((Continued from Third Impact
The light on Megan's face felt strange, somehow, as if it were filtering through from another world. She sits up, bones aching.
She feels like she might be dead.
Megan had always liked to think of herself as a ghost. It was a fun little game when she wanted to be invisible, untouchable, gone. A dead girl somehow still here, breathing air that wasn't hers. How is it that ghosts stick around after they die?
It would probably be better if she were actually gone when she died, though, one way or the other. Better for her and for everyone.
She stretched. She wasn't doing anyone any good, staying here. The hay was comfortable enough, once you got over the smell, and it wouldn't do anyone any good if she got herself killed in her sleep by resting out in the open. Now, though--staying here now that she was awake meant that she was as good as dead, in terms of what she could do, but with none of the relief.
The world outside, though. Megan wasn't a brave girl, no matter how you spun it.
A few more minutes, then. A few more minutes, and Megan will go out into the world outside, with its harsh, strange, blindingly bright light.
Knight of Faith
Day 6, private
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General Goose
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((Camille Bellegarde continued from Raw Deal.))
If nothing else, Camille was proving to be okay at the whole survival thing. She had rationed her supplies well, and had plans in place for procuring more food and water from nature. She had taken stock of the surroundings and terrain, the flora and fauna, and though her knowledge did not exactly cover the intricacies of survival in such a setting, Camille knew the traps to avoid and how best to learn from her mistakes. She had gotten rather used to finding good sleeping spots and the like. Proximity to danger zones, she had decided that was a good night time strategy. Those areas were likely sparsely populated.
She avoided interaction with others. Camille kept an ear out for friendly voices, voices that she could trust, but that was a rapidly dwindling number. So she mainly stuck to herself. It was good that way. Better that way.
Normally Camille found self-imposed isolation - when there was nothing to do or no distractions to partake in - something of a curse. These days, it was bearable. Better than the alternative. Understimulation was, if anything, stopping her mind from wandering to dark and forlorn places.
Still, the announcements always stung. That was good, Camille supposed. Meant that she was still decent. Didn't make it feel any nicer, however.
Jessica was dead. She'd killed herself. A horrifying end. Camille had heard much about what it was to like to jump to one's death. Camille couldn't help but fear that it had been the worst case scenario for Jessica. That regrets had moved into her mind, either steadily creeping up on her or violently barging through into her psyche, as she plummeted through the air, that the fall had been clumsy and inelegant, that the death had been drawn out and painful and her final moments had been filled with remorse and misgivings and a desire for a kinder death nursed in the arms of a loved one, or at least imbued with some kind of purpose. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe her death had been quick. Painless. Enviable when compared to the deaths of so many others, in some perverse way. It was an odd wish, to hope that somebody had remained convinced of the righteousness of their suicide up until the life left their body, but it was certainly preferable to the alternative.
Camille had a habit for putting everything into narratives. Thinking about story arcs, personal growth, filling in the details that were not divulged. Usually said thoughts were transient, fleeting, but that mental image of Jessica regretting her decision, bleeding out on the rocks, stuck with her. It was chilling.
Camille thought about returning to Stephanie. It was a mistake to leave her, in hindsight. Not a pragmatic mistake, no - Camille was certainly benefiting from the flexibility and manoeuvrability that came with playing it solo - but a moral mistake. She had left Stephanie alone to grieve. Camille wouldn't have been especially helpful in those circumstances. She could only really properly comfort those that she knew well. Her cousins, her boyfriend, her closer friends, those that by some fluke she had happened to strike up an empathetic accord with or some intangible connection. Still, sympathetic company was usually better than no company.
It was too late to return to Stephanie now.
Camille was tired. She needed to sit down. Shelter herself from the elements, the humidity and wind personally more vexing for Camille than the rains that had previously battered the island. She stepped into the stable, gun at the ready. There was no point being coy with it now. Her eyes checked the floor for any trip wires or pressure pads or snare traps and whatnot - Camille knew they were an unlikely occurrence here, but she would have imagined poison was unlikely here too, and yet here they were. If Camille had the materials, she might have set some traps up herself, even though she suspected it would be a gimmick prone to backfiring or of limited viability as danger zones moved.
