The time away from the main camp had done Carlos good. At least it had allowed him to get his thoughts and emotions relatively sorted out. The Big Book-O-Tactical-and-Security-Advice for Daniel was maybe halfway done, and Ripley had promised to bring it back for them.
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.
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timeasmymeasure
[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.