when: January 12; early evening where: the pit, near a lit bonfire @conorxoblivion
Whatever it is, it isn’t broken. Briar turns it over and over again in her hand, sitting furthest away from the bonfire that she can get without straying away from the other castaways. “What is this?” she questions aloud, prodding the outer body. The others haven’t noticed her commentary, nor questioned her decision to pick up the item in question when she spotted it on a nearby, only loosely attended log. What looks like a button beckons her, the etching on it worn with time. Briar doesn’t debate, doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate before she prods it.
She muffles a curse with one hand as something pops out of the machine. Her other holds it tightly in her lap, narrowly avoiding tossing it into the sand. “Did you see that?” she demands of a nearby woman, spinning the thing to show her. Out plops a round, flat looking thing with a hole in the center. Briar picks it up, frowning, twisting it in the firelight; it almost seems to sparkle, a flash coming off it like a mirror.
Little scratches show on one side, and writing on the other though she admittedly can’t make sense of the writing. She can read, sure, but that doesn’t mean she knows what these letters mean. “Now I know less than what I did before. What, is it eating this?”
