As it turned out, being effectively a witness to the death of someone you knew and had spent the past night with did not make the rest of the day feel less busy in comparison.
((continued from…))
The day, by the group’s collective standard, had only just begun. The moment Jasper had been placed on a hammock to rest in peace, it seemed like everybody but Marion had had a plan. Rhonda and Nadine had wanted to move out and explore the world in search of tools or people or other things that might help and that meant that for most of the day it was just Marion and Shoshanna. They’d tried to get a grasp on what exactly to do with Jasper’s collar. Or, rather, Shoshanna did that and Marion had watched because she still couldn’t really look at Jasper and also had no idea what to look at when looking at his collar. They’d tried to poke around it with the tweezers from the medkit to see if there were any places they could access, but all they could find were some pinholes. They’d tried to put pressure on the collar, but they had stopped before going too far — anything short of their line of potentially fracturing bone had done nothing visible. They’d tried to see how much room there was between the collar and the neck, and there was enough. Not a lot, but at least none of them had died of suffocation yet. There were… certainly bits to hypothesise about, yes, but it didn’t exactly feel like progress. Not yet.
She was up on the deck. By herself. Rhonda and Nadine had just returned a couple minutes ago and so those two and Shoshanna were in the cabin catching each other up. Marion… knew her presence was potentially important in some way, but she figured the conversation would manage just fine without her — Shoshanna was the real genius, Marion had now been relegated to sidekick. So she chose to be here, instead. On the deck. Where there wasn’t any corpse or blood obviously visible. There was a railing by one end, an ocean below, and so long as Marion placed her head at a specific angle she wouldn’t see any other boats. Just the water. Just the moon. Just the horizon. Just herself.
There was no conversation, nothing particularly purposeful about this scene, but Marion didn’t see that as a problem. Everybody needed a breather at some point.
All the people here worth watching were inside, anyway.
First The Sirens, Then The Lights...
that looks like your ride.................. your ride... (private until the death tag goes up)
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Wham Yubeesling
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★★
lucille's bigass closet
((Sylvain Kessler continued from Time Out))
Predictably, the ragtag little crew Sylvain had hooked up with had not found any cocaine. His good mood had held, though. Roaming around the arena and not finding anything of note, sniping back and forth with Laura with Alaska and Sergio sometimes contributing snark of their own... shit, that was what he'd been looking for the first day. It might have been pointless, but it was fun.
And then, when night fell and the announcement sounded, they had to go and ruin the ride.
Technical difficulties, they said. Yeah, no. Technical difficulties didn't necessitate an entirely new mentor. Something had gone and gotten fucked up with Emmy, and though Sylvain couldn't really say that the two of them were close enough to be friends, it reminded him again of her mascara-streaked face, and it soured his whole mood.
He had looked to Alaska, after they heard, but she hadn't said anything to him about it. It was night, everyone was tired out from a long day of accomplishing nothing in particular, and Sylvain had volunteered to stand watch while the other three rested. That was standard practice in groups on the show, everyone taking shifts to make sure no one else got too clever and tried to sneak up on them in the night.
Sylvain sat apart from the rest, staring out over the water at the other boats bobbing around them, fingers loosely curled against his collar. Waiting for someone to speak to him. Waiting for the sound of a betrayal happening behind him. Waiting to know something.
He got restless before long and stood, decided to pace around. Then he decided he needed to be outside. He'd always liked sneaking out at night to go tagging, wandering the streets, feeling like he was getting away with something even if he didn't really consider it a crime. He wanted to recapture that feeling a little bit, anything to dredge up a bit of comfort when his surroundings seemed determined not to let him get too comfortable.
Alaska would be fine. She and Laura were best friends, they could handle Sergio if he got any ideas. Sylvain needed to go clear his head, and he told himself that he'd be right back, even as he knew that could very well be untrue for a number of reasons.
And so he walked off into the night, leaving the other three sleeping soundly.
As predictably as not finding any treasure trove of drugs while aimlessly wandering, Sylvain got lost on his own ramble through the dark. He didn't have a map. Should have taken somebody's, for all the good it would do him trying to read it by moonlight.
The clipper ship, at least, was distinct, rising up against the night sky. He figured it would be as good a place as any to chill for a while before trying to get his bearings again and find his way back to the group. Maybe take a quick nap.
