Standing under a cluster of trees, Connor Lorenzen knew that at this moment in time, there were some painful truths that he had to accept. Firstly, he yearned for a towel. Unlike ever before, Connor desperately wanted to be dry. His hair was wet, his clothes were wet, his knapsack was wet. The trees were lined with rainwater and the ground made a squelch beneath his feet with every step that he took.
The second painful fact that he had to accept — which was at present the more important of the two — was that Connor was lost. For hours since leaving Ace and Ivy at that shoe tree, Connor had stayed off the path, cutting through trees and across different places in the hopes that he'd end up close to one of the ends of the island, with the beach or the water visible. But here he stood, in the middle of some sort of tropical woodland, with trees as far as the eye can see and more water than he knew what to do with.
He'd have been more annoyed than pensive if not for the elephant in the room: the explosive collar hanging around his neck. It didn't itch, but every so often some sweat or rain dripped underneath it to remind him of its presence. He may have been waiting for a rescue, but right now, he was as vulnerable as anyone else.
A rescue that would come. He just needed to keep waiting. Stay alive, stay safe.
It was coming, there was no doubt. He knew it within his bones.
He just wondered why his gut was starting to have doubts.
((Connor Lorenzen continued from a thug changes and love changes and best friends become strangers))
Leaning back against a tree and getting a very minimal amount of shelter from the rain, Connor unwrapped the hair tie that kept his hair back in a ponytail and tried to shake the water from his hair. Long hair had been an indulgence as a teenager, he'd always liked the way that his hair felt in the wind as he ran, or played football, or drove down a street with his windows down. It felt freeing, as though he were truly where he was supposed to be. Where he was supposed to be, indeed. This here was the last place Connor Lorenzen was supposed to be. His path was supposed to take him to Notre Dame, to the football field at Notre Dame Stadium and eventually in front of the crowds who would watch him as he excelled and played somewhere in the NFL. That was where he was supposed to be.
High school was supposed to be a footnote for him. Just something that he'd done, where people could point at their yearbooks and flip the pages and tell their friends that they'd gone to school with someone who was truly special. That they'd had an English class with that Connor Lorenzen, and yeah, he was a pretty good guy. And yeah, everyone knew how good he was back then, too. That was what was supposed to have happened.
But this, this kind of hellish diversion from the plan he'd laid out for himself had never been in the cards. How could it have been? These kinds of things didn't happen to people like Connor. They didn't happen to Steven or Karen Lorenzen's son. They happened to other people, less important people, but not to him.
Never to him.
Connor let his head thud back against the tree trunk, feeling some drops of rain bounce off of his face. Running his hands over his cheeks and back through his hair, he felt what stubble he did have. It had gotten thicker, his skin was oily with sweat and grime. As someone who kept near-immaculate care of his skin and his appearance, this was yet another frustration to add to the list. He had at least four different types of moisturizers for his face on any given day or season, and even being on the trip for a week hadn't allowed him his usual care for his skin that he'd have preferred.
"C'mon, Pop. Anytime now," he muttered as his thoughts went to his creature comforts that were starting to feel further and further away.
Thinking about all of the things he was missing took his mind away from the significant lack of progress on his release. The terrorists hadn't said anything out loud, and he was certain at some point, they would. As part of their bargain, they would undoubtedly tell him to get to a certain location, but say it out loud so that he'd have to wade through a mob of angry and hurt classmates.
Hence why he was looking for the beach. It was a natural landing spot as any, and if he were already there, all he'd have to do would be to wait. He was sick of waiting.
Connor just wanted to go home, already. All of this was tiresome.
Yeah, tiresome. That was it.
High Hopes
Day 4 as of the 2nd page
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MurderWeasel
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- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
((Juliette Sargent continued from Like A Pack Of Wild Dogs))
Nearly a full day since the first drops had fallen, and it was still raining.
It wasn't the most important thing to focus on, but Juliette couldn't entirely banish it from her mind regardless. It was an irritation, an affront to dignity, though also a little morale boost and ego stroke in its own unusual way.
Her makeup was a total loss. She'd removed it entirely at an early rest stop, rather than deal with it piecemeal as it deteriorated under the elements. She'd done what she could for her hair, brushing it and retying it. Then, and this was the part that she felt especially good about, she'd taken proactive steps to avoid having her shirt soaked through and her possessions ruined by the impending downpour.
The first aid kit was, as she'd discovered way back at the beginning when she wiped the blood from Arjen's face, quite well-stocked. Its contents included a number of arcane creams and pills and gel treatments, along with all kinds of wraps and bandages and sutures, but what she had zeroed in on was the emergency blanket. It was a thin, silver, plastic thing, small enough to be folded into a package that she could've kept casually in her handbag, though once she removed it there wasn't a chance of ever getting it so compact again. Juliette had fairly well surmised that she was unlikely to freeze to death on this island, which made the blanket expendable as raw materials. She'd cut a hole in the center, just big enough to fit her head through, and then had done just that, fussing around with the fit and lay of it, leaving her adorned in a brilliant silver poncho, secured by a belt she'd planned for a rather different outfit. She surely looked straight out of Flash Gordon or some similar sci fi story, but really the joke was on the masses of her classmates no doubt futilely trying to use their bags as umbrellas while suffering from exposure, squishy armpits, and the lack of dignity that came with wearing clothes that went transparent when drenched.
The next step was securing the clothes she wasn't wearing. Juliette had had with her on the bus a backpack and a handbag. She had, mercifully, actually done some laundry in Washington DC, so while her dirty things had been in a rolling suitcase that she would never see again, the clothes in her backpack were in good shape. Among them numbered her spare footwear—she'd swapped to the sandals because she was going to have wet feet anyways so better not to stew in it—as well as three spare blouses, two extra skirts, ample undergarments, and a few accessories. Of course, all her technology and reading material was gone.
She'd been eating the bread she'd been provided first, surmising it most likely to turn foul given time in the environment, and had kept the empty plastic bread bag, just in case. There was some real justified smugness she was sure crossed her face as she made the wisdom of this apparent by stuffing all her extra panties and socks, two of her blouses, and her lightest and loosest skirt into the empty bag and then closed the bulging container off. That was a couple dry outfits handled, where once again she was sure many of her peers would spend the rest of their short and miserable lives squelching everywhere they went.
Throughout this process, she had naturally offered cheerful suggestions to Julien as to how he might follow her lead. They were allies, after all, at least for the moment. Trust between them might be strained, but Juliette took no pleasure in the idea of his suffering, ample pleasure in an audience (however unenthusiastic) for her ingenuity, and a certain satisfaction in following the rationale that he was more useful to her in good shape anyways. Not that Julien was helpless on his own; she had this vague recollection he was something of an outdoorsman himself, another good reason to keep him around.
Their time traveling together had not been unpleasant. Juliette actually rather appreciated the moderate scorn her companion obviously held towards her; it spared her any need to put on airs. They moved through the woods, they did not find Drew's crumpled corpse, they did not come under fire, and eventually they found an adequately-sheltered copse, passed a surprisingly dry night, and were greeted by the announcements.
Juliette had extensive thoughts on all of the developments, naturally, but the biggest points of focus were the situation with Mikki that seemingly got out of control, the recurrence of certain names (Tirzah, Nick, and Quinn), and, oh yes, Kelly fatally poisoning cheer captain Mercy Ames. Juliette had drawn in breath so sharply at that one that she'd choked on her spit and descended into a brief fit of coughing that evolved soon into ragged laughter.
Well played, Kelly. That's what she thought. Well played. I didn't think you had it in you.
I'm glad I was wrong.
She'd been somewhat less verbally forthright about that musing. She'd explained that she'd met Kelly on the first day, at the boat, and that the girl had fallen off, with rescue efforts thwarted when they were scattered by gunfire. She hadn't bothered to pretend that she'd been overly heroic. Julien would've surely seen right through it, so she said she'd thrown a life preserver and then taken off. She said obviously Kelly was just fine. Wasn't that good to hear?
They were still in the woods now, and it had been some time since there'd been even a hint of other human activity. Juliette might've felt more uneasy about that were she alone, or if she hadn't stumbled into a highly improbable convergence yesterday; as it was, she viewed it as statistics reasserting themselves. And, of course, nothing lasted forever.
Up ahead was a cluster of trees, denser than the surroundings, shaded and looking comparatively dry. More than that, Juliette thought she could make out the hint of a figure within. One side effect of her improvised rain gear was that she was particularly visible, so it wasn't worth even attempting stealth. Better to come off as honest and non-threatening, since they hadn't been shot yet.
Juliette looked to Julien.
"Time for a lunch break?" she asked. They'd been walking a lot, and while she was drier than she really had any right to be, her feet and lower legs were damp and speckled with mud and little bits of plant life, and her hair was sodden, and her face streaked with water.
Then she turned towards the spot ahead, gave a little wave, and called out, "Friendly. Room for company?"
Nearly a full day since the first drops had fallen, and it was still raining.
It wasn't the most important thing to focus on, but Juliette couldn't entirely banish it from her mind regardless. It was an irritation, an affront to dignity, though also a little morale boost and ego stroke in its own unusual way.
