Mute - Wesson - Wes x Wilson

Chapter Two

As Wes emerged from the tent, his jaw dropped; this camp was magnificent. Wilson stood beside him proudly, allowing the mime a few minutes to soak in the view.

It was much larger than his own had been, and was protected by tall wooden walls. In the center of the wood floored camp was a well decorated unlit fire pit, stacks of rocks separating it from the planks that lined the ground. To the right of the fire was three rows of chests, each labeled with its own corresponding purpose: wood, grass, armor, tools, animal drops, and more. To the south of the fire, the walls spread about four feet, creating an exit to the outside world. Just beyond the only entrance and exit to the camp was a set of twin lightning rods, acting like welcoming lit pillars. Beside the entrance was what Wes assumed to be the kitchen area, where several crock pots and ice chests were stationed. There was even a wooden table and several chairs, as well as a bucket of water filled with dirtied wooden plates and bowls. They must've already eaten breakfast, Wes thought to himself. To the north of the fire pit were science and alchemy machines, both well used and worn in. And to the left, which is where Wes stood, was a cluster of tents. Each one was individual in some way, either by color or decoration. He had crawled out of a red one with neat stitching and a few pinwheels stuck into the ground at either side of it's entrance. Wilson was neatly written above the flaps, though Wes couldn't decipher what was used to make the marks on the fabric.

"What do you think?" Wilson prodded, excited receive praise for all the hard work his friends and himself had done. Wes was still awestruck, his black painted lips slightly ajar as the sparkle in his eyes spoke for him: Wow!

After a few more moments, Wes finally returned his attention to Wilson. He flashed his hands into a few signs out of habit, Camp is great! Wilson nodded, aware that he was in fact receiving praise, even though he wasn't certain exactly what that praise was. "Thank you, I hope," he started as he raked his hand through his pristinely styled hair. He was a lot shorter than Wes had expected -- or rather, maybe Wes was just taller than he remembered. It had been such a long time since he had someone to compare himself to. Regardless, Wes towered nearly a foot over Wilson, his shoulders almost double the width of his new companion's. He felt like a giant.

"Do you want me to show you around first or would you rather just meet the others?" Wilson inquiried, proudly resting his hands on his hips. He spoke with a smile, flashing his straight teeth as he formed his words. Wes hooked his index fingers around each other and then flip flopped them as he bit his lip, hoping Wilson would get the idea. The shorter man perked up, his grin growing wider, "I know that one! That means friend right?" Wes nodded in agreement, relieved that he didn't have keep playing charades for the time being. "Alright, everyone should be out in the garden right now, collecting our crops for the day," Wilson announced as he started to head toward the exit of the camp, motioning for Wes to follow.

As the exited the protective walls of the camp, Wes met eyes with the old woman, Wickerbottom. She was busy plucking weeds from a rock lined garden bed, her lips curled tightly into a frown. If she was somehow the group's leader, Wes was sure that she would discard of him just like she would discard of those poor dandelions.

"Everyone, I'd like to call a meeting," Wilson started, unaware of the staring contest happening between everyone's least favorite hag and the new painted face before him. Wickerbottom, a blond girl, and a red-haired lumberjack drew closer, their eyes flashing between the scientist and the mime. "Who is that?" The girl started, her large and round eyes piercing into Wes' soul. Something was very off-putting about that child, whether it was her shrill voice or the way her eyes reminded Wes of empty fish bowls. "This, dear Wendy, is Wes." The lumberjack, who had a sparkly red Axe at his side, spoke with a heavy Canadian accent, his crooked teeth peeking out from beneath his heavy facial hair as he spoke, "Welcome Wes, I'm Woodie. It's been a hot minute since I helped drag your tall self out of the forest, eh? How are you feeling?" Wes smiled and gave him a grateful bow, but as soon as he made eye contact with the scowling hag he straightened up, his face turning to stone. "Why are you introducing this clown to us, you nincompoop?" She scowled at Wilson, bunching her fist around the cluster of weeds in her hand. "He's not a clown, Wickerbottom, he's a mime." She rolled her eyes and swatted in Wilson's direction, turning away from the pair, "I don't care, I don't trust any kind of man that hides behind makeup."

Wes' stomach began to hurt and beads of sweat started to accumulate on his brow. This woman was very bitter and decided she didn't like Wes before she even got a chance to meet him. The whole situation made him very anxious. He looked to Wilson and pressed his index and middle fingers on his left hand against the back of his right hand, hoping the gentleman also knew this word by chance. Anxious.

Wilson caught on to the worried look on Wes' face and he assured him quietly, "Don't worry, Wes. She doesn't like anyone. She'd toss me out in a heartbeat as well if she had the chance." Wickerbottom shot him another glare before wandering off. It doesn't seem that she's the leader, Wes thought to himself, I think I should be okay...

"Why doesn't he talk for himself?" The child questioned innocently, her hands pulling apart a poor white daisy she had plucked from the grass. "He can't speak," Wilson started, "He's mute." Woodie simply responded with an understanding nod, not seeming unbothered by the implication. "Oh okay," Wendy responded, shrugging it off. "Are you two okay if he stays with us and joins our group?" Both responded with a quick agreement to allowing Wes to stay.

Wilson turned and smiled at Wes, "Well, that's three out of four available votes. Looks like you're staying."