We're All Excited, We Don't Know Why, Maybe It's 'Cause, We're Gonna Die

[Emprexx Plush]

((Marco Hart Continued From I Just Want Your-))

"-which kind of got me thinking, I mean, we have this cult situation on our hands because of all the idols and pamphlets and such right? And when you think about cults, or I mean when I think about cults maybe, the seventies and the eighties jump to mind so whatever happened must have happened after then, which is kind of crazy because why hasn't anyone heard about it? I listen to a lot of podcasts about this kind of stuff and none of it sounds like this place and I guess it's possible a bunch of people just...disappeared to an island somewhere but you think somebody would have followed up on it twenty or thirty years ago! But the art, Nick, I think that's a really good clue, because surrealism wasn't big in the seventies and eighties, it had its boom in the twenties and thirties. Which, um, yeah, yeah I think the math could still check out, because what if this was a cult but not a Capital C Cult? More like a religious commune way back then that normalized near wherever we are as oh, those people that live on the island, and then eventually it dwindled down into a Capital C Cult among its descendants so there weren't enough people pulled from normative lives for anyone to care all that much when the whole thing went," and Marco paused to chuckle before trying the phrase on, "um, tits up?"

The whole ramble might have been the most he'd said to another person all at once without a panic attack. He was sweating, and there was stress on his face from the headache that had just been growing and growing since he got up. He was smiling too though, when effort allowed him to, and there was excitement in his voice. It was kind of strange since not much had changed. The announcements came and went with even more reasons for him to stew in his feelings. Nothing too close to home, friends of friends mostly. Still. He was not in a place to judge even somebody like Quinn who had shown up on the loud speaker more times than he could remember. Maybe she had gone psychotic or maybe she had just done what she had to do. Marco knew nothing about her here, but back home she was, well, she was terrifying past the point everyone had been terrifying for Marco, but she was a friend of Shauna and Garnet's which means she couldn't have been all bad. Those letters, too, that whole awful situation. Marco had imagined himself suffering the same embarrassment when he thought about sharing his feelings. He'd felt bad for her. Even thought about reaching out to her sometimes, but never found the nerve.

Which brought right back around to why he was so full of energy despite feeling like death. Yesterday had been, um, it had been a lot of things most of which were probably best left unconsidered right this second the most important thing was that it had been kind of a wake up call to the possibilities he was missing out on. Marco was afraid. It was the only way he knew how to be, and the only ways he'd learned how to cope with it were to either lie to himself or accept the worst of what was coming. Out of all he had done to try and survive here though, the only thing that had turned out right so far was Nick. The lies only got so far, and resolving himself to the violence seemed to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Left on his own he hurt people, and the impulses were still there when Nick was with him but he held him back. By reputation alone it wasn't because he was incapable of striking back, and they'd talked enough to know that Nick didn't have an idealistic outlook on their future. Those hands stayed steady regardless. He wasn't pre-occupied with the inevitability of their situation. The more panic prone edges of Marco's instinct could argue how irresponsible that was all day, but Nick hadn't been in a single fight since they met despite no less than four opportunities. There had to be something to the way he saw things.

So Marco was exhausted. His head was pounding. His heart was heavy. He pushed himself to find the brightness around them despite it. Stopped looking for trouble behind every statue and just saw the statues. Instead of being stressed out about how someone could take shots at them at any time he could stress out about how this maybe counted about his first real date, but also maybe it was presumptuous to call it a date because Nick hadn't called it a date and sure they'd well, Things, and there had been Implications that Nick wasn't opposed to doing Things again but they hadn't had a Conversation about a Relationship mostly because that would be insane given context but also maybe Nick had had that Conversation internally and decided it was assumed they would just be Friends with certain Benefits but Marco hadn't picked up on those cues and he couldn't assume them because what if Nick had decided they were More Than Friends which was its own Benefit and then was offended at the perception that Marco didn't feel the same way because he could feel the same way he just wasn't certain he was allowed to?

