Those Lacking Caution (Closed to Sathyre)

[Eight]

It had never been a favourite of hers, but the more she stayed within the unfortunately expansive borders of Salvar, the more she grew to dislike the land. There were definitely opportunities there, especially for someone like her, and yet... and yet, there was the climate. Here, down south, things were considerably easier to bear, but Eight definitely was not planning on staying for longer than she had to.

Perhaps, though, she was just letting her frustrated mood influence her too much.

Work had brought her here, of course, and there was no way she would have even set a toetip into Salvar if the pay hadn't been approximately worth it. However, it had been, and she had been swearing to herself that this was it, the last damned job she would ever accept in these lands, she was done, and so on, ever since coming over and starting her weeks long delivery trips.

In this line of work, she has had to get used to dealing with strange sorts, and to be completely fair, she herself wasn't the most well-adjusted person. Still, some of the delivery points she had to trek to ended up being almost more trouble than the pay was worth, and more than once Eight had been nearly overwhelmed by the desire to bail on the job and keep whatever goods she happened to be lugging around at the time. Nearly, but not quite.

She very dearly hoped that her patience and efforts have not been for naught. Now, all that she had to do was make it back to civilization. Looking up at the darkening sky, she let out an impatient sigh, certain that she wouldn't be making it much anywhere before nightfall. That was not a good thing in the slightest. Most of her knowledge was of the lands of Alerar, but she wasn't anywhere near naive enough to assume it would be safe to wander around in the wilderness of Salvar at night.

Skeptically, Eight eyed her surroundings. Trees, trees, some rocks, moss, cliffs... light! Her eyes zeroed in on the distant flickering of a campfire somewhere within the woods. Cautious, but driven by her ever-present curiosity, she quietly began to sneak closer, peering around a bush to try and see who could be camping in a spot like this.

Perhaps an outlaw. This was a decent distance away from civilization, after all.

Whoever this person is... she, or perhaps he, as it was hard for Eight to see the face of the figure seated close to the fire, was huge. The figure by the fire seemed to possess an affinity for large weaponry, as well, judging by the sheathed sword within the person's easy reach.

Eight licked her lips, intrigued. The tent belonging to the seated mystery seemed clearly fit for two people. Someone likes having space.

As was normal for her in a situation like this, she proceeded to throw some of her caution to the wind, moving to slowly approach the campsite. Despite trying to come across as relaxed, even flippant, she did not go too close, unsure of the temperament of the camp's owner.

"'Ey, Ladysir Campsalot, didn't your mom tell you it's dangerous to be in the woods all by yourself?"

[Sathyre]

In Salvar, being alone was a most ill-advised thing to do. What were you going to do, weak and alone and in the woods of Salvar? You were going to die, and you were going to become bear food, and becoming bear food was also a very ill-advised thing to do. In short, Salvar was not a good travel destination, and if one was to start up a tour agency, Salvar would almost certainly not be on your list of places to go.

It didn't dissuade Sathyre, however, because she wasn't there to have a leisurely stroll through the forest, and neither was she there to see the sights and enjoy the culture. She found the culture rather hard to enjoy, as a matter of fact, because she was allergic to religion and anti-magical bigotry (even though she herself was as far from a mage as a bird was far from a dragon), and she was allergic to forced cooperation, and she was allergic to misery, and anyway, she was unhappy enough by herself. She was just there to live in the southern forests, having had to leave Raiaera's woods behind for a couple unpleasant dead people-shaped reasons.

So there she was, sitting by the fire in her little improvised campsite, warming her hands and waiting for what is to be her dinner - a freshly-murdered deer - to finish draining of blood. It wasn't likely that anyone would find her here, with the vastness of Salvar's wilds, and yet---were those footsteps? It didn't sound like a beast. Sathyre's ears perk up, twitch, tilt in the direction of the sound - definitely footsteps.

Before she got the chance to call out and see if she gets a response, the stranger closed the distance and began to speak. Said stranger sounded and looked like a girl, probably not any older than Sathyre herself, a little scrawny and not seeming at all suited for running around these parts this late.

"Your mom never tell you it's rude to question other people's upbringing? What if I ain't ever had no parents? What if my mom died in childbirth and my da' was an alcoholic? What if I've got amnesia and don't remember? Ever thought about it, chica?" She glanced at the deer corpse hanging from a nearby tree, and then back to the scrawny girl. "... If you're here to rob me, all I've got is meat you'd have to skin and a sword to ram down your throat."

