got nothing.
Date: 2006-07-02 07:19 am (UTC)