Survival Of The Fittest

Juliette had expected a certain measure of chaos. She had, in fact, cultivated it intentionally. Some facets of the situation were going really well. Kelly was screaming from somewhere off in the water, but she was garbled and semi-incoherent and whatever she was shouting it was not clearly identifying Juliette as the culprit behind her abrupt descent. That would have meant it was time to make a quick yet surreptitious exit, while the others squabbled amongst themselves as they attempted to organize a rescue party.

Except, that wasn't what they did at all. Instead, Arjen surged towards Marco, also screaming incoherently, and the two began to grapple. Juliette's eyes widened, and she quickly looked around the deck. She had let her bags drop while tending to Arjen's nose, and now she scooped them up in one smooth motion, slinging them over her left shoulder. Subtly be damned, it was time to be somewhere else. She took off at a jog towards the stairwell that led down into the gutted core of the yacht. There was a large chunk of wall torn out from the level below, providing free access to the outcropping upon which the vessel was snared, and it would allow her to make her way inland. She was pretty sure she would pass largely unseen; the large rocks would provide cover from Kelly, and the others were too distracted grappling with each other.

And then, just as she stood at the head of the stairs, seconds after the cacophony had begun, gunshots rattled through the air. The sound was hard to describe, like firecrackers or a malfunctioning car but with a steady rhythm and a deeper booming character to it; it set her ears ringing almost immediately. She couldn't tell whether Arjen had been hit or not, was paying the confrontation little to no mind except as something to leave behind with all due haste. She didn't care about the boys, really, or whether they decided to shoot each other up, but what was wrong with them? Still, the rattling made her breath catch, her step falter for the first time.

She caught herself on the handrail at the head of the stairs, still in control to the point where her momentum didn't carry her over the lip and to a painful descent. She took a quick breath, took a look at the slick steps, covered in lichen, at the precipitation-stained walls, at a faded orange life preserver loosely secured to the wall. She took one more moment, one more breath, and snatched this last item from its home.

The stairs were roughly equidistant from both sides of the ship. On one side were the boys, but Juliette didn't even look that way. What happened there happened. On the other, though, was clear sky, shining metal, distant waves. It was a nice view, truly.

Juliette hurled the life preserver like a discus. It hit the deck right at the edge, bounced, skipped overboard. She didn't wait for the splash. She didn't wait for a resolution to the struggle behind her, for an acknowledgement from below. She was off at once, down the tilted stairs, using her hands to keep her steady. Then, out the gap in the ship and off over the rocks, scuttling away to somewhere else, somewhere free of gunfire and anger.

She realized, even at this moment, that she would never get the credit she deserved for what she'd done for Kelly. That was okay, though. Juliette was used to not being appreciated.

((Juliette Sargent continued in You Think You Really Know Me))

As she continued struggling, swaying, and yes, screaming, Kelly realized something deep within her. She realized that she desperately wanted to survive. Perhaps that was something obvious, something she should have known (and she sort of did) from the beginning, but she had too much to look forward to. Too much to do. Too much of a future, really, to end up rotting here.

These thoughts didn't exactly help her stamina any, but they kept her mind focused on survival, on keeping her head above water, even as the gunshots began to faintly register in her mind. Probably meant something had went south, shouts and screams also echoing through the air, and probably meant that it was time for her to make her leave. Well, to try to make her leave, because the currents seemed somewhat strong, but there was no point in staying somewhere where bullets were flying and could potentially hit her.

Her eyes traveled up to the deck once more. Oh, the bag. Oh, no.

It was still there, still caught in the crossfire between the two boys. Her food, her clothes, her bags, everything, and although she desperately wanted to reach it, grab for it, and run like the wind, she knew, deep within, that was only a pipe dream. Too much of a risk, as waves continued lapping and she continued to try to not drown. She wanted to change, right? And Kelly knew that meant she'd have to let go.

Maybe Kelly was still here, she was still alive, for now, because she wasn't exactly sure how she was going to get to shore from here, but she didn't have her supplies. She didn't have safety, too, and it was all because of the girl who had sent her tumbling overboard in the first place. Who was she? Who was she to decide that Kelly wasn't worthy to make it here? That she was a fragile flower to be sent toppling back to the earth? Who gave her that right?

Suddenly, a spark of insight flashed through Kelly's mind, and the newfound burst of resolve caused her to notice it. The life preserver sticking out like a sore thumb. It'd have to be her ticket out of here. To greener pastures, to a place where jilted ex-presidential candidates didn't attempt to murder perfectly good people.

Surely, but with a modicum of caution, she paddled over to the life preserver, grabbing on tightly. Had it been there the whole time? Kelly couldn't answer that question for sure, but she disregarded the question as she began to kick with both legs away from the yacht, away from the guns, away from the idiots up above. The water was still briny, air still clogged with something she couldn't really describe, but she was living. That was what she wanted, right?

