DUST TO DUST @lucas-lowe - Tumblr Blog

iyazakbar:

ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫▫·∙∙∙✈

“Right. You’re right, mate. I love it, stitching, mending, poking, prodding. You won’t be rid of me in your business. Not now.” The way he says it back, sans the sadism, it’s all true. He likes this part where Luke’s not asking to be abandoned; when Iyaz’s burning hands can leave someone better off for once. “Christ. Luke. One more burger joke like that and I’m turning completely vegetarian.”

Iyaz doesn’t laugh. He just exhales, but it feels like a pressure relief valve; something in him only just saved from exploding.

“Wise man Luke, I wouldn’t have even thought of that.” He takes it as a good sign that Luke’s become active in his own survival. Still, the man’s in obvious pain; each movement an obvious strain. “Just- Don’t push yourself, yeah?” Iyaz wants to wipe the sweat off Luke’s brow, mop it up with comforting gentle noises before placing his hand lightly over the one tugging at his sleeve. Things that would be comforting to him, but this is Luke. So he’s left shaking his head.

“Don’t you worry. Ought to know by now it’s impossible to get rid of me. Yeah? You just point me to what direction you hear anything… ” He tried not to shift or move too much, worried some sound of his might make it harder for Luke to listen to their surroundings.

---

Luke just gives a weak chuckle, or more like a cough. Most of his energy is spent on fighting his own body to stay awake. Unless he cracks these stupid silly jokes and focuses on the here and now, he would slip into the sweet oblivion. Not after the doctor kept him alive. Not until he knows for sure that Iyaz is out of the woods. “Yeah, you sick fuck,” he sighs, almost fondly. He rests his head against the tree, staring blankly at Iyaz before deadpanning, “...you’re not allowed to throw up on me, man.”

He swallows dryly, and channels all of his senses to hearing. Over his own shaky breath and Iyaz’s heart beating faster than usual, the rainforest twists and turns. Shuddering. Slithering. Seething. Cutting through the ambient noises of the hungry Jungle, however, is an eerie silence. In that vacuum is the sound of a stream. “Weird...” He murmurs. “I hear a stream nearby but it’s... too silent.”

Luke moves his head weakly toward the general direction of the stream he heard. “Yeah, I knew that from the start. You’re one stubborn son of a gun... Can’t really win with you.” He then reaches up with one arm, groaning. “C’mon, help me up. Can’t send you there on your own.” Something is not right, the pocket of silence in the middle of the Jungle, but they both need the water. And he is not about to send Iyaz alone-- what if he gets lost on the way there or back, or worse, what if the sound of the stream is a trap? Of course, he wouldn’t be much of a help if they run into any danger. It’s more likely that he would drag Iyaz down with him... Maybe Iyaz should have thought about that before not keeping him alive. “Just... lend me your shoulder. I’ll try... not to fall down.” He grumbles, somewhat embarrassed that he has to ask for help like that. Now he understands why Iyaz protested when he carried the doctor out of the water.

#talk:iyaz5 #iyaz #event:trespasser #stranded event 4

iyazakbar·:

ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫▫·∙∙∙✈

“Yeah I’m alright.” Iyaz echoed with a smile, pleased to say it. “Don’t smell good, don’t smell bad. Suppose I just smell…” He snickered. Smile turning into a full grin as he looked at Luke. “You’re alright too. Shame about the tactile thing though, with oil on skin like that. It’s not so bad, soaks in, or- if ever you want to try it- it’s good in hair too. Which is nice, you know, for smelling. If you like.” Iyaz shrugged to himself, till smiling out of the sheer silliness of the conversation.

Still, Luke might appreciate a bit of hibiscus in his slicked back hair.

“Yeah…” He trails off, listening but distracted by his task, “yeah, I can see that for you. Wanting to keep control.” It’s a testament to how much Iyaz just relies on other people to do the majority of the survival skills that it hardly registers to him what Luke’s doing. Keeping alert, keeping them safe. On the farm and the beach there’s normally other people around; Iyaz normally lets others like Frank take the lead, and especially Emre. He’d be a sitting duck, crouched with his back exposed to the jungle, without a watchful eye.

“Oi. Watch it mate.” Iyaz snorts, looking up from his mushroom picking to smirk at Luke and seeing a mirror of his own expression in the other man’s face. Dark eyes gleaming and all. “You can’t got saying a set up like that, you say that to the wrong Akbar and I think we both know what Emre’d accuse you of implying.” He laughed again, turning his head back to each plucked mushroom. Choosing to pull you the mycelium and twist rather than cutting the stumps. “If you were game for trying one of these I’d say I’d save you one, but now I suppose you got to get more creative with your request for favors.”

---

Luke rolls his eyes, “well, everybody smells.” He concludes as a matter of fact. Everyone has their own, distinct scent. That’s neither good nor bad. It’s just what it is. And as long as someone doesn’t reek, he doesn’t really mind. Though he doubts that is what Iyaz meant. “So like... shampoo and conditioner.” He concludes. That wouldn’t be so bad. It’s been years since he had anything like that, and in a way he got used to living without them. He just didn’t think to find that kind of small... luxury on this island. “Yeah, why not. I’ll think about it.” He repeats, which is his way of saying he will actually consider it. He would have said ‘no’ outright if he wasn’t interested.

“That and I just don’t relax, apparently.” He mutters under the breath, and turns his attention back to listening to the sounds of the Jungle. The rustling of the leaves, distant birdcalls and buzzing of the bugs. The stream they crossed chatters on as the feather-like breeze finds a respite by the small rocks. Some might call it peaceful and idyllic, but his mind is focused on picking out any sign of danger. Taut and strained like a bowstring ready to fire an arrow. He doesn’t know what would happen if he let go.

Luke scoffs back, “hey, it ain’t my fault everything’s an innuendo with that man.” He then pauses for a second, remembering what Emre said a few months back. “He did think ‘getting axed’ meant some kind of a gay euphemism,” he remarks offhandedly, squinting at nothing in particular as he recalls that strange conversation in the middle of getting chased by ghosts. Emre Akbar has the weirdest priority... and Luke opts not to mention some other vulgar things Emre mentioned about stress releasing. “Ha, no thanks. Not wasting a favor like that. I’mma come up with something more productive.” He looks over at Iyaz harvesting the mushroom and asks, “lemme know when you’re done, though. Not the wisest idea to linger here for too long.”

#talk:iyaz4 #iyaz #//we can probably wrap it with yours or the next one?

sagetomashardy·:

===***===

Luke asks what happened to make Tomas need the cane and he grunts, “Oh, you know – the damn jungle lifting me into the air and dropping me into a tree where I got hung up in some vines like a fuckin’ Christmas goose. Wrenched my knee around falling out of it.”

