TJ stared at the boiling water, his stomach still churning and upset. Stanton showed no mercy and commanded, “Get over here. You can begin punching holes in it before the gut’s ready for stringing.”
He went through the motions woodenly as he punched the sharp stone through the edges of the mostly tanned coyote leather. Though he tried not to, TJ remembered and relived disemboweling the pukwudgies, pulling out their intestines, and cleaning them in preparation for usage as durable cord. He couldn’t quite decide if the additional guidance from Primitive Craftsmanship was a blessing or a curse, giving him nudges and instructions on how to push the offal through the intestines without rupturing anything or how best to cut open the belly of the sentient creature he’d just killed minutes ago. TJ carried a bucket with him, vomiting into it as he needed. His throat and mouth were raw from the stomach acid and bile, and little sips of water were doing nothing for him. Stanton’s conversing had helped somewhat with the awful situation, though.
“You said you’ve got an Occupation. How’d you get it? What does it do?”
TJ laughed as he retold his tale of struggling with a couple of weak coyotes. Remembering the life-threatening danger posed by a pack of pukwudgies or a divinely-blessed coyote colored his memories of two basic coyotes shredding his clothing, backpack, and flesh to a much rosier hue. “It’s called Savage.” He finished with. “Basically, since I was all alone on the mountain with no tools or anything, the System treated me like I didn’t want any modern tools. Now, my Occupation gives me benefits if I don’t use any ‘pre-Integration’ tools or materials or whatever. Gave a basic Skill called Primitive Craftsmanship that lets me know about how to do some of these things. Having you help me along is great, though.”
Stanton grunted. “Bullshit. Shoulda been me.”
“But wasn’t.” TJ grinned. “It’s a weird thing, since it required me to not use any tools, like even the salt from a treat I had in my backpack.”
“How’s it work, though? I should get one too. Haven’t gotten any offers.”
“Kinda like a Class,” TJ explained before going through the requirements the System had outlined for him after he’d acquired the Occupation. Again, only a grunt answered him. “It shouldn’t be that hard, though. The way my Title is worded, one in two hundred gets their Occupation before their Class. Did you get a Title for getting your Class before your Occupation?”
“Nope.” Stanton grumbled.
“Weird. What level is your Class now?”
“Six.”
“Same. And I’ve shown my Class to you, what does Acolyte give you?”
“Just the Skill for the bow I’ve never used. I had to upgrade that for my gun–now it’s called Divine Armament. Used to be… Sacred Weapon? Not sure.”
“You could ask the System.”
“Why would I… Yeah. It was called Sacred Weapon.”
“And what attributes does the Class focus on? For Neophytes, it's Vitality, Endurance, Toughness, Fixation, and Willpower.”
Stanton hesitated for a second as he consulted with the System. “Agility, Strength, Perception, Intelligence, Wisdom.”
“So you didn’t have any trouble seeing the pukwudgies? If your Perception is really high…”
“No, they’re tricky. Couldn’t see ‘em hardly at all.”
TJ was reminded that he had more Occupation and Race levels, and those combined with the bonus to his Perception while a coatl probably carried him to be higher than Stanton usually was. They continued to converse as they did the nasty work of preparing all the materials for TJ to make his own moccasins. Though Stanton obviously hated the System and how it’d uprooted him from his life, he’d made the mistake of not working with it once and wouldn’t do so again. They talked about what would be the most dangerous thing to encounter here, how they’d travel safely, and whatever else occurred to them. Both deliberately stayed away from talking about the world before the Integration, though why they did, TJ couldn’t say. Even so, there was plenty to speculate, worry, and plan about, so TJ quickly found himself trying to sew the “leather” cutouts into a sort of a semblance of a moccasin.
The work was tedious, and TJ could feel that this first attempt would be shoddy at best. He did try his best, though, and about two hours after he and Stanton began the process of creation, TJ Appraised the moccasins that laid before him.
Item: Slipshod Coyote Leather Moccasins (Dirt). This footwear was created by a desperate amateur, and its quality and potential longevity show as much. The insides are lined with the coyote’s fur, and will serve to keep the extremities warmer than uncovered or merely sock-wearing feet would offer. The leather is untreated and shabbily prepared, so it will exhibit wear and tear much more quickly than a well-crafted pair of moccasins would.
TJ’s dreams of a pair of boots that would heighten his ability to sneak through the forest or grant some impenetrable boost to his toes were dashed, though they’d never exited their infancy. Instead, he pulled the bootlike slippers up his legs to his mid shin, covering his socks and the bottom of his pant leg.
“We’ve lost a lot of time.” Stanton stated, looking out the door and up at the darkening gray skies. “Day’s basically over. No reason to leave a defensible position just before we go to sleep. We’ll take turns sleeping, and leave at sunup.” It wasn’t a request or a question, but TJ didn’t mind.
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“You want first or second watch?” he asked.
“Second.” Stanton answered as he stumped down the hall towards the bedrooms.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” TJ asked. “Might be better for us to sleep near the fire to keep warm while the other can see us.”
Stanton grunted, though not as a response. He reappeared a moment later, dragging a queen-sized mattress that he flopped into the space before the fireplace. It butted up against the couch and left only a foot between the edge of the brick fireplace and the mattress.
“Might as well use the mattress before we leave.” Stanton said. “Now check the fridge. There’s some bacon in there that should have thawed by now. We’ll throw that in a pan and see what else we can’t bring with us.”