Besides, she knew what she had to do now. She knew who had given Juliette that right.

This place did, and by the grace of the universe, she was ready to throw down too.

Everyone watching would understand.

She hoped.

((Kelly Nguyen, continued elsewhere))

"She is, you fucking moron! She fucking is!"

Arjen's body came closer to Marco and suddenly the gun next to him fired loudly. What the fuck?

Arjen fell down to the floor, grabbing his head, trying to plugging his ears with his fingers. Oh god why?

"stopstopstopstopstop..."

Arjen felt like he could be dying and his tears began to flow again, his heart beating and waiting for the gunshots to end.

Marco watched as the ground below him and Arjen exploded into sparks and clanks, the bullets missing their feet by sheer luck. Arjen dropped to the ground, and curled up like the little baby he was, screaming some incoherent shit over and over again, but Marco couldn't hear him because he was too busy murdering this fucking boat. He stopped, and waited, and watched as Arjen stayed curled up, yelling 'stop' about a hundred million times as if he hadn't yet. Marco scowled as he watching this poor excuse of three-toddlers-standing-on-each-other's-shoulders-wearing-a-trench-coat-in-a-disguise-as-an-adult's self inflicted mental break down. He turned to look at Juliette, to see what she thought of it, but, well... She dipped.

He looked at the excuse of a wreck known as Arjen, before turning his head to one of the nearby cameras. He looked back to Arjen. Then back to the camera. Then back to Arjen. Then once more at the camera, smirking his gap toothed grin. He chicken winged the rifle under his shoulder, and fired another burst just missing the sniveling man baby, then flicked it to semi and fired two more shots for 'teh lulz', giggling to himself at Arjen squirming around before turning around and looking overboard to check on Kelly.

Yep. She was alive. Mhmm. Yep. Marco could totally help her. There was a problem with that though.

She was swimming as far as fuck away from them as possible. Marco turned around to look at Arjen again, his lips were smiling, but his eyes weren't.

…


….



"Hey."

"Hey Arjen..."


"Guess what."



"Kelly's not dead; she's swimming away."


"You scared her off."


"Hey."

"Hey Arjen..."


"Guess what."

"Where's Kelly's bags?"


"They're right over there."


"She kinda needs those, right?"


…


…

"Hey Arjen..."


"Guess what."

"No, no, guess what you're doing?"

Marco's face was for all intents and purposes, stuck in a form of absolute seething. His eyes were wide open, his chest was visibly rising and dropping, and his pale skin was tinted a bright pink. Despite all of that though, his lips were still pulled to the sides of his face in a cheeky grin. Kelly was in this predicament because Arjen wanted to be a puss puss, and ruin this whole thing for everyone. Juliette was probably running off telling everyone how 'unhinged mean ol' Marco was' and that people should probably shoot him on sight at this very moment. All because Arjen was a puss puss. Marco hated pussies. He hated them with every fiber of his being. He really, really, really hated pussies, he hated them more than the unwashed grognard and meathead masses that infested GHHS. Marco wanted to leave Arjen behind, and deliver Kelly's bags to her himself, but...

"Pick up her bags."

...You can damn well bet he wasn't gonna be doing the heavy lifting. Especially when it wasn't his fault.

"Stupid."

Just as he thought that it would have stopped, more bullets came from the gun. Marco was trying to murder him, didn't he?

Then, there was silence. Then, Marco spoke up.

Arjen looked up, still shaking. He explained to him that Kelly was swimming away. She jumped to swim away?

He wore a creepy smile that unsettled Arjen even more, talked about Kelly's bag and then asked him if he knew what was going to happen. Arjen couldn't think of a reply other than 'die?' so he said nothing until Marco answered by himself. He wanted him to pick up the bags Kelly left behind.

So Arjen did. He slowly stood up, trying not to lose balance with the shaky limbs, looked at the ship floor riddled with bullets and went to Kelly's bag to pick it up.

Marco knelt down and picked his glasses off the ground, resting them back on his face. He was pretty fucking disappointed right now. The main reason was Arjen of course, but like, so much other shit was added on to it that this was already shaping up to be a bad day.

“Don’t forget your bags, either. I’m probably not coming back here once we find Kelly.”

This was all Arjen’s fault really. Marco was responsible for literally none of this. None of this would have happened if Arjen didn’t be a big baby about it all. Marco had no pity at all for Arjen, and to be quite honest he didn’t want to spend any more time with him then he had to.

But this was Arjen’s fault, and Marco wasn’t gonna be responsible for Kelly starving to death or dying of exposure because of Arjen. Arjen needed to learn a lesson and drink some DBAB juice. Marco’s eyes trailed along his own bags.

