Chapter Text
Sun peaked just over the horizon, illuminating the dreary plains and scarring the monsters back into the caves from wince they came. The zombies growled low in their mangled throats and drug their decomposing bodies into hiding to keep from burning in the sun. The Skeletons followed suit, their bleached bones clacking together as they walked, bows tucked away under their arms. A Spider, its crimson red eyes sparkling in the light, did not seem to mind it all too terribly, and settled comfortable under one of the few oak trees that towered over them, the shade offering the best place to rest for a tired arachnid.
Enderman hissed with the growing light, the rays bouncing off their sickly-looking bodies and forcing them into the distance and to a place on the planet where the night offered its comforting embrace.
Miles away, where the sun was moments away from breaching the horizon, a young hunter pressed himself against the tree, the feathers of an arrow pinched between his fingers as he knocked it to his bow. Small beads of sweat speckled his forehead and the heat from his breathing began to fog his set of blue goggles. He had not moved in about 30 minutes, and dared a peak around his hiding place to where a large spider, about 6 feet in diameter, was nestled in a clearing and feeding on a cow it had brought down.
This was the point, the hunter thought as a determined scowl crossed his features, he needed to kill the spider less the infirmary go dry of anti-venom. And on a more personal note, he swallowed at the thought, his friend would die without the antidote for his infected bite.
After a few deep breathes followed another few minutes of hesitant silence; he was ready to strike. One arrow could do it, right behind the head, and it would be done, and hours of stalking the beast would be worth it all.
The first signs of the sun’s light shown in the starlit sky in the form of rich orange hues that entwined with the blue and black of the previous night just barely above the horizon. A breeze wafted through the trees, shaking the leaves throughout the forest and offering the hunter a moment’s relief from the heat manifesting itself as sweat on his brow- not that it was particularly hot, it was rather cold outside.
He was as ready as he was ever going to be.
With all swiftness he pulled back the string of his bow and dove from his place of cover, one eye was screwed shut and he used the other to aim at the beast before him. He felt confident as he watched the arrow glide smoothly and silently through the early morning air; he was going to kill this beast in a single shot, no need to hack it to bits, no need for his sword.
The Spider hissed in annoyance as the arrow bounced off of the exoskeleton on its back. The Hunter stood in place, awestruck and ashamed that he missed a perfectly set up shot, and he was half-tempted to turn his bow on himself and end it all before this Spider did. “Oh….fuck it.”
As the Spider lunged forward with all intent and purpose to mangle the survivor before him, but said survivor was having none of it. He reached into his blue backpack and pulled out a semi-ancient looking diamond sword, dry, cracking blood caked the blue tinted blade. He gripped the handle, his knuckles going white from the strain, and slashed down near the Spider’s head as it attempted to bite at him.
The blade left nothing more than a scratch on its carapace-covered head, but it was deterred just long enough for the Hunter to jump over it and put all of his weight on its back. An angry hiss sounded through the trees as the Spider tried to buck the survivor off, trying in vain to reach its head around to sink it’s poison-covered fangs into him.
“Fuck you!” He screamed in fury, chopping down blindly at the beast he was stood upon. Soon enough the violent splatters of blood had his blue goggles blocked out by the creature’s mahogany colored blood. The Spider screeched and flailed in agony uselessly, crying out as the Hunter lobbed off each of its legs and began chopping at its neck without restraint.
A final, weak cry sounded before the Spider finally gave out and lay limp on the forest floor, blood oozing from all over its body and into a pool beneath it. The Hunter, arms shaking after the strain of swinging the oversized sword, panted and stepped down off of the dead creature’s back.
He slumped down against the corpse and ripped his goggles off, blinking when the sun’s rays hit his dilated eyes. Despite being used to such an attack and all that followed one, the Hunter cringed at the feeling of blood completely soaking his arms, chest, and splattered on his face.
It was only after his adrenaline died out that he realized the Spider had left 3 deep gashes along his collar bone, chest, and arm; they were bleeding profusely and stung like a bitch, but he was prone to ignore his own injuries. With morning finally arriving, the Hunter knew he needed to get the Spider back to the village so the doctors could work on extracting its venom.
