Stiff Upper Lip

[Cactus]

The more he thought about it, the more that the encounter with his erstwhile teammates really pissed Jeff Greene off. There was no two ways about it; those two jackasses would eventually get what was coming to them for all of their douchebaggery. Half of his stuff? Wyatt had even tried to sound magnanimous about it. Once upon a time, friendship had meant something; being part of a team had meant something.

Those days were over; left in the past. Which if he were being honest with himself, was where all of this wallowing needed to stay. Trust was earned, not given, and neither Carter — nor many of the other members of the football team for that matter — had done a damn thing to earn his. They wanted to walk around in their merry little group, robbing people for sport? Fine by him. Jeff wasn't going to be the one to break it to them that eventually, they were going to run into someone who'd lost what little sense they had left, and wouldn't be so forgiving at the concept of having their things taken.

Man, what he wouldn't give to see the look on their faces when that happened.

((Jeff Greene; under new management and continued from Civilized Civil Lies))

But as he said, moaning and bitching about how they'd almost gotten one over on him wasn't going to do him any good at the moment, and the less faith he had in the people he went to school with, the easier it made the concept of doing what he had to in order to survive. The more he survived this ordeal and the longer the class of 2018 fought it out amongst themselves, the stronger the chance that he'd have to compromise his own personal code in deference to his own survival. Which was fine, really — he'd do what he had to. He wouldn't enjoy a second of it, but this was essentially war. This was a microcosm of what the fall of society might look like; complete with highwaymen, murderers, and probably the odd rapist.

As Jeff flexed his formerly-injured arm out, trying to stretch the muscles out to prevent any further soreness. He wasn't a doctor; he didn't know what the heck he'd done with any specificity, but when the blow had come and sent him sprawling, courtesy of Green Hair — no, Lorenzo — it had weakened him in a way that he couldn't afford. Yet another example of something that pissed him off just to think about. People like Lorenzo; whose name Jeff had made a point of knowing and remembering once he'd heard it on the announcements, they almost seemed to be enjoying all of this. Doing harm onto their former classmates and doing with with zest. Jeff had made a point of committing to memory all of the multi-killers. There was Quinn, Blaise, Erika and Tyrell; Lorenzo himself, along with Tirzah, Nick, and Violet. For the most part, they were just names. He hadn't cared to get to know most of them, and some he only knew in passing.

Go figure; nobody on the football team had gone out and killed anyone yet. As far as he could tell, only the Carters, Ace, Connor and himself had made the trip, but that sure put a dent into any imagined stereotypes regarding football players and testosterone. Of course, just because they hadn't been on the announcements didn't mean a damn thing. They could still be dangerous; much like he could be dangerous.

As he came upon a small stream deep in the woods, Jeff wondered how long it would be until he was forced to inflict some form of punishment upon someone. Physically, he knew he was one of the more impressive specimens on the island. His physicality on the football field was fueled by a drive that he knew was unmatched by any of his teammates and a quiet frustration with the idiocies of high school. The second he decided that someone had wronged him, and goodness, had he come close a few times, they were going to rue the day that they ever crossed Jeff Greene.

Looking down at the stream, he tried to make out his own reflection in the rippling water. It was murky, as though he didn't quite know himself anymore. After four days of wandering around, trying to keep people together, losing them, and then dodging villain after thief after damned teenager, he knew that he needed to pull his shit together. His beard had started to come in, filling in the areas where he had shaved before the bus had left to head back to Chattanooga. His moustache, coupled with the stubble made him look significantly older than he was; his visage almost seemed like that of an adult.

The thought snapped him out of his own head — by all accounts, he wouldn't reach adulthood. Whatever image he saw of him as an older man would be nothing but a fantasy. It wasn't becoming to think of such nonsense, and he booted a small rock into the stream. His face vanished from the water, replaced by the ripples of uncertainty. Whatever path he decided to walk from here on out, he would be walking it in both the prime and the twilight of his life, and he would be remembered for the actions he took in the coming days.

"Ain't no time for complaining," he muttered to himself, and stepped over the stream. His gait a little straighter, his mind a little clearer. Whatever happened from here — Jeff Greene was finished waiting for fate to reach up and grab him. It was time to drive his own destiny.

Everyone else be damned.

((Jeff Greene continued elsewhere))