dying summer

[Erik Stewart]

Erik shook leaves from his hair, taking extra time to make sure there weren’t any insects crawling around in it. His neck was stiff, now. He was groggy. He hadn’t meant to sleep, and didn’t see how he could have, it being slightly uncomfortable and just slightly too cool. Erik had a coat on, of course, but it did little to negate the bark against his back and the hard earth underneath him. He wasn’t wearing anything under it. And he was bony.

Beside him he had a little chunk of wood that he’d been whittling down. Erik was no artist by any means; it was much more of a pastime, one he hadn’t indulged in since his middle school years. He’d been meaning to make a dog. What he’d made instead was a neck-less malformed shape that happened to have four limbs sticking out of it. He had gotten that down, at least.

If he was going to sleep, he thought, he could’ve just stayed at the institute. The retreat was one of the few things Erik was happy to partake in, even if he stayed out of most of the excitement: it reminded him of home, harkened him back to his childhood years he spent out in the woods like a wild thing.

But it was getting dark, and late. The nap hadn’t refreshed him at all, only left him pining for more. The cabin was a better place to sleep, he reckoned.

A glimmer of black scales shifted beside him. DJ was feeling pretty good, in contrast; he’d soaked up a direct ray of sunlight for over an hour, and, sensing Erik was awake and moving now, the black rat snake climbed up his arm to take its rightful place around his shoulders. When his coils had settled around his neck, Erik received a warning: DJ had tasted something on his tongue. A different, stranger human.

Erik wasn’t alarmed, of course. The place was brimming with students and teachers alike. Still, he looked up and around as he got to his feet, leaving the little wooden ‘statue’ where it lay.

[Nora Marie "Nory" Gwinn]

On the first day of the retreat, the teachers-turned-camp-counselors had gathered everyone together in the dining hall. Coming on this trip was a privilege, and while they wanted everyone to have fun, the most important thing was safety. If you have to go somewhere after hours, let an adult know. Always bring a buddy with you if you want to explore outside the camp or go swimming. If you think it might be a bad idea, don't do it.

Nory had not brought a buddy, because the buttercup friendship bracelet was supposed to be a surprise. Well Abby would sure be surprised now. Nory had her right hand pressed to the long, shallow cut on her left forearm as she gingerly worked her way back towards camp, feeling ashamed of herself and a little bit sick. She had tried tearing off one of her sleeves to use as a bandage like they did in the movies, but after a few minutes of tugging she gave it up as movie magic, at least when you were a scrawny teenage girl rather than an action hero.

So she had put her shirt back on and headed back to camp. Afraid of tripping in another invisible mossy pothole, she picked through the underbrush while peering ahead for signs of life. It got dark around here so damn quickly. “Hey!” she hollered periodically. “Anybody?”

She spotted Erik just as she was starting to wonder if she'd gone the right direction after all. She breathed a sigh of relief and broke into a cautious trot towards the unfolding lanky figure. “Hey!” she called. “Hey! This is the way back to camp, right? Have you got any bandages or anything?”

She pushed her way through the last of the bushes and stopped. “Oh, it's you,” she said, blinking in surprise. She had seen him in detention all the time. Broody sort of kid. Well a lot of them were. She had often felt extremely out of place in detention. This one was another one of Mike's trainees, she thought. She lifted one red-stained hand in greeting, and the motion set loose a few buttercups in her shirt pocket, also bloody, which fluttered to the ground. “Hi."

[Erik Stewart]

Erik got up on his feet, trying to work the kinks from his back and his neck. He had a long, languid stretch, like a cat – or a snake, if they needed to stretch. (They didn’t; DJ curled about his neck with hardly a rustle of scales.)

He’d brushed off the possibility that whoever had been coming would want to engage. He wasn’t even sure they’d be able to see him, and he hadn’t responded to her calls (they were faint then). As it happened, whoever it was had somehow spotted the dark figure his black hair and dark coat cut against the splash of autumn color, and he wasn’t sure he was happier for it, lifting his head and scanning to see whose voice was calling. It was high pitched and squeaky; young for sure, a girl. Sure enough, he found a little head of blonde hair headed his way.

Erik squinted, unresponsive. He’d just woken up and he would have been caught off guard under normal circumstances. Erik had half his shoulder turned towards her: classic avoidant body language, to anyone who could recognize it. But his attention was perked when he sensed that Nory recognized him.

