Dress For Success

[MurderWeasel]

((Juliette Sargent continued from Juliette Also Tries To Take A Bath))

As it turned out, underestimating the practicality of shaving for the very first time with a straight razor had not been Juliette's only misstep in her freshening-up adventures.

The plan had seemed very simple: she would wash all her clothes, lay them out, let them dry, and then get dressed again and be on her way. The rocks were wide and dry, the sun still high enough in the sky. How hard could it possibly be?

But while the rain had dissipated, the island was still very, very humid. An hour later, the sun had set and still Juliette's hair was damp, to say nothing of her skirts and blouses. Oh, in a pinch she could shove them all in her bag and put on whatever seemed least-soggy, but she was loathe to do so. After all, that was the road to mildew and regret, to making this entire venture worse than pointless. If she ruined all her clothing, then it would be actively counter productive. She'd feel stupid and resentful, and that was not what she needed now.

Her face, properly reassembled with a basic makeup regime, gave her confidence. The clean feeling of her body made her powerful. When she sucked air over her mint-freshened tongue, the icy chill almost fooled her into thinking she could breath fire. That was what she needed. Whether she gazed into mirror or river, she saw herself again, ready to trot right into student council or smile for class photos.

Except, of course, that her hair—while neatly brushed—was wet, and that she was wearing only her undergarments, a black towel that formed an impromptu dress which reached a bit above her knees and was secured by clever folding and hope, and sandals. That part of the state of affairs sucked.

It was properly night, the only illumination courtesy of the stars and the thin sliver of moon reflecting off the river. Juliette should've been sleeping, but she had this hunch she would not be getting much rest tonight. She was not about to leave her clothes unguarded, lest they be spirited away by a sudden heavy gust of wind or a curious monkey or a particularly spiteful classmate.

It was a marvel that this part of the river had seen such low traffic. Juliette had refilled all her water bottles, and that potential alone seemed like it should've been enough to bring others to this place. But all day she had been by her lonesome, and fewer people roamed about at night, right? Certainly she had passed the dark hours more or less in place, resting, usually with companions eager to do the same.

She was a few yards from the water's edge now, in a dry little circle of grass perched on another rock. She patted her hair. Still damp. Took a deep breath. Looked around, but it was too dark and too thick with vegetation to see much of anything.

She knew it wouldn't change a thing, but still she got up, walked to the rocks where her clothes lay, and prodded them.

Yep. Still damp.

[Endellion]

"Well, if it isn't a sight for sore eyes."

[ Julien Leblanc continued from C'est La Vie. ]

"Though," Julien stepped out into view by the riverside, "I think I'm a little better dressed for a date with death than you are, Juliette. Got some help putting on a few more of the, ah... finishing touches." It wasn't hard to see the limp in his gait.

He'd cleaned up himself, as it happened. After washing the bleach away, it had felt like the best thing to do for the sake of improving his general mood and health as much as he could manage. He'd almost slipped in the water and gone under a time or three, the balancing act of doing what he wanted to without leaning on his bad leg or using his bad hand proving to be distracting, but he'd already begun so it was easier just to stick it out. And it had helped, because feeling clean brought a unique sort of relief along with it.

All his clothes had gone in when he had, and not all really felt dry yet even after most of a day. The blood hadn't come out of his slacks either, a little thing which still burrowed under his skin and refused to emerge. Funny, how those always grated the most. Of course, that likely wasn't the case for Juliette right now; the night was always colder, and this was hardly the place to be stuck so exposed.

"You want a jacket?" There were people who might dismiss it as a stupid question to ask, he was sure. They were usually the sort who forgot that some would let pride come before sense, no matter the time or place.

[MurderWeasel]

When the voice first broke the silence, Juliette jerked, straightening her posture and bringing a hand up to clutch the folds of her towel, making extra sure it wouldn't slip. She pivoted, shoulders stiffening, but as she took in exactly who it was who had caught her off guard, the tension drained mostly away again, and she let out a silent exhalation.

"Oh," she said, "it's you."

