Survival Of The Fittest

Out in the open, right on the south-most point of the island, there stood a girl looking at what laid outside her boundaries. She was tallish — not as tall as many of the boys, but still fairly up there, for her age — with pale skin, only the arms clutching the railing having been darkened by the sun. Her hair was black, bushy, blown back by the wind while her eyes were lily-green, glimmering, staring at the risen sun, the distant sky. She was dressed well enough for the occasion — it was maybe a little cold, but her jacket, her jeans were protecting her well enough from the wind, the chill she felt exhilarating, rather than numbing. Her backpack — the thing declaring the name they’d picked for her — laid behind her, whatever insignificance inside remaining unchecked; unimportant as of this moment.

Her feet were right on the edge of the cliff and the open air. Her arms were stretched behind her as she as she leant herself further forward, let herself see the sea below. If one thing went wrong, if any part of this island broke from contact with her, that right below would be where she laid, after the air had had its time with her.

And yet despite the risk, despite all that had happened, the girl was laughing; looking forward, at the sky. The world as she’d known it had ended and the frontier that’d replaced it was fraught with risk, danger, unpredictabilities. Her life was approaching its last moments. All this that happened here would be what defined her, what replaced the seventeen years of before.

And believe her when she said it, Roxanne Herbert would have not liked that fact any other way.

((G064: Begin))

There wasn't much to the girl lingering on the edge. Perhaps a certain romantically destructive sentiment, in so far as Princess had ever cared for the idea of murder of the self indicating one's passion, zealotry for their art or science. It was cheap. In this specific case, it was not even relevant. Who was this wench- in the metaphorical sense? A musically frustrated girl with shockingly little self control. Her narrative ending itself here and now with a brief moment of painting the waves and rocks below red, while crude, might have been effective. She could have let her story end on that note: dull, monotonous. Uninspired perhaps, but Princess wouldn't have blamed her.

Princess, she'd already finished crying. Just enough hysteria to where she'd noticed the cameras watching. Voyeurism, hm? How trite. Princess had quieted herself quickly, and moved on.

The other girl, she wasn't quite of the mindset of killing herself perhaps. There was too much to her expression, it was at least lively, energetic. Almost manic, in a way. Again, shockingly little self-control, but Princess couldn't help but think of the child let loose in a candy store. Cute, in a way.

Princess had no reason to worry, but the character Princess did.

"A-Anna!" And Princess bolted, taking the rest of the dirt incline between them in a rush. "Oh god- don't do it!"

And she heard, because she was listening for it, the whir of the camera's attention. That, she'd already gotten used to. She was used to an audience anyways. It brought out the best in her.

A voice, behind her. A call of panic, of fear, of emotions that seemed typical of this place. Of a name that the girl did not want, that reminded her of all the years before. She turned her head to the side, turned her eyes the rest of the way to see whether the person who called her with the name was worthy of any further attention. She could only be seen with the corner of her eyes, but what little was there made everything clear. It was a girl who Roxanne barely recognized, who had maybe appeared in the halls of the before time but who had never been of interest, of consequence. Her primary reaction was of fear, of a belief that Roxanne was only up here to jump, to end the life that had only just begun. Of a belief that she knew, cared enough about the girl in front of her to try and save them, despite how clear they’d made it that they knew nothing, that they only doing this to perform what was expected, customary, in this place.

How boring.

How expected.

“Who are you talking about?”

The laughter stopped. Roxanne turned her head back around, placed herself where she’d been before the interruption. She spoke to the sky above and the sea below, the question of whether those behind could hear her insignificant, in her mind.

((At the time, the cliffs had seemed like a good bet))

She'd passed the religious-looking building on the way, was briefly tempted by the enclosed space, but continued. Isolated and barren, Paloma figured nobody would want to find themselves here if they could avoid it. It didn't even seem like ideal shelter, which meant even other people who were smart enough to wait it out would skip it. Plus, it was easy to see people coming up.

