Survival of the Fittest? At this time of day, in this part of the country, localised entirely within your high school?

[Sansa]

Tristan chuckled at Hel’s cult joke, but found the conversation moving too quickly forward to reply with a jest of his own. Small losses. The group took the information that he too had been gifted a dangerous and much more straightforward weapon fairly well, all things considered. Guns were daunting and confusing and there was a reason they came with manuals, but there wasn’t much technique to using a dagger besides knowing which end to use, right?



The conversation circled around to allying up, and Tristan was faced with a choice. Did he want to stick with this trio and traipse about the island with them for the foreseeable future? Not particularly, but in that same moment he couldn’t really think of why he shouldn’t. That was a mentality he’d applied all through his life. If someone asked him about his rampant sexuality, his readymade quip was always “everybody looks for an reason to say ‘yes.’ I look for a reason to say ‘no.’"



Two guns, a pretty knife, and a bicycle between them, so they were well provided for on that front. Toby and Stepney seemed chill so far, and although Hel mightn’t have been at the very top of his list, they were still a familiar face in this group. For now, at least, there were absolutely no reasons to leave, and a dozen to stay put. So an easy decision. Tristan figured there weren’t likely to be many of those left in the coming days.



“I’m down. Not about to leave three friendly faces for uncertain doom, y’know?”



Toby seemed in agreement, and proceeded to make the valid question of where exactly they might be. It was starting to get awfully muggy up here, and Tristan was becoming acutely aware of how sweaty and ill-dressed for this environment he was. It would be good to be somewhere where he could get changed and take a breather; truthfully, most of what he had in his bag was more fashionable than practical, but still more so than floral pants and a button-down shirt.



His bag was still conveniently placed and recently rifled-through, so Tristan quickly took it upon himself to retrieve his provided map. Before doing so, he tucked his knife between his belt and his trousers, adjusting it for a second to ensure it wasn’t about to come loose or slash through his clothing. He bent down and withdrew the folded paper, brow furrowed as he scanned it over. He’d had plenty of experience with Google Maps in his time from drunken 2am stumbles home, but hadn’t held a physical map for what felt like years.



“You know, I was never good at orienteering but I think we might be somewhere in the… Upper Wilderness? It’s high up and pretty wild here so I can’t really think where else we could be.”



Tristan’s attention was suddenly diverted from the topic at hand by a new voice in the crowd, a simple greeting that cut through the air. He spun around on his feet to face the newcomer, who was propped up on the floor of the clearing, bedraggled and coated in dried leaves.



He swallowed back a shout of surprise, instead letting it melt into the warmest smile he could conjure.



“Hey Ashlynn.”

[Emprexx Plush]

Hoo boy. This was gonna get sticky. The boys all seemed intent on hanging together and that was cool and all, but they had some shit to do before they died? People to see, rituals to finish, you know how it goes. Tristan was okay but Toby and Stepney weren't anywhere on their radar. They only had so much time so catching up on their backstories wasn't high on Hel's list of priorities. Besides, why stick together anyway unless they had some sorta plan?

Hold up. Did Stepney have a plan? Maybe they hadn't read between the lines hard enough. Stepney hadn't sounded malicious but the whole safety in numbers idea made them uncomfortable. There were us vs. them vibes built in from the jump. Seemed kinda early for that, yeah? Nobody was going to pop off this early unless people started getting paranoid, and that's exactly what this kinda bunching up was gonna lead to; you get a couple groups with guns each trying to be "safe" and you were one misunderstanding away from a firefight. Nah, they weren't here for that. Besides...

"Uh. Not trying to kill the mood but what's the point?"

Ash had come in at a bad time, there wasn't time to say hello once the train got rolling. "Just laying it on the table. Only one of us is walking out of here, yeah? It's not gonna be me, and if it's gonna be one of you, well..." They took a good look around the group. "Everybody else here's gotta go first, right? Ya'll comfortable with that? I know I'm not, but..." Hel shrugged. It was harsh. They knew that, but if they weren't gunning for the top spot then it was kinder to get the mourning over and done with up front, right? "I'm just...I'm just sayin'. There's only one thing to stay safe from out there, and unless you wanna be it you're just dragging on the inevitable."

[Pippi]

Christ. Stepney would have said that nothing was going to plan, here, but that would require there to actually be a plan in the first place.

