INT. SCHOOL CLASROOM- EVENING
The camera turns on to reveal a familiar bearded face, sitting down at a teacher's desk with a large mural of Vladimir Lenin visible in the background. He appears to be a little happier than before, though its obvious the smile on his face is somewhat forced.
The timestamp for the video is 16:45.
"Hello! And welcome to..." he begins, pausing for a moment, then shrugging. "Well... You know the rest. It's been several hours since our... Encounter, at the armory, and in that time we decided set up camp out here in this old school. One which has some, uh..." he says, turning back to the mural behind him. "Interesting decor, shall we say."
He chuckles nervously before moving on. "But, yes, as I'm feeling peckish I figured I'd take the chance to show you all something real neat. As I mentioned earlier, we have been assigned MREs as our rations..."
On that note, he reaches off-camera to pick up a small MRE packet labelled Menu 11: Cheese Pizza Slice.
"Alas, only two vegetarian options, but... Well, beggars can't be choosers I suppose. In any case, having used these before whilst out backpacking, I figured I'd use this opportunity to show you guys how they work!"
He slowly opens the packet up, revealing it's contents one at a time to the camera. Applesauce, chunky peanut butter, a first strike chocolate bar, crackers, jalapeno cashews, a sugar-free beverage base, crushed red pepper, and of course the cheese pizza slice itself. All packaged in plastic, with Darren painstakingly going through every step required to prepare it, treating it all as he would any of his usual videos.
"Aaaand then, once you add a couple drops of water..." he continues, dripping a few drops from his water bottle into the bag provided before sealing it up. "It reacts with the magnesium mixture, which in turn heats up the pizza slice and... Voila! A warm meal without having to use a fire or a microwave, perfect for any survival situation!"
He smiles at the camera, looking very proud of himself as he waits for his meal to cook, before sitting back in his chair. "Aaaah... So..." he continues, with a sigh. "I... Know what you're probably thinking. Darren, don't you have bigger things to worry about right now? There's monsters, and maniacs about! Why the fuck are you talking about MREs at a time like this?"
He reaches out for the cracker packet, opening it up with a shrug. "And the answer to that is... Well, what else am I supposed to do?" he asks, taking out the cracker and pouring on some of the apple sauce, before taking a bite.
"I mean... One thing they don't tell you about these kind of survival situations is that... Well, you end up spending a long time doing a whole lot of nothing."
He swallows. "Like... Once you've found a nice spot, set up camp, made sure everything is secure and dandy... You end up spending god knows how many hours, just, sitting around... Waiting... I mean, Jarret and I have been keeping ourselves entertained the best we can, but we don't want to go through the whole stash in a single night."
He continues to munch down that cracker, before wiping his hands and leaning back in that chair. "In the end, I guess... I dunno, this is my way of staying sane I suppose? Something to take my mind off the fact that at any moment, some... Godawful thing from H.R. Giger's nightmares could come knocking on our door, and..."
He stares out into space, looking out over the numerous empty seats before him. He then lets out a long, drawn out sigh, before leaning forward. "Well, I think it should be done... Hoo boy, that is HOT!"
With a forced chuckle he opens the packet, revealing a rather tragic cheeseslice that Darren was nevertheless eager to take a bite of.
Just as he's about to do so however, a distant noise catches him off guard.
“WHAT. ARE. YOU?!”
"Did... What the-" he says, before getting up and walking off camera to open a door. "Hey, Jarret? Please tell me that was you just now..."
Meal Ready to Eat
17:00 Day 1, open to all (monsters included)
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Meal Ready to Eat
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MethodicalSlacker
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♫Esmeray - Ayrılık Olsa Bile♫
Jarrett had never eaten an MRE before. The concept wasn't entirely unfamiliar; they'd seen their fair share of Band of Brothers and other war movies that went into nitty-gritty detail about the lives of soldiers and the shit they had to go through for this country, or whatever. They were personally more at home with the busts and portraits of Lenin than with the American flag. Darren seemed offput by it, though. Which was fair. Given the typical American education, at least. Jarrett had a copy of State and Revolution, well dogeared and margin-written, that came with an introduction about how Lenin was a sociopathic totalitarian megalomaniac—kicker was, it was written by a literal member of the CIA. So Jarrett tore the pages out and read the good shit. And from then on they stuck to marxists.org.
Before Darren went into the other room, he showed Jarrett how to put water on fake pizza. It was so simple. Just add water! But Jarrett couldn't have figured that out by themself. They'd do something dumb like pour a whole water bottle on it and fuck up the whole package. It tasted really bad, of course, but it was a full meal. And after smoking weed basically all day, they were more than hungry enough. They'd eat anything, at that point. Like, how did the monster—it needed a real name—taste, barbecued, roasted, fried?
“WHAT. ARE. YOU?!”
Jarrett almost fell out of their chair. Their post-dinner joint fell on the floor. The voice, though clearly distant, cut right through the noise cancellation on Jarrett's earbuds. The windows shook; they felt the noise in their chest, rumbling through their whole body. Darren burst into the room, and asked if that was Jarrett making the noise. He looked pale, terrified.
"Dude," Jarrett said, "I have no fucking clue what that was."
They realized they had some food on their face and wiped it away with their sleeve.
"Can it... can it fucking... there's no way. No fucking way."
