Survival Of The Fittest

((Connie continued from Not Running))

The water was a wash.

That wasn't a pun.

Connie had to consider alternatives. The snow wouldn't really work. Too high maintenance. She didn't want to chain herself to a single location and she doubted she could Rube Goldberg something to keep that going for long enough to bother. She'd keep mulling it over, maybe she'd stumble onto a better idea.

...Or another corpse. Sure.

Somebody had covered it, like a morgue. Just one arm poking out did so so much for the imagination.

Maybe that was going to be the way of it from here on out. Enter a room, see a dead body. Who could it be? Nobody knows. The mystery was part of the suspense and the suspense was part of the thrill.

A shudder ran down her spine. She didn't think it was the good kind.

Okay there was something she'd considered. It was risky. So far, what had she really done though?

Risks were risks. If it backfired then everything up until now would be pointless. If she kept sneaking and running, she wouldn't be remembered for that.

She'd be remembered for nothing at all.

Connie looked down at the shrouded corpse for several seconds, and then stepped through the door into correctional. She glanced back. As expected, there was a camera mounted just inside.

They were pretty interesting pieces of tech. Had a long life. Probably didn't need replacing too often. Could clearly record pretty well, and she imagined they had night filtering as well. Connie had never watched a broadcast because she wasn't messed up, she just knew that it'd be a gaping hole in security if it got dark and the watchers saw nothing. Maybe they could zoom in and out. She'd looked up a little about filmmaking, and staging shots perfectly took so many hours, so many cameras, so much of a crew. This was automated, or at least remote, so--

Sooo she was stalling.

She huffed a deep breath.

Alright.

Here went everything.

Connie reached up to the camera, took hold on either side of its little dome, and... and it didn't freaking move.

Seriously? After all-

For a second she wanted to punch it. She didn't, as she was not incredibly stupid.

Fuck.

Connie Toda's collar emitted a single shrill beep.

Connie slowly put her hands in her hoodie pockets.

She shrugged, gave the camera a wink, and took a step back.

"Just making sure you're getting my good side, chief."

((Kelsey Brewer continued from Would You Like to Pet the Kitty?))

Well, this wasn't exactly the town bar.

She felt a surge of mild shame at that. A little twinge of fear.

Technically, they hadn't really promised anything, Kelsey thought as she made her away between the abandoned buildings. Which on further examination, the scrutiny of eyes accustomed to taking in shape and color and interpreting meaning and truth from it all, amounted to nothing at all. Worse than nothing, in case you bought the illusion and tried to lean on it. It didn't really matter what the technicalities were when it came to approaching someone whose modus operandi seemed to be terminal misunderstandings. That was all to say, she hoped she'd be forgiven for getting herself lost, if things came to it. She probably would. But that was one hell of a probably.

Mostly, she felt tired.

It was just a way of bundling things up, really. Making her worrying more efficient, less energy intensive. What if she succumbed to hunger or thirst or cold? What if she never found Evie? What if she would never be warm again? What if the lack of her moderating influence caused more pain and suffering? What if, just like all the other times this had all played out, nobody ever came for them? The idea that she might be making someone very unstable very unhappy was a sponge for the sum of her anxieties.

There was a lump near the door. Something that used to be someone. Just a little bit showing, aging far more rapidly than the slow decay of the slowly-eroding ground and building around it. Disgusting, fascinating. Setting her heart on edge. She should have turned away from it, but the sight drove her on like a child checking under their bed to ensure that no monsters lay in evidence.

As she stepped to the threshold, a sound came suddenly from within. She jumped and shuddered and dropped the axe she'd been carrying to the floor with a sharp, artificial clatter.

"Fuck," she said, apologetically, greeting the occupant with her eyes.

The camera didn't beep at her again. Connie gave it a staring contest and imagined who was sitting at the other end. Had to be so dull. Hours and hours of watching people sleep and talk and eat broken up by occasional bursts of violence. Like a really, really shittily paced movie. Had to be a bunch of them. There were a lot of people on this trip, meant a lot of cameras, meant a lot of monitoring. You'd need a night shift too. Even if there was a proximity type of thing, what about all the goings-on which just weren't that close? Nope, lots of eyes, lots of screens.

