SOTF Archive/SOTF Classic

After basically being told to shove off, Tyler heard some rustling in the bushes. He wasn't quite sure, but...he thought he did, at least.

"You guys hear that?"

Ah, hell. Well, so much for that...so, who's in the woods?

Looking over at the bushes, he couldn't see anybody there...but it wasn't like he could see through leaves, either. Reaching into his bag for the tire iron he was issued (and which had thankfully not been bloodied yet), he carefully stepped towards the direction of the noise, a frown on his face.

"I don't know who you are, so come on out nice and slow, ok?"

Do I hope it was my imagination and I look like an idiot? Or that it's real and there's someone in there?

"I don't want to hurt you, but since I don't know who you are..."

Slowly, slowly, he steps towards where he thought he heard the noise come from.

The kid, whoever he was, didn't seem to be overly bothered by their complete and utter lack of acceptance. Helen was relieved that she'd shown up when she had and apparently not looked too scary, and also felt a small amount of pride that she hated herself for. Still, her inner child was going they liked me and not you, neener neener neener! In their ignoring of the boy, Dave turned and asked her a question.

"Oh, You played in the band, Helen? How'd that one end?"

Helen smiled, vaguely fond memories flooding back to her.

"They realised I couldn't really play very well and encouraged me to find interests elsewhere," she said with a shrug. The story wasn't entirely true, in actuality she'd just stopped going when she herself had realised she wasn't very good and there were new freshmen playing at a standard several grades above her. It was a pride saving thing. But nobody here needed to know about her utter lack of ability to be less than perfect at anything. Plus the false story was funnier. "It was fine though-"

Just then the boy they had previously shunned started stalking his way towards the noise behind them, which Helen had been trying to ignore, worrying (in a not very serious way) that Izzy, Dave and Charlie would actually kill this one based on their dramatic decline of acceptance levels. The boy had a tire iron; Helen was relieved he hadn't felt a need to bring it out previously. He was walking slowly. Helen watched him for a couple of paces then turned back to the other three.

"I cannot begin to describe how much I hope there's noone in there..." she said wistfully.

So Helen had flunked out of band. So Helen was telling that story and not really acting like it bothered her. So Helen was comfortable with the idea that, on occasion, she sucked. Perfect! If you are going to be Charlie's friend, you should probably be pretty comfortable being told you suck (though when she says it, she'll totally be smiling in a way that indicates that she doesn't really mean it and she's just having fun and we're still friends, right?) Hence a little sigh of relief under Charlie's breath, a little loosening of her shoulders. Sometimes good things happen.

The asshole over there, though? He did not fall under the umbrella of good things. He clearly had no mental concept of fucking off, and now he was- he was... seriously? Seriously. He was brandishing a fucking tire iron and shouting threats at- if Charlie craned her neck and got as good a look as she could- what looked like someone small. Someone unarmed. Someone probably scared out of their fucking mind, and here comes this cock-holster with his tire iron talking about I don't want to hurt you, but- No buts, asshole. You either want to hurt people or you don't. And since you apparently do, Charlie has a few words she'd like to get off her chest.

"Seriously? That's what you're gonna- are you fucking kidding me? You seriously think that this is the time, this is the place to make your fucking threats? Nobody wants you here. You can go jack off with a fistful of broken glass, kay? And take your stupid tire iron with you." Hmm. Maaaybe that all sounded a little too harsh? She should probably say something else.

"And hey, uh... new girl?" It was a girl, right? Getting mistaken for a girl is not the first thing you want to happen to you right after some asshole threatens you with a tire iron. "Sorry you had to hear that. I'm- we're a lot nicer than that usually, promise! And you can... come... sit with us if you want? For a bit? You don't have to listen to what that balding friendless virgin says. And we- I think I already like you a bit, just 'cause you're not that asshole."

That was... welcoming? Maybe? Here, throw in a big friendly welcoming wave, that'll definitely do the trick. The girl will see that there's nothing to be scared of, that there are some friends real close, that if the fuckhead tries to start some shit, he'll have a football player tackling him to the ground and a trumpet smashing his face in. Forgive the girl who keeps saying insults and swear words, okay? She just wants to assure you of all those things, she just wants to make sure you know you're welcome, you're safe, it's okay, you can rest your head for a second.

That's all it is, promise.

They had noticed her.

