Those Lacking Caution (Closed to Sathyre)

[Eight]

"Well, Lord Sathyre," Eight drawled, entertained enough to use the title, for time being. "I guess you don't quite qualify for being a hermit, then, huh? Not even being able to grow a beard and all."

She shifted her position on the log. This Sathyre certainly seemed like the awkward sort. It just went to show that she was likely not lying about her relationship with civilization. That was something that Eight could sympathize with, even if it didn't drive her into living in the wilds constantly.

"Not too familiar with Raiaera, before or after shit went down, though I did dip my toe there once," she confessed. "I've stuck around Alerar more. Ain't fond of Salvar, but money's money... the cold isn't something I'm a huge fan of."

Eight reached to remove some leaves and twigs from her hair.

[Sathyre]

She got up to check on the deer carcass and the blood that had seeped into the ground below it. Satisfied with its exsanguination, she reached to make some cuts in its hide and begin stripping it off. She didn't strictly need to skin it and void it of intestines and other such things right away, but she was rather hungry. She was quite glad that the campfire burned brightly - she had good eyes, but sometimes, a little bit of added precision was what made the difference between a good meal and a healthy helping of dysentery.

"Alerar, of all the places? Pfft," she shook her head. "Guess it's profitable, at least, but see, this is exactly why I don't have a job. You get punted into places you don't wanna go, see things you don't wanna see just because someone told you to. Not my cup of tea, not my cup of tea at all..."

Separating the meat, getting rid of the intestines, making sure the hide was still good enough to use - it all took time when done with a simple hunting knife, though less than it would for a completely inexperienced person. Even so, it may have taken Eight by surprise when Sathyre tossed a couple fat, still somewhat bloody slabs of venison her way. "Pans, prongs, whatever it is you're going to need is in my tent."

She could eat the meat raw, or burnt, or undercooked, but she'd honestly prefer not to - this Eight did claim that she would cook, so Sathyre was quite eager to see her do so.

Failure meant death. Or... well, not exactly, but getting kicked out of the campsite would have definitely meant at least "discomfort" out of any possible D words.

[Eight]

Eight followed her odd companion's movements with her eyes, as she went to check on the hanging deer. It appeared that things were to Sathyre's satisfaction, as she set to work. It seemed like it'd be Eight's turn to show off her ultimate in survival skills, soon.

Cooking, cooking was a great skill to know. It even got you paid, if you were lucky enough, and though she believed her payment for tonight was merely comfort and survival, she still saw it as a suitable outcome.

"Profit matters when you don't want to live in the woods all year 'round," she responded, humming. "Though I guess it's easy if you're used to it, huh. Not to mention if you consistently catch prey like this..."

She trailed off when slabs of meat were tossed her way, as she reflexively moved to catch them, managing to not let them fall to the ground. Eight lets out an amused huff of air, grinning at her "gracious host". If she could have this much meat every day, why work, indeed?

"Yeah, yeah. I'll get to it, m'Lord," she cackled, before getting properly to her feet and heading to the tent. She made quick work of getting the equipment she needed, then returned outdoors to set them up, the lack of unnecessary noises as she did so being, perhaps, somewhat promising. It was definitely not her first evening cooking outdoors.

It was highly unlikely to be her last, either, as she had no idea how to do anything in an indoors kitchen. Nor had anyone been foolish enough to allow her into one to begin with, at least to date.

[Sathyre]

Sathyre, in the meantime, settled down by the fire again. She'd grab some snow to wash blood off her hands, but she couldn't honestly trust the cleanliness of the snow this time of the year in these parts of the country, either - there was just not enough of it. Thus, she decided to commit the survivalist's sin - she pulled out her flask, and, oh no. Is she going to do it, the madwoman? Is she truly doing this to herself and her supplies and everything she stands for?

She uncapped the flask! She's going for it! It's happening!

Sathyre upturned the flask over one hand and poured a small amount of clean, drinking water on it so she could wash her hands with it. Yep, she did that. It hurt her soul as well, but it had to be done - the alternative was stumbling on a "present" from some wildlife, and she wanted that even less.

So, yes, she washed her hands with drinking water like some kind of a city ponce. The one thing that made her feel better about it was that, in the end, well-cooked meat for dinner (or, in her case, for lunch) would probably balance it out. Her anticipation certainly mounted, at least, and her very being screamed that it'd better be good, or else...

... Or else she's... she's...!

... Going to make Eight sleep outside. There.

"Profit's nice, but I can save up some gold clinkers too if I need to," she snorted. "No need to sell my non-existent soul to some fella who thinks me cannon fodder, right? That's all they'll think me good for. They see "tall, strong, sworded" and they go, "ey, lassie, wanna kill someone for me", and I'm like, dude, do I look like a merc? ... 'Cept I do look like a merc, see, that's the problem. Just once, just once it'd be nice to get someone to want to hire me to, I dunno, water some flowers or screw in a new chandelier or something. So, to sum it up, jobs are bad."

[Eight]

She settled down to properly prepare the meat for frying, taking her gloves off. Raising an eyebrow at Sathyre's questionable use of perfectly good drinking water, she grinned.

"Little luxuries, eh...?"

She dug around in her pockets, pulling out two small bags. Sometimes, she took her payments in spices - unnecessary, yes, but they certainly made meals feel more worthwhile. Besides, seasoning food made cooking slightly more interesting, and Eight was all about things remaining interesting for her.

Was it worth doing if it was simple and resulted in something that she didn't want to eat? Nay. She started seasoning the meat to her taste. If her unnecessarily tall companion wanted it done differently, she had a mouth and was perfectly capable of letting Eight know, she was sure.

"Ain't a fan of long-term jobs, either," she admitted as she worked. "I like having some breathing room, you know. And I gotta say I wouldn't work at all if I could eat like this all the time without, ha. Anyway, pretty sure you'd get a plenty of handyman work if you bothered to go and seek it out... shit's breaking everywhere all the time."