Injuries and talking about them occupy a not-entirely-comfortable place in Tomas’ head; it’s taken him years and real effort to talk about it when he’s been physically hurt without feeling like he’s betraying somebody, telling secrets. He makes sure he gets his wounds tended to, but verbally, he’s dismissive about them more often than not. He tells Luke about the tree but not about being beaten up by a crazed paramilitary man or going over a waterfall or smashing against rocks in the river. It’s a compromise.

The topic of television is a welcome segue, and Tomas says lightly, “Shows what you know. I could still sing you the themes from Family Ties and Mary Tyler Moore without missing a word.” He slants a look over at Luke as they reach the apothecary and Tomas opens it up, swinging the top of the pony door out to stay open as they go in. “I could lend you some of the books from here but they’re pretty dry reading. We only keep them because they’re technical manuals. Getting more and more obsolete every year, but fortunately the basics remain applicable. So long as you refit them with what we’ve got available on the island.”

He pauses, leaning heavily against the long stone counter that runs along one entire wall of the inside of the apothecary, covered in equipment and various experiments in stages of completion. “Case in point,” Tomas says, echoing Luke from earlier, “I need you to help me with something medical. Young Doctor Akbar’s a little … compromised,” if that’s what you wanted to call his setting three separate herb bundles on fire before he dressed himself in a mud dhoti and went off to operate out of a shed, “and my hands aren’t steady enough at the moment to do it right.”

Tomas moves a small jar of a thick, pearly liquid closer to Luke, along with a small paintbrush. “Iyaz and I discovered that one of the Meridium plants dissolves the nacre inside of seashells,” he says, forgetting he’d promised to keep conversation to a minimum once faced with something that interests him. “It creates an antiseptic substance and I thought we could use it as a sort of hard bandage for sealing exposed bone, maybe even teeth. Lots of applications, once we get the opportunity for testing it. But that’s the thing, we need the opportunities.”

---

“Jesus,” Luke winces at the thought of falling from a tree and hurting the knee. Leg injuries are the worst, at least to him. It goes straight to your mobility and well, in his experience, being stuck in bed and unable to walk around without help is frustrating. “Hope it doesn’t leave you any lasting issue,” he offers what may come across as a platitude, but he is quite sincere. “Leg pain’s the worst. Mine still hurts from time to time.” Only when it’s cold or during heavy rain, so it doesn’t hurt as much on the island, but it’s still a nuisance. Considering how much work Hardy does around the Farm, a bad knee would be a pain in the ass. Or knee.

Luke looks sideway, tugging at the end of his lips. “...yeah, I don’t know what those are.” Not just because the TV shows (he assumes as much?) are probably before his time. His pop culture reference is dismal to a point where he sometimes couldn’t follow conversations. “You might know more TV shows and movies than I.” He muses as he follows into the Apothecary, greeted by the scent of remedies and salves. “Honestly, I’ll take what’s available. Beats reading the same novel over and over again.” Some of the books he found here, he reread them all too many times and can probably recite them without missing a beat. “Obsolete or not, manuals should come in handy, yeah? Learn new things and whatever. What’s it about, like medicine?”

He shifts in his spot to adjust his stance carefully not to hurt himself. He raises a brow at the word ‘compromised’ before realizing what Hardy meant. “Ah.” He nods with a tiny smirk. Iyaz seemed to have trouble controlling the attunement like some of the survivors from the Jungle. There was something off about the way the doctor has been acting, the peculiar fashion choice aside, but he lets that one slide. “Sure thing.” He examines the liquid up close before looking back at Hardy, “nacre? That’s a... molten seashell?” He asks, half-confused and half-impressed. How do they even discover things like that? Luke is not exactly a scientist but he understands what it’s for. “That’s pretty cool. Like a cast? So what d’you need me to do? Scrub some seashells for that milky thing?” He points at the paintbrush. A small frown sets on his brows at the mention of ‘opportunities’. “Wait, you’re not trying this on me, are you?”

#talk:tomas4 #tomas

no-gambit:

❦

Magnolia fought down her own smirk and attempted it to morph into mild disapproval. She failed by a long-shot. Had they been in the 20s she may have suggested a nip or more. She and the others had surely indulged mid recovery before, as if bruises and breaks would be smoothed away with liquor, but since then she’d learned better. Somewhat. She pulled out a bottle of cool water and set it on the bed between them. “Alas, mere water.”

She bears his inspection with a mild tilt of her head. She was fine, and he would be eventually. Eventually the only wounds that would remain would be the loss of the men now rooted forever in place. While he watches her, and thinks for himself, she tries to clutch her power back to her, to draw the blanket of silence and stillness back to the usually tight shell that lives over her skin, but it continues to hold the place gently hostage.

Magnolia volleys the scrutiny back to Lucas. He looks to be weighed down by more than just blood loss and bodily aches. She’s found that grief is much like clothes; each person wears them differently, some are exuberant and loud, others dim and quiet, layered and contained, or naked and free. All the same, grief hangs on them. “Of course it’s fucked up… I haven’t been able to see them again yet. I will, but,” No paused, the admission holding itself behind her teeth, “Once I figure out if the pain is new or old.” She was privileged in some sick way. She had grieved Idris and Émile years ago. The pain had simmered and, over time, she’d shed some of the layers. The lighter layers. Now the fresh and old wounds of it warred. “You haven’t lost anyone here yet have you? I know you are about as open as a recalcitrant clam, kid, and I’m no better, but if you want to talk about how fucked up it is for you I’ll try to say things back.” She shrugged one shoulder and smiled, teasing now. “Or continue to enable your burgeoning alcoholism.” Not that she hadn’t cut him off before when it grew concerning and would again. Death wasn’t the only way to lose someone.

Nodding, Magnolia looking to the rusted ceiling of the cabin. “Right, right. Good on the string bean doctor. I can’t go losing an apprentice before he even tries.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, the pressure in the cabin lessening some. “You aren’t Italian at all are you?”

---

Luke pouts jokingly at the sight of the water bottle instead of alcohol. In his condition, he is aware, drinking is probably not so helpful-- something something about alcohol thinning the blood and slowing the healing process... Or at least that is how he understood Iyaz’s rambling. He doesn’t pretend to understand the medical stuff aside from his rudimentary knowledge on first aid. “You’re no fun,” he still grumbles, rolling his eyes. He grabs the bottle with his left hand, the one that doesn’t hurt to move, and struggles to open it on his own. He soon gets it, and drinks some water slowly. “Thanks,” he says, handing the bottle back to her.