Sylvain paused in his approach to the ship when he blinked and it blurred a bit too much, and then refused to come back into clarity when he blinked again. Stupid contacts. He didn't need them to see; they were strictly for aesthetic, and now they were actively impeding him. He rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes, but that didn't help, so he sighed and finally took them out, tossing them carelessly away to be lost to the night. Blinking several more times and rubbing the back of one hand over his eyes once more, the clipper ship sharpened again in his view.
There was someone out on the deck, he could see now that his vision was unimpaired. Walking closer, a grin settled on Sylvain's face, something smaller and more genuine than usual.
"Hey," he called up, once he reached the side of the ship. "See anything worth plundering from up there?"
Predictably, the ragtag little crew Sylvain had hooked up with had not found any cocaine. His good mood had held, though. Roaming around the arena and not finding anything of note, sniping back and forth with Laura with Alaska and Sergio sometimes contributing snark of their own... shit, that was what he'd been looking for the first day. It might have been pointless, but it was fun.
And then, when night fell and the announcement sounded, they had to go and ruin the ride.
Technical difficulties, they said. Yeah, no. Technical difficulties didn't necessitate an entirely new mentor. Something had gone and gotten fucked up with Emmy, and though Sylvain couldn't really say that the two of them were close enough to be friends, it reminded him again of her mascara-streaked face, and it soured his whole mood.
He had looked to Alaska, after they heard, but she hadn't said anything to him about it. It was night, everyone was tired out from a long day of accomplishing nothing in particular, and Sylvain had volunteered to stand watch while the other three rested. That was standard practice in groups on the show, everyone taking shifts to make sure no one else got too clever and tried to sneak up on them in the night.
Sylvain sat apart from the rest, staring out over the water at the other boats bobbing around them, fingers loosely curled against his collar. Waiting for someone to speak to him. Waiting for the sound of a betrayal happening behind him. Waiting to know something.
He got restless before long and stood, decided to pace around. Then he decided he needed to be outside. He'd always liked sneaking out at night to go tagging, wandering the streets, feeling like he was getting away with something even if he didn't really consider it a crime. He wanted to recapture that feeling a little bit, anything to dredge up a bit of comfort when his surroundings seemed determined not to let him get too comfortable.
Alaska would be fine. She and Laura were best friends, they could handle Sergio if he got any ideas. Sylvain needed to go clear his head, and he told himself that he'd be right back, even as he knew that could very well be untrue for a number of reasons.
And so he walked off into the night, leaving the other three sleeping soundly.
As predictably as not finding any treasure trove of drugs while aimlessly wandering, Sylvain got lost on his own ramble through the dark. He didn't have a map. Should have taken somebody's, for all the good it would do him trying to read it by moonlight.
The clipper ship, at least, was distinct, rising up against the night sky. He figured it would be as good a place as any to chill for a while before trying to get his bearings again and find his way back to the group. Maybe take a quick nap.
Sylvain paused in his approach to the ship when he blinked and it blurred a bit too much, and then refused to come back into clarity when he blinked again. Stupid contacts. He didn't need them to see; they were strictly for aesthetic, and now they were actively impeding him. He rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes, but that didn't help, so he sighed and finally took them out, tossing them carelessly away to be lost to the night. Blinking several more times and rubbing the back of one hand over his eyes once more, the clipper ship sharpened again in his view.
There was someone out on the deck, he could see now that his vision was unimpaired. Walking closer, a grin settled on Sylvain's face, something smaller and more genuine than usual.
"Hey," he called up, once he reached the side of the ship. "See anything worth plundering from up there?"
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Wham Yubeesling
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There were quite a lot of things you could say when your friend showed up on this armada for the first time.
You could go along with Sylvain’s joke and tell him exactly what you could see that seemed worth plundering. It was not a joke Marion particularly had any sort of applicable jokey response to — again, only the ocean and the horizon and the night sky, not a lot that would provide material wealth, or even material — but in terms of practicality it was very easy to see the ideal response to this situation. It would be seamless. It would be just like old times. It would show Sylvain that nothing had changed about the two of them. That this game had not (yet) gotten to Marion. That she was someone who could be very easily trusted.
Alternatively, were Marion considerably more reckless, there was a much grander greeting in mind. She could turn around. Rush towards him. Embrace him and look at him and desperately hope he hadn’t been murdered like nearly all the other people she’d seen so far. It wasn’t particularly smart, yes — had Sylvain any sort of gun or knife there was a non-zero chance it would be enough to make him panic and accidentally bullethole her — but were the wheel to not land on ‘nothing’ it would provide benefits not unlike the first approach. It would show Sylvain that Marion still cared about him. It would show him that she could be trusted. It would show him that he still had someone who came off as dependent on him.
