Student Government

[MurderWeasel]

((Juliette Sargent continued from You Think You Really Know Me))

It was not far from the shipwreck to the village. The change in scenery, however, was less than Juliette had expected. Everything was still wreckage and ruin. Vines and roots snaked through structures, prying them apart. Others were not even intact enough to face such fates, collapsed in full or in part. All around were brightly colored but somewhat faded planks of wood. There was probably potential there, to scrounge chunks and hone them into weapons, but Juliette lacked the need for such crude contrivances.

Her step was easy and light, but her feet were starting to hurt a little. She really would need to stop and change her shoes at some point here. Her packs were heavy, and she was sweating just a little, and she hated that. She had the right things in her personal bag to deal with the problem, a washcloth or two and deodorant, but that would do nothing to address the core issue: she just was not the sort to haul her belongings around like this long term. It wasn't that they were heavy, so much as that the straps pressed into her shoulders and the bags hung against her hip and pressed against her back and raised her body temperature and made her irritating aware of her own physicality. It was like gym class again. Could not death and danger be a little more dignified?

This place would attract others, Juliette thought. In fact, there were surely others here already, slinking through the rubble with motives more dubious than hers, scavenging in the hopes of securing scant advantages. Perhaps in time she would be reduced to the same. For now, she listened carefully, hoping to catch wind of any company before it arrived, to avoid being taken by surprise.

Juliette had her razor tucked away in her clutch. The can of shaving cream was right there in her bag, right where it might be expected were it her only provided means of defense. She was grateful that she had been gifted with such a ready-made cover story, and wondered whether it had been an intentional facet of her assigned equipment or merely a happy coincidence. She could imagine the process of coming up with hundreds of combinations was long and arduous, but there was some real intrigue about the idea. She had already allowed herself to briefly mull possibilities of what she would offer were the decision hers.

But those thoughts were kept quiet, pushed to the side, as she heard a scraping of movement, feet on gravel, just a second too late for her to reconsider rounding the side of a building that was halfway caved in.

[Frozen Smoke]

((Faith C. Marshal-Mackenzie continued from Book of Bad Decisions))

Faith's shoulders were hurting.

It hadn't been that long since she'd managed to pick herself up off the floor with all the grace one could manage with their hands tied behind their back, which was to say precisely none, but she wasn't sure how long she'd been out. It wasn't like she'd been keeping an eye on where the sun was hanging in the sky to check back against later, and even then, she didn't know how far the sun moved per hour. But it had been long enough that her shoulders being unable to relax was beginning to burn, deep in the muscle, the kind of heat that you could feel building and wanted desperately to go away.

She continued to trudge along the path, circling around a house which had collapsed under the weight of time, peering at each one of the barren window frames. One of these buildings had to have some glass left, and that would hopefully let her pierce the duct tape binding her hands, or maybe even cut it off. It wasn't the safest thing in the world, but it would work. Maybe.

Except this building also didn't have glass.

She leaned her head forwards, resting at against one of the few brick walls that looked like it wouldn't collapse, and let out a deep sigh.

Then, as if in answer to that, came footsteps. Faith tried to move in the opposite direction, but they were close, and each footfall of whoever was approaching was faster than her own. She felt her stomach twist into knots as she wondered who could be approaching. Or what their intentions were.

Part of her wanted to keep walking, and not turn around, as the footsteps became crisp as the source moved from behind the muffling of the building. She didn't want to deal with it. It was only going to end badly for her. But, shit, if she was going to go out, she wasn't going to go out being shot in the back. With apprehension, she stopped, and spun around.

Juliette. A person she knew, much like Sierra, for their political differences. Although Juliette was much less a screaming radical like Sierra, and more a milquetoast centrist, but she hadn't even known who Sierra was with and she still tried to beat her to death. There was no guarantee Juliette wouldn't do the same.