"Is anyone here?" she asked. If anyone hostile was in the stables, she didn't expect them to reply. Her ears were primed, however, ready to catch the slightest rustle that betrayed hostile movement or malicious intent. Camille wasn't yet emotionally on board with the idea of killing in self-defence, but she had the suspicion that, more likely than not, her instincts would be.
If nothing else, Camille was proving to be okay at the whole survival thing. She had rationed her supplies well, and had plans in place for procuring more food and water from nature. She had taken stock of the surroundings and terrain, the flora and fauna, and though her knowledge did not exactly cover the intricacies of survival in such a setting, Camille knew the traps to avoid and how best to learn from her mistakes. She had gotten rather used to finding good sleeping spots and the like. Proximity to danger zones, she had decided that was a good night time strategy. Those areas were likely sparsely populated.
She avoided interaction with others. Camille kept an ear out for friendly voices, voices that she could trust, but that was a rapidly dwindling number. So she mainly stuck to herself. It was good that way. Better that way.
Normally Camille found self-imposed isolation - when there was nothing to do or no distractions to partake in - something of a curse. These days, it was bearable. Better than the alternative. Understimulation was, if anything, stopping her mind from wandering to dark and forlorn places.
Still, the announcements always stung. That was good, Camille supposed. Meant that she was still decent. Didn't make it feel any nicer, however.
Jessica was dead. She'd killed herself. A horrifying end. Camille had heard much about what it was to like to jump to one's death. Camille couldn't help but fear that it had been the worst case scenario for Jessica. That regrets had moved into her mind, either steadily creeping up on her or violently barging through into her psyche, as she plummeted through the air, that the fall had been clumsy and inelegant, that the death had been drawn out and painful and her final moments had been filled with remorse and misgivings and a desire for a kinder death nursed in the arms of a loved one, or at least imbued with some kind of purpose. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe her death had been quick. Painless. Enviable when compared to the deaths of so many others, in some perverse way. It was an odd wish, to hope that somebody had remained convinced of the righteousness of their suicide up until the life left their body, but it was certainly preferable to the alternative.
Camille had a habit for putting everything into narratives. Thinking about story arcs, personal growth, filling in the details that were not divulged. Usually said thoughts were transient, fleeting, but that mental image of Jessica regretting her decision, bleeding out on the rocks, stuck with her. It was chilling.
Camille thought about returning to Stephanie. It was a mistake to leave her, in hindsight. Not a pragmatic mistake, no - Camille was certainly benefiting from the flexibility and manoeuvrability that came with playing it solo - but a moral mistake. She had left Stephanie alone to grieve. Camille wouldn't have been especially helpful in those circumstances. She could only really properly comfort those that she knew well. Her cousins, her boyfriend, her closer friends, those that by some fluke she had happened to strike up an empathetic accord with or some intangible connection. Still, sympathetic company was usually better than no company.
It was too late to return to Stephanie now.
Camille was tired. She needed to sit down. Shelter herself from the elements, the humidity and wind personally more vexing for Camille than the rains that had previously battered the island. She stepped into the stable, gun at the ready. There was no point being coy with it now. Her eyes checked the floor for any trip wires or pressure pads or snare traps and whatnot - Camille knew they were an unlikely occurrence here, but she would have imagined poison was unlikely here too, and yet here they were. If Camille had the materials, she might have set some traps up herself, even though she suspected it would be a gimmick prone to backfiring or of limited viability as danger zones moved.
"Is anyone here?" she asked. If anyone hostile was in the stables, she didn't expect them to reply. Her ears were primed, however, ready to catch the slightest rustle that betrayed hostile movement or malicious intent. Camille wasn't yet emotionally on board with the idea of killing in self-defence, but she had the suspicion that, more likely than not, her instincts would be.
A voice.
The first voice Megan had heard in days, she realized. She opened her mouth to call out, then closed it. Whether it was a killer or a friend, no good would come of being discovered by them. She went through her memory for the voice--Camille? Was that Camille? Had Camille killed?
She couldn't remember. A killer and a friend--a third possibility. Megan had tried to pay attention to the announcements, she really had. What was the good in being alive to help people if she couldn't remember who needed protecting and who people needed to be protected from? But it was just so hard to care. Staying alive really does sap away at the excuse you gave yourself to stay alive.