That was what Marco wanted to worry about. It was funny, sort of, because it was just days ago that that same stream would have come across as a panic spiral that'd leave him hyperventilating in a dark corner somewhere. That was still kind of there, worry did not magically become comforting. At the same time though, it was a new privilege. He was worried because there was a chance that Nick felt something for him, something fleeting and fragile for sure but still real, neither amorphous uncertainty or certain failure. Letting himself have that hope was new. Of course it didn't diminish the danger around them. The shadows behind each corner were not a nebulous void that could only threaten if observed. Either someone was waiting for them in them or they were not. For at least a little while though he could not think about it.

Marco had lots of practice at that.

So while they walked through the Art Exhibition Marco had kept his focus on the art styles whoever had lived here before them had focused on, and launched into a ramble about what it might mean for why this place was here in the first place. Maybe too much of a ramble, he wasn't exactly sure where Nick had gotten his last word in. Oops. His face was hot when he reached out and took Nick's hand. "I don't know, it's probably a reach? But if we're stuck here I thought maybe, um, there's worse things to think about than why this place is here. What do you think?"

[Jilly]

Near Marco and Nick, the underbrush trembled violently in the stagnant air.






Then it stopped.








And out jumped two monkeys as they scurried on down the path of the art exhibit, away from ((the voices)) farther off in the distance.

---

((So. New update.))

Past the halfway point now, so like yaaaaaaas they slayin' but not literally except that Yuka got the clout for Roxie except Michael also shared it with her so this maybe complicated things a lil bit. But also, like... not really? Yuka seemed like she had like a crumb of a worry but like.... Roxie whomst? Exactly. Maybe Katrina or Willow or Sierra would be like ermagerd we gonna cancel you but like it ain't like Erika or Justin or Ty or Tirzah who like everyone defo had more beef with. Like Jonathan the brain-dead monkey and Val who, mind you, showed up in the announcements so so much for the power of friendship DCOM bullshit, were the only ones that seemed fazed about Reuben so like... scot free murder was kinda nice.

Lmao.

But yeah, seriously. Halfway. Started from the bottom, now we here.

Just wish it wasn't so hooooooooooot. Not even Chattanooga felt this brutal. THE HUNTER was never gonna take air conditioning for granted again.

And, of course, they had to get lost in the wanky doodle artsy fartsy forest. And the heat and exhaustion and sleep deprivation and hunger and thirst hit her all at once.

So Yuka and she decided to take a break in a semi-clearing underneath a large-ish ceramic statue of a naked lady with pretty nice tits (seriously, they were pretty sweet knockers. Real bamboozolas. Absolute units. Big bahama mamas. The sculptor who was definitely a horny guy would've made bank if Patreon was around back in his day.) At least until she could recombobulate and get indoors somewhere because needless to say the search was fucking off.

DIZZY GIRL took another sip of the water bottle. She wiped her forehead with the back of her free hand as she passed the bottle back to Yuka.

"I'm sorry," she laughed half-heartedly, head throbbing and breath heavy with panting. "I just... I need a minute."

More panting.

"I fucking hate Michael so much."

[General Goose]

((Nick Ogilvie continued from I Just Want Your-))

Nick nodded along with Marco's theory, pausing every now and then to ponder the implications of a specific point or see if he could spot an alternative angle to take upon any of the analysis Marco was opting for. Marco's theory, though undoubtedly based on anthropological guesswork and bearing all the hallmarks of an intelligent yet non-professional amateur's speculation, did have a certain intuitive appeal to it. Marco's arguments - and though Nick couldn't exactly pull up a book and check his friend's grasp of history and maths and the development of new religious movements and so on - did make a lot of sense.

Nick didn't need to say much. He didn't mind that Marco was dominating the conversation - that it was less a dialogue and more a monologue, he was more of a receptive and vocal audience than anything close to an equal participation. Nick enjoyed that. He could be a good listener when he needed to be, when he had just cause to think that whoever it was talking his ear off was actually worth listening to, and what Marco was saying was not only distracting but interesting.