Her makeup was a total loss. She'd removed it entirely at an early rest stop, rather than deal with it piecemeal as it deteriorated under the elements. She'd done what she could for her hair, brushing it and retying it. Then, and this was the part that she felt especially good about, she'd taken proactive steps to avoid having her shirt soaked through and her possessions ruined by the impending downpour.
The first aid kit was, as she'd discovered way back at the beginning when she wiped the blood from Arjen's face, quite well-stocked. Its contents included a number of arcane creams and pills and gel treatments, along with all kinds of wraps and bandages and sutures, but what she had zeroed in on was the emergency blanket. It was a thin, silver, plastic thing, small enough to be folded into a package that she could've kept casually in her handbag, though once she removed it there wasn't a chance of ever getting it so compact again. Juliette had fairly well surmised that she was unlikely to freeze to death on this island, which made the blanket expendable as raw materials. She'd cut a hole in the center, just big enough to fit her head through, and then had done just that, fussing around with the fit and lay of it, leaving her adorned in a brilliant silver poncho, secured by a belt she'd planned for a rather different outfit. She surely looked straight out of Flash Gordon or some similar sci fi story, but really the joke was on the masses of her classmates no doubt futilely trying to use their bags as umbrellas while suffering from exposure, squishy armpits, and the lack of dignity that came with wearing clothes that went transparent when drenched.
The next step was securing the clothes she wasn't wearing. Juliette had had with her on the bus a backpack and a handbag. She had, mercifully, actually done some laundry in Washington DC, so while her dirty things had been in a rolling suitcase that she would never see again, the clothes in her backpack were in good shape. Among them numbered her spare footwear—she'd swapped to the sandals because she was going to have wet feet anyways so better not to stew in it—as well as three spare blouses, two extra skirts, ample undergarments, and a few accessories. Of course, all her technology and reading material was gone.
She'd been eating the bread she'd been provided first, surmising it most likely to turn foul given time in the environment, and had kept the empty plastic bread bag, just in case. There was some real justified smugness she was sure crossed her face as she made the wisdom of this apparent by stuffing all her extra panties and socks, two of her blouses, and her lightest and loosest skirt into the empty bag and then closed the bulging container off. That was a couple dry outfits handled, where once again she was sure many of her peers would spend the rest of their short and miserable lives squelching everywhere they went.
Throughout this process, she had naturally offered cheerful suggestions to Julien as to how he might follow her lead. They were allies, after all, at least for the moment. Trust between them might be strained, but Juliette took no pleasure in the idea of his suffering, ample pleasure in an audience (however unenthusiastic) for her ingenuity, and a certain satisfaction in following the rationale that he was more useful to her in good shape anyways. Not that Julien was helpless on his own; she had this vague recollection he was something of an outdoorsman himself, another good reason to keep him around.
Their time traveling together had not been unpleasant. Juliette actually rather appreciated the moderate scorn her companion obviously held towards her; it spared her any need to put on airs. They moved through the woods, they did not find Drew's crumpled corpse, they did not come under fire, and eventually they found an adequately-sheltered copse, passed a surprisingly dry night, and were greeted by the announcements.
Juliette had extensive thoughts on all of the developments, naturally, but the biggest points of focus were the situation with Mikki that seemingly got out of control, the recurrence of certain names (Tirzah, Nick, and Quinn), and, oh yes, Kelly fatally poisoning cheer captain Mercy Ames. Juliette had drawn in breath so sharply at that one that she'd choked on her spit and descended into a brief fit of coughing that evolved soon into ragged laughter.
Well played, Kelly. That's what she thought. Well played. I didn't think you had it in you.
I'm glad I was wrong.
She'd been somewhat less verbally forthright about that musing. She'd explained that she'd met Kelly on the first day, at the boat, and that the girl had fallen off, with rescue efforts thwarted when they were scattered by gunfire. She hadn't bothered to pretend that she'd been overly heroic. Julien would've surely seen right through it, so she said she'd thrown a life preserver and then taken off. She said obviously Kelly was just fine. Wasn't that good to hear?
They were still in the woods now, and it had been some time since there'd been even a hint of other human activity. Juliette might've felt more uneasy about that were she alone, or if she hadn't stumbled into a highly improbable convergence yesterday; as it was, she viewed it as statistics reasserting themselves. And, of course, nothing lasted forever.
Up ahead was a cluster of trees, denser than the surroundings, shaded and looking comparatively dry. More than that, Juliette thought she could make out the hint of a figure within. One side effect of her improvised rain gear was that she was particularly visible, so it wasn't worth even attempting stealth. Better to come off as honest and non-threatening, since they hadn't been shot yet.
Juliette looked to Julien.
"Time for a lunch break?" she asked. They'd been walking a lot, and while she was drier than she really had any right to be, her feet and lower legs were damp and speckled with mud and little bits of plant life, and her hair was sodden, and her face streaked with water.
Then she turned towards the spot ahead, gave a little wave, and called out, "Friendly. Room for company?"
[ Julien Leblanc continued from the exact same thread as Juliette. ]
He wasn't bothered by the rain, was happier for it even, no mind paid to the water-logged hair he was no stranger to or the rain dripping down his face. Being mostly dry helped, certainly, but the sound of it falling all around still had a calming effect. And besides, whether he liked it or not, clearly it was here to stay.
Much like his companion. He certainly wouldn't say that Juliette had his unwavering trust, far from it in fact, but with how the last day had gone Julien found himself more open to the idea of being around her. She had helped to leave him better off than he might have been otherwise, she was hardly the worst company that he could have had, and even setting all else aside it made for good amusement to see her strolling around in what was basically a shiny silver poncho, or just a touch too smug for someone running the risk of breadcrumbs in her underwear. She'd certainly been thorough, but you never knew for sure with things like that, and that itching feeling surely stemmed from the deepest, most miserable circle of hell there was.
Waking up not robbed, dead, alone or any combination of the three had helped with Julien's mood as well. Of course, Juliette promptly tempered that by laughing her ass off at the news of poisoning. The recounting of events she gave him didn't sit entirely right, but it was another morning of not being dead, Juliette hadn't outright killed anybody as of yet, and he wasn't in any position to talk about lies by omission and other such deceptions, so he was willing to let it be.
And now they'd come to a dry patch of forest, containing a very wet, probably miserable, but still live person. Juliette looked to him and asked about stopping for a while, a break which he could use himself right about now.
"Of course," he said. He had little issue with letting her do the talking.
He wasn't bothered by the rain, was happier for it even, no mind paid to the water-logged hair he was no stranger to or the rain dripping down his face. Being mostly dry helped, certainly, but the sound of it falling all around still had a calming effect. And besides, whether he liked it or not, clearly it was here to stay.
Much like his companion. He certainly wouldn't say that Juliette had his unwavering trust, far from it in fact, but with how the last day had gone Julien found himself more open to the idea of being around her. She had helped to leave him better off than he might have been otherwise, she was hardly the worst company that he could have had, and even setting all else aside it made for good amusement to see her strolling around in what was basically a shiny silver poncho, or just a touch too smug for someone running the risk of breadcrumbs in her underwear. She'd certainly been thorough, but you never knew for sure with things like that, and that itching feeling surely stemmed from the deepest, most miserable circle of hell there was.
Waking up not robbed, dead, alone or any combination of the three had helped with Julien's mood as well. Of course, Juliette promptly tempered that by laughing her ass off at the news of poisoning. The recounting of events she gave him didn't sit entirely right, but it was another morning of not being dead, Juliette hadn't outright killed anybody as of yet, and he wasn't in any position to talk about lies by omission and other such deceptions, so he was willing to let it be.
And now they'd come to a dry patch of forest, containing a very wet, probably miserable, but still live person. Juliette looked to him and asked about stopping for a while, a break which he could use himself right about now.
"Of course," he said. He had little issue with letting her do the talking.
The voice that called out startled Connor for a moment, but he recognized it immediately. Juliette Sargent was a known commodity around George Hunter High, and not a person that he personally was unaware of. Being a bit of a political butterfly around GHHS naturally brought her in close context with the perceived social elite of the school, and Connor wasn't naive enough not to count himself amongst that number. He knew his own standing, and he knew it well.
They'd never not gotten along, but the majority of their interactions had been very surface-level, never anything in-depth. Still, she was a nice enough girl, if a little stolid and a bit too put-on even for his tastes. Much like his own aspirations, Juliette had always known exactly where she was heading in her own life, and he respected that. Not being elected to student government had been a blow to her ego; that much had been obvious, yet she'd still managed to rebound for the senior year and carry on as though it hadn't been a big deal.
He hadn't voted for her, either. Whoops.
"C'mon in, it's dry here — mostly," he replied back, making no move to get up or move from his spot beside the tree. His makeshift canopy wasn't exactly an A-plus shelter from the rain, but it was a lot better than standing out within it. He was curious to know just who Juliette may have been travelling with. He could hear another voice with her, but since he didn't feel like getting up, he supposed he'd find out soon enough.
Juliette had always known her own path. His own thought echoed back at him. He knew that his own aspirations could at times afford him tunnel-vision on how to proceed in his own life, if not for his parents guiding force, he could have misstepped at times. Juliette's focus likely made her a good ally, but it also made her dangerous. Connor hadn't heard her name yet, but he was certain that every move she made likely had a reason.
He'd have to be cagey.
He had to make it one more day.
Just long enough for rescue.