Megan held still, which was hard because she'd started to sit up in response to the voice. Now she was stuck holding her back above the hay, not quite sitting but not quite laying down either, her nonexistent abs screaming. Please move on, Camille, or whoeever it is. Or make a sound so Megan can lay back down. She doesn't even want to be alive; why are you making her work so hard for this?
Megan realized she was holding her breath. She kept on holding it.
The first voice Megan had heard in days, she realized. She opened her mouth to call out, then closed it. Whether it was a killer or a friend, no good would come of being discovered by them. She went through her memory for the voice--Camille? Was that Camille? Had Camille killed?
She couldn't remember. A killer and a friend--a third possibility. Megan had tried to pay attention to the announcements, she really had. What was the good in being alive to help people if she couldn't remember who needed protecting and who people needed to be protected from? But it was just so hard to care. Staying alive really does sap away at the excuse you gave yourself to stay alive.
Megan held still, which was hard because she'd started to sit up in response to the voice. Now she was stuck holding her back above the hay, not quite sitting but not quite laying down either, her nonexistent abs screaming. Please move on, Camille, or whoeever it is. Or make a sound so Megan can lay back down. She doesn't even want to be alive; why are you making her work so hard for this?
Megan realized she was holding her breath. She kept on holding it.
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Three possibilities occurred to Camille.
One was that the stable was empty. It would be far from a luxurious place to seek shelter and bunker down. Probably a step down from the last shelter she'd been in, in terms of suitability for human occupation, but Camille still didn't regret her leaving. Solace in an easily defensible location...Camille could appreciate that. It was a shoddy approximation of the sort of cosy nook that used to be her favourite place to write and brainstorm and catch up on the latest reality TV. Close enough for her to feel a sense of comfort. Camille's concept of what passed for 'comfortable' had admittedly declined rather precipitously in recent days. By necessity, of course.
Another possibility was that - well, someone else was there. And that broke down into two sub-possibilities. So maybe someone was in there, and they were hiding. In fear, in a desire to be alone, in a desire to have some semblance of peace and privacy in what was conceivably their last day on earth.
Or they were waiting to spring a trap. This was a good place to prepare a trap. A lot of people were putting a lot of thought and preparation into their kills. The way that Danya spoke about it, and she was willing to concede that he was not a reliable narrator, some of them were putting a LOT of creativity into the way they murdered their peers. A twisted, convoluted, misdirected creativity, one bordering on sadism and inhumanity, but creativity nevertheless. It wasn't an expression of creativity that Camille was particularly keen on, but it was unwise for her to deny that it was creative.
Camille pondered the three possibilities. She tried thinking if there was another possibility that she was forgetting about. She couldn't think of it. She had to make a decision based on what she'd theorised so far.
She saw a footprint. Fresh. Solitary. Too hard to tell where any others led to, and Camille was no tracker, but it was enough evidence for her to lean towards the latter two possibilities.
Okay. What made sense was to go through the cubicles. Stalls? Boxes? Whatever. She wanted to spend some time here. Maybe it was someone who needed help. Maybe it was a threat that it would be easier to confront now.
She opened one door, gun at the ready. Then another. And then another.
On the fourth, Camille almost stepped back, already entrenched in the routine of the stalls being empty, but her senses picked up on Megan's presence a second too late. Camille doubled back, said with a benign curiosity "Megan?" and then remembered the gun was still up. She lowered it. "Are you...okay?"
One was that the stable was empty. It would be far from a luxurious place to seek shelter and bunker down. Probably a step down from the last shelter she'd been in, in terms of suitability for human occupation, but Camille still didn't regret her leaving. Solace in an easily defensible location...Camille could appreciate that. It was a shoddy approximation of the sort of cosy nook that used to be her favourite place to write and brainstorm and catch up on the latest reality TV. Close enough for her to feel a sense of comfort. Camille's concept of what passed for 'comfortable' had admittedly declined rather precipitously in recent days. By necessity, of course.
