Dress For Success

[MurderWeasel]

Before the pull could fully evolve into a snap, the others reached their limits. Julien hoisted himself up and limped towards Valerija, steps slow, maybe painful. The gun was steady in the other girl's hands. This was the endgame of their little meeting, brought about by a lack of patience or maybe a growing realization that the status quo would never change unless one side or the other shattered it into pieces.

There were three possible outcomes Juliette could see from this point. The first, and least likely, was that Valerija stood down and Julien had nothing extreme in mind. In this imaginary world, he'd had enough and she'd given up and he would hobble right on past her and vanish into the darkness, and then—dwelling as they already were in the land of fantasy, she'd allow herself some more improbable lucky breaks—Valerija too would wander off and Juliette would be alone to get her things in order and depart.

More probably, someone was about to die or be severely injured. Valerija pulling the trigger to punctuate a final retort seemed the more likely progression. Julien had little room to dodge or maneuver, and while he might be exaggerating his agonized mobility (Juliette knew better than to take any overt display of weakness at pure face value) he was still moving straight towards a gun. But if she somehow missed, or if she couldn't or wouldn't pull the trigger, then when Julien was within striking distance he could well put a punctuation mark of his own to this whole affair.

For having been here almost a week, Juliette had seen a lot less violence than most of her peers, she suspected. She had come across a single body: Ariana, still relatively fresh. Assuming, of course, one didn't count Dante or Drew, but a walking corpse still made a pretense of life. It wasn't the same. She had not seen anyone get badly hurt in front of her. She imagined it now, visualized the splash of blood, splintering bone, organs leaking through gashes in flesh. It was hard to do. Her mental images were childish cartoons. She couldn't conceive of how it might smell.

She made herself think she'd be okay finding out.

"Wait."

Her voice was not as loud as she'd intended. It was clear, though, properly enunciated. It gained strength and confidence with each word.

"We may be at an impasse, but none of us are the greatest enemy to the others' plans."

She took a step closer, too, but aimed at the point between the others—not actually coming between them, she wasn't that stupid, but flirting with the imagery. It was the thought that counted. Her arms were uncrossed now, held forward and down, palms out.

"Why don't we call this a wash and go our separate ways?"

[Endellion]

"I would be happy to accept that, Juliette," he told a little white lie, "if Valerija would. But that seems unlikely to be the case with the way things have been going so far, though I wouldn't complain about being proven wrong." Julien did come to a stop, more as a show of faith for the person who would clearly rather be anywhere else and yet was still trying to mediate than anything else.

[Kermit]

Val idly shifted her weight onto her uninjured leg.

"Perhaps you trying to walk away is the only way for you to know if I'm willing to let you walk away. Go ahead," she paused, "prove yourself right or wrong, Julien."

[MurderWeasel]

Again, Juliette did not sigh.

Really, her reentry into the discussion could have landed a whole lot worse. While she may not have garnered quite the acknowledgment she'd hoped for, the others had slowed their headlong hurtle towards actual physical violence. Nobody was dead yet. Better, the gun hadn't meandered its way over in the direction of Juliette. That was good both on a purely selfish level (as she didn't want to get shot) and in terms of what it meant for their collective future prospects—whatever the extent of Valerija's irrationality and impulsiveness, she was smart and lucid enough to realize that taking her gun off Julien would invite significantly more disaster than leaving Juliette unguarded.

Another two relaxed steps brought Juliette a few degrees of a semicircle around the imaginary fulcrum between the others. She wasn't particularly gaining or losing ground on Valerija, and she certainly wasn't putting herself in the line of fire, but she was inching her way in the direction of the rocks, the better to facilitate a grab-and-run if it came to that. But it really didn't have to.

"Julien's welcome to test you if he wants to," Juliette said. "I mean, you two do what you want. But otherwise, I'd be willing to offer another option."

There was a really good chance this was going to get messy in a moment, so Juliette made sure her feet were on the most solid ground she could find. Her heart was beating faster, even as she did her best to stay calm and conversational as always.

"I traveled with Julien for a while a few days ago. We got... separated, but while we were together he didn't cause any trouble. You know I'm not interested in violence. Leave him with me, let me get my stuff together, and we'll get out of your hair. I'll keep him in line, take responsibility. I promise."

[Endellion]

"Collars are bring-your-own, Juliette, just as an aside," Julien said, rolling his eyes even as he couldn't help but smile. Really, she had quite some nerve to say such a thing about somebody she knew had killed people before; she was still alive though, so clearly the silver hadn't all worn off her tongue, assuming she'd come across any others like himself.

He smoothed out his trousers, taking pains to be careful in exactly how he did it. "As for that, Valerija, ah, how to say it... You've already let your mouth do too much of the talking, is the best way I can think of. Crutches are only good until they can't hold you up any more."

[Kermit]

"Yet both of us could use a set of crutches, yes? Literal and figurative."

She glanced at Juliette's feet, briefly, before looking back to Julien. "...Tell me Juliette, do you think Julien and I are having an argument over philosophy, politics, or ideology?" she asked.

She winked at the boy, using the eye furthest away from Juliette's position.

[MurderWeasel]

Juliette smiled fully and genuinely now.

"None of those, of course," she said.

She felt the pieces slipping, tumbling, falling into shape and building towards a wrong choice. It was a feeling she was quite familiar with, one which built up and squeezed inside her all the time back in Tennessee, but one which she had become exceptionally skilled at dealing with. She'd push it away, tuck it into bed and let it sleep, promise it soon, soon, but it was always jam tomorrow. She only ever let it out when she was entirely alone.

