Young Writers Society

A bunch of cute kawaii chibi squishmallows rapidly populated the screen, making the ٩(◕‿◕)۶ face and densely fitting in. Suddenly there was a small tremble, causing their face to go from (●´⌓`●) to ╰(≧▽≦)╯ as Mel then pushed through the squishmallows, sending them flying with sparkles and hearts.

"Weeeeelcome to the RECAP~!" Mel said excitedly with her arms outstretched, her eyes sparkling while the squishmallows looked at her like ✨(◕▿◕)✨.

With a big sunny smile, Mel pushed her curly hair back as she walked a couple spaces towards her news anchor desk. She was wearing high heels and walked as if she was in a fashion runway, which honestly, she might as well, since she was wearing high-waisted pants, a lacy ribbed white top, and a bright red blazer with an inner cheetah print.

The camera panned out as she got to her seat, still smiling with sparkles around her, although it was hard to tell if it was magic or special effects. A chair sat empty next to her.

"Hi, everyone!" she said cheerfully, waving. "Welcome back to the day two recap for Island Magic: Maeve's Determiner of Magical Valor! I'm your host, Mel! Today we're going to be spin the Wheel of Cohost to figure out who I'll pop in!"

A giant tacky rainbow wheel poofed behind her-- again, totally special effects-- and Mel gestured back to it excitedly. Every constestant name was on the slice of the rainbow pie wheel, evenly divided across the circle.

"Aaaaaaand SPIN!"

The wheel then spun, rapidly at first, but then coming to a slow stop over a yellow slice that said "STRAVOS". Mel stared up at it, blinked, then bonked it with her fist, causing the wheel to quietly spin down a notch, landing on a blue slice that said "LYALL".

Mel gasped, returning back to face the camera with a grin. "Will you look at that: Lyall is our lucky winner! Yes! I can't wait to meet him. Let's bring him in, shall we?"

She pressed a blue button in front of her, and a tuft of smoke then appeared on the chair, poofing Lyall into existence. He fell into the chair with a grunt, and a cup of coffee shattered on the floor between them. Caught completely unaware, he was still only in his sleepwear and a robe. A headband was knocked askew, leaving his unruly hair to fall over his stunned face.

"Goooooood morning, Lyall!" Mel said brightly. "Welcome to the montage show! You've been chosen as my co-host today. Isn't that exciting?!"

Whipping the headband off to the side (it clattered noisily off-screen), Lyall fought to sweep his hair to the side (it didn't work) and plastered on a wide grin as he sat straighter.

"I, uh--" He cleared his throat. "Thank you! For the honor of..." He scanned the studio, disbelief flashing across his face for a split second. "...of co-hosting! With you, Miss...?"

"Oh, silly me! Mel! And you're right, it's Miss Mel. I'm single, by the way," she said with a giggle and a wink.

His smile relaxed a bit. "Miss Mel," he echoed. "Lovely meeting you!"

"So, Lyall. You look... great!" Mel said cheerily. "Want a makeover?"

He looked down at himself with a more sheepish smile. "If that's possible on such short notice, that would be fantastic."

"Oh, yes! It'd be my pleasure!" Mel said excitedly, then pointed to the screen behind them. "Take your pick!"

The screen showed five different outfits as sparkles flew around.



"These are...imaginative options!" Lyall exclaimed simply.

"They are, aren't they! So, what will it be, Lyall? Are you feeling like a sexy angel this morning?" Mel said with a bright hum.

Lyall chuckled. "Most mornings after coffee, I'd say yes. Though, perhaps for a morning show, the garb of a showman would be more fitting!"

With a snap of her fingers, more sparkles were released as the voiceover anime "WOOAAWWWW" voice came on, and Lyall instantly transforrmed to the second outfit. Except, it wasn't really real. It was all an illusion, but the cameras certaintly would think it was real.

That was, unless Lyall moved around too much. Then the filter would start to glitch. Just like SnappyChatty filters, of course.

"So much better! How do you feel?" Mel asked. "You look ah-maze-zing~!"

"Well, thank you!" He laughed, and made a small show of slicking back his hair. "A vast improvement, indeed."

Mel hummed, glancing down at the spilled coffee and shattered mug on the floor. "Want some coffee?"

Lyall followed her gaze. "Please and thank you."

"Okay! How about tomorrow at 10am at the cafe at the center of the island?" Mel said with another wink and a giggle.

Looking back up at her, he blinked. Then huffed a laugh when he caught on and replied apologetically, "Oh! Well, in that case, I'll have to politely decline. Save those coffee dates for my dear Kaya once I'm back home."

"Ohhhh, Kaya is such a pretty name! She's one lucky lady! Have anything you'd like to say to her before we move on to our schedule?" Mel asked.

Lyall obliged, and faced the camera with a bright grin. "I'm already counting down the days until I can see your lovely face again. I'll try to call back as soon as I can!"

An adoring, drawn out "awwwwwwhhh" audio track was heard.

Then he turned his attention back to the hostess. "What's on tap for today, Miss Mel?"

"Questions! Lots and lots of questions!" Mel answered. "See, Lyall, I was hoping you would tell us the latest scoop. We don't have a lot of footage in the evening hours because everyone was in the bird cabin. You were there, right? How was the party?"

Lyall folded his hands on the desk. "Ah, yes, it was a rather exclusive event. For the comfort of my dear new friends, as I hope you understand. Quite nicely put together by our very own Shane!"

"Oooh, who was there? What's the vibe? Was it fun? You've already spilled the coffee, so you might as well spill the tea, too!" Mel said.

He laughed. "Well of course, all members from the Silly Shirt Society were in attendance, in honor of James's quickly-mounting accomplishments. And, in addition to my delightful sister and all of her house mates, there were a couple of faces with whom I've yet to fully acquaint myself."

"Wait! So it's true, then? It's really a welcome back from jail party?" Mel asked with a giggle.

The screen behind them then turned to a video of a window of a cabin. Through the glass, a "WELCOME BACK FROM JAIL!" banner was seen hanging from wall to wall. It was a picture of James just realizing that he was being watched by a camera, coming over with a grumpy face and his arm out extended, threatening to close the blinds. It was the perfect angle to see his "FART REVERB FX ON OTHER SIDE" shirt. The video went on as he closed the blinds. Then, there was a scene change where a second cameraperson was recording Cas, the original cameraperson. Cas turned around with a small shrug.

"It couldn't have been any more official," he confirmed breezily as he turned and swept an arm toward the video of the custom-made banner.

"So sweet! More people should throw welcome back from jail parties!" Mel cooed. "I'm glad you had fun, though. Although, that does make our morning show a little dry in terms of footage. But have no fear! I live to entertain!"

They then transformed to low frame rate per second animated chibi heads as they poofed to a cute pink bordered screen with footage playing. Mel was making faces, and Lyall was making an awed :O expression.

The first scene showed James and Lyall walking home in a daze right when dawn came up. It was a montage scene of them walking in silence as well as having small-brained conversations. The scene over James asking to carry Lyall came on with subtitles.

"Hey, that's you!" Mel said excitedly. "What's the story behind this? Care to indulge me?"

Lyall gave a sheepish grin and murmured, "Hopefully that's not taken too far out of context." Then coughed and said aloud, "Well, Mel, what can I say other than that sleep deprivation is no laughing matter? We were simply catching up post-jail break."

"Speaking about sleep deprivation, looks like you're not alone! Check out these early morning risers."

The screen then showed a montage of a couple contestants up and about in the early morning. Connie left early just as Lyall went in his cabin, and the video timeskipped to show him returning back to the cliff side of the island, painting. Robin in wolf form was watching from a distance. There were also scenes of Alan taking a walk around the beach, and then of Cyrin watching the sunrise on the roof, and then later of the two chatting and bonding together, still on the roof. In the later mornings, there were some activities with the women. Hild was walking a tiny poodle puppy around the beach and Eve and Clandestine appeared to be leaving in the search of James's apartment. Hendrik was seen on the beach behind his cabin, doing jumping jacks without a shirt. Alexander was enjoying a cup of coffee outside his cabin on his beach chair.

"Any of these scenes catch your eye, Lyall?" Mel asked.

"You know," he said, "I was actually quite curious about where Mister Falco had gone off to that one morning." Brighter, he added, "It's quite heartening to see my cabin mates getting along so well!"

"If you didn't sleep so long, maybe you could have joined them too!" she teased. "But speaking of your cabin mates, we've got some interesting footage of one of them."

The screen then showed a video of Cyrin, shirtless, rock climbing without gear. Filters were added to make him look glistening and more muscular.

Lyall politely looked askance.

"Oops! How'd that get there?" she said innocently before the video ended.

The screen then showed a montage clip of Alan walking up to the women's cabin with a bouquet of pink flowers. Clarity answered the door, and they talked before he went inside. The camera moved on to the window, showing him putting the flowers in a vase and writing a note.

"Looks like your cabin mate is delivering flowers to a special lady!" Mel waggled her brows at him. "Who do you think he's delivering it to?"

Lyall hummed, brow quirked with intrigue. "You know, it feels a bit too soon to tell. I do feel he and Miss Clanny could get along pretty well, though! They're both outgoing."

The montage continued with Hild coming down to make breakfast, leaving the three of them time to chat.

"Hm. Your sister lives there too, doesn't she?" Mel said with a hum.

Lyall stared blankly at that. Eventually, he hastily amended, "Context truly is key! I'm sure the motives were perfectly friendly."

"Yeah! Friendly! We'll go with that!" Mel said cheerily before moving on. "Let's see what the others have been up to. It looks like Eve has gotten to know some of the staff pretty well."

The screen then showed a montage of clips of Eve talking to Dante, rifling through files, looking up at different cameras at least a dozen times in paranoia, going into the mansion on top of the hill, talking to Bo, checking off a list of food, having long discussions, carrying back platters of food, bonding with Bo, and...

Mel was getting bored. There had to be more interesting footage somewhere.

"Aha! This one is interesting! You'll like this," Mel said as she skipped ahead to a clip where Alan and Shane were going cabin to cabin.

The montage of them going to the chaos and totally-not-villain cabin was played, but then the clips focused on them approaching Stravos, although his face was heavily filtered to have a (◕▿◕) face as he went on to say eight sentences, each a mix of truths and lies.

"GAME TIME!" Mel cheered as the backdrop changed again.

The screen swallowed them into a swirl as they were suddenly dressed like they were in an intense gameshow. Lyall, still wearing his red showman costume, was standing in front of a podium with a tablet that was connected to a giant televised screen. Yes, TV on TV. TV-ception.

"Alright, Lyall! There are eight sentences on the screen. You have thirty seconds to figure out which sentence belongs to Shane, which ones belong to Alan, which ones are true, and which ones are false. Ready? GO!" Mel said with a wave of her arms.

The words swirled into his tablet and the screen as the timer went down with cute high-pitched cafe music playing in the background.

You're a corrupted heir. - SHANE - FALSE
You got denied from every school. - ALAN - FALSE
You use your job to scam people. - ALAN - TRUE
You wish you'd have died instead. - SHANE - FALSE
You're deathly afraid of rejection. - SHANE - TRUE
You're afraid you can't love properly. - ALAN - FALSE
Your brother abandoned you. - ALAN - FALSE
Your parents killed themselves. - SHANE - FALSE

As he went through the list of potential truths or falsehoods, there was a flash of deep concern in his eyes. With the time relentlessly ticking on behind them, though, he sped through.

"TIME'S UP!" Mel announced right when Lyall finished scrawling his last guess. She hummed as she looked up at his guesses, displayed on the screen for the world to see. "Interesting choice selection! How confident are you?"

Hands raised as he stepped back from the podium, Lyall let out a sharp breath. "Maybe...65% confident?"

"Our data is in! You guessed the names right! And you're 75% correct with the truths and falses! Congratulations! You passed!"

A ton of balloons and confetti then fell from the ceiling, and Mel giggled as it swallowed them up until they all disappeared in billow of smoke and they were back at their desks. "Anyways! Let's move on, shall we?"

Lyall shifted in his seat, trying to fix the crack in his slightly shaken composure. "Uh, yes! Let's--"

"TALK ABOUT TULA!" she finished excitedly.

Suddenly they were brought back into cute low-res chibi form, Mel making the ^_^ face and Lyall making the >.> face.

The screen showed a montage of Tula wearing sunglasses, a low-cut shirt, and tight skirt, walking across the sand with her suitcase behind her. After she disappeared in her cabin, the montage clips got varying angles of her walking from her cabin to James's cabin, giggling a lot and playing with her hair.

"Sooooooooo?" Mel drew out expectedly. "Whatcha think?"

After a long pause, Lyall went, "Huh. I do believe this is the...new arrival? Or late. I haven't had a chance to talk with her yet."

"She was in the jail party, right?" she asked.

"She was," Lyall said, sounding contemplative. "I suppose it was out of politeness that she was invited. Otherwise, there wasn't much reason for her to join that particular celebration."

"Surely she was invited for a reason! She must be pretty cool, right? You should talk to her and find out. I'm sure she'd love that!" Mel said cheerfully.

"I'll be sure to do that sometime soon!" Lyall agreed amiably.

The screen then showed a montage of various random clips. There were many clips of attempts of getting more footage of the party cabin, even through the tiniest crack in the window screen. Meanwhile, the chaos cabin seemed to be doing their own thing. Hendrik and Kaz were partying in their cabin before their both drunkenly went to dive into the ocean. The camera then zoomed into a window, revealing Robin sipping milk, staring at them both try to out-drown each other in the water. There were a few timeskips, with footage showing everyone going home from the party. The girls all left together, ignoring the cameras, except for Clarity, who made sure to give each one she passed the blankest of stares. The rizz cabin did too, although they were laughing and having a good time. Tula and Alexander left together and then hung out on the beach at night. The camera then panned to Aaron through a window, appearing to be engaged in some sort of ritual that involved a strange dance.

"Fun stuff!" Mel said brightly, although it really wasn't fun. The next topic was fun, though. "Okay, Lyall! I apologize, but I must poof you now, because if you stay any longer, you'll turn to space dust! But first, a question: who do you think I should I bring in to interview?"

Lyall, though alarmed at the too-casual mention of 'turning into space dust', obliged and quickly answered, "Um! Alan?"

"Sure!" Mel's hand hovered over the blue button, but she hesitated, much to Lyall's visible dismay. "Oh! Actually, last-last question. Do you have any question requests?" Mel asked.

"Who were the flowers for," Lyall hastily supplied.

"Okay! Bye Lyall! Nice talking to you! Wave for the camera!" Mel said as she waved for him.

He only gave her a panicked, pleading look.

Mel finally pressed the button and Lyall disappeared with confetti. Oh, how fun! That was usually a sign that she had five seconds before he became confetti! Ah, teleporting magic sure was weird.

She then pressed the red button next to this button, and POOF! More smoke!

Alan suddenly poofed into existence, wearing a cream-colored open button down with a white tee. So, not pajamas. It seemed that he was mid-bite into eating something since he held his hand out like he was eating with a spoon. He blinked, visibly disoriented as he processed where he was.

"Hi Alan! My name is Mel. Welcome to the montage show this morning! You've been selected to be my interviewer today! Isn't that exciting?!" Mel said with a wave of her arms.

"...Uh." He let out a weak laugh, his hand that was in mid-air now running through his hair. "Alright. Hi, Mel. Stranger things have happened. Is this part of the show?" He eyed the camera ahead of them.

"Sure is! You catch on fast! Do you have any questions before I begin asking you questions? You get one question!" Mel asked while waggling her brows.

"You're going to ask me questions?" he said with a slight laugh.

"Hm! Nice question choice! But yes. So let's dive right in, shall we?"

"Alright," Alan said with a smile and a shake of his head, clearly thinking this was all crazy, but he was going along with it anyways.

"This first question is from @SilverNight!" Mel said as the screen behind them popped up with the first question.



Alan hummed, staring at the question while drumming his fingers along the desk. "I've had odder requests, and I've gotten this once before, actually. I played it for fifty tokens. So, fifty."

"Hear that? Bribe him if you wanna hear something toxic!" Mel teased, and the next question popped up. "This one is from your cabin mate, Lyall!"



Alan blinked before bursting into another laugh. "Oh, did he see that? Or maybe you told him...?"

"Both!" Mel said with a sunny smile.

"Ah. Well, if you're talking about the pink flowers--"

"We are!"

"...Right," he continued with a nod. "It made me sad to see Clandestine look so down after our first day on the island. When I first met her, she was a dazzling ray of energy, so it was quite jarring to see. I wanted to come by with some kind of gift, but I didn't really have anything to give her. So, I picked the pink flowers that grow around the island. I don't know if they're weeds, but... I hope she liked them anyways. I figured it would brighten her day, even if just a little."

"Awww! How sweet! Do you normally give flowers to people you just met?" Mel asked.

Alan shrugged. "I don't normally run into many situations where I'm on a beautiful island dealing with tyrannical detention."

"Fair enough!" The screen then moved on to the next question. "This one is from @soundofmind!"



"Ah, good question, Ms. Sound of the Mind." Alan sat up straighter, straightening his posture as he smiled with a nod. "Trust is a fickle thing. I don't think it's something that can be gained in two days. It takes time to grow and develop. It needs to be earned... though I could argue that there are a fair number of contestants who are already on that path. My cabin mates are on that path for sure. I enjoy spending time with Cyrin and Lyall, and I feel safe around them. I've also spent a good amount of time with Shane, so I feel I am on the path of trust with him as well. I haven't spent as much time with James, Clandestine, Hild, Clarity, or Eve yet, but I feel like I am also on the same journey with them."

Mel nodded slowly. "Phew! You sure like to give long answers!"

Alan slightly narrowed his eyes at her, beginning to grin. "Yes."

"Okay, next question! This one is from @urbanhart!"



Alan hummed. "I suppose my socks are in hiding. I only just got here, yet I already lost a pair. Now I'm down to four pairs to last the whole summer."

"Someone buy this man more socks, stat!" Mel said, moving on to the next question. "Oh! A follow-up question!"



Alan looked into the camera with a sly grin. "Why would I need to use my magic for that?"

"Ooooh, am I seeing a secret bad boy side in you? Who'd have guessed!" Mel giggled, turning to the last question. "This one is our top rated question from our Twooter poll!"



Alan brought his hand to his chin, thinking as he leaned back on his chair. "Well, I've seen Lyall wear more long-sleeves and jackets than Cyrin. So, I suppose he's fairly cold. Cyrin is probably hotter."

Mel erupted into a laugh, shaking her head. "Hilarious! A funnier answer to the 'both' meme, for sure!"

Alan tilted his head in confusion. "I don't think I know that one."

"Oop, looks like our time is up! Have any last remarks before you head off, Alan?" Mel asked.

Alan shook his head. "I don't think so. Thanks for inviting me, Mel. It's been a real... experience."

