Survival Of The Fittest

((Owen Kay continued from Big Stick Ideology))

He'd wanted to keep running. He'd wanted to keep running and leave everything and everyone behind him. What else could he do? He couldn't keep his friends alive, and he couldn't even protect those who were still alive. He'd just up and abandoned Aileen in the face of someone who'd seconds ago murdered somebody. If anything, it was that he felt the worst about.

If Owen's life had been a fairy tale, or a novel, he might have stopped running out of the realisation that he was just abandoning more and more people. He might have stopped and turned back, been the gallant hero to save the day. But Owen's time on the island had been so very far from a fairy tale, and the only reason he stopped running was sheer exhaustion and lack of stamina.

It was getting dark. Owen's eyes felt heavy, and his lungs burned. He needed a place to rest, and for a few hours, forget about everything that had happened today. He was far, far away from the empty concrete jungle of the town, though. All there was in sight was a fairly large pond, and a few stands and shacks around the edge. They would do well enough. It wasn't as if he deserved better.

Owen slowly made his way over to one of the shacks, lazily threw his bags onto the ground, before placing himself ungainly in a sleeping position. It wasn't comfortable, not in the slightest, but it would have to do. And somehow, despite the hard floor, despite the thoughts and memories flying through his mind, he swiftly fell asleep.

---

Like so many of his friends across the island, Owen was woken by the sound of the announcements. For a moment, Owen lay there, still, a lone bird chirping a cheerful song that was completely at odds with its surroundings. He wasn't a morning person in the slightest. But he was also deeply uncomfortable, and before the pain could really kick in, he stood up, stretching, cracking his joints and rubbing his bleary eyes. As the first few sentences and deaths passed by, Owen made his way out of the shack. He knew one name that would certainly be on there. He also knew he still wouldn't be prepared for it.

There were two other names that stuck out beforehand. Francis and Becca. Both sporty people, Francis with football, Becca with basketball. He'd been closer to Becca than Francis, but they were both friends. And now they were gone, forever. Naomi's name followed soon after, the memories and thoughts returning with a vengeance, adding to the hollow building up inside him. And there was one final name, Xavier's. One of Owen's friends on the nerdier spectrum. He'd hardly thought about the guy whilst on the island. And now he too was gone.

Owen slumped down against the wall of the shack, and sat there, silent and still. There was a hollow feeling eating away at him inside, the knowledge of just how little he'd achieved.

He'd thought he was strong enough to get through this, to deal with whatever came his way and carry on forwards, with the knowledge that his friends were there and the thought of escape ever present. But when it came down to it, when the time for words was over and the time for action had presented itself, he'd done nothing but run.

He wasn't running now. But he wasn't doing anything, really. Owen just sat outside the shack, staring across the lake.

((Edgar Tolstoff continued from An Ironic Choice of Scenery))

Edgar had no idea where he was going.  He had no idea where he wanted to go, except his preference was that it would be a place without Travis in it.  And he barely had any idea where he was.

He wished he'd studied his map in more detail.  It was one of the last things in his pack he'd been concerned about, but now he wished that, more than anything else, that was the item he had in his hands.

He wondered how many of the other items which were until recently in his possession he was going to develop such feelings about.

It couldn't have been that long since he'd left the school. Not long enough, at any rate, for him to pin down on an appropriate scale exactly how screwed he now was.  Arguably, the needle had been resting steadily at 'Completely, Totally and Utterly Screwed' for no fewer than three days, but it was only now that he was beginning to countenance it.

He'd thought he'd had a plan.

He still did, in a way.  But 'find some way to at least temporarily continue existing' was more than a bit of a climbdown in ambition.

Such thoughts whirling round and round in his head in a steady, thudding spin cycle of doom, he wandered up to the boundaries of what appeared to have been a pond of some description.  The first thing he noticed was that he wasn't the first person to have done so.

He couldn't quite make out the figure in the distance, but it wasn't Cody or Travis.  Which was, he supposed, a marginal improvement.