Marion, however, did not do either of those things. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the surprise of his approach impaired her ability to think things through. Perhaps the fact she hadn’t been expecting to talk with anyone out here made her unprepared. Or, perhaps, the idea of being someone who thought through every little thing they said in order to provide the optimum response was just too distinct and interesting to really be something Marion would let herself be. Not while her hijab had to be up at all times.
But that was besides the here and now of the scene. What Marion did, in all actuality, was this: she spun around, felt her back brush up against the railing, and gave Sylvain the best look-over one second could give. Saw everything of him that he wanted her to see. Said nothing, for a moment, and then:
“Oh no.”
They weren’t quite Marion sentences. Or at least sentences that were said the way Marion usually said them. They were higher pitched than normal. They came out the same section of the sheet music where she was supposed to rest and breathe.
“You’re here.”
They really made her sound quite un-Marion.
“I’m so sorry.”
You could go along with Sylvain’s joke and tell him exactly what you could see that seemed worth plundering. It was not a joke Marion particularly had any sort of applicable jokey response to — again, only the ocean and the horizon and the night sky, not a lot that would provide material wealth, or even material — but in terms of practicality it was very easy to see the ideal response to this situation. It would be seamless. It would be just like old times. It would show Sylvain that nothing had changed about the two of them. That this game had not (yet) gotten to Marion. That she was someone who could be very easily trusted.
Alternatively, were Marion considerably more reckless, there was a much grander greeting in mind. She could turn around. Rush towards him. Embrace him and look at him and desperately hope he hadn’t been murdered like nearly all the other people she’d seen so far. It wasn’t particularly smart, yes — had Sylvain any sort of gun or knife there was a non-zero chance it would be enough to make him panic and accidentally bullethole her — but were the wheel to not land on ‘nothing’ it would provide benefits not unlike the first approach. It would show Sylvain that Marion still cared about him. It would show him that she could be trusted. It would show him that he still had someone who came off as dependent on him.
Marion, however, did not do either of those things. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the surprise of his approach impaired her ability to think things through. Perhaps the fact she hadn’t been expecting to talk with anyone out here made her unprepared. Or, perhaps, the idea of being someone who thought through every little thing they said in order to provide the optimum response was just too distinct and interesting to really be something Marion would let herself be. Not while her hijab had to be up at all times.
But that was besides the here and now of the scene. What Marion did, in all actuality, was this: she spun around, felt her back brush up against the railing, and gave Sylvain the best look-over one second could give. Saw everything of him that he wanted her to see. Said nothing, for a moment, and then:
“Oh no.”
They weren’t quite Marion sentences. Or at least sentences that were said the way Marion usually said them. They were higher pitched than normal. They came out the same section of the sheet music where she was supposed to rest and breathe.
“You’re here.”
They really made her sound quite un-Marion.
“I’m so sorry.”
Okay, so of all the responses someone could have to Sylvain suddenly appearing out of the ether, "Oh no" was a pretty good one. He would have enjoyed it more if the sentiment had been about him more than the situation all around them. He sort of missed the cat ears now, because if he'd shown up wearing those, well - come on, you couldn't feel despair while looking at some asshole wearing cat ears.
"I'm here," he agreed. "And you're not the one who should be sorry." He left it open-ended exactly who should be, and for what. He'd always been entertained by the idea of inflicting himself on the masses. He'd been doing that himself already.
"Can I come up? Is there a ladder on this thing?"
"I'm here," he agreed. "And you're not the one who should be sorry." He left it open-ended exactly who should be, and for what. He'd always been entertained by the idea of inflicting himself on the masses. He'd been doing that himself already.
"Can I come up? Is there a ladder on this thing?"
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Wham Yubeesling
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The best once-over one second could give was not that much of a lookover, in all honesty. He was barely even in frame — his voice had made him sound quite closer than where he actually was — and she had to focus her vision to even find the origin of the noise, the outline in the nightfall that spoke as Sylvain. It was… admittedly a bit of an assumption to initially know for a fact that it was him, but there were more things that Marion could use to see than just her eyes. Her instincts had told her that the familiar voice was Sylvain, and — while his grand appearance had left something to be desired, compared to what he’d been like before all this — from what she could tell, that was mostly correct. He was Sylvain, and he wanted to get let up onto the ship. Both very simple things to comprehend.
“Of course,” Marion said. “Hold on. Let me show you.”