Connor picked out a content smirk, and aimed it at the entrance as he waited for his guests to make their arrival.
They'd never not gotten along, but the majority of their interactions had been very surface-level, never anything in-depth. Still, she was a nice enough girl, if a little stolid and a bit too put-on even for his tastes. Much like his own aspirations, Juliette had always known exactly where she was heading in her own life, and he respected that. Not being elected to student government had been a blow to her ego; that much had been obvious, yet she'd still managed to rebound for the senior year and carry on as though it hadn't been a big deal.
He hadn't voted for her, either. Whoops.
"C'mon in, it's dry here — mostly," he replied back, making no move to get up or move from his spot beside the tree. His makeshift canopy wasn't exactly an A-plus shelter from the rain, but it was a lot better than standing out within it. He was curious to know just who Juliette may have been travelling with. He could hear another voice with her, but since he didn't feel like getting up, he supposed he'd find out soon enough.
Juliette had always known her own path. His own thought echoed back at him. He knew that his own aspirations could at times afford him tunnel-vision on how to proceed in his own life, if not for his parents guiding force, he could have misstepped at times. Juliette's focus likely made her a good ally, but it also made her dangerous. Connor hadn't heard her name yet, but he was certain that every move she made likely had a reason.
He'd have to be cagey.
He had to make it one more day.
Just long enough for rescue.
Connor picked out a content smirk, and aimed it at the entrance as he waited for his guests to make their arrival.
((Erika Stieglitz continued from Malice Aforethought))
It took her some time to find the clearing she’d taken shelter in the day before, and was relieved to find that the old lean-to was still standing. A blue tarp hung over some old logs that had been lashed together with a kind of ad-hoc cords; it seemed effective enough, leaving a sizable dry spot in the dirt.
Erika sat under the shelter, Blake’s bags open in front of her. From the survival pack she took anything useful and discarded the rest. The spare medical supplies, iodine, and rations were a godsend, though he was predictably low on water.
Lucky for me.
Not knowing when her next opportunity would be, Erika took the time to clean the rifle. Her rifle. No doubt the Arthro Taskforce bought it off of some collector to add some character to their assortment of lethal implements. The ammunition was all professionally loaded and wrapped in faux-vintage boxes. Apparently they were four-hundred and eighty grain bullets loaded with ninety grains of FFg black powder substitute.
No wonder this thing kicks so hard.
Ripping a sizable piece of fabric from one of Blake’s old t-shirts, Erika affixed it to the end of the rifle’s cleaning rod and ran it through the bore. It was humid enough out nothing seemed to stick to the rifling all that much, and the red shirt came out completely blackened through the breech. It took more than a few runs before the pieces of shirt started to come out somewhat clean. It didn’t matter much with modern powders and rifling, but vintage guns like this one always needed to be cleaned prodigiously if they were to retain any accuracy at a distance. She’d seen enough old-timers at the club working away next to piles of blackened cleaning wads, to not ever want to own one herself.
Of course now that she did, at least for the moment, she’d look after it. It did what she needed it to do. Plus, repetitive tasks like this were a welcome distraction.
Confident the rifle was now in good shape, Erika tossed the dirty chunks of fabric next to her own discarded accouterments she’d removed the day before. Between that and the strange remnants of the island’s former inhabitants, this place was becoming something of a midden.
She continued rummaging through his bag, hoping to find either socks or something resembling a jacket. The idea of wearing someone else’s socks wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was better than having to deal with trench foot. So far her boots had kept her feet pretty dry, but there was always the chance of accidentally stepping in a deep puddle.
I can’t be so careless. That’s how he got the drop on me. I have to be more vigilant.
Something curious lay at the bottom of his bag. Unlike the rest of his clothes, it had been meticulously folded. A black name tag read “DAVIS” in bold, white font. Colourful ribbons adorned the other side, next to an assortment of colourful ribbons. With some reverence, Erika pulled the uniform from the bag and held it in front of her.
They all meant something, didn’t they?
She wished she knew what they meant. The terrorists seemed to just stuff most of their belongings into these bags, but Blake took the care to fold it properly at some point. Like it was precious to him.
Maybe one of them is for marksmanship? He spent a lot of time at the range.
Running her fingers across the fabric, Erika tried to imagine what they might’ve been for. What they meant to him. As if doing so might make him more than his end. No doubt if she asked in another life, Blake could’ve told her. Each one would’ve had its own set of memories, its own significance to him. The way he answered might’ve told her more about who he really was, past the persona he’d so carefully crafted for himself. Maybe he’d turn out to be not such a bad dude, or maybe she would’ve realized she really did hate him and all he stood for.
She’d never know. All she understood about Blake was that he robbed her and left her for dead, and she had just barely found a way to kill him for it. She’d gone over the events in her head over and over on the way here, fixating on what she could’ve done differently, only to come up short. He had to die. His training alone would’ve made him a threat to her eventually, regardless.
As she knelt under the shelter holding the last real piece of who he was in her hands, all she could think about was what he must have felt in those last, frightened moments. Wondering which of these memories he might’ve held onto if he’d known what was coming.
The things that made him a danger to her, his best and worst qualities - they were human. Blake wasn’t just a threat, or some obstacle to test her resolve. He was a person, like her. Just as scared as she was. Just as willing to compromise his morals to survive.
In a way, this jacket and its ribbons were more significant a set of remains than his corpse was.
Then these don’t mean anything, anymore.
Erika let out a shaky sigh.
The nametag came off easily, as did the ribbons. It only took a few minutes to remove most of the identifying features from the jacket, leaving them in a pile with the rest of the things she’d discarded.
It certainly wasn’t going to keep the worst of the rain off, but it was better than running around in just a t-shirt. The large pockets would be pretty useful too, for keeping food or loose ammo handy. For the moment it was dry, and large enough around her shoulders to be pretty comfortable. With nothing else left to scavenge, Erika tossed the backpack outside of the lean-to.
Now there was nothing left to do but wait out the rain.
It was a pretty nice, open spot.
Wide open, relatively speaking.
The shelter only gave her two directions she could look out from.
With all the rain, it would surely mask the sound of approaching footsteps.
After five minutes spent staring into the woods, she found herself unable to remain still. If the rain got any worse, the tarp might just collapse. There were any number of angles someone could sneak up on her from, just like Blake did. She should’ve stuck with Emil and Emmett. She could’ve stayed with them for a long time. By this time tomorrow, even the most hapless person wouldn’t trust her.
Removing the tarp was pretty easy, and the lean-to practically came apart as she did so. A few of the strings came with it, as they’d been so tightly wound into the material, it was difficult to imagine how she’d remove them without simply tearing it apart. They seemed to work well for securing it to her bag, though. She hoped they’d continue to serve that purpose once she found somewhere more secure to take shelter. A dense enough copse would’ve been ideal.
It had only been a few minutes’ walk when she heard a familiar voice call out; it would’ve been hard to miss that exaggerated twang just about anywhere.
Turning slowly to look she was pleased to see Connor Lorenzen taking shelter underneath a dense, droopy-looking set of trees. Joining him was Julien and Juliette, two recognizable figures that she was more than a bit amused to see travelling together, if for their names than nothing else.
Think I’ll keep JuJu to myself for now.
Pleased. Amused.
Not vigilant.
At this angle it was only dumb luck that prevented them from seeing her approach, and that wasn’t going to last. For the moment, she still had at least a day when folks might give her the benefit of the doubt, and she could at least count on Connor to see the best in people. If she dictated the terms of the encounter, it could go well. She had something to contribute. They didn’t seem hostile. It didn't have to turn out like Blake.
Might go well. Might not. That's on me.
Erika slung the rifle off her shoulder, cradling it in the crook of her arm. Easy to use if she had to, but it wasn’t as threatening as if she had been carrying it in her hands. She made her way over to the group, trying her best to wear the bright smile people used to know her for.
“Hey Connor! And uh... Jules. Mind if I join y'all?”
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MurderWeasel
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- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
"Thanks," Juliette called back, making her way towards the clearing. She didn't ask who was standing within. She didn't have to. There were, no doubt, those among her peers who were not familiar with Connor Lorenzen, but any counted among that number were functionally irrelevant to the grander social game and sphere of George Hunter High.
Oh, that didn't mean Juliette ignored them. Quite the opposite, actually; she had taken a certain amount of pride in serving as a bridge between those whose voices were too loud and those who struggled to be heard. For all the good that had done her. She'd just gotten herself branded an elitist by the downtrodden and an upstart by the high class. Everyone had thought themselves so smart, patted themselves on the back for figuring her out, for realizing that she did what she did because she wanted something, but nobody had ever stopped to look a bit closer and realize that there was more to it too, that the positive means she used to pursue her ultimate ends were in fact valid ends themselves.
It didn't matter anymore. Juliette had a positive impression of Connor, and if this was Chattanooga she would've trusted him; in the context of the game she did not. Connor had the remarkable ability to sail the social seas as if the skies were clear no matter how turbulent the waves drowning those around him. He could simultaneously count among his close friends reactionary, gleefully repugnant quasi-outcasts and chat up their liberal exes in polite conversation in mixed company. He played all sides, and Juliette thought he too did so from a place of genuine care and desire to do good, but knew firsthand how easily such motives could slip here.