People might decide to throw themselves off, but that was...fine. Paloma wasn't going to stop them.

Her bag was heavier than she'd expected, so she tossed the majority of her clothes at some point in the wilderness. She'd kept one extra blouse and a pair of pants. She’d also put on another pair of shorts, and stuffing her skirt and hat into the bag too. She didn't really need it, but she could find a use for something so big and colorful, probably. She was pretty worn out by the time she spotted someone standing at the edge.

At first, Paloma winced. She still clutched the bat, her bat, and instinctively brought it up for protection. But the silhouette against the bright blue sky-a great shot if there ever was one-was facing away, arms outstretched. Were they going to jump? Paloma's breath caught. Objectively, it was a good thing. One less person to threaten her, and if they went out on their own, good for them. Made it easier on themselves and her. If only everyone else agreed, that would make it a lot easier.

But no, she didn't jump. She stood, poised as though ready to dive. Paloma had no idea who she was except she had dark hair and a jacket, both reeling in the wind.

If only she had her camera. But Paloma didn't have her camera. She had a baseball bat and...she didn't want to do it. Whoever the were, they weren't watching behind them. They were on the very edge. She could probably startle her to trip and fall if she shouted. She could try it. But...no, it wasn't worth it. One was an accident. Abel was an accident. She wasn't a monster. She couldn't just kill someone because it was easy.

What was in her bag? It was just on the ground. If she wasn't paying any attention, Paloma could just...

Who was that? Paloma stopped as she heard a girl call out and start running forward. It was…wasn’t it Princess? Paloma liked Princess. She had a weird name, but that wasn’t exactly her fault. She had a good fashion sense, though her hair was kind of a mess, and she was a photographer, though she wasn’t nearly as dedicated as Paloma. She was kind of a hodgepodge of interests, but Paloma liked that.

What was she doing? Trying to stop the other girl from killing herself, apparently. Said other girl didn’t turn to look, just responded and assumed her pose once more. She wasn’t planning on it, after all.

Paloma was a little uncomfortable now. Whatever was up with those two, it was a weird, awkward dialogue. It took her a second to process why it bothered her. The other girl, ‘Anna’? She’d said ‘who’. Did Princess not get the right person? Wait, no, that was definitely Anna. She was in the photography club, too. She was an artist, a little weird and quiet, but Paloma knew her. What kind of response was ‘who’? Had she lost it? Maybe she…

Something was wrong. Paloma didn’t like it. She no longer wanted to be here. Crouching, she huddle and turned, slowly backing up down the path towards the shelter of the trees, head turning between the unfolding strangeness above her and the unsure footing beneath.

'Who'. Yes, that was a good question. Who indeed. There was not much to a name, save for the arbitrary boundaries it imposed onto the entirety of one's self. What was in a name, save all the expectations nobody had asked for?

Princess could have sympathized, yes. This girl was possibly mad, so there was much to be said for understanding the desire to not be bound to one form of address. But her name was Anna, and her own name was Princess, and that was their birthright. Whether wanted or not. One did not chose their name. They earned it.

Princess had little time for this. She only had all the time in the world, maybe a few acts, then curtains.

"Um... you. I think." Princess the character sounded a good deal more timid than Princess the narrator- it was common practice, perhaps, to be somewhat unreliable when one was telling their own story. She imagined this moment was among the best moments remaining in her life, yet to be lived. Unfortunate, really. She could have written better, any of those sycophants like even Artem could have.

"Y-you recognize me right?" A faltering step forward- it took more strength to pretend to be weak than to be strong, as an aside. Strength of body, definitely strength of mind when Princess was only so patient for the follies of the people she charitably called peers. The shadow of the church this clearing was hidden behind was cast over them both, the sun only slowly creeping higher into the sky. It was a pleasant and balmy morning. So far wasted, but that would have been the case even if Princess hadn't been abducted into this pretentious farce of an existential statement.

Pretentious, but lethally so, she reminded herself.