Her voice stopped. What amended the silence were footsteps. They started sounding roughly a couple centimeters away from where her position had been, then moved steadily and steadily to Sylvain’s right. After a couple of seconds, Marion’s outline appeared again. She was standing over a part of the ship without a railing. She could view Sylvain’s outline much more clearly than before.
“There’s a ladder down here. Right below me.”
She could’ve gotten something perhaps more flowery by trying to tell him where the ladder was, but it would be clearer and quicker and more competent to show, rather than tell. Give him something reliable. Something that he could trust. An impression that would make clear that he had nothing to worry about.
“Of course,” Marion said. “Hold on. Let me show you.”
Her voice stopped. What amended the silence were footsteps. They started sounding roughly a couple centimeters away from where her position had been, then moved steadily and steadily to Sylvain’s right. After a couple of seconds, Marion’s outline appeared again. She was standing over a part of the ship without a railing. She could view Sylvain’s outline much more clearly than before.
“There’s a ladder down here. Right below me.”
She could’ve gotten something perhaps more flowery by trying to tell him where the ladder was, but it would be clearer and quicker and more competent to show, rather than tell. Give him something reliable. Something that he could trust. An impression that would make clear that he had nothing to worry about.
Sylvain followed Mari's footsteps and voice to the ladder and climbed up; the ache in his arms from lugging the battery around the previous day made itself known again, and by the time he hauled himself up onto the deck, his arms had started to shake a little. But he was grinning, some of the unease that had been clouding his mind receding.
Mari (Marion was his mom's name, so he'd always called her Mari) was a sleight figure in the dim light of the moon, a shape that made him imagine color more than he saw it. He'd always been kind of jealous after finding out that she had synesthesia; seeing music, hearing color, whatever, it sounded fucking cool. Seemed like the kind of thing that would be useful here, actually, if you could identify someone by what color their voice was, or... something. Sylvain wasn't actually entirely sure how it worked.
He'd wondered from time to time what color his voice was to her.
"I'm here," he repeated unnecessarily once he'd gotten his feet underneath him, moving with the gentle sway of the ship in the water. "What's up?"
She hadn't sounded happy, but at least it wasn't personally to do with him right now.
Mari (Marion was his mom's name, so he'd always called her Mari) was a sleight figure in the dim light of the moon, a shape that made him imagine color more than he saw it. He'd always been kind of jealous after finding out that she had synesthesia; seeing music, hearing color, whatever, it sounded fucking cool. Seemed like the kind of thing that would be useful here, actually, if you could identify someone by what color their voice was, or... something. Sylvain wasn't actually entirely sure how it worked.
He'd wondered from time to time what color his voice was to her.
"I'm here," he repeated unnecessarily once he'd gotten his feet underneath him, moving with the gentle sway of the ship in the water. "What's up?"
She hadn't sounded happy, but at least it wasn't personally to do with him right now.
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Wham Yubeesling
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“Not mu-”
It had been a dangerous trick. Sylvain had — however vertently he had intended to be — made her think that they were back in school, for a moment. That the easy responses there were the same as easy responses here. There was… something to be said about that. How disarming this game was. How you could be standing on a ship in the middle of an armada filmed 24/7 expected to kill one another and yet still think things felt somewhat normal around here.
It was interesting, but it wasn’t all that relevant to the current topic. She just… brushed it off, instead, with a little giggle. That rush of familiarity was just a joke. The dissonance that accompanied it was just a joke.
“But, um, actually a lot kind of happened. I found myself here. I’m leading an escape group.”
She paused, for a second. Put her finger onto her chin. Bolted up and shook her head a little.
“Oh. Yeah. Also, there’s a bunch of rendezvous points I’m supposed to tell people. People are meeting there tomorrow.”
It had been a dangerous trick. Sylvain had — however vertently he had intended to be — made her think that they were back in school, for a moment. That the easy responses there were the same as easy responses here. There was… something to be said about that. How disarming this game was. How you could be standing on a ship in the middle of an armada filmed 24/7 expected to kill one another and yet still think things felt somewhat normal around here.
It was interesting, but it wasn’t all that relevant to the current topic. She just… brushed it off, instead, with a little giggle. That rush of familiarity was just a joke. The dissonance that accompanied it was just a joke.
“But, um, actually a lot kind of happened. I found myself here. I’m leading an escape group.”
She paused, for a second. Put her finger onto her chin. Bolted up and shook her head a little.
“Oh. Yeah. Also, there’s a bunch of rendezvous points I’m supposed to tell people. People are meeting there tomorrow.”
"Oh."
