Savage: Here With Me

June 26, 2016:

Continuing on with their adventure in Savage Land; Jean and Scott go on the search for indigenous inhabitants..

Savage Land

Characters

NPCs: Tribespeople

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: Live With Me - Massive Attack


Fade In…

Their journey to the Savage Land is certainly not anything Scott could have anticipated - diverted, lost, alone, the two of them have struggled even to survive.

Scott's down to just his pants, boots and visor. His muscular body is striped with marks and wounds, from thorns and the jaws of beasts, scraped from rocky ground. Their hidden place in the jungle, beneath the waterfall, proved only a basic shelter - for the rest, they've had to scrounge.

But he knows they can't stay. They have to find a way back. And now he's got the beginnings of how. He returns to the cave from a scouting trip, emboldened and energetic.

"I found a plane," he says to Jean as he comes through the water. "It's old…damn old, probably from the fifties…but I think…I think I can fix it…maybe…" he says.


Jean was practically down to nothing as well. White dress shorn through the middle because of the rip of claws that nearly got her during the flight. It was almost jungle-esque, heels were gone and done and she was down to the bare essentials that kept her covered. Followed by fever and her subsequent recovery, she was a lot better now, not at full capacity, but in working order enough to kick ass, take a few names and have a nap in between.

But she remains beneath the water at the back of their little shelter, What little bit she worn lain aside in favor of a bath, her eyes closing tightly as she lets out a sigh. There was no soap, but.. it was clean and fresh. Filtered through the rock it was stripped of all it's bad mineral but there was still a fear to no drink after it's been boiled.

She slowly turns around as Scott enters into the cavern, her arms immediately drawing over herself in a slight moment of hesitation, then dropping. Let her hair cover the rest.

"Maaybee?" She asks, drawing that out. "Either do or do not. There is no try." She grins a little, then turns her back to him to resume her bathing. The scarring that now settles upon her back looks almost primal.


Scott Summers laughs and shakes his head, "Sorry, Mr. Miyagi," he says, "Although, to be honest, Pat Morita never looked so damn good in all his life," he says.

"What I mean is, I have the knowledge to fix it, the question is just if I have the parts. Not exactly a machineshop anywhere around here I can pick up a spare piece of something's busted beyond repair. I'll have to improvise. Hell, I may need you to hold the engine together with your mind if worst comes to worst," he sighs.

"Add in that I don't have a real idea of where we are, once we get beyond the edges of this…zone we're in. Add in that I'm still seeing signs of native inhabitation, human beings who probably don't respond well to strangers in their territory, if they've even known anyone outside their territory exists in the first place. But, with all of that in mind…we've got a chance."


"Yoda. It was Yoda."

She steps out of the stream of water, twisting her hair around her shoulder to squeeze out the bit of wetness in her hair, then moves to her clothes and begins to dress. She is listening, although she does seem distracted, her mind wandering and attempting to recall something, anything.

"It all seems doable and possible. Though you forget, I could fly us out of here." There was a pause.. "But then we'd fight our way out and wind up falling somewhere that's… probably a little bit more unpleasant." She's thought about it all, every scenario. With the flying dinosaurs it was trying. And they were too tired and damn near on their last leg.

"Perhaps we can find some reed to make a sustainable rope. I think I recall watching Bear Grylls making one." Once dressed, she moves towards Scott, leaning up to plant a light kiss upon his cheek. "Should we chance it? Seeing if there -are- people out there who would help us?"


Scott Summers considers for a moment, giving her a kiss in return, more properly on the mouth, "Maybe. You could communicate with them beyond the language barrier," he says. "And I know you could, but, as I said, I don't know where we are and I'm not in any rush to put you under that kind of strain if we're too far from help," he says.

"But you're right. Let's go find some of the locals and see if they can spare a map…"


The mouth kiss was met with another in return, her arms slipping around his neck to appropriately nibble his chin. Surely there was stubble, but she didn't mind it too much. She thought he looked handsome and rugged. "Always the tactician." She murmurs sweetly, finally drawing away from him to take a step towards the entrance. "Do you have your weaponry ready? We can't always rely on our power out here. What is it you said? We have to be quiet."

She rolls her shoulders as she steps into another stream of water that leads to their entry-exit.. her hands outstretched as she closes her eyes. Water is rebirth. Water refocuses.. water cools and calms..

