Survival Of The Fittest

(Trish McCarroll continued from At a Loss)

Once the adrenaline rush and aftershock from the brook had completely worn off, the next twelve or so hours had gone surprisingly well for Trish. The three of them hadn't encountered anyone else as they made their way through the jungle with no particular destination in mind, and after a while had decided to stop and rest. All three of them had managed to get a good four or five hours of sleep, with one person staying awake to stand guard in shifts. It was a much easier task now that Danni was around, and after all three of them were sufficiently rested they had once more set out on their journey across the vast jungle.

Her usefulness aside, Danni had proven to be a welcome addition to their little group. Trish found it much easier to keep a discussion afloat with her around, even sometimes having to glance back in James' direction to make sure he was still awake as the two girls got lost in conversation. The things they talked about were hardly cheery - mostly catching up on what the other had been doing over the course of their respective stays on the island - but it was enough to distract them from the constantly sinking feeling of their lives being in immediate danger. At one point Trish had even found herself re-explaining what happened at the brook, but the explanation ended abruptly after Sloan's death. Not only did she figure that Danni had seen the rest and put two and two together by now, but the wound was still relatively fresh, and not one that Trish wanted to re-open anytime soon. In fact, she doubted those few minutes were something she'd ever want to relive again.

Despite the fact that her ribs were still hurting from the harsh fall she'd taken while fighting with Sloan (she figured she'd bruised them), Trish's journey through the jungle had been relatively seamless. Her pack was quite heavy, but she figured that her and James could sort out their supplies together as soon as they found a decent place to take shelter for a while. He'd also mentioned something about having to clean his gun back at the brook, and since they'd just taken shifts with the AK while they were resting, she assumed that he still needed to clean it. She had given him the Springfield she picked up from Sloan in the meantime as a means of self-defence.

At the risk of ruining her map Trish hadn't bothered to pull it out, either. As the three blindly made their way through the jungle, Trish couldn't help but muse about how she'd never exactly been good with directions anyway.

Luckily, however, the dense cover of foliage broke soon afterwards. As she stepped out into the clearing, Trish took a moment to glance over the structure in front of her. It was covered in moss and vines that crawled up its stone exterior, and for a second it presented an almost tranquil atmosphere. The rain had yet to cease, and it blanketed the ground all around the building. Various puddles were scattered around the premises, and a few different sets of footprints adorned the mud outside the entrance. They all seemed to lead away from the building and into the jungle, but cautious nonetheless Trish signalled back towards James and Danni to wait where they were while she scanned the perimeter.

Her search was both quick and thorough, but thankfully she found nothing that she hadn't expected. She vaguely recalled both Alex and Serenity's deaths being announced during the early morning some days apart, so when their corpses met her eyes in the deep freeze and the kitchen respectively, Trish didn't find herself reacting very violently. In fact, she barely found herself reacting at all, with the exception of a few whispered apologies under her breath. Truth be told it didn't really bother her anymore that the sight of their corpses weren't as revolting as Adonis and Jake's had proved to be. Rather, she was just relieved that nobody else currently occupied the Mess Hall.

Making her way back outside, Trish signalled for James and Danni to come join her inside. Afterwards she walked back inside, sitting on one of the benches in the main room of the mess hall, waiting for her friends to catch up.

{{Edgar Hoskins continued from Long Road to Ruin}}

Edgar leaned against a tree, doing something he'd been wanting to do for a while: having a smoke.

As he stood there, breathing the smoke into his lungs, he didn't think about much in particular. In fact, in that moment, his mind was a complete blank as he just stared off into space.

----------

"What the hell are you doing!?"

Edgar stood on the sidewalk just in front of his house, his eyes turned to the front porch. There stood four teenagers that were quite familiar to him. After all, he had been a member of their little gang of deliquents up until a couple of days ago. They spent their days picking on their classmates, beating up and getting beaten up by whoever they decided to challenge (and whoever decided to challenge them,) and generally thinking they were hot shit for going against the rules. Eventually, though, the group began to go a little too far, partaking in activities that he didn't approve of. Two of them had bragged about a week ago about robbing a convinience store, while another was discovered to have started using cociance. What they had done before was one thing, but when it came to things that could earn him some serious jailtime if he was caught...well, that was where he drew the line.