Really, he should have something to add to this conversation. He had grown up around academics, after all. He was used to all of the pretenses of the academy, the methodological talking points and scholastic assumptions that should guide a thought exercise such as this. Nick was never going to go down that route - he was pretty set on the whole illusionist path, and fuck, he was the only practitioner of that craft at GHHS still alive, right? - but he should have absorbed something. By osmosis, if nothing else. Plus Nick genuinely did have an interest in history. Cults, too. Lots of connections between the mythology of cults and the kind of aesthetic that tacky 'magicians' went for, after all.

Was he the only illusionist left alive? Fuck.

No, couldn't think about that. Nick was pretty sure the day's announcements had hurt him more than they'd hurt Marco. There were a lot of people there he had history with. Lorenzo, for one - who by all accounts had deserved what was coming to him, but still. Hard to separate the Lorenzo that he knew from the Lorenzo that actually was, well, the real Lorenzo. And both of the Carters were now dead. That was a strange thought to have. And Nia was dead, and honestly, Nick was not expecting to outlive her. He was sorta imagining his death would be him crawling away from a fight, only for Nia to confront him as he lent against a tree and nursed his wounds, as she confronted him like Brienne of Tarth confronted Stannis. There would, at least, have been a certain poignancy to that.

Marco took his hand. Nick's fingers intertwined with Marco, and Nick didn't need to think about that, didn't need to question it, certainly didn't need to ponder what labels were the most appropriate for whatever situation this was.

"It's genuinely interesting," Nick replied. He was exhausted, and tired, and had to make sure he didn't, by way of tiredness, accidentally imbue his words with a sarcastic infliction. "Really, it is. I sorta suspect that when this whole sorry saga is done and dusted, they'll find this island, be able to work out what its history is. And I'm willing to bet that you're probably right. Like, I'll bet...uhhh, fifty bucks." He turned to the camera, waving to it with his free hand. "Ask our next of kin to arrange it or something." He turned back to Marco. "Honestly what I think would be interesting is an academic study sorta looking at the islands that the terrorists pick and why they choose the ones that they do?"

There were some noises nearby. "Also, we might have company," he said with a shrug. He'd be content continuing their discussion.

[Maraoone]

((Yuka Hayashibara continues from Hell and You))

"Mood. Fucking twiggy ass bitch. Gonna"—gasp—"gonna fuckin' snap him in half when I see him."

Yuka collapsed onto a tree stump, taking a bit more than her fair share of lukewarm plastic-imbued water before handing the bottle and the cap back to Teresa. She was the injured one of the two, she deserved it. She would've closed the bottle herself, show some courtesy to her vibing pal, but, like, hard to do that with one hand and all. Thanks Katrina.

She thought she'd asked Teresa before not to go into the woods. Too much time spent therein the endless sea of trees, and all. But, who knew? Maybe she'd forgotten. It was hard thinking back to what she'd said before. It was hard thinking, in general. One brain cell, something like that. "Ha," Yuka said to no one, she thought. It felt different enough, anyways. There was no longer that relentless pit-pat of water from above, now it just coated her skin and soaked into her clothes and things and everything, now it was just suffocating instead of unending. A change of pace, not necessarily nice.

She killed Roxie, according to the terrorists. And Michael had as well. The gun belonged to him, he'd shot her friend in the head. Couldn't even fucking aim a gun right, she should've just. Grabbed it from him when he'd killed Catherine. Would've made the thing against Katrina go a lot smoother, she'd still have two whole hands. She wouldn't have had to use a knife, and the thing wouldn't have had to happen. Roxie. Roxie wouldn't have had to happen. Knife slicing through air then not air. That wouldn't have had to happen.

