"The Bunker"

Previously in the bunker...

• Mariana and her sons Jimmy and Elliot took to the Ash, fleeing from Liberty forces.
• Sisters Lyda and Crystal came across the family, and after a brief altercation, offered them shelter.
• The two groups merged over several weeks into a amalgamated family unit, with Mariana showing a fierce motherly streak for everyone living in the bunker.

We return to this action, in the midst of a day much like any other...

Crystal was gearing up for another "jaunt" as she liked to call it. Her backpack had the tools she needed and the clothing needed for her next supply run. As she packed her bag she mentally went over the list of things she needed to grab for her little family.

A smile appeared on her lips at the thought her newly adopted family. It was nice to be around and care for more people than just Lydia for once.

The youngest child of the bunch little Jimmy was such a sweet and innocent little boy. She would do anything to protect him from the realities of the world and war so he could have a good childhood. On her jaunt she would try to grab the boy a new toy, something not metal since Jimmy would melt the thing.

Then their was Elliot her own age and convinced that Liberty was a good place to be. While he was delusional on the Liberty front and a showoff her fellow teen was still kind. Even if he was rough around the edges Crystal knew the boy still had the occasional nightmare about losing his family to more war. While in Eurbesco she would try to see if she could find a nice little knife for him, something he could use to help around the bunker.

Elliot also had a dog, it was a weirdly smart dog but hey free-ish alarm that occasionally let her pet it.

Lyda her older biological sister and her biggest pain in the ass, was around as always. Of course Crystal loved her sister to pieces and would not survived without her. Love however did not equate to agreeing with her hunter sister. Lyda needed a new knife as well, or at least a knife sharpener as her hunting knife was getting dull.

Mariana was a mother to all of them, even if Crystal and Lydia did not call the woman that out-loud. Mariana made real food for the group and helped organize cleaning parties for the little underground bunker group. She would also slaughter you with a spoon if Mariana thought you were going to hurt her makeshift family. While Mariana was not the most approving of Crystal's lifestyle choices she did understand the need for the weekly jaunts to the various factions. Crystal was going to get the most valuable thing of all for Mariana today, fresh food.

With a smile on her face Crystal sealed up her bag and headed out the door of their little bunker home.

James “Jimmy” Barnett was much like any other toddler: He liked puff cereal and chocolate, melting spoons, and clinging to his brother’s leg when his brother least wanted him to. He boasted a full head of floppy black curls that drooped into his big brown eyes, and a face full of smudges from where his hands had moved to sweep the hair away. His mouth was constantly full, though whether it was stuffed to the brim with found pebbles and insects or incoherent child-speak was anyone’s guess, and wholly dependent upon what particular mood he was in.

He was born onto Liberty soil, but the past few weeks had raised the four-year-old into a true child of the Ash: He tottered about the Bunker, unperturbed by the sirens and war diagrams etched into the walls, and ate what was placed upon his plate with little complaint. His tiny hands bore callouses from helping his adopted sisters haul in their foraging, and his legs were bruised from bumps and falls across unforgiving terrain. He could identify plants that were good to eat about as well as the letters of the alphabet (still a less than perfect feat, given that “F” was oft forgotten,) and had come to stop crying when Lyda captured a rabbit to eat.

Most of all, like any Ashlander who managed to survive, he was a watcher. His gaze tracked over anything that was interesting; anything he could learn for future use.

His mother’s work in the kitchen was no exception.

As Mariana began making dinner, Jimmy screetch-dragged a chair across the bunker’s metal floor to prop against the counter, pausing twice to catch his breath. Once it was in place, he crawled in, placed his favorite truck on the ledge in front of him, and proceeded to simply stare, tracking her every move.

Mariana, for her part, was just doing the best she could with the cards she had chosen.

On the counter before her sat what was left of the past few days’ forage: Eight cattail plants, roots attached, a bushel of wild asparagus, and a handful of juniper berries. There was also the small coffee mug of collective, solidified grease drippings from whatever meat was previously cooked, and a drawn barrel of rainwater siphoned from the roof of the bunker.

Fortunately, feeding a family of five off of Liberty rations for several years had not made her a snob.

With her own black curls tied back from her face, she rolled her sleeves and set to work: Slicing the cattail roots from the stalks, and dicing the stalks and asparagus to be set aside. Her tanned hands worked with quick, sharp movements that caught Jimmy’s ever-flitting gaze as they bounced between stovetop and cutting board and rain-barrel.

The water was set to boil, and Mariana moved on to the work of slicing the roots into small pieces. Jimmy ran his toy truck over the back of his own hand as his mother tossed the bits into a wooden bowl and took hold of a pestle. As she began working to mash the thick roots, her brow sported two parallel lines so deep that several stray hairs on either side (for she was a woman of far greater purpose than plucking hairs from her brow) knitted together like two fuzzy caterpillars exchanging a kiss.