The thought scurried through Winnie's head as her breath froze in her throat, desperate, panicked, changing her blood to ice-water in her veins. They had noticed her. They had seen her. Unable to move, unable to force her exhausted, terrified limbs into another step, she crouched there, eyes wide, cowering like a deer in headlights. As the boy in front of her called out that he didn't want to hurt her (but he didn't sound convincing and she had heard those words before so many times before before gunshots punches anger killing), she managed to force her feet forwards, stumbling out of the leaves and into the half-light.

Something shone above her head.

A tire iron.

He was holding a tire iron.

Whatever strength had been in her knees left her, and she hit the ground hard, both hands over her head. Not brave. Winsome Clark had never been brave, except in the fantasies she spun. She'd always thought that maybe, when the chips were down, some hidden part of her would emerge, like a hero in an old story. Now she knew that wasn't true. Tears trickled messily from her eyes, making tracks in the dirt. She didn't want to die. She was cold, and tired, and hungry and thirsty and she hurt and she didn't want to die but she was going to, and she didn't know how to understand that.

Someone else was saying something. Shouting. A girl's voice, not one she recognized. Lots of swearing. Was this is? Maybe it would be quick, easy. And then - she could rest. Heaven would be there, and the forgiveness of the Lord for her past transgressions. Maybe that would be better. She could tell herself that.

But she couldn't believe it. She didn't want to die. She cowered further, a messy heap of tangled red hair and a too-big shirt covering the shredded remains of a dress, old blood like chocolate milk stains everywhere, breath coming quick and shallow.

"Please. Please. Please don't. I won't do anything. I promise, I won't - please just don't. Please..."

Dave could ignore this dickweed to a point, but when he got to barking threats at some unarmed girl who looked like she was pissing herself, and acting like he's completely oblivious to the loudest fucking person here, it's time for an intervention. Glancing around the group, Dave struggled to his feet. Someone had to take the initiative and tell him to piss off.

"Fuck it," He shook his head. "Don't worry, this shouldn't take too long."

Dave slowly approached, trying to hide the pain in his knees, and his back, and his hands... He was hurting right now, but If he looked like he was weak, the guy probably would try something and whatever it was, with Dave in the state he was in, he'd probably succeed, too.

"Listen, alright?" Dave put his hand in his pocket, grabbed the handle of his knife. He wasn't sure if the dickweed had seen him take it out earlier. Dave hoped he hadn't, really. He wasn't entirely sure why, though. He was sure he'd think up a good reason somewhere down the line. "In case you didn't hear my lady friend earlier, and that's seeming pretty fucking likely right now, considering you must not have heard us the first time we told you to piss off, we don't want you here, alright?"

"We didn't fucking want you here in the first place, when you looked like you might've been an okay guy." Dave took a step back. Easing it off a bit. He figured he'd been a little too harsh there, even for him. "Now what? You're off fucking threatening the first fucking person who walks up to you? Where the fuck will that get you?"

Another step back. Changed his focus of attention. He looked at the girl. Couldn't remember her, if he was honest. Figured out what he was gonna say to her, some kind of apology for Dickweed's actions. He'd deal with him first, though.

"Oh and," He added as an aside. "Before you call bullshit on that last part, you were the second person to walk up to us. Just saying."

Things were starting to escalate again. Who knew if this new guy was the type to be easily set off. He had a tire iron and that was not something she really wanted to mess with. She could feel shades of their shouting matches with Roland in the current situation.

"Dial it back, guys," she said. "Yeah, he couldn't take a hint but I don't think he really wants to do any damage here. That just makes him....annoying. Not dangerous."

Another round of mediations.

Some sort of noise came from the bushes like whispers. Isabel narrowed her eyes to try and see who it was. It looked like a girl. A small, dirty girl.

"And guy, put the tire iron down. This is a happy place. I don't think she's going to give us trouble. "

The girl was on her knees, nearly hysterical. Isabel went to her bag and pulled out a bottle of water. All of hers were full since they refilled back at a river they had found during their hike. She got onto her hands and knees and crawled towards her, though stopped a good ten feet away. Isabel took the bottle and rolled it towards the girl.

"Here. I know we might seem like jerks, but we're mostly not. Mostly," she said trying to figure out how much of that exactly was truth.

Hopefully she won't call me on it later.


She looked to be in pretty bad shape. Though maybe she was just in bad shape compared to the last few people who had wandered up. What counted as being in bad shape in this game?