"Princess. Um- what were you doing? ... Exactly...?" She hated how easy it was to be cast as the pathetic one. She glanced around, mostly keeping her attention to Anna- or whatever extraneous title it was she'd assigned herself as the new Lord of the Flies- but also suddenly uneasy, as if someone else was there. A third character, as of yet properly blocked into their scene.

He didn't have to go very far from the temple before the ground ran out before him. He had to admire the architecture - setting the place of worship beside such a spectacular vantage point was a stroke of genius by whomever had established the colony here in the first place. As he shifted the bags slung around his torso, he glanced down at Min-jae to be certain that he would be ready to defend himself if need be.

That wouldn't have been his primary concern but for the three girls standing near to the edge of the cliff, two closer and one obviously looking from afar. Claudeson smiled. He had already saved one poor soul from damning his eternal soul. Why couldn't he keep up the pattern and do it again?

((Claudeson Bademosi continued from Borrowed Time))

For the time being, he held Min-jae aimed downwards, his insurance could easily be construed as a weapon for the destruction of mankind and that wasn't the kind of impression that he wanted to give off. His bleeding nose was still trickling, and no matter how many times he wiped the blood from his face, it seemed to continue trailing down into his mouth and on his shirt. He hadn't been able to look in a mirror but it seemed like he was a bloody mess - his visage obviously not the kind one that he often projected. Hopefully that wouldn't be too much of a distraction.

Smiling, he raised his hand and waved at the three girls, taking care not to get too close to any of them, or to the precipitous drop-off which would spell the demise of any of them.

"Ladies! Please be careful around that cliff!"

He took a moment to study their faces. They were all familiar to him - none were extraordinarily close friends, but he'd had classes with them all. The girl closest to the ledge; Roxanne, seemed uncertain. He sincerely hoped she wasn't about to jump, though he wasn't entirely sure.

"Let us all take a second, collect ourselves. This is an awful day, but we do not need to do anything drastic! We musn't lose hope in one another!"

His words felt strong, felt right. His adrenaline was going, though it was wearing off a bit after the confrontation with Tyrell, as his body was starting to ache where the boy had beaten him. No matter, though. This was where he had to be. He knew it.

“I don’t,” and Roxanne didn’t. Not in any sense of the question that bared actual consequence. The term ‘recognized’ was far too indefinable, far too loose because the way it was overused had lowered its bar, robbed it of its proper meaning. Of course Roxanne recognized Princess. She was that girl who seemed to be in every school play. She was a face in the crowd of the hallways who always seemed to treat her with kindness for some unknown reason, but did those two facts actually render Princess recognizable? If Roxanne were to recount all the knowledge she had to Princess, would she be satisfied? What laid below those surface-level details? Did Princess matter enough for Roxanne to care about the answers of any of those questions?

The answer was clear. The other questions of Roxanne’s needed no answering, nor did any of the ones Princess had asked of her. Had she maybe been able to recognize Roxanne, she could have come to her own conclusions. She wouldn’t have needed to ask them in the first place.

The second voice had dropped out as the third had emerged, and Roxanne’s hope was that his presence would vanish as quickly as Princess’ had. He spoke the same question, gave the same concern, and although the inflection had changed it was clear that he was speaking the same lines that apparently existed to plague her. There was now something harder in her breath and there was now something tightening around the top of her head as she breathed out through gritted teeth. Was this whole song and dance really just going to repeat itself? Were they all going to act as if nothing had changed, as if this brave new world they found themselves in was something to reject the embrace of?

She sighed, a tinge of their effect coming out with her breath. Maybe nothing had changed. Maybe all it took was one person acting against it to ruin her freedom, remind her of what she really was.

...Whatever. This could be dealt with. The two could quickly go away, once they were focused on each other. Perhaps if they found worlds more like their own, they would stop trying to change hers.

“You deal with him,” Roxanne said, the words directed at Princess. She moved her arms from behind her to her sides, but kept her vision on what was in front, of what was of more interest.