After a couple minutes taken to catch his breath, the Hunter pushed himself to his feet and stored his sword away. He stepped around the Spider to collect the legs he de-limbed in the fight and shoved a few of them in his pack, ignoring the blood leaking from the ends and inevitably staining his backpack. With some amount of effort he hefted the body of the creature onto his shoulder, careful to avoid its fangs, which were still dangerously poisonous if he were to be pricked by one.
In the wake of being out all night the Hunter felt fatigued as he began his trek back to the village on the edge of the forest, aggravated by his curly hair, matted with blood, blocking his vision. “I’m out after this,” He growled through his teeth, shifting the corpse on his shoulder. “I’m just fucking done.”
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Hunter saw the sleepy village he had been bunking at; a few farmers already out and tending to the wheat crop waved at him friendly. The gravel paths leading through the town were a welcome improvement over the uneven terrain plaguing his weakened legs. He breathed in the comforting scent of pastries from the village bakery, the fresh bread in the window proving to be tempting in light of his hunting outing without food.
It took a minute or so but the Hunter finally found the small medical wing attached to the village church, and elbowed open the door, greeting the doctor through heavy breathes. “Mr. Jones, I was worried you would not return.” The Doctor, a stout, homely-looking woman, admitted.
Throwing down his pack and the Spider’s body, he said, “You may call me Michael ma’am,” He sat down on the nearest surface and began kneading his sore shoulder, “And there’s no need for worry, I knew I was coming back.” He caught sight of his friend in the farthest medical berth before turning back to the doctor, “How is he?” Michael asked worriedly.
The Doctor sighed, but was obviously trying her best to look positive, “Well he hasn’t exactly gotten worse,” She began hesitantly, “But he has not gotten better either, I’m sad to say.”
“Well I brought back the spider you need,” Michael pointed out as he picked up the Spider’s body again, “So you can make the anti-venom for him right?” He asked hopefully, dropping the bloody corpse on the operating table off to the left.
The Doctor seemed repulsed by the body, but smiled regardless. “Oh yes dear boy we’ll have Mr. Ramsey fixed up in a jiffy. I’ll call for my nurses immediately and we can have the anti-venom whipped up in an hour.”
Michael nodded and offered his thanks as the Doctor hurried from the infirmary, closing the wooden door behind her. With nothing better to do, the Hunter stepped over to his ill companion and leaned back against the wall, rubbing his sore temples. Of course it was starting to sink in that he had probably successfully saved his friend, but he was still hurting, and he was still having a personal dilemma in the respects that he could not get over the fact that he missed the kill shot on the Spider.
He is Mogar, he’s killed hundreds of monsters, and quite a number of people, and yet he could not use a goddamn bow and arrow to save his life, to kill a single spider- not even an entire colony of them; just one pathetic arachnid that managed to temporarily best him.
In hind-sight, Michael admitted that using the bow and arrow was not his best idea, especially since he had so much on the line that relied on him killing that spider. He had never been that good with a bow, and that much the Hunter could admit, and he was finding it hard to explain his reasoning behind using one earlier. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” Michael groaned, rubbing his face exasperatedly and slumping down into a chair.
In the silence of the room he was left with his own thoughts as he waiting the Doctor’s return. There were no sounds, aside from his friend’s labored breathing and the occasional of the morphine drip attached to his arm. In his nervousness Michael began bouncing his leg, fingers twisting into his bloody, matted hair. Had they been in a city or even a larger town, at the very least there would have been the steady beeping of medical machines to lul him to sleep; but since they were only in a small town, Michael’s ears rung in the overpowering silence of which he was not used to.
After a few minutes of dead silence, he angrily got to his feet and nearly punched the wooden shutters on the window open to get some air. As the shutters flew open, one of then hit something with a dull thud and someone exclaimed, “Oof.”
Michael was going to ignore it, because he truly could not give three shits at the time being, “Ow, I wos walking here you knob!” Upon hearing the voice, he feigned interest and glanced out the window with little concern. Pulling himself to his feet was a survivor perhaps a tad older than Michael, but definitely less battle-worn; he was clad in alternating bright and dull green clothes with a heavy-looking satchel on his back, and a posh green scarf with a Creeper pattern sewn into it. The fool looked like a two-legged Creeper.