Her footsteps were quick but not hurried. Her feet were the part of her body that had least escaped the elements, aside from her head, and her toes felt sticky and clammy. She stooped, ready to duck under a low-hanging branch and greet the boy she could now see within, still largely obscured by shadows, when her movement was brought to an abrupt halt by a new greeting.
It took half a second for Juliette to catch the joke, and she smiled a little. An instant later, she kept the expression but it took intent, as she figured out who the newcomer was. Juliette knew what Erika had done. She had a good memory for names and faces, and a long mental ledger of slights and favors, and it was very easy to adapt that to the current circumstances. Erika had shot someone and had been praised for her marksmanship. Further details eluded Juliette's memory, but that core was enough.
"Fine by me," Juliette said, letting her smile grow and adding a shrug. The request was courtesy, and possibly the false variety. Neither Juliette nor Julien had anything on them which could prevent Erika from wandering over and sitting down, and in fact were better-equipped to deal with sudden hostilities from within arm's reach, though their prospective guest didn't need to know that. Connor remained a mystery, but by acquiescing herself, Juliette could drop the decision squarely at his feet. He was probably more likely to be a center of attention anyways, as the largest physical threat if judged purely by strength.
She quickly slipped into the shelter, allowing the branches to partially shield her from view, and conveniently also making her just a bit more difficult to draw a bead on. She didn't expect Erika to shoot—if bullets were the order of the day, they would've already arrived—but still.
"What do you two say?" Juliette continued, glancing towards Julien, but speaking primarily in the direction of Connor.
Oh, that didn't mean Juliette ignored them. Quite the opposite, actually; she had taken a certain amount of pride in serving as a bridge between those whose voices were too loud and those who struggled to be heard. For all the good that had done her. She'd just gotten herself branded an elitist by the downtrodden and an upstart by the high class. Everyone had thought themselves so smart, patted themselves on the back for figuring her out, for realizing that she did what she did because she wanted something, but nobody had ever stopped to look a bit closer and realize that there was more to it too, that the positive means she used to pursue her ultimate ends were in fact valid ends themselves.
It didn't matter anymore. Juliette had a positive impression of Connor, and if this was Chattanooga she would've trusted him; in the context of the game she did not. Connor had the remarkable ability to sail the social seas as if the skies were clear no matter how turbulent the waves drowning those around him. He could simultaneously count among his close friends reactionary, gleefully repugnant quasi-outcasts and chat up their liberal exes in polite conversation in mixed company. He played all sides, and Juliette thought he too did so from a place of genuine care and desire to do good, but knew firsthand how easily such motives could slip here.
Her footsteps were quick but not hurried. Her feet were the part of her body that had least escaped the elements, aside from her head, and her toes felt sticky and clammy. She stooped, ready to duck under a low-hanging branch and greet the boy she could now see within, still largely obscured by shadows, when her movement was brought to an abrupt halt by a new greeting.
It took half a second for Juliette to catch the joke, and she smiled a little. An instant later, she kept the expression but it took intent, as she figured out who the newcomer was. Juliette knew what Erika had done. She had a good memory for names and faces, and a long mental ledger of slights and favors, and it was very easy to adapt that to the current circumstances. Erika had shot someone and had been praised for her marksmanship. Further details eluded Juliette's memory, but that core was enough.
"Fine by me," Juliette said, letting her smile grow and adding a shrug. The request was courtesy, and possibly the false variety. Neither Juliette nor Julien had anything on them which could prevent Erika from wandering over and sitting down, and in fact were better-equipped to deal with sudden hostilities from within arm's reach, though their prospective guest didn't need to know that. Connor remained a mystery, but by acquiescing herself, Juliette could drop the decision squarely at his feet. He was probably more likely to be a center of attention anyways, as the largest physical threat if judged purely by strength.
She quickly slipped into the shelter, allowing the branches to partially shield her from view, and conveniently also making her just a bit more difficult to draw a bead on. She didn't expect Erika to shoot—if bullets were the order of the day, they would've already arrived—but still.
"What do you two say?" Juliette continued, glancing towards Julien, but speaking primarily in the direction of Connor.
Connor. Hmm.
Unsurprising, somewhat at least, given his luck. But really not a conversation he wanted to be having, when he accounted for Ivy's predictably traditional of running to football players for comfort. He did not want to think about bone giving way. And besides, being prompted on his tendency to lash out in anger had proven almost prophetic of his doing it before, and Julien didn't care to risk a repeat incident.
So with that in mind, there seemed only one appropriate course of action to take.
"Hello, Erika," he said, not seeming fazed at all by being in such proximity to someone who had shot someone dead, not least because he was in the first place. Seeing the face of someone who held something any bigger than a pistol while knowing how to use it said much about their motivations. "Juliette, I'll be going on my way now, so until the next time." He felt comfortable putting it that way. She was clearly resourceful enough not to meet her end here just yet, certainly not if left to her own devices.
Julien did stick around long enough to hear what the favour she would want from him was, of course. Such was only fair.
[ Julien Leblanc continued elsewhere. ]
Unsurprising, somewhat at least, given his luck. But really not a conversation he wanted to be having, when he accounted for Ivy's predictably traditional of running to football players for comfort. He did not want to think about bone giving way. And besides, being prompted on his tendency to lash out in anger had proven almost prophetic of his doing it before, and Julien didn't care to risk a repeat incident.
So with that in mind, there seemed only one appropriate course of action to take.
"Hello, Erika," he said, not seeming fazed at all by being in such proximity to someone who had shot someone dead, not least because he was in the first place. Seeing the face of someone who held something any bigger than a pistol while knowing how to use it said much about their motivations. "Juliette, I'll be going on my way now, so until the next time." He felt comfortable putting it that way. She was clearly resourceful enough not to meet her end here just yet, certainly not if left to her own devices.
Julien did stick around long enough to hear what the favour she would want from him was, of course. Such was only fair.
[ Julien Leblanc continued elsewhere. ]
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
What Julien said, at its essence, was "Goodbye," with a side of "Don't follow me."
Well then.
"Alright," Juliette replied, peeking her head back out from cover and catching a raindrop right on the tip of her nose for her trouble. "Take care. See you, maybe."
She ran a quick calculation in her head, and decided that she'd take her chances with Connor and Erika rather than try to invite herself along when she was clearly being ditched. There was more to learn here, more potential for the situation to develop to her liking, and while Julien had been pleasant enough company, he had proven his ultimate ends diverged notably from hers, and had also made no secret of the fact that she wasn't exactly his favorite person in the world.
"Just," Juliette continued, "remember, you owe me. Here's what I want:
"If—when—we meet again, if I'm in bad shape, or in trouble, whatever is going on, I want you to show me the same kindness and dignity and benefit of the doubt you gave Drew. Okay? That's all."
She gave him a little wave, and then retreated under cover once more, trading one untrustworthy, ambiguous piece of company for the next. She smiled at Connor, and offered a small shrug.
Well then.
"Alright," Juliette replied, peeking her head back out from cover and catching a raindrop right on the tip of her nose for her trouble. "Take care. See you, maybe."
She ran a quick calculation in her head, and decided that she'd take her chances with Connor and Erika rather than try to invite herself along when she was clearly being ditched. There was more to learn here, more potential for the situation to develop to her liking, and while Julien had been pleasant enough company, he had proven his ultimate ends diverged notably from hers, and had also made no secret of the fact that she wasn't exactly his favorite person in the world.
"Just," Juliette continued, "remember, you owe me. Here's what I want:
"If—when—we meet again, if I'm in bad shape, or in trouble, whatever is going on, I want you to show me the same kindness and dignity and benefit of the doubt you gave Drew. Okay? That's all."
She gave him a little wave, and then retreated under cover once more, trading one untrustworthy, ambiguous piece of company for the next. She smiled at Connor, and offered a small shrug.
Well my, oh my — things were certainly taking a turn for the interesting. As Erika's voice called out almost immediately after Juliette's, Connor's practiced smile fell for a moment. He was both pleased to hear that Erika was alive and well, and yet — he had heard the announcements, much as he was certain Juliette had. Erika had killed someone, and be it murder or self-defense, it still meant that she'd descended to another level that neither Connor nor Juliette could comprehend. Yet, this was Erika; whom he'd had an in-depth and meaningful discussion on the last day of the trip. Sitting back on that roof, he recalled all of what he'd been told, and his abject horror at the fact that one of his classmates could be guilty of such a heinous crime.
Before the week was up, he was certain more than just Lorenzo Tavares would have been guilty of heinous shit.
"C'mon in, hun. Ain't much to look at and it's barely been keepin' me dry, but it'll do!"
What else could he do? Turning the girls away would have been out of character, and the more that he thought about his potential exit from the island, the more he knew that keeping himself out of harm's way would be difficult. Allies helped, though to what degree both were feeling friendly was up for debate.
Turning to look at Juliette, he didn't move, but kept his expression neutral, having put his practiced expression back on after a momentary lapse. This may have been murder island, but dammit, he was Connor Lorenzen and he wasn't about to let his doubt shine through.
"Guess Julien didn't want any part of this cozy little campsite, huh?"
Before the week was up, he was certain more than just Lorenzo Tavares would have been guilty of heinous shit.
"C'mon in, hun. Ain't much to look at and it's barely been keepin' me dry, but it'll do!"
