Luned and the Argonauts: Quest of the Golden Fleece

[Luned]

Out of Character

It was a very long ride to Green Hill from Boston, especially with six adults and all of their belongings and a week's worth of groceries cramped into the Argo, Luned's old jeep. One lucky contestant got shotgun, most likely gangly Sam since he wouldn't fit very well elsewhere, while three squished together in the back. One self-sacrificing volunteer would get the spectacularly uncomfortable fold-down seat in the trunk, a luxurious option complete with the opportunity to be buried alive under everyone else's stuff.

The first couple hours were filled with singalongs and roadkill bingo, but around the halfway mark it always goes downhill, so Luned had strategically planned a pitstop for lunch. Since then they'd made a second stop at the grocery store, and now there was one more place to hit up before they reached the cabin: Milton's.

Ah, Milton's. It looked like a gas station, except there hadn't been gas in those vintage pumps for at least a couple decades. It was obviously a Sunoco once upon a time, the now-faded sign secured over the old one with the help of two-by-fours, and the rust-red paint on the exterior was so far gone that the building was more of a poxed, weathered gray. The convenience store (which really supplied very little that was actually convenient) was more of a hobby than a business, a purely seasonal operation with hours strictly scheduled around how late the owner felt like getting up in the morning and how early he got bored and inevitably closed down to trek to the campground down the road to pet the rabbits and share a stiff drink with other small businessmen.

The only beautiful thing about Milton's was the art on the walls. He was an artist –– or rather the artist, locally speaking –– and his work decorated the interior of the building. The paintings were beautiful in a surprising sort of way, like the insightful landscapes tourists liked to buy from the state prison shop. Who'd have thought such refined depictions of sparkling waterfalls and majestic mountains could come from hands that stole and slaughtered? Not that Milton necessarily did that, but he did have a bit of a Deliverance vibe to him.

Fortunately for the Argonauts old Milton was still around when they rolled up, though from the scent of his half-belched welcome, he'd already started in on the coffee brandy. "Well, if it i'n't lil' Luned, visitin' from the big city. And look, she brought half of it with'er."

"I'm impressed you recognize me, Milton. What's it been, five, six years?"

"They all run togethah, once yah hit a certain age."

"Looks like you haven't done much with the store," Luned commented as she wandered up and down the couple small aisles, hands outstretched to run along the shelves. It was a pretty weak assortment of things Milton probably found compelling, but might not satiate the needs of the Argo's crew: vienna sausages along with several other varieties of canned delicacies, gum and candy with outdated wrappers, stale Wonderbread. Her fingers were coated with dust and she wiped them off on her floral skirt before grabbing a couple bottles of Moxie. The stuff was terrible, but she was going to make her friends drink it anyways. It was a requirement of the Maine experience. "Did you move the ice?"

"Out back. How much?"

"Eight."

He punched some numbers on the cash register, but they seemed arbitrary to what he said. "That'll be fi'teen dollahs, miss." Luned forked over some cash (hopefully none of her friends would make the mistake of trying to pay with plastic out here), and Milton forked back her change. "Thanks for the business."

(Don't feel obliged to post if you don't have anything, this is just to set the scene!
I'll get the next post up in a day or two, depending on how people respond to this.)

[Lemonadeparade]

Rowan followed suit, seeing the dusty shelves which beheld an array of what would only be useful about three or four months ago, when they weren't stale or meant for those who had everything. She searched around for the adult section of the store, maybe he had cigarettes if she was lucky. The price of cigarettes in the city were so high she could barely make herself fork over a handful of dollar bills and quarters, but the nicotine was oh so persuasive.

She looked over at Luned, and the rest of the gang, she smiled hopefully "Mmm, yummy dried..buffalo." she gagged a bit, sounding out the last word. Rowan was a mutt from her parents input, half irish and one forth native american, and the rest was Polish. She had eaten buffalo at one of the powwows her mother urged her to attend. Never again; Rowan swore to herself.
"Well, should we get this show on the road?" Rowan frowned, seeing the lack of cigarettes, even the assortment of alcohol was disappointing with nothing but whiskey and light beer. Yuck she sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear nonchalantly.