Got right to the point, huh? No time to shoot the shit, barely enough time to say hello. Right down to business.
"Why?" Sylvain asked, mouth moving before his mind did. Multiple questions in one word. Yeah, okay, a hell of a lot had to have happened, for that to be a thing that was also happening now. "What" and "how" were probably also important questions in the interest of revealing exactly how that had come about.
The most revealing thing of all was probably Sylvain's tone. Taken aback, not in an accusatory way, but one that made it obvious that the thought had never crossed his mind.
Escape? Escaping was for suckers. Escape groups did the same five things every season: they got together, they talked big, they did some nonsense that got a few of their number killed, and then they said more shit to the audience, and then usually they died. Rinse and repeat with depressingly little innovation in all the years SOTF had been airing. That wasn't even getting into how insufferable a lot of escapees turned out to be after the game. Sylvain, who loved being insufferable and arguably elevated it to an artform in and of itself, couldn't stand it.
And anyway, escapes being officially sanctioned and condoned by the producers meant that it wasn't even an act of rebellion. It was just another plotline that people could decide to follow if they wanted to be boring but couldn't quite commit to just sitting in one place and playing tic-tac-toe for the entire season.
"Heh," he breathed out in an almost-laugh and tried to recover his grin. "Sorry, just- not what I expected you to get into, you know? Tell me about it."
Got right to the point, huh? No time to shoot the shit, barely enough time to say hello. Right down to business.
"Why?" Sylvain asked, mouth moving before his mind did. Multiple questions in one word. Yeah, okay, a hell of a lot had to have happened, for that to be a thing that was also happening now. "What" and "how" were probably also important questions in the interest of revealing exactly how that had come about.
The most revealing thing of all was probably Sylvain's tone. Taken aback, not in an accusatory way, but one that made it obvious that the thought had never crossed his mind.
Escape? Escaping was for suckers. Escape groups did the same five things every season: they got together, they talked big, they did some nonsense that got a few of their number killed, and then they said more shit to the audience, and then usually they died. Rinse and repeat with depressingly little innovation in all the years SOTF had been airing. That wasn't even getting into how insufferable a lot of escapees turned out to be after the game. Sylvain, who loved being insufferable and arguably elevated it to an artform in and of itself, couldn't stand it.
And anyway, escapes being officially sanctioned and condoned by the producers meant that it wasn't even an act of rebellion. It was just another plotline that people could decide to follow if they wanted to be boring but couldn't quite commit to just sitting in one place and playing tic-tac-toe for the entire season.
"Heh," he breathed out in an almost-laugh and tried to recover his grin. "Sorry, just- not what I expected you to get into, you know? Tell me about it."
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Wham Yubeesling
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“Well, um…
“I woke up on the Ghost Ship and I saw both Nadine and Laura and I talked with them a bit and I kind of realized that I wasn’t really into the idea of killing either of them if I wanted to perhaps live through this so I asked them if either of them wanted to try and kill me to make it through this so I told them that if we all tried to go for escape we could all be on the same team and we wouldn’t have to kill each other. Nadine was interested. Laura… less so, but she said she’d try to help us on her own travels. Get people, bring them back to the ghost ship or the ferry or the yacht, and try and get whatever she could that was helpful for escape.
“We, um, went on our separate ways. Me and Nadine kind of walked around until we came here and found Shoshanna and Jasper. We… talked — they seemed to think they had to keep their thing secret, aha, but we talked and we decided to work together. I spent, um, some time last night talking to my mentor and I got some preliminary stuff on the collars. Then I woke up today and, um…
“And then... Jasper died.”
“I woke up on the Ghost Ship and I saw both Nadine and Laura and I talked with them a bit and I kind of realized that I wasn’t really into the idea of killing either of them if I wanted to perhaps live through this so I asked them if either of them wanted to try and kill me to make it through this so I told them that if we all tried to go for escape we could all be on the same team and we wouldn’t have to kill each other. Nadine was interested. Laura… less so, but she said she’d try to help us on her own travels. Get people, bring them back to the ghost ship or the ferry or the yacht, and try and get whatever she could that was helpful for escape.
“We, um, went on our separate ways. Me and Nadine kind of walked around until we came here and found Shoshanna and Jasper. We… talked — they seemed to think they had to keep their thing secret, aha, but we talked and we decided to work together. I spent, um, some time last night talking to my mentor and I got some preliminary stuff on the collars. Then I woke up today and, um…
“And then... Jasper died.”