Michael scoffed just thinking about how someone could honor such a vile creature by dressing as one, and could not help but feel a bit offended, having known many to die by the explosion of a Creeper. “Wasn’t my fault you walked in front of the window I was opening. Now get lost.” Michael snapped, and turned his back on the other survivor.
Obviously upset by the Hunter’s disregard for pleasantries, the green-glad young man pulled out his bow and knocked an arrow faster than Michael could leave his line of sight. The arrow left the bow swiftly and caught a bit of Michael’s loose hood and pinned it to the wooden post he was passing; exactly where the Archer had aimed.
Michael is thrown off-guard for a few moments as he looks at the arrow and back at the Archer, a furious grimace engulfing his visage. Unable to pull the arrow from the wood, he jerks away and tears off the bit of his hood whilst he grabs his diamond sword. “You trying to kill me you punk bitch? Do you know who the fuck I am?” In one swift motion Michael launched himself through the window and slashed at the other survivor, not letting up even when the other threw his bow at him in defense.
“Wait-wait I wasn’t shooting at you! I’m sorry!” The Archer, seeing as though his assailant was not going to let up, bent down and picked up a stick, smacking Michael’s sword out of his hand and booking it in the opposite direction.
Michael mumbled a few indecencies under his breathe and turned back towards the medical wing, picking up the Archer’s bow as he walked. He turned it over and over in his palm, running his fingers over the engravings and every little tick-mark on the handle; it was clear enough that he had cared for it greatly, and had had it for a long time. He sighed and slumped back into his chair next to his friend, trying to ignore the fact that he was starting to feel bad about taking something of such great importance to the Archer.
_._
Three hours later, Michael jerked himself awake, casting his blurry gaze around the room. His head still hurt, but at least he was no longer exhausted, and his injuries had begun scabbing and only brought about an irritating itch. It became apparent that the bed he was sat next to was now empty, and he felt a pang of panic cloud his better judgment as he sprung to his feet. “Geoff?” He called, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and trying to focus. “Geoffrey?” He called out again.
Still panicking Michael ran to the door and yanked it open, stepping outside into the sunlight. It was 9 in the morning, evident by the placing of the sun in the sky and the older children running about with their schooling books.
“Michael?” A voice beckoned him from his left. He looked towards the voice and instantly relaxed when he saw his friend, Geoff, sitting on a bench a mere few yards away.
Geoff smiled at his friend and waved him over, but as Michael approached he noticed the Archer from earlier sitting alongside Geoff laughing along with some joke that had been told. “You?” The Hunter glared at the Archer accusingly.
It took him a moment, but the Archer inevitably threw an insulted glare right back, albeit still a bit frightened by the memory of Michael’s violent show of temper earlier that morning. He stood to his feet and took a defensive stance, ready to settle their short-time rivalry before things got out of hand again. However, as he opened his mouth to speak, the Archer caught sight of his favorite bow wrapped tightly in Michael’s fist; any heir of pride he threw up was ripped down by the sight of his prized bow wrongly held in the hands of the brute.
“Hey, give me my bloody bow back you ignorant spaf!” He demanded, taking a few daring steps forward and holding out his opened palm.
“Like hell I will; you fucking shot at me!” Was Michael’s instant reply, voice elevated into a shout.
The Archer’s brow twitched in annoyance, “You almost chopped my freakin’ head off!” He accused.
By this point Michael was simmering with anger, his face noticeably red behind the dried blood he never washed off. Geoff decided that watching the two rip each other’s throats out was not going to be as enjoyable as he originally thought, so he stood to his feet and thrust himself between the two. “Alright girls, you’re both pretty,” He joked, trying in vain to lighten the mood.
Both assailants seemed to digress once Geoff began to mediate and turned away from one-another with their arms crossed. Geoff sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like an old man amidst such a show of childish ignorance. “So I assume you met while I was knocked out?” He began carefully. “Have you, uh, introduced yourselves?” He asked.
The question seemed to get both the Archer’s and Michael’s attention and they turned back towards Geoff, still refusing to make eye-contact with one-another or stop looking like they were ready to kill someone. “Have you?” Geoff questioned Michael, who shook his head.
“No sir…”
“Well then, go on.” Geoff ordered, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips.