[Jarrett Bergman continued from Beasts All Over The Shop]
They picked their joint up from the floor and tapped off the end of the ashes. Then they dropped it again from their shaking hands.
"Please tell me that fucker isn't like. Right outside.
"I don't know if that's worse or if it being like all the way across the entire island is worse."
They tried to pick up the joint again. Fuck germs or any of that shit. Going right in the mouth it was. They would not die sober.
Jarrett had never eaten an MRE before. The concept wasn't entirely unfamiliar; they'd seen their fair share of Band of Brothers and other war movies that went into nitty-gritty detail about the lives of soldiers and the shit they had to go through for this country, or whatever. They were personally more at home with the busts and portraits of Lenin than with the American flag. Darren seemed offput by it, though. Which was fair. Given the typical American education, at least. Jarrett had a copy of State and Revolution, well dogeared and margin-written, that came with an introduction about how Lenin was a sociopathic totalitarian megalomaniac—kicker was, it was written by a literal member of the CIA. So Jarrett tore the pages out and read the good shit. And from then on they stuck to marxists.org.
Before Darren went into the other room, he showed Jarrett how to put water on fake pizza. It was so simple. Just add water! But Jarrett couldn't have figured that out by themself. They'd do something dumb like pour a whole water bottle on it and fuck up the whole package. It tasted really bad, of course, but it was a full meal. And after smoking weed basically all day, they were more than hungry enough. They'd eat anything, at that point. Like, how did the monster—it needed a real name—taste, barbecued, roasted, fried?
“WHAT. ARE. YOU?!”
Jarrett almost fell out of their chair. Their post-dinner joint fell on the floor. The voice, though clearly distant, cut right through the noise cancellation on Jarrett's earbuds. The windows shook; they felt the noise in their chest, rumbling through their whole body. Darren burst into the room, and asked if that was Jarrett making the noise. He looked pale, terrified.
"Dude," Jarrett said, "I have no fucking clue what that was."
They realized they had some food on their face and wiped it away with their sleeve.
"Can it... can it fucking... there's no way. No fucking way."
[Jarrett Bergman continued from Beasts All Over The Shop]
They picked their joint up from the floor and tapped off the end of the ashes. Then they dropped it again from their shaking hands.
"Please tell me that fucker isn't like. Right outside.
"I don't know if that's worse or if it being like all the way across the entire island is worse."
They tried to pick up the joint again. Fuck germs or any of that shit. Going right in the mouth it was. They would not die sober.
- 
- Darren nods his head off-camera. "R-r-right, I... Oh, wait a second-" he says, before rushing back into the classroom to pick up his camera, the footage shaking as he rushes to the window.
He aims it outside, pointing it roughly in the direction of the armory. Apart from capturing a chilling snapshot of their cold and desolate surroundings, he doesn't seem to spot anything out of the ordinary. He then rushes to another window further down along the classroom, again capturing nothing but a view of some of the dormitories in the distance.
"Can't see anything from here..." he whispers, the camera shaking slightly as he struggled to keep his hands still. He then quickly pulls away, rushing out the classroom and down the corridor, panting as he headed upstairs to try and capture a better view from a higher vantage point.
He pushes through an open doorway into another classroom, this one with windows positioned that allowed for a greater view of the rest of town. The camera scans the horizon, again seemingly picking out nothing...
Until it pointed in the direction of the Lenin statue.
"Oh shit, what the..." Darren gasps, zooming in on an unusual shape moving in the distance. Though it's impossible to make out anything too specific, especially with the video quality nosediving in the dark, one could just about make out the vague shape of something resembling a large tumbleweed rolling around.
"O-Oh f-fuck! Shit, what the fuck is that?!?" he exclaims quietly, ducking down out of view whilst trying to keep the camera trained on the unnerving sight in the distance.
He aims it outside, pointing it roughly in the direction of the armory. Apart from capturing a chilling snapshot of their cold and desolate surroundings, he doesn't seem to spot anything out of the ordinary. He then rushes to another window further down along the classroom, again capturing nothing but a view of some of the dormitories in the distance.
"Can't see anything from here..." he whispers, the camera shaking slightly as he struggled to keep his hands still. He then quickly pulls away, rushing out the classroom and down the corridor, panting as he headed upstairs to try and capture a better view from a higher vantage point.
He pushes through an open doorway into another classroom, this one with windows positioned that allowed for a greater view of the rest of town. The camera scans the horizon, again seemingly picking out nothing...
Until it pointed in the direction of the Lenin statue.
"Oh shit, what the..." Darren gasps, zooming in on an unusual shape moving in the distance. Though it's impossible to make out anything too specific, especially with the video quality nosediving in the dark, one could just about make out the vague shape of something resembling a large tumbleweed rolling around.
"O-Oh f-fuck! Shit, what the fuck is that?!?" he exclaims quietly, ducking down out of view whilst trying to keep the camera trained on the unnerving sight in the distance.
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MethodicalSlacker
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Jarrett got up and followed Darren into the other room, and arrived to the sight of him running from window to window, holding the camera. They walked over to the window as well, surveying the town. Fogged up the window with weed smoke, then moved down, being sure to look aside when they exhaled next time. Darren was shaking, and Jarrett was too. The worst part about potentially being close to a giant yeti mammoth scorpion beast was not being able to find it.