Faith looked behind her for a moment, biting her lip as she looked at the crook in the path that spun off into the green that lay there, an escape route that she couldn't use - She'd probably make it a couple of hundred yards before falling over. But she looked anyway. Wishing she could disappear into it, before turning to face Juliette again.

She opened her mouth for a moment, before closing it.

What was she even going to say?

"How was your day?" "Oh, not bad, just got kidnapped by terrorists and told to kill my classmates!" "Wow, same, what a coincidence!"

[Fenris]

It was a long walk.

>> Dante Valerio continued from Starting Point for G007

It wasn't really that long, Dante guessed, if he tried to look at it from the outside. If he walked the same distance at home it'd have been a good warmup, not that distance was usually what he was going for. But he had company, and bags, and also he couldn't walk, which was kind of the bigger point here. Turns out walking was a hard instinct to break even when you know you can't do it, judging from the amount of times on the way he'd tried to put his weight on his bad leg and hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. Tyrell had ended up basically carrying him half of the way. Which didn't make him feel great, but the way things were going he was more of a burden trying to stay on his own one foot.

Tyrell talked a lot. The others hadn't, probably because he was filling in the space. He had a lot to say, and Dante listened. He was good at that. They didn't know each other well or anything but it seemed to Dante like he just hadn't gotten a chance to talk to anyone yet today and had a lot to get off his chest. Who he was looking for, what he thought about this game. Who he wouldn't let make it out. Dante looked away at that one.

They made it to the village, eventually. Tyrell hadn't really wanted to come this way, said it was too open, said it would be better if they hid in the woods or something. He was probably right. Dante didn't make good decisions and this probably wasn't gonna be the first time. But there'd be people in the village. That was what Tyrell was trying to avoid, but Dante needed to find people. There were so many and he cared about so many of them and if he was going to die here he'd like to see them again, at least. Maybe he could help them, maybe there was something he could do. He didn't know. He wasn't smart and he wasn't strong or fast anymore so he was probably pretty useless but there was always maybe something.

He wasn't as pale anymore, or as cold, or as sweaty. He still felt wrong but not like he was dying, anymore. Just like he was sick. Sick and hurting. The pain was agonizing but you could get used to that, too. Enough that he'd stopped crying. Not really enough for anything else, but that was okay, for a little while.

Tyrell was gone. He'd left them tucked behind a building, facing away from what looked like the village center, said to keep covered, wished them luck. Wished him luck, anyway, and Camila. Didn't seem like he liked Blaise very much. Dante wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it was surprisingly quiet. He'd expected people. He'd expected... something.

Maybe it wasn't expectations. Maybe it was just hope. He stared out into the wilderness, playing with his rosary ring, asking for a sign.

He heard footsteps.

Not from the wilderness, but from the other side of the house, he was pretty sure; he wouldn't have heard them at all if he hadn't been so spaced out, getting used to the silence, nothing in the air but the wind and birdsong. He opened his mouth to say something but he hadn't said a word in maybe hours now and he didn't know how to start again.

He tapped Blaise's shoulder instead, gesturing around the corner of the house. Can we check, he didn't say, but he tried to tell them anyway. It could be anyone. He needed to know.

[Emprexx Plush]

((Blaise d'Aramitz continued from Starting Point for G007))

In Dante's condition the average person would have refused to take a single step, but he had suffered his way through the journey without complaint. A whine here or there, cold sweat and tears across his face, but he did not slow them down anymore than necessary. It was not as if he was made for such struggles. Poverty was his greatest burden and it had not imparted an abnormal tolerance for pain. He had never had his life threatened. No one had ever expected him to defend others or decide if someone else should die. Surely the watching world would not judge him if he collapsed and swore he would go no further. There was no shame in surrendering to fate, but he soldiered on. His strength did not come from a thirst for revenge or foolish hope he might outlive his circumstances. As near as one could tell his greatest aspiration was to avoid being an inconvenience in the company of friends for as long as possible. Any decent person could respect the strength of Dante's character.