He listened to Hel’s spiel, watching them silently, unable to interject or interrupt them because, well… what the fuck did you say in the face of something like that? His right hand squeezed the handlebar of Bichael (was he really going with that? Sure, why the hell not), and he felt the cold metal turning warm underneath his grip, clenching and releasing it, trying to keep himself in check.

It wasn’t easy, though, because Hel had pretty much just admitted they had no intention of getting out of this alive, and again, how did you react to that? That was something you normally worked up to talking about. Not dropping on people like an orbital strike. He wasn’t even sure how to feel about it, because he liked Hel, and if they were never to see each other again after graduating he wanted his last memory of them to be at graduation, not here.

But, man, they’d covered the rest of his thoughts pretty nicely, huh?

He wanted to live. There, all in, all on the table. Was selfish, sure, but he highly doubted he was the only person on the island with that desire. If he had the choice, he’d make sure that everyone else around him lived as well, but, odds were, that wasn’t gonna happen. So… So. So if Hel did decide they didn’t wanna make it out of here, and they did die, then that’d… it’d be… that’d make…

Ugh. He couldn’t even make himself think it. It made him feel rotten inside.

“Well, uh… Yo, Ashlynn,” Stepney muttered after a moment. Lucky somebody had, once again, picked up the slack for his eyes. Thanks Trist. “Picked a great time for you to join us, lemme tell you that.”

He scratched his chin, blowing air out through his nose, then spread his arms out, palms open, mouth a thin straight line.

“Alright, listen. You got me. Caught me counting cards, not that I’d do such a thing, obviously.”

He tried to smile, but sighed instead. Each of his words was careful, slow, methodical.

“I… dunno what I’m doing. Don’t think that’s really so wrong, y’know? Not knowing what to do on fucking murder island. Maybe everything’ll go tits up in a group, maybe it won’t, I dunno!”

Stepney shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m gonna head on out of here, and, like, if you wanna stick with me, feel free. If you don’t, no hard feelings. I get it. We’re all just… trying out here. Just trying. I’ll understand.”

He smiled, then gave a weak chuckle.

“It’d be nice to have someone to, y’know, tell me who I’m running into, though.”

Man, this was all a crock of shit.

[Espi]

Toby didn't say anything for a bit. He gritted his teeth.

Ashlynn was here now. A stuck-up SJW, exactly what he needed. That was mean, but who cared? Just look at what Hel was saying. She clearly knew what was going on, and just had to tell everyone else. Like they didn't know.

Stepney and Tristan were being calm, reasonable, making plans and stuff. Toby liked that. That's what they needed, actual decisions. He didn't like negative Nancies, and he definitely didn't need someone like that around now of all times.

The gun felt like a toy in his hands. Even pointing it at Hel, it was like a joke. How big a bullet could it really shoot out? Would it even be deadly? Who cared? It got the message across.

"Fuck off." His tone was even, conversational, almost. He didn't need to be angry. "We don't need your shit around here. You wanna think like that, give us a gun and go kill yourself somewhere else." This was what she wanted right? People to act like this. Well here, see how chill you can be about dying. Toby turned his head to look at Stepney. His arm was still outstretched. "So, what were you saying? Let's find somewhere less...I dunno. Nicer?"

His hand shook. Only a little.

[General Goose]

She'd joined late. Normally Ashlynn would have had no fears, in such a predicament, for providing the valuable perspective of the impartial spectator into these proceedings, for adding the thoughts and insights of someone who had the analytical benefits of proximity yet the clarity and disinterest of evaluation that was offered by a degree of detachment. That was normally how Ashlynn approached situations where she was late to the conversation. It was a useful insight, one that was respected.

Yet she was too tired, too frightened, too on edge to really want to add that sort of viewpoint right now. It was vital, she knew that. In the long run, the advantage that they had were fresh perspectives. A multiplicity of them. If they could just coordinate well, find some system of frustrating this sorry affair out, then maybe, just maybe, they stood a chance. Of that, Ashlynn was convinced.

But right now, tensions were high and Ashlynn had just enough self-awareness to realise that dissecting the dynamics and details of this scene, in real time, out loud, would be ill-advised. Counterproductive at the very best.

A gun was pointed.

