Decidedly Not Starving...Together

Chapter Four

Maxwell woke beneath the cover of the cramped tent, the space affording him all the strangeness of waking in an unfamiliar hotel room without any of the comforts. The air hung thick and damp, cool on his skin where the warm furs didn't cover him. Lifting his head as his eyes slowly adjusted to the faintest pale light streaking in from the flap held loosely in place by a drawstring. If it got much colder in the night they'd need to fix that. To one side of him he noticed Wilson identifiable only as a mass of blanket with a tuft of hair poking out from one side. The pair had drawn close enough in the night that he could feel the warmth from the other. It seemed while they slept their bodies sought comfort. Maxwell shuddered to think how cold it would be in the depths of winter.

He found himself pulled from his sleepy morning haze by a strange and unpleasant scent. It had been there from the start but only know had his senses woken enough to register it. While not overpowering, it's persistence alone drew his attention, and with a moment of disgust he realized the smell was him. The salve applied to his torso must have festered overnight. Thankfully, Wilson's words came to mind.

Slowly he began to rise, taking care not to wake the other man. He convinced himself this wasn't due to any courtesy but rather that he didn't wish to be bothered just yet. Clambering first from the blankets and then from the tent itself, he burst into the chilly morning air. The cold caused him to curl into himself for a moment before standing to full height and putting his arms in the air in a powerful stretch.

There was a small pond nearby. Maxwell had caught sight of it before his truce with Wilson. He approached the water's edge carefully, taking note of the shoreline and the water's surface. While his judgement told him it was too early for the large frogs to be awake, something he would take full advantage of, he knew it only took a moment off your guard to wind up something's meal. Satisfied that nothing would immediately try to kill him, he began to strip to the waist, hissing in the cold air when his bare flesh was exposed. The strange mash of bug organ had turned from fleshy pink to a sort of pale grey that drew the mind to rot. The edges of the bandages had begun to peel and he took no pleasure in pulling them the rest of the way free, his face wrinkled in disgust. Kneeling to the pond's edge, he dipped his hands into the water before throwing it back onto himself. His muscles tensed at the sudden burst of cold. What he wouldn't have given for a warm bath.

He scrubbed the leftover much from his body, the places still moist washing easily while dried edges cracked and chipped off, taking more effort. As more and more of his skin was revealed, he had to marvel at the results. The vivid reds and violets that blotted his entire torso had shrank and faded in the night to darker purples and greens. The skin no longer stung at a soft touch and his movements didn't feel so cripplingly painful. Wilson had been right.

Maxwell moved to redress, picking up his white button up before realizing that it was no longer very white. Of course, the ooze had seeped into it, globules of the remedy still clinging to the inside. With a sigh, he returned to the pond waters, washing his shirt as well. With it now soggy, he was forced to redress with only his vest and coat. Maybe having gear for the winter was a good idea...

Returning to camp, his wet shirt over his shoulder, he spied Wilson seated by a slowly growing fire. He could see the man doing...something but had to squint and draw near enough to tell exactly what.

"...Are you...styling your hair?"

"Of course. It always needs a good brush in the morning."

"Is this really the situation for vanity?"

"Aren't you in a tailored suit? Besides, you learn to value little pieces of luxury where you can." Wilson looked the man over, noting the shirt in hand. "How did the spider remedy work for you?"