The stories she told herself to make it easier had worked in part because they always felt true. The most horrible of her classmates would never amount to much. Burnouts and dropouts, destined for menial work or unfulfilling marriages, clearly cruising straight for STDs and criminal records and trailer parks and, most insidiously, settling. Juliette hadn't wanted a life that was alright, or good enough. Others saw that, and it threatened them, played to their insecurities and led them to try to tear her down because building themselves up would require far more effort, but all she had to do was be better. When the reward would be great, that was easy.

It was not so easy now. Listen here, she wanted to say, call it whatever you want, you're fighting about—no, for—control. Each of you wants to push the other around and be acknowledged as the dominant one, because then no matter how bad your situation, at least there's some sorry sap crushed a little further into the mud. It was old political theory, the lowest white man and so forth, and frankly unbecoming. But even though all of that was true, even though the whispers and pressure cheerfully reminded her that there was no future career to be torpedoed by footage of her failing to take the high road, even as her evolving understanding promised her that whatever Valerija was doing it wasn't pulling the trigger, even as the venomous words laid themselves out in her mind, she shrugged and said nothing further, taking another half step towards her belongings.

She'd let go, with Quinn as audience. It had been just this sort of outlet, a facade shattered in a deluge of self-expression, but the situations were worlds apart. There, she had opened the dams not just because there was nothing apparent to lose, but because she had something she thought she could gain. Here, now? Her smug qualifier was the latitude she allowed herself.

For now.

[Endellion]

"Such is the way, of course."

This sort of game had lost its luster the moment he'd wound up here, truthfully. He would have played it more readily in the first few days, but now it seemed mostly the affair of those who'd fallen under the wistful spell of self-delusion. If it was what Valerija wished to play at, then that was her choice; the risks of drawing a losing hand were hers to court, after all, and not his to worry about.

"Right... One way or another, I'll be on my way." Julien shifted his bags into a more comfortable arrangement as he walked away from the moonlit riverside, soon disappearing into the darkness once again.

"The best of luck to both of you, whatever you do."

[ Julien Leblanc concluded elsewhere. ]

[Kermit]

Val scoffed, then lowered the gun completely, staring bewildered at the boy's retreating back.

"I believe that constitutes as walking away, mm?" she asked, glancing at Juliette. Then, generally disregarding Juliette's existence, she shrugged and limped off in the opposite direction of the way Julien was going.

((Valerija Bogdanovic continued elsewhere))

[MurderWeasel]

Like that, Juliette was alone.

It wasn't what she'd wanted. She thought that might have surprised both of her erstwhile companions. This was the second best situation, but by a notable margin. She'd hoped to shuffle Valerija off on her own, to be left once more with only Julien as company. That had, after all, been the purpose of her offer to become his steward.

Juliette had never been neutral, despite every effort to give appearances to the contrary. No, her lot had been cast with Julien. Had they taken her up on her promises, had Valerija in some fashion offered her custody of the boy, it would have lasted no longer than it took to make sure they were no longer observed, at which point his fate and decisions would have been his own. Juliette was neither jailer nor morality police. She shifted stances as needed in each moment, but wore none with conviction.

It wasn't even a case of picking the devil she knew. Julien had been a good companion before and intriguing company again. Valerija had proven a pretentious irritation. There was a certain pleasure to be found in the simple idea of subverting her schemes just for the sake of thwarting her.

The faint breeze raised the hair at the back of Juliette's neck, and ran over her now-hairless legs. She rubbed her temples with her right hand for five seconds, eyes closed, letting the tension and fear and boiling aggravation dissipate to the extent that they would. She could still hear the receding rustle of movement as the others made their respective ways through the foliage, but already the sounds of nature were rising to swallow that up. Frogs and bugs and crashing water pressed in and promised Juliette that true solitude was coming.

Still, it wasn't too late to take off in pursuit. Valerija hadn't followed Julien. It would be the work of moments to chase after him, to perhaps call out and slow him down and offer to rekindle the partnership they'd established. Or, if not that...

Juliette hiked the side of her towel dress up above her hip and unhooked the razor from the band of her underwear, flipping it open and letting the distant light of moon and stars play over the blade. It had to be a little duller than before she'd used it for its intended purpose, but surely it would still slice through skin and muscle if she pushed it. Could she go off in the other direction, pursue Valerija, who did not know that she was armed, tackle the girl to the ground and drag the blade across her throat? Valerija's goal was impractical at this stage, but however fantastical it still represented an attack on Juliette's own ends. More than that, Valerija was unpleasant, lacking in connections, a newly-minted killer. Few would miss her. The gun would be a useful prize.

Shivering, Juliette snapped the razor shut and looked at her garments arrayed on the rocks, then slowly set to work, feeling each to determine which were closest to dry. The faint lingering sounds of other humanity were swallowed up entirely by the night. It was more important to take care of her mental state, to learn from her mistakes and secure one outfit while letting the others finish drying. She'd come this far on the project. No sense in letting it all be for nothing, or even leave her worse off than she'd began.

She dressed herself in the same outfit she'd worn to begin with, found a relatively sheltered place at the base of a tree where the roots spread wide, breaking up from the soil and then plunging back in, and using the towel now as a pillow, she got what rest she could. The next day, she awoke before the announcements, gathered her remaining things—now more clean and dry than anything anyone else had left on the island, most likely—and moved on.

((Juliette Sargent continued in "That's all there is to it."))