"Don't thank me! Thank Lyall! Okay, byyyyyyyyyeee!"

She then pressed the button, poofing him away on his chair.

"That's a wrap, folks! Check us out in the next daily montage! See you!"

The screen faded into a credits scene with more cute music as the Island Magic logo sprayed across the screen.

WHAT WILL THE REST OF THE WEEK BRING?

James sat in the cell, his head against the hard metallic walls, and Stravos's incoherent mumblings echoing around them. He was exhausted, and somehow despite the island's tropical climate, he found himself getting cold. He was still wet from having been splashed by the pool. There was a small puddle beneath him, and his hair was dripping with slow plops on the ground.

Stravos had been mumbling all day about hearing voices and stating (mostly) false facts about James, and he had been banging his head against the metal wall for the past five minutes, a soft thud sound echoing around them in a rhythmic pace. But suddenly, he stopped banging his head, and he stopped breathing in raggedly, and he stopped mumbling and shaking. Slowly, Stravos turned around with a blank face, staring at James.

He said, with the most level voice he heard of him all evening, "You're questioning your reality."

James blinked slowly, staring at him as the sound of dripping water echoed off the walls. Finally, Stravos had stopped talking.

In the silence that followed, James felt tense.

"I'm pretty sure I'm the one who's more grounded in reality out of the two of us," James said.

"How can you be sure that I'm real? That any of this is real?" Stravos asked, still keeping calm.

"Look, I don't want to entertain your existential crisis, here," James said wearily.

"Think about it, James," Stravos went on, seeming more focused than he had ever seen of him. "This is your first day on the island, yet consider everything that has happened so far. Don't you feel targeted? It almost feels like a fever dream, doesn't it?"

"That's because I am being targeted," James emphasized. "That's what they want me to think."

"Who's 'they'?" Stravos asked.

James paused, letting out a frustrated sigh. He leaned forward, holding his head in his hands for a moment before he looked up, ready to answer. Except in the moment he opened his mouth, he realized he couldn't remember what name to say. He couldn't even remember a face. All he could remember was that they had a vendetta against him that they intended to fulfill.

"Who's 'they,' James? Who's out to get you?" Stravos pressed.

"I..." he tried to answer. "It's none of your business."

"You don't remember. Like I said, you're questioning your reality. I should know. I know what that feels like. We're no different, you and I," Stravos went on.

"Shut up," James said, looking away. He didn't like that Stravos was suddenly making sense.

And unsuspectingly, Stravos did. And in the silence that followed, a different sound came through the walls.

Voices. Distant, but distinguishable. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but he could've sworn -- that was his sister. He knew the timbre of her voice. The rising and falling. Turning his attention upwards to where the sound was coming from, he fixed his focus, trying to make out what she was saying.

Her voice overlapped with the voices of the rest of his family. His mother. His brother. His step-father.

"Help us!" his sister said.

"Please, James, what's going on?" his mother pleaded.

"Why won't you respond?" his brother pressed.

"James? Are you hearing voices, too?" Stravos suddenly cut in, voice still eerily calm.

James jerked his attention away to stare at Stravos. Suddenly the voices were gone, and an eerie silence filled the space between them. James swallowed.

"I thought I told you to shut up," he retorted, but he couldn't fill the words with the venom he wanted.

His heart was unsettled, and there was a nagging fear gnawing at his chest.

"I started hearing voices when my family was taken too. I understand," Stravos said. "I'm sorry nothing can be done about them now."

James clenched his fists.

"This is wrong," he growled.

"And it's all your fault. They wouldn't be suffering if it weren't for you," Stravos said with a disappointed sigh.

"It was only one punch," James said. "It shouldn't be the end of the world. My family doesn't deserve to get pulled into this."

"A punch?" Stravos pinched his brows together in confusion. "That's not why they're suffering."

James stared at Stravos.

"Then why?" he asked.

"You didn't save him," Stravos said.

He hadn't even said a name, and somehow James knew. He was talking about his father.

"...What?"

A wicked grin then tugged on his lips as Stravos stared back at James.

"That's why they're suffering. It's all your fault."

James felt the panic rising in his chest. Suddenly, a scream pierced through the room, and it was only after another followed that he realized it was Larrel. Desperate cries overlapped one another. His family was weeping, begging, screaming, crying for help. For help from him. And he was stuck in this damned cell, unable to do anything but listen.

"Let me out," he said lowly. But their screams were too loud for him to even be heard.

Stravos started to laugh. Lowly at first, then maniacally.

"Let me out!" he said more fervently, the desperation rising. He tried to get to his feet, pushing up aganst the low ceiling. Pounding his fists against the wall. His fists didn't even leave a dent.

The screaming was becoming unberable. James pounded and pounded at the ceiling, at the wall, at the floor, but nothing would budge. Nothing would move. He couldn't get out, and he couldn't get away. The pain in his heart was overwhelming, and he collapsed against the wall, driven to tears.

"Please," his voice cracked as he set his forehead against the floor.

Stravos's laughing only got louder, to the point where it was deafening and ringing in his ears.

"Please."

And then everything turned to darkness. But only for a second.

Suddenly, he was looking through someone else's eyes. They didn't feel like his own, but it was undeniably realistic. It was eerie. Uncanny. Unreal.

He was looking down at a paper on a kitchen counter. It resembled the marble ones he'd seen in the cabin. A woman's hands with black nail polish held a pen, and she was slowly drawing in a heart after a phone number.

He recognized it immediately. It was Tula's hand, and Tula's number. It was the same paper she'd handed him personally, and this... it felt like he was seeing what Shane should've seen.

Briefly, Tula looked up at the plain white wall in front of her, and then back down to the piece of paper. The message had changed, and in bold, bloody letters he saw what he'd seen before: "I WILL BURN YOUR WORLD."

Then his vision went dark.

A second later, he was standing in front of his cabin, and Tula's hands were holding the same paper in front of her -- him. "I WILL BURN YOUR WORLD" nearly glowed in the dark, and then he heard something fizz.

A match was struck, and with her free hand, Tula set the flame beneath the piece of paper, and it caught alight. Dropping it to the ground, the burning note caught on a pool of gasoline.

Within seconds, the flames were roaring.

James looked down, seeing his own hands instead of Tula's. He was caught behind the wall of fire, and it was eating its way up the porch, surrounding the house with fire and smoke.

James couldn't breathe. Sweat clung to his skin and it felt like he was burning. He knew he should move. He had to. He had to run. But no matter how much he tried to will himself to move, his body remained frozen while the flames inched closer.

And then, he could feel it. Like the reliving of a memory, fire jumped to his clothes, catching on his skin, and his hair. He couldn't even move to react, or to let out a scream. The pain was overwhelming, and he could feel his body fighting to regenerate, but it couldn't beat the speed of the spreading fire.

He was consumed.

When James's eyes shot open, he was hyperventilating.

His arms shot out to either side of his bed, gripping the mattress like it was a lifeline. His fingers dug in past the fabric, breaking through seams and foam as his grip overcompensated, releasing the stress on the inanimate object beneath him.

He was covered in sweat, and his skin still stung with a faint burning sensation.

Sitting up too quickly, his head began to spin, and he got dizzy, slightly falling over onto his bed.

With a groan, he pushed himself up on all fours, squinting out at the window into the still-dark night.

It was still nighttime. What hour was it? He couldn't make out what the glowing clock letters read even from a few feet away. He had to crawl closer, feeling like he was about to faint when he saw the time.

2:34 am.

Too damn late and too damn early. He'd just gone to bed an hour ago.

With another groan, he leaned forward with his head against his pillow, feeling far, far too anxious to rest any time soon. This was going to be a long night.

Then he heard a knock on the door.

Cursing (though muffled, into his pillow), James jumped up, punching the mattress beneath him with a little too much force. Sighing at himself, he shook out his hand, remembering that it was probably a housemate, not anyone else.

But if it was, that meant he'd made noises in his sleep again. Good grief.

He forced himself out of bed, slumping over when he made it to the door.

He opened it with eyes half open. Shane was standing there in cozy pajamawear that looked too warm for the island, a softly concerned look on his face. He was standing back a little, looking slightly nervous through the sleepiness.

"Hi," he said quietly. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard you."

Vague. Perhaps it was better that it was kept vague.

"Oh," he said. "Sorry. It was just one of my regularly scheduled nightmares. It's fine now."

Though he did hope Shane couldn't see how disgustingly sweaty he was. That was probably a dead giveaway.

Shane's expression softened a little further.

"I see," he said. "Are they... actually normal for you? You mentioned one earlier." He quickly added, "There's no judgment if so, I mean. I get them too."

James hesitated, gripping the door handle a little tighter.

"It's..." he attempted. "Yes. Yeah. They're regular. Just... very vivid, at the moment. I blame it on the jetlag. Or boatlag."

Shane nodded ever so slightly after a moment, his gaze meeting James' with a hint of sadness.

"Alright," he said quietly. "Well, I could stay around and talk, or give you some space. Whatever you think you need more."

James could feel the metal doorhandle starting to give under his grip, warping to his hand. Stiffly, he forced himself to let go.

"I don't want to keep you awake," James said. "You've had a much longer day than I. You should go back to sleep. I think I just need to burn off some energy."

A pause.

"I'm going to run for a bit," he said. "I should be back before morning."

Another beat.

"Okay," Shane said, stepping back from the door. "I'll see you then." He sounded a little hesitant, but didn't say anything else.

James felt awkward standing there with the door open, and Shane still standing there like there was more to be said. Another pause passed, but this one less natural than the first.

"Right," he finally said. "Okay. I'll see you then."

And then he shut the door. After a second, he heard Shane's footsteps softly receding down the hall. James took a moment to rest his head against the doorframe, letting himself be upright and still for a moment before he flicked on the light.

Hurrying around his room, he threw off his sweaty clothes and put on a tshirt and gym shorts. Barefoot, he turned off the lights just as fast and snuck out of his room on light feet, tip-toeing down the stairs and carefully shutting the front door behind him.

Then he was off.

He sped ahead, letting the pent-up stress inside of him fuel him forward. He'd already slept the day away. He knew wasn't going to sleep very long, but if he could exhaust himself soon enough, maybe he could get a few more hours to get his body back on track. He didn't want to become nocturnal.

He ran a few laps back and forth down the beach, trying not to pass too closely by any cabins so he didn't disturb anyone. But on his tenth pass back towards them, he saw a silhouette in the moonlight, walking along the shore.

Squinting, James couldn't really make out anything else, and he wasn't sure if it was someone he wanted to run into or not.

Hesitant, James tried to veer his away around them, hoping he could pass without mention.

Eventually he got close enough to see more of their shape in the moonlight, be he still hadn't come close enough to see who it was. From the build, though, he'd guess it was one of the guys from Lyall, Cyrin, and Alan's cabin.

Hopefully. If it was anyone else James wasn't proud of the fact that he'd be more likely to pretend he couldn't see them at all.

The person waved. At least, that was what it looked like. It was hard to tell while squinting in the dark and running.

Agh. Now he was obligated to stop, wasn't he? There were cameras even now, he knew it. If he ran by he didn't know if there would be stupid consequences for it later. He didn't know. He wasn't thinking straight.

Maybe he did need to sleep more.

Slowing, he waved back and approached.

That seemed to be an invitation for the person to approach as well. With each step closer, James could make out more of their features. He saw the person was a man, wearing black joggers and a cotton long sleeve shirt-- possibly sleepwear. He also had glasses and dark hair, and it was then James realized he was Alan. His face focused into view until they slowed to a stop in front of each other.

"Hopefully I'm not interrupting your 3am jog," Alan said with a smile and a faint laugh. "Can't sleep, I assume?"

"Sleeping through the whole day threw my internal clock off," James answered, and it was true enough without touching on the horrors of his dream. "I'm just trying to get myself tired enough to sleep again."

He glanced behind Alan, then looked back at him.

"What's keeping you up?"

"Oh... lots of things. But I understand what you mean. It does help to burn the energy away, sometimes." Alan paused, glancing down the path he was walking on before focusing back on James. "But I mostly do that if I'm by myself. I find that it also helps to burn energy talking with someone else. Do you care for company?"

James had only just started to clear his head.

He thought about saying no. Then thought about the implications of him saying no. How Alan might be concerned, and then he'd have another person who was concerned, and how that might lead to another conversation and then he'd have to explain himself and then he'd sound crazy.

It was easier to just... pretend to be fine.

Giving Alan a small shrug, James said: "Sure. What were you planning on doing?"

"I was kind of aimlessly wandering," Alan admitted. "But we can walk with purpose instead. Want to follow me?"

Want was a strong word. Would, was more like it. James inclined his head for Alan to lead the way. Alan nodded, starting a relaxed pace down the shoreline as James followed. There was a short silence that passed, but it didn't take long for Alan to break it.

"Is running your go-to activity to tire yourself out during sleepless nights?" he asked.

"It's one of them," James said. "Sometimes I'll just get up and do a bunch of push-ups until I collapse."

Alan hummed. "How many do you usually do?"

James glanced at him.

"...A lot," he said vaguely. It felt childish to give a number. He didn't know why.

Alan laughed. "I imagine. But also, if your bones are made of metal, it sounds like it would take more effort than normal to even do one pushup."

"Why do you think I exercise?" James asked.

"Fair point." Alan paused. "That sounds so exhausting, though."

"Not as exhausting as you'd think," he said. "My body's used to it. I don't feel like repeating a bunch of doctoral jargon about how my body's different. It just is."

"If you don't mind me asking: have you ever tried non-physical approaches to exhaust yourself to sleep? I only ask because it seems that the bar is already set so high when it comes to exercise," Alan said.

"Sometimes I'll journal," he said with a shrug. "But it doesn't really help me get tired."

Before Alan could ask another question, James looked at him.

"What do you do to make yourself tired?" he asked.

"It depends on the state of mind I'm in, I think. In the past, I've frequently turned to music as an outlet for energy to escape. It works, sometimes, since intense sessions can get draining. In the event that doesn't help, I do turn to physical exercise. It's usually swimming or running. I try not to make it a habit, though, so it doesn't happen often," Alan answered.

James looked out to the ocean.

"Did I interrupt your 3am swim?" he asked.

Alan lingered his glance at James with a small grin. "No. I didn't jump in, although I admit, I was very tempted. Had you not been out, I may be in the ocean right now. But it's probably for the best that I'm not, anyways. The water is far too cold."

"Is it?" James asked. "I haven't really gone in. I thought it'd be warmer on an island like this."

"I dipped my fingers in there, and it's pretty frigid, yeah. You'd have to be crazy to jump in at this hour."

At that, Alan kept his gaze on James, studying him. Almost like he was looking for confirmation.

James paused, coming to a stop as he looked out at the beach. Curious, he walked up to the water, feet touching the wet sand first before a cool wave washed over them.

It was, indeed, cold, but not freezing.

"Hm," he said. "It's not bad."

"Not bad, huh?" Alan also approached the water, the waves sloshing over his bare feet. He grimaced, scrunching his nose and looking back at James. "It seems we have two different definitions of cold."

"Yours is akin to that of a lizard's," James said.

"And yours is akin to that of a cat," Alan shot back.

James pinched his brows together.

"A cat?" he asked.

"Because they steal warmth," Alan said with a flourish of his hand.

"Hah," James laughed dryly. "Right. I'm stealing it. And you weren't cold before I came along."

"Alright, so you caught me on a dark, cold walk because I came out vastly unprepared. I admit it," Alan said. "But also, aren't cats afraid of water?"

James hummed, looking down at the waves still lapping over his feet, and pulling away again.

"A little," he said. "Swimming is more difficult for me. I can't float."

"Well, that's an easy fix. Just don't go that deep, then."

"I know," he said. "I don't."

But he wouldn't put it past the people running this gods-forsaken island to throw him into the deep end.

"I suppose it is a scary thought, though. The water is unforgiving. Especially the ocean," Alan said.

"Right," James said, then looked over to Alan. "I don't remember you ever saying what your magic is. I assume it's not water-related."

"No. That would be pretty neat, though." Alan's smile started to fade as he also looked over the dark ocean, unmoving and presumably now used to the cold water lapping over him. "I don't usually advertise my magic because of negative connatations, but I don't mind sharing when asked. I have charm magic. I don't use it often, or really hardly at all, though, especially since it comes with steep consequences."

"That seems unfortunate," James commented quietly, looking down at his feet.

"I don't really think so, actually. My magic isn't a part of my identity, so I'm ambivalent. I'd like to think I'm so much more than the characteristics I was born with," Alan went on.

"I understand what you mean," James said slowly. "Most people feel that way if their magic is less visible."

"That's true." Alan paused, attention back on James. "Would you consider your magic to be visible?"

"Only when I'm injured," James said, not looking up to meet Alan's eyes. "So for the most part, no."

"I usually don't advocate to see the world in black and white. There are varying shades to everything. Hidden nuances and unexplored context." Alan paused. "However, I'd consider visibility to be closer to black and white than gray. Feeling seen-- even if by just one person-- can be intimidating. And it still feels that way whether it's one or ten or a hundred people."

"You should try being on TV sometime," James said, keeping a straight face.

Alan smiled, slowly shaking his head. "And you should be a comedian."

"First time I've heard that one," James said honestly, putting his hands in his pockets with a sigh. "You seem to do well in this environment, though. You've got a quick wit and the charisma for it. Hopefully that serves you well going forward."

"You think so?" Alan tilted his head up towards the night sky, in thought. "I can't say I'm really trying. I know we're being watched, but I try not to let it get to me, and I don't think knowing that I'm on TV changes things." He paused. "I just try to be myself whenever I can, although it's tempting to act a little different if a billion people are watching."

"Well... that's a gift, then," James said. "That it doesn't bother you."

"Does it bother you?" Alan asked.

"I like privacy," James said. "Having the whole world know who I am - my face, my magic, my mannerisms - doesn't put me at peace. After these three months are over, we're going to be, at the very least, small-scale celebrities. That's not something I ever signed up for."

Alan nodded. "Everyone has different needs and wants. It's unfortunate that yours can't be met while fulfilling a requirement to be here." A beat. "That's an interesting perspective, though. I suppose, for me... I feel like I have nothing to hide, so privacy doesn't seem as important to me. It doesn't bother me if the world sees me for who I am."

"I don't want privacy to hide," James said. "I just think it's none of the world's business."

"Ah. More nuance. It's especially degrading when your privacy isn't being respected on the island. The information you want released versus the information the DMV wants to release doesn't seem to align," Alan said. "It's certainly none of the world's business to know information about you that is otherwise personal."

James glanced over at Alan, quiet for a moment.

"You really have nothing to hide?" he asked.

"I wouldn't say I'm an open book. I admit I'm a fairly private person. But if someone wants to make the effort to get to know me... well." He shifted his weight, taking a side step in the sand since he was sinking down. "I'd gladly open my book for them."