This was extremely weird.

It was absurd to think so, especially given what Paloma had already seen and done, but that was besides the point. Her situation and reactions, they made sense, they had logic, even if other people hadn't been around, if they had been they'd have understood. Paloma had no idea what was happening now. Princess, for her part, seemed similarly baffled. Was Anna already off her rocker? It was always the quiet ones, supposedly.

And then, to make things a little more surreal, Claudeson showed up. Paloma didn't particularly know him, which was kind of a refreshing change over people she was vaguely concerned about or would have been in less dire circumstances. She didn't really have a good reason to; he was very polite and well-composed which she supposed was better than many of her peers. He was religious, so he probably wasn't about to go murdering people for fun.

Also, he was carrying a crossbow. That was the first thing Paloma noticed when he came up behind her and made her instinctively clutch the baseball bat to her chest. The second was that he was covered in blood. It as all over his face and shirt. Someone had decked him good, apparently. Paloma had no idea what could have happened to that person. She was under no illusions; people could and would and had ended lives to save their own by now. Would Claudeson kill someone to protect himself? Did the Bible have exceptions for 'thou shalt not kill'? Then again, if he had a crossbow, and someone was smashing his-punching him, how would he shoot them? Maybe they just didn't finish the job.

Okay, so once Paloma's heartrate had normalized a bit-relatively speaking-she took in that he was also trying to tell Anna not to kill herself. That was kind of funny, in a sort of dramatically ironic way because she wasn't actually planning to apparently. Paloma was glad that he didn't seem to notice her. She could, if need be, leave. She probably ought to do that.

She couldn't help but be a little morbidly curious, however-the most appropriate curiosity she could feel at the moment. Anna didn't recognize Princess. That was...not entirely unreasonable if she was crazy. Was that how crazy worked? Depended on the crazy, Paloma would assume. Dammit, she'd taken a psychology class in psychology. Was it a fugue state? Maybe that. Didn’t seem unreasonable, given the circumstances, to want to stop being here. Mentally check out, in a more literal sense.

‘Deal with him’. Paloma flinched, eyes suddenly focusing on Princess instead. Was that a threat? An order? An exasperated request? Paloma ran the phrase through her mind, trying to discern the tone. She had no idea. Maybe she should just assume the worst. But then, Princess wasn’t armed, so what was she going to do to a dude with a ranged weapon, flying tackle him?

Paloma started slowly edging down the path, but stopped when she slipped on some loose rocks and foliage. She caught herself, and managed to stifle a yelp, but she needed a sec to catch her breath. Dying by falling down a hill would be about the worst thing she could manage for herself right now.

"Mm."

Whether calculated or not, it was an understandable move, a natural expression of humanity that they'd all been endowed with young. Not liking it, not bothering. Princess had probably missed something on the uptake- it was hard, after all, to be an actress sans her script. She could improvise but she could not ask for a break from the scene if things went wrong. Well, that's just how it was- Anna being the dictionary definition of a goddamn bitch aside, Princess had absolutely no issues and was certainly not irritated and Princess could at least demonstrate one of those little quirks she'd picked up in the long and arduous task of getting to know people as an average shape teenager.

You need to speak to be heard. Advice she would have given to certain people unwilling to listen.

So, enter Claudeson. Possibly that third set of eyes she'd been suspicious of. What an entrance! The audience roared with the standing ovation's worth of pelting the stage with tomatoes. He was blood soaked in a way that seemed almost artificial, at least Princess could have wished it into being if she'd been any more naive or any less intelligent- neither of those particular winsome things much applied to her as traits, so she liked to believe. She found him genial, competent...

Something about him had always thrown her off, but she didn't know what. Oh well. That happened a lot when this rabble of a school was involved, something about them just positively captivated all the parts of her brain worthy of lobotomy.

"Claude," Princess's wavering voice strengthened, as if- heaven forbid- she'd found the light and her savior. A bit of brown-nosing only ever stunk to high heaven.