The silence is, in the oddest of ways, comforting like plunging down deep into the bottom of the ocean. No noise, no light, only the dark breath burning the lungs. He always imagined death as a form of sinking, into the great nothingness until you are reduced to insignificance. Meanings, values, memories, all those heavy things are for the living.

“Does it make any difference?” Luke asks back, “new or old... Pain is pain, it don’t become something else.” He then lowers his gaze at his palm covered with small cuts and blisters from the Jungle. “Or I guess I haven’t been around long enough to see the difference.” They say time heals all wounds. He is yet to believe that. Some wounds change you permanently. “A recalcitrant clam?” repeats him, tugging at the end of his lips and giving her a quizzical look. He tries not to laugh because that would hurt him. “Hey, as far as coping mechanism goes, drinking on this island is relatively a health choice,” he argues, smirking back at her. The playful curves fade after a moment, however, as he actually chews over her words. “...but you’re right. About loss. Don’t think I’ve ever dealt with that.” Another pause. “Can’t lose something you never had.” That was until Meridium, at the very least. Ironically, this island is probably the place he has stayed the longest since he ran away from home. He didn’t have that many meaningful connections before-- in retrospect, he had few, not many, and he never had to deal with grief.

Luke chuckles at ‘the string bean doctor’ and winces when that hurts his stomach. “He is lanky, yeah,” he groans, trying to contain the pain and the laughter at the same time. Taking a deep breath, he calms down and blinks at her next question. “Huh? Nah, don’t think so. Family’s technically from Brazil.” He can’t say he knows much about his background, though. “Why Italian?”

#talk:magnolia5 #magnolia

dreams-of-a-lark·:

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

“You calling me a sky rat? You know what, I’ll take it.” Lark puffs up his chest proudly, “Wildly misunderstood creatures, rats and pigeons both.” He’d say like him, but he’s not sure he believes he is misunderstood. Not by Luke, at the very least. Most of the time he feels like an open picture book, all too easy to read. Though there is something to be said for the nature of the creatures vs the treatment they receive — the analogy isn’t wholly inapplicable to him. “Anyway, who you calling city boy, city boy?” He teases, suddenly reminded of memes, specifically the Spider-Man pointing meme. Oh how he misses the simplicity of memes.

“I’m not saying I don’t have any fear of the jungle, I just—” Lark shrugs defensively, “I know, look, I know. I know I’m a dumbass. I know you think I need to put myself first sometimes, or whatever, but what do I gain in doing that here? And don’t say my life, because that’s not what I mean. I just mean like—like—,” he stammers in search of his own meaning. He wants to say that self-preservation means nothing to him if the people he cares about are in danger. That making sure they’re okay is maybe some roundabout way of putting himself first. That he wouldn’t know how to live with himself if Luke or anyone else died or got hurt and he could have done something to prevent it. But he’s unable to articulate any of this before they’re taking off through the trees.

“Yeah. I suppose I am. I’m flying, I’ve no idea know how.” Luke wriggles uncomfortably in his arms. Lark doesn’t blame him, this would be an uncomfortable state for anyone to be in, let alone someone who can’t stand physical contact. Lark readjusts his hold, but refuses to drop him. “Right. In hindsight, maybe not my smartest move, scooping you like that. But, sorry Wendy. I can’t risk losing you. We both run or we both fly.” He thinks for a moment and is struck with an unfortunate realisation, “And frankly… I uh… don’t know how to land. It’s fine. You’re lighter than you look.” This last statement is a stretched truth. Luke feels like a solid mass of muscle, but air is still his element, so the wind doesn’t seem to mind his extra weight in Lark’s arms.

Luke calls for him to be careful only just in time for Lark to process that he doesn’t even know how to manoeuvre with these new abilities, so he doesn’t know how to dodge. He makes up for it by doing his best to shield Luke and brace for impact. The tree branch collides with his back, knocking the proverbial wind out of him and sending them both spinning toward the ground. “Well, hold on, looks like you might be getting your wish.” Lark croaks right before they land with a dull thud on the mossy earth. The air slowed their fall a bit, but he absorbed most of the impact and can’t quite bring himself to move just yet.

He’s put enough distance between them and the vines that they aren’t immediately upon them, but gaining fast. “Go on now.” He groans, letting go of Luke as the soreness of the fall wraps around him like a constrictor. “You wanted to run, so run. Hurry. I’ll catch up. I will. I just gotta—” He looks toward the serpentine vines making their way to meet them, then back at Luke, “Get the hell out of here! Now! Go!”

---

Luke rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Of course Lark would say shits like ‘they are just misunderstood’ about rats and pigeons. He doesn’t have anything against rats or pigeons, as long as they stay in their lane and leave his food alone. He doesn’t have energy to spare to understand what people call vermin. “You and I are different breeds of city boy.” He points out brazenly, though it probably has a grain of truth. From what he can tell, despite their shared shitty history with the family, they grew up in wildly different environments.

He stares pointedly at Lark rambling, the cogs in that little head rattling at the notion of ‘putting oneself first’. “The fuck are you talkin’ about? Okay, then, the fuck do you gain from being here lost in the Jungle, huh? Gettin’ chased by vines?” He argues, the familiar tone of anger setting in. “How are you supposed to help anyone if you can’t help yourself? Seriously, why are you like this?” This conversation will likely to go nowhere, their opinions on the matter running like parallel lines. As far as Luke is concerned, all living things are designed to be selfish; that’s just the fact of life. Sure, people love to preach about altruism and helping each other, and that’s all good and dandy. Humans are also social creatures, they thrive off of cooperation and solidarity. But Luke draws a line on self-sacrifice for the sake of others. At the end of the day, one’s priority must be themselves, and no virtue is worth sacrificing oneself for.

Luke represses the urge to punch Lark in the face for multiple reasons-- for picking him up like he was some baby, for thinking that flying was ever a good idea in the Jungle, and for just being a dumbass. But that should come later. “Of fuckin’ course you don’t know how to land,” he barks out a sarcastic laughter, “look, we don’t have time for you to learn the new--”

His bickering was cut off as they were thrown in the air. Luke manages to conjure light gust around them to dampen the rough landing. He is quick to jump back up on his feet. His ears are ringing over the other’s voice, telling him to go first. And for a split second, the world slows down to a pause, and everything is quiet all of a sudden. His instinct flares up in that unknowably critical moment, and he finds himself rushing toward Lark. A sharp, hissing sound pierces through the air, and the peculiar warmth spreads on his stomach and through his throat. Luke looks down at himself and finds a thin vine stuck in his abdomen. “...well, that was stupid,” he mutters to himself. He tries to look over the shoulder but his body, paralyzed by the shock and twitching, can’t quite turn to see Lark behind him. What happened to drawing a line on self-sacrifice? It turns out, he is just as much of a dumbass as Lark. “See... told you you should’ve got out,” his knees buckle as he collapses forward, “just... get the fuck out of here, Jesus Fucking Chr--” he manages to squeeze the words out before more vines grabbed and yanked him deeper into the Jungle like a ragdoll.