Another possibility was that - well, someone else was there. And that broke down into two sub-possibilities. So maybe someone was in there, and they were hiding. In fear, in a desire to be alone, in a desire to have some semblance of peace and privacy in what was conceivably their last day on earth.
Or they were waiting to spring a trap. This was a good place to prepare a trap. A lot of people were putting a lot of thought and preparation into their kills. The way that Danya spoke about it, and she was willing to concede that he was not a reliable narrator, some of them were putting a LOT of creativity into the way they murdered their peers. A twisted, convoluted, misdirected creativity, one bordering on sadism and inhumanity, but creativity nevertheless. It wasn't an expression of creativity that Camille was particularly keen on, but it was unwise for her to deny that it was creative.
Camille pondered the three possibilities. She tried thinking if there was another possibility that she was forgetting about. She couldn't think of it. She had to make a decision based on what she'd theorised so far.
She saw a footprint. Fresh. Solitary. Too hard to tell where any others led to, and Camille was no tracker, but it was enough evidence for her to lean towards the latter two possibilities.
Okay. What made sense was to go through the cubicles. Stalls? Boxes? Whatever. She wanted to spend some time here. Maybe it was someone who needed help. Maybe it was a threat that it would be easier to confront now.
She opened one door, gun at the ready. Then another. And then another.
On the fourth, Camille almost stepped back, already entrenched in the routine of the stalls being empty, but her senses picked up on Megan's presence a second too late. Camille doubled back, said with a benign curiosity "Megan?" and then remembered the gun was still up. She lowered it. "Are you...okay?"
Whoever she was, she wasn't buying it. Maybe Megan had made a sound before the person had called out?
One door, one set of creaky hinges creaking. Two doors. Megan's back burned from holding her position. If she really did end up dying here, no one could fault her for it. She'd done her best. Which wasn't much, but what was there to do but wait, to wait and dread and hope?
Three doors.
It was hard to make out what Megan really thought about dying. These were her last thoughts, maybe. But it didn't really matter all that much. Either there was a god or there wasn't; either he was on her side or he wasn't. No sense in doubting it as long as Megan was alive, until it came to pass that she wasn't. So long as she kept on half-heartedly whole-assing this survival thing.
The door swung open. Megan breathed in--
And there was Camille, gun already lowering, disappointment and relief.
"I..."
Megan's eyes flickered from Camille's face to her gun, and then back to Camille. Raise it, already. Why don't you raise it, Camille? Give Megan an out. Force her to take it.
"I'm not worse off than anyone else who's still alive."
One door, one set of creaky hinges creaking. Two doors. Megan's back burned from holding her position. If she really did end up dying here, no one could fault her for it. She'd done her best. Which wasn't much, but what was there to do but wait, to wait and dread and hope?
Three doors.
It was hard to make out what Megan really thought about dying. These were her last thoughts, maybe. But it didn't really matter all that much. Either there was a god or there wasn't; either he was on her side or he wasn't. No sense in doubting it as long as Megan was alive, until it came to pass that she wasn't. So long as she kept on half-heartedly whole-assing this survival thing.
The door swung open. Megan breathed in--
And there was Camille, gun already lowering, disappointment and relief.
"I..."
Megan's eyes flickered from Camille's face to her gun, and then back to Camille. Raise it, already. Why don't you raise it, Camille? Give Megan an out. Force her to take it.
"I'm not worse off than anyone else who's still alive."
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Camille nodded. There was something admirably matter-of-fact about how Megan summed up her position, even though just a few seconds before she had been - understandably - cowering in fear in the corner of a stable. "Yes, I think I'm much the same," Camille replied, not stepping past the threshold into the box, not wanting to disrupt whatever flimsy sense of security Megan had any more than she already had. A way of conveying her benign intentions. "I suppose I'm what passes for 'good' in this situation."
It was all relative, really. Camille was pretty sure she was doing far better than most. Her body had avoided any damage. Her mind was keeping it together. She had managed to avoid dehydration or crippling levels of starvation.
Camille couldn't stop herself from relaxing slightly. There was always an inherent risk in letting her guard down in this context, but maintaining a state of battle-ready paranoia at all times just wasn't feasible. It was a calculated risk, then, letting herself ease up slightly at moments like this, when the chances of being ambushed or tricked were low. Megan was her friend, and while Camille knew that nobody was completely guaranteed to resist the violent temptations of the game, Camille couldn't see that being Megan's style. There was no contextual evidence to suggest she was in league with someone or being unwillingly used as bait either.
