Can't Fall Down

[D/N]

[Got permission from Crash to start up a new topic here given that GM's away]

(Andrea Raymer continued from Waking Up is Hard to Do)

Dusk was falling by the time Andrea made it to the tower. That was OK. She could spend the night here if need be. It was a good place to start from, and she'd have plenty of time over the next few days to scope out other locations. Besides, she'd have an awesome view of the sunset here.

Once Andrea left the woods, it had been easy enough to pinpoint on her position on the map. The Ranger Station was nearby, and would have made a decent base of operations, but she'd seen several figures clustered there from a distance. Her gut told her to keep moving for now. So after changing into her more practical Vans and finally indulging in some stimulation, she'd set off, feeling lightheaded in the afternoon air. The sun was strong and bright, but not overpowering, and Andrea was grateful that they weren't stuck on some steamy tropical jungle island like the v3 kids had been.

Traversing the mountain's slope was easier than expected, once she found the remnants of some long abandoned path. Andrea sensed people to either side of her on occasion, but didn't bother to check. The hours walking gave her time to think, time to enjoy her solitude and let her brain dance from one subject and idea to another. The closest she got to human contact was when she spotted JJ Sturn coming down near to the top. And since the angry jock was about the last person she wanted to meet here, she'd scampered into the trees and laid low until the area was clear.

Now, the tower was her ruined domain. Danya's goons had done a heck of a job on the thing, which she thought was frankly unnecessary given that cell phones were usually on the confiscated list. She'd check the wreckage out later, but Andrea didn't expect to find much. The cell phone tower was just too obvious. It made a good location to start from mostly because that way she could get it done early and scratch it off the list.

But before that, she needed to find a camera. She was still feeling good, she was still full of energy, and she wanted to start letting the people at home know exactly who she was. It didn't take long for her to find one near the treeline, poking a foot or so out of the ground. Good, that would give a better angle. She'd totally look authoritative and everyone watching would be duly impressed, if what she'd learned from Chad Klitou and the other wannabe-filmmakers at Bayview had been accurate.

The cameras as a whole were surprisingly conspicuous. Well, Danya did say they'd be a lot more strict about them this version. Thanks a bunch, Neil Sinclair. Ah well. Smashing the cameras was too predictable and flawed as a strategy anyway.

She sat on the ground and looked the glass lens in the eye, smiling. It was kind of hypnotizing.

"Hey folks. Andrea Raymer speaking." She chuckled. "They uh, Danya made a point that they're gonna be real bitchy about us touching the cameras this time so I guess you've got an uninterrupted season of death and violence to look forward to this year. But I guess I digress there..... sorry. I ramble a lot, don't want all you viewers to start thinking I'm boring or something.

"So uh, first things first, this is to Alex. My brother Alex, not Alex White, if you people haven't, y'know, checked out my page on the website yet. You should, it'll have all the info and background you need. So, Alex, kid, I know that you're gonna be watching this even if Mom doesn't want you to, so I just gotta tell you that you rule, and I know you've probably been crying and shit, but you're 12 so that's OK, I'm not gonna tell you to man up or anything. And uh, I've left a bunch of pills in my desk, they're in the second drawer, way at the back, so you can feel free to help yourself if you want, there's no way Mom's gonna be watching so she won't know.... actually, fuck, even if she doesn't watch I betcha someone's gonna tell her. So uh, you might want to nix that idea. Sorry, kid. I'll see ya later."

Andrea exhaled, and paused a moment, trying to gather her scattered thoughts together.

"Look, uh, to everyone else...."

Fuck it.

"Just keep watching, K? Cause I know that telling anyone to turn it off and not watch would be pretty fucking hypocritical on my part, and uh, yeah. I'm gonna go write stuff now and keep on figuring things out."

Getting up, Andrea reached over to her issued bag. She'd transferred most of the stuff from her other bag into it a while back. Looking at it, one last bout of inspiration seized her. She grabbed the canvas straps and displayed the bag to the camera, framing it.

"You see this, folks? That's a winner's number."

Done. Andrea turned and walked a distance from the camera, taking in the view of the island. She wondered if Adam Dodd was out there, watching this. Well, maybe she'd get a chance to ask him sometime.

There was a singed girder lying prone on the grass nearby. It wouldn't exactly be comfortable, but it was flat, and better than sitting on the ground and getting her ass wet. She sat, flipped open her notebook, and started to write what she knew about this game, and what she'd need to do to survive it.

[JamesRenard†]

((Allen Birkman continued from Shelter From the Storm))

Though Allen couldn't see it for all the trees and rocks surrounding him on all sides, the sun was about to set on what was probably going to be the first of many days over the course of the Survival of the Fittest regime. All around him, the trees buzzed with activity as the day drew to a close. At one point during the hike up the side of the mountain, Allen swore he'd seen an unidentified creature lurking amongst the branches. He'd dismissed it as a figment of his imagination though, and had just carried on.

Ever since leaving the town, Allen had been seaching for a place to lie low, a place that was out of the way and where he wouldn't be discovered. And soon after departing the pub and leaving the outskirts of the residential area, he caught a glimpse of the wrecked cell phone tower, only just visible above the peak of the central mountain. It seemed like a perfect place to go, and so he'd immediately set off in a south-westerly direction.

The trek had been... rather enjoyable, and quite peaceful to boot, Allen having the fortune of avoiding other students on the way. As the terrain became more rugged, the more it reminded him of the hiking and camping trips he liked to do back home with his dad. The memories had brought fresh tears to his eyes, but he hadn't let them deter him. And now, as orange and yellow hues hung in the western sky beyond the mountain, Allen could see he was nearing his destination.

The cell phone tower was, for lack of a better term, a write off. Some parts of it were still standing tall, though only supported by rusted and twisted pieces of metal. Other parts were strewn all over the ground, like they'd been torn down from the structure during a massive storm, or something like that.

Allen approached the wrecked tower and scanned the area for a suitable place to lie down. The trip had taken several hours at least, and the climbing alone had taken a lot out of him, even when he'd eaten to sustain his energy. He'd already demolished half the packet of crackers and nearly all the bottle of water he'd been supplied with. He was fortunate that the bottle of orange juice in his personal bag had been left untouched, but once that ran out, where did that leave him?

As he looked around, he saw to his major disappointment that he wasn't the only person up at this altitude. A girl was sitting on one of the girders that had to have fallen off, and was seemingly busy writing notes down in a small book. 'It's not Clio, good,' Allen thought, holding back and trying to find a place to hide behind while he checked the girl out. 'It's not Jennifer or Carla either. Argh! Why don't I know her name?'