#talk:lark5 #lark #stranded event 4 #event:trespasser #tw:violence #tw:blood

j-crain·:

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Most people would have jumped, hearing such an outburst right in their ear without any fair warning. James however, stayed still, statuesque as always. He silently shooed the goat before looking over his shoulder, seeing a man eat a banana as if the fruit was responsible for killing his family. James tried to assess the situation. An attractive man asking about Lark… well, his brother had kissed Tomas though apparently that had been an odd matter of circumstance and not an actual plea for affection. Though this man seemed to know Lark pretty well, agreeing with James’ assessment of his brother.

James finally turned around, facing the man head on. “I sense even if I hadn’t spoken Lark’s name you would know who I was referring too…” The goat left James and instead started to bother the man in front of him, not doubt hoping for a little fruit snack. Or just the peel. “I could ask you the same thing. I know it’s a small island but surely you know Lark instead of simply being acquainted with him.” Though the man hadn’t noticed the family resemblance.

“I’m his younger brother, James.” Unaware of any hostility, he extended a hand. “Pleasure.”

---

Luke maintains his trademark look of suspicion and skepticism, the raised brow, scrutinizing eyes and tightly-pressed lips, the whole shebang. He waits patiently for the man to speak up. “Maybe.” He replies curtly. Since the other only provided the half-answer, he is in no way obliged to return a straightforward one. Plus, the way the goat man speaks, not just the accent but general demeanor... well, it reminds him of the people he grew up with. Polite and well-spoken, yet with the hint of... well, rich people fuckery.

He was about to say something, probably snarky and pointed, when the baby goat bleats at his feet. His stern look falters ever-so-slightly as he lowers the banana a little bit. “...well, you hungry?” He addresses the goat as he sways the fruit, watching its eyes follow. Humming, he breaks a sizeable piece out of the banana. He is not entirely sure if the baby goat can eat bananas-- he should ask the animal doctor later-- but he figures it can’t do any harm. He drops the piece of fruit a few steps away from him to get the goat away. His faint smile is erased without a trace when he looks back at the guy. “I know him, yeah.” He replies, without the sarcasm. He thinks to himself, this guy can’t be that bad if he is not horrible to baby animals...

But of course, when James Crain introduces himself, Luke immediately changes his mind. “...huh.” He lets out that dumb sound he makes when he is taken by surprise. He decidedly does not shake the hand. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that just yet.” He says monotonously, narrowing his eyes “unfortunately I’m allergic to shitty brothers, especially when they did a number on someone I give a shit about.”

#talk:james1 #james

sagetomashardy·:

===***===

“Ah.” Tomas regards Luke for a long moment. He can tell the boy is disappointed at getting the brush-off, possibly a little bit of hurt pride that his contribution won’t be missed. But Tomas doesn’t offer anything more on that topic; his attempts before had been poorly received, Luke making it extremely clear that he doesn’t want Tomas’ input on anything to do with himself. “Well, consider that loose end tied up, then.”

Luke mumbles something somewhat vague about his own injuries, expresses what might be taken as relief that Tomas himself is still standing, and Tomas nods in response. “Nothing keeps anybody around here down for long,” he says agreeably. “Being laid up on Meridium is a pretty boring prospect. No daytime TV to distract you.”

Although it seems Luke’s been sequestered on the Leander as his makeshift hospital room, referring to it – as can be expected – as his being ‘kept’ there as if it’s against his will. Considering his general attitude towards anybody doing any caretaking as well as Luke’s disinclination to be around people, Tomas isn’t surprised by this ungracious view of things.

“Okay,” he says. “I don’t have any solo jobs for you at the moment that aren’t physically strenuous, unless you’d like to sort produce, which I’m pretty sure would bore you sideways. So, you’re gonna have to put up with my company.” Tomas tilts his head towards the apothecary building, starting to limp over with the use of his cane. “I’ll keep the conversation to a minimum, don’t worry.”

---

Luke makes a quizzical face, squinting back at Hardy for staring at him. He is not entirely sure what to make out of that knowing look. Well, it is probably that Hardy can see through his stubborn words, and leaving it at that. Let me be, that’s what Luke wanted, because what would he be without his boundaries? He should be happy with his wish being granted, instead of feeling queasy from the weird pressure building up in his chest. It would be stupid and even childish to be bothered by being left alone. Clicking his tongue, Luke pushes that thought aside.

“Yeah, well, case in point. Looks like you’re supposed to take it easy too.” Luke gestures at Hardy and his cane before asking “what happened?” He thinks for a moment at the comment about the TV. He never really watched TV but... “Huh. I dunno why I thought you wouldn’t know what TV is...” He remarks rather dully. He logically understands that Hardy is probably closer to his age than to the oldies like Beaufort or Padre, but Hardy feels older than that. “At any rate, I’ve been reading whatever I can find here but... think I need something more physical than that.”

Luke hums. “I don’t mind sorting. Wouldn’t be the worst thing to do... but alright, you’re the boss.” He used to take up all sorts of odd jobs, so he doesn’t mind the grind. Nevertheless, he trails behind Hardy. “Pretty sure you’re the one who’s gonna have to put up with me and my bullshit...” He mutters under the breath. “Anyway, what’s the job?”

#talk:tomas4 #tomas

iyazakbar·:

ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫▫·∙∙∙✈

“Yeah?” The corner of his mouth curled upward. Eyes still on his work as Luke teasingly berated him. Even if his voice broke and hitched with pain Luke had enough strength in him to keep up the banter. “Cruelest man you’ll meet. I’m a right sadist. Go on, give me a bit more.” Despite Luke’s earlier confessions of having nothing to life for, wanting to rest, there was still fight left in him. Even if it was just play-fighting between them. “I expect you’d rather be the bossy one, yeah? Get me out of your business…”

Iyaz removed his finger from Luke’s open wound. The bleed that was slowly killing him now replaced with burnt flesh. It’d be on Iyaz to make sure the cure didn’t kill him in the end. Iyaz couldn’t look in the other man’s eyes, not yet. Not with Luke beneath him, tensed up and making noises that sound like something stuck part way between mad-man and dying animal.