You know, things were supposed to be different with Teresa, that was what she had hoped for back when she first saw her, when she agreed to tag along. The two had slept near each other, in the same vicinity last night, and it hadn't felt as soul-crushing, as lonely as the night before had, the night alone. She wasn't used to sleeping alone. Company was nice, supposed to be enough. But, Yuka took an hour, she guessed, to get to sleep, and all she could think of while watching Teresa toss and turn was that she wasn't Yuko or Yuki. And then, she went to sleep, and she saw Yuko or Yuki there, and she struggled to recall the entire dream, as much as she wanted to. She dreamed of the birthday dinner and the gifts, the pen and the football earrings, Yuka, control yourself, lilting blood-soaked walks with a weight in your arms, talks in the house about what they wanted for the future, green tea cookies, and she remembered it had felt like hours but she could only grasp seconds of it, and she woke up and they weren't there. She cried a little, a few tears down her cheeks. Not as much as before, progress right there. But, she thought being with Teresa was supposed to stop all that.

Oh well. Maybe vibing, joining the Gucci gang was a process.

There was a distinct Scottish accent in the distance, and she tapped Teresa on the shoulder, motioned her head in the sound's direction. "You think he got a weapon?"

[Emprexx Plush]

Taken out of context there was potential in their situation. Picture it: two acquaintances stranded on a deserted island. They find it riddled with implications of tragedy, and how appropriate is that when some terrible accident must have befallen them to wind up here? At first there is only fear. The two of them have to find some way to survive until help arrives while stalling off the feeling that it may never come. It never came for whoever made these buildings after all, and there must have been so many more of them. They persevere though and in doing so turn fear to curiosity not just about their circumstances but each other. The island gives up more and more of its secrets with each passing day, and more of those days are spent hand in hand. One day they will solve the mystery of this abandoned paradise, but along the way they might just end up solving the mysteries of each other first. It would be so, so cheesy all laid out in some cheap network trailer but when you took away some of the creative embellishments it wasn't so far from what was really happening. Nick's responses were encouraging. They could be happy together like this. At least until something came along to remind them where they really were.

As if on cue Nick gave him a warning. His fingers flexed out on his right hand though they did not run into the weight he had started getting used to, come to think of it he hadn't worn the glove at all since sometime after Garnet left them. Having it on all the time played into the performative paranoia he didn't want to get swept up in again. Still...he looked up at Nick and ran his hand over his bag. "Should I...?" He would understand what he meant. Nick hadn't been brandishing his knife all around either but Marco knew he still had the same instincts that left him standing after each A few days of peace wouldn't shake what they were capable of if pushed. If pushed, though. Not everyone was a threat. He didn't have to force himself into fantasies of violence, it didn't make him strong. It was just feeding into another kind of fear.

So he hoped that Nick would tell him no. That he recognized whoever he thought was ahead and could rely on them not to freak out, or that if he couldn't they could turn away before things went bad. He'd trusted Nick's call. He hadn't lead him wrong yet.

[Jilly]

Another swing of hot-ass water, and the now empty water bottle was chucked overhead behind the statue with the sweet sweet mammaries.

"At this point, prob'ly? But he sounds like a bitch, so. Yeah. We can... can take 'im."

More panting, and then PANTING GIRL raised her voice towards the newcomer. "You just gonna stand around gawking with your dick out all day or what?"

[General Goose]

"Nah, mate," Nick calmly replied, raising his hand up ever so slightly, prepared to stay a sudden movement from Marco that never materialised. "Let's see how this pans out. Plenty of cover if it goes south," he whispered. He knew the artwork would be too flimsy, too slender, too ornate, to really be much good in a firefight, but it was an improvement over standing out in the open.

He cast his eyes around his environment for a split second just to check there were no other incoming threats that he needed to be wary of. Vigilance was the only thing that Nick felt he could do in terms of preparation, the only talent that he had actually developed and nurtured during his time on the island. He didn't want to be in a scenario where he could lash out or do something wrong again, and that required forcing himself to have a kind of peripheral vision, high perception skill, situational awareness, that just wasn't really his norm. But he'd had to learn and, though Nick hadn't really endured a situation that strenuously tested his ability to survive, he felt he was in a better position than he had been not long before.