There was a sudden loud creaking sound, making Allen jump up a foot in the air and and cry out, feeling like his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. A breeze had just that second blown by, wobbling the tower slightly and making the sound that had scared him so much.

The sound that had made him give away his position.

[D/N]

(terrible short post and sorry for the delay, you can take it to tomorrow morning in the next post if you'd like, Renard)

Whoa. Crash bang boom.

Andrea's head snapped up at the sound of the giant hunk of tower creaking overhead. What the hell was that, the wind or something? She made a mental note not to sleep under that thing, lest some bigass spike fall loose and skewer her. That would be a most humiliating and anticlimactic way to die. And it might be a good idea to put off any scavenging 'til morning when the light would be better, because - SNAP

"Gah!"

Holy crap, company was here.

Andrea shot her gaze towards the newest noise and saw... some guy she didn't really know offhand. That probably meant he was some boring schmuck. Eh, at least that also probably meant he wasn't a total psychopath. And the goofy scared look on his face helped confirm that hypothesis.

"Gah, hey there guy. You uh, should probably be a little more careful there, your twig-snapping ways are totally ruining my incredible thought process."

The light was fading. Andrea wanted to get in a little more her-time before it totally went, but she guessed it would depend on the new arrival.

"So hey, if you wanna stick around, I'm cool, if you wanna go psycho killer then I'd appreciate you letting me know now 'cause in that case I wanna get down the mountain before it gets too dark."

[JamesRenard†]

((Time skipping has been approved))

'Wait, what?'

"N-no, I'm no psycho killer," Allen reassured the girl. "I'm not going to harm you, and, well, since you've not tried to attack me, I assume you're not going to harm me either. All I wanted was to find a place to rest for the night."

There was another soft breeze and the tower's skeletal remains creaked again, though not as loud as before. Allen looked up at the structure again, shuddering as a mental image of it suddenly collapsing and crushing him under masses of twisted metal as he slept came to mind. "Uh... I'm going to lie down over here if that's fine with you," he said, wandering over to an area further from the tower, not far from some trees.

He yawned, covering the open mouth with his hand and laid down on the grass, unwilling to walk a step further. He was exhausted after the hike, and right now, the only thing Allen wanted to do was sleep and recuperate his energy. He looked up to the darkening sky, seeing the first stars appear and twinkle above him. 'I always wanted to fall asleep underneath the stars... never expected I'd get the chance to do that here...' were his last thoughts before he fell asleep, fortunate enough to not be plagued by the nightmare that had dogged him the previous morning.

---

The next thing that Allen was consciously aware of was the piercing sound of feedback harshly assaulting his ear drums.

"Gyagghh!" he yelled out, immediately covering his ears and twisting over on the damp ground. 'Oww... damn that hurt,' he cursed, removing his hands from the sides of his head once the awful noise had died down and had been replaced by ...applause? Sadly, that was to be followed by a sound that was probably even worse than the initial ear torture; the sound of Danya's voice informing him and the other students of what they had gruesomely achieved up to that point. A heart-wrenching nineteen deaths.

'Nineteen?!' Allen cried out mentally, hoping that he'd misheard. Nine, hell even none sounded kind of similar to nineteen (although he knew for a fact that at least one student had died, so scratch that). Ninety did as well, but that was even worse and he refused to believe that many students had died in just 24 hours. Yeah, his ears were still not in full working order after the abrupt wake-up call and he was hearing things, right?

Wrong.

The list of names started and they just kept on coming, being casually read out like a shopping list. Allen visibly winced when Chris Davidson's name was read out, even though he'd already known it would be coming. That was eventually followed by a death that made Allen's jaw drop, though it was the murderer and not the victim that brought about that reaction; Petrushka Ivanova, killed by Clio Gabriella.

"Holy shit..." Allen slowly whispered upon the realisation that Clio had managed to strike again. Another student had died at her hands, and that was only during the first day. 'What's it going to be like over the course of this, this... it's not even a game, it's a bloodbath,' he thought. 'She's just going to keep killing, she's not going to stop!'

"Someone needs to stop her..." Allen muttered.

[D/N]

"I'm not going to harm you, and, well, since you've not tried to attack me, I assume you're not going to harm me either. All I wanted was to find a place to rest for the night."

Andrea managed to suppress the scoff that was forming in her throat, turning it into a cough instead. Seriously, New Guy? She should rip that line of his apart, but that would just lead to an argument; and while she loved herself a pointless argument, now wasn't the best time. She instead turned back to her journal, leaving New Guy to his own devices for the moment, and acknowledged him with only a brief nod and a "No problem," when he announced his chosen spot.

She lost track of time for a while after that. Andrea wrote and searched her mind for hours, jotting down what she could and pausing only to grab her flashlight when the moon started to rise. Lists of classmates she knew were on the trip, and others that might have been, and ones that probably were not. Lists of weapons that she remembered from previous versions, especially those that had some purpose to them beyond "gun", "sword" or "joke". Survival tricks, plans, advice, and anything else she could think up from the books she'd read or websites she'd visited. Notes from the map, including guesses about the size of the island, possible routes, areas she wanted to check out both sooner and later. It was all a mess to read, but she needed to have this shit written down; she figured she'd need it later. After all, her delusions of grandeur needed something to back them up.

Once finished, Andrea dropped her journal and just stared at the stars, waiting for her head to clear. It was the middle of the night, but she wasn't tired in the least. Needed to stretch her legs, though.

She got up and saw her companion for the night was now dozing. Andrea had to shake her head. Really now, just falling asleep in front of someone you've known for five whole minutes and shared a couple dozen words with?

Taking soft steps, Andrea crept over to New Guy's prone figure and played her flashlight beam over him. She was hoping to have a chance to go through his bag and see if he'd scored anything good, but with his position that would probably wake him up. Bah. She did get a name at least. Allen Birkman. B121.

B121. Hmmm. High number. And she was G077, of course. So how many students as a whole did that mean? 200 would be the absolute minimum, and that would assume both of them had gotten close to the highest possible draws. Yeah, given Bayview's size it was probably more. 250 or so sounded pretty accurate. She'd need to keep that in mind, especially during the announcements. Stealing back to her side of the tower, Andrea returned to her thoughts.

------

By the time the sun was rising, Andrea'd managed a couple hours of sleep, which she considered pretty good given that she'd been taking stimulants all evening. She needed to catch at least some sleep, especially early on when she could more afford it. Maybe she'd grab some catnaps in the afternoons if possible; that would keep her more awake over the night and help make sure she didn't sleep right through the announcements by mistake.