If someone were to construct an accurate file on Blaise d'Aramitz, neither decency or any of its derivatives would appear once. In a better mood they could have found some disbelieving appreciation for all Dante had borne, but sobriety did little for their temperament. Dante suffered from a mind with little to say and abundant ways to say it, so they never thought a day would come that they'd miss his incessant chatter. He was the reincarnation of the Bard himself compared to Tyrell, though, and this brooding did not suit him at all. After they were settled he would need considerably more alcohol, it was worth the sacrifice to make him more tolerable.

They were just about to ask him if he'd seen a door when he tapped them on the shoulder. His kicked puppy pensiveness was nearly enough to make them slap him again, but disgust did not crack their poker face. On some level they knew they were being unreasonable, but it irritated them. When they'd woken up they intended to relax until everyone had gotten the insanity out of their systems. It would have been at least a day before they'd have to leave any secluded position they found. If pleasant company came along they could drink and indulge each other without worry. It sounded like a better vacation than the trip had been. Instead they had gone from beach side tourist to the witness of four attempted murderers and the babysitter of two cripples in a matter of hours, so it was safe to say the most gruesome casualty of the morning was their vibe. Still, Dante provided one worthwhile service by highlighting the sound on the other side of the building. They might have passed it off as stray wildlife, but... just in case they slipped a hand into their open bag and gripped the bottle. A finger went to their lips, then down to give Dante a Stay motion, then pointed around the side of the building. The sounds seemed to be barreling straight towards them before they stopped, but if they peeked around the left corner they might catch their company first.

[Cicada]

Camila hadn't known how to feel when Tyrell had gone his own way.

She could have been relieved, she could have been profoundly terrified. No emotion in particular had taken over, plumed into her being and become her. Such an odd sensation to follow the good-bye of a boy she'd apparently shared a class with but only just come to know by name.

They were all familiar with each other by name now. All the hours she'd passed in school cheerfully ignoring most everyone who'd struck her as innocently irrelevant to her ambitions seemed a gnat's lifetime. As if she'd known the people she now entrusted her life for the entirety, for all along, for some odd temporal illusion of desperate necessity. Blaise remained just that, a desperate necessity, exuding an energy pointed in the direction of walking away from them more than alongside. Dante, she appreciated now. His will was stable as unbroken earth, his courage admirable, and from every awkward distance she found herself occasionally seized by the unfathomable compulsion to cradle one of his hands with her remaining good one.

That particular petty embarrassment being some variable accounted for in how she'd provided value despite her still angry and violent bruises slowly settling into the shape of her skin taut against a jagged split in her bone. She couldn't let that render her helpless, much as a heaviness occasionally throttled her throat whenever she was reminded of her being weak, dependent. She kept her mind, her awareness active. She still had two good legs and one good arm, and slowly, bit by bit she ran her non-dominant hand through a boot camp. Gestures she knew by heart- spoon, fork, pen, lead, follow. Hesitations or lags were met with pause, then, repetition.

She'd yet to get anything right. She supposed asking for a toddler's dexterity might have been wishful.

That besides, she stayed behind the others and kept her awareness focused on the odd angles, the blind spots, such that Blaise could focus their attention on keeping Dante antagonistic to gravity.

She'd seen an unusual sight a half second ago while maintaining her vigil. Down a perpendicular road, by a house decorated with a fallen tree and shattered tiling. A crumpled and empty bag seemed like a bad omen. What could produce such a sight but violence or death?

She quietly pressed forwards until she saw them. Pressed against the side of a building some distance away, clearly tense. She arrested her motion, made herself smaller, glanced around for any form of decent vantage or cover.

[MurderWeasel]

When Juliette saw who it was making the noise, she smiled. It was not a conscious decision, nor an uncontrolled expression of her emotions; it was, rather, a reflex that she had once upon a time thought prudent to cultivate. It was particularly important to maintain decorum and the appearance of civility around colleagues, at least until such time as they dropped the pretense first and revealed the knives.