That cursory check of the perimeter completed, he allowed his eyes to lock onto the new arrivals. They weren't prepping an attack, and certainly weren't capable of much in the way of stealth. That was why he'd wanted to check his surroundings before engaging with them properly. It wasn't like the island really allowed much space for coordinated attacks and strategy, after all. But still, was best to be ready for it, just on the off-chance they were part of some duplicitous distraction strategy. At this point - and seeing who it was - Nick would have expected such a strategy to be motivated by a desire to play the game rather than revenge, but whatever.

Like an idiot, Nick glanced down at the quip about his dick hanging out. Not that there was any chance it was - he'd fully dressed himself, shirt and socks and everything - but maybe his fly was down and maybe they could see that from a distance. Nope. Of course not. They were just being crude.

Not that Nick could really criticise anyone on that front, but it agitated him all the same.

"Last I checked, art was made to be appreciated. Just because we're on a death island doesn't mean we can't appreciate the finer things on life." Nick's tone was slightly mocking, embracing the ridiculousness of his sentiments. "'Tis a free gallery. We can all enjoy it."

[Maraoone]

Teresa said they could take him. Yuka wiggled, flexed the fingers on her right hand. Her left hand burned, she winced, held back a curse.

But, if Teresa said they could, then they could.

She felt the flat of the knife dig into her thigh as she took a few steps forward. Should probably, like, fashion some sort of satchel or belt loop thingy. Getting wounded and infected with old blood was kind of metal, T-B-H, but, that was also the blood of Roxie, and there was probably some whole poem you could construct from that detail but. She just. Didn't want to think about it.

So, she didn't.

Yuka smirked as Nick looked down. Fuckin' dumbass, honestly. She'd caught wind from Beryl of the whole capital-T Thing involving him, her, and Tristan, and she hadn't really delved much into it because drama wasn't her thing back then, but, well, Beryl and Tristan were friends, Nick wasn't, her mind had been made up.

Oh, and he'd killed Beryl, too.

Beryl was her best friend.

Hm.

She felt that should've made her angrier, honestly. The fact that he killed her best friend. But, it just wasn't gaining weight, importance in the old thinky blob. Oh, well, less stress for her, she guessed. She didn't feel like asking to get angry or sad or something, she'd had enough of that. On the bright side, the whole 'you murdered my best friend' thing gave her a good justified reason to get mad in case they decided to shank him or something. Not that moral ascendancy was important around these here parts, but you took what you got, so.

"I guess it's free. Worth the cost, too, I guess. But y'all seen a little frog around here? Michael Froese, Frog-ese, whatever the fuck his last name is?"

The question honestly wasn't important. If he and his friend there knew, they knew. Just needed something to get the ball rolling. Rolling where, she didn't know, but they'd think of it along the way, it would be fine.

[Emprexx Plush]

With how many times Marco had heard Michael's name since he left them, he could not imagine the girls wanted to give him a hug.

He was conflicted about him. It was Michael who had pushed them to define themselves as killers all together. They had done bad things and it was what they were now. Marco had bought into that hard for a couple of days. It made sense, at least to the guilt that was boiling inside him. There was no going back. He was a murderer, not just a person who had committed murder but a person who murdered. Michael hadn't killed anyone then and already he was sure that it was the primary function for all three of them. Then he left and did everything he could to prove his theory right. He'd killed or helped kill more people than Nick and Marco put together now so he must have took it to heart. The man on the announcements even gave him a reward for it. When the theory was laid though, Nick and Marco were the proof. Nick even more than Marco, what had Michael called him, a spree killer? The example that drove Michael to certain damnation was the same one that had kept Marco out of trouble this whole time. Nick hadn't so much as laid a hand on another person since whatever happened with Jeremiah.