"Er," he shouted across the water, by way of introducing himself.  "Excuse me?"

After a short while, Owen finally began to move, breaking his silent eye contact with the equally still and listless pond. He was really, really hungry. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning, and the rations he had... well, they barely qualified as food.

They were the only things he had, though, having neglected to put any snacks or such in his bag before the trip. He'd regretted it stepping onto the plane, and he regretted it even more now. Of course, it wasn't the thing he regretted most right now. Just as silent as he was before, Owen opened his assigned bag, digging through it to find a small chunk of bread and one of the energy bars.

It still tasted bad. But he was grateful for just having some food, for actual being able to eat something today. Undoubtedly there were friends and classmates across the island who, through some way or another, didn't even have these energy bars to eat. Most of all, the food managed to kick the last remnants of sleep from Owen's mind, and something clicked in his head. Aileen's name hadn't been on the announcements. Somehow, she'd managed to get away from Summer, maybe not unharmed, but alive, and Owen felt so goddamn relieved at this revelation.

Yet at the same time, that guilt and self-hatred he'd felt yesterday was coming back in full force. Aileen was safe, but that didn't change the fact that he'd just left her to face Summer on her own. Aileen was the sort of person who could handle herself, true, but all she had was that pair of gloves; Summer had her bec-de-corbin, and now Naomi's flail. And now, Owen was thinking of Naomi, and how powerless he'd been to help her...

Owen's thoughts were thankfully cut off by the sound of somebody shouting, from quite a distance away. Looking around, Owen saw nobody but the figure on the other side of the pond, and for one brief, hope-filled moment, Owen thought it might be Aileen shouting at him from across the water. But that was just wishful thinking; the voice was male, the figure was male. It was also familiar, though, not hugely so, but definitely belonged to someone Owen had talked to a few times.

"I-is that... Edgar?" Owen called back across the pond. Once again, his voice had that same nervous shake to it. He hadn't spoken for so long, he'd hoped it had disappeared. Evidently not.

"It's Owen! Owen Kay! I'm... I'm on my own..."

Oh holy mother of shit.

Edgar recognised the voice from its first stuttered syllable.  It was pretty damn recognisable.  And then it just had to go and twist the knife a bit more by daring to utter his own name, as well as the name of its owner no fewer than two times.

All the emotions he thought he'd left slumped in his corner at the high school came roaring up behind him and crashed over his head so hard he felt as if he was going to pitch head-first into the revolting water.

No.  No, dammit.  Not this soon.  Please not this soon.

What did karma think he'd done to deserve this?  Well, apart from, y'know, that, but c'mon.  Since waking up on Murder Island, Edgar had spoken with his classmates on precisely three occasions.  The first was with Cody, and had nearly resulted in him getting shot through no fault of his own.  The second was with Travis, and had actually resulted in him getting robbed through no fault of his own.

The third was with Owen, and that was just unfair.

He'd been reeling for a solid thirty seconds or so.  Owen's distant form blurred in and out of focus.  He wanted to turn tail and run as far away from this place as far as possible.  He wanted it more than anything else in the world.  He'd take sixty rounds with Cody over being forced to confront the consequences of his own goddamn actions.

But he'd already lost control once that day.  And if it had taught him anything, it was that dangerous things happened when you did.

He'd come here in search of a friendly classmate who might be willing to assist a poor boy who'd just had his only supplies of food and water taken from him.  Owen was, he was just lucid enough to notice, eating.  It looked like he'd found one who fitted both criteria.

Was he really willing, what with his record so far, to take the risk that the next person he found might not fit either?

"Y-yeah," he replied eventually, sounding, if anything, even less sure of himself than before.

"M... mind if I... I... come over?"

For a moment, the figure didn't respond, and Owen was left to wonder whether it was Edgar after all, or somebody else entirely. He'd thought for sure he recognised the voice, but the last male voice he'd heard had been Danya's. Maybe he'd remembered stuff wrong. Maybe the guy across the pond was Theo or Joe or one of the other players on this island.