That wasn't to say Juliette was displeased to encounter Faith, either in the current context of her life or on a broader scale hearkening back to school. The girl had her stances and stuck to her guns, and she had, Juliette thought, conducted herself well in her limited capacity as class vice president. Her campaign had been perhaps unexpectedly successful, though there were numerous wrinkles that had once been worthy of contemplation; Julien's decision to cast himself as a moderate alternative between Faith and Claudeson had most likely siphoned more support from the latter, where Faith's base was more loyal.

In any event, the only thing that mattered about class elections now was what they told Juliette about Faith, which could be summed up pretty simply: for all her bravado and success to date, ultimately Faith would die here, because she lacked ambition. Perhaps you could contextualize the decision to run for the second-place office as a canny political maneuver, given the overly-crowded field vying for the presidency. It was a much easier competition, one Juliette probably could've swept without a thought, but she had felt no jealousy at Faith's comparative success, because it didn't mean anything. Had the election been for an actual office, with actual privileges and responsibilities, Juliette would've given Faith points for knowing when to settle, but student officials did close to nothing, as evidenced by Nathan's totally competent performance in the office of the presidency. Compromising by becoming veep, then, prioritized the destination over the journey. It was a choice that built resume over character, favored decoration over experience. What had Faith learned that she could use in a later election? If she had further political aspirations (and Juliette was pretty sure she did), she was borrowing glory against the future.

Granted, she wasn't going to make it to that future, so fair enough.

"Faith," Juliette said, and her lips straightened just a little as she quickly scanned the other girl. Yes, that was a genuine smile now. "Tied up in official business as always, I see."

She didn't laugh at her own joke. Faith looked horrible. Aside from the bound hands Juliette had glimpsed as the girl spun, there were ample other pieces of evidence that something had gone hideously wrong for her. She had no bags, her hair was ragged, and her very demeanor was hesitant, skittish. She was biting her lip, looking around like she might make a break for it. She'd made a lot of enemies back in school, another poor decision.

Juliette was unconcerned about falling victim to whoever had done this to Faith. If they'd wanted to kill the girl, she would've been a corpse. If they were lurking, Faith wouldn't be free to roam as she liked. If anyone else turned up—faint scrapings of gravel and dirt, a hint of movement in Juliette's peripheral vision, possibly ambient but what a poor assumption that would be—then the old saying about outrunning the bear would come into play should the interlopers prove malicious.

The planks of brightly-colored wood all around gave the whole area a loosely-fantastical appearance. Juliette rested a hand on her hip and tilted her head a hair to right, watching.

[Frozen Smoke]

"Hah."

It wasn't a laugh, really. Just a simple, bitter bark, as she acknowledged the joke. She supposed she should be glad that Juliette had so far had an experience that let her feel comfortable making jokes like that, given that it probably meant that she wasn't about to be tackled to the ground again, but it was hard to return the smile that Juliette was giving her. The corners of Faith's mouth stayed decidedly un-curled, as her eyes moved around the figure that was in front of her, looking at the path and the brush that surrounded them for a moment.

It took a moment for her to realise the dubious value of her search. Even if she saw the broken branches, or scuffed footprints that would signify an interloper, it wasn't like she was going to be able to do anything to them. She looked back at Juliette. There was something eerie, now that she concentrated a little more, about how calm she was. No questions of who to look out for, that had done this to her, or where they'd gone, or if she was okay.

Just a simple acknowledgement of the situation, framed at her expense. As if it was natural. As if it was what she would do.

"Watch out for Sierra, and..." Faith drew a blank, once more, the face of the girl who'd attacked her feeling blurred and indistinct.

Did she have black hair, or brunette?

Her expression twisted in annoyance as she tried to concentrate, the dull ache in the front of her head pulsing with every beat of her heart, interrupting her every time she felt like she had a grasp on the indistinct memory. It had all happened so fast.