"What happened to you?" she wondered aloud.

Tyler looked at the bushes, and then looked back at the group. "I heard someone in there. I think." Beat. "I'm not tryin' to hurt you, but I want to know..." And then the barrage of abuse comes from all sides. Tyler's temper slowly simmers.

These guys are idiots. Assuming I didn't have a gun...which I don't...I'd hide in the bushes to ambush someone else.

Partly lowering the tire iron, Tyler barked at the bushes. "Come out, hands up. Don't try any funny business." No, he didn't sound like some cop on Law and Order or Dragnet or anything like that, did he? Not at all! He did, however, back up a few feet to give the girl some room to emerge out of range of him...

Probably not the best move, but I don't care to get a mob at my back, either.

"Nothing personal...there are enough ambushes to go around without me letting another one happen, you know?" And with that, Tyler forces a smile for a second. "I just don't want to die, y'know?"

Turning to the others, Tyler looks at them with a deep glare. "Ok, she's harmless, I assume. But...do you guys not get that half of the people on the island are out to kill you?" He asks this with a tone implying that they were born yesterday, while pivoting to make sure he has an escape route. "I've already had a gun pulled on me..." You idiots.

Yes, viewers, Tyler Franklin is looking for a way out of this situation, but he's also not about to turn and run.

Despite the sudden flurry of activity and excitement, Helen yawned. There were two mains reasons people yawned, they were bored or they were tired. She suspected hers was the second of the two. It was late in the day, she'd barely slept the night before seeing as she'd been alone in the woods and suspicious that someone would come and stab her while she slept.

Charlie and Dave were doing a pretty good job of putting into words what she wanted to say but couldn't quite muster up the articulation to. At the same time, Isabel was trying to tone things back, something she also agreed with, she was already starting to feel at home with these people and she'd been with them for all of half an hour or so. Currently the situation had a strange comedic air to it, Tyler brandishing a tire iron as a girl who was hiding terrified behind a bush, apparently too scared to come out, not that Helen could blame her. If she were on that side of the tree she'd be scared too.

"Actually," Helen said mildly to Tyler, immediately wishing she hadn't, though, as she was woried he might turn that tire iron on her for talking back to him. He didn't look entirely stable. Also, she didn't like his tone. Implying that they were stupid or something? She was going to study pre-med at Stanford! Then she was going to study medicine and be a doctor. No you aren't. You don't have a chance in hell. No, shut up brain. She was fairly certain that she was more intelligent than him, and yet he dared to talk down to her? Be calm. Be calm. Kill them with kindness. "I haven't met anyone so far that has tried to kill me. I think you'll find that this early on most people aren't actually on a wild, gun swinging rampage. And you'll find that ordering people about," she indicated the bushes, "will generally turn people against you. And those people are more likely to kill you." Did that sound like a threat? Helen had always found that if she threatened someone they laughed in her face, so this would be interesting.

She blushed slightly, not used to talking for quite so long at once, and looked down, picking at the grass.

You suck, Helen. You suck because you introduced yourself in a way that made Charlie temporarily doubt that she could get along with you. Made her doubt that she'd grow to really really like you, doubt that you'd ever say something that would make her sincerely grin from ear to ear. And you just did those things, Helen. You just shut down that aggressive retard without even breaking a sweat, and now Charlie just wants to give you the biggest hug in the world. If you were this awesome all along, Helen... well why didn't you just say so???

But this wasn't quite over yet, so the great big hug would have to wait. The asshole with the tire iron was still there, and he looked like he didn't even realize yet that he was retarded. So there was still work to be done. But maybe... just maybe, Charlie should try something other than suggestions on how the asshole ought to jack off. Helen had just done it, right? There were other ways to play this game. Better ways, maybe. Ways like this:

"She's right, you know. And I mean... we get that this island is scary, and that we got a shitload of scary people on it." So don't go treating us like idiots because we have a basic sense of human compassion, mmmkaaaaay? "Hell, on my first day here a girl tried to murder me. With a hammer. In the face." Tapped her nose with a finger, pointing out the specific target of the attempted murder. "And then a guy shot at me right after that. And Dave and Isabel? They both saw a guy get killed by a chainsaw. Right in front of them. So don't try and lecture us on how the island is dangerous. We know."