No matter how hard she listened, she could not hear anyone sneaking up behind her, or any other sounds indicating a band of bandits surrounding her camp. Perhaps this wouldn't have to turn violent.

[Eight]

"Then you'd have some shit luck, pal," she drawled in response, taking a few overly confident steps towards the camp proper. Her hands gravitated to her hips as she came to a stop again, and grinned. This grin wasn't a friendly expression, but full of teeth and insolence. However, Eight raised her hands and waved them in front of herself, the nonchalantly peaceful gesture at odds with the expression.

"Anyway, I ain't here to steal anything, just passin' through," she reassured, quirking an eyebrow, her toothy smirk shifting into an amused smirk. "What kinda shit thieves are you even used to? Seeking campers alone in the middle of bloody nowhere's more than just stupid."

She let her arms drop limply to her sides, rocking back and forth on her heels like a bored child for a moment, as she considered. Then, she opened her mouth again. "You not a bandit, either? Whatcha doing all the way here, then?"

It seemed highly unlikely that this person, who sounded distinctly like a lady, was here to pick up what she just dropped off.

[Sathyre]

"Ain't your pal, buddy," she shook her head, and gave the aspiring campsite invader a strange look. She was deciding whether to chase her out, or whether to invite her to spend a few hours by the fire - after all, passing by any region of Salvar alone this late was a taxing task, even this far south, and it seemed like this girl had neither a horse to ride, nor a lantern to light her way. How reckless, Sathyre thought, ever the hypocrite.

"A person alone in the wilds is a prime target for a couple desperate gangers, you know. If you think thieves are always so organized and can afford being picky about targets, you don't got an understanding of what drives people into these kinds of lives in the first place," Sathyre sighed. "Not like they got good lives to begin with. They'll eat people meat if they gotta, the more desperate sorts. Tastes like shit, by the way. People meat, I mean," she glanced at the campfire and back at the stranger, wondering if this would scare her off.

"I ain't a bandit. I'm just staying here for a while. Livin'. You know, doing the thing where I eat, breathe, defecate, and generally try to survive. Like people do. The hell you doin' here, though? Seeking out a noble end to your life? Aimin' to get turned into a couple bear turds?"

[Eight]

"Not yet, but I can tell we're gonna be the best of buddies, already," Eight responded, her bright tone entirely faked, though it was meant in jest. She let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "Well, what do I know? Maybe we will be, heheh."

She shrugged widely. "I expect basic levels of intelligence outta people, 'xcuse me for being optimistic. Or, is it pessimistic, since it's about the intelligence of people who wanna rob me...?"

Pausing to think about that for a moment, she then shook her head. "Doesn't really matter. The point is, I ain't a princess lost in the woods, you don't have to explain how people can have shit lives and be desperate--- Wait, you've eaten people? I thought they were meant to taste like chicken or something. Not a fan of birds, are you?"

Her life choices were questionable, for sure, but so were this chick's. Eating people, really...? She could only hope that they had been prepared before that, at least. Eight snorted at the questioning. "Like I said, passing through. I was on a delivery job. Yeah, yeah, before you ask, I know, it's bloody ridiculous I'd have a delivery to the wilderness, I thought so, too. Anyway, got space for one more in this camp of yours? I'm gonna assume you don't prefer people meat to what you've got hangin' there, since your review of it wasn't so glowing."

She eyed the dead deer, before glancing back to the person, who seemed to be an elf, judging by the ears. "Say, if you won't drive me off and promise to not murder me in my sleep, I'll cook for ya... and promise to not kill you in your sleep, in return. How about it?"

[Sathyre]

"Ooh, a random bestie," she clapped her hands a few times like a particularly stupid seal, "I'm overjoyed, I'm pissing myself in glee, I can die a happy girl now. ... Seriously, though, what kind of a hole have you crawled out of? Walkin' up to random strangers in the woods, not afraid of gettin' your arse gutted by some shady rando in the woods claimin' to eat people... that's no way to exercise your self-preservation instincts," she shook her head.

Sathyre finally decided: she was concerned for this girl. Baffled, yes, amused by, certainly, but most definitely worried and concerned. Out this late in such a place, acting so recklessly, and Sathyre could still hear no companions following this girl around. Did she have a death wish? Sathyre supposed she may as well amp up her insane cannibal act and see how she reacts.