Sylvain couldn't help the little wheeze of a laugh that escaped him. "Yeah, uh, about Laura... she's totally not doing that. She's running around in a maid outfit trying to find some cocaine that Jewel told her was somewhere around here." He left out the part about how he'd been 100% on board with CocaineQuest 2021 and still was.
He went to stick his hands in his pockets and was almost startled when he encountered the gun. Right. He had that. He curled his hand around the grip and pulled it out of his pocket.
"Cool though, I guess. I got this." He held it up in the dim moonlight so that Mari could see, turning it to show it off. After doing so, he dropped his hands again, planting the empty one on his hip and letting the gun dangle by his side. "Lucille tried to choke me out over it, but we worked it out."
He wondered if it was obvious that he didn't really care who was involved. That Mari hadn't answered the question of "why," and that Sylvain kind of couldn't really wrap his head around the idea of her leading some kind of engineering crusade here, still. She'd given him the summary of what had happened, but none of what he really wanted to know.
"I heard about Jasper. But the rest of you got out okay, huh? You fight 'em off?" He kind of doubted it. He couldn't picture Mari in a fight any better than he could picture her doing... this. If she had a weapon, he figured she would have shown it to him by now.
He went to stick his hands in his pockets and was almost startled when he encountered the gun. Right. He had that. He curled his hand around the grip and pulled it out of his pocket.
"Cool though, I guess. I got this." He held it up in the dim moonlight so that Mari could see, turning it to show it off. After doing so, he dropped his hands again, planting the empty one on his hip and letting the gun dangle by his side. "Lucille tried to choke me out over it, but we worked it out."
He wondered if it was obvious that he didn't really care who was involved. That Mari hadn't answered the question of "why," and that Sylvain kind of couldn't really wrap his head around the idea of her leading some kind of engineering crusade here, still. She'd given him the summary of what had happened, but none of what he really wanted to know.
"I heard about Jasper. But the rest of you got out okay, huh? You fight 'em off?" He kind of doubted it. He couldn't picture Mari in a fight any better than he could picture her doing... this. If she had a weapon, he figured she would have shown it to him by now.
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Wham Yubeesling
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“Oh.”
It wasn’t exactly a surprise, that Laura still found it in herself to revert to her base instincts even after Marion introduced the capability of a higher calling, but Marion still found it disappointing. Whether for better or for worse, one of the main draws to this show was that it showed how people could change. Was Laura so resistant to that? Did she really not have it in her to be more than what she currently was?
The answer, of course, was “yes,” and usually, while such simple questions didn’t require this much conversation — internal or external — it did allow for a distraction. A way to fill the room with noise. A way to brush aside what Sylvain just said about Lucille. A way to make it not show on her face.
“Well, she said as much,” Marion continued. “She said she was more interested in other things than escape, but that she would try and send help towards us. Whenever she could.”
She looked down. Tapped her foot against the deck a couple of times. Looked up at Sylvain again.
“And, um, yeah. Kind of. All I really got was this… thing that spelled my name wrong.” Which she was pretty sure was at least a little bit racist? Hispanic names weren’t all that hard to spell, in all honesty. “So me and Nadine had to stay inside while the other two fought them off. Akeno and Rhonda had to come and help us out. Rhonda’s still with us. So, um…”
She tapped her foot again. She… needed to figure out how exactly to pitch. A lead-in wouldn’t hurt.
“We’re in good company.”
It wasn’t exactly a surprise, that Laura still found it in herself to revert to her base instincts even after Marion introduced the capability of a higher calling, but Marion still found it disappointing. Whether for better or for worse, one of the main draws to this show was that it showed how people could change. Was Laura so resistant to that? Did she really not have it in her to be more than what she currently was?
The answer, of course, was “yes,” and usually, while such simple questions didn’t require this much conversation — internal or external — it did allow for a distraction. A way to fill the room with noise. A way to brush aside what Sylvain just said about Lucille. A way to make it not show on her face.
“Well, she said as much,” Marion continued. “She said she was more interested in other things than escape, but that she would try and send help towards us. Whenever she could.”
She looked down. Tapped her foot against the deck a couple of times. Looked up at Sylvain again.
“And, um, yeah. Kind of. All I really got was this… thing that spelled my name wrong.” Which she was pretty sure was at least a little bit racist? Hispanic names weren’t all that hard to spell, in all honesty. “So me and Nadine had to stay inside while the other two fought them off. Akeno and Rhonda had to come and help us out. Rhonda’s still with us. So, um…”
She tapped her foot again. She… needed to figure out how exactly to pitch. A lead-in wouldn’t hurt.