But then, before Owen's thoughts could spiral out of control again, the voice confirmed that it was, in fact, Edgar. Edgar's voice was just as stuttered and unsure as his own, and Owen couldn't tell for certain, but it looked like the guy was missing his bag. What the hell had Edgar been through for that to happen? There was only one way of finding that out, and that was letting Edgar come over, something Owen was totally fine with him doing. The guy sounded like he was in bad shape, and didn't appear to be holding anything dangerous. Plus, he wasn't the sort of guy who'd try and hurt people anyway.

Of course, Owen had never thought Summer would ever murder anyone. Or Theo, or Kat, or anyone on this island. It changed people, that's what the island did, and he couldn't just go around blindly assuming everyone was innocent.

Maybe, though, this was a way of setting his mind straight. If Edgar had decided to play... well, he'd have to take action, have to drive him off. There'd be no escape route, like with Summer. It would be do or die. Maybe then he'd be able to prove to himself he could really, honestly survive this. It would be much more preferable for Edgar to be just as uncertain as he sounded, still. An ally would help just as much. God knows what he'd have done if Aileen hadn't been around at the hospital. Either way, the outcome had benefits.

"Y-yeah..." Owen shouted, voice still shaky. He shook his head, tried again, tried to compose himself.

"Yeah, sure thing! I could do with some company... "

So, it was Owen Kay, he was on his own, he had something Edgar needed, and he was totally fine with Edgar coming over to get it.  Operation: Exploit Your Friends While Stabbing Them In The Back was set to be a complete success.

God, he really was no better than Travis, was he?

There was still time.  He could still turn around, leave this place, pretend Owen didn't exist, pretend Owen hadn't just offered to keep him company, pretend Owen had totally deserved the lies Edgar had told about him to save his own skin from someone who was doubtless, even now, coming to get Owen.

He continued telling himself this all the time his legs were in motion, propelling him around the border of the pond towards Owen.  He didn't have to do this.  Maybe if he left now, he could convince himself that there never had been a person called Owen Kay, and he had heroically risked his own life to see Travis sent on a wild goose chase.

At the very least, he could convince himself Owen had deserved it.  Maybe he'd murdered sixteen people already that morning and he was luring Edgar into his clutches to be victim number seventeen.  The fact that he sounded just as uncertain, as frightened, as harmless as Edgar did was an act.  His offer of friendship was insincere.  Any moment now, he was going to pull out a gun and mercilessly fill Edgar with hot lead.

A pair of white and green trainers slowly drifted into Edgar's field of vision as he completed his slow, reluctant trudge, utterly devoid of hot lead and even less filled with conviction.  He did not raise his head, preferring to assume that they were Owen's until proven otherwise.  He knew what he would see if he looked upwards - some considerable distance upwards, actually - and he had no desire to be reminded of what Owen looked like right now.

"So... how've you been doing?" he muttered quietly, thankful at least for the reduced distance granting him the luxury of not being forced to amplify his voice until it inherently sounded as if it had the tiniest bit of confidence in it.

Please say you've killed someone.

As Owen watched Edgar slowly trudge towards him, his feeling of unease grew ever stronger. The other boy was looking at the ground, almost refusing to look up at Owen, even as he came to a halt a few feet away. Even as he spoke, voice still quiet, Edgar looked at the floor. There was definitely something up with the guy. Maybe it had to do with the loss of his bag, but Owen still felt uneasy.

Owen's eyes quickly flickered from Edgar's hands, to Edgar's pockets. He wasn't holding anything, and there was no shape in his pockets that indicated a gun, or a knife, or... anything. So, he'd been right; Edgar was harmless. If anything, that unnerved part of Owen even more. What, then, was causing Edgar to act so... off?

The rest of Owen, however, put it to one side. Edgar was harmless, his worries had been momentarily put to one side, and he could find out what was troubling him in due course. Right now, he had a question to answer. And Jesus, it was one hell of a question. How exactly could he answer this?