"...whoever she's sticking with. They have my gun now."

[Fenris]

Dante was going to stay still. Really, he was. Blaise told him to and even though Blaise would never ever listen to what anyone told them to do they got pretty testy when he didn't listen to them so he just dealt with that by listening to them, mostly. They had his best interests at heart, anyway, moving would maybe open up his wound and would definitely hurt. He looked down at his leg, still stained with blood since it wasn't like he was gonna waste a bottle of water on cleaning it off (okay he'd thought about doing that but Blaise told him not to), and he realized the wound wasn't really... closed. It was still a hole. It just wasn't bleeding and was covered by bandages and stuff.

What would they do with it if he was at a hospital? Stitches, maybe? He'd had stitches before, a few times. What did they use for stitches? Like it wasn't just regular thread probably. Some kinda cool body thread. Surgery thread. With surgery needles. They probably couldn't get that stuff on the island. He wondered if it was like stitching a rip in jeans or whatever. His mom taught him how to do that cause Bea was always clumsy and tore her clothes a lot when she was little and sometimes she was too busy to help. Bea would be at school now, unless it was later than he thought, which maybe it was. Wait, what day was it? The bus ride was Saturday, so probably it was still the weekend, unless they were out for a few days which maybe they were. So probably not at school. He wondered what his mom had told her.

What was he thinking about again? Sewing?

It didn't matter, because he heard a voice.

Familiar. Well, most voices were familiar. He kinda knew most people, at least a little. He didn't know Juliette all that well so it took him a moment to place a face to the words. He cocked his head, listening closer, only catching a few words here and there, and then he kinda forgot about the "stay still" thing and did the little hobble-hop thing he'd figured out how to do toward Blaise. Long as he had a wall on his left side he could sort of move around. That wouldn't be true most of the time unless he stayed here for the rest of his life but hey, optimism or whatever.

Turning the corner where Blaise was had a few effects. One was that he could hear better, since the whole house wasn't blocking the space between him and the girls on the path now. Girls plural, cause he could also see the other one now. Hands tied behind her back. Didn't take any time at all for him to match that face with her name, with her voice, with his friend.

He was moving forward before he really noticed it, past Blaise, who seemed not particularly pleased with him, but that was a thing to worry about later, he limped forward as far as he could until he ran out of house to support himself against. His voice was dry and hoarse but he managed to form a word for the first time in who knew how long.

"Faith?"

[Emprexx Plush]

Blaise had been wrong to think of Dante as a puppy. Puppies had the capacity to obey. What he had become was more of a clingy feline, a cat had come whimpering and limping out of the bag for...what? Sympathy? Safety? Curiosity? Nothing that was worth exposing them, but he hadn't thought about that. For a moment they wondered if it might be better for everyone if Violet had missed a little higher; worst case scenario he had little of importance to damage. Reality tried to weigh down the flippancy of their thoughts, but they danced through its hooks with practiced ease. They did not really want him to die, so he wouldn't. It was not worth considering further. The predicament unfolding around the house was far more interesting.

"Wait, wait..." Blaise shook their head and stepped away from the wall to get a better look. Faith's predicament had to be seen to be believed, and even then her sparse account was amusing to say the least. "Sierra? Sierra did this to you?" They were smirking, it couldn't be helped. It was too funny. In some of his more ill conceived moments Julien had mused on, shall we say, possibilities? To his credit he'd made them consider more seriously than anyone should have been capable of, but they would not be won over. They had never imagined their conclusions would be relevant in any other context. "I never considered her one for bondage. Robbery either, but..." They tapped their chin thoughtfully. "No, no. Bondage is more surprising."

They would put their foot down on this: they were not adopting another stray. Faith could handle herself. With Julien on their mind, however, they could imagine he would disapprove if they abandoned her entirely. They could spare some assistance. "Would you like a hand?"

[MurderWeasel]

"Thanks for the warning."

