ukan | IC CONTACT

A faint laugh. "The part of me that likes to bury food wants to say I want it back but honestly, I don't want to set a precedent for hoarding food and letting the rest of the ship starve. So consider this donated to the community."

Thank fucking Bran.

A flicker of relief passes through his eyes, and he takes a slow breath. He returns his focus to the counter, though he remains at the doorway.

"A'right."

There's another thought and he's quick to amend. "Ya end up wantin' it back, yer gonna have ta trade fer it." It's more of a note than a proper warning, but it's something that should be said before the transaction happens.

"I won't," Lark already knows he won't be asking for any of it. But he looks at Sweeney curiously. It wasn't a threat, like it would be from anyone else. More like the terms of a contract. "It's freely given."

You know what Lark Tennant is homesick for? Contracts.

"But I have to know: what terms would you take for a trade back?"

Sweeney only takes time enough for a slow blink.

"Somethin' important 'nough ta ya that it's worth the week of eatin' fer all those folk." His tone remains completely even. He doesn't know shit about this prick. He most certainly isn't going to bid on a blind hypothetical.

"So that kinda d'pends on you."

Lark nods, then shrugs. He likes those terms, but not for this when, as he said, it's freely given.

"Listen, if things get to the point where we're using these reserves and I'm not around, I need you to do something. Make sure the inmates get the larger portion. I'm going to be fighting with the wardens when it comes time and I actually announce this idea, but I'm placing a premium on inmates getting their calories. Wardens can fuck off home if they get hungry and don't like doing their job anymore, inmates can't. All right?"

He listens, patiently indifferent. The fellow is clearly passionate, which is something, he supposes. Putting others before yourself, giving to those most in need; that sounds like some grade A Warden shit. Eh.

When he concludes, a moment hangs, Sweeney just leaned against the doorframe and staring as he calculates.

"How much larger?" Just a detail to be noted.

The Devil's in the details.

"Two to one." It's an immediate answer, easily given. "Iris or Alec can help adjust that, they're both experienced with food insecurity and they're both going to be willing to fight it out if someone else balks."

His expression gives nothing away, but he's watching Sweeney with quiet, wolfish intensity. "Can you do this or do I need to find something else? It's better for us both to know it now. If you say no, no harm no foul."

"I can do it." The assurance comes without concern. He's handled far more complicated situations.

"How much is it worth ta ya?" It's not a sarcastic comment, nothing born out of greed or moral high ground. This prick's just adding line item details, and that's how this works.

"It's worth a week of food for me." Meaning he's willing to just give up his portion of these rations in exchange and just having nothing at all in exchange for Sweeney following his instructions.

Hmm.

He appreciates the man's intent, but his offer has holes.

"How ya plannin' ta pay that if ya ain't 'round?" Sure, the food would be available, and he won't be using it if he's dead or gone, but Sweeney would just have those rations anyways.

"If I'm gone, I can't eat it and my portion is yours," he shrugs. "Whatever I would have been party to would default to you. Instead of to my husband."

And that? That's the sacrifice that hurts. He's worked for years to make sure Alec never sits in a cell alone, never goes hungry, never suffers. While this deal does ensure Alec gets some food, it also means Alec wouldn't be entitled to Lark's share even though he helped build this stash.

No wonder Annie's trying to get up on him all the time. Maybe he is the only one with a prick that wants it buried deep without the risk of his nuts smacking into any others. I Dream of Jeannie and Shit For Brains might do well here. Blend right the fuck in.

"Alright."

Sweeney stretches his neck a touch. "Anythin' else?"

He's content to stand at the door for as long as this takes.

With the terms set Lark finally takes a step back and gestures him forward. His assigned cabin, 101, is set aside for Pagan--and now for Anita and Taylor. But this one is his home and he doesn't let people in lightly.

"Go ahead. Hide it however you do it."

Don't have to ask him twice.

Sweeney crosses the room with confident strides, and he promptly sets to squirreling things away. Smaller items are tucked in pockets, but the larger ones are banished to the Hoard directly with a passing pause of focus.

He watches every move, managing his own instincts which scream at him to guard the food, to get some kind of leverage over Sweeney to make sure he won't break his word.

He doesn't do anything but watch. "How many people are going to know you have all this?"

There's a right answer and a wrong answer but he didn't make it part of the deal because there needs to be room for flexibility down the road.

Sweeney's hands don't slow, nor does he look up to the man.

"Ya mean know I've been stashin' food or know 'bout this bit in particular?"

"Both." Because he also wants to know who might pressure Sweeney into giving up his stash. Better to prepare for that now.

"Eh." He considers the question while he works. "Maybe half a dozen. This won't be on the ledger though, so 'less yer lookin' ta let others know, it's just you an' me."

"I'm telling Alec." He'll notice all the food is gone anyway, but for the other obvious reasons too. "But other than that the fewer people who know, the better. You certainly don't need a target on your back."

Sweeney's not concerned.

"What's the worst they can do?" he counters dryly. "Kill me?" He shrugs. "E'en if I stay dead, which I won't, they still can't get ta it." His eyes roll beneath their lids.

"Fuckin' joke's on them."

"Have you died here yet?" He sounds merely curious.

Death here isn't a big deal, the death toll is problematic when supplies are low but it isn't meant to be the problem it is at home. Lark's biggest issue with people being flippant about it is that it creates indifference to life or death situations, and that carries over off the Barge. It took him years to view death as serious again after he graduated.

"Nah." Sweeney's one of those that doesn't see it as that much of an issue. Not flippant, but accepting it may be part of being here. And it it's for something like this, it'll be plenty worth it.

"Don't mean I'm afraid to." The words hold the weight of his solemnity; his death would be a sacrifice, and that's never something to be taken lightly.

He picks his words carefully. "I don't know what exactly the Admiral is running from. But I've seen other Barges, and it's never gone well for us. I do not want some other Admiral, some other Barge, to catch up to us while we can't get united. This is a bad time to die. A week spent out death tolling is a week where everyone else's fear can shout down the few people who aren't afraid."

So be careful, is the unspoken tail end of that.

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