"So you're the kind of person who doesn't give information freely, but does when asked," James repeated, making sure he understood what Alan was saying.

"Not exactly," Alan said as he looked up at the sky again. "I don't think I have hard limits like that. It's less about freely giving away information and more about the connection and natural flow of conversation. At the end of the day, I'm looking to build meaningful connections. Dialogue is a two-way street, after all. It's awfully hard to connect with someone if one person is doing all the talking or one person is doing all the listening. I'm not transactional based on information said. I'm transactional based on interest. Does someone genuinely want to get to know me? Are they making an effort into holding a conversation? Do they sincerely want to know more about what I have to say? Are they truly listening and processing my words? Are they actually interested? Does it feel natural? Things of that nature."

Alan paused here, finally glancing back at James to gauge his engagement.

"That was a long answer of saying: it depends," Alan finished.

James hummed in thought.

"That's a good way to put it," he said. "I suppose I tend to approach things similarly. Though I must admit I'm often slow at the start."

"It's funny, because I admit that I'm often fast at the start. But I've been getting better at slowing down. It's impossible to open your heart to everyone," Alan said.

"I've always felt it's unwise," James said, kicking lightly at the sand under his feet. "But I'm more cautious about things like that."

"Have you always been that way?" Alan asked.

James sighed, looking out at the dark, rolling waves.

"Not really," he said quietly.

"It's one of life's cruelest ironies, isn't it? To have a heart and love so deep, but you must hold yourself at a distance to minimize pain," Alan said with a sigh.

"'Better to have loved and lost than to never love at all,'" James quoted Tennisson. Though it was a slight paraphrase.

Alan hummed. "Maybe. On one hand, you live with lasting heartache. On the other, you're ignorant to both the pain and pleasures of love. It's hard to say which is better."

James turned, stepping just a little deeper into the water so that it brushed over his ankles. It was kind of nice, stepping into the cool water.

"Is it really love if it's not costly?" he asked.

Alan watched him for a moment. "Sounds like you're a proponent on love, no matter the cost. I respect that."

James huffed through his nose.

"It would be weird to be anti-love, don't you think?" James asked, looking over his shoulder at Alan.

"Weird, sure. Maybe even bitter and sad. We're on the same page there," Alan said. "Love is one of life's greatest joys, after all."

"Do you think there's another that can compete with it?" James asked. "Or are you against making statements with that much certainty."

"Observant," Alan mused after a brief hesitation. He paused again, also taking a step forward so the water lapped up to his ankles, barely touching the hem of his rolled-up pants. "Have you ever been in love, James?" he suddenly asked.

James had a moment where he had to pause and reflect on where he was. For a moment, it was like he'd forgotten he was leagues away from home, on a foreign island, run by an insane group of overpowered maniacs who wanted to play with them for the world's enetertainment.

Cameras. There had to be cameras somewhere. Someone was going to watch this, edit this, and broadcast it to the entire world. Everything he was saying would be embedded into the internet forever. He could say things, but he wouldn't be able to take them back. This wasn't like every day life where mistakes had more margin for forgiveness.

People were watching. Not just Alan.

Oliver was watching, too.

"Can't say I have," he lied. "Not in that way. You?"

"Ah. I was wondering if you'd be able to relate, but I suppose it doesn't matter too much," Alan said, still gazing over the dark ocean view. "I have. Quite a few times, actually, and a few that were fairly serious. They didn't work out in the end, though. The heart can only break so much before it starts to hurt. I suppose you've caught me during a more pessimistic time while I'm still recovering from heartbreak, so I'm hesitant to say more confident answers."

James couldn't help but feel a little guilty as Alan proceeded to be vulnerable, while James had entirely dodged a question. But he couldn't give Oliver any more fodder to torment him with.

He put his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet again.

"Nothing wrong with that," he said quietly.

"You said it yourself. It would be weird to be anti-love. So, I'm finding joys in other ways." Alan sighed. "Like deep talks of love at 3am at the beach."

James laughed at that. It was a low, exhausted, cathartic laugh, and even though it was short-lived, it was genuine.

"If it helps," James said with a shrug. "I guess that works."

"I can't say it's making me more tired, though. I think it's doing the opposite," Alan said with a slight smile and a shake of his head.

"Should I start talking about something more dull, then?" James said. "People always get sleepy when I start talking about farming. Maybe I should do that."

Alan hummed. "I didn't know you're a farmer. Since you're housed with Shane and Constantine, I thought... well, I don't know what I thought. Not a farmer, though," he finished with a faint laugh.

"Obviously, I'm royalty," James said, setting a hand on his chest and doing a small bow of his head. "That must be the message they were trying to send me."

"Ah, yes. You're the ruler of the crops you yield. I'm sure they love you as their Farmer King," Alan said with a grin.

"I guess that makes me King of Potatoes," James said.

"That has a ring to it, actually. I think that ought to be your new title."

James groaned slightly, giving him a slightly pained smile.

"King of Potatoes?" he asked. "I'm not sure I actually want that circulating."

"If you say it loud enough, someone out there might hear it and make you into a meme. You better be careful," Alan teased.

"I think I already am a meme," he said, briefly looking down at his shirt to see what stupid saying he'd thrown on in the dark.

Then he realized that his shirt was on backwards. It was blank and he could see the tag poking out around his collar.

Damn. He'd just been walking around like this?

"Huh," he said faintly.

"Do you think your sister might be up at this hour? You think she's watching the live feed of the island? I can't imagine there's much to see besides me, you, and the shirt she can't see," Alan said.

"Could you tell that my shirt was on backwards this whole time?" James asked.

"Considering you're running at 3am, I think weirder things have happened," Alan said with a teasing smile.

James stared at Alan for a moment, feeling a mix of understanding and mild annoyance, but he let out a small sigh, pulling his arms out of his sleeves.

"This is what I get for changing and not looking," he muttered, spinning the shirt around and putting his arms back through. Re-adjusting the shirt and pulling it down, he found himself looking down at a picture of a baby cow in a field of flowers.

That was it. Just that.

"Cute," Alan remarked.

"I don't remember even packing this shirt," he said, poking at it.

"How many silly tees did you bring?" Alan asked.

James hesitated.

"A lot," he said.

Alan hummed. "It's a good running shirt."

James paused, looking up at Alan, and then out at the ocean.

Alan sighed. "I won't keep you up any longer, though. I hope you sleep finds you soon. Thanks for chatting with me."

James hesitated again, feeling like his mind was working slower than Alan's at the moment. Scratching the side of his head, he nodded slightly.

"Right," he said. "Yeah. It was nice. Good 3am talk."

He couldn't think of much else to say. He hadn't expected to run into anyone, and his mind was still swimming with more than he knew how to process at the moment.

"Good 3am talk," Alan repeated with a smile. "I'll see you at some other non-godforsaken hour. In the mean time, good night and sweet dreams."

With that, Alan took a few steps back, retreating from the water.

"Sleep well," James said with a small wave.

Alan waved back before he turned around and went the same way they came from, back towards his cabin. Presumably.

James stayed still for a moment, looking off into the ocean, letting his mind finally feel empty.



It had been a long two days.

He was tired. He really was. But he didn't expect to fall asleep yet, even after the run and the talk. After standing still for just a few mere minutes he could already feel his mind starting to buzz again with all of the worries and confusion of the day. He didn't want to stay still anymore. He didn't want to think anymore.

He set off to run again, this time, going faster.

Lyall liked to pride himself on, let's be honest, a lot of things. He had a lot of strengths! Like being detail-oriented. Maybe he was easily distracted, but he'd found ways to work around that-- there! Problem-solving! Another strength. His handwriting left much to be desired, but he considered himself an excellent communicator, especially in the written word.

Dedication was one of his strongest traits, he felt. A friend once likened him to a trolley hurtling full speed down a steep hill once he was able to zero in on a goal. The connotations and/or mental imagery could've been more flattering, but it was true.

He was committed to the bit, one could say. Had it not been for his mother's insistence he join the practice, Lyall probably would've chosen a career in some type of performance. Theatre, musical, what have you. He lived to entertain.

Sometimes he wished he did go for that, actually.

Anyway, if not for entertainment's sake, then he was wholly committed to proving a point, for the sake of his principles. Maintaining one's physical wellness was, of course, one such principle. His doctorly advice wouldn't mean anything more than rat's scat to a patient if he didn't follow it himself, right?

All this to say, he prided himself on being fit. However, an at-ass-crack-of-dawn runner this did not make. Because you had to be colloquially insane to be in the camp of run-lovers.

The ultimate conclusion here: James was colloquially insane.

The invite to run a portion of the island one morning was a quick, casual thing. In hindsight, as a run-loather, Lyall should've declined and suggested an alternative activity. He was just so excited that James had reached out in the first place that he didn't actually stop to think about what exactly he was agreeing to.

James was running beside him. Or rather, slightly ahead of him.

"I'll let you set the pace," he said.

And it was all well and good! Then, after the first five minutes of kicking up sand, it immediately became awful and Lyall fell back a few paces. He recalled why he hated running to begin with. It was a tricky bastard. And it didn't help that James was also apparently (and honestly not very surprisingly) an early riser.

At some point, James began to slow down, looking back over his shoulder.

"You good?" he asked.

Lyall waved him along and forced a smile. "Never better!"

"We can stop for a minute if you need," James said. Somehow, he was saying all of this as if he wasn't breathless.

Lyall, on the other hand, wheezed out, "Oh, thank god," and stopped to lean on a tree.

James came to a stop beside him, pausing to take a drink of water.

It took Lyall what little energy he had left to keep his legs from buckling underneath him.

"Invigorating," he croaked. "How often do you do this?"

James held out his water bottle to Lyall.

"Every morning, at least," he said.

Lyall accepted the water with a slight nod. "Every morning?"

"Keeps me sane," he said.

Tilting his head, Lyall murmured, "Debatable," before taking a swig.

James shrugged. "At least I know my body will be working at 60. That's the hope, anyway."

Handing back the water bottle, Lyall huffed an incredulous laugh. "I think you'd be in perfect shape by 60 without the daily dose of self-afflicted agony. But, to each their own."

"If you considered this agony," James said with a small smirk and a raised brow. "Why'd you say yes?"

Lyall mustered an unamused look, but only briefly. At least one of them was finding some humor in this.

"It slipped my mind how it is literal hell," he answered with exaggerated indignance. "I haven't had 'a run' in forever. And with good reason, mind you."

James looked like he was fighting not to smile.

"Sorry to have reminded you, then," James said. And with a quick glance at Lyall up and down, he offered: "We can walk back if that would ease your misery."

At Mister James's poorly-concealed amusement, Lyall cracked a faint grin. "A mercy that would be, yes." After another breath, he pushed himself upright and said sincerely, "Also, I find that I enjoy your company. Usually."

"For a mere 48 hour assessment," James said. "I'd say that's still a pretty high percentage of enjoyment. Usually."

"You've made an excellent first impression, then," Lyall amended with a light laugh.

Cracking another grin, James began to walk back down the beach the way they came, but now at a walking pace.

"It'll take twice as long to walk as to run, so we might as well turn around now," James added.

Lyall trailed behind him (it was a familiar arrangement, though the addition of sunlight was a nice change). "Can't argue that logic."

James slowed down, falling into step beside Lyall.

"So what do you normally do for fun or leisure, then?" James asked.

"I indulge in artistic pursuits from time to time," Lyall said. "When I have the time. Writing creatively, or observationally, or poetically. I've dabbled in painting, but I'm nowhere near as adept as Kaya."

James raised a brow.

"Who's Kaya?"

"My beautiful partner," Lyall answered happily, "of about a year now. She specializes in the romantic painting genre. I'd say she's an up-and-coming artist in the gallery scene back home. Though, admittedly, Fjelstad isn't a very prominent global presence..." He waved dismissively, to keep from falling down a rabbit hole.

"Have you tried painting before, Mister James?"

"Not particularly," James said. "But you'll probably be happy to hear I've dabbled in poetry."

"Oh!" Lyall cast him an intrigued look, quite thrilled indeed. "Would you be opposed to an audience, or is it for your eyes only?"

"I've never shared it with anyone," James answered. "The only writing I openly share is academic."

"Like essays?" Had he not killed most functionality in his lower body from the run, Lyall would've walked with more of a spring in his step. "What did you study?"

"Linguistics," James said.

The trail through the trees turned sandy again. The cabins (salvation!) were back in sight.

"You wouldn't happen to have physical copies on you, would you?" Lyall asked.

James smiled, but it looked a little more strained.

"No, sadly," he said.

Lyall frowned. "Tragic." He glanced off in thought. "Digital?"

"Some of them," James said. "But my phone's dead. And my laptop is... nonfunctional."

Apparently circumstances were not improving for Mister Hawke.

"Ah," Lyall said, "we'll revisit the exchange of written works at a later time."

"So what about you, then?" James asked. "Have you written anything you'd ever be willing to share?"

"I suppose so," Lyall hummed. "Though, if it's not directly pertaining to my work, I'm not a very prolific writer. I'd send you a sample of my prose, but..." He shrugged apologetically.

"I'm sure someone like you is capable of dictating the oral rendition," James said. "That is, if you wanted."

Glancing up, Lyall scrunched his nose as he already began parsing through his long-term. "An excellent point," he agreed, "I just would need a moment to refresh my memory. It's been a minute since I last pulled those stories from the mental shelf."

Now that it was a more reasonable hour, the residence area had come alive.

Lyall caught sight of his sister down by her cabin, an espresso cup in hand, and accompanied by that same little dog from the videos Mel showed him earlier.

He squinted into the distance. When did Hild acquire a dog? Why? When? Why?

"What is it?" James asked.

"I'm pretty sure it's an animal," Lyall said. "That, or a walking...shaped, fuzzy towel, but that's less likely."

James glanced over at Lyall in confusion.

"With who?" James asked.

Note: James was likely near-sighted. Further observation was required before he could be too sure, though.

"My sister," Lyall said. "It seems she somehow acquired an animal within the past 48 hours."

"Huh," James said. "I suppose we'll have to meet it."

Bracing himself for the inevitable jabs over his sweat-drenched attire, Lyall found himself entirely unprepared for when a scraggly man in a trench coat jumped in front of them out of nowhere.

"Geez--!" Lyall flinched back.

And just as quickly, James's reflexes kicked in, and his arm shot out in front of Lyall. He partially stepped in front of Lyall, like some kind of human shield between him and the stranger.

"Fine weather this is!" the man declared, baring his teeth in what looked like an attempt to smile pleasantly.

James slowly lowered his arm, but looked over to Lyall, casting some side-eye with suspicion. Or perhaps he was merely weirded out. Either way, that made two of them.

"That it is," James said. "I don't believe we've formally met. What's your name?"

The man squinted down at the palm of his hand, and read aloud?: "My name is Aaron..." He frowned. "Just Aaron."

James nodded slowly.

"I'm James," he offered.

"Lyall Ashlund," Lyall added, putting on a friendly smile as he held out his hand. "I do believe I saw you at the pool party, at least? How was the food?"

Aaron blankly glanced down at the proffered hand. "Abundant."

Okay, another no-touchy person. No problem.

Smile persisting, Lyall turned and gestured to the buildings off to the side. "Which one's yours?"

Aaron didn't followed his gaze. Only stared very intently at them. "...One of them."

O...kay.

"What a coincidence," James said. "I also live in one of them."

Lyall snorted. "That's fine, I can narrow it down eventually," he said lightly.

Aaron's gaze narrowed ever so slightly, and only for a second. "I'm sure you could."

"Are you opposed to the idea of anyone knowing where you live?" James asked.

Looking back down at his palm (did he have a script or something?), Aaron just muttered to himself, "Find common ground..."

Then looked back up, straight at Lyall, and asked instead, "Do you remember me?"

Brows raised, Lyall glanced uncertainly at James. Slowly, he answered, "Uhm, tragically, I don't?"

And he was sure there was no forgetting an encounter with this guy. Assuming Aaron was consistent, as far as first impressions go. Eye contact was a nice thing in conversation and all, but this man never seemed to even blink?

Aaron hummed. "Joint research paper at Kite Sail? Your second year?"

Grin turning into a slight grimace, Lyall slowly shook his head. "Nnnno, sorry, I bounced between a lot of different groups. But it's nice to run into another...alumni? Have you graduated yet?"

Aaron fell silent.

"...You good?" James asked.

Lyall was inclined to believe, no.

Taking in a deep breath, Aaron sighed out through his nose. "This has been nice," he eventually said, sounding very inconvenienced by the whole situation (that he initiated).

"It was nice talking wi--" Lyall politely began, then: "Oop, there he goes."

Aaron was already halfway back to one of the cabins. Then he veered suddenly and darted into the bushes. Hm. Strange little fellow...

James stood still, staring at where Aaron had disappeared for a moment before he turned to look at Lyall slowly.

"He's lacking in social skills," James said. "But at least he wasn't mean."

Lyall hummed his agreement. "Sure, I'll take inept over hostile any day."

"And he didn't almost kill me so I'd say he's made a better first impression than some," James said with a shrug.

Lyall huffed a rueful laugh. "Damn, that is such a low bar."

"What can I say?" James said. "This island has severely lowered my expectations."

Clapping his hands once, Lyall turned on his heel and again started for his sister in the distance. "Well, you know what they say: When you hit rock bottom..."

James didn't finish the phrase right away.

"You..." he tried. "Rock."

Lyall blinked at him. Then put his face in his hands to hide his smile. "Yes," he said, stifling a laugh, "precisely."

"Nice," James said. "Nailed it."

But there was an air of sarcastic humor in his voice, like he'd gotten just the reaction he intended. Shaking his head, Lyall allowed himself an amused huff.

Closer along the shoreline, Hild shielded her eyes from the sun with a book as she watched them approach.

James waved, evidently when he finally recognized her, or perhaps made eye contact.

Before any of them could say anything in greeting, the little animal drifting in energetic circles around Hild made a beeline for James. Somewhat surprisingly, James squatted down and stretched out his arms to meet it, smiling broadly as a tiny, fluffy poodle puppy came bounding into his arms, tail wagging wildly.

James laughed, petting it roughly at first and then picking it up. Standing with the wriggling puppy in his arms, he held it out with a smile.

"Hey, little guy," James said. "Do you want to pet him, Lyall?"

Flashing the two a forced grin, Lyall reached over to pat the ball of fluff on the head. That was opportunity enough for the dog to slobber all over his fingers. Suppressing a visible shudder, he flicked the wet from his hand.

"A pleasure," he politely lied to the happy dog.

"Buster," Hild supplied, smiling faintly as she stepped closer. "A companion of Miss Clanny."

She gave Lyall's sweaty attire a once over, brow quirking judgmentally. "You moron," she scoffed.

Lyall pouted. "Rude."

Hild didn't spare him another thought as she turned to James. "Was the second run just to see my brother suffer?" she asked casually. "If so, I approve."