"What the FUCK are you doing!?" He repeated, with more anger in his voice this time. For one of the boys was holding a bloody switchblade, and between the four, laying on the ground, beaten, bruised, and bloodied, was his own father.

"Oh, there you are! It's about damn time you came to the party!" Said the boy holding the switchblade, the leader of the group. "You were a little late, so we just had to start without you."

Edgar took a step forward, and the boy with the switchblade held it out menacingly. "Now hold it right there. It was pretty rude what you did, leaving like that. I mean, not even a goodbye? I must say, that really pisses me off. We were all friends for a long time. We watched each other's backs, knew each other's secrets. And when one of us just leaves so rudely like that, it really hurts my feelings. And when my feelings get hurt like that, it makes me want to do things to the one who did it. Bad things. Horrible things."

"You..."

"Me? Me what?"

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER! I'LL KILL YOU!!"

----------

Edgar let out a sigh. Of all the memories that could have resurfaced at that moment, it just had to be that one. It definitely wasn't something he was very happy about remembering. His dad, who had looked after him all by himself, who worked so hard to support the two of them, had survived the assault, but doctor said that he could never walk again.

And it was all because he had to go and be an idiot, and hang out with the wrong crowd.

Dropping the remnants of the cigarette to the ground and crushing the butt under his heel, he continued on his way. After about fifteen minutes or so a building came into view. Finally, some decent shelter. He thought to himself, circling the building and spotting the entrance, he started to step inside, though he stopped as he realized that he was not alone. There was a girl seated at one of the benches, and the fact that she had a rifle with her told him that she wasn't someone he wanted to fuck with. Still, he didn't know when he'd find shelter like this again.

Deciding to take his chances, he stood half in and half out of the doorway, ready to bolt if things went south. "Hey." He started. "This place taken? I'm not looking to turn you into a corpse or anything, I just want to get out of this rain." He looked up at the sky for a moment. "I swear to God, Mother Nature must be conspiring with Danya to make us even more miserable. Anyway, all I have is a couple of sticks. I mean, they're pretty well made sticks, but until I hone my untapped superhuman reflexes to the point where I can block bullets with them, I doubt I could put up much of a fight even if I wanted to."

Untapped superhuman...what the fuck are you babbling about? He shook his head. "Look, point is, I'm cold, wet and miserable. You look cold, wet, and miserable. How about we just be cold, wet, and miserable together?"

((continued from At a Loss))

((OOC: choic and myself are going to post around you there, Llama, for the sake of having our characters where they should be when Ed comes around.))

James waited with Danni, scanning the area with the Springfield XD until Trish gave the OK to come in. He followed her quickly into the mess hall and tossed his things on one of the tables. It finally looked safe to get to cleaning the other pistol. He seated himself at the table and dug through his pack (which now contained most of Jeff Thorne's gear as well) until he found the Ballester-Molina's instruction manual. With some difficulty he began to disassemble the jammed weapon, his resolve strong to get on the ball about it.

SOTF had essentially condemned James to die about a week ago, but after his earlier psychotic episode (really, what else could it have been?) he'd found himself detached from much of the experience. He felt the fear of being killed, yes, every minute, but not the fear of absolution that Danya was aiming to weigh down on all of them. Maybe somehow he'd bypassed the grieving process while he was tripping balls. Regardless, he'd found his focus anywhere but on the future or even the past. It stayed in the present, where he wasn't fated to die, but just in danger of it. He trusted Trish with his life, and was beginning to trust Danni as well. He felt secure in their heavily-armed little group.

