Survival Of The Fittest

Gracie clutched the duffel tightly against her chest; her dismal excuses for fingernails burrowing deeply into the canvassed bag as she listened to the scene play out behind her. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the threesome wasn't engaged in a friendly tea-party, happily sharing scones and talking about the latest trouble with the Jamis dickhead down the street. Tension was threatening to overtake her, the scene behind her practically ripping at the seams with animosity. She felt like she was on the outside looking in, watching her own events from the previous day acting out in front of her. It was crazy trippy.

Two-thirds of the Bizarro-Musketeers had been identified, though the third remained on the tip of her tongue, tangible but ultimately elusive. The identified boy was one of the Nicks, she'd have guessed Reid—it was dark— but she'd know that ear splitting voice anywhere. Nick LeMonde, a.k.a Flamer LeMonde, was so far beyond obnoxious that there wasn't even a proper way to describe the levels of obnoxiousness dude had, like, hello, I don't want to shake you're freaking hand, so back the hell off. And she knew, it was hard not too. She didn't care how many ‘girlfriends' he had, though ‘beards' would probably be a better title for them. Guy was a major fudge-packer—he could put Hershey out of business type of fudge-packer. Maybe Mr. Mystery was his secret showmance, it definitely seemed like it. On Nick's part, anyway. His buddy didn't sound gay, at least.

Gracie leaned back, not feeling the need to muffle her own breathing anymore as the voices of the trio rose. She let her head relax against the hard metal of the storage container at her back, still letting the conversation engulf her. Mr. Mystery was smooth. She could practically feel her panties flying down her legs as he calmed friggin' Queen Hoe, Clio Gabriella. Like, hi, sorry to say, but Clio wasn't even that freakin' cute, come on now. Why would you even waste your time on her? Not only was she a major twat, a murderous twat at that, but you could've probably done over a pig's head with a hammer a few times and it'd still be better looking than Clio Gabriella. Purple streaks? Really? Is this 1983? And those clothes, those freakin' clothes. Oh you made them yourself? I could hardly tell. What material did you use? Garbage bags? Screw off, bitch—you're nothing. Hell, maybe she could give Anna a call and have her hex that murdering whore into dust, she had it coming. It'd do her well to enjoy what was left of her life, because she was dying just like the rest of them—being a ‘player' didn't give her special privileges. Just a matter of time.

And that time was now, apparently. Whether it was the beyond sketchy conversation or the, y'know, threat to waste someone that tipped Gracie was up to interpretation, though. Instinctively, Gracie freed a hand from her death-grip on the bag and picked her rifle up from the hard ground, still hanging on every word erupting from behind her. She wasn't going to be a dipshit this time, she needed to assess the situation; running around the island like a freakin' rhino wasn't going to work.

Whatever, she could be flexible. And seriously, to give credit where credit's due, she handled that whole friggin' situation over in the Fun Fair amazingly. Like, come on. Not only did she get what she went there for, but she also managed to metaphorically bitch-slap not one, but two trolls. Who else could say they did that? Not many, at any rate. The twinge in her heart as she thought of silly, silly retard baby stirred her back to reality. The heaviness weighing down on her because of the situation had yet to leave and she was beginning to think it'd never dissipate. She'd be walking around the island with a freakin' sumo sitting on her chest—lovely. Whatever, she'd let Anna friggin' Dinkley know the hell she put her through the minute she saw her again. Better not die before then, okay?

In the meantime, however, an overwhelming silence had replaced the raucous fighting of the trio following Nick's order. Instantly, Gracie's heart began pounding at her chest, practically blasting off the walls of the warehouse in the silence.

One,

Two,

Three,

She began counting, not fully aware why she was doing it. Clio was a murderer, she didn't care about Gracie or Gracie's well-being, so why in God's name was she worried about that whore? She didn't care. She didn't care.

Twelve,

Thirteen,

Fourteen,

In what was either a moment of sheer stupidity or overwhelming curiosity, Gracie shakily peered around her container—still not fully sure what she wanted to see. It wasn't her choice, however, as Teo Weinstock—‘roid head to the extreme—had his beefy hands wrapped around Clio's neck, slowing taking the girl's life from her.

Twenty,

Twenty-One,

Twenty-Two,

And then he let her go, just like that. He had her. He had her. Gracie wasn't sure if she was disappointed, or what she was feeling. The game had to have been getting to her, the immense pressure finally break her down and turning her into Kyle and Clio, delighting in watching her competition—her competition? Seriously? Pull it together. For the love of God, pull it together. Who's gonna take care of the kids if you go nuts, huh? If you can't keep it together for yourself, think of them, please.

