i dont know what to call this

It had been quite some time since she'd returned to camp and the people she felt most at home with: booted up, intelligent and brave women who were battle ready within a moment's notice and, might Charlie add, particularly attractive when in their ready-to-kill mode of hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes and set jaws, with toned muscles and bodies perched in battle-ready positions to take down any intruders--not that CHB had any, but it was better safer than sorry, as most elders claimed. Charlie had a machete in hand, allowing the steel to toast over the fire with minimal precaution, sticky white marshmallow stabbed onto the very end and crisping between flames. She wasn't particularly cautious, but all the same knew her actions would bring no harm harm. It was just a marshmallow, after all, and anyone was welcome to join her. In fact, she'd appreciate their company, assuming company wasn't synonymous with "annoying cow feces" campers that occasionally moseyed their way into the huntress camp under the guide of being hungry to and alone. Charlie only payed attention of they were girls, and cute ones, to boot.


So, perched on toes over the fire with a single crooked rod and marshmallow, she 'patrolled' the area, giving stinkeye to any suspected male that roamed by, barking orders at all who left tents or went near them, and generally having too much fun with her authority as the night's watch. These cases, of course, were rare, but they occurred nonetheless. And on occasion, Charlie enjoyed the company, allowing it to slip past her (questionably) watchful eye if it proved beneficial, such as a figure making company around her fire, or an idiot man sticking his tongue to a flagpole enchanted by Artemis herself, and becoming a pimply toad. Such distractions proved useful in keeping her away on the job, and she welcomed them with open arms. Or, at least, ignorance to their behavior, until they dove into situations they couldn't climb out of, in which case Charlie only snickered and left them to suffer... Unless, of course, they were some value to her.

Charlie craned her neck back as she heard the approaching steps of another, muscles resting when it revealed to just be a girl with a knife. While the average camper may find this somewhat alarming, or in the least uncomfortable, it was more than regular to be seen in Artemis' camp. Better safe than sorry, as always.

With a detached shrug she went back to cooking her marshmallow, eyes peeled on the dancing orange and red licking towards the galaxy to catch stars.

Her marshmallow was coming along nicely now, each edge gently browning.

Across the pit from her the other girl took a seat, the knife glinting as she ran a cloth over the surface to clean. Charlie didn't particularly care for cleaning unless it was an absolute necessity, like the one time she dropped her machete into a jar of honey (whether on accident is questionable.) But blood guts and gore galore could remain so long as it didn't affect swing and stab. Obviously, the blade had seen better days. And whether it should be eaten off of? Well. The FDA wasn't around to judge.

But it didn't stop her from drawing it in and taking a sticky bite from the top, allowing the strands of white goo to hang from her lips until her tongue swept across to retrieve it, her concentration stirred only when the girl parallel spoke. She wanted to be on guard duty? Well, sure, as long as she wasn't going to be an absolute pain.

A short hesitation before Charlie nodded in agreement, weighing the possibility of trouble. Just sitting would probably be okay, right? As for marshmallows... They'd be fighting for those. Charlie nudged the bag closer with her foot and gave the girl a harsh scowl that read, "if you want these, you're going to have to kill me."