gutstring

[bossymarmalade]

Bette nods. “Good idea. Let’s see who else is around in the longhouse, maybe others have already found something?" She picks up her racquet and gives it a sad look, but says nothing as she leads the way to the other building. “Mmm, something smells good. Oh, hey, Ollie!"

Candy makes a beeline for the coffee, on the other side of the longhouse from the other two. “Hi, Ollie. Either of you want a drink?"

"Water, thanks, Kate." She sets down her racquet on the table and follows Kate to the kitchen to dish up some hashbrowns and scrambled eggs for herself and her cousin, and carries both plates back to the dining room. “You make this?" she asks the archer when she sits back down with her breakfast.

Oliver looks up from his book with a start, then smiles widely when he sees the Kane cousins. He puts the book down and goes to join them in the dining room, pulling up a chair. “I did indeed. Hardly gourmet, but it’s better than cold cereal, hey?"

"It’s great," she grins back, “And anything is better than cold cereal with that powdered milk. Ugh."

Oliver curves his hands around his coffee mug, although it’s long since gone cold. “And I see you’re making your own Bette twist on the available fashion," he laughs.

Candy shrugs a shoulder. “Powdered milk isn’t so bad," she grins a little handing Bette her water and settling next to her with her coffee.

"I know, I’m such a rebel," she laughs. “I just don’t like having my arms tangled up with drapey sleeves, and everything tighter-fit is a bit warm for this weather. Maybe I can sew some of the loose sleeves tighter with that sewing machine, but I figured first things first, I need to make a weapon I can use. Can’t let the other bats have all the fun," she gestures to her tennis racquet.

Oliver raises his eyebrows at the racquet. “Heeeey now," he says, “that’s a thought! What’re you gonna do with it? Nails studded around the edge? Poison on the strings? Poison-tipped nails?"

Candy snorts, raising an eyebrow at her.



Bette looks a bit pleased with herself at both of them. “Good guesses, but no. I’m going to sacrifice the string of this gorgeous thing and make myself some bolas. They won’t be electrified like my usual ones, but they’ll still stop an opponent from advancing…or getting away."

Bette fingers the string, in thought. “Perhaps if there’s enough left over…this could make a pretty strong bowstring, what do you think?"

Oliver “It would, but there was fishing line in the garden laundry thingum. I made a bunch of bows yesterday … which reminds me." He looks at the cousins, “You two are Bats, you’ve probably got elementary archery training, right? So if either of you wants a bow, there’s extra after all the archers have been armed."

Candy nods, taking a sip. “I’m better at hand to hand than anything, but if there really are enough to go around for everyone who wants one, I won’t turn it down/ Did you leave any fishing line? If the lake has anything in it, we could use something to catch them with."

Oliver nods. “There’s plenty left. I only took enough for six bows, I figured if we were here long enough to need more, I could knot myself strings for them with twine instead. In fact, if we need the line, we can unstring the bows and I can make different strings for ‘em." Ollie’s face flushes with pleasure as he talks; it’s clear that there’s an element of this he’s enjoying, no matter what else is going on.

"If you can even find the lake," Bette groans. “Clark and Steph and I tried, but it was no use. It’s like the kids must have seen a mirage or something." She takes another sip of water between bites, chewing thoughtfully, “I think if it comes down to needing more archers, then sure, I’m in. But I’m like Kate, better with my hands and feet."

Oliver drains his mug. “Suit yourself! But if I were you, shaineh, I’d take the racket of doom idea to heart. Use fishing line for the bolas, save your racket and make use of that wicked backhand." He grins into the cup, tickled by the mental picture.

Cass shuffles into the kitchen, cupping a mug in her hand as she debates drinking coffee or not. “Racket of doom…" she starts to laugh lightly at as she ultimately decides on a small cup of coffee. “Hi, guys."

Bette looks doubtful, now clearly torn between saving her best racquet, and using line she knows is strong and reliable. “But…isn’t fishing line a bit thin? A strong man or animal could break it if it were wrapped around his ankles, couldn’t he?" She grins up at Cass, “Hey, you. Get any sleep last night?"

Cass nods, “A little better than I thought I would." taking a seat near the others she smirks, “Although Steph sort of…holds you in place so you have no other options but to sleep."