They followed Darren out into the hallway and to the next room. Over his shoulder they watched, following the angle of the camera, until they saw It.
It. It was beyond description in a way the Beast was not. The Beast was a form, an outrageous mutation, but of one body nonetheless. The Beast strained the mind, pushed it in unfamiliar, painful directions, but it could be understood, held in the mind, conceptualized. The It was different. It was beyond comprehension. The surface of It moved and shook and writhed and pulsated in forms and shapes Jarrett had no reference for. It was a moving tumor. It was a mass of tongues.
But, most mind-rending of all, It simply was.
While Darren ducked down, Jarrett stood straight. It did not have eyes. However, It saw. And however It saw, It could see them, regardless if they could not see It. Jarrett felt, in that moment, perceived. It was like this; you sit in a movie theater before the previews. You look at your phone. Slowly the theater fills. People are talking. Then, they go silent. You look up, and every set of eyes in the theater is looking past you, silently. You are not the object of focus, but you are in the field of vision. Just, not being paid attention to.
Do you turn your head?
Jarrett did not. They watched It and tried to speak, their lips brushing against word after word, description failing.
They followed Darren out into the hallway and to the next room. Over his shoulder they watched, following the angle of the camera, until they saw It.
It. It was beyond description in a way the Beast was not. The Beast was a form, an outrageous mutation, but of one body nonetheless. The Beast strained the mind, pushed it in unfamiliar, painful directions, but it could be understood, held in the mind, conceptualized. The It was different. It was beyond comprehension. The surface of It moved and shook and writhed and pulsated in forms and shapes Jarrett had no reference for. It was a moving tumor. It was a mass of tongues.
But, most mind-rending of all, It simply was.
While Darren ducked down, Jarrett stood straight. It did not have eyes. However, It saw. And however It saw, It could see them, regardless if they could not see It. Jarrett felt, in that moment, perceived. It was like this; you sit in a movie theater before the previews. You look at your phone. Slowly the theater fills. People are talking. Then, they go silent. You look up, and every set of eyes in the theater is looking past you, silently. You are not the object of focus, but you are in the field of vision. Just, not being paid attention to.
Do you turn your head?
Jarrett did not. They watched It and tried to speak, their lips brushing against word after word, description failing.
The camera remains focused on the mysterious shape, jostling slightly when Darren turns back to see Jarret seemingly frozen in fear.
"Jarret! JARRET! FFf-Fffuuckin', get down!" his gasps quietly, reaching up to grab his friend by the arm and give them a good tug to snap them out of their daze, trying to remain hidden as best they could from whatever was out there.
It didn't look that big, maybe only the size of a basketball, but it was moving in a way that looked far too precise to be the result of a mere gust of wind. Rolling along down the middle of the street, slowly getting closer and closer to the school, the camera shuddering as Darren struggled to keep his hands still. Nevertheless, despite his apparent fear he kept the thing in shot the entire time, audibly taking a deep breath as it passed the school gates...
...and rolled right on by, seemingly missing their presence and heading elsewhere.
Darren slumps back against a nearby wall right next to the window and slowly slides down, sitting on the ground as his chest heaved in and out. The camera lay limply in his lap, pointing up at Jarret, Darren just staring up at his friend with a pale look on his face.
"I..." he gasps, covering his mouth and taking another sharp intake of breath. "What the hell WAS that?"
"Jarret! JARRET! FFf-Fffuuckin', get down!" his gasps quietly, reaching up to grab his friend by the arm and give them a good tug to snap them out of their daze, trying to remain hidden as best they could from whatever was out there.
It didn't look that big, maybe only the size of a basketball, but it was moving in a way that looked far too precise to be the result of a mere gust of wind. Rolling along down the middle of the street, slowly getting closer and closer to the school, the camera shuddering as Darren struggled to keep his hands still. Nevertheless, despite his apparent fear he kept the thing in shot the entire time, audibly taking a deep breath as it passed the school gates...
...and rolled right on by, seemingly missing their presence and heading elsewhere.
Darren slumps back against a nearby wall right next to the window and slowly slides down, sitting on the ground as his chest heaved in and out. The camera lay limply in his lap, pointing up at Jarret, Darren just staring up at his friend with a pale look on his face.
"I..." he gasps, covering his mouth and taking another sharp intake of breath. "What the hell WAS that?"
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MethodicalSlacker
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Darren pulled them down to the ground. They did not resist, did not fight to stay on their feet. Instead they crumpled to the floor, sitting like a discarded stuffed animal, leaning against the wall. Moments later Darren came back down and asked Jarrett that very same question that had unmoored them from reality moments before.
At last, Jarrett's lips, fruitlessly moving against each other, recalled something from a far away classroom, in a falsely distant seeming time. They recalled a line from a famous poem, written in a nonsensical tongue; a glimpse beyond the veil of realized language, into the realm of the purely possible.
"Shun," said Jarrett, in a daze, "the frumious Bandersnatch."
They put the joint to their lips and inhaled, but the flame, while they were not looking, had gone out.
At last, Jarrett's lips, fruitlessly moving against each other, recalled something from a far away classroom, in a falsely distant seeming time. They recalled a line from a famous poem, written in a nonsensical tongue; a glimpse beyond the veil of realized language, into the realm of the purely possible.
"Shun," said Jarrett, in a daze, "the frumious Bandersnatch."