"...I know I've only just joined in the situation, but maybe pointing guns at each other for the sole crime of feeling...worried and stressed about this isn't the most helpful way forward?"

She bit her lip to keep back the more insulting words she could have easily thrown Toby's way. Goodness knows he deserved them.

[Sansa]

Things took a jarringly sudden turn when Hel, for some inexplicable reason, decided to detonate the group’s burgeoning alliance by questioning why they should even have one in the first place. They made some valid points, reaffirmed the reality of the situation, but honestly it kind of rubbed Tristan the wrong way. If they didn’t want to be in this group, they could’ve just said ‘no thanks’ and gone on their merry way, no harm no foul, but instead they had to stick their foot in their mouth and go about deconstructing the very concept of an alliance. Not only that, but the conviction with which they spoke of their eventual fate made Tristan squirm; he couldn’t imagine giving up so quickly, let alone being at peace with it. It stung to see a friend give in like that.

Tristan had always thought his ability to keep his trap shut and most of his thoughts to himself to not be especially unique. However, as Toby responded to Hel with an even more fiery retort, he realised having that filter almost instinctively built into him might prove more beneficial than he’d ever known.




Stepney seemed a little uncomfortable with the way things were going, but still relatively composed and chilled out. So he hadn’t yet earned a red mark against his name, but from the way Toby talked it seemed the two were a matching set, and attempting to split the two seemed a foolhardy idea.




Effectively the quartet was split in three ways: Stepney and Toby; Hel; and Tristan himself. It made sense to go stick with Stepney, the calmest of the four, but Toby’s lapse into frustration so quickly made him wary of linking with the two. Hel, on the other hand, was someone he had history with, who liked him and likely had similar people and goals in mind. But did he really want to stick with someone already so apathetic and resigned to their fate? Tristan was like a chameleon, someone who took on the colours of those around him, and he didn’t want Hel’s own pessimism to leach into him.




And then Ashlynn, in all her party-crashing realness, just happened to be the one making the most sense. But even though Ashlynn’s peacemaking words were even-tempered and collected, Tristan could sense they weren’t totally reflective of her thoughts. There was something about her that told him she’d swallowed back some biting comment. That showed she was capable of restraint, of keeping her emotions in check; something neither Toby nor Hel seemed able to do.

Tristan hated situations like this, where battle lines were drawn and he was invariably asked to pick a side. Back home, he’d always crumple and acquiesce to whomever held the most power or who he wanted to curry favour with the most. But that was the way it went when the most he had to lose was social currency or standing; what seemed like impossibly high stakes then were almost insignificant now. For a moment, Tristan regretted placing so much energy and stress on those situations. None of that even mattered here.




So what could he do? What side could he pick?




Everyone who’d spoken had drawn the ire of someone else or placed themselves in the crossfire, had made an enemy or annihilated an alliance. No matter what he said, he risked someone turning on him or burning a bridge. So he could stand there and do nothing and pray that it worked, but to be the passive, voiceless one in a group of outspoken personalities was never going to be Tristan’s scene.




So he squinted and pursed his lips for a moment, deep in thought, and uttered the most honest thing to leave his mouth since he’d woken up.




“I need a fucking drink.”

[Emprexx Plush]

Hel swallowed hard. They didn't want to make any sudden moves. It was crazy that everybody was just...letting this happen. Nobody tried to get Toby's gun away from him or get them out of the way, it was just a lot of snide comments. Toby was the craziest of all of them, though; they didn't know what he was talking about. "Think like what? That I don't wanna kill people? That I don't think ya'll do either? Sorry, I didn't figure you for a fucking murderer-"

Everything else they had to say got swallowed up by a pop and a flash in Toby's hand.

Hel clutched their side and fell to the ground.

[Espi]

He'd flinched.

When Hel had spoken, Toby had flinched, tensed up at being accused of being a would-be murder. His finger had been on the trigger, which he now recalled numbly was supposed to be bad, that you shouldn't do that if you weren't ready to shoot. But he hadn't been. He wasn't.

The tiny gun fell to the ground, his hand still outstretched, his eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. His backpack slid off his shoulder to the ground with a heavy thud. Okay, okay, stay calm. Toby was calm, okay, he was fine. He took a few deep breaths, and dropped to one knee, pulling the bag around him and opening it, haphazardly tossing bars and a loaf of bread out onto the jungle until he found the big canvas bag he was looking for, with the obvious cross on it.