The group had been together for quite a while, from what they could tell it made more sense that they hung out rather than not. From the drunken card games to the friendly feuds over the superior 90's cartoons they had all feasted their juvenile minds on growing up. They fit together like the worst table in the lunch room, and she loved it all. The sound of her i-pod blared out the sound of the radio spouting out baseball in the background, it was nostalgia in the simplest form. As she turned, a package of fluffy pink cotton candy caught her eye in surprise. Cotton candy and Rowan went way back, back to her childhood spent running around the candy store down the street from her home. She remembered her tiny fingers tugging at the sugary clouds and stuffing them into her mouth, which lacked her two front teeth at the time.

She slapped it onto the counter next to Luned and grinned a begging smile "Would you eat it if I bought it?" something most women asked their friends, not wanting to feel fat which was silly, Rowan could never be fat if she tried. "Say yes." she pleaded, giggling a bit. Her tattooed hand reached into her small bag and reached out a pile of quarter and a set of two ones. This was traditional for her, nothing but jingly change and a few single bills accompanied by maybe a twenty, maybe. That was the life of a college student, and she had grown accustomed to it by now, and rarely even noticed the lack of money or even much ambition to get out of bed some mornings. The register clinked and the change was plopped into the drawer, she beheld her glorious cotton candy with victory. "mmm."

(Sorry for the short post, I am writing a paper on the Odyssey u.u)

[Faeryx]

Maxwell was the next inside, following Rowan in after stretching his cramped legs. Much like the others he simply ambled around the store, not doing much of anything. Max was always thinking, and now was no different, this time he was thinking about what Rowan might be doing. There obviously wasn't much in this store, and lacking cigarettes it may prove problematic for a long trip. Not being one to complain, or an enabler, he didn't really want to look for her, if they were here she would find them, if not she would be a little grumpy. Oh well.

Instead he began inspecting the art that hung on the walls around the shop. Rubbing his slightly bearded chin slightly as he observed each mark and stroke in each. Despite being horrifyingly bad at any and all forms of art, Max certainly had an appreciation for it. Which is one of the many reason he had become such good friends with Luned in such a short time. He was much more interested in the older looking pieces, he was pretty much interested in anything older. Many people found it strange, he shaved with old brush and powder soap and a straight razor. His coat was a long, dark grey double-breasted great coat and on occasion he smoked a pipe, both of which were packed tightly in his suitcase with his pocket watch, another accessory attributed to his love of antiquities, and his knife, a World War II K-Bar his grandfather had left to him.

As Max poked about the store for things of interest, or food that wasn't expired he found the cooler that was semi-freshly stocked and out of the corner of his eye found the bright orange label of a bottle. In an almost euphoric sense of elation Maxwell realized what exactly it was. Moxie! A childhood favourite or his. It had been quite a while since Max was able to enjoy it so he bought four bottles, hoping that he might be able to convince Rowan to try some. With that thought he distracted himself from the bottles in his hand and dropped them all.

Collecting them all again, firmly in his arms this time, he looked for Rowan, wondering if she had found cigarettes. To his surprise she was at the counter, not with cigarettes, but cotton candy from the looks. Luned also buying some Moxie, he adjusted his glasses and brushed his hand through his hair. At least he wasn't the only devotee to the delicious liquid amongst them.

He also took note of the liqueur in the freezer, despite not being a particular fan of light beer, or drinking in general really, Maxwell did like whiskey, and most of the bottles here were pretty old, making them all the better. So he decided he would get a bottle of that as well. Rather than attempt carrying all five bottles in his arms though, he got one of the small plastic baskets near the door, all of which looked like they hadn't left their metal rack for at least a year or so. Max walked over to the counter and placed his Moxie and whiskey down. He snatched up Rowan's money before the old proprietor of the store could and put down his own. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders Max pulled up against him and kissed on the side of forehead. Being the true sap that he is Maxwell then proceeded to tell Rowan "I bet you're a heck of a lot sweeter than that cotton candy."

[Melodym]

It wasn't surprising that Olive got the bucket seat. Oh how she was achin'. With every bump in the road she thought a limb just might fall off, but luckily she wasn't one to complain. Well maybe a little bit. When they pulled up in front of the small convenience store, Olive climbed out and promptly began to rub her tooshie with no shame.

"Aye," She hissed while patting the soreness out of her ample bottom then pressing the sole of her shoe against the wall and leaning into it to stretch each of her legs as well. "I swear, my future gran babies'll be feelin' this."