Did Michael think about that when he listened to the announcements? He could not possibly know for sure that Nick hadn't gotten into any more fights, but he hadn't heard his name. He hadn't heard Marco's. The proof to his theory denied it, and when he fulfilled it himself it became less theory and more prophecy in a way. He had to feel so helpless. So fragile. Marco could be projecting there but when Michael had left them he looked as if a stiff breeze might crumble him to pieces and he was never, even before all of this he wasn't exactly well. By description alone Michael had become something of a monster. Not many people had done as much damage as he had here. Marco's heart ached for him though. He should have made him stay. He should have pushed back. If they had been together Michael might not have hurt anyone. They'd talked through the fear and the guilt, they could have kept doing that, and as justified as it was if they had lost someone close to them Teresa and Yuka wouldn't be-

Wait. Yuka. Marco remembered hearing Yuka's name too. The man this morning had said that Michael and Yuka killed Roxie together, Roxie and Michael had tugged at him enough that he missed her between them but here she was looking for Michael when the blood on his hands was on hers too? He thought of Michael and the out of it state he'd been in a few days ago. How even though he thought Nick sought out a cycle of violence that was unforgivable he allowed himself to be an accomplice, and how much more fragmented, how much more pliable he might be now. It was not so difficult to imagine someone manipulating him.

The ache in his chest solidified and his eyes narrowed. "What do you want with Michael?"

He wished he was wearing the glove.

[Jilly]

"'TiS a FrEe GaLlErY. We CaN aLl EnJoY iT." Yeah, and it was also free.99 to shut the fuck up.

Wait... "art" gallery........ more like......................

....Forget it. Stomach was having a fiesta as it was; might've upchucked if that thought got finished.

Anyway. Nick and Nora.... Nona? Yeah- wait, no. Shit. Marco. Yeah it was Marco now, right?

Nick and Marco seemed to both be kinda vibing along for being killers, too, like Yuka and THE GIRL. Been oddly quiet for the last few days tho, but like... still killers. Lmao.

Yuka looked like she was boutta say something to Nick, probably about the whole "killed your friend Beryl, sorry y'all I'm a gemini" thing but she didn't? Just reiterated that they were gonna fuck Mikey-boy up good. Or like, implied it. Which they were. Maybe. Ya know how it be sometimes.

Marco seemed piqued about the hijinks that are possibly ensuing, so THE GIRL obliged with more deets from the dox.

After having a few more seconds to compose herself, obvs. Everything still felt dizzy and hurt like a bitch but yeah.

"We just wanna talk to him, nomsayin? But eh.... fuhgedaboudit. Probably off shooting another girl through a window. Fuck 'im."

Fuck, she needed another drink. She pulled her bag chilling against the titty tree - slowly - and fiddled around for one of the other bot-

Oh yeah, this thing. She whipped out the dime bag with a small number of pellets. Mikey-boy said they were LSD, and like who'd lie about that right? Though he totally ditched them after he said or implied he was Gucci Gang for life so. Ya know.

She shook the baggie a few times in front of the newcomers. "Y'all pop pills, any?"

[General Goose]

They asked about Michael.

Felt like ancient history now, oddly enough. As nonsensical and as illogical as it was, Nick's memories of school felt closer, more vivid, than his time with Michael.

They had shared a lot. Been through some rather harrowing moments together. Nick and Michael and Henry, they'd been a thing for a bit. Something of a triumvirate. And then Henry had dropped out, replaced by Marco - which, hey, Nick was more than fine with - and then that trio had whittled down to a duo. As Nick thought about it, it felt more like ancient history, his mindset and disposition then so absolutely distanced from what it was now, that it just didn't seem real.

The Nick that had mercy-killed Beryl and brutally killed Jeremiah and hung out with Michael - actions all irrevocably associated with each other in Nick's brain - that felt like a different Nick to the one that shied away from conflicts and fucked Marco and walked around art galleries. Nick was tempted to think that he'd have some justification in saying that he hadn't seen MIchael. He felt like he hadn't. Seeing him around school felt more recent, more real, than seeing him on the island.