They put the joint to their lips and inhaled, but the flame, while they were not looking, had gone out.
The camera didn't pick up the bewildered expression on Darren's face, in response to Jarret's Lewis Carrol quotation.
It did however pick up his laughter a few seconds later.
Not a cheerful laugh by any stretch, or the kind of laugh that signalled a loss of sanity. More the kind of nervous laughter one made after narrowly avoiding death. The kind a soldier would make after a bullet grazed their helmet, or a frat boy would make after drunkly stumbling out of the way of an oncoming train.
It didn't last for very long until he head slumped back against the wall, his hand reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. "I don't think we have nearly enough grass to make it through all this..."
It did however pick up his laughter a few seconds later.
Not a cheerful laugh by any stretch, or the kind of laugh that signalled a loss of sanity. More the kind of nervous laughter one made after narrowly avoiding death. The kind a soldier would make after a bullet grazed their helmet, or a frat boy would make after drunkly stumbling out of the way of an oncoming train.
It didn't last for very long until he head slumped back against the wall, his hand reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. "I don't think we have nearly enough grass to make it through all this..."
Kicking Akamatsu in the face since 2010
((Catarina Markovitz continued from Everybody Needs a Switzerland))
A lesser person might have dropped one of their two large bags as they trudged for hours throughout the frozen wastes. Catarina Markovitz kept both of her knuckles clenched around the straps. Ever since she'd run from the village, she'd been convinced that the girl who tried to rob her was following her. She didnt' stop her worthy jog until she'd made it what she estimated to have been at least a mile, even if part of it was spent in a loop. That was when her knees began to hurt, but she didn't stop, just in case. She kept moving, abraised joints be damned to hell like these fucking people who put her here.
It was her stuff, all of it. If this island was her world, then she would treat it like she would anything else in her life - claws unsheathed against anyone who would take what belonged to her.
She couldnt' stop until she was sure she was safe. She hadn't taken anything in except the bags themselves and the large saw. Catarina knew that she had to know what was going on properly, but she couldn't unelss she was no longer in imminent danger from thieves and jealousy. That was why she had trudged through the town so many times, only stopping when she saw the school.
Catarina slipped through the ajar side of the gate, using the chunk of her heel to close it behind her. She felt safer, now. All she needed was walls around her and she could breath. All she needed was a place where she didn't have to run, and she could rest her knees. All she needed-
No, all she needed was her car, her phone, her expensive Rolex, her husband, her children, her maid, her private chef, her personal trainer, her friends no matter how many stupid deluded things they said about her to make her feel better, her Bob Mackie original from 2011 that Padma Lakshmi tried to pretend she wore first but Catarina knew better, her ballroom, her domain, her FUCKING LIFE BACK, NO SHE WAS NOT FUCKING OKAY SHE WAS NEVER GOING TO BE FUCKING OKAY.
All of the dreams and desires that swirled around in Catarina's head took the form of her stopping for a moment, feeling the wave of tension sweep through her arms, and returning to her walk. Her shoes went from frozen grass to loose cement. Finally, solid land, without the threat of theft on her wind. Her heart rate began to slow-
WHAT. ARE. YOU?!
And Catarina Markovitz left her body. Every sound was replaced with a ringing, like she'd been sitting next to a speaker for too long at twenty years of age. She could see herself from above, as she fell backwards against the nearest wall, thudding against it before staying still at that moment. Seconds later, she slid down to the ground, every bone and muscle frozen in place. The sound had long since disappeared.
She didn't even return when the clicking began. The wave of noise, like a swarm of fat locusts devouring her crops. That too, eventually, passed.
That was when she returned. Suddenly, she was back in her own body, feeling her hands tear into themselves and her heart taking a hammer to her ribs. Each breath was short and ragged, as she realized what had happened. Somehow, she'd fucked around for so long and so extensively trying to avoid what should never have been a threat, that the real threats had already been released. Her flesh boiled at the thought of any of those things getting next to her - they hadn't been real before, and they'd become so explicitly real just within those moments.
She heard speaking, hurried tones making their way through the walls. Others were here.
Catarina stared at the ground as her body fought its host. People could mean safety. Safety, as long as she took her breath, and thought about it. What exactly was it about her approach when she woke up that didn't work? She could try the opposite of that, and see what happened. Although, what was the opposite of fear? Confidence? Hah, not here. She'd look insane.
What was the opposite of anger? Maybe she could try that.
With her hands still clutched to the handles of her bags, she pulled herself up from the ground. She followed where she thought the voices had come from, and seemed to find the right classroom. She approached the door, gripped the handle, and slowly pushed forward, opening the classroom.
"Hel-"
As she opened the door, her duffel bag decided it wanted priority entry, and the motion of her body banged the bag into the door, out of her loose grip and swinging it open against her will. She stood there for a moment, hand extended like she was jerking off a ghost, before she retracted it and tried to force her face. She wanted to be angry at them for ruining her entrance, but anger wasn't the opposite of anger. She tried leaving her lips slightly open, and raising her eyebrows in a state of shock. Catarina was afraid, but she still needed to look it. Maybe her sweat and clamminess would help her case.
She had no idea what the two people on the opposite side of the room could see of her emotions. You didn't get botox when you were scared of people assuming you felt nothing. But now, that would have been a bad thing.
