(2016-08-22) Snakes. Why Did It Have To Be Snakes?
Snakes. Why'd It Have To Be Snakes?
Summary: Mon goes out to do some fishin'. She finds snakes instead. Bitey snakes. Quinton to the Rescue
Date: 2016.08.22
Related: None

You head towards Stratford Reservoir
Stratford Reservoir Stratford
Mon Aug 22, 2016 — Mon Aug 22 21:09:53 2016

This man made lake isn't all that large only about a mile or two around, but it is deep and cold. Quite a few trees grow around it along with a lot of scrubby bushes. One of the only places around that has more than a dozen…but not really enough in close proximity to make a forest. There are no houses around it, though there is a swimming area and a boat launch.


It is summer. The weather is hot and fair.

Monica - 5'7, slender but getting enough to eat, finally. Early 20s. She has blond hair, and if you can see her face, it's a mass of varicose veins.
Exits: [O] S. Texas Street (STS)
<Search> You take a step and suddenly your foot goes through the loose soil and straight into a snake pit. Snakes are everywhere!

Monica was minding her own business, really. Just going out to the reservoir by herself to do some fishing… which is to say dangling a string with just a weight and a float in the water and hoping nothing's stupid enough to eat it. It's an excuse to sit out in nature, get a little sun, and let her brains unwind a little. But nooooo! One minute she's walking toward a nice spot to sit, the next minute her foot is in a snake pit, and snakes are everywhere. Her reaction is predictable. Without concern for what type of snakes they are, she jumps back, unslings her M0, and opens fire on anything slithering. The repeated cracks of the rifle and the shower of dirt each bullet throws into the air as she blazes away might attract others.

<Fish> Quinton fishes and catches:
4 Large Catfish
1 Small Trout

Quinton has been out on the lake 's shore fishing for some time. He's down well to, the bucket he scavenged earlier is filled with fish. Enough that he's going to leave some at the kitchen for the others. He's been considering moving, and then definitely does when he heads gun shots. That's not hunting, that's a fight! He drops the pole next to the bucket and grabs the bow and arrows he has (Damn whoever left his gun on the ground when they grabbed him!) and starts to move towards the shots, crouched. if it's those bandits again, he wants to be prepared.

Monica 's magazine clicks dry, twenty rounds later. She's still hyperventilating when she drops to one knee, rubbing her foot where the little buggers bit her. There are a few snakes left, and lots of little bits of snakes, but Mon's not paying any attention to them. She unties her moccasin and looks at the myriad little holes in her ankle and foot where snake fangs went in. "Fuck!" she says. "I am so screwed…"
<FS3> Quinton rolls Survival: Success.

Quinton see who it is and sigh, glancing down at the snaky bits. "Leave your…" And her shoe is off. Okay, the poet steps up, not really giving her time to argue. "I think those aren't deadly, but let's get you back to the doctor to make sure." His bow slung over a shoulder and he offers an arm to wrap around her to get her moving. They're far enough away that he'd rather get moving asap. So much for having fish to eat. "This isn't the type of shoes to wear." That advice come sa little late, unfortunately.

Monica looks at Quinton and pulls her moc back up, tying hte top laces tight. "Not deadly?" She's catching her breath slowly and looks at some of the dead ones. "Those aren't rattlesnakes, are they?" She gets up slowly, putting weight on the leg gingerly. She pauses to put her spare magazine in her rifle, and to look at Quinton's bucket of fish. "Shit… I'm sorry, Quin."

Quinton toes some of the snake parts, "No….no rattle." He looks over his shoulder at the pale and shakes his head, "Don't worry about it." A night of thin dinner won't kill him. As she gets her gun set he'll start walking over towards the pale, mowing he can't carry it, her if needed and his pole, he makes the logic a choice. The fish are dumped back ingot eh lake. Even if they don't survive, something else will eat them then. The much lighter pale is picked up with the pole and he walks back, "Where's your pole?" He's assuming she came out here to fish, huntings not as good here.

Monica looks around. "Um…" She points to the stick with the string and the float on it. "It'll keep." She watches Quinton pour the fish out, and fights back a little bit of nausea. She slings the rifle and tries her foot again. Unsurprisingly, it hurts. Probably not as much as she was expecting. "I think… I think you're right about these guys not being rattlesnakes. My leg should be the size of a watermelon by now if they were."

Quinton frowns as he grabs her poles, "There wasn't a rattle." Why does no one believe anything he says? The poles in one hand, he steps up and offers her his free arm, "Do you need me to carry you, or want to try walking at first?" Seems he thinks he'll end up carrying her.

Monica nods. "You're right. I thought they were rattlesnakes." She sighs. "Let's get going, I guess. It's holding my weight for now, so let's save your strength." She knows Quin is no powerhouse. She does feel more comfortable with his arm around her, just the same. Her foot hurts. Her leg is commencing to hurt, especially where the blood flow is constricted. But it's workable for now. "And yeah. Hard leather boots from now on. Fuck."

Quinton's not as weak as everyone seems to think he was. he's not a body builder like some in camp, but he can hold his own. His arm snakes (ha) around Monica's waist, "Less weight on it the better. Lean on me if you need to." There's a nagging feeling like he's yelled about shoes before to someone, but that passes and he'll start walking her. His hand settles, hooking onto her belt. Easier to hold her up if she starts to go down. More control.