"Does anyone know first aid?" Toby sure didn't. He tossed the bag onto the ground in front of him. There was a painful pressure under his knee where the tiny little harmless-looking gun was pressed between the earth and his own body weight.

"Anyone?"

[General Goose]

At the very least, it became clear rather quickly that Toby hadn't intended to shoot Hel. He hadn't intended to play the game. No. He was just an idiot. A colossal idiot. So caught up in his toxic masculinity and inability to empathise with others that he'd sorta forgiven that it was a bad idea to point a gun at someone that you'd rather not die. Ashlynn's facial expressions had gone from a horrified shock to a contemptuous anger before she knew it, before her brain had even consciously processed the facts about what had just played out.

Toby was pulling something out of his backpack and it was pretty clear he was no longer a threat. Well, an intentional threat, anyway. Ashlynn was now pretty sure that everyone on the island might just die because of Toby being a moron. That was a theory, at least. It meant that Ashlynn could move in, focus on helping out Hel. They were bleeding. Ashlynn knelt down next to her and, Hel's response permitting, started pushing down hard on the wound. "I don't know, but I think we need to apply pressure." Ashlynn had not had first aid training, but some of the rudimentary elements had been absorbed, by way of a basic science education and pop culture references.

"Then we need to clear the wound up once the bleeding's stopped." Ashlynn's tone was confident, but she realised now that, for Hel's sake, she couldn't commandeer the conversation too much just in case Tristan knew some stuff. "Tristan, do you know any first aid?"

Now that her leadership skills and talent for improvising had kicked in and, hopefully, offered some mollification for the disastrous predicament she had stumbled into, her indignant anger at Toby returned. Ashlynn glanced over her shoulder, with an off-puttingly chipper tone of fake amicability. "Oh, Toby, one useful thing you could do - and this is actually a really useful first aid tip for after you've shot someone - is stick your gun up your ass and fire. Do you think you could do that for us?"

[Shiola]

((Erika Stieglitz continued from Ricochet))

She'd moved to the east side of the island, because her boyfriend had been heading to the west side. Her choice had hounded her every step through what had been so-descriptively referred to as the Upper Wilderness. It made her wonder what she was doing fashioning a walking stick as an impromptu method of self-defense when she could've had someone genuinely look out for and protect her. Trying to lift her spirits by imagining the stick as a wizard's staff only made her sad again when she thought back to Garnet and the others in their group who'd ended up here. Much as her path through the woods was laden with self-doubt, the joint she'd smoked on the way here had managed to keep the worst of the fear and panic at bay. Crushing sadness and melancholy while unpleasant, only ever prompted in her an absence of long-term planning. Unlike fear and panic, which had the fun side effect of putting lives in immediate danger via stupid mistakes and impulsive decisions.

Like the impulsive decision to point a gun at someone one didn't entirely intend to kill, or the stupid mistake of keeping one's finger on the trigger while they did so. Erika had seen the group before they'd seen her, and had spent a short time listening in on their conversation. When she'd arrived Hel had just finished spelling out what they'd all already known, and got an earful for it. If Erika had been listening and not watching, she might've surmised that Hel had taken a bullet for it. It was another mess of a situation, just like every one she'd walked past. The island wasn't large enough for her to avoid people completely, but she'd quietly hoped that her classmates might've been able to keep their shit together for at least a day.

This isn't my problem.

Erika knew the logical thing to do would've been to leave. Another cold, unfeeling decision to make in the interests of survival. Maybe the last mile of her decisions hounding her had worn that part of her down. Either way she knew this was a situation she was uniquely qualified to help with. The range safety courses she had taken included first-aid in the event of a Negligent Discharge - if someone ended up shot because of carelessness or malfunction. Besides, if she showed she wanted to help that might mean something to people when this was all over.

She didn't waste time introducing herself to the group, hoping that her appearance, faint aura of cannabis, and lack of a weapon outside of a five-foot walking stick was an indication she didn't intend on further violence.

"Uhh, hey there. Watched your lil' fuckup happen. I can help talk you through it. First thing you need to figure out is if it's just the one wound. Gun like that and it's probably not coming out the other side if it went in, so we're gonna need to do some nasty shit. Let's see it, if-" Erika looked to the rest of the group as she motioned towards Hel. "-If you're all chill with that."

