Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was awesome that Olga was going to be able to use Nugget for ride. A familiar ride was always prefereable. For so long a trail ride, which might include galloping or jumping at points if they felt rowdy, it seemed wiser to ask to bring Krem. The owner was gone on a summer vacation to St. Lucia for a month, and had no objections. To prepare a bit, Morgan had spent the whole month prior getting the big guy accustomed to hobbles and ground stakes. And tents. No telling what could spook a horse, but the last thing either of them needed was to be two days out with no cell phone signal, and no crystal signal if those things got signal that far out, was for their horses to get spooked and book it. Then they'd be stuck real good. Being confident that at least one of the horses would be available in an emergency was paramount.

Krem's saddle bags were prepared with a few days worth of his grain and water. Morgan had a large camping backpack with a small tent, sleeping bag, clothes, food and needful supplies like a pan, foil, matches, starter sticks, first aid kit, map, compass, lantern as according with an UltraLight Backpacking Camping checklist.

"Do you ...uh, do you have a camera? Other than phone, anyway. I picked up one of those solar charges for cell phones, but I've never tried it out. A plain camera will probably work best for once we're at Matildaville, or if we see anything really awesome on the way. Did you read up on it at all? Or have you heard about the place? "

"Did you bring a tent? Mine's twofer, if not. "

On the short way to the mounting block, Morgan danced while looking back over shoulder at Olga, "Shake it like a Polaroid picture? Shake, shake it, shake, shake it."

Krem made long suffering looks at the grass, and stood ground until rider was saddled properly. "I checked on the liner notes for how to navigate there from the hike path, which is no thing at all. We shouldn't have any troubles about getting lost. "

Excellent. if she talks in her sleep, she'll be close enough to monitor. Morgan shot over a grin and a wink, while urging to a walk and towards the trails. "Easier to keep you up all night."

"So why a polaroid? Definitely old school, but pretty cool. I seen 'em a lot at Urban Outfitters and a lot of hipster stuff with vinyl. "

"What about the flannels? The 90s is coming around again for the grunge, only minus the wide-legged JNCOs? Not at Uo, though...They're back at Raves as 'phat jeans'. Maybe Olga's a raver spy infiltrating the hipster scene for investigative journalism? Not having to wait is SUPER. Who's got time for getting stuff developed even at the hour shindigs? " Morgan gave a finger wiggle to emphasis the spookiness of the conspiracy theory. "But really, you're fan has a Thirfty? Is it in Destiny City?"

And giving a moment for that to sink in, "Would you take me sometime? Thift's are where it's at for picking up clothes that can be both trendy but also can be sacrificed in the name of practicing stunts. I trash so many shirts. Which is fine, but it means when I can hire a photographer to take some stills and make a reel that I can't use those clothes. And ya gotta have looks. Like ...businessman...soldier...period costume, whatever. "

"Which is...more or less what I been up to. Face planting into things. Shin kicking. Falling off handrails. Haven't broken any teeth yet, practicing, but it's a matter of time. Or my nose- " with some miles along in their day, Morgan chatted about Free-running and how it combined gymnastics and aerobatics, and many more questions about Olga's sojourns into photography. And what she'd like to get pictures of while they were out. And if she wanted to try out some free running herself in the ruins they were traveling to. Or get pictures of Nug.

There were plenty of water stops for the horses on the way, and therefore plenty of opportunities to chase Olga around for a water fight. By way of sneaking up behind her when she was refilling and squeezing a sports sippy over the back of her neck.

Morgan cackled gleefully, tossing sports bottle into the air like baton to spin and catch the light before focusing and snatching it with both hands. And use it to gesture-emphasize, “Pretty much. There’s some trees in the way, but I think thaaaat’s ...that ivy-grown area. A wall. I think that’s the canal signal house that’s been converted, well, cleaned and slightly renovated to be stable architecture for the G&P since it had a bathroom and running water. Just a puff to get there now, and that’ll be a good place so that we’re not risking sumac in sensitive places. We’ll get to use actual toilet paper. And be able to brush our teeth to avoid killin’ the horses with Dragon-Breath. ”

A point with the tip of the bottle at some of the almost neon-green spring buds and leafy underbrush, all while in the middle of ground-mounting with one foot in stirrup, indicated the likely side to start scanning for good patches of clear ground. " Grass or leaves the size of two peeps and two horses. Keep your eyes peeeeeeled."

Olga asked a tricky question. Or was it unsettling? Personal history was so dim, made up of flashes of people and places unconnected as a person named Jack. Weird parents with a hodge-podge, personally modified van from the late 80s. A place that was ‘home’ states and states away in a town no longer remembered, nor address. Was there a way to spin it? Some way to make it believably connected to this life without that name, people, without those whole memories or the lessons they’d offered to that person? And there was the difference on the IDs. Nineteen to Twenty-one. “Came ….gosh...I guess it’s three years ago? College, but I can’t sit the classes, ya know? Having to be still in a seat for an hour at the shortest. Made it a semester, but kicked the habit for something more active. Leave all that to the experts, for me. You? Where did ya come from and where did ya go, Cotton-Haired O?”