While Juliette's voice was bland and casual, the instant the words slipped from her lips her mood darkened. It had nothing to do with Julien, however; her own blasé delivery had managed to remind her of the punchline to the Piña Colada Song, which was in strong contention for her single least favorite piece of music. Nothing grated quite like a story of two people gleefully attempting to betray each other only to finally realize they deserve one another being spun as combination of unironic romance and cheap laughs. Of course, this musing was in no way Julien's fault—had nothing whatsoever to do with him besides coincidence—and so Juliette did her best to let it roll off her like so many droplets of water.

To distract herself, she gave the scene before her a more thorough examination. The rocks formed the riverside edge of an open space. Most were covered in her clothes, splayed out and flat as she could make them, arranged by type. A couple of the rocks, including the one she was closest to, were left uncovered. The banks continued down towards the waterfall and up to places unknown, and a dozen or so feet away the trees and underbrush thickened so much that it quickly became impossible to discern details within in the light of day, to say nothing of now. Her packs were over there, mostly hidden beside a thicket. The ground here was an odd mix of dirt, grasses, and smooth river stones.

Juliette stood in the relative open, spotlit to what extent was possible by the moon and stars, pale skin of face and shoulders and arms and lower legs contrasting with black towel; she was glad that most color was washed out of the world because as her gaze slid over the bra straps protruding above the top of her towel she felt some heat rising in her face. It was different knowing intellectually that you were being observed in a compromising position by people far away and having someone else right in front of you, eyes right there to meet.

But Julien had bigger problems. She'd caught the labored way he moved, and she could make out faint stains on his clothing, though he was more shadowed than she and it was hard to fully discern what all was wrong with him. He still wore a certain seemingly-unshakable composure, but Juliette thought that was just how he was, a point of similarity between them, perhaps. Something she respected.

"You look awful," she said, feeling around beside her until she found a wide, smooth piece of boulder and then pulling herself up to perch upon it. She kept her knees pressed together, though it wasn't particularly comfortable, and patted the spot next to her with her hand. "What happened? Come sit down?"

She'd left Julien's offer of a jacket to the side, not out of dismissal per se, but because she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Was he being civil or gentlemanly because that was how he was, or was there something else to it? Juliette had not forgotten her parting request, but if he thought she was comparable to Drew, if he thought she was worse off than he himself, well, she would be disappointed at how far gone his faculties were. But she'd give credit for now, assume the best. Julien had earned that much.

"And," she said, "I'm fine for the moment. But thank you."

It was, of course, a little chilly. But she would cope. If she really really needed it, she still had her improvised poncho in her bag.

[Endellion]

"Alright." Julien took her rejection of his offer in stride and would say no more about it; if she wanted to let it stay up in the air, that was just fine. She did look quite alright when compared to him, as it went, which brought to mind the idea that she thought he was being condescending with his offer. The issue wasn't one worth pushing, especially since the sight of Juliette as she was appealed to certain impulses he didn't care about enough to totally ignore for a change. The past few days had been awful.

With that in mind, getting so close didn't seem the best of ideas... but there was no practical reason to refuse the offer that he could see. And frankly, if she was to judge him for what couldn't be helped, he'd rather it be obvious than inferred. Silly to worry about being looked down on anyway, really, when he had so much worse to concern himself with.

So Julien walked over, pulled himself up onto Juliette's perch and sat next to her. "Well, it's not much of a story. Just, ah... cause and effect would be the simplest way to put it, I suppose. I must admit I'm not all that eager to talk about my own pain, Juliette, so I'd rather hear how you've been instead."

[MurderWeasel]

"Mm," Juliette said. "alright."

She was curious whether Julien was being genuine in his professed distaste for sharing his experiences, and also—if so—whether he was being honest about his motivations. Often people danced around issues, initially expressing disinterest in opening up only to pour their hearts out a few minutes later with little or no prompting. Juliette was a strong believer in letting people find their own ways to the conclusions she wanted. She would get nothing by prying; by being respectful, the worst she would do is arrive at that same nothing, but perhaps she would learn something after all if she wasn't too eager.