Monica walks with Quinton quietly. After a while she pauses and slumps against thim a moment. "Sec…" she says… "I'm a little dizzy…" She grunts softly, squeezing muscles in her abdomen to run her blood pressure up a little higher. "How… have you … been?"

Quinton's been busy scanning the area, making sure they're not going to get jumped, by person or critter. But the Monica slumps, "Whoa….I got you…" Dizzy's not good, he hopes they weren't deadly. Frowning, he tosses the bucket and poles to the side, looking quickly for a land mark so he can come back later for them. "I'm going to pick you up, we need to move faster." And then he doesn't unless she fights him on it. He thinks you're supposed to keep someone talking when they're in shock, so, "Oh, you know. Had to break out of that prison you all decided to keep me in….Doing better now."

Monica does protest, weakly. "I can…" She does feel better as her legs come up and blood sloshes toward her brain. She holds on to him, trying to make it easier for him. "Yeah … about that … all I can say is … I'm sorry. I … Who you were was pretty important to me. And I lost sight of being nice to who you are now.

Pale eyes glance away from the terrain to loo down at her. He's sporting a full beard now, seems shaving isn't as important as other things currently. He's kinda having to start over. "This is much closer to who I really am, mind fucked or not. I'm sorry everyone liked me the other way, but I don't want to be like that." From Kayla and Piper's own admitions, he couldn't even talk half the time. it's hard for the poet to grasp how they would prefer that, to how he is now. Quin looks back to the direction he's walking, "Why was I important to you?"

Monica ponders that. "You were kind. Still are, by the look of things. It was like… I mean I know you're older than I am, but it was like having my little brother back. I don't know… Now it's like you grew up again." Mon shakes her head. "I'm not that dizzy. I feel like I'm not making sense. It sounds bad when I say it, like … you needed help … but that might have been part of it." She sighs a little. "Plus you and someone I care about were in love. It made it clear that it was still possible. I dunno. I never handled my brothers' breakups well either."

Quinton can't help it, his nose wrinkles, no guy likes to be called a little brother, unless it's by an older sibling. And that's only sometimes. Finally he glances down, an eyebrow raising in a very familiar way, "So I was some pity place holder?" That couldn't have been healthy. "Yeah…everyone keeps telling me that. Madly in love, had babies and wedding bells…" He shakes his head, upset by several things but keeps walking.

Monica shakes her head. "Not that, no. More like… few words, more heart. Everyone else got hard and mean to survive. Some of us more than others. You… survived, you endured, and even thrived without doing that. I gotta say it's nice talking to you in complete sentences now. It's different. But it's good." After a few more steps she adds, "do you still write poetry?"

Quinton never thought of himself like that, so it's hard to see now. "I doubt I thrived. There's crap coffee now." He chuckles lowly, but doesn't respond about full sentences, it must have been awful before. It takes him almost a minute to answer her, he's still eyeing everything making sure their safe, "I wouldn't be here if i wasn't." Poetry, in any form Quin mint be in, is his core.

Monica gives Quinton a squeeze. "Good. If we're going to survive… if there's going to be a culture… we need poetry." Mon sighs. "Fuck. I'm still dizzy." She slings her rifle across her chest to try and make it a little less clumsy to carry her. "Will you come back to us? I mean… you seem to be making a habit of rescuing us, so you might as well get… dining hall privilages and free guns, right?"

Quinton doesn't respond, that's not changed from when he had the harder time speaking. Fishuing, hunting, that's going to save them, not poems. Not now, anyway. She's shifted in his arm, "Easy….concentraite on breathing." He doesn't actually know if that will help, but it's something she can do. "I'm waiting for Devon, I have something I have to do first." He frowns again, "I don't want guns, I want my gun." Damn it.

Monica nods. "I didn't see it when we went looking for you. I promised you an M0 before you left. Assuming I get out of medical any time soon… I have more of them now. Some rifle is better than no rifle, right?" She sighs, trying to think clearly. "I really think I can help Devon. I'm not setting him up to kill him or something. I've switched nanites on and off in the lab with magnetic inductance. I have a field big enough to stick his head in, if he's willing. He's important to you, even if he did maim the doctor. I'll help him if I can."

Quinton doesn't look down, but there's a wave of tension that goes though his body, "That was my father's gun." And that's all he'll say on that. He frowns, not liking the talk about zapping anyone anymore than he did the first time. "He didn't want ti. he told him to back away." Not that it's Eli's fault, but he was warned, seveal times. it's juts a mess of a situation.

Monica nods. "I can't bring that back for you. I would if I could… and if I find it, of course it's yours. It's just… I make these here. And ammunition for them, too." She looks at the stairs to medlab as we get close. "I should climb these myself if I can. Be a lot easier… and safer… than being carried."

Quinton shakes his head, "No….you won't make it." He's fairly certain anyway. "You're shaking. I can carry you." Everyone must have really babied him before! he goes slow, just cause he'd never hear the end of it if he did drop her. It's not many, it's on the ground floor, just a few steps to get into the complex. The guards rush over to make sure everything is ok.

You say, "I got bit by snakes," she says to the guards. She chuckles humorlessly. "Went for fish. Came back with snakes." After that, things commence to move very quickly, but Mon looks over at Quin, makes sure to make eye contact, and says, "Thank you. You're a good guy, Quinton.""

They get to the med bay, as some of the guards go off running looking for Eli. Quin frowns, shaking his head and not making eye contact back, "No I'm not." He seems familiar enough with the rooms to pick her out an empty bed and lay her down. "He'll be here soon, just rest."

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