Faith's disclosure raised questions, certainly, but also brought with it certain suggestions of answers. Juliette believed it to be more or less the truth, that Sierra and some unknown accomplice were to blame. Of course, the baggage between the girls was substantial. Had Juliette been campaigning against Faith, she would've tried to leverage the extremely public and physical altercation against the girl more than either Julien or Claudeson had seen fit to do; there was a difference between running a dirty campaign and pointing out that one's opponent had been involved in a brawl in the hallways. It would be foolish to assume that Sierra had acted purely out of spite, especially given the complicity of someone who Faith didn't know well enough to identify and who thus presumably was not an archenemy of hers. And yet, the tape did speak to a degree of pettiness, and Faith was still alive.

There was plenty more to unpack. Juliette liked Sierra, got along well with her, thought she was at heart a decent person, but those factors were all liabilities. This was a good reality check. Faith had had a gun, and now she didn't. Had she started things with it? No time to really pursue that line of thought. They had company.

Dante and Blaise was a mixed bag, all things considered. Juliette held a lot of quiet affection for Dante, because he came across as kind and genuine and he'd seemed the most harmless of the school's wide population of womanizers. When she'd seen him and Aurlien at prom, in passing, it had brought a whole lot into clarity and all she'd been able to think was, good for him.

Unfortunately, that meant he was a dead man walking even without the addition of whatever had left his gait unsteady and his leg stained with blood.

Blaise, meanwhile, was an exasperating presence, because they were ultimately wasted potential. They played interpersonal games with the finesse of a twelve-year old banging a piano, but found tolerance and acceptance anyways because social intelligence was sorely lacking at George Hunter. They were who they were, but, just on a hunch, Juliette suspected they didn't like that person very much, and neither did anyone else. But change? Change was hard. Change was work, and it was so much easier to be catered to, patted on the head and treated like the special one. Juliette believed that the purpose of high school was in part to strive for self-improvement, to transition into being an adult. Most of her peers failed to overcome their teenage natures, but Blaise didn't even achieve it. Blaise was a child.

Needless to say, they too would die here. Juliette suspected they would not go alone, rather kicking and screaming in a puerile tantrum of entirely their own instigation. That Dante was already in their grasp was unfortunate but more for him than anyone else. This meeting could be many things, but not the start of a team-up or partnership. There might be some opportunity to be found anyways, but likely not.

Whatever the case, Juliette was being ignored and was fine with that. There were no weapons in obvious view, but that did not mean nobody had them, and she thought she could likely glean more from an observer's standpoint anyways. She took a few steps closer to the wall of the building opposite that which the two newcomers had appeared from behind, and kept her attention wide. A loud conversation could draw still further company, though Juliette was pretty sure she could outrun almost everyone here if it came to that.

[Frozen Smoke]

Faith's eyes and head snapped to the side as she heard the voice, eyes wide with momentary fear before they settled, shrinking with recognition. Dante. He looked pale, and as her eyes travelled down, she could see why. Her expression shifted, from annoyance into concern, his stance obviously twisted as he leaned against the wall in a way that put as little weight on the injured leg as possible.

Before she could ask him anything, or even acknowledge that yes, that was her name - Another person stepped into the picture. Blaise.

She had never been sure what to think of her. Wait, shit, she was one of the kids with the weird pronoun stuff, wasn't she. Was it Zir? Or Them? Fuck. She could never remember. She wished that all of them would just pick a pronoun and stick to it, it wasn't hard, she'd done it all her life. For now, Blaise was Blaise, and that would be that. No reason to offend someone who'd just offered to help, even if it had been prefaced with a joke that made her grind her teeth, if just for a moment.

Blaise has always been a tough person for her to figure out. Julie and Ivy both told entirely different stories about Blaise, not that she'd exactly asked much, but it left her with two entirely different pictures of the person. But if Dante trusted her - Well, who was she kidding, Dante would trust Jason Voorhees, but Blaise had cared enough to help him get here, so that was something.

