(2015-11-26) Awkward Turns of Phrase
Awkward Turns of Phrase
Summary: Terry and Izzy go hunting.
Date: 26 Nov 2015
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://mushname.wikidot.com/logtitle)

Logfile from 5th Wave (Isabeau)

It's early in the morning, and with the restlessness settled around the camp hopers, Isa needed a chance to get a breath of fresh air. The horses are hobbled nearby as she gets into the gritty business of field dressing her kills. All of them were clean at least, but it's probably Isabeau's least favorite part of hunting. The duck and turkey were fairly easy, but the deer is a little tricker, "I talked to Bob." She offers her companion, slicing through the belly. "B3 Is where they are going to stick me until the town hall anyway. Who knows after that."

Terry had been up in a tree for the past several hours, looking to get in some hunting to keep the camp's food stores topped off. Waking early, and going to bed late, was nothing new to the former serviceman. Hell, he'd gone through the whole sleep- and food-deprivation course during his time, so this was like riding a bike. Terry had his survival bow (the collapsible kind) strung up, and an arrow loaded. It was almost routine: an animal would cross into his field of vision, and an arrow would be sent its way. If it hit, good; if it missed, Izzy would likely pick it up, so he didn't find much reason to become frustrated, aside from the miniscule pang of frustration any hunter feels when he misses a shot. Once all was said and done, he hopped down from his tree, and surveyed the group's kills. "They're splitting up Butch and Sundance? Bah."

Isabeau she eyes the bow almost jealously, with a shake of her head, "You had to expect it a little bit. Not that you've been anything but a gentleman." But sometimes a girl wants to be a couch potato half dressed all day, not something that was ever going to happen in the marine's company. Not that there weren't other reasons for it as well.

"Thanksgiving." She notes with another slice, and the sound of the deer's ribs snapping one by one, careful to preserve the hide wherever possible. "If I remember right today would be thanksgiving. A positive person I suppose would say there's something to be thankful for, since it could have been this group that was hit instead of the Reyes."

"Well, yeah, I guess I—" Terry nocks another arrow, having sighted a plump-looking turkey, 'leading' it along until he feels comfortable taking the shot and.. misses. The gobbler takes off like junkie during a drug raid. "-did." A beat later: "Damn," the Marine mutters.

The knife slips, and Isa lets out a small curse, remembering something perhaps. "Look," Isabeau turns to look at him then, "It isn't that you aren't attractive or easy to be around mate, and I get it, there's not a lot of choices when it's the end of the world and you're thinking about maybe playing who wants to hide the salami." Her attention returning to the deer, another few audible snaps of bone. "And it's cute, in an awkward sort of way, the puppy dog crush." She lays out bluntly, "But I barely know who I am any fucking more, let alone - figuring out out someone else. Not after only a few weeks."

She doesn't look up at him as she says this, finishing up the field dressing of the deer before preparing the carcass to hang and drain the remaining blood. She looks up at the second missed shot. "You aren't letting me win because I'm a girl are you?" It's playfully accusatory, a diversion of topic.

"Even if I *was* thinking 'hide the salami', this isn't some cheap corner-store slab of meat, it's a premium cut. I don't go handing it out to just anyone." A beat. "And no, some days I just suck at hunting. Can't win 'em all." Terry shifts around, changing up his position, as he sights another deer and nocks an arrow, drawing back and—*CAW! CAW!* A crow of all things perches on a branch above him, and lets out one of its infamous concentration-shattering cries. Terry twitches, the arrow sails.. and ditches in the grass just shy of the deer.

Isabeau chokes, or maybe she laughs, it's hard to tell. "You sure you just aren't overcharging?" Those moss green eyes glittering with amusement as she watches another arrow sail and miss. There's another arch of her brow in his direction. "Today you seem to really suck at it." hanging the carcass and starting in on the turkey, giving it a few minutes.

Terry sighs and collapses his bow, making ready to hop down from his perch, and glances around. "Maybe I'll have better luck tomorrow." A beat. "We did good today." He starts heading out to collect his still-good arrows.

Isabeau frowns, "Aw come on, don't pout. I'm just teasing. I'm sure you are probably a fine catch." She half chuckles. "We did, you feel like cooking the turkey tonight?" Yes, she has the balls to tease him, and beg for food. Or perhaps it's merely a lack of shame since she's giving him her best sad puppy look.

"You don't need to bat those big green eyes at me every time you want something, Izzy. Just ask." Terry chuckles, grins, and offers a wink. "Yeah, let's fire it up tonight. We'll surprise the others… Sound good?"

"I Don't bat my lashes." She starts to protest, but he's agreeing so there's that. "Sounds good, a good meal would do everyone some good."