A lesser person might have dropped one of their two large bags as they trudged for hours throughout the frozen wastes. Catarina Markovitz kept both of her knuckles clenched around the straps. Ever since she'd run from the village, she'd been convinced that the girl who tried to rob her was following her. She didnt' stop her worthy jog until she'd made it what she estimated to have been at least a mile, even if part of it was spent in a loop. That was when her knees began to hurt, but she didn't stop, just in case. She kept moving, abraised joints be damned to hell like these fucking people who put her here.
It was her stuff, all of it. If this island was her world, then she would treat it like she would anything else in her life - claws unsheathed against anyone who would take what belonged to her.
She couldnt' stop until she was sure she was safe. She hadn't taken anything in except the bags themselves and the large saw. Catarina knew that she had to know what was going on properly, but she couldn't unelss she was no longer in imminent danger from thieves and jealousy. That was why she had trudged through the town so many times, only stopping when she saw the school.
Catarina slipped through the ajar side of the gate, using the chunk of her heel to close it behind her. She felt safer, now. All she needed was walls around her and she could breath. All she needed was a place where she didn't have to run, and she could rest her knees. All she needed-
No, all she needed was her car, her phone, her expensive Rolex, her husband, her children, her maid, her private chef, her personal trainer, her friends no matter how many stupid deluded things they said about her to make her feel better, her Bob Mackie original from 2011 that Padma Lakshmi tried to pretend she wore first but Catarina knew better, her ballroom, her domain, her FUCKING LIFE BACK, NO SHE WAS NOT FUCKING OKAY SHE WAS NEVER GOING TO BE FUCKING OKAY.
All of the dreams and desires that swirled around in Catarina's head took the form of her stopping for a moment, feeling the wave of tension sweep through her arms, and returning to her walk. Her shoes went from frozen grass to loose cement. Finally, solid land, without the threat of theft on her wind. Her heart rate began to slow-
WHAT. ARE. YOU?!
And Catarina Markovitz left her body. Every sound was replaced with a ringing, like she'd been sitting next to a speaker for too long at twenty years of age. She could see herself from above, as she fell backwards against the nearest wall, thudding against it before staying still at that moment. Seconds later, she slid down to the ground, every bone and muscle frozen in place. The sound had long since disappeared.
She didn't even return when the clicking began. The wave of noise, like a swarm of fat locusts devouring her crops. That too, eventually, passed.
That was when she returned. Suddenly, she was back in her own body, feeling her hands tear into themselves and her heart taking a hammer to her ribs. Each breath was short and ragged, as she realized what had happened. Somehow, she'd fucked around for so long and so extensively trying to avoid what should never have been a threat, that the real threats had already been released. Her flesh boiled at the thought of any of those things getting next to her - they hadn't been real before, and they'd become so explicitly real just within those moments.
She heard speaking, hurried tones making their way through the walls. Others were here.
Catarina stared at the ground as her body fought its host. People could mean safety. Safety, as long as she took her breath, and thought about it. What exactly was it about her approach when she woke up that didn't work? She could try the opposite of that, and see what happened. Although, what was the opposite of fear? Confidence? Hah, not here. She'd look insane.
What was the opposite of anger? Maybe she could try that.
With her hands still clutched to the handles of her bags, she pulled herself up from the ground. She followed where she thought the voices had come from, and seemed to find the right classroom. She approached the door, gripped the handle, and slowly pushed forward, opening the classroom.
"Hel-"
As she opened the door, her duffel bag decided it wanted priority entry, and the motion of her body banged the bag into the door, out of her loose grip and swinging it open against her will. She stood there for a moment, hand extended like she was jerking off a ghost, before she retracted it and tried to force her face. She wanted to be angry at them for ruining her entrance, but anger wasn't the opposite of anger. She tried leaving her lips slightly open, and raising her eyebrows in a state of shock. Catarina was afraid, but she still needed to look it. Maybe her sweat and clamminess would help her case.
She had no idea what the two people on the opposite side of the room could see of her emotions. You didn't get botox when you were scared of people assuming you felt nothing. But now, that would have been a bad thing.
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MethodicalSlacker
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♫Chaz Bundick Meets The Mattson 2 - JBS♫
Darren's laughter began to bring Jarrett back to reality. They were in this together, and they were human. Whatever was out there, was out there. They were in here, safe. Maybe only for now, but still, safe.
The first human emotion Jarrett felt after they saw the Bandersnatch was a middling level of annoyance. "Of course we have enough," Jarrett mumbled, not quite getting it. "I brought enough for the whole trip. Not enough time to develop a crazy tolerance or anything anyway."
A bang on the door. Jarrett's head whip-panned as if on a swivel toward the stylishly dressed middle-aged woman making her entrance. They had not heard her half-finished 'hello,' upon entry, only just seen her fumbling with her bags. She stuck out from the others aboard the boat by her age and what she'd done to herself to hide it. But Jarrett hadn't struck up as much as a small-fries boy-this-weather-huh conversation with her, let alone been introduced. So to be sitting on the ground was something of a social faux-pas, a Hellmurder Island Party Foul. They stood, and dusted themselves off, and remembered their sword in the other room, with their bagful of marijuanas, and did not perform a contextless facepalm, pointedly did not do it, with effort.
"Hey," they said, instead. "Come in. Have a seat. We were just watching the, uh... creature, outside."