What else could he do? Turning the girls away would have been out of character, and the more that he thought about his potential exit from the island, the more he knew that keeping himself out of harm's way would be difficult. Allies helped, though to what degree both were feeling friendly was up for debate.
Turning to look at Juliette, he didn't move, but kept his expression neutral, having put his practiced expression back on after a momentary lapse. This may have been murder island, but dammit, he was Connor Lorenzen and he wasn't about to let his doubt shine through.
"Guess Julien didn't want any part of this cozy little campsite, huh?"
Erika watched as Julien left, taking care to note the direction he was headed. If his demeanor was any indication, she figured it would've been best to steer clear of him in the future. Not that she was especially thrilled to be taking shelter with Connor and Juliette, but it was preferable to running off and potentially giving them a reason to give chase. Of all of the people on the island who might've shared Blake's holier-than-thou attitude towards her, she'd had to run into both the picture-perfect football star and the chronic overachiever.
"Thanks. Oh... yeah, I guess not. Here, take this. Might help keep the rain off." Handing the tarp to Connor, she hurried under the dense cover, finding it marginally better than standing in the rain. Her eyes drifted to the drops landing on the barrel of her Martini-Henry. If it were any other time, she'd have been loathe to let a gun this old get so exposed to the rain. Here it wasn't an antique though, it was just a weapon that had to last until this was all over, somehow. She kept it cradled in her arms, but pointed downwards.
An uncomfortable silence somehow managed to emerge despite the omnipresent sound of rain. She briefly met the glances of the others. No doubt they were thinking of what they'd heard on the announcements, and assessing how much of a threat she could be. At least, Juliette definitely was. She was too smart not to. Connor... well, Erika hoped that he was at least as optimistic and decent deep down as he was on the surface. Duplicity from someone like him was a disturbing thought.
"Well this... uhh... sucks."
She tried to break the silence, unsuccessfully. Shuffling in place, she was becoming painfully aware of just how poor a shelter this really was.
"Understatement of the century... okay, look..."
Erika turned to the other two, anxiety no doubt practically radiating off of her.
"Let's just get it out in the open. I've had to - I killed two people. It was either them or me."
It's anyone, or me.
"I don't want understanding or trust. I don't expect it, but like, we don't have to trust each other to just stand here, and wait this out? I don't want trouble. But I also... don't wanna talk about either of them. Alright?"
She found it hard to look either of them in the eye, and turned her gaze towards the forest, and the rain that showed no signs of slowing down.
"Thanks. Oh... yeah, I guess not. Here, take this. Might help keep the rain off." Handing the tarp to Connor, she hurried under the dense cover, finding it marginally better than standing in the rain. Her eyes drifted to the drops landing on the barrel of her Martini-Henry. If it were any other time, she'd have been loathe to let a gun this old get so exposed to the rain. Here it wasn't an antique though, it was just a weapon that had to last until this was all over, somehow. She kept it cradled in her arms, but pointed downwards.
An uncomfortable silence somehow managed to emerge despite the omnipresent sound of rain. She briefly met the glances of the others. No doubt they were thinking of what they'd heard on the announcements, and assessing how much of a threat she could be. At least, Juliette definitely was. She was too smart not to. Connor... well, Erika hoped that he was at least as optimistic and decent deep down as he was on the surface. Duplicity from someone like him was a disturbing thought.
"Well this... uhh... sucks."
She tried to break the silence, unsuccessfully. Shuffling in place, she was becoming painfully aware of just how poor a shelter this really was.
"Understatement of the century... okay, look..."
Erika turned to the other two, anxiety no doubt practically radiating off of her.
"Let's just get it out in the open. I've had to - I killed two people. It was either them or me."
It's anyone, or me.
"I don't want understanding or trust. I don't expect it, but like, we don't have to trust each other to just stand here, and wait this out? I don't want trouble. But I also... don't wanna talk about either of them. Alright?"
She found it hard to look either of them in the eye, and turned her gaze towards the forest, and the rain that showed no signs of slowing down.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
"Sure," Juliette said, with a shrug. "Fine by me."
She was playing it quiet for a few reasons, but mostly because, until Erika spoke, she just didn't have much to say. She was more concerned with the implications of Julien's departure, with the uncertainty of their newly formed trio, with the relative standing that she held with the others and that they held with each other. She trusted neither, but she came one tiny step closer towards placing confidence in Erika with the girl's admission.
See, Juliette got it. She really, really did. There were few things more tiring and grating and emotionally draining than pretending, day in and day out, to hew to some impossible standard of ethics and behavior. She had wanted for so long to just stop in the middle of the halls and drop her things on the ground, papers and books and pencils scattering everywhere, and scream and scream and scream without a single thought for the horrified and outraged looks on the faces of the classmates surrounding her.
Candor here and now was an evolution of the same general impulse, but with most of the consequences stripped away. Erika could say whatever she wanted, and if Juliette or Connor had a problem with it, the onus was on them to leave. After all, neither held a gun. It was the same way Juliette had felt yesterday, casually using Drew's life as a bargaining chip. This was how the world worked now, so why pretend otherwise? And someone who'd figured that out, who was willing to embrace it in this way, even if just for a moment, was not someone likely to start shooting without reason; if that was the game, the bullets would be flying already.
The tarp was what it was, which was to say inferior to Juliette's improvised poncho, but she wasn't going to decline additional hospitality. The droplets falling within their shelter were infrequent and irregular, loose splashes sluicing between leaves. It smelled of earth and dampness. There was something very relaxing and peaceful about it all. Back in Chattanooga, Juliette would've taken a day like this and used it to unwind a little, put on a favorite CD, maybe some Beethoven, and enjoyed the way the music melded with the ambient sounds of nature. Soggy socks and wet hair could only mute a moment like this so much.
"And it's probably not you," she continued, this time turning her focus to Connor. "It's me. We had some... ideological differences, but he owed me. So he waited until he could foist me off on you, and now I'm your problem."
Juliette let out a cheerful little laugh and flicked a strand of hair that had come loose back over her ear.
Erika had only been on the announcements once. That meant she was disclosing an additional killing that had happened recently. She didn't look too much the worse for wear. She'd been praised for... marksmanship, that was it. She was one of the girls who went shooting back home, Juliette remembered, but not one of those on the student council. A friend of acquaintances, but that connection was something. If Erika had wanted them dead, then, she definitely would not be using this approach.
Well, as long as she wasn't out of ammo.
Juliette felt this very brief, crazy impulse to disclose a secret of her own, to admit that she had hurled Kelly off the boat all the way back on the first day, but she stifled the urge. To share would likely be tactically inadvisable, a moment of bonding but one that came at the cost of her advertising her own potential for sudden betrayal. And besides, there might be a far more satisfying moment for it later on.
She was playing it quiet for a few reasons, but mostly because, until Erika spoke, she just didn't have much to say. She was more concerned with the implications of Julien's departure, with the uncertainty of their newly formed trio, with the relative standing that she held with the others and that they held with each other. She trusted neither, but she came one tiny step closer towards placing confidence in Erika with the girl's admission.
See, Juliette got it. She really, really did. There were few things more tiring and grating and emotionally draining than pretending, day in and day out, to hew to some impossible standard of ethics and behavior. She had wanted for so long to just stop in the middle of the halls and drop her things on the ground, papers and books and pencils scattering everywhere, and scream and scream and scream without a single thought for the horrified and outraged looks on the faces of the classmates surrounding her.
Candor here and now was an evolution of the same general impulse, but with most of the consequences stripped away. Erika could say whatever she wanted, and if Juliette or Connor had a problem with it, the onus was on them to leave. After all, neither held a gun. It was the same way Juliette had felt yesterday, casually using Drew's life as a bargaining chip. This was how the world worked now, so why pretend otherwise? And someone who'd figured that out, who was willing to embrace it in this way, even if just for a moment, was not someone likely to start shooting without reason; if that was the game, the bullets would be flying already.
The tarp was what it was, which was to say inferior to Juliette's improvised poncho, but she wasn't going to decline additional hospitality. The droplets falling within their shelter were infrequent and irregular, loose splashes sluicing between leaves. It smelled of earth and dampness. There was something very relaxing and peaceful about it all. Back in Chattanooga, Juliette would've taken a day like this and used it to unwind a little, put on a favorite CD, maybe some Beethoven, and enjoyed the way the music melded with the ambient sounds of nature. Soggy socks and wet hair could only mute a moment like this so much.
"And it's probably not you," she continued, this time turning her focus to Connor. "It's me. We had some... ideological differences, but he owed me. So he waited until he could foist me off on you, and now I'm your problem."
Juliette let out a cheerful little laugh and flicked a strand of hair that had come loose back over her ear.
Erika had only been on the announcements once. That meant she was disclosing an additional killing that had happened recently. She didn't look too much the worse for wear. She'd been praised for... marksmanship, that was it. She was one of the girls who went shooting back home, Juliette remembered, but not one of those on the student council. A friend of acquaintances, but that connection was something. If Erika had wanted them dead, then, she definitely would not be using this approach.
Well, as long as she wasn't out of ammo.
Juliette felt this very brief, crazy impulse to disclose a secret of her own, to admit that she had hurled Kelly off the boat all the way back on the first day, but she stifled the urge. To share would likely be tactically inadvisable, a moment of bonding but one that came at the cost of her advertising her own potential for sudden betrayal. And besides, there might be a far more satisfying moment for it later on.