"Me? I've... not been doing so good..." Owen started to speak tentatively, before he scratched the back of his head, and momentarily followed Edgar in looking down at the ground.

"No, sorry... I've been doing fine, compared to most people here... It's just everyone I've met that..." Again, Owen trailed off, this time looking past Edgar, searching for something to say, not even really sure where to start. When he looked back at Edgar, the faintest hints of tears had formed in his eyes.

"I've threatened someone with this-" Owen pulled the scalpel out of his pocket before continuing. "I've watched two friends argue over something pointless, I found Sven's dead body, I..." Another pause, as Owen took a breath to compose himself.

"I s-saw Summer kill Naomi, and all I did was run. Run and leave the girl who's been with me this whole time behind, who h-helped me press on... I... I left her with Summer and just ran." There were definitely tears in Owen's eyes now, but he shook his head, and let out a short, bitter laugh.

"I've been doing a lot of running." He laughed again, still with no emotion, no true joy at all. He could have elaborated further, told Edgar everything, but all he'd asked for was how he'd been doing, not his life story.

It was really just that Owen hadn't had a chance to properly talk to anyone about, well, anything yet. It didn't make things better, but there was just something about letting your thoughts out into the open... As soon as he found Aileen again, he'd need to sit down and talk with her.

"So... what about you?"

Edgar listened quietly to Owen's reply, not moving his eyes, trying not to move anything at all apart from his teeth, which gradually clenched tighter together as every sentence out of Owen's mouth made him feel increasingly like shit.

If anything, it sounded as if Owen had had it much worse than he had.  He'd seen two dead bodies, one of which he had observed being killed.  And he hadn't freaked out, hadn't sat paralysed waiting for Summer to come and get him too, hadn't panicked and handed Edgar's name over to Naomi's killer just as part of some selfish, fanciful plot to save himself.

Owen made it out as if he was some kind of coward, but Edgar knew what cowardice was.  This kid wasn't even in the little leagues.

That brought him to the question he'd been dreading most of all.

"Well, I... the first person I met was Cody," he began, still addressing Owen's shoes.  "Cody who... he had a gun, and his ex-girlfriend was there too... well, one of them..."

This was not the tone he was going for.  Couldn't he at least try to make himself not sound like a complete unrepentant bastard?

"He pointed it at me, he was going to kill me..."

Oooh, look at us, fishing for sympathy.  Worthless scum.

"But then, this... this other football player showed up, I'm not really sure what happened, but... well, he let me go and I spent the rest of the day hiding in the woods..."

Only the one day?  Quite the lionheart, aren't we?

"And all of yesterday, too..."

Better.

"But this morning, I..."

Tell him.

"I... I met Travis and, and, and I..."

Tell him now.

"He... I..."

Tell him now you fucking coward.

"I..."

He gestured listlessly at the space where a survival bag with B065 written on it might have been.

He choked up.  He couldn't say any more.  He blinked, hard, almost but not quite in time to stop a couple of tears falling from his eyes.

He hadn't done it.  He was just going to stand here and soak up the sympathy he had done nothing to deserve, from a person who had every right to kill him.

You are a fucking liar, Edgar Tolstoff.

Edgar really didn't sound like he wanted to talk, and for a few seconds, Owen regretted asking him anything. The guy still had his head down, staring at the ground, and his voice was as uneasy as before. But talking about what he'd been through had helped for Owen, if just a little, so he hoped the same would be true for Edgar.

Those thoughts were almost dashed when Edgar mentioned he'd been threatened at gunpoint by Cody. That had to be football Cody, given that band Cody had been barred from the trip. Owen would never have expected either of them, though, to have done something like that, but as was being proved time and time again, nobody was quite the same as they had been at school anymore. He knew nothing bad had come out of the encounter, seeing as Cody's name hadn't been on the announcement. But the fact that he'd still threatened Edgar, pointed a gun at him, took Owen by surprise, his mouth slightly ajar out of shock.

Yeah, and you'd know all about threatening people, wouldn't you...