“We’re in good company.”
"Didn't Rhonda shoot her teammate?" Sylvain was pretty sure that's what he'd heard. Almost sure. That had been around the same time as the aforementioned gun acquisition, and he'd made some little jab about it to Lucille, but the details had largely faded from memory, as did many things that he didn't really care about.
Obviously, it didn't matter to Mari either. Or she was trying hard to not let it matter, the same way she'd dodged everything he'd thrown at her so far. No reaction to the gun. No response to Lucille's name. Something was starting to itch under Sylvain's skin, something less than physical but which prickled all the same.
He idly scratched his temple with the barrel of the gun and winced softly as he was reminded of the bruises that Sofia's fist had left there. He dropped his arm again, swinging the gun loosely back and forth. He quashed the urge to start tapping his foot, though honestly, Mari probably wouldn't have reacted much if he busted right out into a full tap routine right in front of her. It was a Sylvain thing to do, and she was doing her best impression of... a brick wall wasn't accurate, because he could see the cracks. She wasn't happy. She was scared. It was part of what had started to gnaw at him, something that reminded him of all of the other odds and ends that stuck out wrong. The way she'd sounded almost upset to see him, because of where they were.
"Like, okay, but... what are you actually doing?" He could feel the sales pitch coming, and the itch at the back of his mind grew more insistent. "Even if you make this work... then what? What happens after?"
Obviously, it didn't matter to Mari either. Or she was trying hard to not let it matter, the same way she'd dodged everything he'd thrown at her so far. No reaction to the gun. No response to Lucille's name. Something was starting to itch under Sylvain's skin, something less than physical but which prickled all the same.
He idly scratched his temple with the barrel of the gun and winced softly as he was reminded of the bruises that Sofia's fist had left there. He dropped his arm again, swinging the gun loosely back and forth. He quashed the urge to start tapping his foot, though honestly, Mari probably wouldn't have reacted much if he busted right out into a full tap routine right in front of her. It was a Sylvain thing to do, and she was doing her best impression of... a brick wall wasn't accurate, because he could see the cracks. She wasn't happy. She was scared. It was part of what had started to gnaw at him, something that reminded him of all of the other odds and ends that stuck out wrong. The way she'd sounded almost upset to see him, because of where they were.
"Like, okay, but... what are you actually doing?" He could feel the sales pitch coming, and the itch at the back of his mind grew more insistent. "Even if you make this work... then what? What happens after?"
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Wham Yubeesling
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“We’re testing things out. Seeing how the collars work. Shoshanna has some ideas, though all we can really do is poke at Jasper’s collar a bit.”
And yes, Marion knew that Rhonda had, in fact, shot her teammate, and nodded accordingly when Sylvain said that. The fact that she hadn’t spoken to anything regarding it was more just that “apparently she was trying to hit Giselle,” and “Shoshanna has some ideas and we’re testing them out” weren’t quite conjunctive enough to place within the same sentence. It wasn’t a deliberate avoidance. Nor was it a refusal to answer. Nor was it something Marion was making sure not to say in accordance with the fact that she was here. All the other stuff… was, though. It had become… quite a bit more awkward now that someone she was fairly close to was right in front of her and conversing, but one of the many reasons people watched this show was to see friends no longer be quite the same around one another. It was more… a symptom of change, rather than a different category, but she was sure people had talked to her about that little bit. How they were drawn to the show by that.
So, really, while she was probably considered fairly boring, she was still acting within the precepts of the show by talking the way she was to Sylvain. That… needed fixing. There was only so much she could change — there were some things Marion needed to do which went far too beyond her for her to have the right to stop doing — but perhaps there was a compromise. A way to achieve her goals and a way to make sure her and Sylvain remained the same.
“I’m… a bit useless at that part, to be honest. I’m mostly just going to try and get as many people on our team as possible so that when Shoshanna figures it all out, we can… all do what the producers will make us do next. Get out of here… however we’re supposed to get out of here.”
She puffed her lips together. Tapped the floor one last time.
She supposed there was no better time to give the pitch than now, honestly.
“And, um, while I do like the people around me, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone I knew more to talk to. While we do all this, I mean.”