"I... think we're collected, anyways. She," and Princess indicated Anna her damn majesty as was most polite, "seems to just be... lost in thought, perhaps? I suppose I wouldn't blame her." A soft smile, a giggle at once nervous and coy- easy, it was so damn easy she could have taught Mr. Class President to be so flawless- "And I don't think we've yet to lose hope?"

Roxy was still a question mark, but bygones be.`After great pain, a formal feeling comes.` Said feeling being the rest of their short lives.

"Or maybe I can only, um, speak for myself." She sighed.

It would have been so easy to stride over to the edge and save the girl - and everyone else - the trouble with one swift shove.

Smiling the intruding thought away, Claudeson nodded as Princess affirmed that she was all right, at least as much as the circumstance would allow. He could hear the unsteadiness in her voice, the small quiver of her body as she did her best to save off the anxiety that certain death incited. As she spoke, she seemed to compose herself, weathering the brief storm. Good for her. Having one's mental faculties was crucial at a time like this. Absently wiping a new trail of blood from his lips, he was glad that he had managed to do that himself.

"Excellent, I am glad to hear it. This a troubling situation, after all," he let his smile fall. "One would understand a little bit of distress."

Taking a few more steps towards them, he brought Min-jae a bit closer to himself, still keeping the readied arrow pointed at the ground. It didn't appear that any of these girls had truly lost their minds as of yet, though as Tyrell had proven to him, just because one was not a killer did not mean they were incapable of violence.

He stepped on an uneven patch of land, his ribs reminded him of the beating he'd sustained but the feeling only made him smile more. Every sensation, every feeling - he had missed this.

"We musn't lose hope - in this infernal crisis, hope is all that we have to guide us. Hope in salvation, and hope in one another. When we lose that, we lose ourselves."

He paused for a second, and chuckled self-referentially.

"I should clarify - when I say 'salvation', I mean a rescue. I have to believe that our country has prepared in advance of this."

Claudeson was about to say more, to direct something at the girl who was still seated on the precipice, when the red-headed girl lost her footing and took a tumble down the hill. Mouth opening in alarm, he held up his left hand, letting his right bear Min-jae's full weight and letting the weapon droop even more.

"Be careful over there! Are you all right?"

The noise had not stopped. The people behind her had not shut up. All they did was keep on talking, keep on repeating the same points established before, keep on acting as if they knew, recognized who she was. She hadn’t quite been able to tell what the expression on her face had been before but she knew know that it was dropping into a frown, that a harsher and harsher noise was coming out of her mouth for every time she breathed. Could they not see what it was that she desired? Was it not clear that their intrusion was causing far more grief than their transportation between worlds happened to? It was amusing, in a way. The way they acted as if they’d been friends, as if they’d ever cared did nothing but make it clear that they hadn’t, that they didn’t.

If it weren’t so irritating to be a part of, it would perhaps be something that could hold her interest, that would be worth analysing at any level deeper than the surface.

It wasn’t, though, so she kept her mouth closed in response to the question towards her. Kept placing her focus on the distant sky, the sea that laid below. Maybe if she ignored them, they would ignore her in turn. At this moment, that outcome was the only one she could pray for.

Oh no! Paloma squeaked and nodded, hugging the bat tightly to herself.

Anna was actively ignoring them now, which was weird. She'd definitely lost it. Princess seemed oddly cheery. Claude was impressively optimistic. His assumption admittedly wasn't totally out there, but after all the previous efforts, government intervention had never manifested. If they'd been gotten out of the country to wherever they were now, that dramatically lowered their odds.

If there was a rescue, what would happen to Paloma? Well, there probably wouldn't be one, so it wasn't worth worrying about it. Not exactly comforting. But if it did, it was an accident. Self-defense. She'd made a mistake, sure, but it wasn't her fault. But that wasn't worth worrying about now. What she was better off worrying about was Claude and Princess looking at her.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." Paloma said in a tiny voice. She took another cautious step backwards. "I'm just gonna...bye." She kept walking backwards, pausing to catch her breath once she'd arrived at the bottom of the slope.

