fifteen cans of spray paint and a chemical swirl

[Laurel Booth]

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Evening had fallen and after a little poking and prodding, Laurel had set out to work at getting the fire going again. It had rained what seemed like all day long, doused their smouldering fire, and made everything damp and humid. Though his old tent had held up, it was the muggy air that made him swear and groan. But the wood for the fire had been safe and dry underneath a well placed tarp much to his luck and discovery when he had fetched a few new logs. For the past couple of days, everyone had been working on this that or the other. At least, he imagined that most of them had been even if he hadn't totally seen hide or hair of Zephyr but once or twice since. He had been occupied with trips to the city and outside of the territory to mark it (as well as venture onward).



But about the only thing he had done aside of fetching a couple of things and setting up a little tent for the time being was dig out a half decent firepit. Eventually he knew that he would make it deeper and wider, big enough to throw a spit over or make it easier for Jasper to cook something, but for now it was just right for a little gathering. So once the logs had been laid in place and lit, he settled down on the damp ground with a bottle of whiskey and simply entertained himself. What a ride it had been thus so far and with all of the faces he was bound to come across in the days to come, he only hoped that they would put together something half respectable. Just like all of the times before, only when it had been Laurel joining the groups and leaving them.



Rubbing his chin passively, a wave of nostalgia hit him awkwardly and passed on, realising briefly that he had never really done anything like that before. For too many years he had been the right hand man, the one who's laid back pace and outlook like life made him an ideal figure to admire and at the same time swear at for being too easy-going about some things. Getting a lot of this whole troupe thing had been at his leisure pace, but it had come together. Very little elbow grease involved. A log popped and he shifted uncomfortably, shaking the notion that what he was doing was a hard thing. He imagined that all of them, one way or another had lived the gypsy lifestyle once before. Easy-going and lively was their nature, wasn't it?

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