“Fucking hell, that smell will put me off cooked meat for a while.” The joke was too dark and Iyaz knew it as soon as he said it out loud. It was better for him If this was a proper surgery he’d be kicked out, but they’d both have less things to worry about. He swallowed. Bloodied burning hands pulled away from the other man now that the job was done. Somehow the piece of vine ended up back in his palm, must’ve tossed it into his own lap when he removed it; now he just squeezed it as he looked over at the mess of man.

Anyone else he’d be bent over, moping their brow, rubbing circles across his shoulders. Iyaz almost reaches out to do that now but channels the impulse into squeezing that vine in his hand, the thorn that was in Luke’s side. “You need to rest now. Just keep breathing. Have a lay down, I’ll get you some water. You’ll need it…” His eyes pull away from Luke to search for his discarded container, hardly enough fresh water to be useful. “Fucking- Well, there’s bound to be water in a rainforest, pound, stream, bit of rain trapped in a leaf…”

---

Luke shuts his eyes as the pain wrecks through him, and tries to muster up some semblance of fight in him, to reignite whatever that kept him alive all these years. To remind himself. He may have nothing to live for and his hands may be empty, but... deep down, he had hoped, one day, he might find something to hold onto, something to live for. A reason not to die.

And for now, Iyaz telling him he can be saved is good enough.

“I knew it,” Luke wheezes out a shaky laughter, “you like stitchin’ me up, like seein’ me in pain.” The words come out of him delirious, and they hardly make any sense, uttered just to distract himself from the surgery. His breath is uneven and hushed, and all Luke can do is to hope that it all ends soon. “Me? Nah, as long as you stay out of my business, I like to think I’m pretty chill...” he murmurs through the clenched teeth before his voice gets swallowed by the pained noises.

When Iyaz pulls the finger out from the wound, Luke sinks deeper into the root of the old tree, completely spent and helpless like his bones had melted away. The burn is still fresh and it gnaws at his flesh, the only clear sensation in the world fading to black. “That... hurt like a motherfucker,” he states dryly as the exhaustion washes over him. He can barely keep his eyes open now. “...I could go for some burger, actually” He mutters, and manages to curl the end of his lips up, the closest to a smile he can pull.

“...okay,” he says meekly, following Iyaz only with his eyes. “Gimme a... moment and I’ll see if I can hear water.” He sighs, knowing full well that they can’t stay in one place for too long, anyway. He is not entirely sure if he can move, but it’s a do-or-die. Even now, Luke is stubbornly and barely holding on to his consciousness, just so they can get a move on whenever they can. His left index finger twitches as he wills it to move. He lifts it ever so slightly, and tugs at Iyaz’s sleeve, “just... don’t go anywhere.” He whispers, unable to elaborate that if they get separated by the Jungle, all this would go to waste. And Iyaz told him to live. Luke intends to do just that.

#talk:iyaz5 #iyaz #event:trespasser #stranded event 4 #tw:blood #tw:violence #tw:death

tamyrawilliams·:·

— ⋆ ✯ ⋆ —

Tamyra just wanted a couple of hours when she could clear her head and not think about everything that happened lately. It really shouldn’t have been a big request, if you ask Tamyra, but as much as she could find a quiet, empty place on the beach, her mind just couldn’t stop. She just kept seeing her friends in the jungle struggling, her mom’s ghost, the monster she killed in the jungle, the tree people, those few seconds of when she toppled over in the boat, the ship that was there to taunt and drive her (and so many others) insane with its possibility just to snatch it away, and the list could go on.

Her own thoughts did just one thing, and that was block her surroundings out for Tamyra. She didn’t hear Lucas approaching until until he was next to her, speaking, snapping her out of her own thoughts. She looked up for a second, squinting up at him and then with a groan, she sat up. “Yeah, it’s an actual thing. This is a beach, Lucas, some people actually know how to enjoy their time on the beach.” Granted, it’s not like she’s enjoyed herself that much now, but she was trying to.

“Yeah, got out in one piece.” She was probably among the luckier ones this time around, but it still didn’t feel like a win. Nothing really felt like a win on this island at this point, or very little. “If I have anything to do with it, I’m never going to let the jungle or this fucking island win.” Even though the island was winning every single day keeping them here, but that was a whole thought spiral she didn’t want to go down in. “Emre got out, too, I saw him around the farm, though I’m assuming you’ve seen him already, you spend time at the farm too.”

When she thought about it, Lucas on the farm was normal, she knew he was bringing meat and other resources there now regularly, but Lucas on the beach? She couldn’t remember the last time she saw this sight. “What are you doing here exactly? You’re probably one of the last people I would have assumed I’d seen here? Did the jungle scare you away for good?” She paused for a moment before she added. “I wouldn’t blame you. Honestly, that place is nothing but death and destruction.”

---

Luke purses his lips, immediately catching what she means by ‘some people actually know how to enjoy their time on the beach’ means. “What are you talkin’ about? I used to go to the beach all the time.” He says, which is technically not a lie. He used to live by the sea. He just didn’t exactly hang out at the beach or go for a swim... He was just far too busy to sit under the sun and get slowly cooked. “But this island is not exactly a vacation destination.” Not that Luke knows anything about taking a vacation.

He lets out a weak chuckle at her fighting spirit. He doesn’t see it as a win-or-lose type of deal. More like a survival. But he can appreciate her unyielding attitude, and after seeing her in action, he doesn’t doubt that she would go down fighting in any case. “Yeah, I believe it,” he nods, his lips curled up to a tiny, amused smile, the eyes trailing off toward where the Jungle lies deeper into the island. “You were pretty badass out there. Some crazy stunt, that.” He vaguely recalls it being some kind of a move she did in the movie or something. At least Emre acted like it was. But that was before they all got separated. “Yeah, I’ve seen him in passing. Would’ve heard about it if he didn’t. Doc-- uh, Iyaz talks about him a lot.” He muses.

“Hey, I enjoy a long walk on the beach,” Luke protests, half jokingly. He then pulls up his shirt a little, revealing the bandage around his waist. “Well, I actually didn’t make it out in one piece, technically on strict bedrest. So I’ve been staying on the Leander...” He lets the fabric drop, shrugging his shoulders, careful not to hurt himself in the process. “I would get back out there for hunting and exploring, but that’s not up to me. I’m supposed to take it easy and whatever.”

