Dress For Success

[Grand Moff Hissa]

This time, Juliette did sigh.

She did not do so audibly. The difference between a shallow sigh and a deep exhalation was fairly academic. Maybe—hopefully—it looked like she was simply calming herself from the nervousness that came naturally from having a gun pointed in her direction. It was better to come off as scared than livid, in this particular situation, given the factors in play. Juliette was rarely externally angry.

Her strongest thought was that she should've been pedantic after all. If she was going to be on the wrong end of the firearm, it would be better to have earned it honestly than to have been singled out over an errant slip of the tongue. There were a number of good reasons that this was one of the worst positions she could be in, chief among them that she trusted herself not to do something foolish and irrational like attempting to subdue Valerija much more than she trusted Julien to exercise the same discretion. With the threat evenly slightly loosened, he might feel free to act unencumbered, and Juliette was more likely to suffer the consequences of any rash decisions of his than she would've been in the previous arrangement.

Her toes feel sticky and wet. Really, she felt more damp than she preferred in general, but especially her feet and her hair. She wished she had a blow dryer, or another towel that she could wrap around her head. She wished she was properly dressed. She wished Valerija wasn't committed to exactly the same stupid, stupid misconception so common among her classmates.

"Valerija," Juliette said, as neutral in tone as she could be, "what do you think I was trying to 'sneakily' convey?"

It was not overly common for Juliette to really truly want to cut somebody down verbally. Oh, the impulse sprung up often enough, but there was a difference between idle fantasy and a genuine urge to cause emotional harm. She was feeling it now, though, that very specific righteous indignation that came from realizing she was speaking to an abject idiot who believed they were the intellectual superior. Go back to the kiddie pool, Juliette wanted to say, you're in over your head. But she didn't.

The rules of this engagement were simple: disagreement with Valerija was not allowed at this time. They were telling a story together, and it was the story of Valerija convincing Julien and Juliette of the truth and wisdom and righteousness of her ridiculous plan. This was complicated by the fact that Julien and Valerija apparently had history which was an unknown factor to her, and by the fact that Valerija didn't want the story to be an easy victory. She wanted to work for it, so Juliette would have to give her that: enough of a challenge to feel accomplished, but not enough that she might grow frustrated.

She really, really hoped Julien wasn't going to do something impulsive.

"I'm afraid we may be misunderstanding each other."

[Endellion]

"You aren't the only person I'm talking to though, are you now?" If it wasn't something that could be said in kind, Julien would have thought it a little too dismissive; but that wasn't the case, and he had enough suppositions to worry about as it was. "And who says it's restraint anyway?" he asked. "The closest thing to a point by now has to be to prove that life goes on and people just don't care that much about most anyone else in the end, if there even is a point. There have never been any demands, Valerija. This is all there is."

He wasn't exactly alarmed by the gun being pointed at Juliette, though it did get him to sit up some. She clearly felt she could look after herself, yes, but a little concern wouldn't go amiss.

"There's never been any evidence of such a conclusion to back your point up either, and I'd like to think inference counts for more than completely baseless assumption. And... there is one more thing. What do you think affords you the right to judge someone else for wanting to live when you want exactly the same thing? See, this isn't the first time I've gone over this; yes, I killed Ashlynn. But she understood that making the point she was trying to could get her killed, I'll give her that. All you have talked about so far, on the other hand, is leaving this place alive. A few days is a long time here, and it's so very fucking easy to fall if something gives you just a little push."

[Kermit]

Val gave Juliette a simple wink, before turning her attention over to Julien.

"Was that a threat, Julien?" she swung the gun's aim to him. "You remember Camille, yes? She gave you cigarettes," she paused, "This is her gun. I killed her for it. Don't make threats you can't back up," a microexpression of a grin slipped in. "You said it yourself; neither of us have any proof to substantiate our claims. We are arguing over hypotheticals. This debate could go on forever, and neither side would ever get close to proving their conclusion, as long as the motives of the terrorists remain unstated. What I've been getting at is," she paused and pursed her lips, "a no-kill conclusion would force the terrorists into giving away the most important parts of their motive. It would force them to get to the point."

[Grand Moff Hissa]

Call that winning, of a sort.

Julien had very much done something impulsive. Fortunately, it wasn't hurling himself at Valerija while the gun was still pointed in Juliette's direction. Unfortunately, it was missing the point of the interaction entirely and continuing to spar with her about the ideals at play and their potential paths to their endpoints, as if this was a good faith exchange of perspectives and not a forced conversion.