And there, right on cue, another unwanted thought. He could try and justify what he'd done, that Lauren had hit Aileen first, that he had no idea of what had been running through Cody's mind either. He still felt like shit for it, though.

Owen listened intently as Edgar carried on describing what he'd been up to for the past two days, before finally, he revealed the mystery of what had happened to his bag. It clearly wasn't an easy thing to talk about, given the tears in his eyes, but Owen got the picture. Travis had taken Edgar's stuff. Owen paused, thinking of what to say. He'd always wished he was better at sympathy; it was one of few regrets he'd had before now. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

"Jesus..." Owen mumbled. "I'm sorry, man. I wish I could be more surprised about the Travis thing, but... apparently, he already stole Naomi's weapon, before I met her. I guess... I guess everyone's got different ideas about what to do on this island..."

On that subject, what was his? Since finding Naomi and Cammy, it'd been to find some way of escaping from here. But that had been a non-starter, that had taken a setback upon Naomi's realisation of the filming schedule. And another upon Naomi's death. So what now? Was he going to try and find his friends, find Aileen, before someone with a gun came after him? He couldn't see anything else to do.

"Um..." Owen mumbled again, trying to say something to repel his thoughts. "Do you want something to eat? I mean, seeing as you haven't had anything since this morning. I'll be fine with a bit missing, I eat pretty much anything..."

Another forced laugh. Another pretense that he was doing okay.

The explanations and introductions were done and out of the way.  Edgar had to endure only a few more viciously barbed comments thrown his way before they could get down to what he was subjecting himself to this for in the first place.

He was sure Owen didn't mean it.  But funnily enough, as Owen detailed an item from Travis's record from before they had met and explained just how much of a dick he had known the guy was long before Edgar saw him, all Edgar heard was, "I hate you.  You told him to kill me.  You deserve to die.  Painfully."

Edgar's addled mind had by now convinced itself that it was beyond doubt that that was the fate Travis had in store for Owen.  After all, it hardly sounded as if his treatment of Edgar had been a one-off.  Did the stoner even know any other way to communicate with people beyond threatening violence, or robbery, or both?  He hadn't exactly been subtle about hiding his intentions after Edgar... after the incident, either.

He stood there rubbing his eyes furiously for almost all the time Owen was talking.  The tears dried up within five seconds or so, but he continued pressing into his eyeballs as if they were the world's worst idea for an impromptu stress reliever.  He liked the sensation it gave him, of blackness and disorientation and no small amount of physical pain.  It helped him to not think.

It helped him convince himself that he was paying down a tiny proportion of the debt of suffering he had passed off onto two others, too.

Owen's final question drifted through Edgar's earholes, but got held up in traffic on the way to his brain.  A detail of Owen's story had just nudged something into place in his mind.

"Naomi..." he murmured, more to himself than to Owen.

"So he stole her weapon," he thought aloud.  "That was... he had a bloody bandage on his elbow, and he said Naomi Bell shot him with a crossbow.  Didn't mention anything about stealing from her, but then again..."

Edgar gave a short laugh that somehow managed to be even less humorous than Owen's.  Then, at long last, he looked up.  It was considerably easier when they weren't talking, or not talking, about what he had just done.

"Wait... was the crossbow her weapon?  Travis didn't seem to have a weapon, but I guess he could've been hiding a crossbow... then again, I think he was threatening me with a bundle of pens..."

What could have happened to Travis between the first day and the third?  And was it good news for the peace-loving citizens of Murder Island?

"He was real happy when the announcement played," he added, back to his previous quiet pitch.  "Laughed his head off.  That was how I... I..."

Edgar dropped his head again, and resumed pressing his palms into his eyeballs.  This was getting uncomfortably close to their original topic of conversation.

Compounding his feelings was the fact that Owen had just offered to help him.

No matter how many times he told himself that he'd come over here to find someone willing to help with his supply problems in the first place, and the odds were that most people wouldn't be nearly as friendly as Owen, it wouldn't make the next bit any easier.