((Continued from This Does Not Spark Joy))

It didn't take long for people to start showing up, didn't it?

It didn't make any sense, but there was something weird about there being people in this world. There was a girl at Megan's feet. Then the girl was getting up. Megan didn't take any action to pounce on her--take that, terrorists, and then she had to suppress a wild giggle from the part of her brain that had supplied that thought--though that wasn't exactly to her credit, since there were other people on hand to help her. Megan scanned their faces. There was one. Princess. And suddenly, Megan was treading water again.

Megan felt an urge to shout, held her tongue. Or perhaps she should say something. There was another girl, on the edge. Princess was doing as Princess does, but Megan wasn't in the picture yet. And no one here looked bad. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Tried again, and again the words lodged in her throat.

Megan made a break for Princess. Dangerous, but she didn't know what else she could do.

"One would understand a little bit of distress."

"Mm, of course. We should give poor Anna the benefit of a doubt, if she needs time to herself." Princess hadn't yet discarded the idle thought that their cliffside friend's name was a matter of contention, no. She'd elected to use it again on purpose, just in case of that very fact.

Claudeson took to the stage with, well, surprising deftness. It was okay, for a beginner. He'd found the one speck of land where there happened to be a natural spotlight. The blocking was off, though. Another girl, Paloma from photography club, had also somehow appeared in the picture. A bit too far away, who knew where their hypothetical audience was supposed to focus? As a unit they were simply misshapen, it was like trying to take a square peg to a round hole- as Anna might have gotten up to in her spare time. Claudeson's speech was certainly something that could be called a speech. Princess might have wandered around and looked for a teleprompter if she hadn't had to pretend to be enraptured by grandstanding.

Claudeson said things, he had an art for it, but Princess would have argued contrary to the details.

"Paloma. Thats Paloma, Claude." She started, soft. "Wait! Paloma!" She called out and rushed forward a few steps down the sloping trail. Might as well get more ears for Claude while he was busy acting important, yes, that was certainly as good a use as any of her very much limited time-

Enter another. Another familiar face materialized.

... As it were. Even if she could have Princess wouldn't have needed to plan for her typecasting on this lonely, lawless rock. That was a mark of her talent.

"Megan."

Quiet, once more. With feeling. There were, indeed, few things she would have needed a proper plan for and she was being cornered by one of them.

"Ah, of course. Good plan, Princess."

Taking a quiet glance over his shoulder at the girl on the precipice - Anna - he considered it for a moment before he followed Princess down the slope to check on the redhead - Paloma. One must try and help those who are unable to help themselves, but if Anna was stuck there by way of fear or by simple contemplation, there was likely no getting through to her at this very moment. Perhaps later, with the benefit of a choir of voices, they might be able to talk her down. Claudeson's posture straightened and the hint of a smile played upon his face as he carefully made his way down. It all started to come together in his mind; that was his purpose here. Why he was trapped on this island in this forsaken place.

He was to establish his own congregation.

Following behind Princess as she careful navigated the terrain over to where Paloma had stumbled, Claudeson raised an eyebrow as another student made her way out of the brush and towards the clearing. After a moment of decision, she made a beeline for Princess. All roads were converging on Paloma's location, it seemed. For his part, Claudeson made no move to scare the newcomer. Circumstance had done a good enough job of that already, as was written upon her face.

"Megan! It is good to see you unharmed," Claudeson took out his understanding smile. He didn't really know Megan at all, though he believed that reassurance was a powerful tool to help cut through the thick panic that permeated them all. Attention diverted for a moment, he looked back only to see Paloma slowly walking backward.

"You do not have to go, Paloma," he held up his free hand, as though to try to appeal to her sense of community. "We can be stronger together. Safer, even." He looked to Princess for support. Safety had a flimsy definition at the moment, but the appearance of safety was better than none at all.