Neither the Archer, nor Michael moved for a solid minute before the green-clad survivor got fed-up with the silence, “Fine!” He pushed out his hand, beckoning a hand-shake. “My name is Gavino Free: Survivor, archer. Don’t ask me about my family because I don’t really ‘ave one, don’t have a home either, I’m just passing through so I’ll be out of your hair soon, Mister Jones.” He sneered, glaring daggers at Michael as he finished speaking. “You can just call me Gavin though.”
Michael shifted his shoulders, retaining his anger by taking a deep breath, “My name is Michael Jones,” He hesitantly reached out and shook Gavin’s waiting hand. He glanced at Geoff who made a ’Go on.’ motion with his hand. Michael sighed, “I’m a Survivor, a fighter, and Geoff here is my boss, in some manner of the term.” He cleared his throat, “You, uhm, may know me as Mogar also.”
Unexpectedly, Gavin reared his head back and belted out a loud bout of laughter, drawing his hand away from Michael’s. Confused, the Hunter glowered at his laughing companion, also throwing a questioning look at Geoff, who only shrugged. “What the hell is so fu-“
“You! You’re not Mogar! The Mogar? Born in the caves, lived there until he was 17 and then fought his way out, only to die at age 23 at the hand of a Creator?” He laughed again, holding his midsection, “No…no Mister Jones; you are not Mogar.” He took a deep breath, having found it all to be quite funny. “Sorry champ, you’re just regular old Micool.”
There was no hesitation as Michael lurched forward and landed a devastating right-hook to Gavin’s nose, and then brought his left fist up for a jaw-bruising uppercut; he did not stop there and continued to batter Gavin with merely his fists.
Only after a number of direct hits to Gavin’s face, chest, and midsection did Geoff finally forcefully grab Michael’s arms and held him in place, even as he thrashed about, still trying to attack the Britt now bruised and bleeding before him. “Michael, stop, it’s okay he didn’t mean that! He’s just an idiot farm boy, c’mon settle down!” Geoff urged, using his body weight to pull Michael away and sit him down on the bench.
“I should kill you right fucking now you piece of shit! How dare you say I’m not who I say I am!” Michael yelled before he pushed himself down in the seat and began to catch his breath and calm down.
Geoff hustled over to Gavin’s side and helped him upright, looking over everywhere Michael had hit him. He was startled to see welts on the Archer’s skin that did not look like regular knuckle imprints, and he turned back to his friend resting on the bench. “Michael…do you have something on your hands?” He asked, eyeing the Hunter’s still tightened fists.
“Yeah my gloves, I always have them on.” Michael held up his hand backwards to Geoff and revealed small iron spikes along his knuckles. It was clear by the small splatters of blood along the silver extrusions that he had done a number on Gavin, also apparent by the red welts now starting to bruise and his bleeding right eye.
Geoff cringed when he noticed how swollen and grotesque the Archer’s eye was, and sighed, “Dammit, I didn’t think it was possible, but I think you’ve broken his eye.”
After hearing the fight, the Doctor and a few nurses rushed out of the front of the medical wing and hurried to Gavin first, picking up the lightweight survivor and taking him inside with care. The Doctor walked back out after about 45 minutes to find Geoff helping Michael bandage his wrist; apparently the Hunter did a number on his right arm whilst doing a number on Gavin’s face.
She looked concerned, but also minutely annoyed as she approached the injured survivor. “Mr. Jones, a few of the villagers have come to me today, and,” She hesitated, “And we’ve had some complaints about your temper and acting out over the past week. I’m sorry to say I agree with almost all they have to say.” Acting very carefully, she handed over a small vile of painkillers to Geoff for Michael.
Geoff stood up and offered an apologetic look, “Look I’m very sorry on Michael’s behalf. I will vouch for him from here on out: he will no longer be-“
“No, Mister Ramsey,” She interrupted, clasping her hands together. “There are many children in the village; we cannot have them exposed to such unprovoked violence,”
“It wasn’t unprovoked.” Michael murmured angrily, but the Doctor did not hear.
“The Mayor has asked me something that…I honestly wish I could protest to,” She nervously began to fiddle with the stethoscope around her neck. Her pale eyes darted around, and when she focused on one person she preferred to look at Geoff, also slightly afraid of Michael’s temper. “You’ve been asked to leave Hedgetown by dusk; including Mister Jones, Mister Ramsey, and Mister Free.” She sighed, “I’m sorry.”