Of course, he did too – a little. He remembered thinking that she was too young to be in detention for so long, and he’d wondered what she’d done. That was it.

The blood came next.

Nory had asked for bandages; he’d heard her voice, but her words hadn’t quite caught up with him. He realized what she’d said retroactively. His blue eyes widened at the edges and for a moment he stared, blinking at the bright red flowers that fell from her pocket. “What happened?” was his first reaction.

It looked like it was still bleeding freely. “You don’t know the way?” he demanded, eyebrows angled down and making a knit between his eyes. Sure, he could go off on his own, but not some little girl – or else shit like this happened. Stupid fuckin’ kid. “You’re s’posed t’stop it from bleedin’ like that.”

Erik was already shrugging off his coat; DJ shifted, flickering his tongue, indifferent to Nory’s injury. “Here,” he said, holding out his covered hand to fold it over her arm, if she let him. Erik knew something about homemade first aid. His days of running about in his parents’ backyard – nearly four acres of wild swampland – had given him a good deal of prior experience. Though he would admit that he seldom got a cut so deep or so long.

[Nora Marie "Nory" Gwinn]

[some blood to follow, squeamish people be warned]

Exasperated, frustrated, disappointed, and in no small amount of pain, Nory was not interested in Erik's avoidant body language. Of course, the one time she decided to go out on her own was the time she got a freak injury. And she wasn't even doing anything dangerous! She had assumed that going to pick buttercups in broad daylight would be reasonably risk-free, but no. And now she'd have to explain to the nurse and her teacher-counselor and probably half the adults on the retreat what had happened, and she was not looking forward to retelling “I went to pick flowers and tripped and cut my arm” a dozen times. Her story would probably be used as an example to other students. You might think the buddy system is a stupid rule, but last year a student went to pick flowers on her own and cut her arm open. We could only save her life by amputating.

And here came retelling number one. Nory didn't resent Erik for it; in fact she was glad to see him. She would have been glad to see just about anybody, even the surly snake boy from detention who ignored her until she waved blood in his face. “I tripped,” she replied honestly. “I landed on a broken root sticking up from the ground.”

She instinctively held out her arm for Erik to see. She had been applying pressure to the injury as best she could, and her right hand and the wadded-up front of her shirt were both blotted with blood. The cut was rough, torn rather than sliced, and became shallower as it moved down her arm. Both of her forearms were covered with dirt, and the left one bled slowly from the deepest inch of the wound. “I've been trying, but I don't have much to work with.” She was relieved to see that Erik had two layers of clothing and was willing to share. She helped him wrap her arm up, and as she worked she talked. “No, I know how to get back. It was more of, like a rhetorical question.” She jerked the coat firm and winced. “Plus I don't exactly want any detours.”

Injury secure, she tucked her arm into her chest and pressed her hand back onto the trickling line of blood. She was a little pale, but showed no sign of fainting or dissolving into hysterics. Looking up to thank Erik for his help, she finally noticed DJ curled lazily around his shoulders. “Oh. You have a snake,” she observed with mild surprise. “He doesn't do that shark thing and attack when he smells blood, does he?” Despite her question she didn't sound concerned, and she examined both DJ and his host with interest. “Your name's Erik, right?”

However, present circumstances did not allow for her usual indulgence to curiosity. She readjusted the coat and turned to peer through the darkening eaves. “I'm pretty sure it's this way.” And she set off through the undergrowth at a brisk trot. It didn't occur to her to wonder if Erik would come along; it was the natural thing to help people who needed it. If not for concern, at least because she still had his coat.

[Erik Stewart]

Well, if you knew the way… “What kinda sense it make t’ask ‘rhetorical’ questions ‘bout th’ right way through the woods?” He snorted. “Especially if you got your arm split open. It’s that way. Don’t trip over any roots or some shit like that.”

He let the coat go once he’d pulled it tight. There was no way he wanted it back now that there was a stranger’s body fluids all over it. He didn’t mind its loss: it was an old, raggy thing, he had a spare, and it was time to throw it out, anyway…might as well go to a good cause. Erik glanced up to find her looking at DJ. None the wiser, the black rat snake’s beady black eyes gleamed dully back at her, lazily flicking his tongue to her scent. “No,” he replied, shortly. “He eats mice.” And frogs. Not little girls.