#talk:tamyra2 #tamyra

mallorycastle·:·

Witty retorts are hard to find anymore. She can’t think of any as Luke trudges up to her, a slight limp to his steps. Her eyes follow him, blankly, trying to muster her usual… anything, really. But the well where her remarks, her wit, and her light reside is a gaping hole with Phillip’s name on it, and Mallory can’t find the switch to turn it off. He offers a drink, and she should say no. She’s drank too much in too little of a time these days. “Thanks,” she says, and reaches for it anyway. “What’d you trade No for this? Or is she…” She struggles, fingers tapping erratically on the bottle. “Is she okay?”

Mallory wonders if any of them are okay. Somehow, this blow from the island is too much. She hardly notices as the condensation around the bottle turns it icy cold, her attunement still flaring after the jungle’s interference. “I’m okay.” A lie, a lie. But then, studying Luke, she wonders if he’d say the same thing if she asked. After a beat, she shakes her head, and finds something else to say. “Been thinking I’ll still have to go through all his shit. You know what a packrack he is. Was.”

She sighs. It’s only then that she notices the ice coating the bottle, and the way it turns their quiet little hill on the beach into something chilly. Fitting, but not polite. “Sorry. This stupid attunement isn’t listening to me anymore.” She sets the bottle into the sand between them, flicking her fingers as though to splash off water and dragging the coating of ice with each shake. Holding it in her palms is comforting, though, and Mallory squeezes it until she’s holding a vaguely pebble sized ice cube. “He wanted me to play with ice more. Said we saw enough water around here, but never saw snow. Do you miss it? Things like that? Snow and ice and shit?”

---

Luke has seen that look before. Like grief has punched a hole through you, and the essential parts of you just spill out. He has seen it on the face of an interviewee, on the face of a fellow homeless woman at the shelter, and in the mirror from time to time. It grips you by the throat, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. Finding that look on Mallory is... disturbing.

“Nah, I just asked nicely.” He replies, cautiously sitting himself down with a grunt of discomfort. It is a lot more frustrating than he expected, his body not moving just as he wants it to. “She’s... okay. At least she tries to be.” He observes, tasting the salt of the sea in the sunset scarlet wind. He supposes that is what Castle means by ‘I’m okay’. She is trying to be, wants to be okay.

Is he okay? He doesn’t know. He tries not to think about it.

Luke stares at her hands, frost gathering at the surface of the bottle. “Yeah... him and his stupid stash, too.” He mutters, rubbing his forehead. “He found this headless dashboard doll, said he’d fix it. Not sure if he actually got around to do it but...” Trailing off, he remembers that that doll was in the pile of odds and ends. That stupid figurine was probably the last thing he gave Phillip. “Guess he never threw his shits out. You need a hand going through them?”

He snorts at her apology. “Nah, it’s all good. You’re like a walking A/C now.” He jokes, grabbing the bottle by the neck. Doc would probably flip out if he found out about this, but this is... a special occasion. He has been behaving, so he deserves a little break. He struggles to open the cork without hurting himself, however. “Tell me about it... I can still hear all kinds of shits I don’t need to.” The same way her attunement is out of control, he has been struggling with the amplified sense of hearing. “Nah. I hated winter,” He says dryly, “once you spend nights just tryna not freeze to death... it just doesn’t feel the same.” Snow and ice were unforgiving, and even after he got off the street, he hated being reminded of that memory. Which is why he liked San Diego. “But he’s right, ice is useful. Cool drinks, preserving food... it should come in handy.”

#talk:mallory4 #mallory

iyazakbar·:

ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫▫·∙∙∙✈

Iyaz has to catch his breath before keeping up with his side of the conversation. “I care.” He snorts, like he needs no more explanation than that. And, unless Luke suddenly channels his investigative skills to get to the bottom of Iyaz’s little personality quirks, that’s all the explanation he needs to give. “I like to know I’ve not lost all of my charms to Meridium, but I suppose if you’re still willing to spend time with me after that disastrous meeting I can’t have lost all my charm.” He grinned, winking as he added. “Even if I don’t smell good.”

Iyaz lived in a city himself, he didn’t have anything near to this man’s level of ‘fast walk’, or as Iyaz was beginning to think of it ‘slow sprinting’. Just one of Luke’s own quirks he was getting to know. “Tulsi’s another plant, it’s grown on the farm. Has a kind of, lemony, minty scent. It’s nice isn’t it?” Iyaz ran a hand over his knuckles, the joints still oiled enough to keep from turning dry and white in the cracks of his skin. He only just resisted smelling it himself. “You ought to try the oil, it’s age-old sort of skincare. Emre’s worked up plenty of scents too. There’s a nice orange-y sort of one, if you’re not interested in smelling like a flower.”

He couldn’t resist smirking to himself, wondering if Tomas would grumble at Iyaz spreading around what could have been Libby’s ‘trademark’ sort of scent.

Iyaz bent down, bending his knees till he was sitting on the backs of his heels to get a good look at what Luke had pointed out. “You’re probably right. Loosing yourself in some fantasy high can’t be good out here- at least most of the time. Can’t be so bad to loosen up at least some of the time with these little guys can’t be so bad.” The place smells like rot, nature rot, were it’s all plant fibers and peaty earthen smells. He reached out to poke one of the caps, tipping it so he can see the pale purple along the soft gills of the fungi that deform when he presses too hard.

“Yeah. This is them. Thank you Luke,” He turns up his head to smile at the other man while sling his pack off of his shoulder. “There’s a nice little patch here. It’ll really help Tomas and I out.”

---

Luke hums flatly, pursing his lips as he mulls over why Iyaz cares. He supposes it could be a part of the whole ‘need to be helpful and liked’ deal, and a little bit of ego perhaps. Lack of confidence is not exactly an issue with Iyaz, at least on the outside. Who knows, it could be an overcompensation, the good old superiority complex. Whatever the reasons may be, Iyaz is overall likable and, well, most people seem to like him. It’s easy to talk to Iyaz, which is a rarity for Luke. That is something. “Yeah. You’re alright.” He remarks, before shooting a pointed look at the doctor. “Didn’t say you smell bad either.”

He wrinkles his nose subtly, registering that herby citrus smell as ‘tulsi’ in his head. Instead of agreeing or disagreeing, he responds with a vague grunt. Lucas Lowe, refusing to admit something is actually nice and pleasant? Never. “I’ll think about it,” he says, scoffing as Iyaz implies that he wouldn’t like floral scents. “I don’t mind smelling like flower or orange. Just don’t think I like... stuff on my skin.” It’s not dissimilar to his rejection of physical contacts. It creeps him out a little. He did prefer more... sporty scent when it comes to cologne back in the days. It smelled clean and fresh, he liked that.