Marco grabbed one. “Hey, get my other bag too, I need to be light as possible so I can point my gun quickly in case we’re attacked.”

Finally, there was the sword. Marco didn’t say anything as he looked at it, then back at Arjen. He hoped he got the idea by now.

He slung the bag over the shoulder. It did not feel that heavy to him in comparison to the shock his heart held. Arjen wanted to voice something against picking Marco's bag up but looking at Marco made him feel more panic. He stayed silent and simply followed the orders of the man who had tried to shoot him.

Picked them up from the ground, one by one, loading his shoulder. Finally, he picked up the sword he had dropped before all of this mess happened. The shots being fired, Juliette, Kelly. He felt the weight of the bags.

Arjen was now a burro, huh?

“Alrighty so... here’s the dealio.”

Marco thought about what he had to say next. He wanted to be blunt with Arjen, sure, but he didn’t want to be any more dickish than he needed to be.

“You probably don’t like me that much; I get it, I do. Truth be told, I’d rather not babysit you either, but right now shits gotta get done. So this whole thing, the whole reason you’re carrying all that shit, is because we gotta find Kelly. That bullshit about her being dead is pretty much true if we don’t find her. She’ll probably starve to death or die of dehydration or something, and that’s a pretty fucked way to go, if you ask me.”

Marco pointed at the bags that Arjen was carrying. “ The whole reason you’re carrying them, to be quite fucking honest with you, is that it’s your fault. Don’t look at me like I’m the bad guy, all I had to do was go towards the edge of the boat; unload my rifle, and hold it down so Kelly could grab on. Then we pull her up, and pat ourselves on the back.”

Marco shrugged. “Clearly, that didn’t happen, because someone had to be a damn spazz. So now instead of just going our separate ways, we gotta go on a snipe hunt for someone to give them their shit back. That shits on you, so you’re taking accountability of the gear, in accountability for your actions. You’re responsible for this shit, so it’s only fair you carry it, right?”

Marco wanted an answer.

“Right?”

Arjen had to accept the guilt and had no way to voice his opinion. He wasn't guilty. It was not his fault, it had been Marco's fault. But if you're faced against a madman with a gun, you simply had to swallow your pride and ignore the truth.

"Yeah. It had been my fault. I don't mind carrying all this shit."

HE had been the one who was injured, Marco was doing fine. He had blood spilled from his nose, with the pad still in there. Marco? He was unwounded and had a gun and still was full of energy.

"It's fair."

"Good. Learning responsibility is the first part of growing up. There might be hope for you yet." Marco nodded. Marco was hella bullshitting right now, to be quite honest. Arjen wasn't gonna grow up, he was D O O M E D. The guy was a spastic nutjob. He really didn't trust having the freakshow anywhere near him after the way he acted. Arjen wasn't trustworthy or reliable in the least bit. Whatever, Kelly couldn't have gone far. All he's gotta do is find her, dump her gear off to her, then he can leave Arjen to whatever Arjens will do upon the island.

"Alright, let's head out. The sooner we find Kelly, the sooner I don't have to deal with you anymore." Marco shrugged and made his way towards the end of the boat, stopping by the stairs Arjen took a tumble on.

"Now..."



Marco shouldered his rifle, before Captain Morgan posing along the boat's stairs, dramatically pointing down towards the hallway leading to the island, and shouting at the top of his lungs; "GO FORTH DON-KEH, AND COMPLETE THE QUEST THAT HATH BEEN FORTOLD IN THE PROPHECY, OH GREAT DON-KEH! GO, AND FUFILL YOUR LIFE'S GOAAAAAL!"

…


Okay, that was probably really fucking dumb, but he wanted to lighten the mood a bit. Devil knows Arjen wouldn't do it, the negative Nancy. Marco giggled a bit. He thought it was funny. Did Arjen think it was funny? Marco turned to look at Arjen. Figures... The fucking philistine wouldn't know good humor if it coiled around his dick and jerked him off. This agitated Marco ever so slightly.

"Well? What the hell are we waiting for? Get a move on Don-keh!" Fuck he loved saying that. Donkey is just an inherently funny word, and that's before you do the whole Shrek voice with it. Marco made his way down the hallway, looking for that hole in the boat that lead to the island. He turned back to look at Arjen, to make sure he wasn't bitching out.

"Hurry up slowpoke! Kelly's gonna be a fucking fossil by the time we find her at this rate!"

((Marco Volker continued elsewhere...))

The sooner they would find Kelly, the sooner Arjen wouldn't have to hang around with this kook? Sounds great.

"Keeeeelllyyyyyy."

So Marco and Donkey went to a quest to find Kelly.

"Keeeeelllyyyyyy."

[[Arjen continued elsewhere]]