Oliver smirks. “That sounds like an exciting sleeping arrangement," he drawls, but then shakes his head with a laugh and goes back to the string discussion. “Yeah, the line won’t have the same tensile strength of your racket strings, it’s true. But I mean … no point wrecking your racket when there’s other weapons and materials available, right? It might come in handy intact, later on. It’s the only one we’ve got."

Bette nods, “All right, Ollie. You talked me into it!" She holds up her racquet and waves it a bit, “We can always use another vegetable strainer in the kitchen!" she laughs.

"Good, good. I’m glad. You hang on to it tight, Bette-girl."

Bette nods, grateful to him for saving her from having to sacrifice it just yet. She looks between Cass and Ollie, “So…how’s Bruce?" she asks softly. “Is it true, he has typhoid?"

Oliver presses his lips together, then puts his mug aside, clasping his hands. “Yes," he says. “That’s what he says he’s got, and god knows he’d never make a diagnosis unless he knew it was an accurate one." Ollie rubs the back of his head, then adds, “uh … is anybody making sure we destroy all the stuff that’s touched that contaminated water? I haven’t — I dunno what’s going on, at that end."

"You had your hands full with Bruce at the time, so it’s no wonder," Bette confirms, “Steph took care of it as soon as word got out. She was decontaminating everyone and their clothing in the kitchen last night, and then they dumped bleach and boiling water in the pool, too. You should have seen her spring into action, she was really something else!"

Cass nods, “Steph did a really excellent job. I think she was on top of everything."

Oliver looks from Bette to Cass, taking this in. “Thank god," he breathes. “It’s … everybody’s been doing really great. All of you." He rubs his folded hands against the table for a moment before saying, “If anybody ever thought the League was too fractured and at-odds to get anything done cohesively, this is sure as hell proving that wrong."

Bette smiles kindly at him and reaches across the table, squeezing his hands. “Comes from good mentorship."

Cass smiles, her lips pressed against her mug as she takes a sip, “We pull together better than I could’ve expected…" she pauses, hoping she hadn’t just jinxed the group.

"What I don’t understand," Ollie says, suddenly and apropos of nothing, “is why the kids are here with us. The little ones, not the younger Leaguers and Titans. The actual kids."

"Give us another reason to fight?" Dickiebird waves from the door. “Hey. I heard people talking. Thought I’d rejoin the living."

Cass waves back to Dick with a smile, “Hi Dick."

Oliver grinned. “Hey there, Dick. I’m tryinna play catch up, come help an old man out."

Bette pauses, not wanting to be the first to greet Dick, even though it’s on the tip of her tongue. “Hi, Dick…"

Dickiebird smiles at all of them and joins, glancing at Bette a hair too long. “Sure. That was probably a bad turn of phrase, I realize. Where’re you up to on info?"

Cass shrugs back at Ollie, “Why are any of us here, why are some members in the League missing? I really wish we knew how we got here."

Oliver tilts his head until his neck cracks, then pulls one arm across the front of himself, stretching out his shoulder. “Yeah. I guess that’s a topic we can’t answer right now, so — to answer your question, Dick, Bette’s decided to arm herself with bolas, Steph disinfected all the pool-contaminated stuff, Bruce has contracted typhoid, and I’ve made some bows for anybody who can use them. You got an update to add?"

Bette reaches next to her, under the table, and gives Kate’s hand a squeeze at the mention of League members missing. Diana’s absence has been so hard for her.

Dickiebird gives a nervous chuckles and stretches. “Guy’s fighting off a leg infection, Damian and I were chased by some kind of giant beast through the forest, and we found a VW bus with four bicycles in it. Still no news of Kyle, though."

Candy squeezes back, swallowing and nodding. “Me and Betts are going to go look at water and electricity sources, see whether it’s limited, if anyone’s seen anything."

Oliver frowns, letting his arm drop back down. “Guy’s got an infected leg?" he repeats. “Anybody looked at it yet? He was in that water too…"

"I patched it up when I got back, but it needs more attention," Dick says. “I think I saw him standing in it when we arrived. He was helping Bruce…."

