"I really don't like the food they serve in the Eclipse hall. It always makes me sick afterward. I think our cook puts garlic in the food- I hate garlic. One time, I made the cook really mad by spray painting all his aprons pink and he served me a whole head of wild garlic for dinner just so he could see me cry. Isn't that terrible?"
This was just the latest of Ares' ramblings to Malachi. At first the sherpa had intimidated him, heavy brows drawn in a scowl that reminded Ares of an unfriendly bulldog. Then, as he'd gotten to spend time with the man, a friend to the Eclipse though a stranger to most, he'd grown comfortable in the other's silence. It did not take long before Ares was sharing stories and conversation with Malachi- "sharing" in the loosest term, as it was mostly just Ares babbling about whatever flashed into his mind at that moment. At first, it was about the mission they shared- the looting of a suspected bunker deep within the Wincroft Forest. Then that turned to Ares' most recent missive, a solo venture into the Abandoned Town that turned into a desperate scramble for his life and an unexpected encounter with a Military officer. That continued into Ares' feelings on the Military, his dislike which was mostly an echo of the high ranking Eclipse member's feelings on the organization.
On it went, until Ares had gotten to food, after they had arrived at the forest and were pursuing their goal on foot beneath a thick canopy and his gaze caught a healthy bed of wild garlic. Occasionally, the looter fell to silence when he swore he heard the breaking of a twig or the shuffling of foliage. But, it usually turned out to be a lonely songbird or a rustle of the wind and Ares launched back into his speech.
"Do you think we're close?" Ares asked, already bored of the discussion of food. "It's getting darker and colder. They said the bunker was about a mile from the edge of the Deep Forest, on the side of a small mountain" He said this as he had the crude map unfolded in his hands, a sketching drawn in charcoal over a yellowing piece of paper. The looter had to hold the chart high up above his head, both hands gripping the edges, as he struggled to make out the rough outline and chicken-scratch sketches in the dimming sunlight.
Posted 09-17-2021, 05:03 PM
not in kansas anymore