Clio whizzed past her head, running with a new lease of life toward the entrance. Behind her, Teo and Nick spoke with hushed words, just soft enough that Gracie couldn't pinpoint what they were saying. For a moment, she sat there lost in her thoughts about A.J and the boys, the dire need to get back home to them suddenly becoming too much to handle. In an instant she stood up, pack and rifle in her hands and walked toward Nick and Teo.

They were strong. They could help her, with them she could get to the end—she was sure of it.

"I would've just killed her," Gracie said, keeping her pace toward the boys "You're better men than I am. Well, y'know, obviously."

She stopped and flashed them a smile.

"Would you help me? I could use a snuggle-buddy. It gets cold at night, yeah?"

They were strong.

And dangerous.

((Shitpost but we REALLY need to get a move on here))

No sooner had Clio disappeared from the area than another girl stepped out of the shadows. Teo was momentarily taken back by surprised but quickly recovered as Gracie spoke up. Gracie Wainright. Despite her copious amounts of makeup and ridiculously styled hair still rocked a pretty hot body and her tits were decent too. Still he had a girlfriend. Who would be watching right?

Teo didn't know. Tash wasn't one for violence and he had already decided to play. Would she forgive him for that? He didn't know. Catching a little on the side wouldn't be any less forgivable then killing someone he was sure. As Clio's footsteps receded in to the distance he flashed that charming smile of his after giving a curt nod to Nick. Indicating that they would discuss it later. Gracie was touting a rifle and after disarming one crazed lady with a gun Teo didn't really want to run through the process again. Get Gracie asleep and the two could decide what to do with her. Worse came to worse at about 150 pounds the two could easily overpower her.

"Sure babe. It's getting late too. We should find a shipping container and camp it out. At least for a while. You get some sleep while Nick and I keep a watch out k? We'll swap it up later."

He needed a little time to discuss with Nick their far reaching plans. It had become messy and the moral lines were getting a little blurred. All in all Teo wasn't coming off that well psychologically from the run in with Clio. He needed a little time to assess. He still retained the facade of bravado but a slight twitch almost emerged before sheer willpower pulled it down again.

((Teo Weinstock continued elsewhere...))

Nick picked himself up off the floor and brushed the dust from the front of his shirt. It seemed they had more company and more female company at that.

Teo lit up the dark with his smooth smile and started talking to her.

Well he seems to have cheered up real fast.

Nick made sure he still had a hold on his weapon and then looked closer at the girl. Despite his aim to know the entire senior class, he couldn't quite remember her name. He recognized her by look, but he couldn't place her in any sports or clubs.

"Wainright," he said after his mind finally retrieved the file on her.

The offer to snuggle drifted by him mostly unnoticed as her words were drowned out by the momentary revival of his excitable nature brought about by the thing she was holding.

"Oh neat!"

He leaned in close to look at the gun. His eyes scanned as best they could, trying to pick up details.

"It's a Mosin-Nagant bolt action rifle! It's Russian, they've been using them since like, the start of the 20th century. I wonder how old this one is. Looks newish. The 7.62x54 cartridges were originally designed for the Mosin and in fact, it's the oldest cartridge still in regular combat use. They're great for accuracy. They use ‘em a lot as sniper rifles and outside of the military for hunting, it's not that heavy and the recoil isn't too bad. The only problem is that since it's a bolt action it takes a little while to fire sometimes," he spouted off.

"Lucky," he sighed.

He was called back to Earth by Teo's suggestion of sleep. He nodded.

"Yeah. S'late. Guess we better hit the hay for a little while."

((Nick LeMonde continued in The Various Downsides of Being "Paranoid as Balls" ))

"Uh.. yeah, it is," Gracie said, edging her gun slightly away from Flamer. And before you ask, no, you can't have it-- I don't care if your poopshoot is starting to feel empty, you're not gonna get it. And honestly, he had that freakin' kitchen knife on steroids, there was no need for her to even think about handing her baby over. Not to mention that close call with the freakin' self appointed Queen of Sheba. She was smarter than that, smarter than the Tweedles in front of her anyway.

"Oh God, you're a lifesaver, Teo," she smiled, absent-mindedly rearranging the weight of her pack on her shoulder. Riiiiight, big guy, you're crazy if you'd think she'd trust you to 'look out' for her, screw that.

Still, the foundation of a relationship is built on trust.

"I'm actually not super tired though, don't let me hold you guys up, okay?"

But sadly for Teo, Gracie wasn't looking for a relationship. Nobody said you needed to trust a meat-shield.

[[Gracie Wainwright continued elsewhere]]