"Yeah," Ollie nods. “Now that we know the extent of how infected that water is, everybody needs more stringent medical attention. Where’s he now?"

Bette drops her gaze at the table. Still no sign of Kyle. Guilt pricked her conscience again; maybe she should have chosen him, since he was missing…but then, that would be like saying she had any control over any of this, and that would be silly. She snapped herself out of it, and paid attention again. Dick had found a VW bus? She should mention the key she and Steph found, but they were talking about Guy now. “Oh, poor Guy…"

Dickiebird motions toward the door. “In the lodging house. Set him up in one of the beds for a rest. He’s been out searching for Kyle on that leg. Hasn’t slept much." He scrubs a hand over his face, frowning at how rough his jaw is. “For that matter, neither have I. We have razors somewhere, right?"

Cass sticks her tongue out at Dick, “Not feeling the beard?"

Oliver turns to stare out the window in the direction of the longhouse. “Okay," he says, “yeah. There’s some in the showers, in the locker. Didn’t see any shaving cream, but, y’know, roughing it." He stands up, still looking at the window. “Okay," Ollie says again, “I’m gonna grab a medkit and go take a look at it now. I don’t wanna leave it any longer."

Dickiebird scrunches his nose at her and leans over as if to scratch her with it. “Here, tell me if you like it." He sits back when Ollie stands. “Oh. OK. He might still be sleeping, or… I don’t know, I thought I heard him move when I got up, so he might be awake already."

Oliver pats Dick’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze of thanks. “Right-o. I’ll wake him up, anyhow, even if he’s still in dreamland." He moves away from the group, getting a basin and the medkit from the cupboard in the common room and checking its contents before heading out of the longhouse, jogging down the short path to the dorm. It’s not hard to find the room that Guy is in — the doors to the rooms have mostly been left open, some of the beds rumpled. Ollie finds the one closed door and raps on it, hard. “Gardner?"

"Whuh?" Guy rouses suddenly, from a somewhat fitful sleep. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m…come in…"

Oliver pushes open the door, going over to the bed. “Hey," he says, then puts the back of his hand to Guy’s forehead without any other preamble. Grimacing at its warmth, he drops the medkit in a chair and heads down the hall to the sinks, filling the basin with warm water and coming back. “How you feeling? Dick mentioned you had a gash on the leg that could use some looking at."

Guy is a bit surprised to see Ollie. “Tired…real tired. Dick cleaned it up though." He blinks at him, a little dazed. “What time is it? Did they find Kyle?"

Oliver moves aside the covers, taking a closer look at Guy’s leg, gently undoing the bandages and prodding at the tender areas around the laceration. “How’d you get this? When?"

"Climbin’ a tree, on Mogo," he chuckled at the memory, “Pickin’ fruit, for justice. Guess I scratched open the scab in the pool or somethin’…"

Oliver breathes out a long hiss of air. “Well, that’s something," he says. “At least you didn’t get the wound here. But I still need to clean it out. Why the fuck does it look scalded?" Ollie tips some of the antiseptic into the bowl, wringing out a cloth in the solution.

"Not scalded…" he flopped back on the pillow, knowing the pain would probably hit again as soon as Ollie made contact with the wound. “S’m’thin’ my mom always did…f’infections." He did his best not to wince as Ollie started his work. “Y’didn’t tell me if they found him…"

Oliver sits back for a second, cloth poised over Guy’s wound, mouth turned down in the corner. “I sure hope your mom didn’t use as hot a water as you did, pal," he says. “It’s a warm compress for drawing an infection — you’re not trying to boil the little beasties to death." He tuts as he presses the cloth soaked in antiseptic down onto the wound, letting it trickle inside the opening. “From now on, you better leave the first aid to people who haven’t relied on a magic ring to do the work for the past decade or so." He doesn’t say anything about Kyle yet, and instead says, “the water. It’s contaminated. Bruce has typhoid."

Guy turns his head to one side. Of course he’d done it wrong, and it would be Ollie of all people to point it out. “Typhoid….Jesus. The pool water?" He ran over the events of their arrival. Bruce had almost drowned in that water. Guy had waded out into it, knelt in it…and Kate… “Is Kate okay?"