Breakfast was Adderall and Diet Coke. Terribly warm and flat Diet Coke, but given the absence of coffee, it would do. And hopefully she could stretch out her Cokes and energy drinks over the next few days. It would just take some patience and willpower.

Ugh. She hated those words. Well, hopefully she could stretch out her supplies past this afternoon, at least.

Andrea replaced her pillbox, then grabbed a pen, twirling it nervously between her fingers. She needed to be ready for the announcement. Needed to be ready, and needed to make sure she wasn't going to be all emotional over it 'cause people were definitely going to be dead, and she just had to concentrate on making sure she got down any info she'd need later on. Stay in control. Stay in control. She just needed to stay in control, because if she knew anything about this show, it was that you couldn't (usually) predict who might be playing hardcore and who might go out first day.

The loudspeakers crackled.

-----

"Holy shit, nineteen?"

||||||Warren Brown - Omar (gun)

||||||Paige Strand -- Rob Jenkins (gun) (Nazi??) - Paige bf?

Andrea scratched the names and other information she'd gleaned onto a fresh page, not paying any attention to grammar or penmanship, or the sounds of Allen Birkman waking up and reacting. She tried not to think. Still, the announcement had thrown her for a loop. Nineteen deaths. Gah. Either the kids at Bayview were all crazier than she'd expected, or maybe the island was smaller this time, or maybe there were a shit ton more kids, what, 300 maybe?

Not to mention that Nick Reid had apparently gone off and killed Daniel Vaughan with a Molotov right after leaving her. She knew from other versions that Danya liked to twist the facts in his announcements, but still, he got credit for the kill. That was kinda unnerving. Kris Hartmann was playing, had a couple kills already? She hadn't expected Kris to go off like that. And what the fuck did Danya say about a bear?

Finally, the announcement listed off the dangerzones and gave Ivan Kuznetswhatever the best kill award. She exhaled, then capped her pen. Well, that hadn't been TOO bad.

Andrea looked over as Allen Birkman muttered something. Who needs to stop who, exactly? And she didn't begrudge the guy, but any talk of stopping anyone just went to show how clueless he was.

"Hey guy. Yeah, uh, someone needs to stop her? Who, Kris Hatmann? I mean yeah I'm surprised about her but seriously, going after her or anyone else would probably be a bad idea on your part. Just some advice. If you want to go off and get yourself killed, I mean, be my guest and all, but if it's any consolation, the ones who start killing right away usually don't last too long."

She put the pen and journal in her bag and zipped it.

"Uh, I'm Andrea by they way, I know you're Allen; I, uh, took a look at your bag while you were asleep, which I gotta tell you is also a really bad idea if you don't know the person. Don't worry, I didn't open it up or take anything."

[Jonny†]

(Julian Avery continued from Bump in the Night)

When trying to help a girl track down her best friend on a terrifying murder island, Julian Avery found it wise to stick to a few useful rules.

Would you like to hear them?

Great! Here we go:

Rule One: Avoid any unnecessary confrontations and conversations!

Because they are stupid. Because they have nothing to do with the heartwarming reunion you intend to make happen. Because they end up leading to things like jumping out of nowhere and scaring a kid shitless and talking about samurais for no reason. And nothing productive will happen, and the kid runs a risk of breaking his ass (which, given the lack of proper medical facilities on the island, is a serious health risk!), and you just sort of waste everyone's time. And in all likelihood, you will probably end up on Youtube (this is especially likely if you are Julian Avery and everything you do is awesome) as "SotF samurai breaks kid's ass". So even if you manage to make it off the island alive you'll be consigned to the fate of being a popular Youtube video. (is this the fate... worse than death?)

So fuck that shit. You avoid that at all costs. If you see a group of people, you poke your head out and you determine whether any of them are Aislyn McCreery (none of them are Aislyn McCreery) and you move on before they can say anything. And so you wander around on the outskirts of a bunch of situations that look like they might be interesting, and you politely decline getting involved in any of them. You wander, you cover probably a fair bit of the northern part of the island, and you don't actually find Aislyn. Which brings you to:

Rule Two: Actually, come to think of it, this whole endeavor is kind of pointless and stupid and doomed to fail, so you should start thinking about giving up on it!

This is probably the most important rule. Because it turns out that when you have no idea where Aislyn actually is, when you have no way to contact or track her, and when you're not stopping to ask anyone if they've seen her, you're pretty much not going to find her. She is not behind that hill. She is not inside that building. She is not under that rock (though it was a pretty big rock so you could be forgiven for thinking so). And so your quest, which started out so promising and full of cheer, slowly asserts itself as a waste of your time. People are going mad. People are plunging into despair. People are killing and they are being killed. On this very island. And you're playing Where's Waldo.

Well that's a bit depressing. Why don't we move on to rule three, which says:

Rule Three: Why the fuck are you still reading these rules, Rule Two was a pretty clearly worded suggestion that you should just stop caring about this entirely!

But he didn't. He kept caring about this. The sun set and they went to sleep, and the sun came up and they woke up, and when he'd finished his beautiful and haunting melody of morning yawns, he still cared about this. Even though Rules Four to Eight were pretty much just paraphrases of Rule Three. He was still going to make this happen. Julian Avery was going to help Claire Lambert find Aislyn McCreery, no matter how stupid of an idea it was. Because fuck it, being stupid didn't mean that an idea wasn't worth fighting for. What it meant was that if the idea didn't have a freelance messiah on its side, it was doomed to fail. And since Claire didn't seem to be friends with any other freelance messiahs, he was stuck with his stupid idea for now.

Another stupid idea: Let's climb the cell tower!

Julian had thought of that one a little after sunset, so he'd taken credit for it for as long as it still sounded like a smart idea (twenty minutes, give or take). After that he banished it to the realm of Well, ONE of us thought of it, so it was either you or me, but let's not point any fingers here. The original rationale had been that it seemed like it was on high ground, a nice vantage point, maybe some place where they could look down on the rest of the island and try to pick out Aislyn from all the scurrying little shapes. Of course, the plan would be useless if Aislyn was behind some kind of obstruction, or too far away to see, or too far away to easily recognize. But that hadn't occurred to someone (let's not play the blame game!), and now it was kinda too late to voice an objection out of nowhere.

So that was yesterday. Started out strong, but petered out into a bunch of aimless wandering (well at least we can confirm that Aislyn wasn't at the southern part of the felled forest at 4 PM yesterday, so if we get a time machine we can totally narrow down our search!) and finished with a... a plan. Calling it stupid again would be overkill and self-pity. It was a plan. And Julian and Claire, after they had finished shaking off the last bits of sleepy, were going to start marching up that mountain and see it through.