"I'm telling Dante you're both being mean to me," Lyall muttered petulantly.

"Second?" James asked, tilting his head and looking at her with minor suspicion. Buster began licking the man's face as he asked.

Hild had the decency to flash him a guilty smile. "I saw you the first time. I didn't sleep much myself."

James flicked his eyes to Lyall for a mere second. Buster settled into James's arms, like he was nesting.

"Ah. Yeah. I was trying to tire myself out. My sleep schedule has been completely thrown these past two days," he admitted.

Lyall raised both brows with open concern. "When was this first run?"

James hesitated, giving a forced smile.

"...3am," he said slowly.

"Did it...help?"

James's smile grew even tighter. "A little?"

"That was convincing," Hild said flatly.

"Did you fall asleep eventually, Hild?" James asked. Lyall suspected in an attempt to draw attention away from himself at this point.

Hild frowned, betrayed. "I did," she said defensively. "Did you sleep at all, Mister Hawke?"

Flicking his eyes between the two of them, Lyall pursed his lips. "It's fine, guys. I understand that none of this has been ideal. Just nap sometime later, is all."

James pulled his lips into a small frown, but looked down at Buster, who had started licking his arm repeatedly in the same spot. It was making James's arm hair stick down to his skin as if with glue.

"I slept about 12 hours yesterday," James said, quieter. "Slept the whole day away. I'm just going to try to stay up so I can readjust."

"Fair enough," Hild eventually conceded.

James nodded, and then looked down at Buster again, and back up at Hild.

"Do you, uh... want him back?" James asked.

Though the puppy looked very content in his arms.

Hild grinned a bit. "Keep him for now," she said. "We'll just be heading back in for breakfast soon."

She slipped her book back into the bag hanging from her shoulder. Then pointed with her chin to the bushes a distance behind them. "Friend of either of yours?"

Twisting to look back, Lyall shook his head. "Though, according to him, I should have remembered him."

"They went to the same university, apparently," James added. "Did a project together and everything."

Lyall frowned unappreciatively at James. "Trust me, I would've remembered working with someone like that."

Hild turned her eyes skyward in the way she usually did when she was taking a deep dive into her long-term memory. Lyall didn't bother suppressing a sigh at this.

"You know," she predictably began, "there was a research paper where you never met one of your co-writers. They never showed for any meetings, nor had their video on when they did answer a group call..." She glanced past them again. "Did you catch his name?"

"Aaron," James answered for Lyall.

"Keller," Hild finished. "I've taken note of everyone's names; despite his best efforts to scrub his clean from island existence." She tilted her head at Lyall. "You don't remember him, because technically you never met him to begin with."

"Alright, so I'm vindicated," Lyall said with a huff, not quite as fond of how they were kind of ganging up on him. In some mild, indirect way. Maybe not quite, but it certainly felt like it.

"It does seem like someone put him up to it -- coming out and socializing, that is," James said. "I'm pretty sure he was working off a script written on his hand."

Lyall pointed to him, further vindicated. "I thought so, too." He glanced back at the bushes. "Think he's the kind of person to take things very literally? What with the unsettling amount of eye contact."

Hild hummed. "Or maybe that was intentional."

"You think that was an act?" James asked.

"Not an act," she answered. "Simply...a choice."

Lyall made a note to drop by the cabin with Aaron's name on it, anyway. Whatever the man's intentions (or un-intentions), it could maybe be salvaged?

James hummed, looking off into the bushes in thought.

"...He was the guy inhaling food at the party," he mused.

"Where did it all go?" Lyall wondered quietly.

"Maybe his power is an endless stomach," James said.

Hild nodded. "That's an actual trait for some," she confirmed.

"That's severely unfortunate," Lyall said sadly.

As they stood for a moment in thoughtful silence, Lyall noticed James inched a little closer. He thought nothing of it until he felt a slobbering tongue lick his elbow. The puppy was licking him.

Lyall leapt away with an audible groan of disgust. "Dammit--!"

Hild barked a laugh, and James laughed lightly with her - more of a giggle, actually.

Pulling the puppy away and hugging it close like a baby, James watched Lyall in amusement.

"You're really not a fan of dogs, huh?" James asked.

Lyall glared as he pointed between both James and Hild. "Whatever this new dynamic is," he said, "I don't like it."

"What dynamic?" James asked with a teasing grin. Buster yapped his own two cents.

"Surely you're imagining things, dear brother," Hild added, furrowing her brows in confusion.

Outrageous.

Lyall turned on his heel, quite done with their shenanigans. "I'm washing off, and washing my hands of this morning," he declared.

"If you hate running that much, we don't have to do it again," James said from behind him.

"I'd like that very much!" Lyall shot back over his shoulder like a retort.

"You pick the next activity, then!" James called in return.

He turned and walked backwards to his cabin. "Gladly! And we will have a smashing time!"

James looked amused at that, but then leaned over and whispered something to Hild that Lyall couldn't hear. There it was again!

There was a big part of him that insisted on sticking around-- instinct, you could call it, that demanded he stand firmly between the two-- but he really did feel disgusting from all the sweat and agony. Perhaps he'd catch them again later. Scheming as they seemed to enjoy doing.

Then again, he was actually quite sincerely glad for this budding friendship. He often worried about his sister, never building any real connections in school or work, and especially when she began to really withdraw a couple years back, when tragedy very suddenly hit their home.

He supposed he could endure being the butt of their jokes, then, if it meant she had someone now to share in the cruel joy.

It was a nice, beautiful morning. The humidity wasn't as bad today, and the sky was clear, and there was a crisp, clean breeze in the air that was refreshing. Clandestine had gotten ready that morning with the windows open while her animal friends chatted around her, giving her suggestions for what she should wear for the day. She ended up landing on something cute but sporty, putting on a pair of basic black sports shorts and a loose, breathable pale pink crop top with a sports bra underneath. She was planning on taking advantage of the nice weather and spend a lot of time outside, so she made sure to put on some sunscreen too, topping it all off by putting her hair up in a high ponytail.

"Keepin' it natural, ladies," she said to the female cats sitting around her vanity, watching her with swishing tails.

"You do look lovely today, Ms. Clandestine," Molly commented in her sweet voice.

"Awh, thanks, Ms. Molly," Clandestine said, sitting back on the vanity stool with a little smile. "You're always so nice to me."

"Well, there's not a lot of fruit that comes from being mean," Molly said. "None that doesn't spoil the tree, that is."

"Very wise words from a very wise cat," Clandestine agreed, giving Molly an affectionate scratch around her neck. Molly leaned in, stretching out her legs and tail as she too, was waking up.

"I'm thinking that today," Clandestine said. "That you and I, Jimbo, can go on a walk."

On cue, the word "walk" sent Jimbo's tail wagging wildly.

"A walk?" Jimbo asked, his big, fluffy ears perking up.

"Yeah!" Clandestine said with a smile as she spun around and slipped on her shoes. "And when we get home I'll give you a nice cold bath."

At that, Jimbo started panting with excitement.

"That sounds lovely, Ms. Clanny!" Jimbo said, lumbering up to her to put his big fluffy head into her lap. He started drooling on her leg. Clandestine chuckled, patting his head.

"Well, are you ready, then?" she asked. "Ready to hop downstairs?"

His giant tail was like a fan, flopping fast in the room behind him.

"I'm ready!" he said.

Getting to her feet, she trusted Jimbo to follow her. He was a very good boy, and never strayed very far from her side. He also was very eager to please, and not once had he disobeyed her. She made note not to take advantage of that, because Jimbo didn't deserve such things.

"Can I come?" Frenzy the parrot squaked from her perch in the corner. "I'd like to go for a fly!"

"Oh, sure!" Clandestine said.

Despite Frenzy's name, she really was quite tame. A little sassy now and again, but very reasonable and easy to work with.

"Come along!" Clandestine said, extending her arm with a wave.

With a flap of her wings, Frenzy followed Clandestine and Jimbo out the door, and the three of them stepped out onto their sandy front porch with happy steps. Jimbo bounded ahead, and Frenzy flew over his head while Clandestine watched them, a few feet behind, knowing they would circle around her many times. She wasn't worried about them getting lost. They knew not to stray too far. She'd put down ground rules in the beginning, and they'd all agreed on them.

It was later in the morning that she went out, and her housemates seemed like they might've been more early risers, so she missed them when she'd gotten breakfast. She wasn't sure who else to ask to walk with her, though, and she felt a little too shy at the moment to approach what everyone had started calling "the rizz cabin." She didn't really know why, either. Alan, Cyrin, and Lyall were all very nice fellows, but she couldn't deny that she did feel a little intimidated by them. They were all so confident and good at leading conversations that it felt like when she was there she was just filling space. Maybe that wasn't a good way to look at it, but she guessed she just felt a little out-matched. She was never exceptionally funny, witty, or smart, and whenever she did stand out in a conversation it always seemed to be because she said something "innocent," which she didn't necessarily despise but she did sometimes feel was a little condescending.

Ah, she was thinking too much into it. She always was, even if she tried really hard to not let it show.

She passed by the "chaos cabin," wondering if she should see if Robin was home. He was the only one she really knew from before all of this, but when she stopped by to peek into his window, where she'd usually find him to say hello, he wasn't there.

He must've gone out for the morning already. Bummer.

Then she landed at the "bird cabin."

Ironically, Frenzy landed on one of their porch posts, sitting daintly by all of the bird-themed names on the door.

Hah. Get it. Bird on the bird house. No one was there to laugh with her, so she just smirked to herself.

Walking up to Frenzy, she put a hand on her hip.

"You sure do have a sense of humor, missy," she said.

"I do?" Frenzy asked.

"Yeah, you chose to rest at the bird house," Clandestine explained.

"Bird house?" Frenzy questioned.

It was then that Clandestine remembered animals didn't really know how to read.

She felt kind of dumb for a second, and then just laughed.

"Oh, nevermind," she said, walking up to the door. Maybe someone here was home. She guessed she could chance it. It didn't hurt to ask, so she knocked firmly in a little rhytmic pattern.

"Yoo hoo," she called out. "I am looking for a walking buddy. Anybody home?"

The moment she finished speaking, she heard an excited cat's yowl within the house.

"Friend! There's a friend at the door!"

Clandestine did not know why that simple little kitty sentence made her heart melt almost to the point of tears, but she had to take a second to compose herself so she didn't gush too much.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and Shane was there with a smile, quickly bending down to gently pick up a brown tabby cat who had been pacing by the door.

"Hey, Clandestine," he said with a laugh, scratching the cat behind the ears.

Clandestine's whole face brightened.

"Shane!" she said. "You have a cat?"

"I do," he said, smiling again as he cuddled the cat a little closer. "This is Shrimp. He got to the island after... well, as a surprise gift. It's a very nice surprise." He smiled down at Shrimp. "Do you want to say hi to Clandestine?" he cooed to the cat.

"Friend!" Shrimp said again, trying to wriggle out of Shane's arms with a purr.

Of course, Shane didn't hear that like Clandestine did, but he obviously caught the cat's excitement and set him down on the porch. "He's very friendly," he said with a laugh, as Shrimp rubbed up against Clandestine's leg.

Clandestine bent down, petting Shrimp behind the ears.

"Oh, he is!" she said. "We are already friends, you and I."

She was talking to Shrimp. Not that she didn't want to be Shane's friend but she figured the slight baby voice made it obvious.

"How has your day been, Shrimp?" she asked.

"Exciting!" Shrimp said. "I got here in a box carried by a flying balloon, and then I found my owner. I missed him."

"Oh, wow, that really is exciting! Was it scary, flying via balloon?" Clandestine asked.

"I didn't know what was happening! But it was worth it," Shrimp said. "There are lots of people on this island! I want them all to pet me."

"Wait," Shane said with a laugh after a moment, like something was dawning on him. "You can talk to animals, can't you? You mentioned the balloon."

Clandestine petted Shrimp more intentionally, grinning up at Shane.

"Yeah," she said. "Shrimp is very chatty! Quite the extrovert of a cat you have here."

"Wow," Shane said, slowly grinning. "I... did not know that."

"He says he missed you," Clandestine said with a bigger smile. "He seems very happy to be here."

"Awww," Shane said softly, bending down to pet Shrimp again. "I missed you too, little guy."

"How'd you choose the name Shrimp?" Clandestine asked with a little laugh.

"I..." Shane laughed, almost bashfully. "I don't even know, there was zero logic to it. My parents let me name him, and I'm surprised they went along with it. Honestly, I think I just said the first word that came to mind."

"Awh," Clandestine said. "Well, I think it's cute. He's just a lil shrimp. A lil guy."

"He is just a lil guy," Shane agreed, gently scooping up Shrimp with a slight smile. "Anyway. What brings you by?"

"Oh!" Clandestine said, standing up. She gestured to Jimbo, and he came and sat obediently beside her, wagging his tail and looking up at Shane with his tongue out.

"I was wondering if you'd like to join me in taking Jimbo for a walk," she said, and then gestured back to the parrot behind her. "And Frenzy on a fly."

"Jimbo and Frenzy," Shane said, smiling. "Very nice names. Well--" He held Shrimp out. "Can you ask Shrimp what he would like to do, whether that's going on a walk or waiting here for a bit?"

Clandestine looked to Shrimp, giving him a warm smile.

"Hey, Shrimp," she said. "Shane and I are going to go for a walk. Do you want to come with us or do you want to stay home?"

"Are there more people around the island?" Shrimp asked. "I want to meet them and be petted!"

Clandestine hummed. "There are," she said. "I don't know where they are, but maybe we can try to find them."

"Yes!" Shrimp exclaimed, purring. "I want to go!"

Clandestine smiled brightly, looking up at Shane.

"He wants to go!" she said.

"Alright," Shane said, laughing as he scratched Shrimp behind the ears. "Let me get my shoes."

Clandestine nodded, patiently waiting at the door, and Shane disappeared for a moment before remerging with shoes on, plus having taken off his flannel layer for the heat.

"Alright, I've got my cat," he said, patting Shrimp on the head and cradling him closer. "Let's go."

Clandestine spun around with a little skip in her step, and Jimbo fell into step at her side immediately. Frenzy took flight overhead, and Clandestine waved for Shane to walk alongside her.

"Have you gotten to explore the island much yet?" she asked.

"A little bit," Shane said as he joined her, with Shrimp still snuggled up against him. "I've been on a few walks with James and Alan already. It's a very nice place."

"Oh! Maybe you should lead the way, then," Clandestine said. "I feel like I've mostly stuck to the beach."

"That's mostly where I've been too," Shane admitted. "I've seen some cliffs around too, though. Those might be fun to check out."

"Then let's explore them together!" Clandestine said. "Don't worry, Shane, you've got a real life park ranger with you."

She pointed to her chest with her thumb.

"We'll be a-okay," she said.

"You're a park ranger?" Shane asked, face brightening. "Really? That sounds so cool."

"It is!" Clandestine said. "I love that I get to be outdoors so much too. What do you do back home?"

Shane let out a short laugh that had the barest touch of awkwardness.

"Uh, besides heir stuff, I'm a history grad student," he said. "I was going to be a historian."

"What do you mean was going to be?" Clandestine asked with a small look of concern. "Did that not work out?"

Shane was quiet for a few moments, absent-mindedly petting Shrimp in his arms.

"I guess not," he said. "It got too hard to juggle both duties at once."

"Awh," she said. "That's sad."

A pause.

"What's one of the coolest fun history facts you've learned so far?" she asked with a little smile. She always loved to hear people talk about things they were passionate about.

Shane smiled slightly, glancing up at the sky.

"Americhihuahua's sixth president kept a pet alligator in his bathtub," he said. "It's true. He was also succeeded by an actual chihuahua when he died, because he didn't have a vice president, so the presidency went to his dog. The chihuahua served two terms and narrowly avoided impeachment."

Clandestine let out a light laugh.

"Seriously?" she asked. "That's so crazy."

She looked over at Jimbo, who was walking at a relaxed pace with them.

"You hear that, Jimbo? A dog can be president in Americhihuahua!"

Jimbo laughed, but it probably sounded like a bark to Shane. She looked over to Shane, smiling.

"He thinks that's funny, too," she said.

"History can be funny," Shane said, smiling a little wider. "There's a lot of things that just seems like they couldn't have happened, but they did. I think we often get the idea that everyone in the past was super serious, very no-nonsense like. But people have always been people, and so they've always had fun across time."

"That's such a beautiful way to look at it," Clandestine said. "People are still people. Still messy, and silly, and everything in-between."

"Yeah," Shane said, nodding eagerly in agreement. "History gets more fun to study with that in mind. It's not supposed to feel like learning about people who are long gone and don't matter anymore. Every single person from every single point of time and space has mattered."

"I'd like to think that everybody matters," Clandestine said, looking up to the sky where Frenzy swirled overhead. "Even if their names don't end up in history books."

Shane kept smiling, while Shrimp batted at a butterfly that was fluttering around them. "Most people never will end up in one," he said, while clucking his tongue at Shrimp to let him know to leave the butterfly alone, still petting him. "But think of everyone who you've looked at and thought, 'I'm glad they're around. They bring more meaning to the world.' Even if it's not a conscious thought, I'm sure most of us could say that about a lot of people if prompted. And even the people we might not be able to say that for, there's almost certainly someone out there who would say it for them. It's hard to matter to everyone, but everyone still matters." He paused, shaking his head and laughing slightly at himself. "Sorry. If I get too carried away, just tell me to stop."

Clandestine smiled widely, shaking her head.

"I didn't think you got carried away," she said. "I think your way of seeing the world is really beautiful. It feels like you put words to stuff I've felt but never explained. You're very well-spoken!"

Shane looked shocked for a few moments, then beamed. "Thank you," he said, with a touch of shyness. "You're very fun to talk to, Clandestine. I like the way you see the world as well."

Clandestine beamed back, her smile getting wider.

"Really?" she asked. "Thank you!"

She looked forward with a shy smile, and after a small pause glanced back at him.

"Do you think you'll still study history even when you're doing other duties?" she asked. "It sounds like it's something you're really passionate about."

Shane hummed thoughtfully, absent-mindedly loosening his carrying hold on Shrimp as the cat tried to clamber up on his shoulder.

"I would definitely like to," he said, reaching up to put a steadying hand on Shrimp's back as the cat perched on his shoulder, much like a parrot. "It's been a disappointment to have spent this long working for it without getting to finish. But I don't think it's my choice. My uncle said last semester would be my final one. So, I don't think I'll get to go back to it, once this summer on the island is over."

"Awh, I can see how that'd be dissapointing," Clandestine said with a small nod, and then hummed. "You have an uncle?"

"I do," Shane said with a nod. "He's one of the people running the nation back home as Head of House. He's the big guy, if you will."

"Is he actually a big guy?" Clandestine asked.