She laughed deeply once her muscles had stopped complaining, then with a skip, she followed the others inside.

"Wow, Reckon they gots everythin' a folk could need in 'ere." She whistled, strolling down the aisles and stopping in front of the old candy bars, their wrappers faded and yellowing. Olive grabbed two fistfuls and carried them up to the counter.

She looked over at the girl with the tattoos as her boyfriend paid for her candy, and she asked Luned to help her with it. Why did she need help? It was so small. Olive was under the impression that you never need help eating candy. Vegetables maybe, but not candy!

"I ain't needin' no help with mine, thank ya very much." Olive snickered to herself, passing the candybars along the counter then dumping her coin purse out and began to count enough pennies to pay for her items. Though, she wasn't very good at counting past a certain number, so she just gave the man all of them and hoped it balanced out okay. Once her purchase was finished, she began placing the candy bars wherever she could fit them. A couple in her dress pockets, one folded in half and placed in her now empty coin purse, another tucked between her large hips and her belt, and the last crammed somewhere down her bra. That one was an emergency candy bar. She could see it now. They'll all be out on a hike and suddenly, a horde of squirrels will steal everyone's food. 'Golly, we ain't got no food' they'll say, then BAM, Olive would pull the melted candy bar from her bra and save them all. Well, it could happen, right?

"I is believin' I gots all I could ever need." She nodded while waiting by the door for the rest. "Luned, ya town is even smaller than mine back in Georgia. Ya only gots one store? We had two, one for food, and another is for the police station station and post office combined, oh and a trailer for birthin' babes and gettin' ya shots."

Apparently Olive thought this was the whole town.

"We is goin' ta ya cabin next? I ain't ever been in a cabin before. We ain't got those in Georgia. We gots shanty houses, but nothin' so fancy as made out of real logs. Betcha it costs a whole ten dollars per log, or somethin' outrageous like that. Golly, can ya even imagine? If I had that kind of money, I'd buy more candybars." Olive obviously didn't mind her slightly chubby appearance, and would eat candy for every meal if possible. Her thighs were a force to be reckoned with, and they had won her a lot of wrasslin' fights back home, so she was quite proud of them. "I is ready when ya'll are."

[Luned]

Luned glanced down at the cotton candy when Rowan asked if she'd eat it and shrugged, then smiled. "Do you think it's good on s'mores?" She'd made sure they had an unnecessarily bountiful supply of marshmallows, but she wasn't beyond trying something new. Come to think of it, she hadn't had spun sugar since her senior year of high school at the Fryeburg Fair. She and Jonas had shared some before… hmm. Luned silently wondered if he was still around; she hadn't seen him since, though her cousin Dickon filled her in on his unremarkable life from time to time. Maxwell interrupted this trail of thought, offering a compliment to Rowan that was sweeter than the treat in question, and it made Luned's teeth hurt. She wrinkled her nose to tease them and walked outside with Olive, whose clothing was freshly stuffed with chocolate. Milton seemed to have enjoyed watching that spectacle as he rung up Rowan's and Maxwell's purchases distractedly, even forgiving the southern not-quite-belle for that mess of pennies. Dirty old man.

Luned strolled around the circumference of the building as she looked for the ice box, listening to Olive's chatter all the while. "Well, this is just the closest convenience store. There's a campground down the road that'a way, and a little past that there's a small downtown. Other than that it's pretty much just trees, though." The old gas station had a small one car garage that was kept closed up, but the rear entrance door was ajar, revealing that it was now kept as Milton's painting studio. It was a complete mess, full of half-finished discarded canvases and trash, and stuff covering every inch of the walls. Luned paused a moment to peek in, curious, but hesitated when her eyes met part of the wallpaper collage. Olive wouldn't be able to read it, but apparently Milton had kept clippings of the couple shows Luned had gotten into down in Boston and felt they were special enough to be pinned up. She barely knew the man; what had she done to earn the honor of decorating his home?

More than a little creeped out, Luned led Olive to the freezer that was a little further around the building and loaded her up with half the bags of ice. She decided to shrug it off; the fact she'd made it out of town, and even more miraculously out of the state, was a big enough deal to the locals, big enough that Dickon told her she'd achieved minor celebrity status. The campground even subscribed to the Boston Globe after a group show she participated in was given coverage in it and posted pixelated print-outs of her work from Facebook on their little bulletin board, alongside the weekly bingo schedule. So it wasn't that strange, right?