He accused Valerija of being a liar—or at least intellectually dishonest—and focusing on survival even as she preached noble, self-sacrificing altruism. This was probably a fair critique, but not a constructive one. A unifying trait among ideological hypocrites was a strong detestation for having their hypocrisies pointed out. And besides, Valerija had not betrayed her ideals yet. That would come later, as the opportunity loomed and the clock ran down.

No, killing someone (as she'd apparently done) didn't count as an undercutting of her specific idea of pacifism in Juliette's book. It was poor strategy, perhaps borne of subconscious desire to wrangle advantage in the grander competition, but if the ends were justifying the means then it was important to realize that Valerija's stated goal was to kill everyone. For the greater good, naturally. Starting early and on smaller scale was slightly gauche and emotionally upsetting, nothing more.

Juliette wasn't moving much. That was the smart choice, now; she was out of the line of fire if Julien pushed too far and earned a spray of bullets, and Valerija's attention fixed inevitably on whoever had last done something that could be construed as failing to accept her authority. In her state of mind, anything but blanket acceptance of her premises might be read as rebellion—in fact, Juliette would not be at all surprised if her and Julien both rolling over right this second would still be treated as unacceptable push-back, Valerija interpreting it as sarcasm or an insincere attempt to wrangle their ways out of trouble without tipping their hands (which, credit where it was due, would be precisely what it was).

It was a humid evening. Every breath Juliette took was heavy, full. She could hear the faint calls of some animal life coming from along the banks of the river, little clusters of three rattling chirps followed by an equal space of silence, repeating from a half dozen points. Frogs, she thought, or maybe bugs. She wiggled her toes and tried to steady herself, searching almost for some other promise of intervention, but none came. If she had to, Juliette planned to run for the river and dive in. It would be incredibly risky. She was not a great swimmer, and while there was a decent distance between their spot and the actual ledge, she would still be at high risk of being swept over. To flee that way would be to abandon all her supplies, her clothes, everything. It was to be considered only in the face of certain death. Juliette sighed, kept her gaze on the other two.

Fundamentally, Valerija's biggest problem was an inability to see situations from anybody else's point of view. She could only conceive of forcing the terrorists to tell the world what they wanted. It wasn't hard to figure out at all, though. Juliette didn't plan to join them for no reason. She got it. She understood, and she felt it too. The answer was right here, just waiting for Valerija to ask, but the girl would never in a hundred years think to do so.

[Endellion]

"That's so, hm? Well, good on you, Valerija, you murdered someone who you openly admit did fuck all to deserve it except be inconvenient. I'd give you a medal, but I didn't bring any and you'd have to settle for a participation award anyway." Julien gave her a round of light clapping for applause, good hand against forearm because fuck the alternative. "And yes, I do remember Camille. Thank you for reminding me of that too, actually"—Julien took one of said cigarettes out of a pocket in his slacks, then fished around for the lighter—"because I could use one for this. See, I'm going to present my point a little differently: I've known full well what you've been getting at this entire time and, well..." He blew out a ring of smoke.

He'd amicably refused to play along with this charade before, yes, but now was an entirely different matter.

Juliette had changed tack too, going awfully quiet all of a sudden; not the best idea, though he was certain she wouldn't be asking him. Quiet and noise were two sides of the same coin when it came to drawing attention. She at least had an escape right behind her to dive into if it came to it, dubious as it might be given the very real risk of being dragged over the edge to an otherwise serene embrace turned violent by terminal velocity, if she wasn't simply dashed against the cliff face on the way down.

But that wasn't his concern right now. "We, ah... could indeed go on forever; I would love to keep poking holes in your psyche, don't get me wrong, as much as you've done that all by yourself. But it seems that the biggest problem is that you can't acknowledge the possibility that maybe there is no fucking point to us being put here. Whether that's because you ascribe inflated importance to yourself or you're simply too inflexible to truly grasp what that would mean, I can't really say I care either way."

Julien wasn't blatant about doing it, but he still got ready to put the lovely, sturdy rock he was sitting on directly between himself and Valerija just in case of the steadily rising possibility that he had to.

[Kermit]

"Mmm," Val exhaled and raised an eyebrow, "says you," eyebrow back down. "Julien, that isn't how people work. There is always a point. There is always an agenda. There is always a motive. There are always premises. They don't have to be ideological reasons, but people do things for reasons. We rationalize things. You eat because you have a reason to eat, not because you do not have a reason to eat. The point of the terrorists could be to have fun, or it could be to further an ideological goal, or to put food on the table, or any other motive; no matter what, it is a point. Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, Jarod Canon, Ted Bundy, Juliette and her... whatever she's doing wearing a towel, the mentally ill man on the subway, the idiot yelling 'do it for the meme'; they all have mental processes behind their actions."