"Okay, so, here's a little bit of a lesson on people and what they taste like," Sathyre lifted a finger. "The flavor of meat - any meat - is strongly affected by what the animal, or, in this case, the person, had been eating during its lifetime! It's also affected by other factors such as health and drug consumption! Which means that your average brigand is going to taste like arse and be really hard to cook. It's kind of like eating a wolf. Wolves also taste like arse, because they're scavengers and will literally eat shit, like dogs! And so, that means the only kind of people worth eating are like, tender noblets or something. Pampered little monkeys. Noble nuggets. Even sounds more appetizing than "bandit fillet", y'don't think?"

Sathyre rubbed her hands in front of the fire, and then gingerly placed more firewood in.

"So then," she raised an eyebrow, "you can cook? ... Fine, that sounds like a plenty good deal to me. You, uh, camp with strangers often?"

She patted the log she's sitting on. The meaning of the gesture is clear - there's space enough for two.

"And if you actually were curious, people taste like really shitty pork."

[Eight]

"The kind of a hole where I'm sure I'm more than capable of defendin' myself against a single warrior in the woods, if need be," she responded to the elf's question, her tone making it more of a statement than a boast. Eight knew, realistically, that she could meet her match at any time, but... why should she let that bring her down? Living life cautiously, in fear of some match you haven't met yet, was for people who could be arsed to worry over those kinds of things.

She didn't have the time nor the inclination.

"I ain't unarmed, y'know? So..." Eight squinted at the elf. "Have you even eaten a noble before, or are you just assumin'? Though, gotta say that noble nuggets might sound better than bandit fillet. Still wouldn't show up in my menu, mind you."

Stepping into the camp and heading to the log, she seated herself, pulling her red cloak more securely around her body. She hummed and shook her head. "Nah, though sometimes I stick around and spy on folks a lil bit. Just to see if they do anything interesting. Most campers don't intrigue me that much, of course... Huh. Did you at least prepare the people you ate? People give you diseases easily enough by just bein' around, eating them raw's got to be bad for you."

Eight grinned. "I'm Eight, by the way. What do I call you, or do you really prefer Lady Campsalot?"

[Sathyre]

"I prefer "Sathyre", and I also prefer not to be called a "Lady". I don't look like a Lady, do I?" She looked herself over, genuinely concerned for her image. She sniffed her left armpit, and she patted her chest, and she flexed her arm, and yet, she was still not satisfied. "... Do I---do I actually look like a lady? Like one of 'em prissy chicks from the cities? I, er... man, this sucks."

Sathyre, in her endless dismay, completely ignored all of the other questions Eight had posed her - or, at least, she seemed to. In truth, she wasn't nearly as bothered by the blatant disregard for her image and the impressions she'd like to give, but artistic over-exaggeration was a must if she wanted to come off as strange and idiotic. And she did, she really did - it was much safer than the alternative.

A large idiot with a sword was too threatening to attack, too useless long-term, and too stupid to be threatened by.

"Nice to meet you, Eight," she muttered.

[Eight]

She rubbed her neck, baffled and a little bit entertained by the apparent concern this Sathyre was displaying. People cared so much for their images... to be entirely fair, though, Eight knew she wouldn't enjoy being called a lady, either, at least seriously.

However, what kind of a blind idiot would call someone like her that seriously?

"Nah, you look more like a Lord, except less prissy," she joked, snickering and leaning back, taking a moment to try and relax. It had been a long walk, and she had never been built for endurance, despite her difficult life. "Right back at you, Sathyre. So, you live here, huh? What's up with that? Are you some kind of a hermit?"

[Sathyre]

"Oh!" She relaxed and nodded. "You can call me a Lord any day you want! It's not technically accurate, but it's hilarious, and makes me feel delectably pompous."

Struck with less comfortable questions again, Sathyre tried to formulate an answer that would be both unappealing to further pry into, and honest enough that she wouldn't feel guilty.

"Hermits usually hermit away, you know, fa-a-ar from civilization or where civilization might find them, and they don't tend to camp for a living, do they?" She scratched her head, frowning awkwardly. "That's what hermits do. They live deep in the woods or up in the mountains, right, in shitty small houses, and they avoid contact with civilization. And usually grow beards."

She briefly glanced down, and then back up at Eight. "I don't think I can grow a beard," Sathyre informed her, "so by definition, I don't qualify to be a hermit. No, I just live off the land and civilization doesn't get along with me terribly well. It's a mutual dislike, y'see. I don't stay in one place a bunch - used to be I stuck around in Raiaera, but you know what happened. I've been thinking of where to go next... Salvar's nice and all, but it's going to get even colder soon, and while I've got nothing against the cold, food scarcity's... not my cuppa."

[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."