Funny thing: they hadn't exactly been woken up by songbirds. There was this fat dude (Julian could tell the dude was fat from the way he talked, it was a natural talent) talking over a PA system. He was talking all about how proud he was, making a lot of awful puns, whatever. It all sounded really boring, and Julian hardly paid any attention whatsoever to that boring shit. Except that he made sure to write down every name mentioned. Separated into two columns. With a pair of tick marks next to three of the names in one of the columns. For some reason or other.

That was for later.

For now, Julian and Claire were finally coming up on the tower. The tower, which would ideally be empty but of course was not actually empty. Two voices inside (probably not fat, from the sound of it!). Before Julian and Claire could start their intensive mountaintop search, it'd probably be a good idea to say hello. Make sure they weren't murderers. Make sure that Oh I think that is Aislyn right there in the distance but alas I have been shot in the back twelve times because I lacked the foresight to confirm the safety of my surroundings! didn't happen. And so:

"Claire, I need you to stay back. I'mma go ahead and check out who's in the cell tower, yeah? You hear some gunshots or some commotion, you run the fuck away. Don't bust down the door and start shooting, just run." That was very selfless of him. "That said, you hear me call out 'Hey Claire!', then it's all good and you can come on in. BUT if you hear me call, 'Hey, Claire Lambert!' that means they got a gun to my head and you best run the fuck away." A little grin. "And I don't wanna hear anything about how stupid and unnecessary this setup is. I know just as well as you. But I always wanted to do this secret agent code word shit, so you're just gonna have to deal with it."

Special Agent Julian Avery sized up the compound and decided that the front door would be his best shot at a tactical entrance. He tightened his grip on his sword (which you only get if the rest of the special agents vote you Biggest Fucking Badass) and nudged the door open tactically. His preliminary intel had been correct: two people. A boy and a girl. He'd seen them both around school (or rather, he'd perused their intelligence dossiers, of course), so their names would probably come to him sometime soon. He kept his sword visible but not raised, and gave the pair a tactical greeting and a friendly tactical wave.

"Hey there. I hope y'all don't mind me interrupting. You guys wouldn't mind if I stick around these parts for a little bit, would you? Not necessarily in your face or nothin', just in the neighborhood."

[Crash†]

(Claire Lambert continued from Bump in the Night)

The night's trek, considering the fact that they were on an island with hundreds of their classmates out for blood, had been relatively pleasant.

With no particular destination in mind, the two had roamed from place to place, occasionally ducking out of cover to get a glimpse of the crowds of kids gathered in pockets throughout the prison. Their searches turned up fruitless, however, as one by one they crossed place by place off their list for where to search for Aislyn. Still, Julian had brought up a good point during their hike - Aislyn would be moving, too. The chances of them ending up in the same place at the same time were slim, but still the malado boy trudged forward in an attempt to help Claire.

"As goofy as he is, he really is kinda sweet," she'd mused internally, while setting up shop for the night in a flatter part of the forest. The two of them slept in shifts, although Claire refused to turn over her gun to Julian as she slept. Not that he'd asked for it, anyway. He seemed to have some kind of fetish for long, sharp objects. She wasn't one to judge him.

At one point, as the sun was rising, Claire had jumped off the log she'd been sitting on and trained her gun on an empty part of the forest as the loud speakers (where were they? She couldn't even see them) roared to life around the pair. It had been Julian's turn to sleep, but he'd evidently been unpleasantly aroused as well, as the painful moan that she was greeted with indicated. As the jolly (as eerie as it was, it was the only word she could use to describe it) voice rang out over the PA system, her attention was focused on her companion, who had gone into his bag and withdrawn writing utensils.

Figuring it was a prudent course of action, Claire mimicked him. She began to scribble down insignificant details in short-hand, making a mental note to avoid Reiko and Kris at all costs. She was also surprised to hear Ivan's name on the list - let alone that he'd won some sort of prize. The quiet boy whom she'd helped to the nurse's office not months before was now a killer. If he could end somebody's life, then...

...it was too hard to imagine. Just what were all her friends capable of, now?

The jovial voice of whom she could only assume to be their captor droned on, and as more pertinent information finally came up - namely, the danger zones - Claire finished scribbling into her notepad and deposited it back into her pack. Her blood boiled with each word that the man spoke, but it wouldn't do her any good to get angry now. As much as she wanted to put a bullet between the dickwad's eyes, that opportunity wasn't present at the moment. The last thing she needed was to misdirect her rage and end up doing something she'd later come to regret.

Once the areas to avoid had been announced and the message ceased, Julian suggested the two make their way to the cell phone tower nearby to gain a visual over the island. She couldn't fault his plan, as she hadn't come up with anything of her own, and therefore decided to keep in tow. Thankfully for them, they were already nearby.

And so, the treeline faded quickly, and they'd made their way to the outskirts of the tower.

"Claire, I need you to stay back."

"Hey, wait, what-...?"

"You hear gunshots or some commotion, you run the fuck away."

"Julian, I'm not-..."

"If you hear me call out-..."

Zoning in on the important part of the conversation, Claire backed off and let him finish his explanation.

"...but I always wanted to do this secret agent code shit, so you'll just have to deal with it."

He turned and began to walk towards the tower.

"Fine, but I come up with the code word next time!" she hissed back, before ducking behind a nearby tree and scanning the horizon.

[JamesRenard†]

Allen looked up at hearing the girl's voice, completely unaware that she had been able to hear him mumbling to himself.

"Oh! No, I'm not talking about Kris, I'm talking about Clio," Allen clarified. "And... no... I'm definitely not going after her myself, the last thing I want to do is bump into her again..."

He looked back down again, reliving the memories he'd gained approximately one whole day ago, the memories of when she'd slaughtered the blonde-haired boy right next to him on that beach. He gulped dryly, remembering just how close he'd came to being the sixth death on the island, or possibly the seventh if that guy ('pretty sure it was Brendan') hadn't managed to stop her before she'd fired the gun again.

'But he didn't completely stop her in the end,' Allen thought. 'She still went on to kill someone else afterwards, that Russian girl. The only way to stop her for good would be to... to... fuck, what the hell am I thinking?' There it was again. He was thinking about her demise once more. 'Stop it, wishing death on her just makes me as bad as she is.'