—--
Dinner was a strangely familiar spread. Bacon, hash browns fried in the bacon’s grease, and pancakes. There’d been instant mix in one of the cupboards, and so, the two men had breakfast for dinner. No syrup in any of the cupboards, but a can of condensed milk they were going to leave behind served as a syrup substitute. The scratching of forks and knives on the plate accompanied by the crackling of the fire replaced any conversations they could have had. TJ got the distinct impression that Stanton was all talked out, and it would piss him off to continue asking questions.
Their plates cleaned off after eating their third servings, TJ rinsed the dishes off in the sink. No need to leave a mess if he didn’t have to. However, halfway through, the faucet began guttering, and TJ left the dishes half washed in the sink.
“We’ll drink our fills in the morning from the sink, but we might be out of luck for water for now.” TJ called out. Predictably, Stanton grunted. TJ walked out of the kitchen as he dried his hands on his jeans, just to see Stanton all curled up in his bed.
“The sun’s only been down for an hour. It’s 6 pm, tops.”
“It’s winter.” Stanton replied. “And it’s almost 7. We'll move with the sun. Rest when it does. Wake me up around 1, and I’ll take care of watching after that.” Then, the old man pulled his covers up to his chin, rolled over, and less than three minutes later, he was snoring.
“How am I supposed to know what time it is? You didn’t give me a watch or anything.” TJ muttered, still amused by his grumpy old companion.
The time at your location is currently: 6:56 PM.
“Can you send me a notification at 1 AM?”
You will receive a notification at 1 AM. Warning: This notification will not serve as an alarm or notification more obtrusive than those you regularly receive.
So not an alarm but still a way to make sure he kept track of time. That was good enough for now, at least. Finally, TJ allowed himself to dive back into his newest Skill. He kept his bottom lip between his teeth, biting a little but not so hard he’d bleed. Hoping that would be enough to keep the wind from whisking away his sense of self, TJ called to the winds. They answered, quick to react and happy to feel his mind. Even so, he made sure to remind himself: Thiago Jorge Harris IV. That’s who he was, not a part of the wind. He could command it.
With that in mind, TJ commanded the wind to blow. Starting from his hand, the air gathered into a compressed cylinder before it blasted forward, whipping napkins from the table and rattling books on their shelf. TJ stopped the Skill before it blew out the windows, but still Stanton startled awake, his gun Suzie appearing in his hand.
“Where are they?” He demanded, bleary eyes blazing in fear and command.
“I’m sorry. That was me. I was just trying out my new Skill.” TJ stammered, trying to figure out how to talk down a pissed off, frightened veteran. To his surprise, Stanton only blinked a couple times to clear his eyes before grunting. “Makes sense. Be quiet and let me sleep.” Without another word, he flopped down again to sleep.
“Something to practice during the day. And outside.” TJ resolved himself. Instead, he asked the wind in a whisper, “Can you tell me what’s outside?”
It didn’t respond. After all, it was the wind. TJ fought the urge to slap his own forehead. Just because it responded to his Skill didn’t mean that it had a mind of its own. Instead, TJ pulled his lip once more between his teeth and pushed his awareness out of himself, trying to feel the wind. Despite feeling the wind, though, TJ kept his mind focused on the fact that he was a person, not the wind. While within the bounds of his own mind, the sensory input was overwhelming and agonizing. A human mind couldn’t understand the feeling of being air, of flowing constantly, of having no constant form, but being constantly malleable. The air near the fireplace danced and sang, while that by the window was slow, and sad.
TJ wrenched his mind back to himself, controlling his gasps as best as he could. He’d bitten almost all the way through his bottom lip, and blood flowed freely down his throat and chin alike. Seeing through the wind was completely beyond him for now, and TJ sucked on his lip as the blood quickly stopped flowing. His mind couldn’t comprehend the feeling of being the air within a couple of feet of himself, much less far enough away to be useful. Instead, TJ shifted back to a coatl, taking note of his current Divine Transformation limits: thirty-seven minutes.
Plenty of time for a fight, but for standing watch, it was far from enough. Plus, the time to recover his ability to shift back was twice that of his time spent as a coatl, so he would instead need to figure out a system to use the benefits of his Skill–
The solution was obvious, and TJ focused to ensure his transformation came easily, smoothly, and without leaving behind any of his clothes. As a coatl, his senses expanded, and he felt the air even more clearly than before, the elevation of his Wind Manipulation obvious. The air outside flowed through the trees, and TJ could almost feel it without his mind exploding in pain. Even so, he’d learned his lesson, and left well enough alone. Instead, he relied on his heightened Perception to see what he could feel, hear, smell, and taste out there.
After one minute passed, TJ reverted back to a human, watching and listening for anything that might have changed. He continued watching, and once the timer for Divine Transformation had completely refilled, TJ shifted back, faster than before but still ensuring all his clothing went along with him.
Another minute passed as a coatl, and TJ returned to being human for two more minutes. The constant change kept him awake and aware, his mind focused on the Skill’s activation when it was time, and on his surroundings the rest of the time. His watch passed without incident, and when the notification flashed in the corner of his vision, he kicked the side of the bed and shook it.
Again, Stanton jolted awake, his pistol forming in his hand. He breathed deeply, looking up at the calm TJ. “My watch?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. Sleep well.”
Then, without another word, Stanton got out of the bed and beckoned for TJ to lay down himself. The younger man did as much, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, TJ fell into dreamless sleep.