Even Dust Was Made to Settle [the 100 - Bellamy Blake]

3: More to the Story

Bellamy turned a knife over in his hands as he examined the dead panther. He'd planned to turn the beast into dinner, but now he realized he wasn't really sure how to go about that. It couldn't be too hard, and if he failed—Bellamy spared a glance at the dozens of teenagers watching him with ravenous expressions—well he'd probably be eaten alive. Not having much to lose, Bellamy sank down to his knees before the panther and aimed his knife at a spot on its stomach. He hadn't even pierced the flesh before a familiar voice interrupted him.

"Stop! What are you doing?"

Bellamy looked up into to see Cook staring down at him, her eyes wide and her hand stretched out to stop him. "Making sure we don't starve," he snapped.

Cook crossed her arms. "Well you're doing it wrong."

Bellamy took a deep breath before standing. There was no way he would let her look down on him while also telling him what to do.

"How's that?" he challenged. "If you don't want us to eat you instead, I suggest you get out of the way."

He had to resist the urge to smirk in victory when he spotted a muscle twitch just under her jaw. She may keep a tight reign on her emotions, but he suspected she had a temper. It certainly went with her screwdriver-wielding-murdering-psycho reputation.

"Sure thing, your highness," she bit out, her tone frosty. "Just don't come crying to me when you ruin the meat because you dressed it wrong."

"Watch your mouth, Cook," Murphy drawled, interrupting.

"Fuck off, Murphy," Cook deadpanned, barely even looking in his direction.

Murphy bristled, his face twisting in anger. "You—"

"Easy," Bellamy intervened, placing a hand on Murphy's shoulder and giving the boy a quelling look before turning to the girl. "What are you talking about, Cook? Do you know how to prep this?"

"Yeah."

"Where the hell did you learn something like that?" Gutting—dressing—whatever it was called was not something they taught in Earth Skills.

"My mom ran the library, and my only friend lived on a different station. I had a lot of free time, so I read a lot of books." Cook shrugged, and her bright hair glittered in the firelight.

"You just keep getting more useful." And it was true. He had expected her to be more of a thorn in his side than anything, and despite her tendency toward insubordination, she was far from useless. "Care to show us how it's done?"

She gave him a simpering smile, but her eyes were cold as she snatched the knife out of his hands. "With pleasure."

"So how'd you do with the wristbands?" Bellamy asked from his seat on the ground as he watched Cook work. She'd taken off that ugly orange jacket, and her wiry arms were stained almost to the elbows with the panther's blood. Bellamy was supposed to be watching so he could learn how to prepare any future kills, but he was having a hard time following what she was doing.

"Decent," she replied. She tilted her head to get a better look at the guts she was pulling out of the panther's middle, but her long hair swung into the way. She swore under her breath and tossed her head a few times until it fell back behind her shoulders. "I got thirteen off, but it's not very effective to approach people individually. It's a big decision for people who still have family up there, one they're not willing to make without the right push."

"And what would you suggest?" He honestly wanted to know when she thought. When she wasn't being cold and critical, she actually had a lot of smart things to say.