"No worries." she quickly replied to Juliette as she moved off of the path, towards Blaise and Dante, watching her step carefully.

"Shit. Dude. Man, Fuck." she stumbled, unable to find the words as she got closer to Dante. "I mean, like - Shit. Is there anything I can do?" he asked him earnestly, her expression only growing more and more pained as she got a better look at the injury. There was a tourniquet just above it, a band of fabric that left the rest of his exposed leg just a shade paler from the rest. That meant it was tight enough, but it also meant that whatever wound he'd had was bad enough to mean it wouldn't stop bleeding without it, and that meant all sorts of bad things.

She looked back at Blaise, trying to stop looking at it. Thinking about it. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Uh, yeah, if you wouldn't mind." her voice sounded a little weak, strained to her ears, and she coughed a little afterwards.

[Fenris]

His friends were here.

That was a dumb thought. Dante knew that already, since he'd already thought about them, cried over them, thought about finding them. Plus Blaise was right here and his relationship with Blaise was kinda weird and complicated sometimes but at the end of the day they were still a real good friend. But part of that weirdness was that Blaise kinda felt like they fit into everything that'd happened to him today, somehow. Like, he was kidnapped, and on an island where he was probably gonna die, and he'd been shot, and why wouldn't Blaise be there? That was just kinda how they were.

Faith was different. Faith was bright and cheerful and fun and felt like home even with her hands duct-taped behind her back. Jesus, what had—okay, she'd just said what had happened to her, he wasn't so out of it that he'd missed it, but seriously, Sierra? He knew the two of them didn't get along, cause he knew and liked both of them and neither of them was really the type to not talk shit about people they didn't like, and he'd always just gently tried to steer the subject away cause he felt bad not defending his other friend but didn't wanna cause trouble.

But that was high school stuff. This was... not that. This was like, felony stuff. Did it count as a felony if it was happening here? Probably not the part of this he should be focusing on.

"Sorry," he said weakly. He motioned at his left arm, holding steady on the wall, with his right. "I'd help but, uh. D'fall over. Probably. Blaise'll get it. An' all." The effort of walking this far had made him a little dizzy, now that he was thinking about it. He learned a little harder against the wall, glancing down the path. Yeah, he'd been right about the first guess after all. Juliette had ducked off the path, didn't really look like she wanted to be bothered. He offered her a wave, anyway, cause it felt rude to ignore her.

"Don't worry 'bout me. I'm... uh." He was gonna say he was fine but that sounded pretty stupid even in his head. "Could be worse. What about you? Where's your stuff?" He'd left his behind the building with Camila, she could've left hers somewhere too, but she'd been walking down the path, it looked like. Not really anywhere to leave it. She said they took her gun. Had they taken everything?

"You can take... some of mine. If you need it." He smiled a little. It hurt, that she was here. It meant bad things would happen to her, and they already had. But at least he had the chance to help someone.

[Emprexx Plush]

Another girl spoke. Judy? Jewel? July? Jeremy? No, no, they weren't even trying. There wasn't much point; they had vague recollections of her as one of those student government types who thought anything they did would have any meaning beyond graduation. The most interesting thing someone like her could do was gloriously flame out trying to juggle three majors, two unpaid internships, and a number of increasingly experimental relationships in college. Since Blaise would likely not be on premises to watch any of those mental breakdowns in the making they held little interest to them. It was relevant, however, that she seemed to size them all up. Not brazenly, but Blaise had sat at enough tables to know when calculations hid behind a lingering glance. She could make a move, or even better a proposal. Blaise would turn it down but Faith might need the help.

They were willing to provide some assistance of their own, poking and tapping and peeling at the wads of tape binding her hands together. That was about as far as their goodwill went though, and when Dante started to offer some of their hard fought supplies to her they had to put their foot down. Gently. There was a time to seize him by the collar and a time to guide him to reason with a soft hand. "Dante, you have lost a chunk of your leg and a considerable amount of blood. Faith has lost, mm, luggage and some dignity." Their hands probed for weaknesses as they spoke, a tug here, a tear there. "You will need everything you have and more to recover. Faith is a big girl. She can take care of herself." Blaise paused to catch Faith's eyes. "Besides, handouts are against your ideology, no?"