"So, how long have you been here?"
It was all relative, really. Camille was pretty sure she was doing far better than most. Her body had avoided any damage. Her mind was keeping it together. She had managed to avoid dehydration or crippling levels of starvation.
Camille couldn't stop herself from relaxing slightly. There was always an inherent risk in letting her guard down in this context, but maintaining a state of battle-ready paranoia at all times just wasn't feasible. It was a calculated risk, then, letting herself ease up slightly at moments like this, when the chances of being ambushed or tricked were low. Megan was her friend, and while Camille knew that nobody was completely guaranteed to resist the violent temptations of the game, Camille couldn't see that being Megan's style. There was no contextual evidence to suggest she was in league with someone or being unwillingly used as bait either.
"So, how long have you been here?"
"Just the night."
She should've left earlier. Now she was stuck, and even if Camille got out of the way, Megan would need to find a way to leave without hurting Camille's feelings. Oh, well. It's not like that should be hard. It's not like Megan had to work to convince people that they'd be better off without her, that they wouldn't miss her.
Camille was...well. She'd sought out Megan, for one. And she'd done it again. And again. Always a new thing to show her--another doodle, or sometimes a full-fledged drawing. They were beautiful, always beautiful, but they made Megan blush, and her blushes were obvious. Megan wasn't sure why Camille kept on doing that, since it wasn't exactly like Megan had anything insightful to say about the art--just a few stammered compliments and comments. For whatever reason, Megan had meant something to her.
Wishful thinking, that. Hadn't Princess been the same? Hadn't, oh...Blaise? There was a difference between being wanted and being pitied enough for people to pretend to want you. Just wait, Megan. Wait, but don't hope.
"I was about to head out. Once I was less tired. I'm good now. You can have this spot, if you want."
Megan released her breath. She'd done her part. Make it easy for them to turn away from her. No sense in leaving a bigger hole in their lives than she had to.
She should've left earlier. Now she was stuck, and even if Camille got out of the way, Megan would need to find a way to leave without hurting Camille's feelings. Oh, well. It's not like that should be hard. It's not like Megan had to work to convince people that they'd be better off without her, that they wouldn't miss her.
Camille was...well. She'd sought out Megan, for one. And she'd done it again. And again. Always a new thing to show her--another doodle, or sometimes a full-fledged drawing. They were beautiful, always beautiful, but they made Megan blush, and her blushes were obvious. Megan wasn't sure why Camille kept on doing that, since it wasn't exactly like Megan had anything insightful to say about the art--just a few stammered compliments and comments. For whatever reason, Megan had meant something to her.
Wishful thinking, that. Hadn't Princess been the same? Hadn't, oh...Blaise? There was a difference between being wanted and being pitied enough for people to pretend to want you. Just wait, Megan. Wait, but don't hope.
"I was about to head out. Once I was less tired. I'm good now. You can have this spot, if you want."
Megan released her breath. She'd done her part. Make it easy for them to turn away from her. No sense in leaving a bigger hole in their lives than she had to.
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Camille looked at Megan. She'd been there one night, she said. Made sense. This place had a history of being a danger zone, after all. Camille suspected locations such as this would have drawn a lot of attention, a lot of competition, a lot of curiosity, on the first day. Structures with well-understood layouts and an apparent adaptability for the purposes of hunkering down and setting up a base.
It was surprising that others had not followed up on that thought and settled in here after the danger zone had been lifted, but after a second's thought, Camille could speculate as to why. Those still about had likely formed into groups, developed approximate routines, settled into some kind of rhythm and procedure that had worked for them up until now. Places like the stable, then, had ended up being suitable pickings for those left on their own. Those like Megan.
Maybe Camille should have stepped aside at that, waved her through. The thought didn't really occur to her. It's not like Camille's body language was especially intimidating or domineering. She was as relaxed as it was possible to be in the situation, and she would have let Megan through if she'd actually gotten up to move. But instead Camille stayed by the entrance to the stall, resting one hand on the side to take some weight off her feet.