The next part of Andrea's dialogue then seemed to hint that Clio would probably end up dying soon anyway. 'So how would she know that?' he wondered, curious as to how she'd obtained that little piece of information. Andrea then introduced herself, and before Allen could open his mouth to reciprocate the action, she informed him that she'd already found out his name by looking at his bag of all things, then went as far as to criticise him for it. 'Well excuse me,' Allen thought. 'Sorry for feeling shattered and just wanting to drop after scaling this damn mountain.'

Her reassurance that she had left his belongings alone did the opposite effect, spurring Allen to upzip his bag and rummage through his items, taking a mental inventory check as he saw each of his belongings. 'Map, flashlight, compass, all four grenades, first-aid kit, food and water.' Well good, everything present and accounted for. At least she was being honest. Now to address how this girl knew what not to do in this kind of situation.

"So, uh, Andrea, you seem to know a bit about this, well, Survival of the Fittest thing. You don't watch it, do you?" he asked.

And then the door opened, a third person entering the place.

Allen looked round upon hearing the voice and saw a boy standing in the doorway. His eyes trailed down and he saw the sword the male was holding in his hand, his heart suddenly feeling the urge to jump up into his throat. 'Oh hell, not again!' Allen thought, feeling like he was back in the pub with everyone just piling in the building one after the other. It was the reason he left the residential area in the first place, to get away from everyone. But it seemed as though everyone was dead set on tracking him down again anyway.

He was at a complete loss of what to do in the situation. He couldn't tell if the boy was going to try and attack him with that nasty-looking sword of his, or if he was like himself, only wishing to seek shelter. 'I can't not answer him, say something!'

"Um... uh... I guess... Oh I don't know," he hesitantly spoke.

'Oh that was real good, well done,'

[D/N]

Kay, so it was Clio Gabriella he'd been talking about. She was a bitch, from what Andrea knew of her. Typical. But hey, at least he had some sense and wasn't about to storm off on some dramatic and sure-to-fail mission to take her down. That was something in the plus column.

Her remark about his bag set Allen off on a search through it, she guessed to ascertain her truthful nature or something. Of course, had Andrea actually gone through his stuff she wouldn't mention it and probably wouldn't have stuck around in the first place, but she supposed she couldn't blame him for being paranoid. One needed a bit of paranoia if they wanted to last in this game.

Andrea took the opportunity to make a cursory search of the tower remains. Not that there was much to look at. The various metal pieces were all pretty much indistinguishable, and outside of some random wires and burnt-out electrical stuff she couldn't recognize, that was about it. She stepped inside the tower's base and found it just as empty. If Danya's goons had planted anything here, she wasn't seeing it. Well, no problemo. She could always come back later, and she hadn't expected much in the first place. Again, too obvious.

Allen finished with his bag, then shot her the dreaded SOTF question. Her neck twitched involuntarily. Ugggh. Was she going to have to deal with this with every person she met here?

Her voice felt thick as she replied. "Yes Allen, I--"

"Hey there!

Andrea's answer was cut off as the form of Julian Avery appeared in the distance. She knew the guy's name, but that was about it. He asked them about staying for a while. Probably fine; Julian wasn't showing any outward signs of murderous player syndrome. Hell, he seemed pretty laid back about the whole thing, and that was an attitude she could stand for here.

"Sure, stick around, put your feet up. If uh, you're trying to find a secret emergency telephone or whatevs you might be disappointed though; I'm looking around but I don't think there's anything really here. But hey, if you do stay you can probably listen to me go on about how great I am. In fact, I'm thinking I'm gonna do that now. "

That said, Andrea returned to Allen and his previous query.

"And to answer your question Allen, yes I watch the damn show. So does a good chuck of the teenage population of this lovely world of ours. And I am well aware of the tragic irony of me getting my comeuppance or whatever, so I seriously don't need a lecture, uh, if you were planning on giving me one, of course."

No, she most certainly did not need or want a lecture at any point. Christ, she was using her SOTF knowledge for good here! Well, her good, at least.

Andrea leaned back, putting a tired edge to her voice.

"Hell, I uh, you should probably consider yourself lucky to meet me here." She chuckled. "I mean, I actually know how this show works and all that fun stuff. I might not be like Bounce or some of those crazy super-fankids, but... yeah. I KNOW this show, OK, and that's why I'm not going around shooting people like fucking Clio or any of them. Those kids, they've got like a million-to-one chance of surviving here. You need to have a plan. And, well, that's what I've been doing."

There. That'd get some attention.

[Little Boy†]

(Roland Harte continued from Break up Break Down)

Roland panted, sweat falling from his brow. It was his third pause within the past few minutes. He gave a shrug of his shoulders, swinging both his own and Kitty's pack along his back. The pack had begun chafing his neck but a few minutes into his journey, but Roland would be damned if he would stop for a little uncomfort. Kitty still hung from his right shoulder, dazed and confused. Roland felt a slight unease growing within him, he wasn't the best when it came to dealing with injuries, and if it was something internal he would be no help at all. Taking a deep breath, Roland gave another tug, hearing the familiar sound of Robert scraping across the ground behind.

The stench at this point, was nearly overwhelming. At some point within the journey, something had torn out of the boy Roland was fairly certain. In addition to being coated with his own blood, Robert was covered in his own bodily fluids, and dirt on account of being hauled through the forest. Roland grimaced and tried to push the thoughts away.

Taking a deep breath, he began to walk again. The moon hung high in the night sky.

No pain no gain Roland...

It was becoming increasingly obvious to Roland that he couldn't simply function on Adreniline. While the prospect of getting jumped hauling a wounded girl and a corpse through the woods had kept Roland moving at a steady pace for the past few hours, a rest was required.

The strategists' here, they'll know it'd be important to get a rest. You can't stay awake, and if you try you'll slip up. At the end of it, it won't be the most bloodthirsty. It'll be the strategists who played this game smart. Motherfuckers...

God knows he needed a rest. Roland wasn't exactly sure how much Robert weighed in his intestine/organ-less state, but when adding the weight of the bags and balancing Kitty on top of that, it was all too much to handle. The night was growing cold, colder than Roland had anticipated. His thoughts returned to the announcement, to the sadistic glee present in the speakers voice as he listed the dead. Roland closed his eyes, grimacing as he walked onwards. The harsh scraping noise invaded his mind even in the growing darkness, but he knew he couldn't stop dragging the body no matter how much he wished for respite. He'd killed him, and he needed to bear the responsibility. Images of Robert at Bayview filled his mind, joking in the hallway, pleasantly smiling as he copied notes in class. A human being, not a killer.

Roland felt his eyes growing wet. He angrily closed them, internally raging at himself, for what he could not be sure.