Geoff slumped back onto the bench and buried his face in his hands. After a few moments he looked back up, “Are you sure something can’t be worked out Doc’? I just got cured of a Cave Spider bite; I could really use the rest.” He pointed out, looking completely drained.
The Doctor shook her head forlornly and stepped away and back into the medical wing, sparring a second glance at the rough-looking pair on the bench before shutting the door behind her.
Geoff and Michael sat in silence for a good 20 minutes, either because they had nothing to say to one-another, or Michael’s angry vibes were scaring Geoff into being quiet until he calmed down. The Boss messed with the green leather armor on his arms, and loosened his headgear armor to be more comfortable; he made a mental note to scold somebody later for not removing his, frankly very uncomfortable armor before allowing him to lie unconscious in a bed for 3 days.
Finally, Michael pushed himself to his feet and stormed up the stairs of the medical wing, only to be stopped by Geoff, who grabbed his arm just before he reached the door. He threw a confused look at his companion and tried to jerk his hand away, “What’re you doing man? We’re getting kicked out of town, there’s no need to make it worse.” The older survivor warned, his brow angled down in agitation.
Michael jerked his arm free successfully and sighed, “I’m not going to make anything worse. I’m returning the idiot’s bow, I don’t want to carry it around all day.” He admitted, taking hold of the handle. As he pulled at the door handle, the door itself was forced open from the other side and smacked Michael in the nose. He cringed and stumbled back, cupping his nose with one hand and reaching out instinctively just happening to grab Geoff for support.
Gavin, on the other side of the door, recoiled when he heard the thud of the wood hitting Michael, and was half-tempted to shut the door and hide under the berths. “Oh dear,” He mumbled, hesitantly opening the door and addressing the other two survivors. “I’m very sorry Michael, I honestly didn’t mean to do that! I can get you some bandages if you’d like…” Gavin offered nervously, wringing his Creeper-patterned scarf in his hands.
Annoyed but having calmed down enough to understand, the Hunter waved him off as he wiped the blood from his nose, “It’s fine dude, it’s fine, okay shut up.” He ground out, “I was coming to give you this.” He thrust out Gavin’s bow, basically shoving it into his arms, taking a moment to notice the brown leather eyepatch over Gavin’s right eye.
Gavin looked befuddled but nodded in thanks, experimentally running his fingers over the bow to make sure it was in check; seemingly satisfied he stowed the bow over his shoulder and offered a small grin. “Thank you, I wos worried I’d never see it again.” The silence that ensued was awkward, and Gavin rubbed the back of his neck.
“The Doctor told me about our little dilemma,” He stated, “About getting kicked out of town. I guess we really did a number on our good names.”
Michael chuckled, “My ’good name’ was testy at best to begin with.” He admitted good-naturedly, ushering his companions down the steps and into a grassy area nearby. “But uhm,” He stuttered, admittedly a bit nervous about trying to talk civilly to the survivor he was quite ready to kill earlier. “I…apologize for my outburst earlier. I guess it was a little over exaggerated on my part.”
Gavin chuckled lightly, “Yeah I’m sorry too, I just cannot believe that you’re-“
“Stop,” Michael interrupted, raising a hand in front of him. “Listen, Archer, I don’t care if you don’t believe me; if you don’t think I’m actually Mogar. And I don’t care about your damn apologies, and to be honest I’m not going to feel too bad about kicking the shit out of you by tomorrow morning. And if I ever get the unfortunate news that you got eaten alive by a zombie, I’m not going to be upset at all. So just…stop. ‘Kay?” With that, Michael was satisfied that he had summed up his feelings towards their meeting and turned and walked towards the hut that he and Geoff were bunking in.
Gavin and Geoff remained in place for a bit longer, Gavin looking more than a little befuddled with the hasty conversation and then being left in the dust. “Don’t worry, social interaction is not his thing.” Geoff began with a smirk, but then seemed to second guess himself, “But, it may or may not be personal at this point, I’m not going to promise you anything.” He shrugged and began to follow in the Hunter’s wake.