As to motivations, if Julien was telling the truth then he felt no need to wallow. It was a stance Juliette understood quite well, actually; she raked herself over the coals about defeats and stresses and mistakes without any help, and regaling others with her woes mostly just served to remind her of them. But there was another angle as well. Information was valuable here. If she didn't know what precisely Julien had been through, she was left ignorant as to whether he had any surprises in store. He avoided the risk of alienating her somehow, or of disrupting the dynamic that so easily returned, which was, well, not precisely effusively warm, but passably cordial.

Julien had been busy since they parted ways. He'd killed Ashlynn. It was not something that Juliette had expected, and it was something she struggled to reconcile with her perceptions and judgments. She needed to not let it slip her mind, but also to avoid letting it blind her.

It was so complicated. Every interaction was always like this, layers of inference and uncertainty and speculation. This was not the part of spending time with people that she'd missed, and so she tried to set it aside as she spoke.

"After you left, I stayed with Connor and Ericka overnight," she said, "but Ericka had a date with Michael the next morning and took off. Connor stuck with me another day, but ditched me in the middle of the night."

She shrugged, let out a sigh and looked up at the sky. In this place there weren't many overhead branches to obstruct her view of the stars. Juliette had never been much of one for watching the skies, certainly not enough to actively pursue opportunities or slip away from Chattanooga's light pollution, but on the rare occasions she'd found herself outside at night without much to do, she'd enjoyed the view. The speckling of little lights was still almost magical to her, and on instinct she watched to see whether any would move and reveal themselves to be airplanes. But of course there were no airplanes anywhere near here.

She didn't want to dwell too long on her parting with Connor, so hurried on.

"After that, I had brunch with Quinn."

Juliette turned and gave Julien a little smirk at this. They were quite close together, sitting side by side and within easy touching distance should one or the other reach out, and he looked worse with greater detail. Juliette kept her expression steady, though. She was good at that.

"It was alright." She shrugged, bobbing shoulders and top hem of towel up and down a couple inches. "Most people are surprisingly reasonable if you're willing to sit down and talk with them."

[Endellion]

"Oh, I know. I actually came across Marco on the day I was shot. For essentially being a Mad Max villain, he was remarkably civil about the whole thing."

It hadn't struck him as odd at the time and still didn't, really, when Julien thought about it. Whatever form the madness took, whether it was dressing up like a leather clown to lop off limbs and heads with a chainsaw, hunting people like animals or trying to make modern art out of corpses, there was still a person behind it all. Forgetting about that came easy under the circumstances, really.

He looked over at Juliette. "I've no plans on being anything but civil," he said. "If that's what you're wondering." The taste of bleach and ache of retribution still lingered, and that had been more than enough pain given or taken for one day by his standards. "And if there's something you would like to ask me about, then by all means feel free."

His wasn't a sob story. No point in trying to frame it as such.

[MurderWeasel]

Juliette watched Julien as he spoke, both directly and from the corner of her eyes while she scanned the surroundings in case of further interlopers, though they would have to be quite close for her to spot them. She listened, considered, speculated but did not let her musings pass her lips.

"I met Marco on the first day," she said, instead. Had she told him this before? She couldn't quite remember. There was a temptation to say something else, to mention that he'd been plenty reasonable then too, right up until he started shooting, but that might lead to a more involved line of questioning regarding the precise sequence of events and Juliette just didn't feel like launching into an entire sequence of lies. Oh, she had her story straight, of course—she thought she might even be able to pass it by Kelly if it came to it—but that wasn't the mood of the moment. It wasn't what she wanted.

She closed her eyes for a second and leaned her head forwards, taking a deep breath. The air here tasted different from what she was used to, though by now it was only in these deep, conscious inhalations that she noticed. It was wet and earthy, damp in a way like what she imagined it would've been like to take a big mouthful of moss and old damp leaves and suck on it.

When she came fully back to the moment, she shifted her position, turning not just her head but her whole body more towards Julien. She had no doubt he would be as good as his offer. A bunch of questions sprang to mind immediately. Who shot you? Connor said you messed Ivy up before we met. What did she do to deserve it? Did Marco mention me? What makes you think I'm wondering if you might be uncivil? Will you be able to take watch if we need to get rest? Who else have you seen? They were all good topics to dig into. If they spent any appreciable time together, she would probably touch on all of them later.