"Trish, you have anything I can use to--" James stopped mid-sentence and dropped the pieces of the pistol onto the table with a clatter, reflexively grabbing the Springfield and pointing it at the guy standing in the doorway. He said (in an annoying roundabout way) that he wanted shelter. James had seen a guy go from cucumber cool to yelling idiot on two separate occasions now, and wasn't about to drop his guard and welcome this cowboy in with open arms.

He glanced at Danni and Trish. "Oh uh, I don't know if we're looking for a funny guy right now," he responded a little blankly, so that it was hard to tell if he was joking or not. "...Can you sing?"

For a second the notion occurred to ask him if he could dance and then start shooting wildly at his feet, but James suppressed the urge.

((Continued from At A Loss))

Danni bounced lightly on her heels to dispel the cold. She gave a light sneeze. After so many days without shelter the rain had finally gotten to her, burrowing into her sinuses and behind her eyes like so many hungry maggots on a corpse. She gagged a bit at that mental image, pushed it away, and turned her attention to the still-empty entryway of the mess hall.

Her bouncing became increasingly vigorous as her impatience grew. How long had Trish been in there? Judging by the fact that James was still standing there with all of the emotion of one of the Queen's Guard, it couldn't have been long. Unless he'd died or fallen asleep standing or something. She glanced over. His head was still moving. This was a good sign.

Just as this fear was assuaged, another arose from behind her nostrils. She clamped her fingers firmly to the bridge of her nose. There were several things she feared showing others. This included weakness, shame, and bodily fluids. James was sweet enough, but she wasn't sure she was comfortable enough with him to be okay with spraying mucus at him. Her second attempt at quelling the beast trying to escape her nares was thwarted by Trish's sudden reappearance. She let out a considerably heavier sneeze and embarrassedly wiped her nose on her wrist as she followed the two into the hall.

-------

Before Danni even had time to register Ed's presence, she saw James raise the gun. She froze at the end of the table. Her first thought was that the entrance was still right behind her. She could bolt at the slightest sign of danger. It was a cowardly thought and she hated herself for it, but if it came down to it she wasn't about to sacrifice her life in the name of some misguided heroism. The notion of "going down with he ship" wasn't one that sat well with her.

However, her desperate thoughts were cut short by the phrase "untapped superhuman reflexes". This was no killer. Her face blushed with shame. What if Trish and James had known what she was thinking? They'd hate her. They'd be just as disgusted with her as she was herself. She collapsed into a seat at the far end of the table and put her head on it, attempting to hide her shame between her arms.

Once her friends made it inside, Trish relaxed visibly. The mess hall was probably the safest place she'd been to over the course of her stay on the island, and its atmosphere helped her to recompose. Nevertheless she couldn't help but remember the last time she'd felt remotely serene and how quickly that had been shattered, and as her thoughts drifted back to the brook and Jake's pale, lifeless eyes staring up at her, her grip on the AK tightened.

Sure enough, as if on cue, Ed Hoskins came rushing into the building to seek shelter from the rain. Trish didn't know much more than his name, but there was something about him that set her off the wrong way.

"Hey," he began, and as Trish tried to return his casual greeting she found herself interrupted by a long-winded speech that sounded like it had been practiced beforehand. Despite trying numerous times to get a word in she found herself constantly being drowned out by Ed's windbaggery, and eventually gave up altogether out of frustration.

"Look, point is, I'm cold, wet and miserable. You look cold, wet, and miserable. How about we just be cold, wet, and miserable together?"

Considerably frustrated by this point, Trish strongly considered telling the boy off. James however came up with a dry and witty response which served not only to emphasize her feelings on the situation, but also defuse some of the tension she felt building up. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if she was over-reacting. The fiasco at the brook had gone out of control for no discernable reason, so why should she create a problem when there wasn't one to begin with?

"He's right. We're not really looking for anyone else...but if you wanna keep out of the rain, go ahead. Just stay where we can see you," Trish directed quite mildly. She didn't feel the need to be harsh with Ed or push him around; surely the AK she carried did most of the talking for her.

Not bothering to turn her back to him, Trish inched over a few feet towards James and Danni and took a seat on a bench closer to the two of them. Making sure to keep one eye on Ed the whole time, she lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper.