Wasting no time in accepting the tarp from Erika, Connor set about using his stature to ensure that the temporary trio didn't get any wetter than they already were. As far as makeshift shelters went, this wasn't exactly a five-star accommodation, but in the pinch they were in, it would do. Staying busy also did the favour of allowing him not to chime in on the conversation, which he was aptly listening to. More particularly, Erika's admission.
Killed two people; doesn't want to talk about it. Right.
As he fiddled with the tarp, he tried to reconcile what he knew of Erika with that which she had said. In their short and unusual friendship, the two of them had been strangely candid with one another — discussing hopes, dreams, secrets, and the darkness that lurked amongst their class, hidden in plain sight. Nothing was hidden, now. Any grievance, anything they could have possibly wanted to keep tucked away in a personal folder, never to be looked at again — that was all moot.
Connor wanted to feel pity for the class as a whole, vague thoughts of making some sort of ultimately empty gesture in the public eye came to mind, but this time when he thought of it, he wasn't the one making the gesture. He was no longer the protagonist of his own mind's eye. At some point in the last few hours, he'd started recognizing that when it came to having pity for the victims, he was one of them.
Blinking, suddenly realizing that he'd stopped tying the tarp to the tree and was blankly staring off into the forest, he started up again, shaking the thoughts away as quickly as they appeared. He was no victim, that was hogwash. The Lorenzen family had not raised a victim as a son, and that would be all there was to it.
They'd find him and take him away — it was just a matter of time. It would happen, any moment now.
"That's— y'all aren't a problem. Don't go thinkin' that. You're people too, and your lives have value. He wants to leave, then let 'im. We're all okay, here."
For the first time in a long time, Connor didn't automatically have the words for the situation at hand. As he finished the tarp and turned to look at both girls, his face and expression looked the part, but internally he was starting to have doubts. What was really going on here? Erika had actually killed people? Juliette seemed nonplussed, but that fact hung there, seeming like a fallacy. Even still, he tried to say the right thing, bring them together instead of facing the enmity of their situation.
They were better together than apart; if only he believed it at all.
"I've come across a few folks. Most haven't been the worse for wear. Evidently, Julien put a beating on Ivy," he exhaled, trying to sound neutral, "that boy's got a temper."
Killed two people; doesn't want to talk about it. Right.
As he fiddled with the tarp, he tried to reconcile what he knew of Erika with that which she had said. In their short and unusual friendship, the two of them had been strangely candid with one another — discussing hopes, dreams, secrets, and the darkness that lurked amongst their class, hidden in plain sight. Nothing was hidden, now. Any grievance, anything they could have possibly wanted to keep tucked away in a personal folder, never to be looked at again — that was all moot.
Connor wanted to feel pity for the class as a whole, vague thoughts of making some sort of ultimately empty gesture in the public eye came to mind, but this time when he thought of it, he wasn't the one making the gesture. He was no longer the protagonist of his own mind's eye. At some point in the last few hours, he'd started recognizing that when it came to having pity for the victims, he was one of them.
Blinking, suddenly realizing that he'd stopped tying the tarp to the tree and was blankly staring off into the forest, he started up again, shaking the thoughts away as quickly as they appeared. He was no victim, that was hogwash. The Lorenzen family had not raised a victim as a son, and that would be all there was to it.
They'd find him and take him away — it was just a matter of time. It would happen, any moment now.
"That's— y'all aren't a problem. Don't go thinkin' that. You're people too, and your lives have value. He wants to leave, then let 'im. We're all okay, here."
For the first time in a long time, Connor didn't automatically have the words for the situation at hand. As he finished the tarp and turned to look at both girls, his face and expression looked the part, but internally he was starting to have doubts. What was really going on here? Erika had actually killed people? Juliette seemed nonplussed, but that fact hung there, seeming like a fallacy. Even still, he tried to say the right thing, bring them together instead of facing the enmity of their situation.
They were better together than apart; if only he believed it at all.
"I've come across a few folks. Most haven't been the worse for wear. Evidently, Julien put a beating on Ivy," he exhaled, trying to sound neutral, "that boy's got a temper."
Our lives have value? Apparently it’s not much as far as the AT or the government are concerned
Erika listened to Connor’s strangely diplomatic response to her admission far more intently than he’d initially responded to her and Juliette. As much as she couldn’t deny that if anyone deserved an ass kicking it was Ivy Langley, the present context painted a much darker picture of the circumstances that might’ve precipitated it. Instead of glib satisfaction at the girl who sent goons after her boyfriend finally getting hers, all Erika felt was a sense of shame. They’d all fallen down so far past what anyone had ever expected of them, what they might’ve been capable of.
It would’ve been nice to meet up ten years later and hear half-a-dozen people say things along the lines of “oh yeah, I was a huge jerk in high school.” To hear about all of the things they’d done in the intervening years, the personal development that might’ve turned some messed-up kids into otherwise decent adults.
That assumes the world is still holding it together in ten years.
She couldn’t help but stifle a nervous laugh as she realized that she’d somehow managed to find a way to be anxious about climate change during SOTF. Even the threat of imminent death seemed to not keep those thoughts at bay. Even if she was just trying to keep fantasies of what could’ve been alive.
Keeping things alive isn’t really my job right now.
Her mind had never been the friendliest place, even at the best of times. She paused for a moment, and offered her own short take on her experiences so far.
“I’ve met a few people but I’ve tried to never stay in one place too long. That seems like the smart thing to do, at least. I ran into Ty. He…”
Erika struggled to find the words, biting her lip for a moment before blurting out the vaguest explanation she could muster.
“We couldn’t stay together, through this. He’s got like, a death wish and I didn’t want to be around for that.”
Looking out to the forest, Erika began to see the rain intensify far past what it had already. Sighing in defeat, she shrugged off her bags and set them near the tree, using them as a somewhat-dry place to sit.
She knew the longer she was here, the greater the chance she’d be forced into explaining just what her strategy to dealing with all of this had been. Especially once the announcements hit. At that point she had some idea how Connor would react - not so much Juliette. She had to try and keep things surface level as long as she possibly could, to avoid such a conversation.
An uncomfortable thought crossed her mind, which she vacantly offered to the others without prompting.
“Considering the way things have been going, it’s going to be really messed up if we actually do get rescued from all of this.”
Erika listened to Connor’s strangely diplomatic response to her admission far more intently than he’d initially responded to her and Juliette. As much as she couldn’t deny that if anyone deserved an ass kicking it was Ivy Langley, the present context painted a much darker picture of the circumstances that might’ve precipitated it. Instead of glib satisfaction at the girl who sent goons after her boyfriend finally getting hers, all Erika felt was a sense of shame. They’d all fallen down so far past what anyone had ever expected of them, what they might’ve been capable of.
It would’ve been nice to meet up ten years later and hear half-a-dozen people say things along the lines of “oh yeah, I was a huge jerk in high school.” To hear about all of the things they’d done in the intervening years, the personal development that might’ve turned some messed-up kids into otherwise decent adults.
That assumes the world is still holding it together in ten years.
She couldn’t help but stifle a nervous laugh as she realized that she’d somehow managed to find a way to be anxious about climate change during SOTF. Even the threat of imminent death seemed to not keep those thoughts at bay. Even if she was just trying to keep fantasies of what could’ve been alive.
Keeping things alive isn’t really my job right now.
Her mind had never been the friendliest place, even at the best of times. She paused for a moment, and offered her own short take on her experiences so far.
“I’ve met a few people but I’ve tried to never stay in one place too long. That seems like the smart thing to do, at least. I ran into Ty. He…”
Erika struggled to find the words, biting her lip for a moment before blurting out the vaguest explanation she could muster.
“We couldn’t stay together, through this. He’s got like, a death wish and I didn’t want to be around for that.”
Looking out to the forest, Erika began to see the rain intensify far past what it had already. Sighing in defeat, she shrugged off her bags and set them near the tree, using them as a somewhat-dry place to sit.
She knew the longer she was here, the greater the chance she’d be forced into explaining just what her strategy to dealing with all of this had been. Especially once the announcements hit. At that point she had some idea how Connor would react - not so much Juliette. She had to try and keep things surface level as long as she possibly could, to avoid such a conversation.
An uncomfortable thought crossed her mind, which she vacantly offered to the others without prompting.
“Considering the way things have been going, it’s going to be really messed up if we actually do get rescued from all of this.”
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MurderWeasel
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- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Juliette was touched by Connor's reassurance. It was very, well, very Connor. She had no better way of putting it. He said exactly the right things the script called for to comfort her, despite the fact that her self-deprecation had held not a hint of actual hurt feelings. She wondered whether he meant it, and how much, not that it mattered to how she received it. It was the effort that counted. It was exactly the sort of thing she would've done herself if they were back in Chattanooga, playing the old scenes by the old scripts.
But they weren't.
That's why, when he continued and revealed that Julien had a little secret of his own, in the form of a beating directed at their beloved prom queen, Juliette shrugged.
"I imagine she deserved it," was her quiet reply.