For a heartbeat, only silence. Then,
"They let me keep a bunch of weed, if you wanted some."
Darren's laughter began to bring Jarrett back to reality. They were in this together, and they were human. Whatever was out there, was out there. They were in here, safe. Maybe only for now, but still, safe.
The first human emotion Jarrett felt after they saw the Bandersnatch was a middling level of annoyance. "Of course we have enough," Jarrett mumbled, not quite getting it. "I brought enough for the whole trip. Not enough time to develop a crazy tolerance or anything anyway."
A bang on the door. Jarrett's head whip-panned as if on a swivel toward the stylishly dressed middle-aged woman making her entrance. They had not heard her half-finished 'hello,' upon entry, only just seen her fumbling with her bags. She stuck out from the others aboard the boat by her age and what she'd done to herself to hide it. But Jarrett hadn't struck up as much as a small-fries boy-this-weather-huh conversation with her, let alone been introduced. So to be sitting on the ground was something of a social faux-pas, a Hellmurder Island Party Foul. They stood, and dusted themselves off, and remembered their sword in the other room, with their bagful of marijuanas, and did not perform a contextless facepalm, pointedly did not do it, with effort.
"Hey," they said, instead. "Come in. Have a seat. We were just watching the, uh... creature, outside."
For a heartbeat, only silence. Then,
"They let me keep a bunch of weed, if you wanted some."
Darren shrugs, opening his mouth to say something when someone starts fumbling with the door handle.
He quickly stands up, grabbing the camera and aiming it at the door with one hand whilst the other reaches out for the bone, still somewhat alert after narrowly avoiding the gaze of the Bandersnatch.
The bone remains tucked into his belt however as the door opens to reveal a middle aged Brazilian woman, which whilst unexpected was not as worrying a development as it could've been. He manages to capture her awkward entrance on camera, Darren unsure what to say really until Jarret broke the silence, Darren instinctively shifting the camera from speaker to speaker as they began to address the newcomer.
"Yeah, uh..." says Darren, who briefly glances back outside the window. "I don't suppose you could quickly check that you weren't, uh... Followed..."
He quickly stands up, grabbing the camera and aiming it at the door with one hand whilst the other reaches out for the bone, still somewhat alert after narrowly avoiding the gaze of the Bandersnatch.
The bone remains tucked into his belt however as the door opens to reveal a middle aged Brazilian woman, which whilst unexpected was not as worrying a development as it could've been. He manages to capture her awkward entrance on camera, Darren unsure what to say really until Jarret broke the silence, Darren instinctively shifting the camera from speaker to speaker as they began to address the newcomer.
"Yeah, uh..." says Darren, who briefly glances back outside the window. "I don't suppose you could quickly check that you weren't, uh... Followed..."
Kicking Akamatsu in the face since 2010
Catarina stood there for a few seconds, expression still planted firmly on her face. She looked at the person whose gender she could not tell, the one who just offered her drugs.
"No."
She looked at the one whose gender she could tell, who asked her to check they weren't follow. Noises still playing in her ears like they were happening live, Catarina leaned backwards out of the doorway, looking both ways. She saw nothing.
"No."
She closed the door with the back of her foot, not feeling the usual click that doors at home or at university did. That annoyed her, but there wasn't anything she could do about it short of dropping her bags and fiddling with the handle until it clicked, at which point she might as well grab some tinfoil and talk to the termites for all the friends it would make her. She turned back to the two, her previous encounter with people still playing through her head.
"Thank you."
There was a chair and desk sitting nearby, only a few yards away from the people - not too close, not too far, the kind of distance one might expect when being polite at a party. Catarina made a beeline for that, planting her tush sideways in the chair before unloading her belongings from her grip. She stood her suitcase upwards, leaning it against the side of the desk, and placed the bag she was given in front of her, opening it to the world. Everything she had been given was visible to anyone who wanted to look at it. She took a long breath through her nostrils, before turning back to the other occupants.
"Thank you."
She realized she just said the phrase twice, but maybe they would appreciate it twice from a woman of her standing. Nevertheless, she continued.
"I just need a moment to check this, and that."
Catarina pulled up her wrist, showing off the PDA that had been weighing it down since she woke up.
"I...someone tried to rob me when I woke up, so, I haven't had time to look at anything."
Catarina knew a few women who could force a tear at a moment like this. She wasn't one of them - she was really good at finding out when someone else was forcing tears, but the actual skill evaded her. Maybe her words would be enough.
"No."
She looked at the one whose gender she could tell, who asked her to check they weren't follow. Noises still playing in her ears like they were happening live, Catarina leaned backwards out of the doorway, looking both ways. She saw nothing.
"No."
She closed the door with the back of her foot, not feeling the usual click that doors at home or at university did. That annoyed her, but there wasn't anything she could do about it short of dropping her bags and fiddling with the handle until it clicked, at which point she might as well grab some tinfoil and talk to the termites for all the friends it would make her. She turned back to the two, her previous encounter with people still playing through her head.
"Thank you."
There was a chair and desk sitting nearby, only a few yards away from the people - not too close, not too far, the kind of distance one might expect when being polite at a party. Catarina made a beeline for that, planting her tush sideways in the chair before unloading her belongings from her grip. She stood her suitcase upwards, leaning it against the side of the desk, and placed the bag she was given in front of her, opening it to the world. Everything she had been given was visible to anyone who wanted to look at it. She took a long breath through her nostrils, before turning back to the other occupants.
