aviary | OPEN | prompt one

[ Day three of the hunt and he's been hired by Ishtar Settlement to track a small group of marauders responsible for raiding their weekly water supply caravan. It's not the first time he's been called in to do this sort of thing and the Hunter knows that it won't be the last. Groups are good because they're slower to move and easier to track; they never bother with being subtle since they've got strength in numbers, and none of them ever really suspect people to send just one man after them to settle their debts. If it cam down to it, Hunter reasons, he'd rather have surprise over brute strength any day. Lucky for him, and for Ishtar Settlement, he has both.

What he doesn't have, however, is a bit of luck. The rain means whatever headway he's made is more or less lost as the rain churns the dry earth into mud, obliterating whatever tracks he had hoped to follow in the morning.

Echo Settlement exists in the remains of an outpost colony halfway between the ruins of Constantinople and Alexandria. The original plan had been to just pass through but the Hunter knows there's no use now, might as well stay the night. He stares at the rain moodily through the dirty window of what serves as the settlement's general store. ]

There goes that fuckin' plan.

[Darren doesn't like settlements. Too many people, too many faces he doesn't know, too big of a target. But the rain drives him in, looking for shelter until it's passed. But even then, he's grateful for the rainfall, the water. It's a sign of hope, he thinks, though he can't tell what he's hoping for anymore. Another day after the next, maybe.

He hears the complaint, even though it wasn't directed to him, or anyone in particular.]

Most people see rain as a blessing.

[ The Hunter snorts, dismissive; he's heard that line before. He's heard a lot of lines, in fact, and the only difference between them all is the amount of bullshit they've been dipped in (a little here, a hell of a lot there). Used to be that talk meant something, maybe, but not anymore. What matters is the line between surviving and not, the stretch between one meal and the last. Rain meant clean clothes and a rainwater bath if you were lucky, and maybe that was a good thing, but not near enough to a blessing to warrant the word. ]

Yeah, some blessing. Drink too much of that shit, too fast and it'll eat a hole right through your gut. [ A beat and a grim smile. ] But most people don' know that.

All that shit's got to get cleaned out of the sky somehow. [Darren doubts he'll live to see it finished, though. He hadn't exactly had any science lessons, but he knew, you broke something as bad as the Event broke the world, it didn't get fixed that quickly. Or it didn't get fixed at all.]

I heard there's ways to filter it. [He leaves when or where he heard out, leaves where those filters could supposedly be found out, as well. Fishing for confirmation on rumours, and the Hunter would know over anyone, wouldn't he? Antioch was damn near mythological, the way word of it floated through the settlements Darren drifted into for quick trades, and he did not want to waste the time or energy chasing a myth.]

[ Another snort, more dismissive than the first, though he's not trying to be cruel about it, just matter of fact. ] Maybe. But we ain't gonna be 'round to see it, are we? Fat fuckin' chance.

[ Turning to give the rain outside another sharp glare, the Hunter sucks on his teeth with a loud tching noise before waving a hand in its direction as if to silently say well, fuck it. That dismissal doled out, he tries to push it from his mind. Dwelling on things never did anything for anybody; it's why so many people died in the months and year that followed the Event. Too busy holding onto shit they would've been better off letting go of. Things like grief and regret, all the stuff they failed to right when the whole fucking world was just wrong wrong wrong.

He gives his attention over to Darren completely now, shrugging loosely with a shoulder. ] Yeah, sure. Go far enough east, there's nothing those fuckers can't do. Y'know I heard— [ The Hunter leans in slightly as if to share a secret. ] —you got enough water on you, know the way to a spring they ain't heard about? They'll spruce you up like you wouldn't believe.

[There's interest in Darren's eyes, open and unguarded. Curiosity, hope. What would a place like that be like? A shining sanctuary, maybe. They'd said there was no cities left standing, but if someplace had capabilities like that, surely they'd still have proper buildings. Proper shelter. Indoor heating. Running water. It grows in his mind in that moment, tall, spindly towers and paved roads with cars on them, everything clean, people walking the streets with smiles on their faces.