"Do you... do you have any water?"

Edgar didn't seem to have heard Owen's last comment, or if he had, he didn't acknowledge it. It was probably for the best. He wasn't exactly in the most humorous mood, and any attempts he was making were having the opposite effect. Edgar seemed to be mumbling something to himself, and Owen could just about work out what her was saying, something about Travis and how Naomi had shot him with a crossbow.

Owen's mind was too fuzzy for him to remember if that detail had been mentioned when he'd first met Naomi, but it sounded new. Yeah, Owen didn't think Naomi had brought it up; it wasn't something you'd want to, anyhow, was it? Admitting to hurting somebody with a weapon, especially given the frosty atmosphere between the group.

He had no ill feelings towards Naomi, though. Not now, at least. Especially not now he knew Travis had mugged people more than once.

Finally, Edgar raised his head, asking Owen two questions. The first was whether Travis had stolen the crossbow, and then, after his head fell again, if Owen had any water. Owen decided to answer the latter question first, kneeling down to open his bag up again.

"Yeah, I've got water; I've got most of mine left. I'll find you a bottle." Owen rummaged through his bag, speaking as he did so, answering Edgar's first question.

"And no, I can't remember what her weapon was. Cammy had the crossbow, but... but she ran off with it..." Owen paused his search for a second, before resuming both it and his speaking.

"She didn't have pens, either... she'd written something in, like, the sand, so..." Owen pulled a bottle out of his bag, looking up at Edgar.

"Jesus, but what the hell's up with Travis? Doesn't... doesn't he care? Doesn't he have friends out here? If he'd been there..." And again, Owen paused, the memories of the incident at the apartment complexes hitting him hard again. He reached his arm out towards Edgar, holding the bottle, noticing the slight shake that still affected him.

"Here..."

Edgar snatched the bottle out of Owen's hand, considerably more forcefully than he had intended to.  Making his own arm move at all was a challenge.  By now Owen must have noticed he wasn't his usual self.  He was going to notice something was up, he was going to figure it all out on the spot, and he was going to snatch this gift right back and then bludgeon Edgar to death with it or something.

It looked as if Owen had a few secrets of his own, so maybe that was protecting him for the time being.  Much as he wanted to ask, at the same time he really didn't.  Come to think of it, he really wasn't sure why he'd attempted to make conversation with Owen in the first place.  He was here for a purpose, the only reason he was still here instead of a thousand miles away, and standing around here driving himself insane with guilt was an undesirable secondary outcome.

"S-s-sorry!" he stammered.  "Thanks, I... I... sorry, I didn't... thanks... I..."

His voice trailed off pathetically.  He had what he came for, or at least the most urgent of the items.  He could survive on the bar he'd eaten that morning.  He was now decisively out of excuses for sticking around here.

"Uh... can... can I keep this?" he remembered to ask, because he may just be Travis in disguise, but he'd prefer not to start robbing people.

He didn't care about what motivated Travis, although he had the distinct feeling he might know the real answer at an uncomfortably intimate level.  The bottle in his hand, his legs began to twitch, his entire body subconsciously poised for the speedy backward retreat it had been screaming at him to do for the last five minutes.

He needed to get out of here.  No.  He wanted to get out of here.  He wanted to go and curl up in a little hole somewhere and convince himself that he wasn't a bad person.  What he actually needed to do was to tell Owen the full story, and accept responsibility for his deeds.

Somehow, that didn't seem to be happening.

It was about now that Owen's feeling of uncertainty slowly started to flood back into his mind. There was definitely something up with Edgar, something that had happened to him. It could have been a continued reaction to having a gun pointed at him, but it had been three days since then. Owen wasn't pointing a weapon at him, and he wasn't planning to, and yet Edgar was just as nervous sounding as when he'd first turned up.

A frown appeared on Owen's face as Edgar asked if he could keep the water bottle, calculating the amount of water left in his head. He'd pretty much finished a whole bottle already, having misjudged his rationing completely. Giving Edgar another whole bottle would only leave him with two until he finally left the island... whenever that would be.

