How to build a fire [OPEN]

[formersurgeon]

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.

Comments

[the_marshal]

Eight. Wyatt had eight arenas under his belt now. He'd killed and been killed so many times it was all starting to blur together. A bullet in the back, teeth in his shoulder, a knife in his gut, poison burning through his veins....

He felt haunted by his own bones.

But he was still alive, against all odds. He'd been given another day, another chance, and another arena was coming, sooner he knew, than later.

And God forgive him, but he wanted to live.

Across from the fire-making station - which Wyatt could do with his eyes closed - he stood in the knife-throwing gallery. Trying not to think too hard as he took down target after target with deadly accuracy.

[formersurgeon]

She heard it before she saw it, the steady thunk, thunk, thunk of the knives hiting their mark. When she was close enough to make out the man, she smiled faintly. She liked Wyatt, quite a bit, and hadn't seen him in a while. Not at all in the last Arena. Her smile faded, though, knowing that he had seen her Sherlock and it hadn't gone well. That he had known what John's Sherlock did to Howard.

Coming closer (from the side, so he could see her approach from his peripheral vision and not be surprised into some unfortunate accident with those knives) she could see his expression, even in profile, and her concern immediately came to be primarily for him.

After his next throw (thunk) she spoke.

"I never understood the physics. How do you get the knife to spin exactly so that the tip hits the target?"

[the_marshal]

He'd stiffened, a tightening between his shoulders, blue eyes flicking to the corners of his eyes as the shadow had appeared in them, watching for a stilted moment - blade still up - as it grew and finally took familiar shape. When he put it together, he offered a polite nod of his head, but said nothing. She seemed content to watch and he was no stranger to easy silence.

When she finally spoke, as he was he starting forward to fetch his blades, he replied simply, in that slow, easy drawl of his.

"I've found it best not to give it an over amount of thought." The knives clinked together softly, threw strange reflections in the gleaming steel as he worked them from the targets. The strange material squelching, a high-peaked animal squeak. "It's a feelin' more than anythin' else."

He turned to look at her, expression bemused.

"Not that there's time even for much'a that, when the time comes."

[formersurgeon]

"Probably like someone playing a sport, like tennis. You have to rely on your training so you can do it without pause."

She returned the smile.

"I haven't seen you in a while. How are you doing?"

[silberfuchs]

"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?"

[formersurgeon]

"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.

[silberfuchs]

"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?"

[formersurgeon]

"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."

[alldeduction]

He'd been avoiding her.

In truth, he'd been avoiding everyone. Between the lecture from Punchy, the frankly disturbing talk with the other, and the fact that John had yet to return from the arena, Sherlock was basically a mess.

He knew what he had to do now, knew he wouldn't like it, and knew he would likely lose both of the Watson's friendships over it - but he had to put them before himself. Their safety was more important than their friendship.

That was what it came down to.

So to say that he was caught off guard when Joan stepped into the elevator he was occupying was an understatement.

You don't suppose the people watching them might be able to make the elevator stop...

[formersurgeon]

Joan was surprised as well. She wasn't really avoiding him, just giving him space. That's what she told herself, at least. Avoiding people was ridiculous, juvenile and passive aggressive, and she was never any of those things.

She paused at the door, briefly considering stepping back and waiting for the next one. But no. If he wouldn't let her check up on him, then she was going to take advantage of this.

She entered, turned to face the door as it slid closed.

"It's good to see you."

lol i'm sure they dick people around all the time

[alldeduction]

He had absolutely no idea how to respond to that appropriately, stiffening as she joined him and staring resolutely at the doors.

"Is it."

Smooth, Sherlock.

He thought briefly about trying to engage in some sort of conversation, but the seconds were already passing as he struggled in vain for something to say.

[formersurgeon]

"It is."

Silence, as both of them stared at the door, trying to think of something to say.

Finally, Joan broke the silence.

"I've been watching, waiting for John to come back. Are you okay?"

[deafscythe]

Justin had come down to try and learn how to shoot a gun. It might not be a skill that he would use much, or something he would have any natural talent for, but after dying by gunshot last arena, it seemed like the right thing to do.

When he actually makes it to the training room, he's more interested in seeing what other people are doing than working on his own marksmanship skills. Joan is a likely target for observing, and maybe even instructing. Justin walks over casually, music blasting from his earbuds, dressed in his robes (having avoided the stylists for now), and crouches down across from Joan, observing her attempts at fire-starting.

"Ah, perhaps you should try shredded bark instead of leaves. It burns more readily."

[formersurgeon]

She looked up from her sorry attempts at starting a fire and took in the kid crouching in front of her, wondering about the robes. Just what people wear wherever he's from? Or are they significant in some way.

"Shredded bark? Huh. That's something I hadn't considered. Would you just take it off the branches?"

[deafscythe]

Not what everyone wears, no. Not unless Justin's from a world where everyone dresses almost like a Catholic priest (there are, of course, differences. Most notably the cross around his neck being decorated with a stylized skull that matches the one decorating his earbuds). He reaches out and picks up a log, picking at the bark until it flakes off to show the pale layer underneath.