Shane paused. "Maybe a slightly above average size guy?" he suggested tentatively.

"In height, width, or both?" she asked.

"Uh, height," Shane said. "He's kind of skinny, actually."

"Does he look anything like you?" Clanny asked.

Shane considered for a moment, then took out his phone, typing 'Flint Hawking' into his search engine and pulling up the image results. "I don't really think so," he said, showing her his screen. "Luckily, it's easy to get a picture of him and compare."

The photo he pulled up seemed to be an official portrait, from the expensive suit the man was wearing. Shane's uncle had the same dark hair and tanned skin as him, but he had dark eyes instead of green, and the lines of his face were set in what was barely more pleasant than a serious, stoic scowl. If he had been asked to smile for his picture, he had clearly not heeded the instruction.

Clandestine paused in her steps, rubbing her chin in thought as she inspected the picture, then looked at Shane.

"Hm," she said. "You look a lot more friendly."

Shane let out a short laugh, glancing down at the picture. "He just... kind of looks like that," he admitted. "He's not a very smiley person."

"Is he friendly?" Clandestine asked. "Not everyone who's serious is mean."

Shane paused-- and then looked around, like he'd just remembered they were being watched.

"He's not unfriendly," he said carefully. "Just not a very warm person. A little bit blunt. But he's not mean, and he means best."

Clandestine grinned, nodding with understanding.

"Robin's like that," she said. "But we're great friends. Have you had a chance to meet him?"

"Maybe," Shane said curiously. "Who's Robin?"

"Oh! You might know him best as the werewolf, I think," Clandestine said. "The guy who shifted into a wolf at the party. He's pretty quiet and shy but he's really nice. We actually worked at the same park in Nye!"

"Really?" Shane asked, nodding thoughtfully. "I have seen him, then. I haven't gotten to talk to him yet, though."

"Oh?" she asked with a tilt of her head. "Why not?"

"I've only really seen him from a distance," Shane admitted. "Coming and going from his cabin, or at the pool party while we were both doing different things. Sometimes he's with Connie, but I haven't spent a lot of time with him either. I'm sure I'll get the chance to, though."

"Fair enough," Clandestine said with a nod. "I haven't really gotten to talk to everyone yet, either. There's not a lot on our schedule at the moment forcing us together, so it's kind of like... you just have to go take initiative on your own, I guess."

She didn't really have a problem with it, though. She felt like she didn't mind having to go find people. It was like that normally, outside of TV-show life anyway.

She wasn't sure if she'd naturally run into some of them, though. Some of the guys, especially, seemed pretty reclusive. At least, that's the vibe she'd gotten. It'd only been a few days, though. Maybe they just needed time to get comfortable.

"I guess so," Shane said with a nod. "I think they've got more events in the works we're all supposed to attend, though. That might be a chance to meet the last of those people."

"Oh!" Clandestine said with a little skip in her step. Jimbo skipped beside her. "What else do you think they'll do?"

"Not sure," Shane said. "Although I hope it doesn't get any of us in detention or jail again."

Clandestine laughed, though there was a part of it that was a little strained.

"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "I'll be better about what battles I pick, I guess. Now that I know silly stuff is where the line is."

Shane glanced her way, before lowering his voice. "You know, you really weren't to blame for what happened at the party. That was all on Oliver. You didn't pick a battle with him."

Clandestine hummed for a moment, looking down into the sand.

That was what everyone kept telling her, but she did feel like at least a little bit of it was her own fault. She didn't think she'd deserved their punishment, but she hadn't taken into consideration how Oliver might feel about being a meme. She knew some people could be really impacted by becoming an internet sensation overnight in negative ways, and for some people it was really embarassing and unwanted. Clearly, Oliver fell into that category, so she could see why he did what he did, even if it wasn't right or mature.

Clandestine shrugged.

"I know," she said, softly. "But it's over now. I'm just trying to move past it."

Shane nodded, a little distantly.

"I'm worried that..." he started to say, before he cut himself off and looked away sharply, looking down at Shrimp as he absent-mindedly stroked his fur. The cat let out a little pleasant mrrp sound.

Clandestine frowned slightly. It felt like Shane wanted to say more, but maybe he was biting his tongue because of the cameras. She paused in her steps and reached over to pet Shrimp too, and Jimbo came running over to stick his head between the two of them, tail wagging. He wanted pets too.

With a little laugh, she reached down and pet his head instead, mussing up his fluffy ears.

"It's okay," she said to Shane. "You don't have to worry about me. I can handle myself."

She always had. Ever since she was a kid. She felt like sometimes people didn't think she could, just because she was friendly, but she was used to having to look out for herself and go at it alone.

"I appreciate you caring, though," she said, looking up at him with a smile.

Shane's expression softened a little. "Oh, I didn't mean I thought you couldn't handle it, sorry. I'm sure you can. I just mean..."

He trailed off again, but went back to finish his thought-- in a much quieter voice this time.

"I'm worried it's not over from Oliver's perspective," he said, and she had to strain to hear. "Like there could be more consequences to follow."

Clandestine's smile faded a little, and she looked down at Jimbo. Jimbo was panting, and he nuzzled his nose against her face.

"Why do you look worried?" Jimbo asked.

Clandestine tried to force a smile, but it didn't feel convincing.

"I'm not..." she mumbled, unable to commit to the lie. With a sigh, she got to her feet again, looking off to the side.

"If there's more," she said. "Then I guess we'll just figure it out when it comes."

Shane still looked uncertain, and maybe like he had more to say, but he nodded after a few moments. "I guess there's no predicting," he said, before he added with a chuckle, "and I could just be overly nervous."

Clandestine pouted slightly. Shane seemed more than just a little nervous. He seemed like he was really worried.

"Hey," she said, a little softer. "It's okay if you're nervous. I think we all are, in our own ways. But if you're that worried about it all, I mean... we're in this together, you know? If something happens, I'll be there to help you, okay? We shouldn't have to face all of this alone. We might be miles away from friends or family, but we've got each other. I know we're all just getting to know each other, but there's strength in numbers."

She patted Jimbo's head, and he barked in agreement.

"And if you ever need a big, fluffy hug, Jimbo's always here."

Shane smiled faintly, adjusting his hold on Shrimp to pet Jimbo's back.

"Thanks, Clandestine," he said softly, looking back up at her. "I appreciate it. I don't want to fearmonger, but I will let you know if something does happen."

He glanced down at Jimbo again.

"I'll be sure to collect my big, fluffy hugs too," he said in a sweeter, babying voice as he ruffled Jimbo's fur.

"I'm being ignored," Shrimp protested.

Clandestine laughed, reaching over to scratch Shrimp's chin. "Shane can pet other friends, too. It doesn't mean you're being ignored."

"I object," Shrimp said, but he was purring again and rubbing his head against her hand.

Shane gave Jimbo a final ruffle, then petted Shrimp for good measure as he cleared his throat. "Anyway, don't let me kill the mood," he said, with a bit of a laugh. "We can get back to walking if you'd like."

"I'd like that," Clandestine said, patting Jimbo and gesturing for him to walk again. Frenzy came fluttering down from the sky onto her shoulder.

"But don't worry about the mood," she said, taking a step forward. "To me, it's still a beautiful day."

Shane followed, looking up at the sky. "I wonder if this island sees non-beautiful days," he mused.

"I'm sure it's just like anywhere else," Clandestine said. "It's not like every day can be perfect."

"This may be a little odd to say, but I hope it rains sometime," Shane said. "I actually quite like the rain."

"Rain can be really refreshing," Clandestine said. "I don't think rain equals bad weather, either."

Shane held out a hand. "Alright, island megalords," he said, straight-faced. "If you can magic up a classroom out of an empty house, can you change the weather? Consider this a request for rain someday."

"Yeah!" Clandestine said, looking up into the sky. "Send the rain."

"He's a little dramatic," James said after a beat, and her brother was a good distance away. "Isn't he?"

Hild scoffed. "That's an understatement." She reached over and scratched behind Buster's ear. "I'm telling you, he lives to entertain."

"Well, he certainly is entertaining," James said, looking down at Buster with an affectionate, soft smile. "Even if he doesn't always intend to be."

"Especially then," Hild hummed, laughing.

"I was surprised he held out for as long as he did," James said, his smile growing in amusement. "I thought he'd tell me if he couldn't keep going, but he just kept huffing and puffing. I felt kind of bad for him."

Pressing her eyes closed, Hild hid a broad smile behind a hand, just in case her brother was still within observable distance. The fact that the invitation was knowingly extended just made it that much better.

"It was entirely self-afflicted suffering," Hild reassured James. "Don't worry about that."

James joined her in petting Buster with his free hand, scratching under Buster's chin. Buster was elated, his tongue flopping out as he joyfully soaked in all of the attention. He eventually began to wiggle too much for either of them to really get a pet in, though.

"Hey, Buster," James said softly. "Why don't we let you get your wiggles out?"

And, holding the wriggling puppy out, he set him down on the ground. Like a bullet, Buster was off, set onto a circular path as he ran around the two of them, yapping in excitement. James laughed as he watched.

"What about you?" James asked. "Are you as averse to running as your brother?"

Hild grinned as she twisted around to follow Buster's wide arc in the sand. "On the contrary," she answered, "I run regularly in the mornings."

"Well, if you'd like a running partner," he said. "Would you like to join me instead?"

She hummed in thought.

"If not I can always torture your brother again," he joked.

Hild laughed aloud at that. "A very enticing alternative," she said. "Unfortunately, I do need to return home with him. Alive." She glanced over at James. "I'll think about."

"Alright," James said with a grin.

A pause.

"You said you were going to eat breakfast soon?" he asked.

She nodded. "Once I had Buster taken care of."

The little dog yapped at the mention of his name as he sped along.

"If you don't otherwise have plans for breakfast," James said. "I haven't eaten yet either. Would you like to grab something together?"

Folding her arms, Hild hummed optimistically at the suggestion. "You know, I heard mention of an island hub? There should be places to eat, assuming nothing's changed since the outdated brochures they handed us."

"We should check it out," James agreed.

She gave a slight smile. "We can head out after Buster's settled?"

"Sure," he said. "Gives me a chance to change. I can meet you outside of your cabin in a few? I'll just wait until you're ready."

Hild nodded. "Perfect."

...

They hitched a quick goolf cart ride to the island hub. The driver had this desperate, stir-crazy look in her eyes, so they obliged when she offered from the distance, out of nowhere.

The trail from the beach to the plaza gradually turned into a more refined, paved path. The morning sun poured in over the treeline at a 45 degree angle, lighting up the brightly colored umbrellas set out over outdoor sitting areas. There was a good mix of modern concrete structures and smaller eateries modeled after tropical bungalows with cream-colored sides and thatched rooves.

She supposed it made most sense that it wasn't a complete ghost town, aside from the residing..."cast". But the people who she didn't recognize as neighbors milling about surprised her a bit. She did recall seeing some of these folks with the filming equipment from earlier times.

The goolf cart driver dropped them off at the center of it all, and cheerily bid them adieu. Hild waved and called her thanks as the driver sped off.

"I've never been so relieved to be surrounded by strangers," Hild mused, leaning closer to James so only he could hear.

James was caught up in scanning their surroundings, but he leaned back.

"I'm sure they still have cameras everywhere," he said.

"Undoubtedly," she said with a wry huff. "Having people around creates at least a comforting illusion of normalcy."

"I wonder if they mind being on camera in the background," James mused. "Or if they're as ambivalent about it as we are."

"I wouldn't put it past our vacation curators to sneak such crucial details deep in the fine print," she uttered.

After spying a place that advertised coffee, Hild tilted her head in invitation. They best move along. What with all the cameras. James inclined his head in agreement, following her lead.

The coffee shack, aptly named "the Coffee Shack" was indeed shack-shaped. It had a...tropical charm to it. The countertop in front of the barista was a red, waxed longboard, the chairs and tables were all wicker (not great in high winds, she imagined), and along the edge of the reed-y roof hung fishing tackles of all types and colors. Thankfully properly arranged according to the rainbow.

They gave their orders, and the barista invited them to sit while they prepped their drinks and food. They obliged and waited at a table that sat out in the sun.

Leaning back, Hild loosely crossed her arms and studied the Greco-Rooman columns in the pattern of James's shirt, and his gladiator sandals. "I like the theme."

James glanced down at himself and then looked up with a small smile.

"Glad to finally have gained your approval," he said. "After many disdainful looks."

"They weren't that disdainful, were they?" she asked, only very vaguely remorseful.

James smirked with a faint laugh. "You were hardly subtle."

"Well, it worked," Hild said without regret. "Sort of."

"If only to put your eye at ease and to preserve what little ego I have left," James said. "Then yes. Consider yourself successful."

Inclining her head, she hummed a laugh. "I'll take my victories where I can."

"Of course, of course," James said with a wave of his hand.

He looked like he was about to say more, but then the barista came out with two drinks in hand, and set them both on the table in front of them. James said a quick thank-you before the server left, and pulled his iced tea closer, stirring it with the straw.

"So, was it Lyall who encountered the bridge troll?" James asked. "We never did clear that up, since, you know. Lyall being here was news."

After waving her thanks to the barista, Hild suppressed a grimace at the memory of her...poor reaction.

"Right, well. We should clear that up. It was our youngest brother, Viktor. He's not a drama queen like Lyall, but he's prone to telling tall tales. Claimed he and a friend, who was drunk at the time, ran into a troll on a camping trip. The troll was allegedly about as tall as a two-story home, and used a log as a club, and had a head as empty as that log."

She blew on the surface of her coffee, and took an experimental sip. Humming her approval of the richness of it, she then continued, "Such stories are common, and do happen. I just doubt my brother survived an actual troll, because he has the wits to match one."

James nodded slowly, still idly stirring his tea as he listened.

"I suppose, regardless, it's a good thing he's still alive," James concluded. "Sounds like a terrifying encounter if it was real."

"It can be," Hild agreed, tone turning solemn. "The mountainous breeds can have... particularly devastating effects if they wander too close to towns."

"Does Fjelstad have any structures in place to defend towns from them?" James asked. "Or do they leave people to fend for themselves?"

"In recent history," Hild answered, setting her coffee down to cool a bit more, "we developed a new military branch to deploy in defense of smaller towns without any fortification."

James took a sip of his drink.

"Nye only began to take a similar route in recent years as well," he said. "Formerly, small towns and neighborhoods were left to fend for themselves against monsters. I'm glad things have started to change."

"That is good," she agreed wholeheartedly.

"So you have two brothers, then," he said, taking them back a few steps. "Is that all for siblings?"

"Yes." Hild nodded his way. "Yourself?"

"I'm the oldest of three," he said. "My brother Petrus is the middle child, and my sister Larrel is the youngest."

Hild nodded, and pointed her cup at him. "And it's your...sister who you wear the ridiculous shirts for."

James smirked. "That's right." He took another sip of tea.

"So I have her to thank for your lack of fashion sense here," she said lightly, likewise taking another careful sip of coffee.

"I'm sure she'd happily say 'you're welcome,' in reply," James answered.

Somewhere beyond the shops and cafes, a light, airy tune played from an outdoor stage. A ukulele, which kept in line with the island's carefree tropical facade.

"Where were you before this?" Hild eventually asked.

"Are you familiar with Nye's geography?" he asked.

She hummed confirmation, already drawing up a mental map.

"I'm from the Moonlight Kingdom," he said. "I'd only recently moved back to my family's farm in a small town near the kingdom's borders. Formerly I was in King's Peak, the capital."

"What brought you to the capital?" she asked. "Career opportunity?"

"Required military service," he answered.

She wasn't as familiar with the innerworkings of Nye's various militaries. Hadn't had opportunity to read up on it.

"For how long is one required to serve?" she asked, leaning her elbows on the table.

"Five years at minimum, if you meet the requirements," James said.

"And if you don't meet the requirements?"

"Then you're not drafted," James said with a small shrug. "It's selective, largely based on magic or physical capabilities. You can always volunteer, but it's not required for everyone."

That was logical.

"You more than met the requirements, right?" she guessed. "Having to constantly lug around your steel bones and whatnot."

James let out a weak laugh. "They were more interested in my regenerative powers," he said. "But yes. Either way, it was unavoidable for me."

He took a moment to swish his drink, the cup now half-full.

"What about you? What were you up to before all of this, then?" he asked.

"I was," she answered slowly with a small sigh, "in the midst of my veterinarian studies. I'd actually just secured an internship for the summer, but..." Hild waved a vague, bitter hand at the beach huts around them.

"Ah," James said with an understanding nod of his head. "That's unfortunate."

"Quite," she agreed, tone dismissive. "You served in the capital?"

James raised a brow, but nodded. "That was where I started, at least. I was sent out to various locations throughout my service."

A traveling soldier. "Was it at this point in your life where you encountered the mutated baboons?" She didn't imagine those would be found near a farm.

James raised his brows, like he'd forgotten he'd mentioned them, but then let out a faint laugh.

"Yes, we ran into them while passing through a portion of Nye affectionately known as 'the wilds,'" he said. "There were many creatures there that were unfriendly. The baboons, however, were probably my least favorite. They were merciless, and they would always wait to ambush the vulnerable. It was horrific, really, but fortunately, they weren't too hard to take down. It was just the sheer number of them that was overwhelming."

She furrowed her brows with visible concern. "Were you outnumbered?"

James smiled in a way that was appeasing, but it felt like, perhaps, he was used to having to brush these things under the rug.

"I don't know if you really want to hear this story," James hesitated. "It's not really breakfast-worthy."

She lifted her coffee cup and shrugged a shoulder. "Try me."

Smile slowly fading, James hummed, looking down into his drink with a small nod.

"Alright," he said, pausing in thought.

"We'd been sent deep into the wilds to rescue a team of monster hunters who'd been given the task of population control. The Wilds has always been a source of wild, untamable beasts - otherwise called monsters - and over the years the beasts have begun to expand their territory outward as their population has increased and spilled over. Unfortunately, the team sent out went radio silent for several weeks, until we finally received a distress signal telling us where they were. It was weak, but it told us that at least someone was still out there."

He held the base of his drink with one hand, tapping his forefinger against the plastic cup lightly.

"We ran into the Midean Baboons on the way in. They snuck up on us in the middle of the night and cornered us. And yes, we were outnumbered. More than we were prepared for."

He paused, falling silent for a second. She sensed that he was filtering out information. Maybe trying not to relive it.

"We lost a lot of our troop that night," he said. "It's best I spare you the details. But there were many occurances in my military career where I was faced with difficult situations. It comes with the territory. And with magic like mine, they never hesitated to throw me into the thick of it."

He looked up, finally meeting her eyes with a weak, faint smile.

"If you thought your missing out on the internship would kill the mood," he said. "I'm pretty sure I just one-upped you. Sorry about that."

Pursing her lips, she carefully held his gaze. "...If I knew this was a competition," she said tentatively, "I would have tried harder."

