#libby 01

Mik had wasted away a good portion of the day mindlessly ambling around the beach, looking for some work to do around the island. Really it was an excuse for Mik to do more of nothing, explore his new prison. After a brief stint of getting lost in the jungle he was more than happy to stay by the beach. He was perfectly fine doing nothing but sit on the beach and ignore the world around him, but life had other plans.

"Hey," Mik said, as he approached the red-headed woman. He already felt like a little kid interrupting an adult hard at work. "I'm new here... The beach guy. Mik," he said, wondering if she would comment on him washing ashore. It was apparently the latest, hottest gossip. "Been here a few days now," and apparently that was enough time to sulk. Taking rations without giving anything back. Wasn't that what he'd been doing for the last two years? Here there were no debt collectors to destroy his hopes of ever getting back on his feet, so that was a plus. It was hard to stir up the motivation to do anything though, unless it was wasting time.

"Someone said you helped organise work around here?" Mik said, trying to warm her up with a smile. Maybe he could think of the work as a bootcamp, something to get himself back in shape.

Everyone references the farm with reverence. One step inside the warehouse and it’s store of food, however, is enough to clear her of the urge to tease them. Her mouth waters. Clementine strides to the nearest bin and takes nothing, content to stare. And wonder. And, finally, to declare with astonishment and uncharacteristic emotion: “Weird! There’s so much food! Where did these people find the energy?”

And, really, given she’s spent the last two minutes staring blankly at food, she doesn’t expect an answer. When she gets one, her gaze zeroes in on a mango with open suspicion. “Uh.” But her ears pick up the faint sounds of someone moving. Of the presence of someone behind her. Clementine jerks around and bumps into a lantern hanging from the barn. It swings back and hits the back of her head before she can process more than recognize the familiar dimple in Libby’s chin. “Ow, motherfucker. Why is this right here of all places? Do only short people work on the farm?”

She’s crouched now, holding the back of her head. A mango rolls onto the ground - when did she pick that up?- and bumps into Libby’s ankle. She blinks once, twice, to clear her blurry vision, peering up at Libby with open-mouthed surprise. “You’re alive?! I thought, uh-- I thought when I couldn’t find anyone again, that the ghosts had gotten to you.”

“Do you miss it?” Briar is sick of staring into the impenetrable darkness of the jungle, but it’s the easiest place to look when everywhere else leaves her feeling queasy. So she lingers, sitting on the sand, facing the jungle with a crease to her face. “The jungle, I mean. Or do you like it here? It feels weird, but like it could be a good weird someday.” Far in the future, perhaps. The answer doesn’t matter; she’s wondering more about their next step than their current one.

"The others don’t like coming in here. Islanders, or whatever they are called. It’s forbidden to wander the jungle, that’s what the one man said. The one from the interviews? The angry one. Seamus, I think,” she clarifies, nose wrinkling with distaste.

How can someone forbid them from their home? Not that she finds the beach to be... so bad. It’s rainier here without the canopy for cover, and there’s people. Her eyebrows shoot up, and she finally pulls her gaze away from the jungle line to squint at Libby. “There’s so many people here. How can you keep track of all their names? I’ve never even heard of some of these.” She sounds out one of the names she heard in passing - Aurélie - and gives up with a huff, reaching out for the drink she’s brought along with her. “I’ve decided not to call them by anything at-- Why is there alcohol in this? Is this not mine? They look the same.” 

The High House and surrounding area was more a hubbub of activity than anywhere else on the entire island. Amber never knew when she was on her way to work who exactly would be there; it seemed everyone had come forward to do something at the farm after the attack, and now it was a constant swarm of a beehive, with the worker bees dropping in and out with their own little tasks. 

And the Queen kept safe inside the hive. Though, of course, there were times she went out, Amber just never knew where she went. Hiking with her jungle kid or taking the baby out for a walk or something.

As Amber? Amber’s worker bee task post-attack was to bring flowers. Jungle flowers, of course, because she had never bothered to buy normal flowers like tulips or roses and now she couldn’t grow them because she didn’t remember what they looked or smelled like. But hibiscuses and orchids and clivia were pretty in their own right, so. It was fine. It would be fine.

So it was with a fresh bouquet of flowers that she went up to the Hardy House and knocked on the door. Tomas was out in the fields today, so it was probably just Libby, who she doubted would’ve been as fine with her just walking inside as Tomas was. That or her daughter, who was too polite to deny well-intentioned people, which Amber was certain she hadn’t gotten from Libby.

When the door opened, she grinned. “Hi Libby!” she chirped. “I wanted to stop by and see how you and sweet baby Flora were doing. I brought flowers!”