Glen (
intricate_engineer) wrote in
glowfic2016-01-15 12:50 pm
Entry tags:
between then and know
It was a trap.
Glen should have seen it coming, but she'd thought the offer might be genuine. Wasn't the possibility of immortality worth the risk?
Well, not this time.
Her pendant, her way out, was broken.
She tried to use it anyway.
Glen should have seen it coming, but she'd thought the offer might be genuine. Wasn't the possibility of immortality worth the risk?
Well, not this time.
Her pendant, her way out, was broken.
She tried to use it anyway.

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It's been a while since she's used flint and even longer since she's seen it in its natural state, but she can't take every rock.
So she grabs every rock that's a dark black, has broken into a sharp edge, or that has an oily shimmer. She hopes one of the criteria will be effective. If she picked up any gemstones, it's by accident.
She stops when her bag begins to be difficult to lift. She does one last check of the surrounding area before heading inside.
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Inside, everything is right where she left it.
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She begins striking the rocks, one by one, watching for sparks.
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Now to start a fire.
Glen has never started a fire before.
Well, once, but that was an accident! It also involved several unintended exothermic reactions and a tank of hydrogen which doesn't seem relevant here.
She doesn't user her paper, because though easy, it would be a waste of her very finite resources.
She definitely does not use the books.
Instead she takes the knife and begins to shave slivers off a piece of wood. Once she has a small pile, she places several small pieces of wood around it, then strikes sparks into the shavings.
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She accidentally breathes in some smoke and coughs.
She probably should have built the fire closer to the door.
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Burning continues. Different pieces of wood have different characteristics as fuel, sometimes very different - some of them burn fast, while some hardly seem to burn at all. Maybe some of the wood is fake, and made of non-flammable materials.
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It's hard to judge differences in color in the dim light, but records what she can, taking note of the smell of the wood and the different patterns of grains.
She drinks some water and morosely swallows her "dinner".
She's going to get sick of these pills really fast.
But her hunger is forgotten, when she turns to the books and the tools.
She picks up the tools first.
She can't place the silvery brown leather, but maybe some of the other materials will be easier to identify.
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Anything with a handle has it wrapped in that silvery leather. It's held up very well over however long it's been here; none of it seems cracked or stiff.
On closer inspection, those long sticks seem to be various sizes of paintbrush, with steel-ish bindings holding the brush heads to the leather-wrapped handles. Rather than having bristles, the brush heads seem to be made of a dense spongy material shaped into a number of different configurations. Some blunt cones, some cones with rounded points, some chisel-like wedges. It's hard to tell what exactly the brush heads are made of; there aren't too many ways to manufacture a dense sponge like that, and there are no signs that it was cut or molded or otherwise shaped into its present form. As far as it's possible to tell by looking, they might as well have grown that way on extremely well-standardized plants.
Taken in context, perhaps some of the other less-identifiable tools might be paint scrapers or similar; the metal plates could even be palettes. Why someone felt the need to bring a painting kit (and no paints or canvas) to their poorly defended stronghold when fleeing mysterious terrifying monsters is a separate question, and no obvious answer presents itself.
Whatever those brush heads are, they're either unused or very well cleaned: there is no paint residue on any of them, and they're all the same shade of pale blue. In fact, there's no paint on anything.
Among the tools is a small bowl or jar, wide and round with straight vertical sides and a rim that might be shaped to fit some sort of lid, made of a blue-grey stone not otherwise found in the vicinity. It's as inexplicably pristine as the rest.
And one of the mysterious leather-wrapped rods turns out to conceal a small knife, capped like a pen rather than sheathed like a weapon. The blade is not quite two inches long, straight and narrow, with the sharp edge turning a forty-five degree angle at the end to meet the dull edge and form a point. Unlike every other example of metal in these tools, it's also very, very blue. Blue like a butterfly's wings. If she tests it, she'll find that the tiny knife is extremely sharp.
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The knife makes marks in the wood very effectively. It's too small to be a really efficient tool for cutting large pieces of wood into smaller pieces, but its strength and sharpness are more than equal to the task.
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She also pours a few drops of water into the bowl, rolls them around, and checks the water for residue or a change in color.
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The blue knife scratches the leather and makes an unpleasant skreeking noise but no marks when scraped against the metal.
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The bowl will be useful for boiling water. She can used heated stones and the tongs.
Glen's exhausted. She can explore the surrounding area in the daylight.
She should try to sleep, if her hunger and worry will let her.
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Her computer wakes her eight hours later. She has a moment of disorientation as she tries to place her surroundings. She groans when she remembers, and sits up.
She's starving. She swallows an emergency ration tablet. It doesn't help.
She drinks some water. It doesn't help either.
She stumbles to her feet and goes to the mouth of the cave.
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She steps out into the sun to judge the temperature.
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Glen retreats inside to grab her bag and the sealed books.
She adds in the flint, the bowl, and a few of the tools she deems useful. You never know what will happen.
She sits in the sunlight and removes one of the intact books from its bag.
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