"Well, if you're looking for an opportunity," James said with a small grin. "I'd love to hear more about your veterinary pursuits. Is there a particular animal you enjoy working with most?"

Hild mirrored his grin, but it felt a bit flat. Now that he was trying to so quickly brush it off, she wasn't entirely sure what was or wasn't appropriate to say in response to such tragedy, as someone who's only known him for less than a day.

Clearing her throat, Hild leaned back in her chair again. She obliged and answered, "I haven't had much on-the-job experience yet. It's only been books and tests so far. The internship would've been my opportunity to get more hands-on."

"I wonder if you could get any practice in with Buster," James suggested.

"I'm sure he'd be a very willing participant," she hummed.

"Where'd you get him, by the way?" James asked. "Or have you had him this whole time?"

"Not mine," Hild answered. "He was, I suppose, a housewarming gift for Miss Clandestine."

James nodded slowly. "Oh, I see," he said. "I suppose that makes more sense, given her powers. It works out for you then as well, it seems."

Hild managed a lighter grin. "I ride on the coattails of her blessings."

"Are you taking care of Buster for her? Or just helping?" James asked.

"Miss Clanny insists he likes visiting," Hild said, shrugging. "Who am I to turn him away?"

"Fair," James said. "I don't think I could turn Buster away either. He's unlawfully adorable."

She hummed her agreement. "It's almost unearthly how endearing he is."

James took another sip of his drink, finishing off the last of it pretty quickly.

"Sometimes a good dog like that is all a person needs," James said. "They're great companions."

Hild cracked a smile as she now sat straight once more and mixed the nuts into her oatmeal. "Titled 'man's best friend' for a reason."

"I must admit, though," James said. "That at the end of the day I'm more of a horse person. But that's probably the farmer in me."

Humming around a mouthful, Hild swallowed and asked, "Right, what kind of farm does your family have?"

They weren't given much guidance for the remainder of the week, but Alan found that quite comforting, especially since he felt like there was so much to do here.

He was on an island, after all. There was so much to discover: nature, people, and activities. Alan had never been in the tropics before, so all of this was all new and exciting. On top of that, he had the joy of discovering every contestant's personalities and interests, and he was only just beginning. There was also a central hub in the middle of the island that was bustling with activities, shops, restaurants, and so much more-- but Alan didn't find that too interesting.

He really did want to get to know the others more and spend his time with them, so naturally, he would start with his housemates.

And what better way to get to know them than breakfast? Not only that, but a routine breakfast.

Well, maybe it was brunch. To him and Cyrin it was since they got up earlier than Lyall. But Alan didn't mind. Really, this gave him another reason to eat some more, which he knew he always needed to do more of, but often lacked the time and resources to do so.

At least that was what he had ample time of this summer. Time and resources.

With bright, cheerful piano songs playing in the background from the Blootooth speaker, Alan cracked several eggs in the sizzling skillet in front of him, tossing the shells in the open trash can around the corner. He successfully tossed all of the shells in except for one, causing him to disappointingly click his tongue as he reached over to bend down and pick it up.

The door to the cabin opened, and Cyrin walked in, stretching out after coming back from what had either been the gym or a climbing session. Their black hair was pulled back in a braid, and the short sleeve shirt they wore revealed part of a tattoo on their upper bicep. He waved to Alan, grinning.

"Morning, Alan," he said, taking off his shoes at the door and lining them up neatly against the wall.

"Morning again, friend. How was your morning workout?" Alan asked, going back to the pan to stir and make sure the eggs don't burn.

Alan planned on surprising his housemates with brunch so he could pitch that they do this everyday, but it seemed that Cyrin walked in on his surprise. But he was still glad to see Cyrin in general, even if it was earlier than anticipated.

"It was good," Cyrin said, making their way into the kitchen. "Left me a bit hungry, though. Do we still have any-- never mind," he said with a laugh, once he saw that Alan was cooking. "Thank you for making fresh eggs."

Alan laughed, shaking his head. He supposed it would look obvious that he was cooking for Cyrin too, considering he had a dozen eggs cooking in a giant skillet front of him. And ever since he left the note for Cyrin making a clever joke while also apologizing that the kitchen was a mess and that he could eat the food he cooked, they had been sharing meals together. It was nice, actually, since they both cooked interesting, tasteful dishes that both of them genuinely enjoyed.

"Not a problem. Today, I'm your cook," he said as he moved the scrambled eggs in the pan with a spatula. "But since you're a bit hungry, I must know: what are you dying to eat right now?"

"It can wait. I climbed a cliff, not Mt. Neverest," Cyrin said, moving to the fridge. "But I could stand to exercise some cooking muscles as well. What sounds better, pancakes or waffles?"

Alan hummed. "Personally, I like waffles more than pancakes, but everyone has different preferences. What are yours?"

"That's good to hear, since I prefer those too," Cyrin said, taking out the milk. "Hopefully Lyall likes those more as well. Ever had Belugan waffles?"

"I actually don't think I have. I've had Belugan chocolate though, and it was pretty good, so I trust the Belgs," Alan said.

"Oh, they know what they're doing," Cyrin said. "I think I'll make that for the cabin."

Alan hummed, continuing to swirl the eggs. "I'm sure the Belugans will appreciate this episode of Island Magic. Maybe we can sponsor their products in future commercials. Regardless, I'm sure you're going to be on future billboards, eating their waffles."

Cyrin chuckled. "Maybe we should go out there and find the nearest camera," he said, taking the waffle iron out from a cabinet under the counter. "I'll be sure to use my commercial voice."

"Oh?" Alan glanced at him with a raised brow and a playful grin. "Commercial voice? Do entertain. What does that sound like?"

Cyrin cleared his throat, setting the waffle iron on the counter and standing straighter. Suddenly, his playful smile snapped into the picture-perfect grin Alan was used to seeing before this island.

"Have you gotten tired of looking at Twide Pops and not being able to eat them?" they intoned in a bright, rich voice that did sound like it belonged on a commercial. "Well, look no further. Introducing Twide Lollipops, the new fun and juicy snack that's selling out fast in the laundry aisles. Because we at Twide understand the sweet temptation you feel every time you wash your clothes, and we want you to have the full Twide experience, from the laundry room to your kitchen pantry." Cyrin spread his hands wide. "Twide Lollipops: for a sweeter, cleaner tomorrow. Detergent sold separately."

Alan grinned, applauding Cyrin with goolf claps. "Bravo. That was great. In fact, the advertisement worked so well, I'm tempted to ask the staff for Twide Lollipops so we can have it for our brunch as well."

Cyrin grinned, now in his more normal but always charming way. "Thank you, thank you," he said, folding one arm behind his back while flourishing with the other. "I always figured it would make for a better afternoon snack instead, but Twide would want me to say their lollipops can be enjoyed any time of day." He then took out a large bowl, the waffle mix, and a whisk.

Alan chuckled at that, but right on time, he heard footsteps coming down the staircase.

"Gooooooood morning, Lyall!" Alan said cheerfully, giving him a wave. "How did you sleep?"

"Quite well," Lyall answered with an amicable grin. He was certainly better prepared for the day (in comparison to when both he and Alan were abruptly yanked from reality and tossed into some morning show routine that one time). Though his eyes looked like he was still trying to fully shake sleep, his hair was neat and side-swept, and he was properly dressed.

"You continue to prove yourselves citizens of good taste," he chirped when he caught sight of the waffle iron.

"Oh? A man of waffly tastes as well, I see. We might as well be called the waffle house," Alan said as he turned off the stovetop and moved the eggs from the pan to a plate.

"I'm glad," Cyrin said, now starting to mix the waffle batter. "Everyone is entitled to their own opinions, of course, but I would've been a little disappointed if the two of you had been pancake people."

"Pancak-- I could never!" Lyall scoffed as he slid into the kitchen. "There's no structure in pancakes, no way to prevent wasteful syrup moats on the plate. They're--" He waved both hands vaguely before filling the kettle. "--basic!"

"Glad you agree," Cyrin said with a grin, pouring the first scoop of batter into the waffle iron. "You're a man of good waffle opinions."

"Speaking of breakfast opinions, I've been meaning to ask you both of something." Alan whizzed around with the mountain of eggs on the plate. The smell of bacon was in the air, but it was still cooking in the oven. "I value our friendships and was thinking that we should celebrate each other in small ways every day, starting with man's favorite way to bond." Alan held up the plate of eggs with a grin. "Food." Pleased, he set the plate down. "How do you feel about holding brunch together every weekday? There's no one else I'd rather spend my late mornings with."

"How do I feel?" Cyrin asked, grinning. "We're doing that right now and I'm already anticipating it. I feel as though I'm hungry ahead of time."

Lyall lit up at the suggestion. Putting on a show of deep contemplation, he answered, "I think I can fit you guys into my teeming schedule, sure!"

"Egg-cellent," Alan said with a silly grin, placing a serving spoon on the plate of scrambled eggs. "A teeming schedule, Lyall? Didn't you miss your morning run today?"

Drawing in a long breath at the pun, Lyall shook his head. "The morning run was a one-time occurance."

"Oh yeah? Morning runs aren't your thing?" Alan asked.

"Yes." Lyall set the kettle on the stove and perched on the counter. "Despite all the health benefits."

"There's other things to do, if you're looking for something beneficial that's not a run," Cyrin suggested. "The island has a gym, and it's equipped with a lot of workout machines. I've been going there as well as the cliff for climbing."

Alan playfully grinned, looking between Lyall and Cyrin. "Well, Lyall, if morning runs aren't your thing, maybe you'd love night workouts with your two favorite people. What do you say?"

"How can I say no to my two favorite people?" Lyall said brightly.

"Actually, I'm not sure if night will work with me. Can we go back to early morning idea? That works with you, right, Cyrin?" Alan teased.

Tsking, Lyall put on a deep frown and softly despaired, "What? Noooo..."

Cyrin grinned. "Oh, I'm free both times of day. Which makes it so hard to choose between them." They scooped out a serving of batter, pouring it into the waffle iron and closing it up. "What to do..." they wondered aloud teasingly.

"It is hard to choose, isn't it? We can flip a coin to decide. Do you have a coin, Lyall?" Alan asked with a gesture of his head.

"I'd rather unanimously vote on 'evening'," Lyall said, but obliged and dug through his pockets.

"Is this cabin a democracy?" Cyrin joked. "We haven't drafted a constitution yet."

Lyall tossed Alan a coin. "Well, as we all know by now, this whole island is a dictatorship. Might as well forgo the constitution altogether. Bow to the whims of the entertainment moguls."

Alan caught the coin, gracefully giving it a flip with his thumb and catching it again. "Heads or tails, Lyall?" he asked.

"Heads."

Alan nodded, with everyone looking up as he tossed the coin high up in the air, nearly hitting the ceiling. It came back down gracefully, landing on his palms. But when he went to reveal the coin, it was gone. With an innocent grin, he opened up his hands, revealing nothing.

Lyall gave him a betrayed look. "What? No. This is no time for games, my future depends on this!"

Alan hummed, leaning his elbows on the counter, still with the innocent grin. "Cyrin can tell you, then. It's in his pocket."

Cyrin examined Alan with a bit of a smirk, slowly reaching into their pocket and taking out a coin. They held it up to the light and spun it around, revealing it had heads on both sides. They set it flat on the counter, pushing it back towards Alan.

"Wow," they marveled. "Money is appearing in my pockets. I could get rich."

Lyall very slightly narrowed his gaze at the both of them. "You two planned this while I was asleep," he muttered.

"If only I had schemed that far ahead," Alan said with a soft laugh, shaking his head. "No, I was just being silly. The coin has two heads, so looks like you don't have to work out in the morning. Tragic."

Lifting his hands to the ceiling, Lyall declared, "I'm saved."

"I can't say I'd be too interested in going for early morning runs, either-- but for entirely different reasons. Still, if you're trying to hit your exercise goals, and climbing or running isn't your forte..." Alan hummed. "Maybe we can swim together. You've got options, if you're looking for a buddy to join you."

Lyall waved dismissively. "We can discuss options another time. How're the waffles coming?"

"With patience," Cyrin said, stirring the batter again, as he kept smirking. He paused to look over his shoulder at Alan and asked curiously, "Do you have a coin that's both tails as well? It seems you were prepared."

Alan hummed, putting on the oven mitts before opening the oven and taking out the pan of bacon. "Check the drawer in front of you," he said as he glanced back at Lyall.

"I will not," Lyall said defiantly, but peeked in anyway. Unable to hide his amusement, he held up a two-tailed coin with a smile. "Oh god," he laughed, "you've revealed your true colors. You're a low-level con-artist."

Ouch, Alan thought to himself, but didn't let his moment of insecurity show as he laughed it off, placing the pan on the stovetop.

It was a simple sleight of hand trick with coins that he often used on his younger cousins to wow them into thinking he had some fun magic. He'd been carrying the two coins as one of the few sentimental items he brought from home, and it made for a fun prop. Sometimes. That was all there was to it.

Alan slid the oven mitts off, innocently shrugging. "I'd be a bad con artist if I make money appear in your pockets, wouldn't I?" he teased.

Still turning the two-tailed coin over in his hand, Lyall shook his head and thoughtfully replied, "Just makes you a generous one. The bad ones make your money disappear."

Alan nodded as he placed all the bacon strips on a different plate. "What do you call a con artist that makes food appear out of thin air?" he asked, turning around just in time to reveal the plate of bacon, which he placed next to the eggs.

"A prophet with something to prove--" Lyall began. Then lit up at the sight of food, and reached over to snag a piece of bacon.

Alan mulled this over, but decided not to think on this too deeply as he turned to Cyrin. "How are the waffles now?" he asked.

"They need exactly sixteen more seconds," Cyrin said, and it was only the joking gleam in his eye that gave away it was not so important or precise of a measurement.

"A waffle scientist," Lyall mused, gesturing with his half-eaten bacon, "in addition to skilled gymnast and social scientist. You, my friend, are a well-rounded individual."

"Thank you," Cyrin said graciously, "but I should hope I'm well recognized in the field of simply the art of making waffles as well. Everything needn't be a science."

"Cheers to that," Alan said with a grin, taking out a bottle of champagne that he had hidden under the cupboards for exact moment. "Champagne, anyone? We can't have brunch without mimosas, obviously."

Cyrin grinned, opening up the waffle iron and setting the first waffle out on a plate. "I had the feelings we were too good for regular orange juice," he said, pouring more batter in.

"The only way to properly brunch," Lyall agreed wholeheartedly.

Alan poured them all a glass, handing each one to them.

"To waffly brunches and not doing sunrise runs," he said with a grin as he lifted his glass for a toast.

Cyrin took a glass for himself, raising it gracefully. "Cheers to that."

Lyall lifted another piece of bacon. "A creed to live by."

Cyrin swatted yet another fruit fly that had appeared on the glass display of the ice cream stand. His and Alan's fingerprints were on the glass several times over by now, but he couldn't just not swat them, especially when there were so many for whatever reason. He hadn't been kidding about the drummer skill applying to it, and since he'd forgotten his ADHD meds this morning, his instincts and impulses were a little more out of hand today.

"Sorry," they told the staff member at the stand, shaking their hand out. "I'll get one scoop dark chocolate, one scoop coconut please."

The staff member nodded quickly with wide-eyes, seeming a little in shock that Cyrin was there. They were pretty used to experiencing this from people working a service job who were surprised that he was stopping by, and he supposed he understood it. It probably wasn't a normal thing for them. The attention always slightly bothered him, though, and so Cyrin turned to Alan, hoping to make this more normal.

"And you're getting...?" they asked with a smile.

"Just vanilla. Always a classic," Alan said, making brief eye contact with the worker. "Can I get a scoop on a waffle cone?"

The worker nodded again, moving urgently to the display. "Coming right up," she said hastily, taking out an ice cream scoop and serving up their orders. She almost flung their ice cream at them with how fast she shoved it into their hands, and Cyrin felt bad for making her nervous. He tried to help out with another smile.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, taking a bit of the dark chocolate scoop on top. It was delicious, rich in flavor and creamy, especially for a free product. "It tastes very good."

The worker smiled faintly, still looking stressed as Alan's waffle cone received the same hurried delivery of being nearly shoved into his face. "Thank you," she gushed nervously.

"Thank you," Alan said with a quiet laugh and a smile, taking the cone from her hands. "Are you sure it's free? We don't mind paying."

The worker nodded quickly again. "It's all free," she said. "The ice cream's here to make the island more enjoyable. You shouldn't have to pay for anything here."

"That's a very generous policy," Cyrin said with a nod.

He did, however, quickly place a bill of cash on the counter when the worker glanced to the side, tucking it under the stand-up board of menu options so it would be visible later without it blowing away in the wind. He then gave Alan a quick, playfully conspiratory glance that said: Say nothing.

"We'll certainly be back some other time," they said, smiling again. "Hope you have a good rest of your day."

"You too," the worker said, rushing her words and giving them both a bright smile.

With their ice creams in hand, they both walked away, heading towards the open plaza of chairs, umbrellas, and palm trees around the central pool.

"I don't know why I said I didn't mind paying. I just remembered I have zero money on me," Alan said with a little laugh before licking his ice cream. "Good ice cream though."

"Well, that means you've got the instinct to be polite and generous. That's good," Cyrin said with a laugh.

"Of course. Everyone deserves respect. It feels disrespectful to not pay people for their time or service. Can't say I'm going to get used to that feeling," Alan said.

Cyrin nodded. "It did feel wrong. I can only hope they're paying the staff more than fairly to work out here for three months."

"Hopefully they are, yes," Alan agreed, biting into the waffle cone. "At least you'd think so, considering the giant budget that goes into this place."

"Oh, hey guys!" Alex's voice called out behind them. "What are you two up to?"

Cyrin turned, seeing him standing on the other side of the plaza. He'd had a short chat with Alex at James' homecoming party, and he'd seemed rather chill and talkative as one of the more social people at the party. He still didn't know very much about him, of course, but this seemed a good time to learn more. He waved over to him.

"Hi there," they called back. "Just getting some ice cream. Yourself?"

"I was just checking this place out! There was this chick giving rides on a little buggy up the hill," he said. "Did you guys go with her or did you walk?"

"We walked, but we didn't even know there were rides being offered," Alan said as he then playfully elbowed Cyrin. "Unless Cyrin knew and would rather we walk in this heat to reward ourselves with ice cream."

"I'll leave you to wonder whether it was a decision made out of ignorance or clever rationale," Cyrin said jokingly, although he had not, in fact, known. He was aware of the goolf carts being used on the island as transportation, but not that they could be used by contestants to get around rather than just staff. He'd have to keep that in mind to avoid further suffering on ice cream walks.

"Was the ice cream worth it?" Alex asked with a little smile.