How many times watching did it take to get desensitised? Maybe they were just built different. Or built only halfway. Their finger could be on the button right this very second, and she'd only know about it when she was choking up blood on the floor.

Someone was at the door with a clatterfuck. Connie blinked and refocused. She rocked on the balls of her feet and gave Kelsey a lopsided smile. Face on. No camera, so do better.

"What's up? My collar and me were just talking."

"Hey," Kelsey said, the word clipped by her panting breath, cheeks colored from the cold and the exertion. Time and distance hadn't been kind to her, and she was vaguely alarmed to realize the state she was in from the simple act of walking. Not a wreck, not collapsing or on the verge of it, just a bit more winded than she thought she ought to be. Just a little more sore.

She bent at the knees, buying herself another second or two, taking in the room and its sole occupant as she lowered herself to reach the handle of that weird axe. She raised the end of it, letting the head pivot on the floor, and stood leaning on it. Reconsidered her position in blocking the only evident exit with weapon in hand and slid it pointedly off to the side, let it rest slanted against the wall instead.

And where exactly did that leave them? Fifteen feet apart, maybe, for starters. But, really. Connie seemed friendly enough. A bit weird, back in the Before Times, but earnestly so, which was an admirable trait. And in the here and now, she wasn't coated in rusting gore that flaked and ground itself into your clothing at the touch, which wasn't something everyone could say these days. Plus one social credit there. And did she know there was a—

Probably. She had to have seen it, right?

A wave of anxiety knotted Kelsey's stomach. It felt as is there was an impossible amount to do before she ended up like... that. But as much as she suddenly ached for it, running off wouldn't do anything. At the very least, she needed a breather. And a vaguely friendly face to chat with, maybe trauma bond a little as a treat? That was the essence of life. And she did have a rather intriguing opener.

"Your collar, huh?" She reached up to her own and rapped her fingernails over it, making it ring in a way that was neither dully solid nor totally hollow but fluted with the specially-tailored components of her demise.

Hmm.

She smiled with her eyes and continued. "Don't suppose it said anything interesting?"

"Oh yeah, a whole bunch."

She was feeling be--more focused, now. Having another person in front of her was very helpful for that. Connie's body language opened up, her hands moved along with her words, livening more than before.

"If you've got the right ear to listen you can learn a lot."

Connie shrugged, then shifted her emphasis. More rueful. Which was more trueful.

"Althouugh I think if we have another talk it won't end so great so alas and too bad and all that, guess we're back to being silent companions."

"Shame," Kelsey said, "would've liked to eavesdrop. Not that I like being rude, just, you know."

She shrugged and rolled her eyes a little. Just a fun little joke. Unrelated, but she'd love to find Evie behind the next door she stumbled through and just be fun little friends with her. Passionately.

In all seriousness, simple as it was, there was a sort of warmth that flooded her at interacting with someone who wasn't a grade A weirdo (maybe grade B, still passing at least) or shaking a spear at her or confirming to each other that murder was Maybe Not That Bad, Actually. Of course, most of that hadn't really been major disqualifiers—she blessed again the darkness of her jeans hiding the crusted blood belonging to who the fuck knows ground into them—but if you were going to roll with whatever you came across, it was a good feeling to roll well once in a while.

"Anyway, nice to find someone who's not Like That."

She stepped forward, away from that pickaxe that couldn't decide which side of the family it wanted to take after, away from that encumbering reminder of what she was supposed to do and what she had to do. From the door, which she gave another skeptical glance, and whatever lay beyond it. She looked around the room, eyes snagging on the desk.

"You think they left anything in there?"

Kelsey was engaging with her and Connie was surprised by how gratifying it was. Ah. Alright. Maybe that initial kick had worn off much faster than she'd thought.

It'd been a long while since talking about Olive.

Flipside: last time she'd spoken with anyone didn't really count as a conversation. She'd been a few inches away from being killed outright, turning into the footnote of a footnote. Maybe that continued to sink in.

"I'm Like Something, but not That," said Connie. "Haven't really poked around, so maybe you could scrounge something."

She stepped off to the side with a theatrical 'be my guest' gesture.