"You should probably hurry up with that cleaning..." she started, directing the suggestion at James. The three of them were pretty well-rested, and she didn't feel like they had to take a break for very long. They'd be safer travelling in the jungle anyway, despite the traps. Everyone would be seeking shelter from the rain at this point, so outside was probably their safest bet for not running into any more gun-toting maniacs.

"...Either of you recognize him?"

Edgar took a step back as James pointed the gun at him, trying to put the doorframe between the two of them. It was to be expected, really. At this point in the game, anyone perfectly willing to trust a complete stranger was practically painting a red target on their forehead. Looks like it might be time to make tracks...

But then Trish stepped in at that moment, allowing Ed to come in, as long as he didn't pull any funny business. Which was good, because he had no intention of doing such. "Danke." He said simply, simply making his way over to a separate table and sitting down, facing away from the others. After a few moments he had a familar craving. Fuck, again? This shit must be really starting to get to me. He thought to himself, reaching into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes, looking back at the others. "You mind if I smoke?"

James turned his attention back to the handgun on the table in front of him as Trish addressed the boy in a more "no srsly" manner. He let himself in.

"Danke."

"Gazunteit," James grunted throatily in response. Disassembling the Ballester-Molina was fairly easy with the manual open in front of him, but it was annoyingly difficult to clean without a rag. The hem of his shirt would have to do.

"Either of you recognize him?" asked Trish.

James lifted his eyes from his project for a moment and shook his head at Trish.

"Mind if I smoke?" inquired the cowboy.

James' brow furrowed and the corner of his mouth curled upward. He rolled his eyes at Trish and Danni before returning them to the Ballester.

Danni only lifted her head to acknowledge Trish's question with a slight shake of her head, and kept it up long enough to give a shy smile to James's gesture. She was ready to continue to drown herself in a pool of self-depreciation when she felt the pressure in her nostrils begin to build again.

Her eyes widened. This wasn't a simple sneeze, the sort she could manage to hide in the crook of her arm or something. This was the dreaded sort she'd run out to the hall in the middle of class with a box of tissues for. She desperately climbed out from her seat at the table and muttered "Be right back". She got to her feet.

Before she could manage to even raise her hands to block it, it happened. She spent several seconds making a desperate "Aaaahhh" noise and trying to stop it by force of sheer willpower. But the beast would not be denied. She let out a resounding, earth-shattering "CHOOO" as a Lovecraftian monster came flying from her olfactory orifice. She was briefly reminded of a scene from Flubber before the creature collided with the floor with a sickening splat. Her hands flew to her face as if she'd just uttered some unforgivable obscenity.

She stared at the mess of green carnage with wide eyes shock, then suddenly flew from the building, letting out a muffled "Excuse me" between her cupped hands.

After confirming that neither James nor Danni knew Ed very well, which didn't help since all she knew herself was his name, Trish shifted around in her seat a little and took another quick glance towards him.

What bothered Trish more than the fact that she barely knew Edgar at all (not to mention that they were stuck in a game together where only one of them could live) was that his appearance and his demeanour were almost completely contradictory. In short, he looked like a badass; strangely, however, he almost seemed personable. Something wasn't adding up, and Trish wasn't naive enough to look the other way.

When Ed asked if he could have a cigarette, Trish strangely found herself craving one as well. She wasn't a regular smoker, but the hobby often occupied her when nothing else could. Still, the fact that she didn't trust Ed prevailed, and after spending a few seconds in uncomfortable silence she eventually let the question pass. Fidgeting in her seat, Trish awkwardly fumbled around with the AK-47 in her lap in an attempt to distract herself from the tension she felt building up around the group.

As if on cue, Danni broke the silence with a larger than life sneeze some distance away. Trish had barely noticed the girl get up and move away from them, but as she rushed out the door Trish found the answer to Edgar's question.

"Looks like she's allergic," she mused aloud, smirking in Ed's general direction in an attempt to break the awkward silence.