The river lapped its way past with no regard for them. In the distance, she could hear the crash of the waterfall. It was like a mood CD, some sort of ambient white noise she might put on in the vain hope of encouraging relaxation or anxiety-free contemplation. Those things never really worked for her. Juliette missed music. She missed her Beethoven and Bach, but she also even missed the stuff that came on the radio that usually annoyed her.

"I guess Drew died," she said.

[Endellion]

"That he did," he said. "I figure it was a mercy for him." A few days was more than enough time for someone's condition to worsen horribly, whatever way such a thing wound up coming to pass. "Camilla, ah... she talked about Declyn a lot sometimes. Nothing ever left me with the impression he'd kill someone who he spent that much time with in cold blood, even in a place like this."

It was telling that when it had been announced they didn't try to put any flair in how they dropped that particular little bombshell, staying short and to the point instead. Very human of them to try and make others jump to conclusions which weren't really their own.

That was an excellent point, as it happened.

"Ashlynn was certainly not mercy, I'll say that much. She had this grand idea, to try and get everyone in one place so they could all sit around a great big campfire and she could have them die trying to make a point that wouldn't really mean anything"—Julien shifted around a little—"and if it's a choice between one or none, I think there's only really one option. It's not a good one, mind you, but is anything here?"

He looked at the bangle still around his wrist. Would it seem like something twisted, he wondered, the taking of a trophy? Perhaps. It wasn't as if a little scorn was the worst of his worries, certainly not now.

"Though, ah... I think I respect her for standing by it how she did, much as I may not have the right to." And wasn't that a bitch, to give someone he'd stabbed to death more due than his dearest friend? "I hope she goes somewhere good."

[Kermit]

There was a quiet rustling from the foliage.

"That's still two options, Julien!"

((The barrel of a sub-machine gun poked out of the forest.))

"Just because you do not like an option does not mean it ceases to exist. You listed two options, therefore there are at least two options. Can you actually prove your - " the voice paused, "- implication that one is better than the others?"

Val limped out into the open, gun aimed blankly toward Julien. She flashed his companion a quick glance before glaring back into his eyes. Her nostrils flared, but the remainder of her facial expression stayed still.

"Juliette, I'm sure you already know this, but you really should take pains to be careful," she briefly, accidentally, let a smirk slip through the facade, "around people who speak only in enthymemes."

[MurderWeasel]

Juliette's lips quirked upwards from the more neutral position they'd settled into. It was instinct, her natural response to a moment of surprise, frustration, and incomprehension. It was her natural response to a number of other situations too, the result of years of practice. This was important; if a smile most often meant the opposite, that mask would only hide your face from those who knew nothing of you.

"Valerija," Juliette said—and she thought, hoped, her pronunciation was good; she made a point to know names and how to say them correctly, and it wasn't so hard after years of substitute teachers stammering through roll call—and nodded. "I hope you're well."

She'd been getting somewhere with Julien, right up until this gun-toting interruption materialized from the murky underbrush to yet again add a potentially-lethal edge to a situation. A few days ago, Juliette might have been more impressed by the weaponry alone. Then again? Since waking up in the shattered ship, she'd been around guns just about as much as other people. Marco had even set his off. She could not recall hearing Valerija's name in their time here, which meant the girl had either not taken a life or had not risen to the level of brutality or repetition that rated a memorable quip. She hobbled somewhat like Julien hobbled, which was to say precisely one of those present could move unimpeded by injury. She did not look at Juliette like she was turning over whether or not to hang her from a tree amidst the remains of old, worn shoes. The gun was pointed at Julien.

This was, in short, in the lower-mid tier in terms of inducing stress and anxiety.

But it had ruined her exploration of Julien. He had not responded how Juliette had expected. At the news of Drew's demise, he had instantly jumped to pragmatic factors. He hopped to a defense of Declyn, then in almost the same breath halfheartedly condemned his own motives. He drew attention to what must have been a pilfered piece of jewelry, and he admitted an admiration for his victim. Guilt was writ large in every part of the exchange. This from someone who had initially professed reluctance to discuss what he'd been through. That was the power of respecting people's wishes and letting them share in their own time.