At this point Luned realized Olive was still talking to her. "Yeah, cabin next. Probably not much better than a shanty house, but it's pretty nice if you remember that you're going for the stuff outside, not inside. Dickon said he'd get everything set up for us and that he'd even put the boat in the water. You remember Dickon, right?" He'd begrudgingly accepted her invitation to visit in Boston a couple months earlier, and was more excited to leave the city when the trip was over than was polite. He was the kind of person who was happy staying forever in a place like this, a concept Luned simply couldn't grasp after being away so long.

Once everyone was finished with their purchases and the ice was loaded into the back, they'd be off on the last leg of their journey. Milton's sat at a fork in the road where one could choose to continue along the pavement down toward the campground or veer off onto the dirt path to the pond; the Argonauts chose the latter, and Olive's suffering most likely increased exponentially with every incessant bump. The few residential homes studding the road quickly thinned out and disappeared into thick forest, the path narrowing uncomfortably close on both sides. There were critters everywhere, from woodpeckers to squirrels to–– "Oh look everyone, is that a deer?" Luned piped up, rolling down the windows so they could take pictures if they wanted.

There was some rustling in the brush just a few feet into the woods off the passenger's side, but what stepped out was not a deer. It was, in fact, a bedraggled old woman. She was probably tall at one point but now her back arched into a painful-looking hump under her colorful scarf, but with the vigor she raised her first into the air, she was apparently still quite strong. Her tanned, weathered face was knotted into a scowl. "Watch where you're going, you could've killed me!"

Luned immediately covered her mouth in surprise. "Mrs. Flint! What are you doing all the way out here?"

Mrs. Flint reached into her large bag and pulled out a pair of glasses, which she donned and squinted through. "Luned? Little Luned?" She seemed to forgive the girl for her disrespectful driving as she strolled right up to the front passenger door and opened it, glaring at Sam. "Scoot in for an old woman, won't you?" The center of the front seat wasn't really meant for a passenger, but they'd have to make due as Mrs. Flint crammed herself in and slammed the door shut. "You're goin' my way. I'll let you know when to let me off." Luned had no choice but to respect her elders and obey, so their trek through the woods resumed.

In close quarters it quickly became apparent that the old woman was not only of spectacularly crotchety humor and poor manners, but she was filthy. It wasn't long before that rancid garbage smell old boots get sometimes filled the jeep, and the rest of the windows that were rolled up before to keep dust from the road out were opened with enthusiasm and some desperate gasps for fresh air, at least in Luned's case. But Mrs. Flint didn't seem to notice, using Sam's shoulder to brace herself as she twisted in her seat like a barn owl and set her amber eyes upon the crew in the back seat. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you brought half of Massachusetts with you," she commented, catching sight of the tattoos on Rowan's hands before offering the girl a smart little scowl. "Hooligans! Why didn't you just keep to the kids from home? Jonas and Dicky grew up into such fine, upstanding young men."

[Row]

Nate was all too familiar with cramped spaces, except instead of being surrounded by low carbon steel he'd been encased in brick and the window pane was replaced by a barred door. All in all, being in a packed vehicle was more comfortable than being locked in a six by eight foot jail cell. Nate exited Luned's jeep to stretch his legs once they stopped outside a convenience store. He watched the rest of the group head into Milton's, but he decided against entering the dilapidated mini-mart and opted to remain outdoors.

Once adequately stretched, he began to circle the building while waiting for the others to finish their business indoors. Speaking of business, Nate drank far too much before and during the long trek to Maine, and the bumpy terrain did nothing but aggrevate his bladder. He thought to retrace his steps and enter Milton's in hopes of finding a bathroom, but judging from the disrepair to the outside of the building, the inside was probably in not-so-good condition either. He was in the great outdoors and practically in the middle of nowhere. If he was going to do it, then he was going to have to do it now. Nate spotted a cluster of oak trees and headed in that direction. His eyes darted from side to side before comfortably watering the Maine foilage. A solid stream of liquid continued to flow until Nate's ear's alerted him to the sound of footsteps. His hand quickly reached for the zipper of his denim jeans, sealing it shut. Once he emerged from the wooded area, he felt relief to see it was only Luned and Olive stocking up on bags of ice for the remainder of the trip. Approaching the two, Nate stated, "Here, let me help you." as he slung a couple bags over his shoulder, heading for the jeep.