Oliver turns Guy’s leg a bit, closely inspecting inside the cut for any debris. The idea of Guy’s mother using water that hot to clean an infected wound … it isn’t one he wants to dwell on. God knew Gardner had enough trauma from the cruelty he’d endured at his family’s hands, and Ollie has no intention of resurrecting it by probing any further. Satisfied that the wound is shiny, pink and clean (although a little worrisomely red on the edges) he dabs some antibacterial ointment in it and re-bandages it. “Kate’s resting," he says, smoothing the fabric. “She’s … it’ll be okay."

"Ols…I’m not one of yer kids. Just tell me," he begs. “How bad is it? Kate, n’ Bruce, an’ Kyle. I can’t fuckin’ DO anythin’, at least let me KNOW somethin’?"

Oliver looks up at Guy, frowning. “None of us can do anything," he says, voice brittle. “NONE of us. All we can do is what we’re allowed — what we’re capable of. Which is a damned sight too little!" He throws the tube of ointment and the bandages back into the medkit. “Kate will be okay." Ollie says this like a mantra, the corners of the words worn down from rolling them around in his mouth too many times, too many repetitions. “Kate will be okay. So will Kyle. Bruce … Bruce is dying."

Guy sucks in a breath and sits up. “This makes no fuckin’ sense…monsters in the fuckin’ woods, lakes that we can see but can’t find, hills we can’t get to…powers that just vanish? This ain’t fucking REAL. How can Bruce be dyin’ if this can’t be real in the first place?"

Oliver barks a laugh. “Oh, it’s fucking real, all right," he says bleakly. He’s paused in picking up the basin and cloth, and his fingertips trail in the milky-white, pine-scented water. “It’s as real as anything else back in our normal lives, and pretty soon, we’re gonna learn that we can die here." He clenches his jaw for a moment, gathering himself, and then stands up. “You think that’ll make it real enough for you?"

"Then why are we just sittin’ here, waitin’ for it? Why aren’t we movin’, scoutin’, lookin’ for a way out?" He holds a palm out to Ollie, “Ya said we can’t do anythin’ we ain’t allowed to do. So let’s do somethin’ crazy. Let’s ask the question, of whoever’s got us here, what the fuck they want. What about that speaker system? I know it sounds crazy, but why the fuck not?"

Oliver blinks at him, then says slowly, “We’ve been … Mia was dividing people into scouting parties. She made a map and everything, but I’ve been so distracted with Bruce and Kate…" Ollie swallows and wrinkles his nose a bit. “I can’t do any of that," he says. “But if you think it might help, Gardner, you should do it. We got no chips to play and nothing to lose. You should fuckin’ do it."

Guy holds his gaze, dead serious. “If I can get up that tower, I will. I’ll do anythin’ it takes, Oliver. An’ anythin’ you can think of that you ain’t got time to do, I’ll do it."

Oliver snaps back into clarity, snorting. “Look," he says with more of his usual careless tone, “Don’t hobble yourself getting up that tower, okay? If you need to, write down what you wanna say and send somebody up who ain’t nursing a frigging leg wound. I mean it, Gardner. We don’t wanna deal with an infection getting worse, okay?" Ollie presses his lips together when he finishes this admonition, the worried frown between his eyebrows deepening. “You always say you’re not a hero, well — don’t try to fuckin’ be one about this. I’d rather have you functional and on the ground than climbing to the top of the tower and full of fever the next day."

"Not plannin’ on bein’ a martyr either, Queen," he says, sliding out of bed, “But better me than you or Bruce, or Kate, or Clark or Zee. You guys have families and loved ones, people countin’ on you. An’ things are gettin’ desperate, if Bruce is…well. I’m just sayin’. Save yer worry for them." He experimentally puts weight on his leg. It’s sore as fuck, but after two cleanings, he’s convinced it can’t get any worse, now. “Good job. Thanks."