Now they were doing this instead, though. Juliette considered a moment, shifting around on the rock, feeling it scrape against her bottom even through the intervening layers of thick towel and thin underwear. The night air was ever so slightly chilly on her mostly-bare shoulders and down her lower legs to where her toes curled against the rubbery plastic of her sandals. It was the evaporation of excess moisture doing it, she vaguely recalled. That was how sweating worked.

She was very tempted to take one of two tracks that came to her in a heartbeat.

The first was to air her frustration at being stymied by meeting pedantry with pedantry, noting that Julien was suggesting that one choice was so poor as to be discarded (though Valerija had addressed this) and suggesting that, moreover, it was a moot point due to the twin difficulties of motivation and logistics. She knew their class—better, perhaps, than anyone else left alive on this island, at least when it came to their group as abstracted into some sort of mob mentality—and convincing the population of George Hunter to work in its own interests and refrain from disastrous self-sabotage verged on impossible even in low-stakes situations with the benefit of ample communication. Here it would be completely unfeasible.

Of course, if she went down this path, she would be allying herself entirely with Julien against an unknown number. This would destroy any chances she might have to act as mediator, and would move her into the same group as the current target of the gun. Whatever she truly thought, there was little to be gained from such an action beyond fleeting catharsis.

The second option was to fade into the background and let this go down however it would go down without putting a finger on the scales. This was the tactical play. People thought of Juliette as inhabiting the spotlight to a degree, because when she chose to do so she accomplished her ends proficiently. But she was more than competent when it came to pulling vanishing acts even amidst heated discussion and conflict. She wouldn't be surprised if most of those who had been in the ill-fated Never Have I Ever circle at Swiftball no longer had any recollection of her being among their number.

But neither choice was quite right in this instant, not with what she hoped to find here. So she spoke again.

"Can we maybe set the weapons down, at least for a moment while we talk? I'd rather make sure we don't have any accidents."

[Endellion]

"Oh, I don't think it would be an accident if she did use it. I'd assume she knows that much about guns at the least, and yet there it is pointed at me." Juliette was behind him relative to their guest, whose problem was most certainly with him, so he turned to face Valerija. It wouldn't count for much if things went badly, but it was something.

"And hello to you too, Val," Julien said, opting simply for a smile. "To answer your question, yes, I could prove it. But words only have as much credit as the person hearing them will let them have and well, you don't seem willing to give much of that right now."

Hopefully that would change sooner rather than later. With how his day had been, he'd bet his throat would begin to hurt if he talked too much. That would make for one too many irritations getting under his skin... but he'd been shot before, and the downsides of being shot again were significantly worse than a sore throat, to put it politely.

"But hey, I'll give it a shot anyway." Yes, make puns in the face of what could be death. That'll definitely endear you to her. Stupid indeed, but what's done is done and so on. "So, why do you think the people who put us all in this waking fucking nightmare to die do what they do? I honestly want to hear your answer, and then I'll give you mine."

[Kermit]

"The weapons are merely a means to ensure both sides stay accountable. I see no point in removing what is currently our only safety net, though I appreciate the sentiment."

Val raised her eyebrows and exhaled sharply through her nose, seemingly bemused by Julien's response.

"Mmm, no," she paused, "good attempt to deflect, Julien; though it's potentially quite telling, your choice to obfuscate. I did not ask you what you believe the motive driving the actions of the terrorists is. I asked you if you could prove that between no survivors, one survivor, and any other number of survivors, your option was better than the others. Do not pretend as if they are the same question. You say you can prove it," she shrugged, "so prove it. Lay out all the premises. Do not lead us to a conclusion. State the conclusion. Do not redirect the question back to me. Do not attempt to redefine the question. Make a valid, sound, deductive argument. Words only have as much real credit as the logical processes behind them."

[MurderWeasel]

Juliette didn't sigh. She thought she deserved some real credit for that.