Nate sat flush against the left side of the vehicle, behind the driver's seat. He stared blankely outside the window, his chin propped up by his left hand, watching the blur of trees pass in a flash. He was happy he'd taken that quick bathroom break because the dirt path leading to the pond was a lot rougher than anything they'd encountered before. However, nothing was rougher looking than Mrs. Flint. As the group stopped at the side of the road to admire a deer, their attention was quickly redirected to a raggedy old woman forcing her way into the front passenger's seat of Luned's jeep. She appeared to be a tenacious old woman who was familiar with his friend, Luned. Nate tried his best to hide the repulsion on his face as the smell from the old woman's boots wafted toward the backseat and settled there. Deep breaths were now being taken through the mouth rather than the nose. Proper air circulation was of the upmost importance. Nate was quick to roll down his passenger window, but it wasn't necessary as Luned had already taken the inititive. Surprise was not the reaction Nate expressed after receiving Mrs. Flint's comment. "Hooligan" wasn't such a bad term when compared to the other things people had referred to him as in the past. Plus, at one point, he really was a hooligan, so she wasn't really far off with her judgements. Still, as far as anyone knew, including Luned, Nate was just a carpenter. His troubled past was a secret to everyone but himself, and that was the way he'd like to keep things.

[Lemonadeparade]

Rowan felt a warm arm wrap around her with enthusiasm. She turned to head, beholding her better half with nothing but pure amazement. She adored Maxwell and all that he was with sort of a high school love, that immeasurable gushing over everything being perfect. She had never had that in a relationship before, and if you had asked her if she believed in love before him she would have ranted off a long speech about how love is just made up my card companies and hopeless saps.
“Psh, I beg to differ.” She grinned, nuzzling her face against his neck. She was much shorter than him which wasn’t much of a bother to her, in fact she preferred it.
The dusty air in the store began to scratch at her throat, the inside of her mouth tasted like old boxes and antiques.

“God, how old is this place?” she laughed, coughing after a fan knocked a wave of dust and dirt their way.
She had her hand gently brushing against Maxwell’s arm, before following back to the car.
The ride was long for Rowan with only half a pack of cigarettes to spare for the entirety of the trip, she grumbled as her eyes felt heavy. The car was stuffy and almost suffocating, casting her into a daze of sleep. The surroundings had enveloped them with greenery and countryside almost abruptly, catching her off guard.

“What?” she opened one eye, feeling the car jerk to a stop. Luned encouraged them to step out and enjoy the scenery, which didn’t sound the least bit pleasant to the weary girl.

“I’m awake.” She groaned as she stretched her fingers.
She splayed herself out for a minute, feeling her tendons stretch and pull. The sleep she had during the ride hadn’t been what she would call peaceful by any means.
Rowan rubbed at her eyes, the bright sun reflected off every leaf and petal, the colors shocked her eyes.

“Mmm fresh air sure beats the city.” She grinned, walking towards the group of friends still packed in the car. She leaned against the car window, and stuck a smoke between her pursed lips, the flame soon searing the end of the cigarette. A puff of Parliament clouds loomed around her, she let swirls cascade from her nose with satisfaction. A small pair of birds fluttered around, squawking loudly. Rowan pulled the cigarette from her mouth, letting it fly out of her lips.
“I needed this, really. “ she announced, nodding her head once with approval. Originally Rowan had regretted piling herself into the cramped car, not seeming to feel the same joy as she used to. Now, she was happy to see something besides fat middle aged women carting their bratty little kids to suburban townhouses. Finally she let the spent smoke drop to the highway, squishing it before retreating to the car. Her sore body resumed the twisting position it had been in before, she settled herself against Maxwell cozily. Her eyes fluttered, the haziness still dawning on her as the sun moved in the sky. She wasn’t sure how long it had been, but it seemed like they had been driving for hours.
Soon an older woman appeared, and before they knew it she was placed in the car as well. She straightened up seeing this newcomer, Mrs. Flint. Mrs. Flint was a woman who at one point could had been the tan, blonde beauty queen of that tiny town she hailed from, but now she was a leathery aged woman who scolded youth.
Rowan could feel her glare, her tattoo regrettably in sight of the old woman. The mocking words spilled out of her mouth, and flew directly at poor Rowan.

