thecapitol | How to build a fire [OPEN]

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How to build a fire [OPEN]

Who| Joan Watson and OPEN
What| Random encounters in the Training Center gymnasium
Where| Training Center gymnasium
When| After the arena ends
Warnings/Notes| None yet

Three arenas. Well, two and a half, she supposed. Still, three times in the Arena, three times dead. Each death wasn't exactly preventable: she and John stumbled on those snakes by accident, there was no way she could have avoided those velociraptors, and by the time she realized Orc was raging toward her, she couldn't have gotten away. All unavoidable.

She wasn't content with that, though, especially since Sherlock was there now. She already had frineds there, of course, people who she would fight for and die for. But most of them were more experienced in the arenas than she was. Certainly Sherlock, but also Wyatt and John. Sherlock, though... "her" Sherlock...was a newcomer. She would fight and die for him, of course, but she was also extremely protective of him. She had been, back home, and it was only stronger now, now that she was the one with more experience.

Joan entered the gymnasium in the basement of the Training Center and walked right past the weapons and combat simulations, toward the survival stations. There was no way of knowing what the next Arena would be like, of course, but it didn't matter. Living her whole life in New York City had left her without any outdoor survival skills. She couldn't even light a fire in the fireplace of their home without help.

So that was going to change. She was going to learn how to build a fire.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You shouldn't use the leaves, they won't burn long enough to catch your kindling and they throw up a lot of smoke."

Albert had come down to the training facility early, more to see what it's like than anything else, and subsequently ended up as audience to Joan's fire making experiments. A few days ago he may not have bothered to approach, of the mind that they're all going to die anyway so what's the point, but after last night he's filled with a new sense of purpose and it doesn't seem such an emotional burden to reach out and offer help. He's known how to build a campfire since he was ten years old, after all, and his largely difficult life had left him with a wide array of survival and military skills.

"Do you need some help?"

"Yeah, I noticed," she said, sitting back on her heels and frowing at her sorry attempt at a fire. Even the couple leaves she tried were putting off enough smoke that she had to fan it from her face to keep from coughing. She looked up at her visitor and offered him a weary, grateful smile. "Please. I still haven't gotten very much beyond using dry wood and trying to make a little teepee out of the kindling."

She moves over to make space for him to sit beside her.

"That's further than most get without instruction." He chuckles and moves to the little mock forest, picking up some pine needles and larger detritus before crouching down next to her.

"There are three parts to a campfire. Tinder, kindling, and fuel. Tinder is what catches first and dries the kindling. The kindling burns longer and more concentrated so the fuel will light." He builds his own little pile to demonstrate, clearing a place in the dirt and laying down his tinder, building a teepee with the kindling over that and leaving the proper wood aside to start. "You don't have to stack the kindling like this, you can make a sort of cabin around the tinder instead which lasts longer, but considering a fire could give away your location, I'd suggest this way."

He finishes his set up and dusts his hands against each other, glancing around for something to light the fire with. "I take it there won't always be flint in the arena like there was in the museum, so... ah."

He leans over and grabs at a narrow root poking out of the ground, something stingy and tensile enough that a good tug pulls it up out of the dirt but doesn't dislodge it from its tree. "Mind helping me with this?"

"Sure." She bends down, grasps the root and tugs. "I'm...not entirely without instruction. Someone told me about the teepee thing when she helped me start a fire in a fire place. Well. 'Helped.' She actually wound up doing it."

"That's some people's way of helping," with two people tugging on it, the root gives way and Albert manages to catch the end of it before it smacks him in the face on the recoil.

"Sehr gut. Now, find a somewhat wide and flat piece of wood and use a rock or other tool to cut a notch in the center." While she does that, he takes the straightest stick he can find and fastens the ends of the root to the stick's ends, making a makeshift bow shape.

"In this case I was happy to have her do it," she said, searching for the wood. "The heat was out and it was freezing. Not exactly a teachable moment."

She finds a piece of wood that she's satisfied with, then scrounges for a rock.

"How did you learn?"

He smiles a little at her reminiscence but a tension draws up in him when she asks where he'd learned. Should he be honest? There are inherent complications in that, but he's not generally one for fabrications if he can help it and considering the capitol's networks' penchant for information gathering, it may come out at some point regardless.

"When I was a child, in Germany. Our troop went on many camping expeditions." It's not a lie at all, but he's not exactly referring to Boy Scouts either. Still, he knows he looks far too young for it to have been anything else and the only thing that could give him away is the pause he allowed before answering.

Sherlock had been teaching Joan to recognize lies, and she had become pretty proficient. One of the most common tells was a pause before speaking, most commonly indicating that the speaker was hiding something. She raised her eyebrows slightly as he answered, wondering what that thing was.

"Huh," she said, picking up a rock with a pointed end. "I don't think I knew the Boy Scouts were international."