"Holy shit..."

Edgar couldn't help but stare in a mixture of awe and revulsion at the...thing that flew out of Danni's nose. "Er...no problem." He said in response to her utterance of 'Excuse me.'

His gaze moved towards the front door for a moment, noticing that it was starting to get lighter out. He found himself thinking about how long the night seemed to last this time around. Maybe it's just my imagination... But it was strange. Surely by now Danya would've chimed in with the daily announcements by now. It certainly sounded like his favorite part of the day. His mind starting to wander, he began to wonder if something had happened to him between now and the last announcement.

Maybe that fat fuck choked to death on his dinner or some shit. Heh, wouldn't that be an interesting way for one of the most feared terrorists of our time to go out?

Finding that the distraction had subdued his nicotine craving to a more tolerable level, Ed put the cigarette back. No telling how long I'll be here. Best save it for when I REALLY need it, or I'll run out pretty quickly. And with that he sat back and waited for...well, for SOMETHING to happen.

Danni sneezed brutally and James sniggered, his amusement cut suddenly short by his dropping the slide of the gun, which clattered loudly onto the table and then down to the floor. He mouthed a popular obscene word and quickly bent over to pick it up.

OOC: Gah, it's taken FOREVER to find a good place to put Nicole. That + Writer's block + this computer WON'TSTOPFUCKINGUPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH = I'm not a happy RPer. Also, there's the aforementioned things I have mentioned in away which frankly mean at the moment I more want to curl up and die than actually roleplay, but I'm just doing this to save my characters. I hope you people don't mind.
IC:
Nicole Husher (Female Student No.77) was of two minds about the fact that she had already lasted a week into the game, further than almost half of the class, to say the least. On the one hand, she was relieved to still be alive and healthy, but she couldn't think about that without the reminder that as far as she could tell almost ninety people had been killed. Ninety people! No matter how smart she was, it was a hard concept to wrap her head around. Just how many of her classmates had been on that bus, anyway? Her bag had said "Female Student No. 77", so probably a lot. She knew that nobody who'd been on that bus had escaped, though the students who were on other busses hadn't been taken it seemed, but she couldn't put her finger on just how many that was. She hadn't exactly taken count, and the sheer scale of the game overwhelmed her. Even now she could barely believe it was really happening, it seemed like a nightmare to be cliché about it. Not that she liked being cliché, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

Could I have saved any of them?

Maybe it was a little naive to think that if she had been more active at the start of the game she could've saved any of the dead students, especially since the sheer size of the island and the number of people playing the game made it so the odds of actually finding people who weren't killing were against her, but nearly eight days of the game hadn't quite beaten that out of her. Maybe it was just her guilty conscience; when she'd woken up in some remote part of the cave system (apparently undiscovered by the other students, since she didn't see any classmates until she had left) at the start of the game she had been too afraid to leave, and had stayed hidden in that little nook until the caves became a dangerzone and she had to get out on pain of her neck being blown out. She liked her neck, she didn't want it blown up, so she did what any non-suicidal person would've done; freaked the hell out and gotten out of there.

Of course, if there had been a choice (aka, the cave system hadn't turned into a stay-here-and-you-will-explode zone) she wasn't sure if she'd have preferred to stay in there or not. At least there she'd been well hidden enough that after a while she wasn't worried about killers finding her, and her eyes had even adjusted to the dark (though her flashlight helped even before that). Of course, even beyond that she couldn't help but have been relieved had how few cameras there had been in that cave, as she had always been proud but very self-conscious of her body and status as one of the "hotter" girls in the school and was very uncomfortable with the thought that people from all over the world could be tuning in to get their rocks off to her, whether taking care of every day business or just sitting there crying from fear as usual or-

Ow...!