These stpes were familiar, but this wasn't the only dance she wished to dance.

Kelsey nodded and strode over, away from her axe, and made a rather longer work of examining the desk than its size warranted. There really wasn't much to it. Like, maybe there was some sort of secret compartment or something, except there really didn't seem to be any room for one, but of course then it wouldn't be secret, now would it? Still...

"Where's the fucking paperwork?" she said at last, breath steaming faintly around her mask which looked rad as hell. "It's as if they really don't want us to make drawings of girls, or flowers, or secret diagrams, or doodles of cats or whatever. Not that they left a fucking pen, either."

She'd made do. Could make do again. But the burnt-up end of a stick did not a charcoal pencil make, and a rough slab of ripped-up cardboard wasn't a breakthrough in canvas technology. And being so close to what she thought might provide proper opportunity just made it all the worse. She just wanted to express herself, think something and bring it to life, or at least vaguely animate existence, like she could so easily at home. Like, just a pencil and paper or something, not even her tablet and her stylus (and her cat, and maybe someone else cute besides if she were delving into ideals).

She shrugged, made an exasperated little smile with her eyes, turned back down to the desk and let the indulgence of her desperation quash its own hope.

"Anyway, how's your day?"

Connie's head slowly scanned its way to the side, tracing Kelsey's movement. She was willing to leave her weapon off to the side. Confident, or trusting. Connie wondered if there was going to be a quickdraw, a gun whipped from a holster taking her out like a western. She'd like to think she'd react. But maybe she wouldn't.

She didn't know why that bothered her less than what had so nearly happened before. Too hypothetical? Too much like imagining a dull death in a movie. Always was kind of a letdown when somebody just got shot, unless there was some tension, a good scare. This wasn't either.

"Anti-art movement. Ess em haitch," said Connie flippantly.

She'd always been at least a little fond of Kelsey just for taking masks seriously and a little more fond for actually doing something fun with them. Connie had kept taking hers off while on the island because--well, she had her reasons. Kept it on outside. Little more insulation.

Actually wow come to think of it that would be an absolutely hilarious way to die. Imagine taking a dirt nap from the 'rona in the middle of SOTF. It was so dumb that it wrapped around to being funny again.

"I'm... hum. Would be better if there was water. It'd make my life more interesting."

Kelsey felt Connie's eyes on her. It was... a feeling. Certainly an unnerving component, of knowing someone was calculating whether you could kill them, if they could kill you in return, what variables might throw things for a loop, and how likely any of that was. But at the same time, Kelsey valued seeing the world. Not looking at it, seeing. So, in that sense, she was in good company. And that all felt... it was hard to pin down exactly, but a deep sort of reassurance was part of it. Comforting, almost, that, yeah, they really were just a couple gals vibing with each other at the end of the world. Which, on further consideration, you'd probably call trauma bonding.

Or maybe she just thought Kelsey was cute and was taking a peek. Kelsey wouldn't blame her for that in the slightest. Maybe not, but it would be funny.

Either way, she found herself sighing at the fruitlessness of her search, dropped her bag on the table and began fishing into it. Juggled Connie's statement in her mind as she did so. Information wrapped in a coy little lightness. Important to acknowledge, important to keep the charade up for. If it really even mattered—surely if Kelsey could pick up what Connie was laying down, the fucks in charge could as well, though how much time they spend watching two girls not kill each other was itself a big unknown there—but damn if it wasn't intriguing either way.

"I'm a thirsty bitch, too," she said, and paused for effect, dropping a little bundle and a sheet of ripped cardboard onto the desktop. "Don't really need a drink right now though."

Chuckled a little, dug the worst art materials known to man out of a tin from the medkit; a few sticks, charred from the fires she'd made that had had a nice secondary effect of letting her not fucking freeze to death. They'd make marks, at least, and the cardboard sheets she ripped away from the sled she'd tossed away who the fuck knew where would more or less hold them.

A couple fluted lines. Shoulders, a hairline, the sharp interruption of her mask. And, off to the side, a circle. A simple, plain, and very intriguing little circle. Where did you even begin with a puzzle in a form which had no end?