"They are, but that's a more recent development..." He could have left it at that but from Joan's tone, she's aware he's withholding information. Albert decides to just tell her, though he braces himself for the questions and possible condemnation that will follow and keeps his eyes on making the friction drill as he continues.

"I learned in the Jungvolk, during the war."

She glances at him, but only briefly before going back to the wood. She works on making a notch like he told her.

"World War II?"

Her tone is neutral. She has no intention of condemning him out of hand.

"That's right." His attention seems fully on his work, finding a rock of his own and carving a divot into a round and flat piece of thick bark. After a moment, he fits a study stick into the notch and wraps the root around it so if he moves the bow attached to it, it will spin the stick and he can apply pressure to the bark on top.

"Say what you will about the Nazis and I will likely agree with you, but they did prepare at least one generation to be survivors." One way or another.

She watches him for a moment, then begins to follow suit.

"You must be from a different time," she says, her voice still even. "What year did you come from?"

"The last time I remember knowing the year it was a few decades into the twenty-first century, but before being pulled here I was some time after that. Decades or centuries I'm not certain." He looks at Joan, finished with his odd fire-starting contraption. "I'm about a hundred years old, so you don't have to do the math."

He grins a bit, though there's a level of ruefulness underneath. "My life's been somewhat complicated."

She lowers her hands and the branch into her lap and blinks at him for a moment.

"Wow...I don't even know where to start with that. How have you lived for a hundred years?"

"I was a cyborg." He hands her the drill he'd made as a guide, expecting her to copy its construction. "A human being but with mechanical parts. It was not a fate of my own choosing, but it did extend my life by a considerable amount. I'm not sure when I actually died, but I do know I was killed. As I understand it there was a global threat."

He lets out a slow breath, looking at her wryly for a reaction. "I was cloned after that. As hard as that is to believe, I had the same reaction initially so I don't blame you if you decide I'm pulling your leg."

"Honestly? I've met aliens, zombies, rock monsters and giant talking turtles. You might be pulling my leg, but 'cyborg' and 'clone' sound totally possible."

She examines the bow carefully, and realizes she knows he's a hundred year old cyborg clone, but not his name.

"I'm Joan, by the way."

"Albert. It's nice to meet you, Joan." None of her mentions of beings that would be better found in B-SciFi movies even make him bat an eyelash. He's dealt with aliens, zombies, monsters, and even giant robots before. Mostly robots.

He motions to the stick with the round piece of wood on top. "Do you think you can make that? It's not necessary but it makes getting the amount of friction to actually start a fire going a lot easier."

"I think so," she said, taking a closer look at it, then looking around for materials. She considers what to ask him yet. What parts of him were machine? How was it that his clone had his memories?

She decided that it might be better to ask something less personal first.

"You said they brought you back sometime after the beginning of the twenty first century. What was it like?" She glanced at him. "Like this place at all?"

"I'm not sure if I would call it better or worse. Humanity wasn't... I'm not sure what word to use. Enslaved, perhaps? But there were monsters that threatened to wipe us out and the population was greatly diminished." Albert shifts positions, sitting full on the ground instead of crouching as his knees were starting to get sore. "I'm not certain what year it was though. It could have been the next century for all I understood."

He regards her quietly, watching to see if she needs any help making what he set her to. "When are you from? I'm gathering they have the ability to take us from any time."

She's managing so far, slowly, taking the time to carefully inspect each part on the example he's given her.

"I'm from 2013," she answers, glancing at him. "New York City. Forty two and entirely human."

She gives him a smile.

He gives a smile in return.

"New York? My... partner is from there." Another pause, but this time it isn't so much for hiding as for skipping over the word he wants to say and replacing it with one more widely socially acceptable. He's better about it than before, before he would have just said friend and had done with it, but partner is still off from fiancé. He may not have come upon any homophobia here quite yet, but as someone whose formative years took place in an environment of strict status quo and intolerance, he's hesitant to be so forward.

She notices the pause, the weight gien the word "partner," and can guess the meaning. Not that surprising, considering where he grew up. After what happened with Howard, she's more hesitant about being obvious about such things. She still wants to try to set him at ease, though.

"Is he here?"

"He is. It is a mixed blessing." Y'know. Given that they have to probably kill each other.

A stare at the ceiling and then he comes back to himself, tilting his head a bit quizzically. "What about you? Anyone you knew before end up here as well?"

She nods slowly.

"My friend just showed up in the middle of the last arena."

She purposefully avoids using the word "partner," even though that's how she usually refers to Sherlock. She doesn't want to imply that they're at all romantic.

"I know what you mean. It's hard, sometimes, having him here."

She gets a nod at that sentiment. "I have other friends here as well. There's enough worry to go around, I fear."

For a moment, he turns his attention back to the task at hand, gathering up what remains of the root so Joan can make the bow part of the friction drill. "Almost done. You're quite crafty, getting that on the first try with just a rock. It's easier with a knife. Actually, if you can find a piece of flint, you don't need to make this thing at all."

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