But again, Owen's trust won the battle within his mind. Owen still had two bottles, as well as most of his food. Edgar had nothing. And the guy had gone through a lot of shit, getting held up and then getting mugged. It was completely reasonable that the guy wasn't at the top of his game. But Owen did want to know what had happened with Travis. If he could do, or say, anything to help him, then he wanted to do so. Maybe now he could start afresh. Start helping people, staying strong, just staying together.

"Yeah... yeah, sure, keep it. I mean..." Owen paused again, standing up, slower than he might have liked. Lying on floors for two nights in a row wasn't good for his body. "I was going to start looking for Aileen. Then for the rest of my friends, as many as I can. After that... well, uh... I guess I'll cross that bridge later... But if you wanna join up with me, you'd be more than welcome." Owen folded his arms, then, and looked straight at Edgar.

"But, uh... you sure you're okay? I mean, ah... you really don't seem like you're holding up too well. Not that I can talk, of course." A small smile made its way to Owen's face, much more earnest than his horribly forced laughs. It was still baby steps; he still wasn't totally all there. But it was a start, at least.

Oh God.  Here it came.  Here were the questions, the suspicion, the entirely correct feeling that something about Edgar wasn't quite right.

"Uh... no thanks, I'm... I'm fine, really..."

Get out of here, now!

An alliance, indeed.  A murder plot, more like.  No, Edgar's place was away from the questions, away from the awkward fake answers, away from the terrible true answers, away from anything which might conceivably make him think about what he'd done, let alone tell one of his victims about it.

On some level, Edgar knew he was wrong.  Owen was just being friendly, he was just expressing his concern like the nice guy he was.  And if he hadn't deserved what Edgar had done to him, he definitely didn't deserve not finding out about it until too late.

But they were, after all, literally expected to murder each other.  And no matter how irrational a prospect Owen threatening him with that knife of his may be, Edgar couldn't make it not matter.

Maybe Travis would do his job for him, relieve him of the pain of having to see Owen die.  Oh Christ.  Had he seriously just thought that?

Was Owen a danger to him, or was he a danger to Owen?

Edgar took several more rapid steps backward.  He tried to make it seem as if he wasn't too desperate to get as far away from Owen as possible, as soon as possible, preferably before Owen next opened his mouth to ask yet more questions.  He failed.

It had always been a long shot, getting Edgar to come with him, and Owen had never really expected it to work. There was obviously something up with the guy, even if he didn't want to talk about it, especially given how he hurriedly backed off. Maybe it was for the best that the two part ways, before something happened. What that something was, Owen didn't know, but again, maybe that was for the best.

"Alright then, fine. I'll... I'll probably be here for a little while longer..."

At the very least, Edgar had water now. It was a start, and there didn't seem to be much Owen could do for him otherwise. More importantly, more selfishly, this encounter had rekindled something inside of Owen. That statement he'd made to Naomi back in the Zen Garden, about how he wasn't going to give up floated into his head. Don't give up, show them that you're strong. That you're ready for what the island throws at you. There'd be time to cry, to think about how everything was falling to shit, because there was no point in acting like he was unaffected by everything around him. But then, he'd move on, press forwards.

It was the only way he'd stay alive, after all. Keeping himself together.

Owen looked at the scalpel in his hand, half in and half out of his pocket, turning it over, contemplating something. His motives for carrying on were mostly about himself, he knew that, about staying alive. But he still wanted his friends to be okay as well.

"Wait, Edgar, take this." Owen held the scalpel out towards the other boy. "You'll need something to protect you. I've got that-" Owen gestured towards the table leg "and besides... wasn't like I was gonna-"

And there, Owen paused. That wasn't entirely true, was it? He'd have to use it, sooner or later. Hell, he almost had done already. To protect Aileen. To protect himself. He needed a weapon, and if he needed to defend himself, he'd have to use it.

"... Well, I'll be fine... um... good luck..."