"You, uh, looking to share with your friends?" Pretty lame, honestly. But, hey, when you were used to mutual longing stares across the room, you found out that it was helpful sometimes to just confirm directly. And maybe learn something while you were at it. Or something.

Oh huh that was neat. Creative. Messages weren't something that had been on Connie's radar on account of the supply situation, but Kelsey looked to have found a way around it.

Small scale though. Scale would be the problem there. Effort vs. reward to leave something noticable, especially if she wanted to do it more than once. Worth thinking about. Connie wasn't a campmaster by any means, but charcoal wouldn't be that difficult, would it? Kelsey's little sticks there were small, aiming for precision; a drawing tool. Didn't need to be so delicate if you were trying for big bold letters.

Gears were turning. It was... something. If water was off the table, and so was doing anything with the physical camera, Connie had to keep spinning her plates and cycling round her brain, so maybe that could tide her over until she thought of something better.

Hm. Actually. Thinking about charcoal. So yeah, naturally, fire. OK, not burning a place down, necessarily...

Shoot. Alright. Risky, more work to set up. Would it work?

Connie shuffled it backward in her head, could let it sit for a bit. She leaned herself back on the wall with arms folded, shrugging with just her shoulders. A tiny smirk reached her face from Kelsey's first comment.

"There's tunnels below here. Concrete. Doubt they've got pumps." She opened up both hands in a spritzing kind of motion. "Thought there could be a fun combination."

"Tunnels, huh?"

Kelsey added some details to her little sketch. A brow, some hair, eyes waiting to be gifted their souls. A thick, continuous band inside the little donut off to the side, filling one half of it with... whatever it was they used. Solid, mostly, at any rate. Probably. The other, stuff that made it work. The no-no stuff. Again, probably. The details of it all mattered to someone like Connie, presumably. As for Kelsey, she satisfied herself with some rough scrawling that hinted at complexity beyond the resolution of her tools—which wasn't hard to make convincing when said tools were some charred fucking twigs—and sketched out another couple lines. An oblong filling in between, not occupying the entire space.

She chewed her lip a bit behin her mask. Frankly, she wasn't 100% on Connie's implications, but it seemed vital to keep the ball in the air, so to speak. Not that she doubted anyone else might share that sort of interest, and possibly have some greater insight to boot, just, hey, they were a couple of gals talking about nothing in particular, you know?

"Hmm," Kelsey said, taking out a payday loan on conversational time, "I've been there. It's... I mean, if you aren't thirsty, you're probably right. Not much down there you don't bring with you. And not very private..." she twiddled one little length of char between her fingers, making an awful mess on top of the general grunginess already present. A line between the filling and the outside, perhaps? Probably, but what kind? Maybe she could come to a decision there, given time, but that was something that always scared her a bit. Something that didn't exist in her brain at that moment, and just hoping that at some point, it would. Not like running or whatever, where you won a mile race by running half a mile and then taking the same steps on the same track until you'd gotten another half a mile down.

She sighed and shrugged. Connie's implications did at least seem to be trickling through a bit, or so she hoped. "But if you wanted to warm up, I think you could. I mean..." she waved a charred little stick in lieu of words, recalled the scrap of humanity she'd left behind there, "I didn't wanna risk things too much with carbon monoxide or whatever, but maybe it's not such a problem."

Connie nodded affirmative and watched Kelsey continue her sketching, thinking all the while.

Part of her kept circling back to the water, she just didn't see how it was possible at this stage. Time and heat and energy were all resources and she'd run out of any or all of them before getting anywhere close to making an impact. No plumbing meant no source unless she got real creative, and Connie wasn't an engineer. Shouldn't have skipped the water-making-machine day in shop class, clearly.

"I checked it out before coming here, actually. Couple of the exits got all frozen over, so it kind of extra sucks for the heat," her tongue prodded out at the corner of her mouth. "Least it's ventilation. I figure a building like this one would be more of a problem if you had a lot of smoke. Would suck to let all that air in though."

Connie chuckled. It was a little laugh that she'd used to make back home and usually came hand in hand with when she was bumping up against the edge of the line. "Freeze to spare on choking, guess we're SAW-TF."