Deep breath now. "That said... if it takes you this fucking long to realize that this poor girl over here's not a threat? If it takes you shouting at her and brandishing your tire iron and interrogating her while she's fucking crying, while she's fucking terrified of you? Then I don't know what I can do for you. I don't know what anyone can. If you're gonna be that goddamn paranoid, you might as well just lock yourself in a shack and avoid human contact for the rest of your days. Spare everyone the trouble of cleaning up after you when you get this overzealous."

Ugh, not that helping the scared girl out was trouble, it wasn't a burden or... God damn this stupid fucker making her say things like that and... Charlie let out a deep sigh. "I think you maybe just ought to go, big guy."

Fucking exhausting, to deal with that pathetic little shit. And, well... if yawns were any indication, Helen found the whole thing exhausting too. There, that was two of them who clearly wanted to go to sleep, so the motion clearly passed... because... Isabel clearly got... half a vote. Little sniffle, little yawn. Yeah. Sleep sounded good. Getting back on something approaching a reasonable sleep schedule sounded good. So it was time to take decisive action.

"Alright guys, I dunno about you but I'm all tuckered out. Nose goes to determine first watch!" Charlie put her finger on her nose before she was even finished talking. She kicked ass at Nose Goes. "You can stay the night with us if you want and we'll look out for you, uh... sorry don't actually know what your name is, hi, I'm Charlie, nice to meet you!" This was addressed to poor scared girl, of course, because the asshole with the tire iron got a resounding, "You can't stay. Fuck off or me and Isabel will beat you to death while Dave lays down a sick rap about us beating you to death."

And all of a sudden Charlie was lying curled up exactly where she'd just been standing, her daypack as a pillow. "G'night, folks! Fuck you if you wake me up, but otherwise sweet dreams to everybody!"

When the tire iron didn't immediately come arching down at her head, Winnie risked a look upwards. The boy who was threatening her seemed occupied by shouting at the other group, although he remained in a threatening stance. Most of the group seemed occupied by shouting at the guy, so that was okay. And then there was a girl, crawling towards her. Winnie flinched backwards before she could help herself, instinctively drawing up a hand to cover her face before she realizes that the girl wasn't brandishing a weapon. Instead, she held...a water bottle?

Oh merciful God in Heaven, please let it be...

Her prayers were answered as the water bottle rolled towards her, fetching up against her knee with a dull thud. It was full. Winnie barely noticed the girl speaking as she frantically clawed at the top, half-unscrewing, half-pulling it off and gulping at the sweet lifegiving fluid that spilled out. It coursed down both sides of her mouth and splattered unattractively on the T-shirt she wore over the tattered remains of her dress, highlighting the smudges of red blood that had leaked through. She didn't care. It was so good, so good, like nothing she'd ever had before. Perfect. All she wanted to do was drink, but too soon the bottle was empty, a good half of it spilled on the ground.

Suddenly embarrassed, she dipped her head, scratching briefly at the ground as though she could gather the water back up and place it into the bottle. Replacing the lid, she tucked it under her arm and, with another wary look at the boy with the tire iron (who seemed to be now ignoring her) she slunk away from him, taking a circuitous route closer to the girl who had offered the water.

She couldn't quite remember her name. Winnie knew her, but names and faces blurred, now, after three days of this hell. She extended the bottle in a shaking hand, several nails ripped to the quick, liberally spattered with dirt, and dropped it next to the girl instead of passing it over. Another quick look around, darting, like a bird, and she shuffled a couple of feet closer to the one who swore a lot.

That name she knew. Charlie. Yes. With the funny last name. Charlie was sleeping, and oh, but that sounded good to Winnie. She hurt, a slow, building ache in her body centered in the white-hot line down the front of her body. The wound had seemed to be healing, but now it pulsed, pain arching out from it. The water sloshed in her stomach, and she was suddenly very tired. But she couldn't sleep here. Not safe. Nowhere was safe...

The ground seemed very close, and very soft. They had protected her from the boy with the tire iron. Maybe they wouldn't hurt her. It would be better to leave, but when she tried to take a step the ground came up to meet her, and lying there seemed to be the most comfortable thing in the world.

Perhaps just one night of sleep. And everything would seem better. Maybe she would wake up and this would all be a nightmare.

Just a little sleep.

Yes.

