The fire is dying out.
Jack lifts a piece of wood from the pile and strategically places it into the flames. Dry wood is rare thing in these lands. An inordinate amount of vapor rises from the fire, its newest victim begins hissing immediately. The shrill noise doesn’t last for long before a stained black hand darts into the tongues of the heat and deftly pulls the steaming log free. It marks a careless series of flips through the air and lands with a thud somewhere beyond the firelight.
Above a confused glare, Jack’s eyebrow raises. Perhaps, he thinks, following these two wasn’t in his best interest.
“S’gotta burn down a bit. I cook slow and low.” The gangly man’s voice sounds a lot more intense, or perhaps more intent, like a hungry thief waiting for the perfect moment to nab a vendor’s produce.
“Slow and low,” Jack repeats slowly and lowly.
“Slow and low,” Altra - “The Chickenborn” - confirms firmly.
Its stifling next to the fire in even in its died down state, but, Jack reminds himself, it’d be stifling even without a fire. Its summertime and the land of the sun is host to muggy nights and leaching humidity. And bugs. Fucking bugs buzzing, and chirping, and landing, and infesting and biting at every fucking moment. The fire seems to keep most of them away somehow. Sweating and feeling his skin tightening from the heat isn’t a bad trade off for even a minute not being chewed. Beyond the ring of fire light there are worse things than the additional heat and the eccentricities of the self proclaimed cook wait.
When it's died down to just coals, Altra places a concave sheet of metal upon the glowing embers. The squirrel, which the man has spent the better of an hour skinning, and then meticulously separating at its joints, lies on blanket next to him. The grotesque animal puzzle pieces are skewered on thin splits of palmetto branches.
An old jar appears from somewhere behind Altra in his hand. Its full of some pasty white substance. “Grease.” He says with a quick nod while scooping a large portion out with his index and middle fingers. He flicks it into the makeshift pan and it quickly begins to melt and reduce into a clear, yellowish liquid. He sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks the remainder off and swallows with pleasant grin.
The skewers are shortly added, along with several leaves and other powders and substances that occupy the various tins, pouches, and containers in Altra’s bag. The amount of items he suddenly produces from the bag is hard to believe. It doesn’t appear to have anywhere that amount of volume, but there’s nowhere else the stuff could be coming from.
“Slow and low.” He drawls again, smoothly producing a metal flask in the process. He takes a long swig and swallows. His eyes stare into the fire like he’s looking at something far, far away. “Want some, Moon?” He finally asks holding the glinting container above the flames.
“Not tonight.” She says vacantly. She’s removed her massive cloak, revealing tan skin, strawberry blonde hair, and a curvy figure. She’s dipping a small, sharp stick into some black substance and applying it meticulously to the interior of the cloak.
Altra then offers it to Jack, who accepts it without question or comment. He holds it up to his crooked nose and takes a whiff. Its potent, he can immediately tell, a fact that earns the slightest grin. It is potent he finds upon taking a large swig. The heat coats his mouth and runs down his throat, over his heart and lands finally in his belly where it starts a fire of its own. “Thanks,” he says before taking another swig. He hands it back. “It’s good.”
“Made it last spring. First try, but I’m not unhappy with it.”
While the food cooks they trade sips from the flask. The food is ready around the same time the metal container is completely emptied. Altra pulls the skewers from the fire, and then the pan. He dumps the grease on the coals, an act that smokes up the entire camp.Several large pieces of woods find their way onto the coals and catch quickly.
The squirrel is surprisingly tender.
“You didn’t burn it.”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“Its good isn’t it?”
“ . . . yeah.”
Its greasy and stringy .The fat melts in their mouths and the meat lingers, something to be chewed on.
“I don’t burn things.”
“That’s reckless.” Everybody burns everything.
Altra shrugs. “This shit ain’t worth it if I can’t share a decent meal with friends.” He uncorks a glass bottle and pours something he calls maple syrup over their skewers and the meal grows sweet.
Jack devours his portion. He devours the pecans that follow. He devours the oranges for dessert. After he’s done gnashing, and swallowing he tosses the bones and rinds into the fire. He then leans back and rests against the dark and the pleasant warmth of the buzz he’s obtained from the hooch and the meal. Jack isn’t sure if he’d use the word ‘friends’ but he’s definitely comfortable for the first time in a long time.
Another tin glints from Altra’s hand. He’s gripping the end of a metal pipe between his teeth while pinching something out of the metal box. A moment later he’s holding a burning stick against whatever he packed into the pipe and inhaling some strong smelling substance and breathing out thick clouds of dragon smoke. And only minutes after that he’s laying on his side in the dirt and staring intently into the white center of the fire. There’s a leather braid in his hand. His thumb runs idly over the surface of something metallic attached to it.
Moon is working diligently still. Her food is resting cold and forgotten next to her.
“You know how to read?” Jack asks in his gruff way after an eternity of debate.
“Hm?” She continues dab at the fabric. When her mind finally registers his question she allows her work to rest on her lap. “Oh yeah. Yeah,” her hair bounces as she nods her head side to side and raises her shoulders. An affirmation.
“Hm.” Jack grunts.
“Why? Don’t you?”
“Nope.”
“You seem smart though?”
“Thanks.”
Its quiet. She picks her work back up.
“I’m actually headed to Talla. There’s supposed to be a library there, and the commision doesn’t hunt people there. I’m gonna teach myself.”
“You should do that.”
“Yeah.” Her brevity somehow draws him out, and he keeps talking. “I was a detective before, you know?”
“Yeah. I saw that on your poster come to think of it.
He chuckles. “Oh, yeah. What doesthat things have to say about me anyway?”
“Oh, you know. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. A whole list of why you’re a criminal.”
“Hm. Yeah. That’s what happens when they realize exactly how much you know that they don’t want you to.”
“Why learn to read? Don’t you have enough to worry about being on the run?”
“I want to know why the world is the way it is. Something happened. I heard it wasn’t always this bad.”
“What do you mean? Its not that bad.”
“Did you know they used to call the Stain Jaunt something else?”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. The Saint Johns River.” He says with gravity.
“Never heard of a Saint ‘John’.”
“Me neither. I’ve only ever heard of the the blood saints in the packs and the flocks. MY old partner - he wasn’t my partner for long, but he was old - said his grandfather had heard that old Saint John was some kind of water god and it used to be his river before the ashdays weakened the old one and the gatormen at him.”
“I could teach you.” She says, putting her stick in a tine and pocketing it before she stands up.
“Huh?
“To read. I could teach you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. Its pretty easy really, once it clicks.” She drapes her cloak over Altra who immediately begins to twitch spasmodically. He calms down after a moment. “You’d have to pay me though.”
“I don’t have anything to pay you with. It’s all back in the pits.”
She’s packing up all of the things scattered beside Altra and packing them back into his bag. “He’s got a stash of liquour near here,” she says nodding to the stoned man. “Help us transport a few loads to Callahan and I’ll teach you. We could use another mule, and some extra protection. You seem good with your fists.”
Jack mulls it around quietly while she packs.
When she’s done she speaks again. “He cooks like that every night.”
“Okay.”
“The when you get to Talla you’ll be ready to actually read the books. It’ll end up saving you a lot of time.”
“Okay.”
“I’m gonna keep watch. Why don’t you get some rest?”
“You sure?”
“They call me Moon Child for a reason.”
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