Because that was the truth, wasn't it? Juliette knew what happened around the school, to a greater or lesser extent. She'd heard whispers that Julien had gotten in a few fights. There'd been rumblings that Ivy had provoked her own share of violence, usually delivered by proxy. Juliette didn't know all the details. What she did know was that Julien had spent roughly a day hanging around her, had obviously harbored at a minimum a certain distaste for her, had been clearly armed but had not known that she had anything to defend herself with, and yet had been harmless and passably pleasant company. He'd had ample opportunity to do her ill—maybe even as a ploy to liberate himself from her debt if that sort of thing was actually important to him, which she thought far from guaranteed—and he had done nothing.
When Erika related her own history, Juliette offered a simple, "I'm sorry," in response to the girl's comment about Ty. She meant it, too. She held plenty of cynicism towards high school relationships, thought most of her peers woefully melodramatic and ignorant of the workings of reality, but that didn't mean she reveled in hearing of the inevitable playing out. This fate, this place, was a stress above and beyond what many of the strongest married couples would be able to weather. What chance did some teens who'd been dating six months have?
And then the real kicker: what if rescue came after all?
Wouldn't that be messed up?
"It would," Juliette said. Her tone was calm. It was perhaps a mistake to continue, but she did anyways. "I wouldn't worry too much, though. A far more competent, staffed intelligence community couldn't do anything last time.
"We're here, and we're staying."
She shrugged. The rain pattered around and she thought for a moment one of the others might lash out at her.
Rescue wasn't even really worth mulling. It was all but impossible; unless perfectly executed, the attempt would instead kill everyone on the island in one fell swoop, with nothing they could do to protect themselves. Rescues had happened twice before, she knew, but both times had come through the work of moles or traitors embedded within the AT. None of those assets had worked for any government. She assumed—sincerely hoped, really—that personnel and security precautions had improved drastically since then. That would be one of the biggest hurdles she faced in her own attempts to join the terrorists' ranks, should her plan pan out. There would be a serious dearth of trust, a healthy and wholly justified skepticism that a victim might want to turn around and join the legions of her former captors for any purpose besides vengeance and sabotage.
But what if? What if they were saved? What if the boats turned up and called for everyone who could to race to them for salvation? If it was universal, a total breakdown of the game, Juliette would be whisked off whether or not she wanted to be. But if she had a choice, as she'd heard had happened in the past, would she go? It would be easier to win if so many others were pulled out. She would risk her life, but in pursuit of a real prize. Her future if she returned with the others would be mediocrity, some banal existence as a nobody, because there was no coming back, not from what had been done to her and not from what she had done.
And yet, the thought of dying was still terrifying.
She didn't feel the need to belabor the subject further, or to dignify any protest with anything beyond a nod or a false admission that she might be wrong. Connor and Ericka were clearly intelligent enough people. They knew the truth, somewhere deep inside; if they wanted to lie to themselves as a psychological defense mechanism, it wasn't Juliette's business and it would be dangerous to challenge besides.
Originally, Juliette had planned to split away herself at some point, but more due to habit and a healthy respect for her newfound companions than anything else. She'd thought to perhaps time her departure to coincide with the cessation of the rain, but it just poured and poured, and their improvised shelter, while obviously slapdash, was several steps up from anything she could expect to find elsewhere in the wilderness.
More than that, Connor and Ericka were decent companions. Each was more obviously threatening than Juliette, leaving her the presumed lowest priority target for any interloper, and each was intelligent and interesting to converse with, or to listen to as she let herself fade into the background a little.
They were able to fall into the pleasant détente of those who did not trust each other at all, but were too polite to make it overt and were all perceptive enough to realize that there was nothing to be gained and much to risk from a betrayal at this juncture. Juliette even got a little sleep here and there, and was pretty sure the others did too. She remained on guard when possible in case of interlopers, be they strangers, wild animals, or Julien returning from wherever he'd gotten to, but none manifested. The rain was encouraging everything that could to go to ground, and she wondered idly what impact that would have on the rate of deaths. Would it make environmental accidents more common? Would disease play a larger role in coming days? She finished off her bread, and wondered how many loaves would be wasted due to moldering.
When morning came, they were still under the tarp, listening to the rain pattering against it, the humidity having resulted in a small amount of precipitation accumulating even on its underside. Time felt incredibly slow here, with little to occupy her attention and little way to mark its passing; she tried to play back symphonies in her head, but could never get much beyond the highlights. Small talk was what it was, but it was hard to put her heart in it. Everyone would be dead soon enough.
A real topic of conversation finally presented itself, however, when the speakers hissed to life. Juliette went on guard right away; she'd learned before that these moments were very distracting, and a canny hunter could make use of them to launch an ambush, trading potentially-valuable information for a serious tactical advantage. But nobody appeared in the rainy woods as Juliette scanned them, and all she had to listen to was the somewhat uninspired recounting of the dead.
...Poison, huh? She watched Ericka from the corner of her eye, feeling very good about her decision to keep close guard of her belongings and consume only her own resources.
And then, speaking of food, there was a further little twist: Ericka had won a prize, or at least the right to fight for one. It took a moment for Juliette to parse that, but when she did she broke into a soft golf clap.
"Congratulations, Ericka," she said, and then, because that didn't feel quite sufficient on its own, she added, "Enjoy your lunch. Don't let Michael kill you."
But they weren't.
That's why, when he continued and revealed that Julien had a little secret of his own, in the form of a beating directed at their beloved prom queen, Juliette shrugged.
"I imagine she deserved it," was her quiet reply.
Because that was the truth, wasn't it? Juliette knew what happened around the school, to a greater or lesser extent. She'd heard whispers that Julien had gotten in a few fights. There'd been rumblings that Ivy had provoked her own share of violence, usually delivered by proxy. Juliette didn't know all the details. What she did know was that Julien had spent roughly a day hanging around her, had obviously harbored at a minimum a certain distaste for her, had been clearly armed but had not known that she had anything to defend herself with, and yet had been harmless and passably pleasant company. He'd had ample opportunity to do her ill—maybe even as a ploy to liberate himself from her debt if that sort of thing was actually important to him, which she thought far from guaranteed—and he had done nothing.
When Erika related her own history, Juliette offered a simple, "I'm sorry," in response to the girl's comment about Ty. She meant it, too. She held plenty of cynicism towards high school relationships, thought most of her peers woefully melodramatic and ignorant of the workings of reality, but that didn't mean she reveled in hearing of the inevitable playing out. This fate, this place, was a stress above and beyond what many of the strongest married couples would be able to weather. What chance did some teens who'd been dating six months have?
And then the real kicker: what if rescue came after all?
Wouldn't that be messed up?
"It would," Juliette said. Her tone was calm. It was perhaps a mistake to continue, but she did anyways. "I wouldn't worry too much, though. A far more competent, staffed intelligence community couldn't do anything last time.
"We're here, and we're staying."
She shrugged. The rain pattered around and she thought for a moment one of the others might lash out at her.
Rescue wasn't even really worth mulling. It was all but impossible; unless perfectly executed, the attempt would instead kill everyone on the island in one fell swoop, with nothing they could do to protect themselves. Rescues had happened twice before, she knew, but both times had come through the work of moles or traitors embedded within the AT. None of those assets had worked for any government. She assumed—sincerely hoped, really—that personnel and security precautions had improved drastically since then. That would be one of the biggest hurdles she faced in her own attempts to join the terrorists' ranks, should her plan pan out. There would be a serious dearth of trust, a healthy and wholly justified skepticism that a victim might want to turn around and join the legions of her former captors for any purpose besides vengeance and sabotage.
But what if? What if they were saved? What if the boats turned up and called for everyone who could to race to them for salvation? If it was universal, a total breakdown of the game, Juliette would be whisked off whether or not she wanted to be. But if she had a choice, as she'd heard had happened in the past, would she go? It would be easier to win if so many others were pulled out. She would risk her life, but in pursuit of a real prize. Her future if she returned with the others would be mediocrity, some banal existence as a nobody, because there was no coming back, not from what had been done to her and not from what she had done.
And yet, the thought of dying was still terrifying.
She didn't feel the need to belabor the subject further, or to dignify any protest with anything beyond a nod or a false admission that she might be wrong. Connor and Ericka were clearly intelligent enough people. They knew the truth, somewhere deep inside; if they wanted to lie to themselves as a psychological defense mechanism, it wasn't Juliette's business and it would be dangerous to challenge besides.
Originally, Juliette had planned to split away herself at some point, but more due to habit and a healthy respect for her newfound companions than anything else. She'd thought to perhaps time her departure to coincide with the cessation of the rain, but it just poured and poured, and their improvised shelter, while obviously slapdash, was several steps up from anything she could expect to find elsewhere in the wilderness.
More than that, Connor and Ericka were decent companions. Each was more obviously threatening than Juliette, leaving her the presumed lowest priority target for any interloper, and each was intelligent and interesting to converse with, or to listen to as she let herself fade into the background a little.
They were able to fall into the pleasant détente of those who did not trust each other at all, but were too polite to make it overt and were all perceptive enough to realize that there was nothing to be gained and much to risk from a betrayal at this juncture. Juliette even got a little sleep here and there, and was pretty sure the others did too. She remained on guard when possible in case of interlopers, be they strangers, wild animals, or Julien returning from wherever he'd gotten to, but none manifested. The rain was encouraging everything that could to go to ground, and she wondered idly what impact that would have on the rate of deaths. Would it make environmental accidents more common? Would disease play a larger role in coming days? She finished off her bread, and wondered how many loaves would be wasted due to moldering.