She’d been paying more attention than he had. He didn’t do anything but give her a faint nod; that was indeed his name, though he didn’t know hers, and he didn’t ask, not yet. He had no time to. Nory was on her way again. “It is that way,” he repeated, relieved that, at least, that she was indeed headed in the right direction. “Now y’think. I thought y’knew.”

He simply watched her leave, for a moment. Then he started after her. Her pace was quick but his was at his own leisure, so that he ended up a few feet behind her. Erik was about to go back to camp, too; might as well come along.

[Nora Marie "Nory" Gwinn]

A sociologist could say a lot about why Nory asked questions she already knew the answer to. Displaying uncertainty as a way to establish herself as non-threatening, showing value for the other person's opinion, appeal to the group before taking individual actions. Nora Marie was a social creature, and she couldn't have explained this to Erik if her life depended on it. Instead, she just tipped her eyes up and said, “You sound like my brother.” With a much thicker accent and less inflated vocabulary, but the sentiment was the same.

Nevertheless, Erik's concern was warranted. It became immediately clear that she was not used to the woods; like most people born and bred in cities, she expected the ground to be flat and was consistently surprised when it turned out not to be. The uneven terrain soon forced her to match Erik's amble. Her injury had at least stemmed her instinct to wander after things like flower meadows and mossy trees. Nory held a fundamentally idyllic view of nature that refused to shift no matter how many times she ventured into a forest and came back covered in bites, rashes and sunburns. Pale and resolute, she marched on.

Erik's near-silence didn't seem to be much of a deterrent for the young woman, and she offered her name unasked for as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I'm Nora Marie,” she said as she climbed over a fallen log. “I recognized you from detention.” He had grunted at her once. Or maybe that had been the other kid. "Heh, but with Mr. Batista most of the time you end up scrubbing down toilets or clearing out flower beds. He made me write an essay once, that was a pain."

[Erik Stewart]

‘You sound like my brother’ really could have gone either way, but judging by her tone, Erik decided that it was more of an insult. He turned his head to the side and squinted.

Watching her clamber about in front of him gave him the impression that he’d started some babysitting service. No wonder she’d busted her arm. She was a squirrely thing, climbing about over roots and dead branches and paying no heed to the dirt clinging on the backs of her calves. But she didn’t stay ahead for long. Soon enough she was walking in stride. Erik hoped she wasn’t tired; they still had a ways to go, down the dirt path that was just starting to emerge.

Her introduction was met with more silence, at first. It probably would’ve gone on like that, too, if she hadn’t brought up Mike Batista. Erik huffed a laugh, a smile briefly splitting his lips. “Huh. Yeah.” Erik wiped his cheek with the back of his arm. “He had me in work detention for months. I’m the reason there ain’t any weeds left in the fuckin’ yard. Every day after class.”

“I hate that guy,” he said, but his tone implied he didn’t fully subscribe to the sentiment.

[Nora Marie "Nory" Gwinn]

Nory laughed. "Oh yeah, weeding! I think he bribes the gardener to keep them growing back, because there's no way normal dandelions can spread that fast overnight. You walk outside and there's, like, two dozen more feet of them where it was bare dirt yesterday." She ducked under the splintered arm of a pine tree dangling in the path. "And you can't forget washing dishes in the cafeteria! Nothing quite like picking soggy, soapy ex-quesadilla bits out from under your nails."

They had finally reached a respectable path, but Nory stayed in step beside Erik. She smiled. "Aw, he's not bad. At least he doesn't talk to you like a kid, and if he gives detention at least you're doing something. During my year I was passed around a bunch of teachers, and sometimes they'd just make you sit in a room, or maybe do filing. It was so boring I wanted to scream." She adjusted her coat and winced slightly.

[Erik Stewart]

“Naw, weeds always come back on their own. That’s what they do.” It was a convenient never-ending punishment. Some kids kept misbehaving just like the weeds kept rearing their ugly heads; apparently the line of thought was if a bad seed kept pulling out some roots they’d become a good seed. Erik wasn’t sure it worked at all. He’d been in and out of detention for almost as long as he’d been here, and it happened again and again and again yet he was no better for it.

“He’s alright,” he conceded.

Actually, Batista was the only older figure around here that he’d halfway managed to form a relationship with. He’d taken him out to get coffee, once. He was too hesitant to ask it of him again.

“I didn’t know he was your trainer,” he said, after a moment. Of course he knew he must have had other students, but he didn’t recall meeting any of them…except Oriel. “He doesn’t say anythin' ‘bout me, does he?”