Before he got too far away, he stopped and turned back, “Hey, uhm, Archer,” Gavin looked at the older survivor when he was called, “I know you said you’re passing through, and I don’t know if you have anywhere to go, but…well we’re always looking for company. The only reason we tend not to have any company is…well, Michael’s temper tends to deter people.” Again he chuckled, “But if you can look past that, I’d appreciate your company.” He smiled truthfully and placed a friendly hand on the Archer’s shoulder.
“Really?” Gavin pondered, a bit awestruck at the offer. “I would…I would love to!” He had the biggest grin as he nodded hurriedly.
It was Geoff’s turn to be surprised. “For real dude? Even though Michael almost fucking killed you and successfully handicapped your right eye.” He did a quick double-take at the other’s bandaged, and patch-covered eye. “Are you sure?” He looked so concerned and that made Gavin smile.
He tossed an arm casually around Geoff’s shoulder, “Already trying to get rid of me huh Geoffrey?” He laughed.
Geoff grinned, trying to hide his excitement; a new member to their team of vagabonds, of course he was going to be excited. Though the ever lingering task of breaking such news to Michael was a daunting mountain in the near distance; considering he had not run the idea by Michael or even mentioned it in fear of evoking his rage.
He sighed; it was going to be a long day.
_._
“I cannot believe you invited this idiot along.” Michael hmphed as they took the last few steps out of Hedgetown, and into the least intimidating-looking biome they could see. The tall grass of the plains bristled by Michael’s bare lower legs, making him swipe a hand down to relieve the tickling feeling. It was oddly quiet due to the lack of fallen leaves, nothing to crunch beneath their feet other than the occasional twig or patch of dry grass.
Geoff chuckled lightly, “Oh come on dude,” He nudged the Hunter’s shoulder, “He’s just a kid, I’m pretty sure he’d get eaten by zombies if he was sent out at night alone.” His eyes caught the eager brunette walking a few paces ahead of them, “Or maybe he’d just get adopted by creepers…” He laughed, “Hey Gav why do you dress like that anyway?” He called out.
Gavin make a quick spin on his heels and waited for the other two survivors to catch up to him. Once they did, he jammed himself between Geoff and Michael, turning to look at the older of the two. “No reason that’s really notable, though a lot of people get offended by my outfit, as ludicrous as that is.”
“I know people who’ve been killed by Creepers.” Michael mumbled under his breathe, jamming his hands into his pockets. “It’s not ludicrous that people are scared.” He admitted, grinding his teeth, annoyed by their new traveling companion’s ignorance.
Gavin paid him no mind. Rather he hadn’t been listening. “But think about how cool they are, minus the whole killing people thing!” He exclaimed, “Their entire existence is to sneak up on people and use a kamikaze explosion to off people. Think about it; their entire life is destined to end in an explosion, killing themselves.”
Michael scoffed quietly, “Well you’re a Creeper, so go blow yourself up. It’ll be doing me a favor.” He said.
Again Gavin chose not to hear him.
“Where are we headed anyway?” Gavin mumbled after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
Without hesitation, Geoff raised his hand and pointed out onto the horizon, over the rolling hills and towards the setting sun that seemed no more than a few feet above the earth. “We follow the sun in the morning; east.” He began, shuffling through his bag to find something. “Today…” He talked sporadically as he occupied himself more with scouring his belongings rather than talking, “Specifically…ah,” He exclaimed as he pulled out a pair of crude binoculars and slapped them into Gavin’s hands before he pointed into the distance again. “Specifically, we’re headed to that.”
Through the binoculars, Gavin squinted through the afternoon mist and into, what appeared to be another biome with noticeably tall trees. It was hard to make out anything more than a few green slivers of color over the rolling hills, all framed between the ridges of a distant mountain range; it must have been at least 170 kilometers away, most likely far more depending on how large those trees were. “A rainforest biome?” He murmured in surprise. He lowered the binoculars and starred at Geoff, “There aren’t many of those left, how have you managed to track one down?” He wondered in awe.
Taking back the binoculars and stuffing them back into his back, Geoff smirked smugly, “Well me and Michael just came from a 2-year expedition that left me with a “fatal” cave spider bite in Hedgetown. The only thing we have to act on now is that rainforest biome. We got word of it about 250 kilometers back west, in the tundra from an old shop-keep. We’re going to hopefully set up an outpost.”