She ran her tongue along the surface of the interior-facing side of her upper-left canine tooth.

"Do you have a counterexample?"

[Grand Moff Hissa]

"My clothes were dirty," Juliette said, "and I was willing to trade temporary discomfort for longer-term comfort."

She threw it in like she was a little offended by the offhand remark about her lack of attire, though she wasn't. It was the right angle to play, however; she was quietly supporting Valerija's point without actually explicitly taking a side or inserting herself more pointedly into the ongoing discussion.

For what it was worth, had someone asked her (which nobody did) and had circumstances conspired to allow and incentivize her to safely answer with candor (unlikely), she would have mostly agreed with Valerija's assertion. People did things for reasons; even an attempted lack of rationale was its own goal, born of some motive or other. However, she once again felt the other girl was being pedantic and willfully dense. Julien meant there was no grand overarching global goal, no message or agenda that everything inevitably funneled towards.

Juliette thought he was closer to the money than might be expected.

Asked for her opinion (still so very unlikely), she would have taken a moment to explain the probable history of their captors. They were clearly backed by enormous wealth and shocking resources, but that did not mean those things belonged to them without strings. Quite likely, they were funneled aid and assistance by countless forces with an interest in the world being a more chaotic, dangerous place. There was a decent chance that just as some intelligence communities chased desperately after them, others engaged in perpetual espionage to keep them safe. Their continued survival and success was a constant and obvious black eye for the most powerful nation on earth. Even some ostensible allies might benefit from that. That was why the terrorists got away with it.

Buy why did they do it to begin with? Why did they start, and why did they dedicate their lives to continuing? That was where people veered off course. Juliette would have bet just about anything that, at one point or another, there had been some grand seemingly-noble purpose. There had to be, to get something like this rolling. Revenge for acts of American imperialism, justice for those failed by the system in years past as its failures were laid bare, a proof of the ultimately self-destructive nature of humanity as metaphor and rallying cry to address climate change—something like that. The thing was, it had stopped mattering long ago, likely before the first bodies were cold. Oh, maybe vestiges had survived under the old leadership prior to the much-publicized demise of the original Danya, and perhaps the rumors that there was someone else in the shadows crafting the whole thing had merit, but it was still a distant second, an excuse. There needed to be a little bit of framework to allow them to keep recruiting. Money, spite, and ideals were what would build you an force like this, each inductee requiring a different proportion of each tool. But that still wasn't what it was really about.

It was about control.

The whole world stopped and watched and raged and mourned and searched, every three or four years when the attacks came again. For the duration of the event, the kidnapped students and their captors were without a doubt the most important people in the United States, and probably the majority of the modern western world. The president wished he could command that sort of attention. It had to be intoxicating beyond belief, the ability to do it and get away with it and then start the cycle all over again. It was the ultimate assertion of being, making everyone—everyone—else react to you and your actions. Hopes and dreams and plans fell before you like so much wheat into the thresher, just because you so willed it. Very few concepts in life had appealed to Juliette more.

The air was still, as she stood, lost for just a moment in thought and fantasy. It was muggy, tepid. She wished there was a breeze, would have gladly taken a reason to shiver over the crushing weight of humidity. Her hair was probably almost dry enough by now. It was something.

[Endellion]

"One in particular comes to mind, but that comes later. See, the only thing you've done so far is make the most basic points you possibly can and inflate their true meaning into something deformed. So what if there's always a reason? Reason is malleable, process alike." Julien gestured toward Juliette with a wave of his hand. "I can't claim to know the things going through Juliette's mind right now any more than she could for me, because that isn't how people work."

Another ring of smoke fluttered out into the air. Before, he likely would have felt his skin crawl a little at the barbs he was to use, but he couldn't really bring himself to care about whether it might touch a nerve or not any more. Maybe it'd be enough to nudge her over the edge so she would finally do Julien a favour and fucking shoot him. Better that than to hear about any more of his friends dying before the time they rightly deserved.

"And if you want a counter-example... Srebrenica. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. Is distilled hatred a valid premise, Valerija? Is following the orders of some malevolent master, just following what you've been told to do, or even just wanting to see others die terrified really a mental process? Because if you ask me, I think the answer is quite fucking clear. A great many things cannot be rationalised by the overwhelming majority of people because they can't twist their perceptions to look along the same lines, and so I shall ask you this one thing: why the fuck should I try? "If you want to strive for hollow appeasement of the insane so much, then I respect your choice. But I don't have to indulge the fucking delusion that maybe, just maybe, the people making our friends tear each other apart somehow wanted to preach a message of peace and pacifism all along."