[Sansa]

Everything melted away so quickly. All of that introspection, the weighing up of everyone here, the calculated, measured way he moved and spoke all vanished in the second that tiny 'pop' rebounded through the clearing and Hel, his friend, fell, almost gracefully, to the ground.

Tristan scattered to Hel's side, his feet barely retaining their grip on the damp earth through the jelly in his legs and the thundering of his heartbeat. Ashlynn was already there, talking as though she knew exactly what she was doing. So either she was an even better actor than he or her presence just became immeasurably more welcome.

And then she addressed him, which was almost surprising, asking if he knew anything that could help.

He thought back to the last time he'd seen Hel take a fall, and how it quickly proved so unserious that he could readily make jokes and claim once donning a nurse's uniform made him totally qualified.

There was no way back to then.

"I don't know anything, really. But tell me what to do and I will do it."

He couldn't look at Toby right now. He didn't want to know what expression was etched into the other boy's face, lest it uncork all the fear and panic torpedoing inside him and let it rush out. As Ashlynn spat her own brand of vitriol in Toby's direction, Tristan had to suppress a smile. Good. She'd been the one to say it, yet it felt just as cathartic for him as if he'd done it himself.

He looked up, his vision unexpectedly blurred and his voice little more than a whisper.

"Thank you, Ashlynn."

A new voice, scarcely familiar, and Tristan wanted to scream because they did not need someone else here right now to fuck things up even more, but he swallowed it back and dug his nails into the earth beneath him instead. He slackened his grip, just a little, when they too spoke with enough conviction to convince him they might be useful.

"Help them, Erika. Do whatever you have to. Just... help them."

[Emprexx Plush]

Hel was trying not to make a sound, even when Ashlynn's hands pressed in to send spikes of pain running through their side. They weren't succeeding. A whine slipped by clenched teeth and pursed lips, and it seemed to make them flinch more than the attention their wound was drawing. It burned like a motherfucker and they could feel they were bleeding, but they didn't feel much pain past the surface. It wasn't in them or anything. Rationally speaking they'd be okay, they probably could have kept their feet if they really tried. Hel didn't think about that, though. A few years of fucking around with Andy and Axel hadn't done much to dull the only fighting instinct they'd manage to cobble together, a simple and effective three step plan to ending any conflict:

1. You get down.

2. You stay down.

3. You hope they don't hurt you anymore.

It worked most of the time. Around the neighborhood, church, co-op, school, no matter where the bullying happened they weren't usually angry at Hel. Bullies wanted to humiliate them because they were different, and weak, and it was easy to turn a blind eye when they didn't fight back. It was easier to give them that humiliation with the first punch than to try and fight it. That wouldn't work here, deep down they knew that. If Toby wanted to kill them collapsing wasn't going to stop him. He wasn't going to do it. Under all the running commentary that stood out the most, it'd just been a stupid accident. They were gonna live. They didn't change tactics with that realization, though. You could say it was shock, fear, whatever. You might even be right. Somewhere in them though was the thought that it'd be easier to let him kill them than to fight. That it would be better for everyone who saw them here and at home to maintain the illusion they weren't in pain until he pulled the trigger one more time.

It was hard not to be disappointed.

When they opened their eyes there was another familiar face. Tristan was begging Erika to help them. Guilt rushed into replace dissatisfaction; a silent passing here wouldn't have spared him any pain. It was stupid to listen to that part of themself. Gods collected was it tempting, but it was stupid. "I'm okay..."

A beat.

"I'm okay."

Yeah. That was gonna be a tough sell when they kept choking on their words. Gotta focus on the important shit though. They reached for Tristan, tried to pull him close to whisper to him. "Please...get his gun."

[Espi]

((Skipping to bounce for death))

Toby looked up. He gritted his teeth and shot a glare at Ashlynn. He didn't have to take this. He was trying to help, damn it. Of course a self-righteous SJW like her didn't care about things like forgiveness.

"Nah." He lifted his knee, plucking the gun out from under it. He didn't want to shoot her. That was just fucked up. He stood up and leveled the gun.

The gunshots seemed much quieter than before as he unloaded all of the rounds into Ashlynn's bag on the side. Water sprayed out of one of the impacts. Toby hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. Maybe she'd need to actually ask for help from people now. That seemed fair.