Can't think about that. That way leads on to madness...
Another step. Just one more, then I can stop. Just another step. I'm on the right path. You can do this Roland, you aren't weak.

He couldn't be sure how much time had passed since that moment, but a clearing had finally presented itself. Roland couldn't e sure in the darkness, but there seemed to be a path leading up a large him, a building at the top?

Building, buildings are a bad idea. Would be the first place a normal kid would think to hide.

I'm not normal am I?

Dropping Robert to the ground, Roland let out a sigh of relief. He'd explore the structure tomorrow. Gently he leaned Kitty up against a tree, using her bag to prop her up. Dropping his own bag to the ground, he streched before turning back to the corpse.

Robert Lerger was covered in dirt, blood and bile. The tear in his neck had extended during the journey, Roland was sure. Torn by bushes or simple friction, he couldn't be sure. What he was more sure of was the fact that he'd seemingly lost a few organs on the trip over. His chest cavity mostly exposed, Roland was no longer sure what color shirt Robert had been wearing. His pants were soiled and his mouth hung open, teeth stained red with his own blood. Roland gritted his teeth as he sized up the corpse.

First day, and already I'm dealing with this shit.... What's the purpose? What's the point? He had a life, and I had to end it. Was that all God created him for? Was his destiny to force my hand, to tempt me into monstrosity? His parents have probably heard by now, fuck, probably WATCHING now. Will they understand if we meet, why this happened? Will we ever get a chance to meet?

Roland looked over towards the sleeping Kitty, leaned up against the tree. His visage softened as he crossed his arms, rubbing himself to keep warm.

Dave and Isabel think I've snapped. It's a logical thought, I can't blame them for it... I need to take them out with me, I need to get the out of here. They can't die thinking I'm someone I'm not.

With a sigh, Roland went down to his knees in front of Roberts' corpse. Bowing his head, he made the sign of the cross and began to pray.

"Dear God. I am no monster. I did what was right, to save and to serve. I've committed a sin, but I was always set for this path. Let everyone watching know the truth. Let this sick game end. Robert deserved better than this. He was a good person, and his only failure was succumbing to this game. God, give me the strength to beat this game, to understand it, for him. For Kitty, for Isabel, even that fucker Dave. Let me be your instrument to bring him to justice, let me be the hero I was meant to be. I will save my team, and I will bury the dead.
Father, Son, & Holy Spirit
Amen."

Roland sighed as he surveyed the surrounding area. Lowering his hand to the ground he dug a small hole, easy enough. He grinned as he rubbed the dirt through his fingers.

Strategists' game, is it? Survival of the Well-Rested... True, true. But no student gets through school without becoming familiar with the concept of all-nighters.

He began to dig.

-----

The grave had taken longer than Roland had anticipated, and was shallower than he had wanted. He had realized from the beginning that making a 6 foot deep grave running on empty would be near impossible, and he didn't attempt to. Despite that fact, he was rather amazed at how much the process was taking out of him. His joints hurt and he was beginning to feel a headache coming on as he finished the task, something he attributed to the bash on the head he had been given from Isabel.

He'd completed it in a few hours, and had managed to drag Robert (Most of him at least) into it before he collapsed on the ground, closing his eyes. His breathing eventually steadied and Roland drifted off into a restless sleep, dreaming of dying children and scorched earth.

----

Roland opened his eyes, the early morning light temporarily blinding him. He hurt all over and he elicited a groan as he rolled over. He felt something sharp digging into his side and adjusting his position pulled his sword up out of his belt loop, examining it in the light. Still stained with Robert's blood, Roland looked at Charlene in disgust.

I need a shower, and I need to wash this. The latter first...

A rustling noise nearby jolted him into his fully awakened state. Gripping the weapon, Roland spinned around on his back, looking around for the source of the noise. His hair was a mess, he reached up with his free hand and shakily slicked it back.

"Hello?" He called out. "Put your weapon down an-" He hesitated, remembering his encounter with Isabel.

You need to remember what you're dealing with. You're probably the most mentally sound person here at the moment...

A thousand thoughts spun round in Roland's skull as he approached the source of the sound, he felt his muscles tense, unpleasant given his stress levels.

"Show yourself!"

Stepping closer to the gravesite, Roland heard a skittering noise. Leaning his head over the side of the grave, he stared at the contents. A small animal, furry, (Roland was never good with animal names) sat atop Roberts' face, nibbling at his nose. Giving a shout of disgust, Roland jumped forth into the grave, sending the creature skittering away. He tried in vain to grab the creature, but no luck. He cursed loudly and slammed his fist into the dirt.

Looking back down to the remains of Robert, Roland felt his stomach churn in disgust. Leaving Robert exposed all night had done more damage than he had anticipated. Scavengers had picked clean most of his neck, the bone was now clearly visible. In addition to his mangled nose, Robert was now missing most of the left side of his face. The rest of his body had faired even worse. It was all too much, too fast. Not even 24 hours ago he'd been a human being.

Will they be that quick to jump at me?

Roland struggled out of the grave over to a nearby bush on all fours, scampering like an animal. He had barely positioned himself near it before he began to puke up the contents of his stomach, refreshingly little due to no food. As his choking coughs finally ceased he collapsed against the soft forest floor, panting with exhaustion. He was tired, all too tired. Roland felt his own words coming back to hit him in the face.

So what if I even knew all the answers, if I can't trust myself to fucking follow them? Roland, what are you a man or a mouse?

He groaned, rolling on the floor. The stench from Robert was profound. He could only imagine how ragged he looked, greasy hair, blood and fluid spattered clothing, puke dripping from his face, his hands covered in dirt and blood...

This is not going to be a good day.

[Ciel†]

(Kitty Gittschall continued from Break Up And Break Down)

She kept fading in and out of conciousness. Trees vanished, rocks appeared. Kitty gathered that she was moving. She didn't have her pack. She had something in her hand. The bat, Alex's bat, the one that he used on her shoulder. Images of her fight kept rushing to her head like a fountain, like some kind of terrible reminder. Kitty felt a migrane coming on. She closed her eyes.

She was alive right? Yes, she was sure of that. Hell wouldn't be so cold. Or dark.

It took Kitty the rest of the night to figure out exactly where she was and what had happened. Her mind was still very much out of whack but she managed to figure something out. Roland had seen Kitty fighting with Alex, saved her from certain doom and was now dragging her, well, somewhere. That was about as far as Kitty could surmise. Everything else was just a blur. She didn't know where Roland was taking her but she hoped that it wasn't the Fun Faire. Anywhere but the damn Fun Faire.