While Iyaz examines the mushrooms, Luke stands up straight and keeps an eye out on the parameter. They are not knee-deep in the Jungle, but it is the Jungle nonetheless. He would rather not deal with wild animals with the doctor on the side. “Hmm. Guess I’m just not comfortable givin’ up that much control.” He observes. Even when he is drunk, he maintains most of his control, just less inhibition. Getting high, that sounds like giving in, which is something Luke refuses. “I’d say ‘stay in school, don’t do drugs’ but you’re a grown-ass man. If you’re gonna get high, just do it responsibly, yeah?”

Luke crosses his arms, with the soft, rather pleased smirk. “Yeah? Guess you owe me now.” He is joking... mostly. “Now I gotta think of how you can repay me.”

#talk:iyaz4 #iyaz

wordsnquotes

How do you get so empty? Who takes it out of you?

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451 (via wordsnquotes)

#quote

iyazakbar:

ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫ₒₒ▫ᵒᴼᵒ▫▫·∙∙∙✈

He could do it. Iyaz could leave Luke here just like he asked, let him rest. There were ethical ramifications for saving someone who did not want to be saved. You don’t disobey a ‘do not resuscitate’ order. Who would blame him? Who would even know with Luke’s body abandoned in the jungle, if Iyaz made it back to the beach, if anyone did, wouldn’t Luke just be another lost islander. Another victim of Meridium. No one else even aware that Iyaz had a chance to save him.

Iyaz looked down at his hands. Covered in Luke’s blood as they were, he hardly had any water left to spare to wash that off.

“No.” Iyaz shook his head, eyes pulling away form the blood to look back into Luke’s eyes. “I mean. Fine. You’ve got nothing to live for right? Then live for me, or because of me. Cause I’m too selfish to let you die here like you want,” He smiled. Gave him something else to do with his mouth besides grimace. “Too selfish and too arrogant. See I think I can save you, even in the middle of the jungle like this, no hospital, scavenged first aid supplies. How’s that for confidence?” He had no doubt that Luke was being honest with him, and ethical implications be damned Iyaz wasn’t having any of it. “You’ll have plenty of time to rest later on.”

Most of Luke’s stomach was ‘cleaned’ or at least wiped clear of grime and most of the blood. There was no getting rid of all of the blood; it still trickled out of Luke’s wound, threatening to gush with any sudden movement Luke made. “Trust me Luke, anything goes wrong here I’ll blame Meridium.” His chest rising and falling, Iyaz’s face pinched in concentration. He’s not sure how he feels about ‘non-asshole’ Luke sharing these kind words like they’ll be his last. “I’d give you mushroom powder, fucking willow bark if I had any but I don’t so you’re going to have to deal with the pain the old fashioned way. Right. You breath in and out slow, and curse me out when you need to. And you will need to…”

Keep Reading

---

I’ve got nothing to live for. Luke never realized how hollow and aimless he was until he said that out loud. Ironic how the moment of clarity hit him just when his life was about to flicker out. In retrospective, he was always on the run, running away from his past, running for his life just to survive, running toward his early grave like a madman. And like a sprinter high on adrenaline not noticing how breathless they are, he did not know how exhausted he has been. Now standing at the finish line, Luke finally looks back at his life and finds his hands utterly empty, caught himself redhanded with his own blood.

Oddly enough, he is at peace. It was a shitty, meaningless life, and he can finally get some goddamn rest...

But Iyaz says no. Luke lifts his wavering gaze, and finds the ember in those eyes. The quiet flame gleaming in the fading world like a daybreak, dark with the colors of fright and hesitation and yet it refuses to go out. And it occurs to him, that Iyaz is not giving up. There is nothing to be gained from saving him, yet this man is saying that he would, just because he believes he can. The doctor diagnoses it a case of self-indulgence or hubris. What did Iyaz say before? He had to be perfectly behaved. Had to be helpful... But even if it is fueled by his need to be needed, even if it is for selfish reasons, Iyaz Akbar still helps others. And his actions speak louder than the words.

Ah, fuck... Luke thinks to himself. I can’t win this.

“Wow... I take it back, Doc. You’re a cruel, terrible man... Not even gonna let me go to sleep?” A broken, pained chuckle leaves him. “...you’re kinda bossy, y’know that? Manhandlin’ me and all.” It’s silly, almost morbid, cracking stupid jokes and talking idly when he is bleeding out. He supposes, that is pretty much all he can do, painting some levity in a dire situation.

At the end, Luke gives a small nod. Surrendering. He calms his breath, inhaling and exhaling as instructed.

#talk:iyaz5 #iyaz #event:trespasser #stranded event 4 #tw:blood #tw:death #tw:violence

sagetomashardy·:·

Tomas has been dipping steeply between getting lost in rumination (like staring into the silk of an ear of corn for half an hour this morning), or focusing so completely on a task that he’s barely aware of what else is going on around him. It’s in the first state that Luke hails him, fortunately, because it breaks in easily to Tomas’ contemplation of some hibiscus bark and he drops it, dusting his hands. “The delivery? The fish and whatnot? Don’t worry about it, Lucas. With all these new people on the island dying for things to do, there’s more erstwhile hunters and fishers popping up every day. And god knows there’s enough fish in these waters to keep us well-fed for ages. So don’t sweat it, huh?”

He sweeps an apprising gaze over Luke, taking in the areas he’s favouring where he’s clearly hurt. Iyaz has been tending him – he seems to be quite taken with Luke, so Tomas supposes it’s a treat for the young doctor or something along those lines – so it’s not like Tomas is worried, but it’s habit. “Besides, it looks like you could use the recovery time. I’m somewhat indisposed myself.”

There wasn’t any need to elaborate on that, and Tomas was about to move on when Luke kept talking, asking for some work. “On the farm?” Tomas clarified, faintly puzzled. “You’ll be around people, you know. Not much in the way of solitary work around here.”

---

Luke blinks and lets out a faint “oh, okay then.” With a slight hint of dispiritedness in his voice. Of course the Farm can do without him bringing smoked goods. New people learning how to hunt and fish, that’s a good thing. It was a temporary arrangement, and he wasn’t particularly happy about being roped into it. No reason to feel like he was easily replaced. “Pff, yeah, of course, I know it’s not a big deal. Just lettin’ you know, y’know? Don’t like loose ends, so...” He gestures vaguely with his lips pressed into a thin line.