“Semesters really do. You start out feeling like 16 weeks is forever away, blink and hello midterms, blink again and you’re crying at 3 AM with a final in five hours, three red bulls in and nothing open but vending machines as a source of blood sugar. And two semesters for the whole year is just a blur. “ That was how students seemed to talk about it all. Morgan’s memories drew mostly blank of whatever it was Jack had weighed in on the time spent shortly at DCU. “Wyoming’s a ways away. Waaaaaaaays away.A way.”

A playful smile over at the other that slowly, calculated to something more concerned. Something quiet. “The gangs. There’s different bits here and there. But there’s ...problems about gangs. Be careful and keep mace on you if you go to any big thing in the city, ya know? Anytime there’s a marathon, or convention or a dang knitting circle it seems. There’s always groups of people our age that get into each other’s faces. And the cops are slow about it. Even on the University Campus, okay? While I was there, I saw a whole pack of them chase two…”

The hesitancy seemed like it could help sell it. There was a reticence that came on people that encountered the strange, or violent and were unused to it, especially when they weren’t certain if talking about it would get them labelled with judgement. The Ruse couched in sincerity- closer honesty, drawing on what little flashes remained of Morgan’s old life. Cannibalize the old to secure the loyalty and esteem in the current? To earn SOMETHING for the Queen and get some Intel on those senshi that Olga knew. Olga, who’d escaped once, Jack who hadn’t. Escaped?...

“I think there were two. It happened so fast that they all ran past. On the oval toward some of the older sports buildings. But no one on campus talks about it. I don’t know what happened to those two. Or to the pack of people in crazy clothes that was following them. But it’s dangerous, so be careful? There’s apps and stuff, beSafe and safetrek and lots of others, but if you can, always tell people an ETA, so that if you go missing someone knows something’s up. Those cop shows are always on about the first 48 hours. Detroit and New Orleans might be in a competition for most murders, but I think Destiny City is King for Missing Persons. “

Ears swiveled, it seemed, on both Krem and Olga. YES. She’s listening. Questions. She wants to talk about it. I know she knows, since we had her. Had her in that Swingseat and Got her in the Saddle now. But She can’t know that I know kinda what she knows or she won’t want to tell me what she knows, if she thinks I know she knows...knowing...knows….something like that.

“Yanno, it’s hard to say- like the two running were colorful. Like ...miniskirts and bathing suits. The ones chasing weren’t all in the same look, nothing like ‘wear a red bandana’ that you get normally? But they all looked like they were trying to dress Visual Kei meets the World Wars. An' some of them have hair for miles. Not wigs, which would fall off with all that running. If you’ve ever seen a comic convention where people dress up. But just...real. Real hair like they should be tripping all over it. “

“I think they’re all dangerous. Whatever they’re wearing. They move so fast. Track and Field on Adderall fast. “ A one room, five-by-five building resolved in the under canopy of redbuds on their left. There was a ruin of shale stones, tumbled, that had been a wall leading back into the vines and trees back beyond. There was an oblong clearance where the sun dappled on long grass between the signal house and the wall, as well as railroad ties that had been upcycled into a hitching post or bike rack for those using the trail. Morgan waved the water bottle as if anointing, “Our palace of Camp doth await!”

Then softer, dismounting, “ Have...you ever seen any of them? While you’ve been here?”

“With your Polaroid? Don’t people have to hold real still for those all shutter camera supah slow? Or with another came? Or your phone? “ WIth how fast and far they all jumped and moved when in uniform, it was easy to feel and to exude wonderment at the claim. Not to mention a complete lack of real know-how on camera beyond point-and-click. “If you’re offerin’, I gotta see this. You really got some on cam of the gang peeps? The weird ones? Show me over marshmallows. We’re loosing the light since we’ve been riding all day, so we won’t get any ruins in today. We can fill the evening with your crazy camera skills. And S’MORES. ”

Horses ground tied, fed, watered, and groomed, footprint down, tent staked and pitched in case of wind, guylines for extra support (even though the weather promised nothing concerning), bedrolls and snacks arranged for a comfortable sleepover of togetherness. Morgan had five-fingered some of the fire-in-a-can single use camp stoves over the winter, and packed one of them for quick and lazy sweet-toothing. We’ll want the calories for wandering around all the stuff tomorrow.

Finding two sticks in the witching-grey of dying light was easier than trying to find a bunch and rocks for a fire, and Morgan sat with them and a pocket knife for turning the ends into mallow torture pokeys while allowing Olga a chance to fish out what dope she had hidden away. “So if you’ve got pictures, you’ve already seen them around? You’re campin’ here, so I take it the story ends with ‘and I got away without getting shot in a gang war’? ”


C'mon pics o'Moonies. Show me dem whites, and all the names your keepin' in that noggin. Fishin' for starfish, makin' a wish-fish. Cross-legged next to the tent, Morgan made sure to leave welcoming spot in the growing glow from the camp can in front of their tent.