smoked out in my garden / OPEN, WATERING PLANTS

[impiety]

[div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"][tw for underage cigarette smoking]

He looked like the most angry ten-year-old to walk earth, his brand new tennis shoes leaving deep stomps in the snow with his face shifted in a pout. It took a lot of convincing for Greer to make him go out of his room for the first time since he returned, and if he had to do what he was told, he was doing it his way. That meant, that as he lugged a large watering can with one hand, he had a cigarette bitten between his teeth, freshly lit as he ignored the smoke making his eyes water. He had clearly become rough from his disappearance, or at least, straying from the typical things people saw in children. Innocence was absent from the mutant baseball bat in his other hand, blood still dried onto it's clear colors due to it's lack of cleaning since he left The Badlands.

He began watering nonetheless, his bear cub following behind him as he continued to puff it out, and a cough escaping the tiny child as he had to grab hold to the cigarette with the hand watering. The plants were... Boring. Greer had told him if it's too hard, I'll get you a different one. He wasn't... Weak. Did they expect him to be petite and gentle after a lifetime of fighting for his life? Gilbert was far from scared of watering flowers and plants and worm shit. Eyes squinting in determination, he impatiently dumped the water over the plants. He didn't look like he was well-suited for the job, or, really... Anything. His hand was still in horrible pain, and it cramped with each tip of the gardening equipment to watch water fall out.

But admittedly, seeing the steady flow into the dirt was refreshing and relaxing. He would've felt calmed by the smell of dirt was it not overshadowed by the foul smell of smoke, yet he continues on anyway watching as the green plants, blooming the more spring approached, continued to slightly bend under the pressure of the water, yet not unreasonably so to the point of breaking. His bear began to pounce on the plants, and as he opened his mouth to politely tell Tango to stop, it was interrupted by a cough as he decided to resort to gesturing the bear back, ignoring the bites onto his uninjured hand he received in result.
[align=center]"Greer"            "Gilbert"

TAGS

[torquemada]

[align=center][div style="width: 460px; text-align:justify; font-family:arial; font-size:9pt"]Ottawa would have just passed Gilbert by, honestly, if it weren't for the cigarette hanging from Gilbert's mouth. It's hard for him to stifle the panic that suddenly swells in the pit of his stomach, and immediately his hands fly to his pocket to dig around, fearing he'd left one of his cigarettes or his lighter somewhere where the kid could have easily gotten it. His fingers close over a collection of loose cigarettes and confirm that no, he did not. Well, good, he didn't want to be held accountable for some kid fucking up his lungs at age....eight, and he didn't want to be deemed too much of a hypocrite. "Hey," he says gruffly, in the tone of voice he'd use when reprimanding his own little brother. "The hell d'you get that?" He's tempted to commandeer whatever other cigarettes Gilbert may have on him, but he doesn't know what kind of authority he has here, other than being three times his age.

The scent of cigarettes clings to his own clothes, and his own voice has been heavily roughened by smoking—he'd actually only been out just to smoke, which was proving to be a little difficult with his out-of-practice left hand. If Gilbert really wants to have black lungs by the time he's twenty, then that's his problem. Ottawa isn't going to push the matter too far, but it disgruntles him in some odd way, and he can't tell if it's because he's going to run out soon or if he's actually perturbed by a child shoving a cigarette into his mouth like candy. He has barely any clue who Gilbert is, however, so his unimpressed expression may not do much to discourage him, but it's worth a shot. "Gonna fuck up your lungs," he warns quietly, and that's all he has to say about it.

"D'you want help?" Ottawa asks, turning his eyes towards the plants Gilbert is haphazardly watering. He stares at the boy's hand, and then glances back to his own, finding the similarity uncannily funny. "I'm no expert, but uh, 'm pretty sure you ain't supposed to be drownin' 'em like that." He nearly cuts himself short at the sight of the bear accompanying him, and raises his good hand to rub at his eyes, convinced he's seeing things. He's not. Ottawa has so many questions, but he's already spoken enough, and the amount of shit coming from his mouth is beginning to make him uncomfortable. He wonders how the hell he managed to miss a bear cub. He'd most likely immediately passed it off as some peripheral hallucination or just a figment of his imagination, no more than a tree stump or a strange-looking bush, but that's a real life bear. If he wasn't so apprehensive, he would have offered his hand to the animal, like it was a dog or something, and asked to pet it. Do bears behave like dogs? Maybe this one will, if it's been living around the lodge like this for long enough.

[merged stuff]

TRRRACK SOBS