So not everything had been for nothing. She had found a partner, one that was more capable than Anna. Kitty felt that things were looking up.

Until she realized Roland was carrying an eviscerated corpse around.

She didn't notice it for the few hours that Roland had been carrying her. Kitty finally saw the corpse once Roland had decided to stop carrying her, and it took her a few more minutes to piece it all together. Embarrassing. Anyone with half a brain would have noticed. Kitty wasn't sure how to feel about being carried by a vicious killer. She felt disgusted especially, even a little impressed in the sense that a thin sword like that could cut someone up like that. She had missed the announcement so she didn't know specifics, and frankly she didn't want specifics. It was bad enough having a mental image of Robert with his chest blown open. She didn't need to know the process.

This begged the question. Robert wasn't the one attacking her - Alex was. So if Roland did that to Robert, then what the hell did he do to Alex?

As far as she was concerned, she didn't want to know that either. She faded out again.

The next time she came to Roland was screaming in a voice that was loud enough to shatter glass. She opened her eyes, letting out a tiny groan. Where were they? There were still trees. A forest. With rocks. Maybe. Kitty huffed. She still wasn't thinking straight. Damn it. Kitty was still holding the bat. A death grip. Like Alex was about to come out and clock her with a big boulder.

Kitty watched Roland for the next five minutes. She wasn't sure what the hell he had been screaming about, but it seemed important enough to wake her up. Kitty grumbled. A raccoon leaped out of the pit... grave? Was that a grave? Kitty grumbled a second time. The guy had to dig a grave.

Now look at where you got yourself Kitty. You're stuck with an idiot killer who's in pity party mode. I mean, who the hell gets spooked by a raccoon?

That was her pet peeve with most killers on this show. Why did they angst? It was understandable that they'd be upset. Even so, it always felt like a cry for attention whenever someone started to rant in front of the cameras like crazed loons, going on and on about how they hated Danya and how they were innocent. Yes, it was all the game's fault. Don't judge them. The game put a gun up to their heads and told them to kill kids. Well whoop-de-fucking-do. This was a life or death situation but you still had free will. You didn't have to kill. There were other ways of surviving. Kitty just assumed that if you killed someone, you killed someone. You wouldn't be happy about but at least you're guaranteed to fight another day. Tears were for when you won, feelings were for when everyone else was dead. If you wanted to win, you'd have to abandon everything you've ever known, every human emotion you've ever felt and just go on instinct. Play smart.

Kitty was a hypocrite though. She made a dumb move and almost got herself killed.

The girl shuddered as the images came back. Pain ran through her arm. A lesson in how not to play.

She let the bat drop to the ground as she idly pushed the hair out of her face. Willow orbs glared at Roland's slovenly appearance. He was looking terrible hours before, but to say that digging the grave had been an improvement on his appearance would be the lie of the century. He looked like he had slept next to a meat grinder and decided to roll around in a pig pen. She felt the need to turn away before she got sick. However Kitty wanted to look. So she did.

Roland vomited, and Kitty wished she had turned around. Roland rolled on his back and Kitty finally made her appearance known.

"Good morning," she rasped, unsure of what time it was.

It almost felt rude not to get up and help him off of the ground, but Kitty was neither in the mood or the condition. She shifted against the tree. Kitty gave the tattered boy another look.

"You look like shit Roland. How long were you digging that?"

[Jonny†]

Allen Birkman's chilling words resonated through Julian's mind. "I guess," the wild-eyed boy had said with an eerie quietness as a dark smile played across his face, "Oh, I don't know.". His seemingly benign words belied the edge of playful murder that Julian could hear in his voice. The words... were they a warning? Were they a promise? His hands- nothing in them right now, but was he clenching a fist? Reaching for a gun? Was it already too late? Did Julian only have seconds left before Allen would strike?

Yeah, Allen Birkman was a boring harmless dork and that was pretty much all there was to say on that topic.

Andrea was different. For one, she wouldn't stop fucking talking- You can't shut your mouth for a second and he can't string a sentence together, hmmmm you should probably just start kissing right now because this is a match made in heaven- and for two, what she was saying was actually kinda worth listening to. A big SotF fan, huh. Though since he hadn't written her name down in his notebook (for whatever reason), and since it seemed pretty impossible for her to have killed someone and hidden all the evidence in the brief period since the announcements, it looked like she wasn't the bloodthirsty sociopath kind of SotF fan.

Sooooo... there are other kinds, I guess?

It was definitely a question worth considering, since Julian hadn't exactly given much thought to his horrible unfair prejudices against that type of kid. He'd always just sort of assumed that nobody actually watched SotF except for a handful of sociopathic shut-ins praying to God almighty every night that they'd see some gore or some tits (but not combining the two, that'd just be weird). It just seemed a tiny bit fucked up to go around rooting for and lionizing kids who were essentially serial killers. Like you got your t-shirt with a serial killer's face on the front and a list of all his victims on the back, and Julian got his too, and since there are nine victims' names on Julian's shirt but only seven than yours, that means that Julian is way cooler than you and you best pony up your lunch money right now.

See, Danya, this is where you fucked up. You put me on your death island when instead I could be designing t-shirts for you. Don't come crying to my dead ass when your revenue streams are completely fucked, you brought this on yourself.

But hey well look here was this girl who was talking about SotF and her strategies and her plans and how all the other kids were watching it and guess what, she seemed like she was pretty much alright! Well, no, Julian kinda wished that she'd given a better reason for not joining Clio and Kris and friends in the Murderous Kids' Club. You can't exactly crack open a King James Version and find Thou shalt not kill, for it is a completely fucked strategy once thou performest the risk/reward assessment.

But nobody's perfect. And it's a bit of a dick move to hate on someone for what's actually a pretty commendable moral decision. So instead of busting out some great vengeance and furious anger, Julian asked the question that'd been bugging him for a while now. "Aight, sounds good. But ah, before you get into your plan and all," since if her track record was any indication, Andrea would probably take until noon detailing Step One of Twelve, "mind telling me why you watched SotF? Not judgin' you or nothing, just curious." A beat, a grin. "Unless you got some stupid reason like you thought it was all fake, in which case I'mma judge you pretty hard."

[Crash†]

"Hello?"

Claire just about jumped out of her skin. Her eyes shot around her like sentries, scoping out her surroundings for any sign of where the voice had come from. She couldn't immediately tell; the early morning light was blinding in some spots, and yet the forest still provided enough shade to cover and conceal others completely. She was in a tricky situation. Her one (and seemingly only) ally was gone, she was exposed, and someone was calling to her from somewhere she couldn't make them out.