But Nick knew that would come across as a lie, and he couldn't embroil Marco in a web of lies, not against his will.

He ignored their tone. It was probably...if not justified, than at least excusable. Michael had become somewhat prolific a killer, Nick remembered that much.

"Haven't seen him since before he started killing people."

He also ignored the pill popping query - at least verbally. Nick looked solidly unimpressed at the comment. He'd changed since before the island, and his attitude to being offered mystery pills was perhaps proof of that.

[Maraoone]

Yuka didn't like a lot of things about Nick's friend, right now.

Like, for one, there was the identifier, the name, or rather, the lack thereof. Nick's friend. Yuka knew people, generally. She liked that about herself. She had the theater club, she had her shopping buddies, she had her sisters' friends in academics and athletics. She had had many friends before, and she liked it that way.

Before. Not sure if the same could be said now, but, oh well. Whatever.

She flexed the fingers on her right hand once more.

So, like, all of those social connections and what not meant that she was aware of Nick, and Nick's general circle of friends and datefriends and friends with benefits living their best lives, and, like, this friend was not among them. Yuka had no clue who they were. But, whoever they were, they probably knew who Nick was. The accent was hard to miss. And, if they knew who he was, then they knew he was a murderer. Not that she and Teresa were ones to speak on that matter, but that was different, she guessed, if she didn't think too hard about it. But, like, Yuka had to assume this friend had become his friend on the island, despite what he'd done. And this was all she had to go on regarding who they were, so. Not a good look, really.

And speaking of not-good looks, let's talk about the look they were giving Yuka right now, those narrowed, beady eyes. Like, Yuka honestly just wanted to know about the whereabouts of a certain frog-like person on the island. Sure, they didn't have Michael's best interests in mind, but did they know that? No. They just. Didn't trust her. On sight. And, distrust was certainly plentiful here, it was wise, but it never stopped feeling unpleasant, if she was being honest with herself.

It occurred to Yuka that, after the earlier announcements, this wouldn't be the last narrowed set of eyes to look at her. Her expression stayed neutral, she started tapping her foot. Something to keep her mind not idle.

Well, if they wanted a reason, she'd give them one.

"He took something of ours, so."

Half-correct. It wasn't theirs yet, so to speak, but it would be theirs soon, so same difference. They didn't know that yet, didn't need to know that.

"Also, pills sound pretty good right about now."

Didn't seem advisable, really, if she and Teresa wanted to walk out of this encounter with more than they started with, but, the idea really did sound good. Anything that wasn't grief or anger sounded pretty good.

[Emprexx Plush]

All this cult history speculation had touchstones of the decades rattling around in Marco's head, and the way these two were acting made one in particular stick: over the top 80s drug PSAs. It wasn't an obscure rabbit hole. Popular culture had been mining their ridiculousness for material the last handful of decades, and he was sure if you ran that descriptor by any of his classmates they'd have a video in mind. The one that always jumped to the front for Marco though wasn't even from the 80s, and the War on Drugs started in the 70s so now he was kind of wondering if maybe the 80s part sort of felt right but didn't mean anything and might not even be part of the descriptor everybody would agree with? That was beside the point. The point was Snake.

Imagine. The setting was a downtown neighborhood at night. There's a crowd of people but the lighting wasn't so good. The camera was focused on this guy with a hi-top fade, white shirt and pants the lighting won't show off the make off, and a leather jacket with a high popped color. He would turn into the camera and tell all the kids in the room to send their parents away because he had something he had to give them. Next would come a generic list of drugs along with a smirking line about how after just one hit they'll do anything to get more from him. All the classic D.A.R.E talking points: lie, cheat, and steal on everyone important to them for another fix and it would all be their fault for giving in to temptation that one time. Snake's right there up front that that's the cost of doing business with a man like him, and by the way? He'd been slowly transforming into an actual snake monster as he moved between the shadows of the neighborhood this whole time.