[Nora Marie "Nory" Gwinn]

Mr. Batista was more than not bad--he was one of her favorite people on this side of the country. But she knew instinctively that gushing about an authority figure would alienate her companion. And she understood equally well that Erik was one of those people you only got one shot with; step on a toe and you were done. Though she maintained no desire to be anything more than passing acquaintances with the surly snake shifter (even she knew when to pick her battles), Nora Marie was a people pleaser and wanted to reach the camp at least without earning his derision.

"Yup!" She lifted a corner of the coat to check the cut again. It still hurt like the blazes, but the fabric had finally stemmed the flow of blood. "He said that I have one of the worst powers on record," she said cheerfully. "So they put me with an experienced trainer."

She glanced over at Erik at his question. "Mr. Batista? Of course he doesn't!" she laughed. "Does he tell you stuff about me? Or about that tall guy with the big hair, or the really chatty animal kid?"

[Erik Stewart]

Erik wasn’t aware of Nory’s power. It being “one of the worst powers on record” piqued his morbid curiosity. How bad could it be, he wondered? Was it deadly? It had to have been deadly. Of course, his next question was just how deadly. She wasn’t surrounded by personnel every second of her life so it couldn’t have been that…

Nory was talking again. Maybe he could get Batista to tell him about it – he was already coming up with offhand ways to ask already. “Uh, no.” He’d never even heard her name before now. Now that he thought about it, Batista would be unlikely to tell him anything; he’d always been a stick-in-the-mud sort, no play, all work kind of deal. Definitely no gossip. “He don’t tell me shit.”

But he’d never asked before, he thought.

The idea that he’d just come out and ask her barely even occurred to him. He didn’t want to give off the impression that he was interested. Not directly, anyhow. It might encourage her to…do something. Prattle some more, maybe. He didn’t know. Instead, he turned his head and huffed, a puff of gray fading into the air. “I never met none of his trainees. Not like I should.” He glanced at her. “Is he around? Maybe he can take a look at that.”

Erik meant her arm, of course. “But it ought t’be just fine after they put somethin’ over it.”

[Nora Marie "Nory" Gwinn]

"Mm," Nory said as she walked carefully around a fallen log in the path. Something about her tone, or the way her eyes flicked slyly towards the shapeshifter, implied a quiet knowledge of Mr. Batista "not telling him shit." She couldn't help being slightly entertained by Erik's wildly overzealous defensiveness. There was something amusing in its hyperbole--like a cartoon of a snarling porcupine (or snake) covered in swords and spiky armor. Again, she was reminded of Adam.

"Yeah, I think he's here," she replied, her voice somehow communicating pleasure and unhappiness at the same time. She fidgeted a bit as she walked. "But I'll go to the nurse first. I've got to think up a better story than 'I went out alone and tripped when I was picking flowers.'" She hated disappointing her trainer, and unlike Dr. Neville he couldn't magically detect when she was lying. "Any ideas?"

[Erik Stewart]

“You do that,” he said.

No, he didn’t have any ideas. Erik didn’t consider himself a very creative person. She could get away with it if she tried, though; maybe the wound would look different without all the blood, but it still looked like something she would have got on a battlefield, not after tripping over some root. Erik just lifted his shoulders and glanced off towards the side, through the row of trees; the camp lights were starting to emerge behind the branches.

“I’m not gonna tell ‘im any different,” he warned her. “I ain’t your wingman.”

[Nora Marie "Nory" Gwinn]

This got another eye-roll out of Nora Marie. "You don't say?" She didn't think she could have come across a more uncooperative person in her time of need if she'd handpicked one. Oh well. At least he had given her his coat and hadn't mugged her or anything.

Then, as if she had read his thoughts, "Come on, where's your sense of imagination? Stick it to the man!" She bobbed her head with rebellious fervor. "Can't let them keep you down with their lies. I'm thinking that I slipped on a rock by the lake when I was trying to...oh...let's say check out a piece of driftwood. And," she nodded sanctimoniously, "I was barely out of sight of the swim area."

[Erik Stewart]

Erik’s eyes went straight up towards the sky. He snorted. “How’s that any better? You’d still look like an idiot,” he said. “I hope they never let you pick another flower again.”

At worst, they’d probably just give her a stern talking to about having a buddy around or something, and it was likely Nora knew that herself. He’d already given her his jacket - he didn’t see why he’d have to stick his neck out any further. Besides, Erik was a terrible, terrible liar.