Summary:Oliver and Jean settle in for the night. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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It had been a while since Jean had made it back to Oliver. She took the easy route and settled inside of one of the abandoned cabins, not coming over the items that were left there, but taking the moment to at least straighten up to make it a home. What the wolf had mentioned troubled her. It was revealed but not spoken, that everyone within the village was taken. Where? It did not know. Why? It did not know. The wolf himself doesn't trouble himself with the affairs of humans unless it is starving.
Fair point.
The only thing that would rectify this is if Oliver and Jean go to war. If she could -see- the person who is responsible, or persons, she could gleam where the village is and rescue them. Such thoughts for a night spent alone in someone elses home. Who.. is probably dead or worse.
She settles down upon the rickety bed, bouncing a little, feeling out the sheets, the light dimming in the lantern which was reignited by thought.
When your job involves tangling with all manner of creatures, criminals, and villains, most of whom have powers and abilities that defy description, it pays to be prepared. Especially when you don't have any powers of your own. Oliver likes being prepared almost as much as he likes being alive, which is good because the two often go hand in hand.
He steps inside the cabin, but only closes the door halfway. "That should do it," he estimates. "The road and the field around it are as prepped as I can make them. We can use the market as a last-ditch fallback point, but I'd rather not. My game plan there is… exciting. Oh, and I brought these for you."
The cloth bag that he's been toting around is gingerly retrieved from inside his jacket and set close to the bed. "They'll be good if you need a distraction."
Jean looks up from the floor long before Oliver enters, and when he does, she offers up a smile. She doesn't say anything right away, only listening and holding out her hand to accept the cloth bag, settling it into her lap before she looks inside.
"Thanks." She says, pulling out a black egg, inspecting it carefully. "I.. have no clue what this is.." She says, rolling it over her fingers. "Am I supposed to eat this?" Well, yes! She stands from the bed and moves towards the tiny fire, inspecting the surrounding spaces which holds the cooking pots. Looking inside of it, she twists the pot back and forth, then shrugs. "Are you hungry too?" It wasn't like Jean could eat, she wasn't starving and she barely does, but now would be a good time to ignore the 'not wanting' and to 'want' to eat.
Physically, Ollie is pretty tired. It's been an intense nine-ish hours for the two of them, including a respectable fight, a woodland trek, and a flight on the back of an eagle. Knowing that they have at least a few minutes to relax is a relief, and he doesn't hesitate to throw back his hood and remove his heavy, armored coat.
That's when it becomes apparent that something has changed for him. The disfiguring scars on his face that appeared when he first crossed over into the dome are gone. Not only does he look like himself again, he looks… younger. Less burdened. Stress lines around his brow and at the corners of his mouth have smoothed out, nearly disappearing. It suits him.
Now he laughs. "I wouldn't recommend eating those," he advises. "They're full of ash and pepper. You crush it in your hand, then throw it at someone's face."
There's a pause, during which he spends a lot of time looking at Jean's eyes. "I could handle some food," he admits after a few long-feeling seconds. "But I'm not dying. Sort of hyped up about what's coming, you know?"
Right when Jean was about to crack the egg, she stops once he gives his recommendation. Her nose wrinkles, which causes her to put the pot down slowly, and carefully carry the egg bag into the small satchel it came in. "Oooh… kaaay.." She says, then breaks out into a laugh. It would come in handy in the heat of battle, but she could think of other uses for it. "Christ Oliver.." She manages to say, though she does move towards the smaller 'kitchen' area to begin to look through cupboards.
"I understand." She says, frowning a little. "I barely eat at times, I know I should. But I'm always distracted. Hearing almost everyones thoughts just.. kind of takes me out of it. Like my brain is constantly busy and on, always working and.." She shakes her head. She almost seemed sad about it. "But, I'll figure something out here, you relax. And we also have to figure out a way to repay these people for using their things."
The metallic CLANKing sound is audible, even satisfying as Oliver tosses a period-appropriate leather purse on a low table. "Kruggerands," he explains. "I built the rest of the crap that I brought, but ancient gold coins are hard to come by."
Now that he's got his jacket off, the socialite-turned-Robin Hood prods the wound on his chest from their first encounter. It's not serious, but it's painful and annoying and he's poking at it the way a small child would pick at a scab after being told not to. "You know," he starts, drawling out the words along with a thoughtful breath. "In a way, this has been fun. Getting to know you a little bit. We make a pretty good team. And Launchpad," there's a quick chuckle. "I'll admit, he's better than a helicopter. I'm a little worried that he hasn't made it back, but I'm sure he's alright."
"I'll figure out something.." Jean says, finally pulling out.. something. It didn't look edible, but she definitely was going to make it work. "I'm going to go and find a well." She says, putting the.. stuff down (wrapped and almost slimy), to pick up the pot that she had before. The tiny cauldron! "Um.. see if you can find anything else? Vegetables are out of the question, this village has been razed to hell and back."
"Nonono," Ollie protests, holding up a hand and chuckling. "I like where your head is at, but that's… just, whatever that is, no thank you. Here."
Like a method actor, he's truly committed to his part. He stoops to rifle through his jacket and comes up with a packet of jerky wrapped in paper, plus a similar parcel that's full of dried oats and fruit. It's not much, but it's a serviceable meal, especially compared to the slimy whatever that came out of a cupboard in this hellish hovel of a dark ages village. And clearly prepared in advance, for fear that a protein bar or an energy drink might become something unpalatable after the transformation.
Like everything he's brought (except the gold coins) the jerky looks homemade. And pretty tasty. He takes a bite, then offers the same piece to Jean for her to finish.
Jean stops, her hand already on the door as she turns to smile. Her elvish look almost seems a bit sinister, and with her lacking any color to her eyes but the stars within them. "Oliver Queen, do you not trust my cooking?" She lets go of the door, dropping the pot with an equally loud clang, stepping close to gently take the piece of jerky from his hands. She didn't sniff, but she does bite, her chin tilting towards him, her red brows lowering suspiciously.
"What else you got hiding under there, partner?" Yes, she agreed with him, getting to know him easy.. but.. the feelings..? Not so much, it was all organic.
"I'll make you a deal," Ollie offers. "We both make it out of this alive, I'll take you back to my place and you can cook whatever you want." There's a pause while he glances at their surroundings and the previous opportunities for 'food.' He smiles and shrugs. "I feel like you could show yourself better under different circumstances. C'mere."
He waves and brings Jean in with a gesture, and once she's closer he guides her to a seat next to him on the bed. Meanwhile, he's stretching himself out comfortably. The flask he produces is ornate, but aged and worn in the way that can only come from a generations-old keepsake. "Here," he says. He offers it, but his free hand comes to rest lightly on her thigh. "It's a little spicy. Herbs. Roots. Berries. Good for you, though."
"You have yourself a deal." Jean says with a grin. There were no implications to this offer, and she was alright with that.
As he guides her in, she approaches, not apprehensive but relaxed. And settling upon the bed, she leans shoulder to shoulder with him, but still away enough to watch his motions. As he offers the flask, she quickly takes a sip, her brows lowering as she tries to figure just what herbs and roots it was mixed with.
"Where did you find this?" She asks, taking another sip before she passes off the flask. "Good for me in the sense of nutrients, or good for me in the sense that I'll soon be drunk and taken advantage of?" Now, she was joking.