Valerija had chosen to take her inclusive statement at face value despite the absurdity of it. There were no weapons, plural. Oh, Julien was quite probably armed in some capacity or other, though the large scythe he'd once carried was conspicuously absent. Juliette herself had her straight razor on her, obscured beneath the thick towel. The weapon was folded so that the hinge hooked over the thin side strap of her underwear at her right hip, metal cool against her skin and all cleaned up and with not a trace of blood left visible. But none of these potential implements of destruction were brandished just now. The gun was. She had been tiptoeing around suggesting that Valerija perhaps exercise a little more courtesy, and had been rebuffed on the grounds of "staying accountable"—to what or whom ambiguous.

But it wasn't worth fighting. Juliette shifted back and forth, rocking slightly to get the blood flow going again, the better to transition from a relatively sedentary moment with any needed more haste. It also kept her attention just a touch diverted, which was good.

Valerija's tone was all too familiar. It was that of someone who had not come for a conversation, but rather to deliver a lecture. Julien's role in the proceedings was to try to argue his alternate perspective, and to fail, regardless of the merits of his case. Had Valerija held any legitimate interest in listening or engaging in discourse with an eye towards compromise or being convinced, she wouldn't be going on the offensive to this degree. This could've been any of dozens of student council sessions, as the representatives fought tooth and nail over some minor, ultimately-meaningless point of school policy like their lives depended on it, because that was the only power they had to exercise. Juliette would take a side (usually based less on beliefs and more on who she liked or wanted to owe her, or else picking whatever position was destined to win anyways; the student council didn't get to do anything that really mattered), and say her piece but ultimately serve primarily as an agent of compromise and reconciliation.

She slipped off the rock, the rough stone catching the towel and hiking the back up a few inches before she plopped to the ground and jerked it right back down. She walked a few steps to the side, not gaining any distance on Valerija, just putting a little between herself and Julien. She didn't want to seem a unified front with him, even though in truth she more or less was. It was fortunate she hadn't gotten to air her own opinions. Getting out of the line of fire of potential loose bullets was also a pleasant side effect.

"I'd like to hear more about that 'any number of other survivors' option, personally," Juliette said. "That one has some promise."

[Endellion]

Julien laughed. "Well, have it your way then, Valerija. Thank you for further proving my point."

Juliette had moved that much further away from him, it seemed. Good for her, really. And it gave him more space to lean back a little, even, which he promptly did. His hands stayed behind his back to help hold him up. "Any number of survivors would be an escape of some sort, which won't come about because of just how far away from home we seem to be, how long search efforts over a wide area tend to take and the natures of the people holding us here. No survivors would be pointless since the game would simply play on regardless, and while I don't know about you," he looked at Val, "I would rather my death have some manner of meaning. Any attempt to try and prescribe some sort of reason to it all is pointless, because no aim has been shown to this grand little undertaking beyond the desire to hurt as many people as possible. So if our lives are to be thrown away over someone simply wishing it so, at least one person should be able to try and move on with theirs as best they can. Simple, really."

[Kermit]

"Julien, you already know I'm not talking about an escape. I told you as much at the cages."

Val took a step back as Juliette repositioned herself, though she still kept the gun trained on Julien.

"If the terrorists' only motivation was to hurt as many people as possible, then why aren't they doing so? They've got — and pardon my language, but — they have had America by the balls for a number of years now. It's well within their power to kill a greater number of people in more horrific ways — kidnapping a middle school class, for example — but they are showing restraint, which is indicative that the killing is not the ends but the means of the terrorists."

She inhaled.

"How do you know the games will continue on if a no-kill conclusion is reached? You say it as if it is a known fact, but there is no precedent. There is, however, as we know, precedent of the games continuing after both single-survivor conclusions and escapes," she paused. "Additionally, there is no precedent showing that they're even telling the truth about killing us all if we reach a no-kill ending," she glanced to Juliette, "that is what I was referring to, by any number of other surviv-" Val stopped speaking suddenly, pursed her lips, and swung her aim to Juliette. "Oh, that was sneaky of you. I didn't list that as an option. I said 'any other number of survivors'. If Julien had made that paraphrase, I would have assumed it to be accidental. Given your propensity for politics, though, Juliette..." she trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.