He gave a lopsided grin and waved to Stepney. Poor bastard. "Good luck, man."

((He started walking.))

[General Goose]

Okay. Someone with qualifications. Someone with a level head. Someone else who was willing to get their hands dirty, shoulder their share of the burden. Ashlynn moved to the side, indicating to Erika that she could adopt a more hands-on role - as likely suited her skill-set - if she was so inclined. It was Ashlynn's way of showing that she thought that, at this point, more hands were better than fewer, that they were not in the position of there being too many people on hand to respond to this emergency, that there was only one superfluous presence in this scene and that was Toby.

Ashlynn didn't know how to go about checking the wounds, though. It was an important consideration, certainly, but she didn't know how exactly she could go about lifting Hel up and checking the underside of their torso. At the very least that would disrupt the application of pressure - and Ashlynn was very confident in her knowledge there, that applying pressure was crucial.

Tristan thanked her. "It's cool," Ashlynn murmured. She couldn't deny a little rush of self-satisfied contentment at the news. She was a good person. She was doing what was right. She was rerouting every ounce of luck and privilege she had into something productive. Yes, blood was surging up against her hands and it felt sticky and sickening and nauseating, but she was doing the right thing. That was being recognised. That was being confirmed by others. That was the only comfort, the only leisure, available to her - to anyone - on this island. She would make the most of it.

Then another gunshot rang out, and Ashlynn's instincts had her pulling away from the patient and throwing herself to the floor. The generous interpretation of her actions was - as the biggest target here, in terms of how much she'd antagonised Toby - getting herself away from the others would minimise their risk of being shot. The less generous interpretation was that her instincts were really of clumsy and maladroit attempts at self-preservation. After the first three shots, she looked up.

Toby was firing rounds into her bag.

"Dick!" she yelled, clenching her blood soaked fists as he left.

Still on her knees, she moved back to Hel's side. "Sorry about that. He's wasted his own ammunition. He's only hurting his chances." It was a morbid point, but a satisfying one.

[Pippi]

So. So, right. Yeah. Yeah, he’d kinda totally frozen up just now. Wasn’t a great look for him, he knew, he knew. He was supposed to be this sorta unflappable, ‘do-anything’ kind of guy, after all. Hard to trust, easy to rely on when you got to know him, that sorta shit. Freezing up and doing his best impression of a statue, complete with inability to see properly, whilst bad shit happened to people he cared about in front of him didn’t really fit that description. He knew.

Figured he’d probably be given a let-off for this one, now that bullets were flying right in front of him.

Bullshit had just started happening real quickly, and kept rolling even quicker, way too fast for Stepney to properly take in and process. It had started with Toby going all in on his best impression of everyone’s favourite Magic club member, Mr. Futscher, and then the dude had spiralled even further, shooting Hel, shooting up Ashlynn’s bag after her little snide comment, then acting like he and Stepney were still best pals after the dude had gone full on moron dickhead psycho.

There was another new person, now, and this time Stepney didn’t know who they were. If a name had been flung out, he hadn’t caught it, not with the yelling and the panic and the sudden explosion that had happened right in front of him. It didn’t really matter right now, though. Names could wait. Hel could not.

He moved closer to the group huddled around their prone form. He could see the blood from underneath Ashlynn’s hands. He thought it looked like a hell of a lot - again, not that it really mattered. He wasn’t a biology whiz, but he knew that blood was supposed to be inside the body. Any amount being outside of it, especially on someone else’s hands, that was a bad thing.

There was a smart thing to do here, the right thing to do if he wanted to increase his chances of living out here. He’d toyed with the idea, placed it in his mind, skated around the idea and forcing himself not to look at it too closely. It was still there, though. He knew exactly what it was, even if he wasn’t brave, cowardly, whatever enough to say it.

“Hey,” Stepney said, voice cracking as he stepped even closer. “Let me… I can help, let me help.”

He couldn’t do it, though, not now at the very very least. Not with Hel, not with someone they still cared about. He couldn’t shut away his emotions just yet.

“Just tell me what to do, even if it’s just holding shit, even if it’s…”

‘Putting them out of their misery’ almost spilled out of his mouth. He just about managed to keep it in check, push it back down inside.

“... even if it’s just fucking off and staying out of the way. Lemme do something.”