Survival Of The Fittest

Roxanne nodded. “I see.”

She hadn’t asked the question to judge the quality of Marcy’s answer - though she did think it a little naive. It was like a trolley problem. It didn’t really matter what the final answer was. The point of the exercise was to force you to closely examine your own morality, where your priorities lay.

What if Marcy killed said protective killer in self-defense, and was forced to kill their formerly-innocent, now-enraged companion as well? Was a second charge of self-defense a sufficient balm for that guilt, the knowledge that her crusade now had civilian casualties? Would she justify it with guilt-by-association? Did being angered to the point of violence by a murderer’s death make one equally deserving of death?

You could spiral forever, obsessing over permutations of hypothetical scenarios like that one. So far away from civilization, morality was at its most subjective. Did that make it matter less? Or more? Did the freedom mean a release from standards, allowed at last to follow your whims and gut instincts to decide what actions you could live with, not giving a damn about consistency? Or did it make it even more important to cast yourself in iron? To see everything your small world had to offer, the depths you could fall to, and still commit yourself to a single way of life?

There she was, spiraling again.

“Good to think about things like that beforehand,” Roxanne said, habitually hiding her intentions. No need for Marcy to catch on that she was being tested. That would just unnecessarily complicate their dynamic. “Won’t have much time to think about it in the thick of things.”

"...Yeah."

Marceline didn't have it in her to say anything beyond that. She knew that her path ahead wouldn't be as easy as she would like it to be, and that the situations she would encounter would likely only grow in moral and emotional complexity as time went on, but she wouldn't allow that to dissuade her. She had a purpose now, a new meaning to her short existence, and she couldn't allow herself to lose it. Not again, not like she had lost Dolly.

As steadfast as she was in her new stance, she could intuit that Roxanne wasn't as confident with their new direction, but so long as Marceline had some support, it didn't matter how aloof Roxanne happened to be. No matter what, she would carve her way across the island, protect the people still worth protecting, put down the monsters that needed to be put down.

That was the plan, anyway.

---

It was quiet for quite a while once they stopped speaking, the light poking through the jungle canopy shifting with the passage of time, the duo silently gathering their strength and wits for what lied ahead of them. Marceline wondered just how much time she had left now, especially in light of her new goal. So much had changed in such a short amount of time, and no doubt the island would continue to shift in its instability, with her being forced to adjust to it. Trying her best to find her footing in the horrible whirlwind of destruction that had now overtaken everything that she had ever known prior.

When she had woken up, she knew she would never leave this place. She had accepted that, and unconsciously discarded everything else in the wake of that reality. What she hadn't accepted were all the lives that would be lost around her, and how much of her they would take with them.

Alex. Beryl. Dolly.

But it was more than that, even among the people she had encountered here that she wasn't close to. Almost everyone she had met up to this point was gone. She had not paid them as much mind as she had those three, but their influence was still felt, their loss still weighed her down.

She would make it right.

She had to.

Abruptly, Marceline stood up, hoisting her bag of supplies up with her. She was ready for what was to come, now it was just a matter of facing it.

(("Let's go."))

A moment for herself. Not rare, on the island, but Roxanne still did her best to appreciate it, without continuing to lose herself in contemplations of Marcy’s plans, and her part in them. The crucial moments had passed, and she would have plenty of time to dwell on their implications when they began to actually act on Marcy’s ideals.

For now, she leaned against a tree, closed her eyes, tried to savor the pure physicality of existing in her body. Those moments where she felt like she truly belonged in the world were brief and fleeting, an overwhelming wave of peace that washed over her for no apparent reason.

Maybe it would be midnight on a weekend, and she’d be looking through the cupboards in the kitchen to find a glass for her cranberry juice, and for a moment she’d pause, feel the weight of the cup in her hand, its coolness against her skin. All the mundane sensory details that she’d normally tune out would suddenly be so strong, and she would look out the window, at a moon that was not quite full, and it would feel indescribably right to exist. Then the moment would pass and the magic would fade, and living was just living again, and she’d carry on.

If she could feel that way just one more time, maybe Roxanne would be able to go without regrets, but it wasn’t exactly a sensation she could chase. That didn’t stop her from trying - but she felt weighed down by the stillness of the air, the very literal weight of the gun she couldn’t bring herself to let go of except for when she slept. Existing this way didn’t feel right, no matter how free she forced herself to be.

Still. Peace was peace, and rest was rest, and both would soon be in short supply even in Marcy’s best case scenario. It didn’t hurt to just focus on breathing, for a little while.

((Eventually Marcy left, and Roxanne followed.))