Terry nods. "I'm ready to head back when you are… Just say the word."

Isabeau gets the fruits of their labor loaded up and grabs the horses leads, "Lead on."

Outside the Club House is a large fenced in area, paved in faded red brick. At one time it had lovely landscaping, but now it is overgrown. Various tables and chairs dot the patio as well as a gazebo or two that are in the midst of being overtaken by ivy. A number of charcoal and gas grills have been brought in and set up for cooking.

It is fall. The weather is warm and drizzling.

Terry heads into the clubhouse, carrying a big buck over his shoulder. He steps over to the butcher-block and offloads the animal, before heading back out to help bring in the rest of the haul. "The only thing missing is the pumpkin pie, with spices, and whipped cream.." He mutters offhandedly.

Isabeau laughs, "Cranberries, sweet potatoes, stuffing." Her mouth waters as she thinks about it following Terry into the clubhouse. "Be nice to be able to get a greenhouse going, have all kinds of things growing, and not have to worry about the weather," Isabeau notes as she finds a seat where she can watch him work. washing her hands in a bucket of water and soap before sitting down.

Terry calls in some other Hopers to assist in stashing the meat for later, and bringing out a kill that's been properly aged. "Alrighty then.. Let's get rolling." He produces a razor-sharp knife, and proceeds to break the deer down, starting off with the shoulders, narrating as he works: "The first part of the deer we butcher is the front shoulders. The shoulder should be pulled away from the torso of the deer to expose the pass-through-cut zone. Cutting with the knife's blade parallel to the rib cage, you will pass through the shoulder joint.."

Isabeau can't help but laugh a little at the narration. "Almost like watching the cooking channel." Still she seems to be in a better mood after a successful hunt and is happy to watch Terry narrate as he butchers. The process holding an odd sort of interest.

"Now, before removing the back-straps, we can shave off any excess fat that has built up in the area. After that's done, we need to find the knobby part of the hip bone." Terry continues narrating as he works. "We'll cut just under this hip bone and to the back-bone on both sides. After cutting this initial cross-section of the back-strap, we'll run our knife down and along the back-bone." He makes sure to work at a slow-and-steady pace, even though he's taking precautions (such as wearing a stainless steel chain mail glove, nicked from a butcher's shop some time ago). "…This cut will run all the way through the neck. We can now return to the initial cuts we made, and start peeling and freeing the back-strap with our knife. We don't want to rush this bit, since we want to clean every last bit of meat from the bones. Once we've got the back-strap down to the front shoulders, we can.." Terry removes the bits with a rather nice stroke, each. "..cut them off."

Isabeau props her chin into both hands as she watches with wide green eyes. She's oddly quiet, just listening to him as he narrates, watching him as he strips through the meat. Almost as though in a daze, imagining whatever impossibly delicious thing he might be concocting.

And there's that (pun-rific) deer-in-the-headlights look from Terry, realizing he's probably bombarding Izzy with too much info. He mentally bops himself upside the head, and resumes his talk on how to break down a deer. Of course, he's only as good as the books he's scavenged, and pretty much just repeating back what he's read verbatim. He's no master butcher; his technique screams "squirrel burgers in Vietnam." He slows down on the explanations, taking it slow and ensuring he's not melting her brain with information overload.

Isabeau frowns when he stops talking, still watching but her brows furrowed. "Why did you stop?" Narrating presumably, but then again she probably couldn't regurgitate a whole lot of the information back, but there's something comforting in it. Vietnamese squirrel burgers or no.

"The neck of the deer can have quite a bit of meat that is very good for grinding." Terry resumes talking, after a glance at Izzy, covering what he'd been doing in the interim. "Pull the meat from the back-strap incision and skin the meat off the neck bone. Work this meat from the top of the neck to the deer?s wind pipe." And then resuming his work. "We can now carve out any meat left on the front half of the deer. This can be anything from meat along the rib cage (brisket) to rib cage meat itself. Any of this boned out meat will be excellent for ground meat use."

Isabeau listens thoughtfully, a small yawn escaping. "Did you do a lot of hunting and butchering, before?" She wonders softly, still imagining whatever deliciousness will be the end product of this.

"Before the world went down the hole? Yeah. Hunting down the bad guys so they don't get another day to spend plotting world domination. Butchering, not so much. But I learned." Terry nods, continuing with his little instructional. "Once done with the front half of the deer, we can now saw the backbone leaving us with the hind quarters. Starting from the knee of the hindquarter, we work the knife parallel with the leg bone until we reach the hip. Once at the hip, turn the knife ninety degrees and finish the cut." Done, done, and done.

Isabeau snorts a little. "Little bit of a hero complex huh?" Not that she doesn't get it, given what she knows of his history. "Whatcha gonna cook?" She wants to know now.