"I'd say yes," Alan said, but only after a big bite of it. "Is this your first time coming here? It's insane how much time and money they've put into this place."

"You're telling me," Alex said. "I haven't been up here until today. It's like a whole city in here, just for us."

"It's so unnecessary. But I guess they want the setting to look good behind the camera." Alan shrugged. "How have you been, though, Alex? I haven't seen you since the party."

"I've been doing great, honestly," Alex said with a little laugh. "I'm kind of just treating this like the vacation they said it was supposed to be. Sleeping in. Taking it slow. Lazing around a little bit. Things I don't normally get to do as much. But I'm already starting to get a little bored, so I thought I'd do some exploring. There's only so much lazing I can do before I feel like I've gotta do something, you know?"

Cyrin nodded knowingly. "Luckily, they do have quite a lot here. I'd put money down that there's something for you here to kill boredom."

"Yeah, I understand what you mean, Alex. It's a vacation, but there's still so much to see and do. And there's certaintly a lot of that around here," Alan added.

Alex hummed. "Do you mind if I join you guys?" he asked. "Can we explore a bit together?"

Alan looked to Cyrin for confirmation. "I don't mind. The more, the merrier."

"I couldn't agree more," Cyrin said, waving Alex over with a friendly smile. "There's lots to see, and it'd be more exciting this way."

Alex happily jogged over to them, his flip-flops slapping against the pavement.

"Sweet!" he said, looking over at Cyrin's cone. "What flavor did you get?"

"Dark chocolate, and this other scoop is coconut," Cyrin said. They realized they hadn't actually tried the coconut flavor yet, so they took a bite of the lower scoop. It was good, but-- ah. Nope.

"Or," they said slowly after a moment, "it's vanilla. I think there was a mishap." He felt a little bad for probably being distracting to the server.

"You've got something against vanilla, Cyrin?" Alan teased, holding up his half-eaten cone of vanilla ice cream.

"I wouldn't call it a problem so much as an inclination to branch out beyond the classic," Cyrin said with a laugh and a shrug. "Ah, well. It's still good ice cream."

"I will live vicariously through you regardless," Alex said, patting his stomach. "This bad boy's lactose intolerant. Unless they have sorbet or something."

"There's got to be a stand around here somewhere. Of all the things the DMV has prepared ahead of time, they had to have known to prepare non-dairy options," Alan said, gesturing to the unexplored alleys ahead of them. "Looking for it can be our first adventure."

"Sounds noble," Cyrin agreed. "Why not that way?"

Alex followed Cyrin's direction. "Sure," he said. "I'll follow you!"

They followed that alley for a short distance, chatting as they went. Cyrin noticed most of the stores they passed were small in size, but that seemed to be for the reason of including as many of them as possible. The variety of places seemed close to what they would expect from a large mall or shopping center, and they often found themself wondering if there was really a demand for all the options the plaza presented them with. The diversity of stores did offer an advantage to Alex, though, because after a few minutes, Cyrin noticed a cookie shop that advertised dairy free products, as well as gluten free ones.

"Well, it's not sorbet, but that place might have some dessert for you," they said, pointing it out to Alex.

Curiously, Alex stepped ahead to poke his head in, holding the door open for Cyrin and Alan to follow. Inside the shop was a small space largely filled with a big display of colorful cookies of all kinds - some frosted, some classic, some decorated to look like Didney characters. There was a young man at the end behind the checkout counter, and he waved to the three of them cheerfully.

Alex went up to the counter, looking up at the menu and clarifying what was non-dairy friendly. After narrowing down his options, he pointed to a cookie in the display. It was a large cookie shaped like one of Didney's pricesses: Princess Bella.

After paying for it quickly, Alex spun around and showed off the cookie.

"Guys, look," he said. "It's like a piece of artwork. But a cookie."

It was, admittedly, very detailed.

"Impressive. It's almost a shame that it's meant to be eaten," Alan said as he leaned in, squinting at the detail.

Wonder what would happen if this got on camera, Cyrin thought. That might be a real copyright lawsuit.

"It is a shame," Cyrin agreed. "Hopefully it's good enough to make up for the guilt of having to eat such art."

Alex laughed, and after giving the cookie one more glance, bit off the character's head.

"There," he said. "No more 'copyright' worries."

Cyrin smirked amusedly, but the comment surprised him a little. Ruling out the option of Alex reading his thoughts exactly-- which wasn't impossible on this island of people with magic, but still unlikely-- this meant Alex had to have heard the discussion at the pool party over the T-shirts before it had even turned dramatic. It felt a little uncanny, since Cyrin hadn't noticed him eavesdropping around them, but it wasn't something to make a big deal out it.

"Oh, so you heard how Oliver was making a big deal out of that," he said with a lighthearted laugh instead. "What a scene."

Alex nodded, swallowing to clear his throat. "Yeah, they told us a load of bullshit about copyright and whatever after you guys were gone. Said James had an 'angry outburst' over nothing too. It was the weirdest kind of petty cover-up I've witnessed."

Ah, Cyrin thought quietly. Maybe a couple strange things here and there on the island were making them overly suspicious.

"I don't think it's a secret that everything started because Oliver didn't like the shirt with his face on it. That's understandable, but it was very needless to make drama out of this for no real reason. But, that's all past us now. I'm glad the past few days have been relatively mild," Alan said before taking another bite into his ice cream. He was already down to eating the cone, and Cyrin remembered that they were forgetting about their ice cream, so they took a few more bites quickly.

"Yeah, it's nice that it's calmed down since then," Alex agreed. "Though I'll admit, a little change in our rhythm would be welcome. Maybe not in the package of drama, but, I don't know. Another party or something would be fun!"

"Not a bad idea. We've joked on day one that we should throw parties," Alan mused, looking over to Cyrin for confirmation. "What do you think? It could be fun to host."

"It could," Cyrin said after finishing another bite of dark chocolate. "And we've certainly got the wine cellar for that."

Alan nodded with a growing smile. "We have wine and we have fun people. What more do we need?"

Cyrin was about to comment that they needed nothing for, but another fruit fly circled between the three of them, and he swatted it away.

"Well, fewer of these flies would be nice," he said, shooing it again when the fly decided to ignore that it was not wanted here. "I'm not sure how likely that would be, however, given that they seem to be everywhere."

"They are persistent, isn't it?" Alan murmured, waving his hand in the air in an attempt to slap the fly away.

"Huh," Alex said. "Are those just... following you guys around? I thought they lived in sinks and stuff."

"I thought so too," Cyrin said, watching the fly complete its eighth loop between them, undeterred. "But I've been seeing one every ten minutes since this morning. I have no idea why, they seem to come out of nowhere."

"Maybe they like the smell of your cologne," Alan teased.

Cyrin lifted their wrist to their face, getting a whiff of the scent. "I honestly hope not," they said, with a shake of their head and an amused smirk. "The goal for this isn't to attract flies."

"Well, it at least attracted Alex," Alan said with a laugh. "And party suggestions, apparently. Which I am all for, by the way."

"You should try the dish soap and apple-cider vinegar trick," Alex said to Cyrin. "It helps catch them." He then turned to Alan with a smile. "And sweet. I haven't seen your pad yet. I assume most of the cabins are pretty similar in layout?"

Alan nodded. "I'm pretty sure, from the two others I've seen." He paused. "Outside of our rooms, obviously. Everything else seems more copy and paste, but the DMV put a lot of deliberate planning into our rooms, apparently."

"They did," Cyrin agreed. "It felt slightly uncanny. I had to consider what they must know about me for them to plan my room so carefully and fittingly."

"It's a bit worrying, but I suppose it's true that the DMV truly knows everything," Alan mused.

"Not sure I'm comforted by that fact," Alex said, drifting out of the cookie shop and holding the door open for them. "But hey, I've gotta appreciate what I can."

With that, the three of them left the shop, all with a sweet snack in hand, ready to start their party planning.

It was 5:24 PM, on the sixth day of their three-month stay on this gilded island prison. Hild was curled up in the window seat, slumped against the many pillows and with a blanket up to her chin. For all intents and purposes, wallowing. Since she wanted to make the bookshelf last, Buster was out with Miss Clanny, and she didn't feel like subjecting herself to her brother's shenanigans at the moment, here she sat without distraction.

An exercise for spurring creative productivity within the mind, supposedly utilized by da Vinchknee himself, was to deprive the brain of external stimulation. This forced the mind to stimulate itself, in order to escape the depths of boredom. No such mental productivity was to be found this night, however. Which only served to make Hild more miserable.

She was about to hide away under her blanket and give up on the rest of the day completely when, in the room beside hers, there came an alarmingly loud clatter of various tools on a steel work surface. Miss Clarity, it seemed, was not suffering from the same dilemma.

Hild thus far had a respect for the woman and her studies. And that was about it, since they rarely found themselves in need of making conversation with one another. Not fully knowing with what chemicals Clarity worked did put Hild a bit on edge. And the fact that she led specifically with "explosion hazard" was not a great comfort either. So when a sulfur-y smell eventually drifted into Hild's room, she abandoned all plans of moping the night away here and fled into the hall.

In her rush, she nearly ran into Alan Alvaro at the top of the staircase. He had just climbed up to the top of the stairs, pleasantly surprised that he ran into her right away.

"Hi, Hild," he said. "I hope--"

Abruptly turning him around by his shoulders, Hild silently ushered him back down the stairs. This took Alan by surprise as he looked over his shoulder with a look of bewilderment and curiosity, a quiet laugh escaping him as he followed her lead and rushed back down the stairs.

"Is everything alright?" he asked after she let go when they made it to the bottom of the stairwell.

She brushed her hands off on her sweater as she finally side-stepped him. "Yes, quite," she sighed, folding her arms. "What brings you here, Mister Alvaro?"

Alan glanced up the stairwell again, but if he had more questions, he didn't voice them. He turned his attention back to Hild with a friendly smile.

"I hope it's alright that I'm here. Eve actually let me in. We talked for a bit before she left, and she directed me to your room so I could speak to you." He gestured to a violin case which leaned on the wall next to the door. "I'm here because I was wondering if you'd be interested in playing a duet with me this evening."

Hild glanced at his violin case. "...Oh!" Well, that was an unexpected but welcome idea.

"It's alright if you're not, though. But I know as a fellow string player how difficult it can be to play by yourself sometimes, so I wanted to make the option available to you in case you're interested," Alan went on.

She looked into the kitchen to check the time (5:36 PM). Though, it wasn't like she had anywhere to be, or to do otherwise.

Looking back to Alan with a faint smile, she said, "I haven't played with anyone since high school, so hopefully you won't mind a rusty partner."

"I don't mind at all. If anything, I'm honored to be your first duet partner since then. I think it will be a fun challenge," Alan said with a wider smile.

Hild huffed a laugh through her nose. "Easy on the flattery," she said flatly, "I've already agreed."

"Just because you've already agreed, doesn't mean I shouldn't compliment you," Alan teased. "Do you have a preference on where you'd like to play? I know cellos come with more limitations on setting."

Hild glanced back up the staircase, to where Clarity was undoubtedly still playing with fate. "Anywhere's fine," she answered honestly.

Alan hummed. "Is outside fine? I may know a spot."

"That'll work."

And she turned to pack up for their outing. Hastily, but quietly, so as not to disturb the chemist in her likely-precarious work.

"Ready?" Alan asked, violin case strapped to his shoulder like a backpack.

He had eyed her quickly bouncing down the stairs with her cello packed up, approaching him hastily. He seemed to be able to detect her rushing and already had his hand on the doorknob to open.

Hild swept an arm toward the door. "Lead the way."

Alan opened the door for her, and after she stepped through and then stopped to lock the door, they were on their way. Alan led the way, walking past the cabin and taking the path to the plaza. He glanced back at her cabin.

"Are you sure everything is alright? I'm picking up a sense of urgency to leave," he said, keeping his voice lower and quiet in case anyone was around to hear.

Hild adjusted the strap of her carrying case. "I'm fairly sure everything will be fine," she answered hesitantly. "Logically, since Clarity is confident in her own abilities. It's the...potential hazards that worry me."

"Ah." Alan nodded, letting the subject sink in. "That explains the urgency and the smell. Have you talked to her about this? She may not be aware that the situation makes you uncomfortable," he said.

She hummed. She had brought up her concern from the start. It was brushed off with assurances that there was nothing to be worried about, so she let it go out of politeness's sake.

"Nothing's blown up yet," Hild decided, then winced at the bluntness. She started again, "I'll try to bring it up once more if I can't get accustomed to it."

"I think it's a good idea. Discomfort only grows with time, especially when two people are on different pages. Opening a dialogue is difficult, but it's often necessary," Alan said with a smile of assurance as he glanced her way. "I'm sure Clarity will understand, and both of you will be able to walk away with a compromise where you are both happy."

Tilting her head up to cast him a faint, amused grin, Hild said, "Unsolicited nature of it aside, your advice is noted. And mildly appreciated."

Alan led her to the main route into the plaza: a cobblestone path that zig-zagged around hills and trees to get to the center of the island. He paused in talking, mirroring the mild amusement as he watched her for a moment.

"You seem like a direct person, and I am too, so I hope you don't mind if I ask if you don't like the unsolicited advice or opinions. I'm aware I say them a lot, but I can lay off if you don't like it," he said. "I don't really mind either way."

"No, it's alright," she answered sincerely. "Your directness is...refreshing."

"Is that so?" Alan mused. "Well, then I humbly and directly ask you to just call me Alan. I think we're past the formalities... Miss Ashlund."

She hummed a laugh. "As you request, Alan."

Alan grinned, nodding once. "So, Hild. We're about to play music together, but I can't say I know too much about you yet. It's almost poetic, though, don't you think? Music binds people together, transcending language, culture, and history. But I'd much rather get to truly know you rather than devote the summer to a poetic feeling."

This man might be able to give her brother a run for his money as "chattiest Cathy".

"Well, lucky for you, I'm feeling generous tonight," Hild said. Tugging a hairband from her wrist over her fingers, she combed her hair back and tied it in a loose bun. "What would you like to know?"

Alan hummed. "You're in school, correct? I recall your brother mentioning it before. What are you studying?"

She tried her best not to sigh out loud at the thought of her school plans gone awry. "I am, to become a veterinarian."

"A vet," Alan echoed with a nod. "A rewarding career choice. What inspired you to pursue that path, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Bioligy is fascinating," she answered, "and my family is in the business of healing. But I'd rather deal directly with people as little as possible. Bedside manner is still a must, but there's at least less of it."

Alan chuckled. "So naturally, you turned to animals. I see, I see."

They passed through the hub's center, skirting around the large water fountain, and he took them past the small cluster of restaurants.

"How did you land on becoming an instrumentalist?" she asked.

"My story isn't quite as amusing, although it follows a similar vein. My parents are instrumentalists, with my mother playing piano and my father playing violin. So naturally, I play both. But I'm certainly no professional. That would have been a competitive but rewarding career choice, though," Alan said.

"Do you tend to shy away from cutthroat competition?" Hild asked, quirking a curious brow. "Not your speed, and such?"

"No, actually," Alan said with a chuckle, shaking his head. "Quite the contrary. I've been told I can be quite competitive. I think it's because I grew up in a boy household. Everything was a competition back then." He paused. "Not with music, though, I suppose. But outside of my parents, I was the only one who played. So I'd much rather find harmony rather than competition. I'd say that still rings true today."

"Mutiple brothers, then...?" she slowly guessed.

Alan smiled, shaking his head. "Just one. We're twin brothers, so it was rowdy." He paused, head tilted towards a camera in the distance catching them. "Still is," he said more blandly, staring at the camera like he wanted to be heard.

Angling her chin up, Hild carefully considered him. Tried imagining overly-polite Mister Alan, with his harmony-seeking, tender artist soul, being rambunctious with a rowdy doppleganger. She could believe it; siblings usually had a way of bringing out sides unbeknownst to even yourself.

"What about you? Do you have more siblings? Outside of Lyall, of course," Alan asked.

She nodded. "A younger brother, Viktor." She offered a sympathetic smile. "He likewise brings out the...less tame sides of us."

"Is that so?" Alan grinned, clearly amused in his own imagination. "What does that look like?"

"That is for you," she answered pleasantly, "to never find out."

Alan laughed, now clearly approaching a stage in the center of the plaza. Hild had never seen anyone play here, nor seen any advertisements for anything, but she presumed the stage was for future weekend events. There also happened to be music stands, chairs, and a piano waiting for them.

"How old is Viktor?" he asked.

"He's a few years younger than me."

Glancing over her shoulder, feeling mildly like a delinquent sneaking onto an empty stage like this, Hild padded up the steps to find a seat stage right.

"I can certainly imagine how less tame that can be, but I look forward to the day that I don't have to leave that up to my imagination," he teased.

Alan joined after her, standing in the middle of the stage before setting his case down on the seat next to her, pulling up two stands so they both have on in front of them.

"So," he said with a smile as he sat next to her. "Do you have any preferences on songs? I brought a duet book we can use, but since it's been a while since you've played with someone else, I wanted to gauge your feelings first."

Taking her cello out of its case, she sat down and fiddled with the strings, testing their sound and tightening or loosening as needed.

"After a week of brushing up, I think we can jump into something simple." She gestured to him with her bow. "Why don't you choose a song? I'm willing to put blind faith in your judgment."

Alan took out his violin from his case as well, quickly rosining his bow as he mulled this over. "Simple it is. Do you know the cello notes to Packabell's Canon?"

Inclining her head in confirmation, Hild sat straight, shoulders squared and bow poised.

"Whenever you're ready," Alan said with a smile and a nod.

Which she wasn't, to be frank. And logically reminding herself that this was only a simple, leisurely practice session did little by way of settling her stage-fright. The fact that much of the waking world was able to peek in on their lives as they pleased didn't help either.

Keeping her eyes fixed on the empty front row before them, she managed to begin, despite the camera she'd spotted in the trees at the other end of the miniature amphitheater. The slow opening notes helped steady her hands, steel her resolve. She bowed her head, leaning into the melody.



Alan readied his violin, and after Hild played the eight long notes, he harmonized along, watching her and matching her tempo. He must've obviously memorized the song since he didn't have sheet music, but Alan didn't hesitate in his notes, playing the canon in eight-measure increments while Hild steadied her bass notes. During the upbeat fast notes, Alan swayed with the rhythm, seamlessly and effortlessly playing each note.

She could tell he came from a family of musicians. As much as she believed "talent" was given far more clout than it was owed, sometimes a person truly had an inclination in a certain field of study or passion. And Alan had that sort of quality in his performance that simply couldn't be taught.

At the end of the song, he kept more of his attention on Hild, trying to grab her attention with his eyes as if he was telling her that he was coming to an end. Hild matched his speed instead, and they both came to a ritardo at the end, ending on a long note together.

Alan smiled at her, setting his violin down to rest on his knee. "That was really lovely. We're off to a good start."