Sprawled on the ground, she made one abortive effort to curl up a little further, guarding her chest. As her eyes fluttered shut, her lips moved, not quite whispering but not quite mouthing the familiar words.

Now I lay me down to sleep...

Dave backed off, letting the others do the shouting for him. There wasn't really that much that he could say that the others hadn't already said better than he could. He kept walking, getting back to the group and sitting down. Yawned. Tired. Charlie had just crashed down out of nowhere, and the other girl had walked over and seemingly followed. Dave figured he'd be joining them soon.

It was really getting kind of cold.

Dave unzipped his bag, pulling out a dark grey jacket which he quickly pulled on over his shirt. He looked at the girl, now asleep next to Charlie. He honestly felt sorry for her, having to put up with that shit from dickweed. He really did. God, was she cold? Everyone else was wearing at least reasonable clothing, but... she was wearing what amounted to a T-Shirt. Dave rummaged through his things, eventually pulling out a large sweater. Far too big for him. One of his brothers's, he figured, that had gotten mixed up when he was packing. He draped it over the girl, trying to avoid covering her head or waking her up. She'd thank him later when she woke up. Well, that or thrash about, scream, and kick him into next Tuesday. He wasn't all that sure, if he was honest about it.

"Right, Yeah," He said, he'd gotten a bit carried away. He looked back towards dickweed, shaking his head. "Dickwad, fuck you, the rest of us are hitting the sack."

Dave sunk his head down into his bag, ready to go to sleep, but then he remembered something. Sat back up.

"Oh, Dickwad?" Dave pointed at him."I swear to God if you steal one fucking thing from any of us I am hunting you the fuck down, okay?" He pointed towards dickwad. "Got that? Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"Oh, and Izzy," Dave looked over to her. "Guess you're on first watch."

And with that, Dave closed his eyes and tried to get to sleep.

---

David T. Morrison was awake now; Which was to say that his eyes were open, his brain was currently functioning, and he was in control of his actions. This was paramount to his survival in this hostile environment. This hostile environment being the gigantic pirate ship suspended in the sky by a gigantic nylon fibre rope; Constructed from an amassment of many nylon fibres. David T. Morrison was the dashing rogue, here to save the day.


Oh.


This wasn't good at all.


A dagger clentched betwixt his teeth, David T. Morrison swung across the pirate ship from a convieniently placed second nylon fibre rope. Juanita Bandita had Charlotte DuClare and Helen held hostage, Dave knew it. He was going to save them. He was going to save them from Juanita Bandita and her sombrero. He'd heard the stories; Forged from the distended belly of a starving hobo clown. They didn't scare him. he was still going to save them from Juanita Bandita. That was what he was going to do.

Suddenly, though, before he could reach the bandita, he was caught by a torrent of wind, a flurry enough to knock him off of his nylon fibre rope, to knock him off the side of the boat entirely.


And just like that, he was falling.


Falling fucking sucked.

---

Suddenly, Dave opened his eyes. Great, now he had a fucking headache to go with the rest of the shit he was putting up with. Dave looked over his bags. Shit seemed to all be there, so he assumed that was the same for the rest of their stuff. Blurry vision, couldn't see who was up yet. Dave wiped his eyes. That was better.

"Right, then." Dave shook himself awake, before cracking his knuckles individually. "Where the fuck are we headed?"

He heard the rest of them say their piece and shrugged. He was fine wherever, really. He just got to his feet, threw his bags back on, and started walking.

((Dave Morrison, continued in Faraday's Cages.))

It seemed the others had summed everything up pretty well. Brandishing a tire iron wasn't how one typically made friends and could this guy please kindly leave without taking anything on the way out? The scared girl scampered over and Charlie declared that was that and went to sleep. The other girl seemed to pass dead out next to her and Dave along as well, after tossing a warning at Tyler and, of course, giving her first watch.

"Fine," she muttered.

----------------------------------

Isabel was dizzy. She couldn't see straight. She wobbled until she sat down and put her face in her hands. The smell. She pulled her head back and noticed her hands were covered in blood. Not only that, her shirt was soaked in it. Her skirt, her legs, and her shoes were all electrified in red. Bits of her hair were crunchy and stiff, coated in blood. Isabel tried to speak but no sound came out. The only sound was the high pitched buzzing of an empty room. Suddenly the silence was broken by a boy sitting next to her.