As a drug dealer, Snake was extremely bad at his job. Marco thought of him now, though, because if he stepped around one of these statues flicking his big fake tongue all over the place and promising to get him so gacked out he would rob a blood bank and not know the difference(because you could not tell him that wasn't exactly the sort of line they'd write in one of these things), he'd still be more likely to take his chances with Snake's drugs than whatever these two were pushing. Marco wasn't some straight edge crusader though. If they were legitimately just looking to get high in an art gallery...hey, there were worst ways to spend your last days on earth. He relaxed a little and shrugged. "I'm fine. If you want to party though I'm an okay trip sitter." It wasn't exactly untrue? Marco had no idea what half the people he drove home from parties were on, it wasn't any of his business, and nobody had ever OD'd or ran off into the wilderness or anything on his watch so far. That's when he probably would have let them bolt too, he was way better about asserting himself now. Yeah. He could probably really do this, and it's not like they had much better to do right? Plus if these two were high as kites they didn't exactly have to worry about them jumping them later. That gave him an idea actually. "You should probably let me know if you've got anything dangerous first though. I don't want any surprises when I'm trying to keep you from breaking your neck off the top of one of these statues."

[Jilly]

Hmph. Who knew murder made people go straight edge? How pedestrian.

With a scoff, the bag of pills was slammed back into the bag with a quick glance from Yuka to the newcomers, finished off with an eyeroll. "Cool. Nevermind, then. Two people ain't a party."

A half-empty bottle of water was pulled out and chugged down while Nuck got the stink eye for the audacity of ignoring a quite modest proposal and batting it away like it was a gnat or some shit. Or maybe it was just because of the dehydration. Dunno. Really didn't care anymore with this fucking headache.

Maybe it was the heat or the sunsickness or the tension but the water burned even more as it travelled down the throat. Enough to make PARTY GIRL choke and gag a few times. The burning was even worse on the way up.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and breathed deep a few times before speaking again. "As long as we ain't got problems, we ain't got nothing dangerous.

"And we ain't got any problems... right?"

[General Goose]

"What did he take?" Nick said, raising an eyebrow. He still felt oddly...protective of Michael. Protective was probably the wrong word. Despite his alarmingly skinny appearance, Michael was obviously able to handle himself. But there was a certain loyalty. A kind of camaraderie that held strong even in absence, even if it did feel like years since he had last seen the guy, a result of their shared experiences creating a kind of obligation of loyalty in Nick's mind that persisted no matter how many crimes Danya listed off. Nick knew all too well that Danya liked to decontextualise the deaths, that it was entirely possible Michael was still innocent.

Nick didn't believe that, of course. Michael had always seemed like he was a bit more interested in killing as a vocation than Nick or Marco ever were. Something about his countenance and demeanour. And three kills in relatively quick succession...nah. Michael was dangerous now. Yuka and Teresa were almost certainly right in their allegations - at least, meeting whatever burden of proof entailed by life on this island. That didn't change how Nick viewed him, though. Nick certainly had no right to judge others - which left him with just his partial biases, his anachronistic sentiments, as a lens through which to view others.

"Because if we see him, we could ask him to return it." Nick said it dryly, clearly not even bothering to pretend that the suggestion was anything other than a ludicrous and almost mocking fantasy. "Unless he took some impalpable concept like your dignity. Or you're seeking revenge. In which case, I won't begrudge you the right to seek it." Nick was speaking slowly, methodically, keeping his accent tempered and his emotions at bay, as if dragging out this conversation would kill time before the next brutish confrontation or near-death scrape. As if this was somehow putting a pause on the suffering. "But at the same time, I wouldn't want to help facilitate that."

"So no. We ain't got any problems, hen," Nick continued. He looked at Marco. Marco had asked the important questions. Had handled the stuff about their offer to partake in substances together. The stuff Nick didn't really have the interest in these days. "And I don't mind sharing the space with you guys."