Those words she murmurs to herself as she takes in a breath, her fingers lifting to press against her temples, thumbs caressing her jawline as she allows her mind to wander…


He goes to the corner and grabs the makeshift weapons they've managed to put together. They both get spears, him tossing one to her, while she gets the flint knife he helped to carve out with a very precise use of his powers. He slings the bow and arrows to his back.

He lets her find her focus and her center, the psychic rapport between them spreading that calm into him, as if the water overflowed her and into him.

"Let's meet the neighbors," he says, taking her hand and leading her out from the cavern, letting her psychic sense and his tracking help guide them to try and find the tribes of the Savage Land.


Psychic rapport was erie in the sense that as soon as he tossed the spear towards her, she reaches out to catch. Her eyes still remain closed, fingers wriggling to summon the flint to her grasp, which was soon tucked within her top to keep pressed against her chest. She was ready.

With her hand in his, she finally opens her eyes, following him down the path that they've marked off as their own, her lips pausing in a slight frown as she draws in a slight breath.

"You were right. There are people here.." She murmurs quietly. "..but.." She shakes her head, not wanting to speak on it just yet. She had no idea why they seemed preoccupied, and why some of them felt.. joy. This land was terrible, in that sense.

"East. We're heading east." Her spear-tip points in the direction where they need to head, allowing the man to lead the way. "Can you feel them?"


Scott Summers shakes his head, "Not yet. The gift's still yours, I just feel the ripples," he says. "Stones in a pond and all that. But I can tell you're sure and that's good enough for me," he says.

He pushes them forward through the jungle, using his power deftly to cut through the thickest parts of the brush, better than any machete, precise and pristine.

As they get nearer, he keeps his eyes attuned to their surroundings, "Seeing more signs. Old snares. Trail markings. We've passed at least three fire spots, probably hunting spots," he says. "Just be ready, I'm sure they're a damn sight better in this place than I am."


Jean saw it too. The random shavings in the tree trunk, someone has removed bark and parts of the tree to make their own twine. There were also cuts, not cuts made by an animal but by an intelligence. Bushes that house berries seemingly picked clean but leaving only the rotted ones behind. And a damanged drinking skin, one that has her stopping to pick up, and drop again.

"Wait."

Jean reaches out to grasp Scott's shoulder, keeping him still in such a way so that she could scan the horizons. Her words were not formed by mouth, but spoken with her mind.

« Someones watching us. Do not move. »


Scott Summers goes still as he's told, but only after shifting his body enough to make sure the bulk of him is shielding Jean from any potential incoming attack. Her TK can shield her, sure, but his instinct is to keep himself in the line of fire. Not to mention that she needed to be in shape to communicate with them.

«Give me a sense of location. Just in case.» he thinks.


« Four clicks directly behind you. There are four of them. »

She tilts her head then, looking up towards him, her eyes were vacant but he could understand her facial expression. He could feel from her that those people seemed young. Hopeful. And just as scared as they were. Well.. she was. There were times when she thought that Scott had known no sense of fear.

« We need to be captured. Do you understand? »


Scott Summers considers. It goes against his instincts to surrender. He can understand it tactically, but he's a proud man. Not the kind to bend the knee to anybody. For her, though, he will.

He moves in front of her and slowly drops to kneel, putting his hands on the back of his head, fingers intersecting at the nape of his neck. «I'm ready.» he says, the red visor across his eyes gleaming softly, his weapons laid on either side of him to symbolize his surrender.


« They're going to blind you, Scott.. just stay calm. See through my eyes.. »

Her words were a near desperate murmur as she too tosses her spear to the side. The flint that remained against her chest was soon plucked free, and she too begins to kneel. Her hands draw up right, showing that she was free of her weaponry and to cause no harm.. as four of the figures of the jungle slowly climb from their hiding spots.

Two of them drop down from the trees, landing in a crouch, woman.. a lot larger than Jean but on the height of Scott. And two men who emerge, arrows drawn down upon the two as Jean closes her eyes. And in that moment, Scott could feel her panic. She was quietly cursing this decision..

"Scott.. no matter what happens.."


Scott Summers grits his teeth, "Whatever happens, I'm with you," he says.

He's maintaining his own calm better, keeping his eyes on the men with the arrows. If they cut loose, he'll unleash his blasts, Jean can put up her shields and they'll run, run and fight as hard as they need.

That is, until he feels the impact of the stone tomahawk against the back of his head, shutting out the lights and putting him down and out for a while, even as a hand closes over Jean's mouth, the fumes of a strange herb filling her lungs and dousing her unconscious…

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