When morning came, they were still under the tarp, listening to the rain pattering against it, the humidity having resulted in a small amount of precipitation accumulating even on its underside. Time felt incredibly slow here, with little to occupy her attention and little way to mark its passing; she tried to play back symphonies in her head, but could never get much beyond the highlights. Small talk was what it was, but it was hard to put her heart in it. Everyone would be dead soon enough.
A real topic of conversation finally presented itself, however, when the speakers hissed to life. Juliette went on guard right away; she'd learned before that these moments were very distracting, and a canny hunter could make use of them to launch an ambush, trading potentially-valuable information for a serious tactical advantage. But nobody appeared in the rainy woods as Juliette scanned them, and all she had to listen to was the somewhat uninspired recounting of the dead.
...Poison, huh? She watched Ericka from the corner of her eye, feeling very good about her decision to keep close guard of her belongings and consume only her own resources.
And then, speaking of food, there was a further little twist: Ericka had won a prize, or at least the right to fight for one. It took a moment for Juliette to parse that, but when she did she broke into a soft golf clap.
"Congratulations, Ericka," she said, and then, because that didn't feel quite sufficient on its own, she added, "Enjoy your lunch. Don't let Michael kill you."
She'd been so casual about it. Sure, Connor agreed with the gist of Juliette's idea that Ivy had undoubtedly set Julien off somehow, but the fact that she'd just out and said it, as casually as might have been discussing a homework assignment — it made his blood run cold. He cared very little for Ivy after what she'd done, and yet when he'd seen her and Ace, they were all in the same situation. Everyone was in a do-or-die level of anxiety, and so there was a part of him — miniscule as it was — that actually felt pity for her. No matter how wrong it may have been to batter a woman as frail as she, it was still an almost acceptable option here.
Almost acceptable. Goodness.
There was a lot of other minutia to unpack from what Erika said; she was ready to write off Tyrell - yet another person whom she had spoken glowingly of on the roof only days before. Connor wasn't a fool, he knew Tyrell's reputation as well as anyone, but it seemed just wrong to dismiss any chances he may have had right off the hop. He knew what the announcements said, and in the end she was probably right, but the calmness and dismissive nature of what she said made his skin crawl. Whatever this place was doing to people, it had done something seriously wrong to Erika, and Connor could barely recognize her, let alone feel comfortable in her presence.
It was right there that Connor suddenly realized that perhaps he wasn't so safe with these two classmates as he may have first assumed. It was right then that Connor stopped feeling the safety that his sense of detachment had given him. He hadn't known Erika for very long, but had Juliette always been so cold, beneath that ever-organized veneer? The more he racked his brain, the less he could remember. Fatigue was starting to set in, and much like the slow approaching night sky, there was nothing he could do to stop it.
How well had he truly known any of his classmates, in the end?
After that thought, Connor's train of thought ground to a halt, and a new feeling took hold - one that he recognized immediately. Usually he only entered a state of hyper-vigilance when in a pressure-packed situation on the football field, but he recognized the signs immediately. He wasn't safe here; these girls had adapted to this hellish game, and it seemed that only just now he were joining the party.
For the rest of the evening, he managed only idle conversation and polite chit-chat as they listened to the rain and wondered what everyone else was doing out there. His thoughts were no longer solely for him, but for his friends. For Wyatt and Bret, for Ace, for Madison - oh God, for Madison - he hoped they were safe. More importantly, he hoped that they still maintained their humanity, for Connor was getting a first-hand look beneath the curtain, and he didn't care much for what he saw.
With all that going on within his mind, Connor didn't sleep very much. Like the previous night, his rest was restless and interrupted. Every few hours, he seemed to wake up, body tense and expecting one of Juliette or Erika to be standing over him with a knife or a gun of some sort. Finally, in the dead of night, the combination of his fatigue and the sounds of the rain pattering down on their makeshift shelter set him into a true night's sleep. His dreams were fraught with imagery of what his life had been; of football and school life, fancy parties with his parents and big ragers with his friends. He dreamed of it all, but at the end of the dream, everyone's flesh tumbled from their bodies and turned to him, reaching skeletal hands out and beckoning.
Yearning.
The speakers all around them crackled to life and mercifully Connor awoke, trading a personal nightmare for a shared one. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he listened as the overly-jovial commander of these awful men listed off the names of the dead. Somehow, this particular announcement felt more poignant than the rest, and he listened now with a rapt horror.
Reuben, the kid in the mascot suit. Dead.
Blake Davis, poisoned. By Erika. Connor looked at his supplies, which mercifully he'd been using as a pillow. Juliette cracked wise, he could only stare a hole right through the murderer in their midst. Who was she? He thought he'd figured her out. He'd obviously whiffed on that one. Incomplete pass, wasn't even close.
Bryan Merryweather, killed by Claudeson, of all people? Smiling, churchy Claudeson? Who'd manned the door at Swiftball and had somehow managed to earn Wyatt's ire on the same night that all the Tyrell business went down?
Shoulders sagging, Connor waited for the speakers to stop, and then slowly turned his head to look at Erika, his face showing none of his usual practiced good humour. In fact, all of his shields were down for the moment, and the look of incredulity on his face was an unfamiliar mask to outsiders.
"It was you or him, y'all said. Ain't that right?" He didn't buy it. "Why?"
She'd said that she didn't want to discuss it, but she was a double-murderer. Her decision-making privileges had been revoked, as far as he was concerned. Connor wanted an answer, and as he rose to his feet, he decided he damn well wanted it now.
Almost acceptable. Goodness.
There was a lot of other minutia to unpack from what Erika said; she was ready to write off Tyrell - yet another person whom she had spoken glowingly of on the roof only days before. Connor wasn't a fool, he knew Tyrell's reputation as well as anyone, but it seemed just wrong to dismiss any chances he may have had right off the hop. He knew what the announcements said, and in the end she was probably right, but the calmness and dismissive nature of what she said made his skin crawl. Whatever this place was doing to people, it had done something seriously wrong to Erika, and Connor could barely recognize her, let alone feel comfortable in her presence.
It was right there that Connor suddenly realized that perhaps he wasn't so safe with these two classmates as he may have first assumed. It was right then that Connor stopped feeling the safety that his sense of detachment had given him. He hadn't known Erika for very long, but had Juliette always been so cold, beneath that ever-organized veneer? The more he racked his brain, the less he could remember. Fatigue was starting to set in, and much like the slow approaching night sky, there was nothing he could do to stop it.
How well had he truly known any of his classmates, in the end?
After that thought, Connor's train of thought ground to a halt, and a new feeling took hold - one that he recognized immediately. Usually he only entered a state of hyper-vigilance when in a pressure-packed situation on the football field, but he recognized the signs immediately. He wasn't safe here; these girls had adapted to this hellish game, and it seemed that only just now he were joining the party.
For the rest of the evening, he managed only idle conversation and polite chit-chat as they listened to the rain and wondered what everyone else was doing out there. His thoughts were no longer solely for him, but for his friends. For Wyatt and Bret, for Ace, for Madison - oh God, for Madison - he hoped they were safe. More importantly, he hoped that they still maintained their humanity, for Connor was getting a first-hand look beneath the curtain, and he didn't care much for what he saw.
With all that going on within his mind, Connor didn't sleep very much. Like the previous night, his rest was restless and interrupted. Every few hours, he seemed to wake up, body tense and expecting one of Juliette or Erika to be standing over him with a knife or a gun of some sort. Finally, in the dead of night, the combination of his fatigue and the sounds of the rain pattering down on their makeshift shelter set him into a true night's sleep. His dreams were fraught with imagery of what his life had been; of football and school life, fancy parties with his parents and big ragers with his friends. He dreamed of it all, but at the end of the dream, everyone's flesh tumbled from their bodies and turned to him, reaching skeletal hands out and beckoning.
Yearning.
The speakers all around them crackled to life and mercifully Connor awoke, trading a personal nightmare for a shared one. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he listened as the overly-jovial commander of these awful men listed off the names of the dead. Somehow, this particular announcement felt more poignant than the rest, and he listened now with a rapt horror.
Reuben, the kid in the mascot suit. Dead.
Blake Davis, poisoned. By Erika. Connor looked at his supplies, which mercifully he'd been using as a pillow. Juliette cracked wise, he could only stare a hole right through the murderer in their midst. Who was she? He thought he'd figured her out. He'd obviously whiffed on that one. Incomplete pass, wasn't even close.
Bryan Merryweather, killed by Claudeson, of all people? Smiling, churchy Claudeson? Who'd manned the door at Swiftball and had somehow managed to earn Wyatt's ire on the same night that all the Tyrell business went down?
Shoulders sagging, Connor waited for the speakers to stop, and then slowly turned his head to look at Erika, his face showing none of his usual practiced good humour. In fact, all of his shields were down for the moment, and the look of incredulity on his face was an unfamiliar mask to outsiders.
"It was you or him, y'all said. Ain't that right?" He didn't buy it. "Why?"
She'd said that she didn't want to discuss it, but she was a double-murderer. Her decision-making privileges had been revoked, as far as he was concerned. Connor wanted an answer, and as he rose to his feet, he decided he damn well wanted it now.