Oliver raises an eyebrow, stepping back to give Guy room as he gets up. “I got enough worry to go ‘round," he says dryly, “and I’m not keen on a game of ‘more-expendable-than-th​ou’, Gardner." He points at the bound-up leg. “Don’t dismiss that. Let somebody know if the feeling changes or there’s discharge or —" Ollie looks at Guy’s face and stops, remembering the way Guy had turned aside earlier when Ollie’d remarked on the wound. There was no point trying to give any advice if it would be taken as criticism; he had absolutely no interest in making Gardner feel bad about himself. “Y’know what, I’m sure you know how to take care of it, probably better than I do, so I’ll shut up about it." Ollie picks up the basin. “Gonna go dump this and get back to making arrows and stuff."

"I’ll let ya know if it gets worse," Guy assured him, “But I ain’t playin’ games, Queen. Like ya said, this is real enough." He levels a look at him, “Even real enough for me." He bent, pulling on the jeans one leg at a time. “Take care of your loved ones, Ollie," he says gently.

Oliver grabs hold of the medkit as well, heading down the hall to the sink so he can dump out the water. The pale white of it almost shimmers as it swirls around the basin and then down the drain, and he stands there staring into the drain again, just like he’d done in the morning in the kitchen. Eventually, though, the basin slips from his fingers and clatters to the ground, and Ollie picks it up, and moves on.

Guy emerges from the room, buttoning a clean shirt as he watches Ollie retrieve the bowl. “When was the last time you slept more than three or four hours?" he asks him.

Oliver looks up as he straightens. “I’m getting sleep," he says. “It’s not the amount so much as it’s the quality. And that part of it can’t be helped."

Guy nods several times, sympathizing completely. “Yeah, I hear ya. Same here. An’ now that Dick told me about whatever THING is out there in the forest, I don’t know how well I’ll sleep until we know what happened to Kyle." He scrubs a hand over his face, scratching at his stubble. “Let me know…if there’s anythin’ I can do to help with Bruce or Kate."

Oliver finally snaps, gesturing wildly with the bowl he’s still holding. “Gardner, jesus christ — you can’t! You can’t help with everything, okay? There’s nothing you can do! There’s barely anything ANY OF US can do, how many times do I have to say it?" Ollie’s voice raises to a grating edge, hoarse and wolfish; it’s clear he’s nearing the end of his rope, dealing with things that he’s defenceless against, powerless over. He makes a frustrated, keening growl and throws the bowl down the hallway, but he winces when it clangs against the wall.

Guy moves towards Ollie, ignoring his limp, and grabs him by his upper arms. He says nothing at all, just looks into Ollie’s face, but there ARE no words. Nothing he can say of comfort. Nothing that will take away the pain, or make it better. He’s not even sure Ollie would accept a hug from him. But he recognizes what Ollie needs is to feel in control of something. Anything. He could give Ollie control over him, if he knew how to offer. If Ollie would take it. If, if, if… He drops his arms to his sides, and swallows back the lump in his throat. “No. Nothin’ I can do… I don’t know how to give you what you wish you had most right now."

Oliver thumps back against the sink when Guy lets go of him; connecting with the porcelain sends a jolt up his spine, but he’s at that point where the pain is welcome, sharpens up his mind through the fog and confusion of what’s happened since they got here, swirling down that drain so fucking fast. He puts both hands to his face, scrubbing up and down rapidly, and gives a loud, yawping gasp when he drops them away. “What I wish I had most right now," he grates out, “are some fucking answers. But I’m not gonna get those, am I."

"I don’t know," he replies quietly. There’s pain in his eyes to see him like this. “You might. We all might. But we won’t if we stop tryin’, man." He stepped forward again, returned his hands to Ollie’s arms, this time curling his fingers around them more, moving his thumbs up and down, letting Ollie feel the human contact. He squeezed and released, and again, “You’re doing your best, an’ we all are, an’ it’s just gonna HAVE to be enough."

Oliver breathes in long, and shakes his head roughly, doglike. But his eyes have cleared by the time he pulls himself back together, and if the smile he offers is more baring of teeth than actual good feelings, it’s at least an attempt. “Better get my bowl," he says, lamely, gesturing down the hall. Now that he’s coming back to his senses, Ollie also looks slightly embarrassed at his outburst, the near-breakdown. “I’ll … good luck with the announcement thing, Gardner. I’ll see you at breakfast, or something."

Guy nods once, and waits until Queen has cleared the building before he leaves, leaning a little on the walking stick Mia gave him.