"I see your reasons," he said finally. "In the end, you simply did what you simply had to do to survive. It's as plain as that. You were able to do that, which was how you managed to come this far. You wanted to survive, and I can understand that. But it doesn't change all that you've done. People have died by your hand. One with cold blood, even."

He nodded at something behind her. She turned to look over her shoulder and saw a boy pinned to a tree, dead.

"The way I see it... justice needs to be done."

He didn't seem to be talking to her. It was like he was looking through her rather than at her. It was like she was staring at someone on TV.

What is this? What is he talking about?

And then he looked at her. Not like before, he was really looking at her now. His glasses shined when he moved his head to face her.

"She's a killer. She doesn't deserve to live. You'll see. Justice will be served."
-----------------

Her eyes fluttered open. There was just a bit of light peaking out in the sky which of course meant-

" Ladies and gentlemen..."

Of course, him again. With more good news no doubt. She sat up slowly and stretched, but stopped when she heard Hayley's name for the second time in as many days. Her mind was just beginning to try and figure out the likelihood of two accidental kills when she heard the name "Simon Fletcher."

Simon. Simon's dead. No. Why is he dead? He can't be dead. Simon.

They were both in Alex's house. She was uncomfortable and she was wearing that stupid yellow dress but he was so sweet and he was so nice. He seemed to be uncomfortable just like her. Immediately, she liked him.

"You're in my English class. We're both not big talkers in that class. But you seem like a nice guy....."

"Don't worry, it's fine. You're right about me not being a huge talker; I barely know much about some of the people in my class. That dress looks nice on you."

Her vision got blurry. She tried to distract herself by digging her nails into her palms but it wasn't working this time.

"It's not mine. I mean, thanks."

She was awkward, but he didn't mind. She smiled at him and he smiled at her.

The floodgates broke, she couldn't hold it back anymore and water splashed on her arm. Isabel pulled her knees towards her chest. Her hair fell forward and made a curtain that hid her face from the others. She tried to hold her breath, but the shuddering didn't stop. When she finally opened her mouth her lungs took a sharp breath all on their own. The exhale came out shaky. She tried to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand and pushed her hair back. Isabel heard Dave get up and stood up as well, seeing as it was his intention to get moving. She sniffed and the tears started coming down again.

"Where the fuck are we headed?"

"I don't care," she said, trying yet again and this time failing terribly to keep her voice even. "Do whatever you want. You do anyway. I don't care anymore."

And with that, she walked.

((Isabel Guerra continued in Faraday's Cages))

Waking up is supposed to be a good sort of thing a happy sort of thing where today doesn't have any problems yet and you've squared away all of yesterday's I mean for fuck's sake you squared them all away and the girl was safe and the asshole was going leaving gone and everyone was all friends I mean everyone is all friends because they'd just solved a problem as a team they'd just helped that poor girl out as a team and all the problems were gone they had to be gone they just had to be gone.

Then there is the waking up. And there is Dave who says fuck within a minute of waking up- so this is good, this is normal, Charlie is used to this and finds this endearing- and then there is Isabel. Who is on the verge of tears. Who is betrayed, who is broken. Who doesn't... who suddenly doesn't like Dave and Charlie as much, looks like.

Within two minutes of waking up, there is a problem. This scares Charlie. This scares her because you cannot solve this problem yelling at it or joking at it. You cannot solve this problem by threatening to beat it to death while rap music plays in the background. And so all of a sudden Charlie DuClare is quite useless. Yesterday was good, yesterday was so good, but yesterday is over and Charlie's good moment is over and all of a sudden she actually has to deal with the fact that she's on an island packed to the brim with murder.

Those friends of hers, who were so cool and who she was so so so glad she'd met? They had other friends too. Some of those other friends were dying. Some were killing. And it was just gonna keep happening. And there was no way in hell that Charlie was gonna be able to figure out what to do about that, what to even say to something like that, so it was just gonna keep happening and it would never get better and it would just get worse and worse and-

And it could happen to you. And it will happen to you.

So there were those thoughts. Same as always, maybe, but just a bit scarier than they'd ever been before. Daring Charlie- just daring her- to run away from them. Same as always. Well, well, y'know what? Fuck you. I'm not gonna run away. I'm gonna... gonna...