Terry ponders. "Venison chili sound good to you? We could whip something up, surprise the camp." He cocks his head to one side, arching an eyebrow. "Sound good?"

Isabeau nods emphatically. Then again, Terry could probably make shoe leather edible, so she might not be the best judge. "Sounds good to me." Isabeau notes with a stretch before resuming the chin in hands position. "Did your mom ever get a chance to try your cooking?"

Terry shakes his head. "The best I could do when I was with my folks was mac'n'cheese and hotdogs. I really started to blossom as a cook when I joined the service. You kinda have to get creative with the MRE's and things.."

"You never went back and visited?" She wonders then, watching him as he works. "I know you mentioned, your dad but," But what? Isa doesn't seem to know. "The ones that have the little heater packs in them were entertaining. Dad had a bunch of them stored up, crazy bastard." She scratches her neck, "He was only half right though. Didn't do him any good in the end either."

"Finn's the only family I have left in the world, outside of Camp Hope. Our folks were killed in the invasion. I'd just finished a call-out — Polish hostage. Not Polish nationality. Polish as in "If anyone so much as sneezes in a way I deem threatening, I'll blow my own brains out."" Terry responds, pulling out the requisite tools and ingredients, and firing things up. "Anyway, I'd just finished a call, and was gearing down to my civvies, when my phone rang. Sounded like Finn's voice.. "They're dead. They're dead. I'm sorry. Goodbye." And then the line went dead, before I could get a word in edgewise. I rushed home and found the place surrounded by local law. They wouldn't let me in.. it was a bloodbath, they said, and I didn't need those images in my head.."

Isabeau frowns, "So you hadn't seen them, even before that, not since you enlisted." Isabeau realizes slowly. "Shit Terry, I'm sorry." Not that there's anything else she can say to that, watching him getting out the ingredients. lips pursed.

Terry continues working on slicing up the ingredients for the stew, and adding them to the stew pot. Bacon, diced; onions, chopped; green bell peppers, chopped; Jack cheese, grated. He tosses in some crushed garlic cloves, mixes in some tomato paste, a touch of chili powder, some ground cumin, coriander, dried oregano, some cayenne pepper, a can of chopped tomatoes, some beef stock, salt, pepper.. and then the ready-for-use venison.

"Yeah. Well, little bro's hands are clean, in a sense. I started out watching the folks, making sure they didn't go Jerry Springer on each-other. Finn got that duty when I shipped out, and.. it kinda trashed his chances for a normal life. The proverbial weight on his shoulders came crashing down, and he started getting into the no-bueno shit. Medical school kicked him out after he got nailed trying to forge Oxy scrips.."

Isabeau nods, "You mentioned that I remember." Finn's brush with the law. There's an odd catch to the words, like stumbling over an old memory. "So, assuming the world didn't go crazy. If you could cook for anybody in the world, who would you want to cook a meal for?" It might be a diversion.

"While I was overseas, dealing with military life, he floated around the States, just trying to survive. He finally got his head on straight, headed back home, and… pretty much immediately got into an argument with the folks. He ran upstairs to his room, slammed some pills, and blacked out. Woke up in the midst of the shit-storm in which we now find ourselves.. and that's when I got the call." Terry finishes, his attention focusing on the food. He fetches a bottle of dry red wine from beneath the counter, pops the cork, and drops in a few glugs of the stuff, taking one for himself as well, before setting it down. Stir-stir-stir-stir, taste-taste-taste. "President of the United States, hands down." A bite eat. "Dinner's almost ready, Madam President."

Isabeau snorts, "Ha. don't you have to be a natural born citizen? Dad was American, but mom was a New Zealander through and through. That's where I was born." She sounds almost wistful. "I was planning on going back next year."

"Well, if I could meet him today, I'd shake his hand. He brought up one hell of a daughter." Terry responds. Just a few more ingredients, and… Done! He dishes up the thick, fragrant stew, and offers a dish over. "What d'you think of this?"

Isabeau purses her lips with a soft snort. "He didn't, not really." Isabeau notes sniffing at the bowl before lifting a small spoonful to her mouth. "The marriage lasted about as long as it took them to accidentally have my brother and then they called it quits. Mom raised me and my brother on her own after that."

Terry ahs, and nods. "Well, then.. Kudos to your mum. Excellent job." He digs into the bowl, enjoying the fruits of his and Izzy's labors. "Mmm.."

Isabeau falls quiet then, digging into the stew heartily appropriate sounds of pleasure and appreciation made periodically as she digs in.

Hunting Rolls

(Yes yes, just one chicken away from Turducken.)
1 Turkey
1 Duck
1 Deer
1 Rabbit

(feel free to tag the log with character names of those involved!)

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