It was not until Jimmy saw her scoop a spoonful of grease into the mash that he recognized the start of “biscuits.” Or, at least, the closest a woman could make when handed rabbit grease and cattail root.

“Catcakes!” he said, clapping a hand over his cheek to hide his rose-washed blush. “Mommy, I’m hungry. Are you done?”

Mariana sighed, and took her hands away from her work. The pestle continued in its mashing, and her eyebrows did not cease their war with one another as she turned to face her child. “Do they look done, Mijo?” she inquired scooping the boy up and settling him onto her hip so that he could better see inside the bowl. “You can eat them like this if you want to,” she added playfully, and Jimmy covered his mouth.

“Mommy, when do you cook them up?”

With her free hand, she reached out and dumped the set-aside greens into the boiling water. “When they’re ready to be cooked, Mijo. Mi pollito..” She poked at his soft tummy, tickling him through his dinosaur pajamas.

“No, no!” he laughed, and slid down to the ground to escape his mother’s playful gesture. “I’m not a pollito!”

“You don’t go, pio, pio. when you’re hungry?” she laughed, turning back to her cooking. She reached across the counter to grasp a berry, and held it out to him. “Cuando tienes hambre?”

Jimmy giggled some more, launching forward to snatch the berry from her hand and shove it into his mouth “That’s the silly song from yous mommy that she singed,” he replied, “that’s not real words.” In a flash, he had bounced back to the center of the room, and was spinning about himself in circles.

“Yes, Mijo, the one with the not-real words. Now, James. Can you do me a big-boy favor?”

Jmmy nodded. “I can trys them all for you for dinner.”

Mariana’s voice in response was patient, practiced. Like someone who had already raised three other sons at this point, and had no intentions of losing her temper over small things anymore. “No, Mijo. I need you to go tell Miss Crystal that she is,” Mariana paused and raised her voice, not crossly, “not to be sneaking out of this home without a full belly and a proper goodbye to everyone present.”

Jimmy frowned, nodded, and then proceeded to run down the hall to see that Miss Crystal was, in fact, about halfway gone by the time he made it to her. “Mommy says that. Um. She saided that you gotta have a full up and say bye first so come back.”

As Jimmy called for her to come have dinner Crystal couldn't help but sulk. How was she supposed to be a master thief if her adopted mom could catch her leaving the home? Ugh. That woman probably had eyes in the back of her head. Or maybe it was the rusty door, yeah probably the rusty door.

However that left her with two choices, both were very unappealing. Choice one was to stay and have a nice dinner but make her contact mad, and choice two was to incur Mari's wraith and go out hungry. "Sorry Jimmy, I have to go now or I will be late to the important meeting I have scheduled. I promise it is super important for everyone that I go now." With that she practically ran out of the bunker, Mari could yell at her about skipping meals later. Though maybe teaching Jimmy that it was okay disobeying his mother's orders was not the best example for her to set. Though in general she was probably not the best example of shinning moral and law-abiding person to jimmy.

A snort came out of her mouth at the thought of Mari yelling or more amusing grounding her. She doubt anyone could actually follow through with grounding her. Lyda talked about it once, but she left and got some Liberty candy instead before her sister realized she had left. At the thought of candy her stomach started rumbling, reminding her that she probably shouldn't have skipped that meal. However this meeting was seriously important, as she was going to get them some nice fresh food.

Since the very morning that Elliot had awoken to find himself in the Ashlands, he had sworn that they would not shape him: That he would hold true to the Liberty beliefs of his father and brothers before him, serving as a good Agent would regardless of his ability to claim such a status.

But despite his firm resolve, it simply could not be so: His hair had grown longer, and his cheeks more freckled from long hours of outside chores and explorations. His muscles had grown sinewy and lean, no longer coddled by the completeness of Liberty’s regimented diet for growing teens. He was quickly becoming as adept with a skinning knife as he was with those meant for combat, and had stopped shirking away at the sight of meat. The most prominent change by far, however, was his attitude.

The Ashers they lived with had been his bane for the first few days he knew them; waiting for their hospitality to end in his family being murdered while they slept.

But the assault never came, and the knife under his pillow migrated to under his bed. He let himself be taught by Lyda, who knew what foods were good to eat and where to find them, as well as how to best keep the bunker hidden. His fondness for Crystal, a girl his age, had grown, though he was loath to admit to it.

She was quick and clever, no doubt due to her unruly upbringing, but it held some charm in its unpredictability.

The exact type, really, that lead to her tossing open the bunker hatch and springing out just as he was heading in. The surprise, followed by the impact of her body against his, threw his balance backwards. Elliot took a step back to catch himself, faltered, and then collapsed like a folding chair in slow motion, spilling the armful of tools he had been refreshing (for Mariana forbade metalworking inside) crashing into his lap.

“Where the hell are you going?” he snapped, though there was nothing harsh in his tone. Blowing the hair from his eyes, he righted himself and offered her a hand. “Mom’s gonna kill you, if you run out on dinner again."