He shifts on his spot, trying to find that relatively comfortable, ‘doesn’t hurt to stand’ position. “Yeah, something something about a hole on my stomach.” He glosses over the details since he already talks about it (or rather, is being told) a lot these days. “The Jungle got to you too, huh. Seems like indisposed is the theme of the month.” He says, returning the scanning look up and down at Hardy. “...at any rate, good to see you still kickin’ and whatever.” Not that he was particularly worried. Tomas Hardy is far too stubborn to let the island claim his life.

Luke raises a brow at the confused response-- which he probably had it coming, but still. “Not like I can’t be around people, y’know. I just prefer not to.” He sighs, “and I’m already around people. They’re keepin’ me on the ship till I’m better.” He hasn’t even broached the idea of him returning to his cave, because he can already see Lark making a big deal out of it... “And some work here with people’s better than lyin’ in bed all day long, so... as long as it don’t involve carrying heavy things or moving too much, I could do.”

#talk:tomas4 #tomas

no-gambit·:

❦

Carefully, heeding his legs and wary of both causing undue distress or pain, Magnolia perched on the edge of the bed and slung her bag at her feet. Unbidden, her brow furrowed as he mentioned his surprise survival and she scrutinized his injuries once again as if the added displeasure could bully his body into stitching itself back together faster. “Do you need something to drink?”

Magnolia smirked. “Always.” It didn’t seem like she could ever quite manage to die, despite the tribulations and the horrors of the island. Still, she felt the blow to her brow, still painted in greens and purples, throb as if in warning against her hubris. Mention of the lagoon made power, still kindled by the strange water, surge and drag the room beneath a blanket of hush and stillness. It was the same layer of control that usually resided close to her skin, forcing the very air around her to heel and still, but now it was though it had a will of its own. In the abrupt silence of the cabin, her sigh rattled loudly. “Thanks. Same for you.” Luke’s affairs were largely unknown to her, but she had known Phillip in passing and even if he knew none of the trees, the horror alone was strong enough to shake people.

Allowing the silence to hang between them, trapped in the hold of her power but not tense, Magnolia needlessly smoothed down her pant leg. She hadn’t come here with any intention other than checking on Luke and assuring herself that he was still breathing, but now it felt wrong to leave him alone in the damp belly of the ship. “It could have been worse,” she found herself saying and realized, belatedly, that she believed it. She wasn’t the best at sentimentality, so she stuck to the facts. “Of the people dragged in, the majority escaped. Several of the… trees were individuals who were already presumed dead. All of the injuries I’m aware of are treatable.”

She met his gaze again, this time simply sad instead of searching. “I’m glad you’ll be alright.”

---

Luke groans as he moves his legs a little to make some room for her on the bed. Even in his sick bed, he is still uncomfortable with physical proximity which, he imagines, makes him a handful patient. He is behaving, and mostly being cooperative. The island as a whole struggles with limited resources, especially the medical ones, and he and his pride of being self-sufficient feel like he is draining that pool. The least he could do is not to be an asshole about being cared for. Luke glances at the bag by her feet, and looks at her with a weak smirk. “If you’ve got any of your alcohol, I wouldn’t say no.” He is mostly joking. Mostly.

He studies the bruise on her face, forming a tiny frown. Suffice to say, they both are battered and tattered by what happened, but alive nevertheless. They are survivors. Most people on this island are. There is some peculiar sense of comradery in that. The room is plunged into the funeral-like silence, and he can tell it is Beaufort and her power. It is almost peaceful, but also bitter. “...yeah,” he sighs, turning his eyes to the door as if he was waiting for someone he can never see again to walk back in.

Grief is such an unfamiliar sensation that sits on his chest. Luke is not even sure if he is grieving. He is not crying himself to sleep or anything. Phillip is gone, his brain accepted that as a fact. He just doesn’t know how he feels about it. “Could’ve been worse, yeah.” He repeats, “It it what it is, but... that doesn’t mean this whole thing is not fucked up.” The damage is done, and no matter how treatable, all wounds hurt in one way or the other. Discovering the loved ones like that, even if they were presumed dead, could not have been easy.

Luke blinks back at her, his eyes holding no light in the rusting carcass of the ship. “Well, some people here were too stubborn to let me die.” He forces a weary smile. “Plus, I got the distillery lessons with you. Can’t die before I drink my first bottle.”

#talk:magnolia5 #magnolia

j-crain

Closed starter for @lucas-lowe Location: the farm

Already James was getting accustomed to the farm. It was in his nature to settle in. Though most of his business was done on London proper he’d been sent to work in the offices in New York and Shanghai for months at a time. Both being huge adjustments with little time to acclimate. Still, the farm was a much easier adjustment than any office. The fresh air helped and not always having some underling on his heels trying to suck up.

Well that was the case till this one goat decided James was his mother. For the past few hours James felt a pair of eyes on him. Every time he turned around to discover a tan goat just looking at him. No matter how far he walked away from the goat pen the animal followed him, occasionally getting close enough to nibble at James’ shoes and pants. It was painfully cute but James had things he needed to do, and he didn’t want to hurt the animal because he’d lost track of where he was while moving around wood or feed. Or hurt both of them by tripping over the creature.

Unaware of the young man in ear shot, James paused and looked down at the animal. “You are more needy than Lark,” he told the goat. “In my thirty-five years I never thought there was another creature so in need of attention and yet–” despite this he reached down and pat the goat between it’s horns. James sighed, “I should just tie you up in the pen,” he muttered to himself.

lucas-lowe

---

Luke bites a chunk off of a banana as he slowly moves away from the crowd, searching for a quieter place. Tries as he might, working at the Farm wears him out fast, not physically but mentally. He has realized, during his time on the island, he has untaught himself how to be around people. Just filtering out the random conversations buzzing at his ears, or the constant small talks is a lot more difficult than he remembers. But it still beats being stuck in bed all day. He just needs some time and space away from people every now and then. And he has always been disturbingly good at disappearing.

On his walk, Luke notices a tiny baby goat and idly thinks if there was a word for a baby goat... A kid? He vaguely remembers that from some fucked up German fairy tale. He snaps out of his thoughts when a guy walks up toward the goat-- mentions something about being needier than Lark.

“What’s that about Lark? You talkin’ about Lark Crain?” He blurts out, sneaked up behind the man without making a sound. Squinting suspiciously, he eats his banana and chews it slowly. “I mean, you’re right, he is needy and clingy...” he asks again, trailing off as he scans the goat guy up and down. He doesn’t recognize the face, so he must be new. “...how do you know Crain?”

#talk:james1 #james

roadmotel

Richard Siken, The Stag and the Quiver

newalphonsus

@lucas-lowe

#quote #//this is great thank you

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