“Outpost?” Gavin asked without skipping a beat.
Geoff nodded, “Yeah me and Mogar here set them up occasionally in strategic areas, live there for a few months, stock up the outpost, then leave.” He explained nonchalantly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Gavin seemed satisfied with that.
Later in the afternoon just before the sun was hidden by the ever looming mountains, following the short spat that followed involving Michael slapping Gavin in the back of the head for ”saying something stupid”, Geoff stopped them in their tracks by letting out a long sigh and dropping his pack.
Michael looked at him crookedly, and stopped dead, thereby causing Gavin to stumble at the sudden action; or rather the lack thereof. Before the Hunter could manage to form any words, Geoff spoke, “Time for dinner kiddos.” He said pointedly.
Gavin eagerly plopped himself down near the Boss’ bag and began rummaging through his own belongings, but Michael just stood a couple meters away, looking dumfounded. “Geoff,” Finally he spoke, slowly and unsure, “we never have dinner while so exposed, why the sudden change.” Since Geoff seemed to be ignoring him, he hustled over next to the older survivor and insisted in a hush whisper; “Geoff, you know I don’t like change, this makes me very nervous, what’s up?” He wondered with only the slightest bit of aggravation.
With nonchalant ease, Geoff turned to his friend and grinned, “Listen, the kid’s stomach has been rumbling for the past hour, I can’t let him wait till tomorrow just to get a bite to eat.” He admitted in a hushed tone, shrugging, “I might have an apple since I didn’t eat for the whole time I was out cold.” He pulled out two apples and handed one to Michael, “Besides it’s getting dark, we should set up camp.”
Michael twitched, “Geoff!”
“Look,” The older man cautioned, “I know we’re exposed out here, but we’ll be fine. Relax.” Geoff ordered and bit into his apple noisily. Michael dodged so the apple juices wouldn’t hit him in the face. He stood straight again.
It seemed Gavin had this never-ending array of dumb jokes and stories to tell, all of which Geoff laughed at, even the ones that weren’t meant to be funny; he told Michael and Geoff eagerly about his village where he was born, how he was raised by a tracker, learned to use a bow and arrow as to not damage the pelts and furs that the people of the village so gravely needed.
Michael sneered at him the entire time, feeling more and more hopeless as the other prattled; there was no way he was going to be able to stand this moron for more than a couple days. Listening to Geoff talk was different, Geoff told stories, and taught him things he never knew, rather than talk and talk about himself and over explain the most pointless facts.
“I can’t stand people who kill other people,” Michael’s head snapped back towards the green-clad survivor, he was chewing away on bits of shredded, dried beef, “It’s like-” He chewed and swallowed noisily, “It’s like; as if we don’t have enough issues living in this world already what with zombies and Endermen, I mean, we don’t need people killing each other.” He stated very matter-of-fact.
Michael bristled, and saw Geoff look towards him warningly, putting a hand up to halt him, but it was no use, Mcihael didn’t take his gaze away from Gavin, eyes narrowed dangerously behind his goggles; reflexively he bared his teeth and fingered the hilt of his sword stored at his belt. Gavin took notice and quirked an eyebrow, “What?” He inquired, setting his food down, “Are you a murderer as well as a brute?” He let out a smug huff through his nose, “You sure keep good company Geoff.” He drawled and bit into his food again.
Geoff sprang to his feet, pulling his iron blade and holding it up towards Michael, who began to advance to aggress the Archer; Geoff glowered angrily at the younger man and parried Michael’s anger with the dangerous blade pressed up against his chest. There was a look in Geoff’s face, the way he was stood with his shoulders squared and posture tense; he was deadly serious and Michael acknowledged that, and digressed.
Watching the other Survivor move his hand away from his sword was comforting, so Geoff let himself relax, stowing his own blade in its sheath and returning to his seat in the grass, meeting Gavin’s confused gaze. “Yeah,” Geoff chuckled, “I do. And I’d appreciate it,” He said as he began to pull materials from his satchels, “If you didn’t make him angry,” He plunked down a few planks of timber and got his axe out, “While being a smartass.” He smirked, and ruffled the younger Survivor’s hair.