And yes, Marion knew that Rhonda had, in fact, shot her teammate, and nodded accordingly when Sylvain said that. The fact that she hadn’t spoken to anything regarding it was more just that “apparently she was trying to hit Giselle,” and “Shoshanna has some ideas and we’re testing them out” weren’t quite conjunctive enough to place within the same sentence. It wasn’t a deliberate avoidance. Nor was it a refusal to answer. Nor was it something Marion was making sure not to say in accordance with the fact that she was here. All the other stuff… was, though. It had become… quite a bit more awkward now that someone she was fairly close to was right in front of her and conversing, but one of the many reasons people watched this show was to see friends no longer be quite the same around one another. It was more… a symptom of change, rather than a different category, but she was sure people had talked to her about that little bit. How they were drawn to the show by that.
So, really, while she was probably considered fairly boring, she was still acting within the precepts of the show by talking the way she was to Sylvain. That… needed fixing. There was only so much she could change — there were some things Marion needed to do which went far too beyond her for her to have the right to stop doing — but perhaps there was a compromise. A way to achieve her goals and a way to make sure her and Sylvain remained the same.
“I’m… a bit useless at that part, to be honest. I’m mostly just going to try and get as many people on our team as possible so that when Shoshanna figures it all out, we can… all do what the producers will make us do next. Get out of here… however we’re supposed to get out of here.”
She puffed her lips together. Tapped the floor one last time.
She supposed there was no better time to give the pitch than now, honestly.
“And, um, while I do like the people around me, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone I knew more to talk to. While we do all this, I mean.”
Sylvain couldn't tell if Mari was deliberately not answering the questions he was actually posing, or if she was misunderstanding what he was asking in the first place. One foot started to tap, off-rhythm.
He glanced away from her face, out over the water. It was smooth tonight, almost like glass. It reflected the light, but there was no making out anything in its surface other than the shadows of the boats.
"After, Mari. What happens after? When you get out of here?" There was a note of agitation in his voice that surprised him.
"I don't-"
Sylvain tried to breathe in deeply. He was practiced at breathing exercises, between dance and theater. He knew all the good ways to project, to strengthen and tighten the core. He'd never really had stage fright, but it was habit to go through the calming exercises before a performance, too.
His hands were trying to shake, so he folded the free one over the one holding the gun. When he exhaled again, something dreadfully honest clawed its way out of his throat.
"I don't know if I really care, okay. About surviving. Okay? So if that's all the goal is..." He shrugged jerkily, and his clasped hands and the gun they held bounced with the movement against his stomach.
"I need something else." Something exciting, something that mattered, something other than "guess we'll live through this and go back to our boring lives or do some circuit on talk shows about how murder is bad, actually, and then go back to our boring lives after that."
He hoped she would get it, but the way this was going, he kind of doubted it. Bummer.
He glanced away from her face, out over the water. It was smooth tonight, almost like glass. It reflected the light, but there was no making out anything in its surface other than the shadows of the boats.
"After, Mari. What happens after? When you get out of here?" There was a note of agitation in his voice that surprised him.
"I don't-"
Sylvain tried to breathe in deeply. He was practiced at breathing exercises, between dance and theater. He knew all the good ways to project, to strengthen and tighten the core. He'd never really had stage fright, but it was habit to go through the calming exercises before a performance, too.
His hands were trying to shake, so he folded the free one over the one holding the gun. When he exhaled again, something dreadfully honest clawed its way out of his throat.
"I don't know if I really care, okay. About surviving. Okay? So if that's all the goal is..." He shrugged jerkily, and his clasped hands and the gun they held bounced with the movement against his stomach.
"I need something else." Something exciting, something that mattered, something other than "guess we'll live through this and go back to our boring lives or do some circuit on talk shows about how murder is bad, actually, and then go back to our boring lives after that."
He hoped she would get it, but the way this was going, he kind of doubted it. Bummer.
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Wham Yubeesling
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“Then we can go back home. Keep living our lives. The way we want to.”
She paused, a bit. Breathed. This question was simple. She could answer it plain and simple. No need to hide anything. No need to make Sylvain more on edge than he already was.
“I understand that it might not be… the most interesting thing to do, but… I want to help people. I want to make sure we don’t have to turn on each other just because of… these.” She pointed at her bandanna. “I want to do good, and, um…”
She looked at the floor.
“I was thinking, since you’re my friend, you might want to do that too.”
She paused, a bit. Breathed. This question was simple. She could answer it plain and simple. No need to hide anything. No need to make Sylvain more on edge than he already was.
“I understand that it might not be… the most interesting thing to do, but… I want to help people. I want to make sure we don’t have to turn on each other just because of… these.” She pointed at her bandanna. “I want to do good, and, um…”
She looked at the floor.
“I was thinking, since you’re my friend, you might want to do that too.”