“E..excuse me?” she piped up, not respecting any individual who didn’t reciprocate the same feelings. Her hands flew to her hips, her mouth forming a grimace. The look of the woman combined with the stress of the car ride had pushed her to her limit, too far to hold back any arguments.
Rowan ignored the looks they shot her, she even ignored the uneasy cough Luned leant. She stayed firm, with the utter look of unbelievable shock and disdain. Not only was she close to chewing out an old woman, she was about to chew out an old woman who called her a hooligan in front of all of her close friends. After Maxwell gave her a bit of a warning with a touch to her arm, she sighed and rolled her eyes relentlessly.

“Whatever.” She growled, shooting her eyes to the window bitterly.
She plucked her headphone and crammed it into one ear, wanting to at least block out some of the conversation coming from Mrs. Flint’s end. So closed minded and rude.

[Faeryx]

"Whether you like it or not I couldn't ask for anything sweeter, I love you sweet stuff." As Rowan turned around Max squeezed her a little tighter, resting his nose on the top of her head while she nuzzled his neck. Oddly enough the cigarette smoke and shampoo scent wasn't exactly unpleasant. It was something of an acquired taste, but one that had become a normal part of his life, so much so that it was a small comfort on such a stressful day.

Of all the rough times Maxwell had ever been through, explaining something to his parents was the worst. He had spent the better part of his morning trying to tell his Mom that he wasn't coming home this vacation because he was going to be with friends. An idea she was evidently incapable of understanding.

Max put his finger under Rowan's chin and lifted her head up just enough to kiss her lightly. Moments like this one were what Maxwell lived for now, ever since college, but mostly since he met her. His life had completely changed so much since his high school years of social seclusion. He was almost giddy, every time he thought about it. "Evidently pretty old," Maxwell said with a slight chuckle.

He took her hand as she walked toward the car and let her lead him back, rubbing his chin with his other hand. Being back in the vehicle wasn't bad at first, having stretched a bit. All too soon though his legs cramped up again and he was just as uncomfortable as before. Max felt worse for Rowan than himself, she hadn't had a cigarette in a while. Rather than say something though, he just wrapped his arm around her shoulders again and pulled her tight next to him. Looking over at her, she didn't look frustrated, or like she was craving a cigarette. Instead she looked tired, the cute, baby that played to hard tired. So he let her rest her head on his shoulder.

Eventually the jeep pulled to an abrupt stop, which caught him rather off guard, as he had been dozing off himself. He got out of the Jeep and helped the sleepy Rowan out too. He wandered around a bit taking in the scenery and stretching his legs. "Yeah it sure does," he said in response to Rowan's comment. Then he walked around behind the jeep and opened the hatch, rummaging around for his two small suitcases. Finding it he pulled it out gently as not to make everything fall out. He popped it open and removed his pipe and a small leather pouch full of tobacco. He loaded the pipe and lit it with a match from his pocket. Max puffed gently, savoring the taste and smell of the tobacco, while he put away his suit case. "You and me both," he said through partially closed lips. Hopefully Luned wouldn't mind him smoking in the Argo. As everyone piled back in, so did he, this time sitting at a slight angle and propping Rowan's legs up on his own slightly so that he could. She snuggled up against him as soon as they were settled and he began rubbing his fingers over her hair gently, still puffing on his pipe with a window slightly open to pull the smoke out as the Jeep rolled along.

After what seemed like hours of dozing in out of a light sleep the Jeep jerked to a stop again, before Max could lodge a protest to the abrupt stop Luned started talking to someone outside the Jeep whom he couldn't see. After a few minutes of conversation the passenger door opened and ancient looking woman climbed into the Jeep. The old lady, Mrs. Flint, as Max soon found out, looked back at them and called them hooligans. Maxwell simply smirked and ignored her until she made a comment about Rowan's tattoos. As soon as the words came out of Mrs. Flint mouth Max knew what was going to happen and took his pipe out of his mouth in preparation of the coming tirade. Noting that Rowan ignored the stares from the others in the Jeep and even Luned's cough, he touched her arm slightly. Much to his surprise she simply huffed out a whatever and sat back. Clearly upset he just put his almost burnt out pipe back in his mouth and looked out the window, knowing that it was almost useless to try and talk to her now.

[Luned]

"That's not very nice, Mrs. Flint," Luned commented on the old woman's judgment. "They're all good people. Rowan's in law school. That's pretty impressive, right?"