As she walked through the jungle path, her gait natural if frightened instead of the hip-swaying and attention grabbing strut Alessandra had encouraged her to adopt in order to show off her assets (sometimes Nicole wondered if the other woman understood that she didn't necessarily WANT everyone looking at her "assets", just because she had such a busty/curvy figure didn't mean she liked being gawked at, though she had caved and put a bit of Alessandra's swagger into her step on the day of the trip along with dressing down.), a whimper of pain interrupted her thoughts, a hand moving to her stomach as she descended to her knees for a second, taking in deep breaths and by now not really being embarrassed by the filthiness of her jeans and trainers or the fact that her v-neck was soaked entirely though, not only dulling the once vibrant yellow colour but turning into what she had always called a "shirt in name only".

It had become so saturated by the rain that it had turned paper-thin (Nicole was actually very careful about how she placed her hand out of fear of ripping the shirt) and clung to her body enough to basically show almost everything a shirt was supposed to cover, to the point where her skin could clearly be seen through it, when she had first noticed it she had suddenly found herself even more relieved that she had blown so much money on a custom made/fitted bra, since at least then she had some modesty and comfort (most didn't fit that well, and going without never failed to be a cause for extreme back pain), but it was still embarrassing to think that she was so exposed when there were cameras everywhere. She did have a few changes of clothes in her pack, but had been trying to find shelter so she could do so inside where it was warm, dry, and there were at least not as many cameras around so she didn't feel like every pervert and his dog was leering at her from the other side of a TV.

However, as she winced and breathed sharply, her stomach cramping up terribly as she tried not to cry out any more than she had, she didn't really think about any of that. She had been one of the few SOTF contestants unlucky enough for the game to happen during her period, and even though she had brought along everything necessary to address that since she knew she'd be on her period during the trip that was supposed to happen, she had always had trouble taking care of it with the feeling of being watched. In the cave she could just take something and cover the few cameras, but out here it wouldn't have been possible. It had stopped something like three days ago, but she still dealt with the cramping. She was still attractive, but overall she was a mess, her hair starting to be tangled and matted from so much time in the jungle and rain along with parts of it actually straightening from the curls so that it just looked inconsistent, her clothes filthy and her actual body not too clean itself. She had sweat and grime on her, was starting to smell some, despite having hygenic products with her had never actually found the shower building marked on the map so as to use it, lack of sleep due to the sheer terror of the events was starting to show, and overall she was clearly having about as hard a time as you could without being injured/killed.

She'd even come down with a cold on one of the other days, though she was better now, and as her face contorted in a pained grimace it just hammered home just how much she looked like hell. She was lucky that she hadn't been attacked or anything, but she'd still seen other people hurt, running, being...killed. Her eyes started to mist up again thinking about it, she'd stopped feeling sick from the idea after enough days of it constantly being in her face, but the sheer tragedy kept hitting her. Forcing it down, she pulled herself back up to her feet as the cramping subsided and her features relaxed. Her eyes shut, she took a few more deep breaths and started to feel better, opening her eyes again and picking up the pack and her weapon, which had fallen to the ground from her hand...

Was a weapon like this supposed to be ironic? Give the girl who can't fire a gun to save her life a gun designed for Russian special forces troops?!

No matter how many times she'd read the instruction manual, Nicole still didn't entirely "get" how the SPP-1 was supposed to work, especially its complex reloading system and the fact that it was much less reliable above water. The opportunity to practice with it had never presented itself, and she'd found herself a bit glad for that. If she were doing that, it'd be like accepting the eventuality of having to kill her classmates, and her friends. Besides, the bullets were of such a low calibre that the more cynical part of her wondered if they'd even hurt someone, much less kill them. But she wasn't exactly a Russian special ops soldier, she knew she probably wouldn't have been able to use it. She'd really have been better off with a stick, at least that didn't take being an expert to use it right.

Don't think I can stay here. Have to keep moving...maybe finally find some shelter.

The early morning's light made it much easier to navigate through the jungle, though it made her wonder what the hell was taking Danya so long to announce anything, and before long she was faced with a building she had passed a few times before, enough to recognize it as the mess hall. Reluctantly taking the gun out of her pocket, she held it in one hand as the pack was over her opposite shoulder, more so it would be ready than because she was ready to fire it, moving carefully towards the entrance to the building and starting to press herself against the wall near the entrance.