"Thank you."
She realized she just said the phrase twice, but maybe they would appreciate it twice from a woman of her standing. Nevertheless, she continued.
"I just need a moment to check this, and that."
Catarina pulled up her wrist, showing off the PDA that had been weighing it down since she woke up.
"I...someone tried to rob me when I woke up, so, I haven't had time to look at anything."
Catarina knew a few women who could force a tear at a moment like this. She wasn't one of them - she was really good at finding out when someone else was forcing tears, but the actual skill evaded her. Maybe her words would be enough.
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MethodicalSlacker
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More for me, then.
Darren had the good head on his shoulders. She could be lying, of course—they wouldn't really know if there were goons in the hallway, ready to come in and drop them at a moment's notice. It could be that she was a member of the security team who had been dressed up as one of them, instructed to blend in. Was anyone else onboard the boat that much older than the rest of them? Had they just offered weed to the enemy?
No. Perish the thought. She was just as fucked as any of them. Innocent until proven guilty. Friend until proven foe. Cool until proven lame.
When she opened her bag Jarrett could not help but look over into her bag. The weapon they saw was a saw. Later they would reflect on how this made them felt and curse themselves for feeling relaxed by the fact that she basically just had a bludgeon. It wasn't useful for much else, unless they actually wanted to cut something, and that came down to did the thing have any power? They didn't see a cord, but it could just be buried in there, with everything else.
She told them she needed a moment to check her things out.
"Yeah, no problem," said Jarrett. They looked away, purposefully, turning briefly back over their shoulder to look out the window, to make sure the unspeakable had gone away for good.
Then she said someone robbed her.
"What the fuck," Jarrett said, without thinking. For a moment they were taken aback, unsure what to say. The whole time, they had been operating under the assumption that the threat of the experiments was enough to keep people from hurting each other. Sure, there was always the distant possibility, like they had said at the armory before, but it wouldn't really happen...right?
Apparently not.
"I'm sorry," they said. "That's... that's really messed up."
Unsure of what to say, they looked at Darren, worry in their eyes.
Darren had the good head on his shoulders. She could be lying, of course—they wouldn't really know if there were goons in the hallway, ready to come in and drop them at a moment's notice. It could be that she was a member of the security team who had been dressed up as one of them, instructed to blend in. Was anyone else onboard the boat that much older than the rest of them? Had they just offered weed to the enemy?
No. Perish the thought. She was just as fucked as any of them. Innocent until proven guilty. Friend until proven foe. Cool until proven lame.
When she opened her bag Jarrett could not help but look over into her bag. The weapon they saw was a saw. Later they would reflect on how this made them felt and curse themselves for feeling relaxed by the fact that she basically just had a bludgeon. It wasn't useful for much else, unless they actually wanted to cut something, and that came down to did the thing have any power? They didn't see a cord, but it could just be buried in there, with everything else.
She told them she needed a moment to check her things out.
"Yeah, no problem," said Jarrett. They looked away, purposefully, turning briefly back over their shoulder to look out the window, to make sure the unspeakable had gone away for good.
Then she said someone robbed her.
"What the fuck," Jarrett said, without thinking. For a moment they were taken aback, unsure what to say. The whole time, they had been operating under the assumption that the threat of the experiments was enough to keep people from hurting each other. Sure, there was always the distant possibility, like they had said at the armory before, but it wouldn't really happen...right?
Apparently not.
"I'm sorry," they said. "That's... that's really messed up."
Unsure of what to say, they looked at Darren, worry in their eyes.
The camera failed to capture the shocked expression on Darren's face at the mention of the newcomer getting robbed, though he did turn it to Jarret just in time to catch a glimpse of the worried look in their eyes.
"Y-yeah, no, I... Fuck..." he let's out, not too sure what to say in this situation either as he turned the camera back to her.
"Well, you should be safe enough with us for now, long as we keep our heads down. Accommodation here ain't exactly great, but there's plenty room to spare and a roof over our heads."
He reaches up to scratch his chin with his spare hand. "I'm Darren, by the way! Don't think we've really spoken much?"
"Y-yeah, no, I... Fuck..." he let's out, not too sure what to say in this situation either as he turned the camera back to her.
"Well, you should be safe enough with us for now, long as we keep our heads down. Accommodation here ain't exactly great, but there's plenty room to spare and a roof over our heads."
He reaches up to scratch his chin with his spare hand. "I'm Darren, by the way! Don't think we've really spoken much?"
Kicking Akamatsu in the face since 2010
Even though she invoked it on purpose, there was still a pang of anger that these two were pitying Catarina. She'd felt excellent when she was saying it, even though it was mostly the truth, but hearing them express sympathy for her just felt wrong. She had nothing to be pitied for in her life, and yet here it was, sitting in the room with them like an ugly fart.
Catarina briefly curled her lips, before extending them out again.
"Thank you, again."
She was still thanking them for the bare minimum, but it's not like she had any other choice. Catarina extended her hand to meet Darren's.
"Yes, I saw you on the boat with your...camera."
She looked down at the lens, and back up to its holder.
"Catarina. Catarina Markovitz. Perhaps you've heard of my husband, Roger - he was the foremost investor for the new series of supermarket self service machines that were introduced in Seattle in the past few years. He's probably saved you some time if you went shopping at Haggen."