Megan wanted to leave. Camille...would rather that she didn't. "I mean, you can stay here. We can stay here. Or we can go together." Camille was phrasing the options in a way that wasn't exactly open-ended, but she didn't want to be left alone. As tired as she was, as great as it would have been to snuggle up in the corner of one of these stalls - maybe with something like a pitchfork or a rope set up as a trap to deter intruders - she'd rather be tired and with a friend than alone and well-rested.
It was surprising that others had not followed up on that thought and settled in here after the danger zone had been lifted, but after a second's thought, Camille could speculate as to why. Those still about had likely formed into groups, developed approximate routines, settled into some kind of rhythm and procedure that had worked for them up until now. Places like the stable, then, had ended up being suitable pickings for those left on their own. Those like Megan.
Maybe Camille should have stepped aside at that, waved her through. The thought didn't really occur to her. It's not like Camille's body language was especially intimidating or domineering. She was as relaxed as it was possible to be in the situation, and she would have let Megan through if she'd actually gotten up to move. But instead Camille stayed by the entrance to the stall, resting one hand on the side to take some weight off her feet.
Megan wanted to leave. Camille...would rather that she didn't. "I mean, you can stay here. We can stay here. Or we can go together." Camille was phrasing the options in a way that wasn't exactly open-ended, but she didn't want to be left alone. As tired as she was, as great as it would have been to snuggle up in the corner of one of these stalls - maybe with something like a pitchfork or a rope set up as a trap to deter intruders - she'd rather be tired and with a friend than alone and well-rested.
Megan's breath caught. Her heart rate, which had been slowing down, suddenly couldn't decide what to do and settled into a rhythm that felt lurching, irregular. Why did Camille refuse the offer? Had Megan messed up? It had been a guilt-free option, she thought--she'd given Camille the choice, given no hint of needing anything, let her know that it's okay if she doesn't want to stay with Megan without the emotionally manipulative bit of self-pity that would come with saying so explicitly. Maybe some of that had seeped through, but Megan couldn't think of where. It's not like she trusted her perception of her actions, though.
Really, it's okay. It's okay to not take care of me, she wanted to say. No matter what signals I give off. Ignore me. Ignore me, please.
Megan shrugged. "I'm going. It's not smart, not if I want to get out of here alive. You can come if you want."
No hints. No pressure to stay when she inevitably felt Megan dragging her down, though Camille might do it to herself. But it wasn't like Megan could tell Camille no, don't come with me. Not without hurting Camille.
Megan swallowed. She really should have left earlier.
Really, it's okay. It's okay to not take care of me, she wanted to say. No matter what signals I give off. Ignore me. Ignore me, please.
Megan shrugged. "I'm going. It's not smart, not if I want to get out of here alive. You can come if you want."
No hints. No pressure to stay when she inevitably felt Megan dragging her down, though Camille might do it to herself. But it wasn't like Megan could tell Camille no, don't come with me. Not without hurting Camille.
Megan swallowed. She really should have left earlier.
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Camille frowned. Here she was, face to face with a friend, and they were restless. Agitated. Leaving shelter, eschewing the chance to rest and recuperate together, wanting to venture back into the wild. Camille could not help but think Megan wanted to get away from her. The hints were...well, pretty transparent, in all honesty.
Not that Camille blamed Megan, or begrudged her for it. The situation was hardly one conducive to a keen socialising atmosphere. But still. Camille was being slightly selfish here - or perhaps altruistic, in an uncharacteristically paternalistic and interventionist way - in wanting to stick with Megan for as long as possible. She missed friendship. That...loss, it seemed all the more real, all the more palpable, now that she had a reminder of what a relief it was to be standing in the mere presence of a friend.
"Megan..." Camille murmured.
"Do you want me to go? Because I'd love to stay with you, but...if you want to be alone, just say."
She could take it. She'd probably cry about it for a bit, but she could take it.
Not that Camille blamed Megan, or begrudged her for it. The situation was hardly one conducive to a keen socialising atmosphere. But still. Camille was being slightly selfish here - or perhaps altruistic, in an uncharacteristically paternalistic and interventionist way - in wanting to stick with Megan for as long as possible. She missed friendship. That...loss, it seemed all the more real, all the more palpable, now that she had a reminder of what a relief it was to be standing in the mere presence of a friend.