"Put your weapon down-..."

"He saw it? Fuck."

Claire's grip began to loose on the magnum, and with hesitation she slowly kneeled down towards the earth. Her mind raced to figure out exactly who could be calling her, but she was having trouble recognizing the voice. More importantly, she wasn't sure whether or not it was someone with good intent, or one of the people she'd already heard about on that sick announcement. Was Ivan really a killer? Was he about to come eviscerate the poor girl who'd helped him to the nurse's office not weeks before?

"No, it didn't sound like h-..."

"Show yourself!"

...Wait, what? He couldn't see her? But that didn't make any sense. Didn't he just ask her to...?

"He's not talking to you, dumbass."

...Claire made a mental note to thank her inner voice later, even if it was being a feisty little twat.

Relaxing a bit and re-gripping her gun, she stood back up and began to glance towards the treeline, attempting to make out where the voice was coming from. That feat didn't take her long, as loud obscenities gave way to the distant figure of a boy, whom she couldn't recognize from this distance. He was on the other side of the tower, and she was thankfully far enough away that she could duck behind a tree and hopefully avoid being seen.

"Come on, Julian...hurry the fuck up..."

[JamesRenard†]

'Sheesh, someone's got a high opinion about herself,' Allen exasperatedly thought, raising his eyebrows as Andrea starting replying to the new arrival, stating about 'how great she was' of all things. He found himself having to wipe the expression off his face very quickly though when Andrea turned back to him and responded, rather harshly in his opinion, to his earlier query.

"Hey, I wasn't going to," Allen defended himself. "Like giving you a lecture's going to change anything anyway, we're stuck here on this island and there's nothing we can do about it."

Well that probably put a dampener on the conversation, reminding everyone on where they were and what they were meant to do. Andrea sat back down and begun talking again, but Allen didn't know if she was talking to him or Mr. New Guy standing over by the door.

'Pah, you say we're lucky? Suuuure... oh right, that IS a fairly good point, I guess,' Allen thought. He had next to no SotF knowledge or experience, so being with someone who at least knew what the hell was going on, that was something to smile about at least, given their situation. That small piece of good news was immediately followed by another, one that seemed a lot better. 'A plan, you say? What kind of plan? Like an escape plan or something?'

It was remarkable how that simple four-letter P-word could fill someone up with so much hope, and for possibly the first time in days, Allen dared to smile. "What kind of plan did you have in mind?" he asked, sounding intrigued by Andrea's words. Never matter that the whole thing sounded too good to be true (and it probably was), there was no harm in believing that they could get get out alright, if only to give his morale a much-needed boost after all that had happened the day before.

And then that other guy went and opened his mouth and started responding to Andrea. Okay, so he was curious about why she watched it (and so was Allen to an extend, but he decided to keep his mouth shut for now), but the way he was asking her, it just sounded so... so obnoxious. Everyone and their mother had to know by now that SotF wasn't just a reality TV show in which everything was faked. Hell, Allen didn't watch it and even he knew the deaths, violence and bloodshed were 100% real. 'Wait, that's the reason I don't watch it in the first place,' he remembered.

As much as the male was beginning to annoy him, Allen wasn't about to call him out just yet and so chose to ignore him altogether. It was too soon since his arrival to judge his character, and he had no idea if saying something like that was going to piss the boy off enough for him to start going crazy with that sword of his. And Allen really wasn't in the mood for getting impaled anytime soon.

[Little Boy†]

Roland turned his gaze towards Kitty, staring blanking at the girl for a moment. He could only imagine how he looked, but it was one of the least of his priorities at the moment. A sudden wave of tiredness seized him, he felt fatigue setting in. The adrenaline was gone and he yearned once more for sleep. Raising his hand he wiped his mouth with the back of his palm, easing his way up, regarding Kitty.

Does she know what happened..? Does she know... Robert..?

Roland didn't really care. He felt tired to his core, and was beginning to regret staying up. No, that wasn't right. He was beginning to regret waking up in the first place. He frowned as he cleared his throat.

I can't be already thinking like that. Strategy is still everything. I've got to rest true, but that doesn't mean I'm about to blow my brains out.

He was vaguely aware of Kitty's question and he slowly looked over towards the girl, unsure of how to phrase a response.

Fuck it. Lying won't get you anywhere. Thinking won't get you anywhere at the moment. You might have something yet to learn Roland..

He nodded slowly.

"I've been digging most of the night. It wouldn't be right, leaving him out in the open to rot- not after what happened. So I buried him, said some words. You're welcome to do the same if you'd like."

He glanced over towards the hole, he couldn't exactly see Robert from his position, but he knew he was there. No matter how much he could imagine otherwise, Robert would be there, forever.

I killed him.

I wasn't wrong.

He could feel his eyes drooping, even as he tried to continue speaking. He could feel his brain slowing down, and he welcomed it. He yearned for his life before, his strict schedule, his daily goals. It was all bearing down on him, and he couldn't afford to break. Kitty would need him. Hell, Dave and Isabel still needed him.

"I... I think I need to lay down, to put it rather bluntly." Roland said, standing and making his way to his pack. "I can't operate like this, certainly can't protect you, let alone myself."

Digging through his pack, Roland pulled out a blanket and pushing it against the base of a nearby tree, he made a makeshift pillow. He adjusted Charlene, digging into his side before pausing. He looked up towards Kitty before pulling the blade out, still stained with Robert's blood. Giving the blade a thoughtful look, Roland shrugged and tossed it into the center of the clearing.

"Fuck it. If that won't make you trust me, you can leave now. I get rather cranky when I'm tired, so I'm not going to let this sleep deprivation progress any further. We're relatively out of the way here, you could scout around, get something to eat, whatever. I'm going to sleep. Hope to see you when I wake up."

Laying down on his makeshift pillow, Roland raised his head, massaging his temple. He could feel a headache coming on, and he scowled at the thought of playing with another disadvantage. He ran his fingers over the bump on his forehead, from where Isabel had hit him with her trumpet.

Why the fuck do I want to save her again?

He looked over towards Kitty one final time.

"What would be good is if you could find someplace to wash that. I doubt we'll be making more friends if they see our weapons are coated in blood."

He closed his eyes and turned over. His brain was racing, realizing the risk he had taken. Kitty could just as well slit his throat in his sleep, and he'd given her a perfect opportunity. He pushed the thoughts away as drowsiness assailed him.

It's not like I can make much of a case against that at the moment..

((Roland Harte is now sleeping; which pretty much means he's left the thread. Skip me in post order until I return from my trip ))

((Roland Harte continues in Shore Leave))