It meant nothing now, and yet the words fell out of Catarina's mouth like she was returned to normalcy, like she'd met someone new at a party. Her hand had instinctively went to her chest, like she was flattered and showing off her decolletage, not bunkered in down and puff. Like she hadn't clocked a girl in the head with her bag, or heard a monster crawl by earlier. She couldn't pretend, but she could acclimate. She turned towards the one who offered her drugs.
"You, I don't know. Who are you?"
Catarina briefly curled her lips, before extending them out again.
"Thank you, again."
She was still thanking them for the bare minimum, but it's not like she had any other choice. Catarina extended her hand to meet Darren's.
"Yes, I saw you on the boat with your...camera."
She looked down at the lens, and back up to its holder.
"Catarina. Catarina Markovitz. Perhaps you've heard of my husband, Roger - he was the foremost investor for the new series of supermarket self service machines that were introduced in Seattle in the past few years. He's probably saved you some time if you went shopping at Haggen."
It meant nothing now, and yet the words fell out of Catarina's mouth like she was returned to normalcy, like she'd met someone new at a party. Her hand had instinctively went to her chest, like she was flattered and showing off her decolletage, not bunkered in down and puff. Like she hadn't clocked a girl in the head with her bag, or heard a monster crawl by earlier. She couldn't pretend, but she could acclimate. She turned towards the one who offered her drugs.
"You, I don't know. Who are you?"
-
MethodicalSlacker
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"Jarrett is my name. Bergman," Jarrett said somewhat suddenly, having spaced out for a moment, "maybe you've heard me on the radio? I go by, uh. D.J. Jarrett. It's not original and I've tried changing it but they've pinned me with it since Freshman year. The show is called Eternal Summer. It's on Thursdays. Midnight to Two AM. Pretty late. Maybe you haven't heard it."
Just in time, the song changed on their headphones to one of Jarrett's favorites that they discovered while making those playlists, before they knew they'd be on the radio. They felt at ease. Though JBS had featured in a spinoff playlist from the main Eternal Summer series, both fell under the Time Distortion series of memoirplaylists, song-encoded memories made over the last couple of years; this song came from the never to be broadcast Season Three (back at U of C, a few of the non-summer playlists [Fears in Winter, Dreams in Spring, Lives in Fall, et cetera] were still airing; they had pre-recorded several episodes before leaving, in anticipation of the trip). The first season of the show, the first sixteen numbered Eternal Summer playlists, were all they had broadcast before the trip. The memory of sitting in the broadcast studio and listening to the songs over the speakers melted with the memories evoked by the songs themselves, and Jarrett felt, for a moment, far away. Like they had stepped through themselves as a gateway back to Massachusetts; like they were on holiday, and not caught in the dark shadow of the vaulted ice-ceiling above hell.
♫Prefab Sprout - Appetite♫
They weren't familiar with her husband, though they'd been to Haggen. Sort of like Washington Big Y.
"It's nice to meet you."
Almost did they ask for Catarina's major, but considering the high-up Investor connection they figured it was business or something. There weren't many older, non-twenties people in their writing and film classes. Not ever, really. Business school was one of those things you went back to do. You only went back to do writing if it was a grad school thing.
"Me and Darren already knew each other, from film class," they went on, "and we found each other pretty early on, so we've been sticking together."
Darren offered that she could stay with them, in the wake of being mugged, and Jarrett nodded in agreement. It would be pretty cruel to throw her out of the school and make her contend with the horrors outside.
Plus if she had a problem with the smoke they could just go into another room for a bit. Not a big deal.
Just in time, the song changed on their headphones to one of Jarrett's favorites that they discovered while making those playlists, before they knew they'd be on the radio. They felt at ease. Though JBS had featured in a spinoff playlist from the main Eternal Summer series, both fell under the Time Distortion series of memoirplaylists, song-encoded memories made over the last couple of years; this song came from the never to be broadcast Season Three (back at U of C, a few of the non-summer playlists [Fears in Winter, Dreams in Spring, Lives in Fall, et cetera] were still airing; they had pre-recorded several episodes before leaving, in anticipation of the trip). The first season of the show, the first sixteen numbered Eternal Summer playlists, were all they had broadcast before the trip. The memory of sitting in the broadcast studio and listening to the songs over the speakers melted with the memories evoked by the songs themselves, and Jarrett felt, for a moment, far away. Like they had stepped through themselves as a gateway back to Massachusetts; like they were on holiday, and not caught in the dark shadow of the vaulted ice-ceiling above hell.
♫Prefab Sprout - Appetite♫
They weren't familiar with her husband, though they'd been to Haggen. Sort of like Washington Big Y.
"It's nice to meet you."
Almost did they ask for Catarina's major, but considering the high-up Investor connection they figured it was business or something. There weren't many older, non-twenties people in their writing and film classes. Not ever, really. Business school was one of those things you went back to do. You only went back to do writing if it was a grad school thing.
"Me and Darren already knew each other, from film class," they went on, "and we found each other pretty early on, so we've been sticking together."
Darren offered that she could stay with them, in the wake of being mugged, and Jarrett nodded in agreement. It would be pretty cruel to throw her out of the school and make her contend with the horrors outside.
Plus if she had a problem with the smoke they could just go into another room for a bit. Not a big deal.