"Well, we could... mmm... oh, I got it! We probably ought to go... wash up, or- uh, just get ourselves clean in the river a bit. We've been walking around a few days now with all this dirt on us and I'm sure we'll feel-" don't say good, don't say good, you have no right to tell Isabel when she'll feel good again- "a little better after we wash up. Okay? Um." A few seconds of pause. Say something. "Everyone's invited! And we can.. relax. And decide what we wanna do next. And everyone- everyone gets a voice in what we do next, yeah? Everyone- ugh, fuck it, we'll figure it out when we get there."

That did not count as running away. No, no, there was no way that counted as running away, so don't even try to tell Charlie it did. They were off, right, and they were going to make it to the river and things would be better, things could start to get better again. And she just had to wait for the moment, wait for the specific moment where it'd be okay to put a hand on Isabel's shoulder and ask her very gently Do you wanna talk about it?

A little part of her wondered if that moment was ever actually going to come.

((Charlie DuClare continued in Faraday's Cages))

Sleeping was, Helen was starting to feel, the best bit about being on the island. Usually, she found sleep frustrating, a time that was better spent doing other things, but now, the more she slept, the less she had to think about what was happening. Also, if she was killed in her sleep, well she felt that that was the best way to go. Quick and painlessly. Still, it took her a while to drift off, her head resting on her duffel bag and a hoody as a blanket. Memories of the kid and his tyre iron were flittering through her head, she could see it now, it crashing down upon her with sheer force... that would not be a painless way to kick the bucket. She watched the scared girl for a bit, looking peaceful at last, and Helen was grateful when Dave covered her up.

Waking up was one of the worst things about being on the island. Naturally, one's friends getting killed, one's friends becoming killers, and facing psychos with tyre irons were worse, but that slow realisation that actually you weren't at camp, but on an island full of crazies, that was a pretty crap way to start any day. Especially when the usual wake up call was that voice. Those words. That list of the dead and the ones that did it. It was sickening. Helen sat up stiffly, stretching out her back and reaching for a bottle of water in her pillow bag, realising that the glow sticks had been digging into her back all night. She still hadn't come up with a good way to kill anyone with glow sticks, and the resentment at having drawn such a crap weapon came back all over again.

Everyone else was starting to move. Isabel was upset, Helen looked at Charlie; she'd only known her for a very short while, less than twelve hours if her watch was indeed still keeping correct time. She wouldn't know what to say, knew nothing about her, knew nothing of what she might have been through already. Current suspicion was that the announcement had something to do with it. Helen was very acutely aware that her experiences on the island so far had been very mild in comparison to most, and she had no idea what a lot of people were going through. At least you know that you're ignorant in terms of life experience. Surely that's gotta count for something?

It unnerved her that they had no plan, and yet still they all stood up and walked. Perhaps this was the way to do it? To walk without aim? It had kept her alive for more than three days now after all, wandering aimlessly. She scrambled to her feet, realising in the process that she was beginning a muggy headache from sleeping on the ground and not for long enough, and she attempted to start walking and root around in her bag for paracetamol simultaneously, spilling half the bottle in the process.

"Fuck," she said, hoarsely, the first word she had spoken all day. She stopped, and down two tablets quickly, jogging to catch up with the others. "Right! Lets see where it takes us! I'm up for that!" she said as brightly as she could catching up to them.

((Helen Wilson continued in Faraday's Cages))

"That said... if it takes you this fucking long to realize that this poor girl over here's not a threat? If it takes you shouting at her and brandishing your tire iron and interrogating her while she's fucking crying, while she's fucking terrified of you? Then I don't know what I can do for you. I don't know what anyone can. If you're gonna be that goddamn paranoid, you might as well just lock yourself in a shack and avoid human contact for the rest of your days. Spare everyone the trouble of cleaning up after you when you get this overzealous."

"It's not my fault that half of the time when I run into people, someone is trying to kill someone!" So I'm paranoid? Isn't that half of the point of this friggin' exercise?

Tyler stood there for a few more moments, taking the bits of abuse that were thrown at him. And then... "Harumph!"

Shit. Did I just say that? Really?

Backing away from the group, he let out a deep sigh. "Look, maybe I'll see you again somewhere we're not supposed to kill eachother and we can try this again..." Not that he'd know either way, but... "Good luck." There was a glare in his eyes, somewhere between angry and irritated, as Tyler turned to leave. "Some of you will need a lot of it."

((OOC: Tyler Franklin continued in Just a Kid, Napping))