(2016-06-26) From the Mouths of Poets (with guns)
From the Mouths of Poets (with guns)
Summary: Quinton and Monica run into each other at the reservoir. He's having a really good brain day, so they talk at length. Mon manages to offend him. Again.
Date: 2016.06.26
Related: none.

Monica 's rifle is propped by the boat landing, and the close observer will note a men's button-down shirt and a pair of flipflops there too. There are other lumps under the clothes that suggest other, harder things. Mon herself is in the water, splashing around, enjoying being alive, young, and having sunscreen, among other things. It's a good day. She gets them, now and again. She keeps an eye toward the road now and then to make sure she's not snuck up on.
<Hunt> Quinton hunts and bags:
1 Duck

<Forage> Quinton forages and finds:
1 Stingnettle leaves
1 Handful of Mullein leaves

<Fish> Monica fishes and catches:
2 Large Sunfish

<FS3> Quinton rolls Mind: Failure.
Huh? (Type "help" for help.)

<Fish> Monica fishes and catches:
2 Large Bass
5 Small Perch

Some days are just too nice to be inside scavenging. So the poet is out walking, scavenging the land it seems. He's got a duck over his shoulder and a backpack filled with foraged things. He has days where proving dinner seems more important than finding new clothes. The thin man is walking, keeping his eyes and ears open. The splashing gets his attention so he moves closer but then immediately turns his gaze away, "It's me, Charlotte!" Not the right name, but no stutter!

Monica sees Quinton coming. Not like he was being subtle about it. "Hey Big-Quin." As he turns away, Mon shrugs and does something that looks suspiciously like buttoning a shirt, then tying it at the waist. Did you think she caught fish with her hands? Shirt as fishing net. It worked… "Relax. I'm dressed." She doesn't mention the derringer in the zip-lock bag in her pocket. It makes her feel paranoid just having it there, but… well… she is.

Quinton nods, but only turns back enough to keep her in his peripheral vision. "Got a duck." Yum, dinner. "Good day?"

Monica nods. "I keep having fish nibble my fingers or earlobes." She points to the small pile of dead fish and her bowie knife next to them. "Not a big fan of freshwater fish. You want 'em?

Quinton glances and then smile softly, "We can bring them back. Even if we don't eat them, the pigs will.' They';re feeding much more than just people now!

Monica blinks. "Pigs? We have pigs?" Water cascades down from her makeshift bikini as she comes up the ramp and grabs a towel from her clothes pile. "That is so awesome. I was starting to think I was going to have to teach Camp Hope agriculture from the ground up. And I suck at farming.

Quinton nods, "We've had them for a while." unless they died and no one told Quin, which is possible. "Good for garbage disposal." He blinks and then frowns slightly, "I think people know more than you're giving them credit for."

Monica combs her hair back from her face with her fingers. "I'm sure they do. Just… because I only see people at dinner, or out on scavenging runs, or fixing stuff, I don't know what they know, or if they came here with more than city skills. I mean… city life takes skills I never really got good at, so it's not like they're stupid. And nearly everyone scavenges better than I do. Just… right now we're in a place where knowing how to turn dirt into food and machines is the go-to skillset.

Quinton's pale eyes watch her now that he knows she's decent. He doesn't say anything, she's not wrong. She's just not write in assuming people don't have useful skills. Instead he sighs, and then turns to scan the area making sure they're safe. "Not the only go-to." He's pretty sure being able to shoot bad guys is on the top. Or if they find someone with knowledge of how to kill the mother ship.

Monica nods. "No, not the only go-to. And once we're done just surviving, and we deal harshly with the mother ship… we're going to need a lot more than what we've been using. Building machines is easy, once you understand them, and learn to use the tools well. It's a hand-skill and a brain skill. Building a civilization that doesn't die from internal conflict…" Mon shakes her head. "I have no idea how you do that. Takes… philosophy and law, and… I don't even know. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying any skills are useless. They're the result of thousands of years of continuous development, and if we're smart we'll write that shit all down as much as we can so we don't have a worse dark ages than we're going to. Monica pats Quin's shoulder with a wet hand. "And then there's surviving emotionally. Samurai were expected to keep gardens and write poetry so they didn't descend into barbarianism from all the killing. I think that applies to civilizations, too.

That's super depressing, although nothing Quin hasn't thought about. "I've been…thinking. Maybe we should start collecting things like that…books. Make a real…library." All he'd need was to smoke a pipe, it's so Quinton!

Monica is still soggy, but she hugs Quin tight anyway. "I've been thinking that too. I think I can make movable type, if we have to go to that. Paper… we can make that from hemp fibers…” Aaand she's off again in full idea-flood. She does sleep and she doesn't refinish the floors of rooms in the middle of the night, but still.

