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A grumbling sound rumbled from Stitches stomach as he climbed the wooden ramp to C11. Many metamorphs from his bus were lazing about the entrance talking amongst themselves or flipping meticulously through the manual. As he approached, the tone in the air changed and many turned away but kept him in their peripheral vision. As he passed, he heard several whispers before normal conversation resumed.

“Maybe Witch had a point about these colors” he thought. He approached the rope latter but spotted Maribel through an open curtain. His thoughts returned to the earlier encounter at the post office and feeling like he owed her a debt, he approached and knocked twice on the frame of her room.

Maribel looked up from the manual she was studying and smiled “Stitches!”

“Hey” he smiled back and entered “How ya goin?”

Maribel sighed, “The bureaucrats here are impossible to work with and every page of the manual they gave me is scribbled over by two idiots arguing with each other,” she shut the book and hopped out of the hammock.

Stitches laughed, “Yea, that just about sums up this place,” he rubbed his neck, a guilty feeling overtaking him, “So listen… I’m putting together a group and I need someone with talents like-“

“Nope,” Maribel grinned

“…huh?”

“No,” Maribel repeated

“But…” Stitches scratched his head bewildered, “Listen I-“

Maribel touched his shoulder confidently, “I’ve been alone for a long time now and I’ve never worked well with people,” her face hardened, “Thanks for trying to look out for me, but I must ask that you cease to do that.”

Stitches looked down towards her with concern but as he studied her expression he was taken aback by the sheer stoicism in her eyes, “Oh…”

Maribel smiled and stepped back.

Stitches walked towards the door, his perception of her completely flipped on his head. As he left, he turned back and gave a wave “Till we meet again” he grinned

Maribel waved with her fingers and opened her book once again.

 

Stitches entered his room and collapsed into his hammock with a sigh “Hungry”. He grabbed the duffel and emptied its contents to the floor. He leaned forward onto his knees and took inventory, “blankets, socks, undies, TP, first aid… Food!”

He grabbed two bars from the pile and ripped open the packaging. Biting into them he was thoroughly let down by the taste and texture of the ration bars. He began to tap his fingers against his knee as the bars became increasingly more powdery and difficult to chew. He started to pound his knee with his fist as he attempted to swallow. Failing, he tossed the ration bars to the hammock and began to rummage through the contents of the duffel. To his relief he found a lukewarm bottle of water and twisted the cap off. Tossing the bottom of the bottle up, warm bittersweet water washed away the painfully bland substance.

“Gah!” Stitches took a couple breaths, “What the hell man?! I coulda choked on that!”. Recovering from the experience and still hungry Stitches grabbed the other water bottle from the pile and sat down on the hammock. With a determined expression he bit into the bars once again and chased it immediately with water. After about 7 agonizing bites he finally tossed the remainders of the bars into his mouth and chewed before finishing the rest of the second bottle.

He tossed the bottle away and collapsed back into the hammock, “How in the hell can eating be that exhausting?”

He sighed wrapping his hands behind his head and staring at the crumbly ceiling.

Soon I’ll have to face those things out there, he thought.

From what he read, penalty strikes would add up on a contract, only to be removed by purchasing leniency. Left unchecked, strikes would bar you from certain privileges and eventually lead to an execution. Each week not meeting a work quota would earn a strike, but committing a crime would lead to many strikes in proportion to the crime’s severity. The laws of the compound were similar to that of human society; don’t kill, don’t steal, don’t piss in public spaces.

 However, Prospector had their own frontier twist on a couple; Murder is perfectly fine if the person you kill is either, attacking you, planning an attempt on your life, or has agreed to a duel with witness testimony. Stitches didn’t plan on killing anyone, but with such easy loopholes he could see plenty of options if the need arose.

Still feeling hungry Stitches decided to gather his things and have a look around the compound for a place to eat. He packed the duffel full of his things and started towards the curtain. His ears twitched as he heard the sound of the rope ladder straining over the sound of the voices downstairs. He stopped in his tracks and slowly walked back towards the chair in his room. He carefully sat down and placed the duffel softly in his lap.

He didn’t have anything against Angel but she was weird as hell, and worst; he couldn’t read her in the slightest. Her intensions, her thought process, her values; Stitches was drawing a blank on all three of them. He’d seen plenty of weird people in the slums, but she was something on a whole other level.

He heard a curtain draw and he stood up. Carefully, he inched his way towards the privacy curtain, making sure to slowly apply his weight to the floor. He angled his head to the left to keep his focus on all sounds coming from her direction. He delicately pinched the thick canvas of the curtain and began to drag it open. He flinched at each tick the weathered rings made against the curtain rod but devoted his focus intently on the direction of Angels room.

He turned and took a step, suddenly face to face with a playful smiling kitten on a knitted cream sweater.

“Kuh…” He looked up.

“You sure walk funny Stitches!” Angel giggled

Stitches blushed embarrassed; he didn’t realize she was tall enough to see over the curtain.

How the hell long was she standing there.

Angel rocked on her feet “I’ve been wondering where you went off to” she smiled innocently “I was relieved when I heard your breathing” she brushed her hair over her pointed ear.

“You were worried?” he raised an eyebrow

“Of course I was!” she pouted, “This is a dangerous place full of dangerous creatures Stitches!” she playfully jabbed his shoulder, “Us friends gotta stick together!”

“Y-yea you’re right,” he forced a smile.

Angel cocked her head noticing his duffel bag, “Where are you going with all your stuff?”

“Uh… I’m moving…”

Angels face looked heartbroken but her mood flipped almost immediately and a sunny smile spread across her face once again, “Where are you moving?”

“I took the apartment option.”

“Which apartment?”

“Theee one in HQ?”

“What room number?”

Stitches smile twitched, this woman was either unbelievably dense or dangerously persistent, “Floor tw-”

Angels smile disappeared and her eyes hardened as they glared down upon him. Her pupils sat perched at the bottom of her eyelids like an owl waiting for its prey to twitch and reveal its position. Stitches found his eyes unable to break free of her stare; he could find nothing but cold emotionless focus on her inscrutable face.

He felt a cold shiver run down his neck.

His thoughts raced, Could she read my mind? No way… But she can tell I just lied cant she? No no there’s no way for her to do that! But she’s staring at me so intensely. Can she sense something on me that I can’t hide? Did she hear a difference in my heart rate?

He stuttered, “3 I mean.”

Angels face softened to Stitches relief.

“Room 6”

“Great, I’ll visit sometime,” she grinned.

“mmmhm,” Stitches waved and passed her, “Gotta go…”

“Goodbye,” Angel waved happily.

 

Stitches climbed down the latter and allowed his body to relax a little. He held back his breath however as he was unsure if she could hear him from the 2nd floor. His heart raced as he stepped down the wooden ramp and he finally let out a sigh of relief and began to catch his breath, “What in the hell…” he made a note in his head not to underestimate her again.

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