[Kermit]

Val's face didn't move at all.

She exhaled.

"Mm."

She inhaled.

"At least I have an actual point, Julien."

Clicked her tongue.

"All you have are reactions."

Subtly glanced at Juliette, then back at Julien.

"There's a choice to make between following or disobeying orders, and Ted Bundy chose to kill for pleasure. When there's a choice, there's reasoning. Thought processes don't need to be, as you say, 'valid', for them to be real in their consequences. - And, it's disrespectful, to say the least; using genocide as cheap bait."

The Srebrenica Genocide was carried out by Bosnian Serbs on Bosniaks. Val was Croatian. From Croatia. Ethnically, a Croat, though in her mind, describing herself in such a way felt like an uncomfortably nationalistic way to do things. She was not Bosnian. She was not a Bosnian Serb. She was not a Serb. She was not a Bosniak. It wasn't relevant enough to Val's personal history to emotionally hurt her, and, honestly, what made Julien's comment inexcusable was the fact that Croatians had been on both ends of numerous crimes fueled by genocidal nationalism. He could have simply said the word 'Ustaše' and it would have been enough. He could have said 'your father'.

There were so many interesting, unique Eastern European cultures, but to Julien, the difference didn't matter. They were all just generic 'Slav' to him.

She felt the same as she'd felt when Jonathan couldn't even pronounce her name. She didn't show it. Channeled it into righteous indignation.

Fingernails scratched on the barrel of the gun.

"Why 'the fuck' shouldn't you try?"

[Grand Moff Hissa]

This felt like a good moment to remain inconspicuous.

Had Juliette been a more direct participant in the dialogue, she would've been letting her presence simmer down right around now anyways, even if everything was perfectly civil and no guns were involved. She had only the loosest idea what Julien was alluding to with the name "Srebrenica," and even that was partially gleaned from Valerija's retort about genocide. One of the trickier bits of politics was avoiding looking ignorant in front of the masses when you were in fact ignorant regarding the topic at hand. She was pretty sure that was a large part of why so many leaders, from HOA nobodies all the way up to congress and the White House, deflected and dodged even relatively benign questions regularly. It was just good practice to avoid being lured off script. Dan Quayle had misspelled "potato" almost a decade before Juliette's birth, and the gaffe had still resonated enough for her to know of it.

In any event, due to her lacking whatever subcultural points of connection the others shared, Juliette was far behind the curve of the discourse. This combined with its fundamentally meaningless nature—Julien was being provocative and contrarian, and Valerija had at no point been listening to a greater extent than was required to construct a vague concept from someone else's words to bash herself against—to create an interaction with absolutely nothing to offer.

Except, of course, not getting shot.

That was the one piece that didn't quite fit, actually. Valerija claimed to have killed Camille. She was clearly unreasonable and frustrated. She held all the power, yet hesitated to use it. Maybe it was that the dead couldn't appreciate the so-called brilliance of her rhetorical skills. Maybe she was waiting for a suitably climactic moment. Maybe she had some other goal in mind. It wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth; Juliette had a significant interest in keeping the bullets from flying. But she could barely get a word in edgewise, let alone work against whatever it was Julien was so intent on doing.

She shifted around in place a little, moving so her legs were closer together, tucking her arms in against her torso, folded. It wasn't that cold, but the slight breeze was enough to remind her of less balmy nights. The ambient noises of animals and stream continued unabated. The world didn't care about this argument, and didn't understand it any more than Juliette did.

[Endellion]

"I just told you why," Julien said. "And now you're just attacking me personally because even though I followed the vein of the examples you yourself gave, you can't take it just because my choice happens to cut a touch too close to home so you assume I'm trying to hurt you. If you want justification, hypocrisy isn't the best of ways to find it."

She wasn't as good at this as she likely believed she was, going by her actions. And Juliette was silent. Perhaps not such a good idea in hindsight, with the increasing chance that Valerija was a few cards short of a full deck, but such things were hard to tell in the moment. He seemed to be the focus of her frustration at least, so he would work with that.

"If you want to live, which there's more evidence for than against whatever you might say, then you could simply accept that instead of jumping through hoops to try and hide it. Hardly anything wrong with self-preservation in and of itself. I don't agree with what needs to be done for it here, yes, but nobody here is worth more than anybody else and, ah, like I said before one is better than none."

[Kermit]

"...Hm, Juliette, I guess he considers you to be in the same vein as a genocide."

Aaaand they were back to the one survivor versus any other number dichotomy. The current experiment was going nowhere. Val needed to change approach, break the cycle.