This might take awhile. It'd be much easier with something to cut, but they could make it work. "It is going to sting when we get to the skin," they warned without waiting for Faith to reply. Dialogue implied the matter was up for debate. Best to keep moving.

[Cicada]

A particularly mealy patch of dirt against the corner of wall just behind the failed president groaned. Camila very silently cursed and ducked her peeping eye back into cover.

The house's walls were still standing, sturdy and opaque enough that she'd been able to go the long way around. She was close enough to Sargent- the military-flavor last name had been the only thing she'd remembered from all the posters tacked on every square inch of school wall available- that she could count the stitches on the sleeve of her blouse.

Dante seemed to have another friend in this Faith. Camila was glad on his behalf, ignoring the mote of stomach upset that followed the idea of having to put up with yet another person. Another resource-draining cripple, if she was being practical; another burdensome soul, if she was more inclined to listen to the more scurrying rat of her instincts.

She would, at some point, have to reckon with her... she didn't know what to call it. Distrust wasn't quite the right word.

"...handouts are against your ideology, no?"

That resonated, somehow. Camila mulled the open sky in the periphery of her vision, and mulled what she'd heard so far. She didn't think Sargent or Faith were trustworthy, but she was all too keen on her own biases. Some use she was, as an ally and protector. She'd drive away the good people with her nonsense- if they happened to exist.

[MurderWeasel]

Faith and Dante were all ready to fall over each other in their efforts to proffer aid they were unqualified to actually lend, or expressions of concern and desire to assist beyond their means. Dante was probably being genuine. Faith might've just been trying to score brownie points, but the possibility was more distant than it should've been. Blaise was working on the tape, which could've been simple decency—Juliette would've done the same, without giving it much thought—but also could've been a quick and easy way to feign the same and get the credit that went with being the sort of person to do that. Faith wasn't much of a threat, and would probably work her way loose soon enough even without assistance (at least, Juliette hoped she would be able to manage; she didn't want to think both of the class' officers were unqualified for basic life tasks). There was no real opportunity to take advantage of Faith's predicament, either, not without alienating Dante and possibly one of the other bystanders.

There was a brief flicker of something, a faint noise out of place, and the ambient sound of insect life skipped a beat. Juliette slowly and casually glanced over her shoulder, but everything had returned to normal almost instantly. She might be imaging it. She'd been keeping an eye and ear out for interlopers, specifically, and that could easily bias her such that any hiccup in the atmosphere screamed of intruders. And yet, logically, there was a good chance indeed that others would be here, scavenging and perhaps hunting.

Nobody was paying her any mind. It would've been nothing to walk away, but that was just the issue: it would've been nothing, ventured or gained, of significance, to write home about, etc. And there was definitely a loose chance to make more of this encounter.

"Looks like you have everything well in hand," Juliette said in the vague direction of Blaise. Then, with a quick glance and eye contact towards Dante and Faith in turn: "I'm going to head a little further, see what there is to find. You're welcome to tag along if you want. I might have a spare bottle of water."

Her ideal would be to peel a single person away from this assembly. Faith was the obvious choice, having been just summarily patronized by her would-be savior, yet maintaining mobility. Dante would likely prove too slow, and Blaise would presumably be loathe to abandon their toy.

Of course, there was another little meaning behind the invitation and the delay to her actual departure: if anybody was lurking with ill intent, she was communicating to them that she would be moving out soon, likely accompanied, and suggesting that easier, isolated prey might better be found elsewhere. If some unseen observer really was nearby, they might even put two and two together on their own and decide to take advantage of an isolated pair of an opportunist and a boy with a bad leg.