Gah! Wet woman! He doesn't jerk away but stiffens in surprise, "Oh! Yeah." But then he shakes his head, "No…we have…there's plenty of paper. That's not for a few years to even worry about. We need….to gather books first, then copy what's important." He pats her back gentle, not upset about the hug, nor the wet. It should be worse.

Monica nods. "I have a small pile of books. Foxfire, Lindsay publications, Gingery's build your own machine shop set… The actual library's got a pretty good assortment of that kind of thing too. I wish it had more scientific papers. I'm kind of stuck on the whole "how do the alien power cells work" thing. I have a guess, but without knowing a whole lot more about… nanotechnology than I do I can't really try to make them. And then there's the whole "How do drones work?" question. Do you know where the drones that have been shot down are kept?

Quinton's head shakes as he steps away from her, "Ask Tony or Steve." Good luck with figuring out who that is! "Maybe we should…find a science or…government building. Not occupied. There may be papers there." he's a poet, he'll be no good at nanites. He's gotten decent at shooting things too, but not that good.

Monica realizes how plastered against her body her shirt probably is, and quickly flips her towel up over her shoulders and down over her chest. If only she'd been at all subtle about it, it might have looked natural. Why she's not blushing is anyone's guess. "Or a camo kid base. Piper found a heck of a trunk in one. They may have the knowledge we need." Mon shakes her head a little. "Not sure how we'd go about taking one though. Especially if we don't want to… butcher a lot of basically kids.”

Quinton grimaces, "No…I'd rather….not tangle with them." On many, many levels. "We should see about other places first." He doesn't want to kill more teens. He doesn't know if his heart can handle that, especially if the Hopers go in, not just protecting themselves.

Monica nods. She looks a little nauseous too for a moment. "Yeah. Ever since Sarah showed up it's… never going to be the same shooting at one of them." She shrugs into the second men's shirt. The dry one that she uses as a coverup. It comes down nearly to her knees. She rolls the sleeves up past her elbows and straps her pistol belt on, then slings the rifle over her shoulder. "On that unpleasant note, do you need a rifle?"

Quinton's eyebrow raises, "Do you have an extra?" He's got one on, but it's from the armory. And of course his father's pistol is strapped into the holster. His head tilts, even on his good days, he's still slightly odd, especially with some of his mannerisms.

Monica smiles. "Not yet… I have the parts all made up for three more though. Want to give mine a try and see if you want one like it?"

Quinton nods, although he seems slightly confused. She's making guns? "Making bullets too?' He thought he heard someone say they needed bullets more than guns.

Monica nods. She unslings the M0 and hands it to him. It's roughly the size and weight of an M1 Garand, the mainstay rifle of the u.s. in WWII. About nine pounds, and it seems to have a suppressor (silencer) built in at the muzzle. Of note, the stock seems to be cast aluminum rather than wood. "It is loaded. But yeah. Making ammo. We're short on lead, and car batteries don't yield as much as you might expect, so I'm making bullets out of steel and driving them really really fast. It's caseless, so I don't need brass either.”

Quinton nods, although he only understands bout half of what she says. He checks out the gun, so well as anyone with only an apocalypse worth of time to learn guns can. But there's nodding. He doesn't fire, but does heft it to feel the weight and the balance. "It's nice….yes. If there's an extra. I'd like it." He then asked, "What do you want for it?" He's all about the trade.

Monica folds her arms across her chest. "Well… you'd be beta-testing it. I gave Terry one, so I can get the rifle expert/sniper point of view, but moving forward, I'm geared up to make enough for the whole camp, and for trade besides, so… someone who's not a lifelong shooter would be good. That'd be the trade. Or we could go with books, or sweaters, or… I could give you a few things to be on the lookout for that would really make things better here.

Is that a blink or hesitation? Quin quickly shakes it off. His insecurities are his, not really helpful in this situation so he nods, "Okay. Just let me know what you're needing." he does that for everyone, really. What's one more name?

Monica nods. "Okay. I'll put another one together and get it adjusted for you." She holds out her hand for her rifle.

Quinton hands it back, mostly even in the proper way. he does learn. "And get me a list of what you want." Want, it's nice they can want things again.

Monica nods and blinks. She looks at Quinton and smiles as she takes the rifle back. "Thanks. And Quinton? thanks for sharing a good brain day with me. I could understand if you didn't leave home on days like that… just… stayed to talk with Piper.” Monica apparently just noticed the full, complex sentences.

Well, that's embarrassing. He swallows and nods, turning away, "Can't hide forever, right?" The poet scans the area, more to not make eye contact with Mon than anything, "I'm going to go a little further. Do you want to bring the duck in, or…just the fish?" If he nabs anything too much bigger, he can't carry it all.

Monica nods. "Sure, I'll take the duck. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, and I didn't mean you should hide. More… that you could… I dunno. Relationships take talking. Or at least that's what I think so far." She shrugs. "Fat lot I know about it."

ooc - and there we had to wrap, because I had to leave.

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