"Megan..." Camille murmured.
"Do you want me to go? Because I'd love to stay with you, but...if you want to be alone, just say."
She could take it. She'd probably cry about it for a bit, but she could take it.
"No! No, I want you to come, it's just..."
And she did, Megan did. She wanted this so badly.
"Don't listen to me, okay? I don't want you to make yourself...do that...if you don't want to. I'm--" She bites her tongue. Camille would never feel free to leave her if Megan had said that 'I'm not worth it' so explicitly.
"It's just...it's not worth it."
No crying. No playing the victim.
And she did, Megan did. She wanted this so badly.
"Don't listen to me, okay? I don't want you to make yourself...do that...if you don't want to. I'm--" She bites her tongue. Camille would never feel free to leave her if Megan had said that 'I'm not worth it' so explicitly.
"It's just...it's not worth it."
No crying. No playing the victim.
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Megan wasn't exactly being as easy to talk to as she had back in Tennessee, but Camille supposed that was to be expected.
That she was still friendly, that she still seemed to value Camille's company, that was more than enough for her to still recognisably be Megan. Others had changed in ways that were so much more maleficent, so much more intimidating, that Camille supposed, as dark a thought that it was, that being reduced to a jittery bundle of nerves was one of the better ways the island could change someone.
Camille knelt down.
She could read between the lines with the 'not worth it' line, but decided not to push it. Best instead to move the conversation forward.
"Have you...been with anyone the past few days?"
That she was still friendly, that she still seemed to value Camille's company, that was more than enough for her to still recognisably be Megan. Others had changed in ways that were so much more maleficent, so much more intimidating, that Camille supposed, as dark a thought that it was, that being reduced to a jittery bundle of nerves was one of the better ways the island could change someone.
Camille knelt down.
She could read between the lines with the 'not worth it' line, but decided not to push it. Best instead to move the conversation forward.
"Have you...been with anyone the past few days?"
"No."
Megan was lonely.
"Not in awhile."
Please don't let Camille know she was lonely.
"I don't know much. Remember much. I think I'm bad at this game. It's a good thing to be bad at, really."
Still. No use.
Megan was lonely.
"Not in awhile."
Please don't let Camille know she was lonely.
"I don't know much. Remember much. I think I'm bad at this game. It's a good thing to be bad at, really."
Still. No use.
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- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
Camille nodded.
Okay, they had something in common on that front. Even when she'd been with people, she'd sorta been lonely. Even the people she stood have been able to click with, that she should have been able to bond over, it'd been kinda forced.
And sure, the conversation with Megan was sorta awkward now, but it still felt more real.
"Yeah. I mean, we're both still alive, I guess. I imagine that means we're not the worst at this game."
Oof, that was dark.
"But hey. If we were actually good at this game, we'd be terrible people. So yeah. Gotta avoid that."
Okay, they had something in common on that front. Even when she'd been with people, she'd sorta been lonely. Even the people she stood have been able to click with, that she should have been able to bond over, it'd been kinda forced.
And sure, the conversation with Megan was sorta awkward now, but it still felt more real.
"Yeah. I mean, we're both still alive, I guess. I imagine that means we're not the worst at this game."
Oof, that was dark.
"But hey. If we were actually good at this game, we'd be terrible people. So yeah. Gotta avoid that."
Megan nodded. Yes, she was already a terrible person--maybe--but at least it wasn't a sure thing. She could be worse.
Not that that excuses anything.
Why was Camille talking to her?
"...glad to know that neither of us are terrible. At the game, and as people."
A joke! See, Megan can be useful.
(It's a joke because Megan's actually terrible at both.)
"What are you trying to do?"
Or: why do you want to be around me? How can I be useful to you?
Not that that excuses anything.
Why was Camille talking to her?
"...glad to know that neither of us are terrible. At the game, and as people."
A joke! See, Megan can be useful.
(It's a joke because Megan's actually terrible at both.)
"What are you trying to do?"
Or: why do you want to be around me? How can I be useful to you?