"The branches will work, but the trunk of the tree is best. Rotten wood is best."

He peels off strips of the bark, piling them up and then tearing and rubbing them into even smaller pieces.

"It is important to have as much surface area as possible. Tearing the material up increases surface area, which allows the fire more access to fuel and oxygen."

Justin doesn't actually know much about the science behind it, but this is what he was taught, so he parrots the information to Joan. He scoops up the little pile of torn bark into the palm of his hand, shaping it into something that looks like a bird's nest.

"When you make a spark, it goes into the nest in order to start your fire."

[formersurgeon]

She watched him closely as she took a branch of her own, and started to strip the bark as well. As he shredded the bark into smaller pieces, she imitated him.

"Surface area. It makes sense."

She formed a nest of the bark in the dirt in front of her, then sits back.

"Spark. I think they have flint here."

[aintyourdad]

"Always start with a nest," Joel rumbled at her from a few feet away, after scoping out the situation.

He didn't come down here to train. Frankly, he was too old for that shit, and if after twenty years of living in his world wasn't enough to save him, well. Then standing around in this place punching a bag or throwing knives at mechanical moving targets wouldn't make any difference.

But he did come down here to see who else was making use of it, to see who thought they were hot stuff and what they might do - to him, to Ellie. Knowing who to look out for - by face if not by name - was, in his mind, half the battle.

He felt a little bad for the woman at the fire starting station, though, so after a while, he spoke up, his thick Texas accent hitting on a low drawl. No aggressiveness, no mockery, just some advice.

"Can't make a tinder nest, you'll never get a decent fire goin'."

[formersurgeon]

She had been trying the teepee method with the kindling like Ms. Hudson had done, apparently she had earned that merit badge by doing more than just being told about the technique, then doing it. Joan knew she would get it eventually, but eventually is not now, and now she was pretty hopeless.

She looked up at the voice, gave the man a faint smile.

"Could you show me how to make a tinder nest? Or...what it is?"

[aintyourdad]

Joel studied the stranger for a moment, then shrugged and crouched down next to her, grabbing some of the resources available at the station for kindling and tinder - mostly bark and leaves, a few small twigs.

"It's about what it sounds like," he said, shredding the material carefully, letting dust and bits of particles fall onto the ground as he did so. "It's gotta be bone-dry, and you make a little nest with it, like so." His hands worked with the practiced efficiency of a man who had been doing this for a damn long time. In the middle of his little nest, he transferred all the smaller bits and particles.

hello cr roulette partner

[savedbyasong]

Shion was also down in the training rooms. He was spending more time down here, determined to get stronger. Next time he would last more than a week. He kept telling himself that. Reminded himself, he would be stronger, he would protect Rat. They would have a plan.

Today he was looking at things that were not fighting. He had pretty much proven that he was not a very good fighter. But other things... he could learn those.

Learn how to survive. He had went over to the fire starting section, he had a vague idea of how to do it, but he wasn't good at it. He saw there was someone else there and smiled softly, "Hello. Do you mind if I join you?" There was plenty of material for two people to learn at once.

Hi! Sorry it took me a while, it's been a tough week.

[formersurgeon]

She was arranging wood into the makeshift fire pit, frowning in concentration. Clearly this had to be different from a home fireplace. Which she had some experience with. Sort of. Certainly more than with a campfire. She had never been camping before being thrown into the Arena and left to figure it out.

She looked up as he approached and gave him a smile.

"Oh. Please. Maybe you'll have better luck."

Same here!

[savedbyasong]

Shion approached with caution, looking at what she had done already, "I'm not sure luck has anything to do with it, I've never really studied it but I would think it is all to do with making sure the flame is sufficiently sheltered while also allowed access to oxygen..." He realised he was babbling and blushed.

"Um... I mean... I was hoping you would know so I didn't make too much of a fool out of myself."

[nunpunching]

Punchy probably would do well to learn some of the more technical survival skills in the Arena, rather than blundering through and surviving on the grace of his good looks and athletic skills. Still, the idea doesn't seem to occur to him, and instead he's beating the hell out of a tackling dummy.

(Said good looks are currently marred by a ridiculous tattoo of a dragon that crawls up his neck and face.)

He stops when he sees Joan, and he realizes that he hasn't seen nearly enough of her since he got his tongue back. He stops his assault on the dummy, wiping some sweat from his brow and sauntering over.

"Homie!" He waves at her.

[formersurgeon]

She's seen him, of course, but this is the first time they've actually spoken since that encounter, when he was silent and broken. So maybe he'll forgive her for this.

"Punchy! Hey!" she says happily, and gives him a tight hug.

[nunpunching]

He hugs back, the kind of all-embracing hug that speaks so much louder than words. When he pulls away, he has a big, stupid smile on his face.

"What's the temperature, shawty?"