Mrs. Flint didn't seem appeased by this, Rowan's eagerness to argue not particularly helping, but turned back 'round front anyhow. "You need to visit us at the campground." There was the nagging accusation in her voice of a neglected great-grandmother.

"We will tomorrow," Luned replied before catching sight of Maxwell's pipe in her rear view mirror; she hadn't noticed it with the windows down. "Sorry to be a downer, but Nate's got a touch of asthma––" that was a lie, he was sickly as the bubble boy, just in a more intimidating body–– "Could you please wait until we get to the cabin?" She then checked Nate in her mirror, about to ask how he was doing before the old lady cut her off with an abrupt order.

"Stop!" Luned slammed on the breaks at the whim of Mrs. Flint, jostling everyone in the vehicle. "Back up! A little further… yes, here will be fine." The crotchety crone opened the door, stumbling out onto the gravel in a place that didn't look particularly different from whence they found her. There were no roads or driveways as one might expect for a drop-off spot. "Thank you, dearie. As for the rest of you…" She looked carefully over each of the faces through the rolled down windows, then made direct (and rather uncomfortably intense) eye contact with Maxwell. "Beware the Minotaur," she spouted rabidly, moving that aggressive gaze to Olive in the back. "And be kind to the Mother."

Mrs. Flint didn't wait for a response. She staggered off into the woods again with her uneven gait and it appeared there was the remnant of an overgrown path underfoot, forgotten for generations except to those who old enough to remember, like her.

"Sorry about that, guys," Luned sighed, putting the jeep back into drive. "She's a bit… different than I remember." What she did remember was a kindly elder who always had a spare Rolo in her pocket. Apparently Mrs. Flint was quickly making her way off the deep end.

[Row]

While Luned tried to pacify Mrs. Flint, Nate was secretly dealing with his own problem. Well, maybe not so secretly, seeing as Luned then turned her attention toward Nate and commented on how he has a "touch" of asthma. Nate was a pretty chill and relaxed guy. He hated being told how to act himself, so when he was thrown into the jeep with five other people, he told himself he'd try to be accepting of this cocktail of personalities.

The ride from Boson, up into Maine, was a long ride indeed. He'd been made aware that a couple would be coming along on this trip. That was fine by him. Sure, Nate was a single man in his mid twenties, but there were three other singles coming along for the ride as well. So, Nate felt pretty confident he wouldn't be made the thrid wheel at the cabin. However, all this touchy-feely action going on in the jeep, in close proximity to himself seeing as he was seated beside Maxwell, made him feel a little bit queasy - in a sickeningly-sweet kind of way. No big deal! Nate had decided to place his focus somewhere else, such as on the endless line of trees decorating either side of the dirt path. This worked for a while, until Maxwell broke out his tabacco pipe.

Nate was asthmatic . He was diagnosed later in life, in his early twenties. His lungs started acting up as soon as he'd began his carpentry job. At first he thought it was a touch of bronchitis. It was around that time of year when people were getting sick, and he thought he might have just caught the bug as well. However, he seemed to have had bronchitis quite frequently... only a few months apart. He was having difficulty breathing, especially when he was lying down, and he would occasionally cough up phlegm. Life started to become unbearable, after seeking medical care, he was officially diagnosed with allergic asthma. Allergic asthma can be triggered by such things as animal dander, animal hair, pollen, dust, mold, certain foods, and even smoke. Cigarette smoke, or to be more specific to the current situation, tobacco pipe smoke.

Nate could feel his lungs tightening up, and a small weezing noise began to escape him. He knew it was coming on, and coming on quickly. At times like these, it was important to remain calm. Nate began to take slow and controlled deep breaths, as he turned around in his seat to face the trunk. He bent over carefully, trying to avoid hitting Olive in the process, and grabbed for his backpack. He reached into the side pocket and felt around a moment before pulling out his emergency quick-acting inhaler. He took in one deep breath and then let all the air escape his lungs as he vigarously shook the inhaler. He then titled his chin upward and pressed the capsule at the top, letting the albuterol sulfate do its job before he repeated the step again. Okay... everything was going to be alright!

"Did I mention I'm allergic to tobacco smoke?" Nate commented to the two smokers, Maxwell and Rowan. He chuckled, a cough escaping every now and again.