Doubt breaks in like clouds over the sun, a fracture to a brief fantasy, one that fades into dust. Darren stomps it down further, his expression turning to a frown.]

You're fucking with me.

[There wasn't anywhere like that, no matter how far you went in any direction. Just dirt and ruin. He turns away from the Hunter and the rain. Talking to people was a waste of time, he didn't know why he still let himself do it.]

[ It makes the Hunter uncomfortable, having to watch hope live and then die on another man's face like that. In all honesty it's one of the main reasons why he doesn't stay long at any of the settlements he offers his services to. Lord only knows some of the bigger ones like Hathor could offer him a bit of stability and something as close to cushy as things get nowadays. Everybody, it turns out, is looking for something or somebody and if the rumors are right — which they are — there's nobody better at finding those things than the Hunter is.

But having to face with the day to day of disappoint was a little too much, even for a guy like him. His own shit he could deal with, over and done, but everyone else's? Nah. He'd rather live alone, breezing in here and then there, scraping up whatever conversation he could before breezing out again, on the trail of something new.

He frowns at the back of Darren's head as he turns away. ] Nah, man, [ the Hunter says, puffing a breath out from between his cheeks. ] Wouldn't fuck with shit like that.

[ Still, he shrugs. A suit yourself. ]

[He'd leave it. Walk away and forget the conversation. But it makes him angry, truly. Not even what the Hunter said, but that he'd asked, that he'd hoped for that brief moment. How many times did he have to make that mistake?]

Why not? [He turns back with it, accusatory in tone and expression.] Everyone else does.

[It was all they had out here. Everyone scrabbling for a little sliver of power over each other, and if you couldn't do it with force, with violence, then you did with lies and misinformation. There's water west, but the more people - desperate, dehydrated, dying - you tell to go east, the more for you.]

[ He doesn't bother asking why the guy's so angry. They had plenty to be angry about, after all, and it's nothing personal about the Hunter, he gets that. Everybody was trying to make due with what they had and, more often than not, with what other people had too, so long as they could get it out of others hands and into their own.

He takes a moment to take in that expression; the Hunter's own isn't particularly earnest but it's hiding anything either. If there's a lie in him — and there isn't — it's nowhere to be found on his face. ]

Cause we're all fuckin' dyin' already. Don't need help from me, none.

[ He saves that for the ones he's hired out to find. More often than not, they're the ones doing the taking — stealing, marauding, raping, eating. Those were the types the Hunter didn't mind helping along any. ]

[Darren isn't good at reading people - and he knows it. His own face shows every little flicker of emotion, but he can't see much of anything in anyone else's. That's why everyone should be treated with caution and wariness. Darren can't trust his eyes, can't trust his gut, can only trust that little voice in his head that tells him no, stop listening, it's bullshit. The Hunter doesn't look like he's lying, but then, no one ever did.]

Get enough dead bodies under your feet, you're king of your own hill.

[ There's not much he can say to that except: ] Sometimes, yeah. An' sometimes being king of anythin' round here is good enough reason to get your ass killed faster than it coulda been.

[ The Hunter says this because he knows it for a fact. He had plenty of dead bodies cooling and going to rot under his feet, but he'd never been made king of anything; and he liked it that way. Being somebody just made you more of a target, a bigger piece of the pie that someone else would want a hold of. After a moment of staring, the Hunter looks away again, out the rain-spattered windows onto the meager settlement beyond. Lifting his shoulders, he gives them a slow roll. ] You don't look the killing type.

[Maybe that was true. But all the men on their hills than Darren heard about held some measure of safety, looking down at anyone coming to try and kill them.]

We all do what we got to.

[A brief frown, and he looks away again. No, he was not the killing type, though he'd defended himself as he'd needed to a few times (and the memories sat badly with him, like food curdling in his gut). But that was what this land made them all. Liars and murderers and thieves.]

OPEN | prompt one | RAIN

the hunter | SMALL SETTLEMENT IN THE WASTELAND | post-Event

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