"Ah!"

The sound of something clattering loudly on a surface and then dropping to the ground, followed by a familiar but still hard to distinguish voice cursing, startled the already-nervous girl enough that she let out a small yelp of surprise as she tried even harder to duck into the wall. After a few panicked seconds and nobody rushing out to inflict grievous bodily harm on her, though, she was able to muster up the strength to try to call in. Her heart racing, she gripped the pistol tightly as she worked her voice to a point where it was audible.

"H...hello? Is anyone in there? This is Nicole, you know, from the s-student council? I don't want to play the game, if at this point anyone could actually be said to not be playing...c-can I come in, please?"

Even when trying to sound trustworthy she wasn't able to get rid of that "I'm scared out of my fucking mind" tone in her voice, no matter how soft her speaking actually was. Being half British and half American gave her traces of both accents, making her voice seem a bit odd except to those who spoke to her a lot, but she knew she'd be understood. If people were in there, they were people she'd gone to school with for four years, after all.

Smooth work, Nikki. At least they won't shoot you, maybe.

(OOC: Well, time to get Ed out of here, seeing as he's got a date with the Reaper and all)

Edgar tensed, wheeling around quickly as something clattered against the floor loudly, breathing a sigh of relief as he realized it was just James dropping the slide of his gun. Then another voice sounded from outside, and Ed looked outside to see another person outside. The morning light having finally arrived, Ed had no problem making out the gun in her hand.

I've got a bad feeling about this... He thought to himself as he stood up, grabbing his daypack and weapons before turning back to the others.

"Well, it was fun, but it looks like it's time for me to get out of here." He said as he made his way cautiously to the front door. "Too many people in one place is just asking for trouble." Taking a deep breath, he stepped outside, hands in the air as he tried to make himself as unthreatening as possible. He took a few steps to the side before taking off at a steady jog.

{{continued in The Science of Selling Yourself}}

James dropping his gun didn't really startle Trish, as she'd been lost in thought for the last few seconds. Part of her wanted to bug Ed for a cigarette. She wasn't a regular smoker, but it was a somewhat enjoyable passtime that her and Jessa would indulge in whenever they could get their hands on a few. To Trish, smoking was just something she could do to occupy herself when she was bored, which was quite often. It was times like these when she supposed she should be thankful that she wasn't a nicotene addict; she could only imagine the hell that people like Ed would endure when they ran out.

A shaky, uncertain voice broke the awkward silence that seemed to have lasted forever. She identified herself as Nicole from Student Council, a person Trish was familiar, but not particularly acquainted with. She sounded harmless enough, but Trish wasn't about to trust her. If anything, Nicole's vulnerable and distraught entrance made feel even more uneasy than she was previously. It was people like her, Sloan, and Sean that had given Trish so much grief in the past, after all.

As James picked up the Ballester-Molina and cursed under his breath, Trish found herself getting to her feet. She wasn't sure why, but she felt like their time at the Mess Hall was up. Grabbing the Springfield off the table and replacing it into her pack (now that James' gun seemed to be working properly, she hoped), she slung her bag over her shoulder and tapped James on the shoulder, motioning with her head that it was time to leave.

"Too many people in one place is just asking for trouble."

"He's right," Trish echoed, clearing her throat so that Danni could hear her too. "Let's get out of here," she suggested, walking out the door of the mess hall and looking towards Nicole.

"It's all yours," she directed, pointing back towards the building before walking towards the treeline. She waited for a minute to make sure the others were following her, then turned, AK-47 in hand, and headed back into the jungle.

(Trish McCarroll finally continued in It Hurts)

The cowpoke finally took his leave, his departure followed swiftly by the arrival of a lone girl. Trish got up to leave. James, having retrieved the vital component of the gun, locked it in place, and reloaded, gathered up his things hastily and followed her out.

He shrugged at the girl, one hand raising in an awkward wave.

"Sssssee ya."

((continued elsewhere))