She snorted and put on a mocking, over-exaggerated American accent. "Oh my gosh, you guys! My name is Julien Leblanc! Only I am allowed to make personal attacks, silly delusional Valerija! Boo hoo, I am so very, very sad! Why isn't everyone else as sad as me!?!? They must be crazy! How dare you accuse me of not having an actual position!?!? I will now state my position: I believe I am right, so therefore you are wrong! I win the argument because I say so!"

Voice back to normal. "I too can make strawmen," she paused. "If you've stated your position, state it again. I don't see the harm in doing so, especially when all we've been doing is talking in circles. Let's both stop with the logical fallacies and have an actual debate."

She lowered the gun slightly, leaving it pointed in the general direction of Julien's legs.

[Grand Moff Hissa]

Juliette did not particularly want to be drawn back into the exchange, so she let Valerija's aside pass with a shrug. It pulled her attention back, at least, but what she found was not inspiring. The other girl had regressed to juvenile taunts—indeed, her attempt to speak for Julien and set Juliette against him by summarizing or distorting his words was on about that level too—seemingly with an eye towards either provoking an emotional reaction or in some fashion making her point.

At least the gun came down, a little, as Valerija offered the carrot of a tone verging on more reasonable. Juliette didn't trust it one bit. She'd seen this cycle often enough. Even in this interaction it had manifested. The bait was laid, and whoever was foolish enough to reach for it would find their hand snapped up.

Probably that would be Julien, again. Probably it didn't even matter, because if he refused to reply then that would be taken as a forfeit and would probably land even worse. It was the same thing once more, the fabrication of a new reason to be upset, and Juliette was becoming ever more suspicious that the two of them could go back and forth on this all night long.

In any other situation, she would be considering how to slip away right around now, but one particular moment of idiocy (she could admit that now) held her prisoner. Her weapon was hooked into her panties still, out of sight. Her bag was stashed off to the side, partially concealed, potentially recoverable as part of a sprint into the underbrush. If she didn't get shot immediately (which she hopefully wouldn't because as best she knew Valerija didn't know how to shoot and the girl would have to whip around and bring up her weapon and that was a whole process), then the cover would make further attacks largely futile, leaving her free with her remaining provisions. But all of Juliette's clothes were arrayed on the rocks back over near Julien, every single scrap to her name besides the underwear and towel serving as her current garment and the sandals on her feet. It just was not worth spending the next however many days so poorly equipped. She should have washed in shifts. Should have left one set of clothes in her bag. Being confined to one actual outfit would be stifling, yes, but livable.

Juliette's hands traced up and down her arms, rubbing above her elbows. She realized abruptly that she was biting the insides of her cheeks, the soft bits clenched tightly enough to sting, and when she forced her jaw to release and traced with her tongue, she found little dents in the flesh, though thankfully she hadn't made herself bleed.

Could she maybe just ask if she could take her clothes and go? Julien would almost certainly say yes, but Valerija would likely not. She'd turn her attention back to Juliette, throw in some comment about how having important conversations was vital, suggest that she could leave if she didn't care about that but phrased in such a way as to imply she might open fire the second Juliette's back was turned, maybe, or else just flatly deny the request.

So that, too, could be a last recourse. For now, Juliette rubbed at her arms and took life one breath at a time, even as the tightness inside stretched further and further.

[Endellion]

"My position hasn't changed," he said, "which is actually part of what's confusing me now. See, I feel I've been quite insistent on the point that I'm not going to see things your way, and yet here you are trying to start this whole rigmarole from the beginning instead of simply cutting your losses. I'm trying to think of why on earth that would be, and I'm not coming up with very much."

Julien put his cigarette out on the rock next to him. He had to take a moment before actually doing it, make sure that he didn't burn a ragged hole in one of Juliette's shirts or a bra or whatever. Heaven knows that this whole thing had perhaps soured her on him somewhat anyway; adding that ashen cherry on top would be a crying shame.

"It doesn't seem to me that you're patient enough for it to be that, because I've gotten under your skin at least a little; not that you're feeling benevolent either, because killing someone who seemed rather like she wasn't the type for wanton violence solely for her gun is hardly the mark of a saint. Of course, reading people is hardly an exact science"—Julien shuffled down from his perch—"but I feel alright betting on it. If you shoot me, then the worst thing I get out of it is maybe traumatising some people who have more pressing things to worry about than little old me. If not, ah..." He shrugged. "Yes, you really are fucking delusional."

He looked stiff most of all, as he began limping his way towards Valerija.

[Kermit]

"Julien, I am merely asking you to get to the point," she briefly glanced down at his feet as he started moving towards her, then smirked and kept the gun pointed where it was.