Hild allowed herself a small, encouraged grin. "It's a shame you don't play professionally," she said.

"You humble me," Alan said with a small laugh. "Don't get me wrong, I'd love to play professionally. Unfortunately, the world doesn't need more musicians. But that certainly doesn't stop me from trying anyways." He flourished his hand in front of him. "Case in point: I've played Packabell's Canon so often for weddings that it hardly even sounds like music to me anymore."

Brow furrowed, her grin turned flat. "Well, do you or don't you perform by profession?"

Alan hesitated, his smile slowly fading as he placed his bow on the stand and set his violin in his case, instead pulling out a duet booklet to sift through.

"A mix of both," he finally answered, turning the pages in search of a song. "I did get accepted into Guilliard's School in Talia, but I didn't end up going. So, I do what I can to play. Weddings here and there, playing at a piano bar, and freelancing whenever the opportunity comes up. But outside of that-- no, I don't perform by profession."

He handed her the booklet with a small smile.

"The world's a tough place, and like I said, it doesn't need more musicians. But just because I don't play professionally, doesn't mean I don't play at all. It's still important to me that I play with my heart," Alan finished.

Accepting the booklet with a nod in thanks, she cast him a quick, unimpressed look before paging through.

"For a non-musician," she mused, "it sounds like you get a decent amount of paid work."

Alan sighed. "Not enough. I'd be lying if I said this was my main source of income. I do various jobs, but I actually mostly bartend for money. I live in the tourism capital, so it's not hard to find gigs." He shrugged. "Everything else is supplementary."

Humming, she relented and settled for, "So long as it sustains you, and you're able to live in cleanliness and comfort."

"It does," Alan said with a nod and a smile. "Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask. What made you want to play cello?"

"A simple, inexplicable affinity for the way it sounds."

And it helped that she'd been told no, she shouldn't try, due to the size discrepancy between her and the instrument. So naturally she decided to learn how to play anyway.

"It's a simple and timeless reason," Alan said, then picked up his violin again. "Have you chosen another song?"

With a nod, she set the booklet on the stand in front of them. "Up for a little Dvoorak?"

"This one's a classic. Good pick."

Alan readied his violin again, placing his bow just on top of his strings as he looked over at her for confirmation. With a mutual nod, he prepped them with one downbeat then started the song.



"Humoresque" was a light, sunny tune, which reflected the season in which it was originally composed (summer). She didn't believe she herself could fully match its upbeat tempo, as a generally more reserved person. But it was a lovely song that she recalled fondly for all the times she practiced it with Lyall.

And, as she'd anticipated, it felt like a good match for friendly, outgoing Mister Alan. He bobbed his head in time with the cheerful notes, and kept a relaxed hand as he played airily. When he caught her watching him as they played, he cast her a breezy grin, and she couldn't help but smile back. He picked up that she wasn't reading the music and instead watching him, which only made him more playful, adding in trills and embellished notes as if it were a mini cadenza.

Ah, a show off. Well, two could play that game.

Schooling her features as best she could, Hild straightened and played with more gusto. The low, rich sound of the cello, usually a background accompaniment, grew louder to the verge of drowning out the bright soprano of his violin.

Predictably, this only made Alan even more inspired to play louder with exaggerated emotion, pouring every bit of cheery, summery emotion into his notes. It was so needlessly joyful sounding, it was almost mocking-- especially since he swayed with every note during the refrain, like he was dancing along with the music.

During the minor key section, it was like the cheery switch was turned off, and Alan instead played every note sadly and intensely, overly-exaggerating his vibrato and adding unnecessary ritardos during the drawn-out long notes so Hild was forced to slow down as well. Mellowing her own vibrato just to make his performance seem that more excessive, she leaned heavily into every mournful, undulating note.

They both breaked at the end of the section, with Alan making eye contact with Hild so they could land on the next note at the same time, going back into the bridge of the song. Alan was back at playing with the same airy confidence and relaxed, playful tone. This time, however, he seemed less concerned about playing over Hild and more concerned about playing to his heart's content, getting more into the song but leaving her room to shine as well. He cast frequent glances her way up to the end of the song where they slowed down together to end on the same chord.

"I hope I'm not boring you," he said with a grin, tearing his gaze away from her and setting the base of his violin down to rest on his knee.

"Nonsense," she replied lightly, resting her bow over her lap. "This has been...the most fun I've had since arriving here."

Alan smiled wider, watching for a moment. "I'm glad. It's nice to see you smile."

A bit self-consciously, Hild glanced down at the stage beneath their feet. She hadn't noticed she was smiling, and found she couldn't quite rein it in either.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, meeting his gaze again, "for the invitation to practice with you."

"Of course, Hild. It's my pleasure. Two musicians are bound to come together whether we're trapped in a desert island or not." He paused. "Well, maybe not desert island. More like a luxurious island. But music certainly doesn't have to be a luxury. I have a couple duet books in my room I still have to go through, but we could practice together more on the regular, if you'd like."

Hild allowed herself a full smile. "I look forward to it."

Alan hummed, tapping his finger against his knee. "How often do you want to meet?"

She tilted her head in a show of giving this careful thought. "I'd say perhaps 3 times per week." Then sighed ruefully. "But where will we ever find the time...?"

Alan grinned, then shook his head and sighed after her. "You're right. My schedule is completely booked. But you know..." He tilted his head, squinting his eyes as he looked in the distance in thought before grinning and turning to her again. "Just for you, I'll find the time. Three times a week it is."

Hild hummed a laugh. "I'm honored."

Alan watched her for another moment before setting his bow on the stand and leaning over his case to gently set his violin down in his case. "Have you ever played any of the cello Bock's suites?" he asked, taking out a separate booklet.

Alan was already leafing through the beginning pages, but before Hild could answer, he placed the book on her stand. He had turned to Bock's No. 1 Suite in G Major, a more complex-looking set.

"I don't believe I have." She scanned the page intently, already committing it to memory.

Alan picked up his violin again, playing the first few measures of the song. It was definitely a familiar song, one she recalled the more advanced students in high school practicing.

"It's a timeless cello piece. It's not a duet, but I think it'd be a fun challenge for you. I'd love to hear you play this," Alan said with a smile when finished. "It unfortunately doesn't sound the same on the violin."

She picked up the booklet to look over it closer. "It'd be my pleasure to give it a try," she said pleasantly.

"Do you want to practice on your own first? Otherwise we can go through it together right now," Alan offered.

Hild cast him a faint smile. "Only if it won't bore you, I'd actually like that."

Setting the booklet back, she glimpsed at her watch. 6:43 PM.

Without much forethought (though she could simply claim lingering hesitance to return to her cabin full of chemical hazards), she then offered, "How about dinner afterward?"

Alan grinned, leaning back on his chair. "You've got yourself a deal. I listen to you practice, and then we grab dinner."

The vacuum started to crackle, picking up pebbles of sand. It was one of those unavoidable inconveniences, living on a beach - sand got everywhere, no matter how careful you were. While the lower floor was wood and tile floors, the upper hall and bedrooms were largely carpeted. It wasn't a choice he'd make if he were the interior designer, but he wasn't going to complain about the million-dollar cabin they were staying in for something so small. It just meant that he had to stay on top of cleaning so that he didn't feel like he was walking on the beach indoors.

He trailed along the edge of the hall, going over them one more time to make sure he'd gotten everything.

It was in the evening, and Shane was down in the kitchen last James saw him, so James had gotten his room, along with his own. That was, of course, after he thoroughly cleaned the bathroom as well - because with one bathroom between the three of them, things got dirty pretty fast.

James stopped outside Connie's door, briefly turning off the vacuum so he could knock.

"Hey, Connie," he called through the door. "I just finished vacuuming up the hall. Mind if I get your room real quick?"

He knew that Connie was home because he'd seen him walk in just fifteen minutes ago. He hoped he wasn't interrupting anything.

It didn't take long for Connie to answer. He opened the door, already studying James and skeptical.

"Why vacuum my room?" he asked.

James blinked.

"I already got all of the rooms," he said. "Yours is the only one left."

"Because it's not yours," Connie said like it was obvious.

"Yeah, but I might as well get it while I'm doing it," James said, briefly lifting the vacuum hose, and pointing it at Connie. "I don't mind."

Connie still didn't budge, staring at him with now increased skepticism. "Did someone tell you to do this?"

James drew his brows together in indignance.

"What?" he said. "No. I just want to. Why would someone put me up to vacuuming? I just like cleaning."

Connie studied him in silence for a few seconds, but before James could say or do anything else, he finally moved to the side without another word, wordlessly gesturing him in.

With a small huff and a nod of his head, James rolled up the cord a bit and brought the vacuum in, noting right from the start that Connie's room was very bare-basics. It lacked furniture, the mattress was on the floor, and the only decor was some half-finished oil paintings standing on easels. A singular pot of red poppies sat on the window-sill as the only other spot of color.

Apart from that, the rest was just floor. Ideal, he supposed, since he was going to vacuum anyway.

Finding the nearest plug, James got to it. Connie just stood by the door for a minute, but when James was about half done with the large, spacious room, Connie disappeared into the hall. It took another minute or two for James to finish, and when the room was clear, he wheeled the vacuum out and closed the door behind him, winding up the cord in the hall.

"You didn't need to do that," Connie said behind him, apparently standing behind the door the whole time.

James looked up over his shoulder.

"I know," he said. "I don't need to do a lot of things. Still want to anyway."

Clipping the cord in place, he got to his feet.

"Did you have dinner already?" James asked.

"No. Have you?" Connie asked.

"Not yet," he said. "I'm going to go make something in a few if you want to join me."

Connie leaned against the stairwell balcony, mulling this over. "You should take a break. I can help you cook."

James bowed his head in thanks.

"Sure," he said. "I wouldn't mind that."

"I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes," Connie said with a nod, then disappeared back into his room.

At that, James then returned the vacuum to the hall closet, and with nothing else to do, he headed downstairs into the kitchen. Shane was still there, making a vegetarian stir-fry over the stove for dinner later. It smelled good, and it was still a bit of a surprise to James that a royal knew how to cook for himself, but Shane had explained he'd been making most of his food for the last seven years.

James took a seat on one of the bar stools at the counter.

"Smells good," he commented.

Shane looked over from his stirring, smiling slightly. "Thanks," he said gratefully. "It should be ready pretty soon. I'm mostly waiting on the rice."

"Oh," James said. "Are you sharing?"

Looking a little surprised now, Shane nodded quickly. "Well, of course," he said, before adding hastily, "I mean, if you don't want to eat it, that's okay. But I did make enough for the three of us."

"No, I just didn't want to assume," James said. "But I'll happily accept free food."

Looking relieved, Shane's smile brightened faintly as he reached over to a cupboard above the counter, taking down three bowls. "Great. I hope you don't mind that there's no meat-- Connie said he was a vegetarian."

"I don't mind," James said. "I could use more greens in my diet anyway."

The bedroom door opened and closed again. Connie was coming down as promised, and he quickly bounded down the stairs, in a rush as usual. He slowed when he noticed James and Shane in the kitchen, already cooking.

"Looks like Shane beat us to it," James said. "He's making dinner for all of us."

Connie made his way to the kitchen, almost cautiously as he analyzed the situation. He hovered by the counter but then sat on the stool next to James, wordlessly inviting himself into the group.

"Hey," Shane greeted him softly, moving over to check on the rice cooker. "It's just a vegetarian stir-fry, and I think it turned out okay. The rice is ready, so feel free to grab a bowl and have whatever you'd like."

"It's nice of you to cook, Shane," Connie said, nodding to Shane and then nodding to James. "And for you to clean, James. Thank you."

Shane seemed to relax some more again, smiling a little wider. "Of course. Thank you too, James."

"And thank you, Shane," James said, continuing the thank-train. "And you, Connie. And everyone else, too."

At that, Connie wordlessly excused himself from the conversation, picking up the bowl and filling it with rice and vegetables. James felt a little deflated, but there was some consolation in Shane's brief, amused smile.

After getting his food, Connie sat back down, eating without saying another word. He seemed preoccupied with eating and was not interested in talking.

"So, uh," James said. "I feel like we've all been living together but there's still some basic things I don't know about you guys. Shane, I noticed you had a lot of history books in your room. I assume it's of great interest to you?"

Shane perked up at that, a faint glow of excitement in his eyes. "Oh, yeah. I just finished my third year of grad school studying history."

James's brows shot up, brightening. "Is that so? That's amazing! I've always enjoyed history, myself. It's such a vast topic with how big our world is."

Shane nodded eagerly, distractedly filling up his bowl with rice and vegetables. "It does feel like there's so much to learn. I could spend many more years studying it and still only scratch the surface of the subject. Which is painful when you want to know everything about it, but I'm glad to have the chance to learn what I can."

"I totally understand," James said. "I feel like history especially is one of those subjects that just feels inexhaustible. You could spend a lifetime looking at it. And I suppose, in some ways, that can be a comfort. It means you can never get bored or run out of things to learn."

Shane actually grinned, setting his bowl down on the counter. "You're right, I don't think there's ever been a moment of boredom studying it. I do wish I could spend my life doing it." He reached into the silverware drawer. "Are you a scholar too, James?"

"I guess you could say so," James said. "I studied linguistics for two years. I wish I could've studied longer."

"That's another very interesting subject," Shane commented. "It spans a variety of fields-- the social, the cultural, the grammatical, the literary. It seems like another topic that wherever you go looking, there's more to learn."

"It certainly is," James said. "And, of course, there's a lot of overlap with history."

"There is," Shane said, nodding in agreement. "What sort of history are you most interested in?"

"I find every region's politics very fascinating," he answered. "The way it's developed over time and such. What about you?"

"I mostly focused on ancient Aphiran history," Shane said. "It holds some important lessons for the future, even if it's far removed by time."

"I've never done a deep dive into that subject," James said. "I'd love to hear more about it sometime."

Shane and Connie had already served themselves, and James finally walked around the counter to get his serving. Grabbing a bowl, he felt more freedom to take a larger portion now that Connie and Shane had already helped themselves to food. But as it turned out, neither of the men seemed to have a larger appetite, because there was a lot left over. James glanced over his shoulder at the two of them sitting around the counter.

"Are you guys wanting any more?" he asked.

Shane in particular really hadn't taken much, but he just shook his head. "I'm all done."

"Feel free," Connie simply said.

With a thankful nod, James filled his bowl to the full, not willing to deny that he'd worked up an appetite from the day. Moving over to join them, he sat beside Connie. For a few minutes, the three of them sat in silence as they all ate, clearly all hungry and enjoying the food. It tasted as good as it had smelled.

Eventually, when James was about halfway through his bowl, he looked over and saw both Connie and Shane were nearly finished.

Well, maybe he should get them talking, then, so he could continue to eat and just listen.

"Hey, Connie," James said after swallowing. "I noticed some paintings in your room. I didn't know you were an artist."

"It's not a fact I hide. I paint regularly in nature, although I don't keep all my canvases. I'm in nature every day, so painting is frequent. I mostly dabble in oil painting," Connie said, offering more detail about himself than James had ever heard him speak.

"How long have you been painting with oils for?" James asked.

Connie paused in eating to think. "Fifteen years or so. I started when I was a boy, about age ten. The inspiration hasn't stopped since then."

"I can tell," James said. "From what I saw, you're very skilled."

"I disagree. Being skilled requires years-- decades-- of dedication, practice, and devotion. I'm merely a novice in comparison. But art is not meant to be judged, simply admired. I'm not striving for perfection anyways," Connie went on.

"Consider me corrected," James said, raising his hands a bit. "That's a worthy perspective to have on the arts."

Connie simply nodded in return, resuming his eating.

"Do you have any sources of inspiration in particular?" Shane asked after a moment. "Or a mentor, maybe?"

"Nature, namely." Connie paused in self-reflection. "Henri Davis Thorow has been a great inspiration to me. His naturalistic views on nature and way of simple living inspires me, and it lives in his works. He's one of the many other poets who are my unofficial mentors, if you will. They are words to live by."

Suddenly, this made a lot of sense of who Connie was and even what his room was like. He was someone who'd taken Thorow's lifestyle to heart and run with it. A true poet, he supposed.

"Have you ever gotten into writing poetry yourself?" James asked. "Or have you stuck mostly to painting?"

"I write poetry, yes. Although inspiration is less prominent there. It comes in waves, although I never force it. It's easy to be inspired when you're staring at the very beauty of raw nature, and it's even easier to capture on canvas when it's in front of you. Poetry, though-- words are more difficult. They're deliberate and fragile. Less is more." Connie paused, reflecting again. "On average, though, I'd say I write one poem every week or two."

"I think it's less about quantity and more about quality, anyway," James said. "So you're a painter and a poet. Do you ever share your creations?"

"To the public? Not until I consider myself skilled," Connie said. "But I don't generally hide my works. If you want any of my canvases, feel free to ask. I throw most of my finished works out at the end of the day anyways."

Shane slowly looked up from his bowl. "...Throw them out?" he asked quietly.

"It would clutter my room if I keep all of them," Connie explained, as if his room wasn't already empty.

"Well, if they're up for grabs," James said. "I'm an appreciator of paintings. I'd gladly take some off your hands if you get tired of them."

"Me too," Shane added. "I'd love to, if you're willing."

"Hm. Alright," Connie said after swallowing from another bite. "So far I've mostly painted the coastlines. I admit it's my favorite, and they are rather beautiful here."

"I can't argue with that," James said.

He wasn't as much a fan of the sand, but the ocean was beautiful. From afar. He still hadn't gone more than ankle-deep into it.

"It's a shame we can't giggle the history of this island," James said with a look over to Shane. "I'm sure there'd be some neat things to discover if all of the websites about it were blocked."

"I know," Shane said regretfully. "It's a dangerous thing to block historical knowledge and learning, and it's never been a good sign of a society."

"I don't think it's bad you can't giggle it. Frankly, phones are a nuisance to society. They bring people together yet isolate them with a screen as separation. Never has humanity been so aware yet so far apart from nature and connection," Connie said, shaking his head.

James looked over to Connie with a slightly raised brow.

"That's a very traditional view of the world for someone your age," he said. "Though I can't say I completely disagree. Phones have certainly changed the way we interact, that's for sure. Though I don't think it's all for the worse."

"I wouldn't mind not being able to Giggle it if they provided us with some other way of learning about the island," Shane admitted. "Like a sign somewhere summarizing a few major events in the past that led to its current situation today, or a book on its history with proper research and citations. In fact, I'd prefer that more. But they aren't offering us that, and they're denying the opportunity to learn in other ways."

"Life doesn't come with warning labels and summarized signs. Not everything can be learned by a label that someone else put together for your convenience. We can only live in the moment," Connie said.

Shane blinked in what looked like slight confusion, looking back down at his bowl and finishing his final bites.

"Experience can be a great teacher," James said. "But frankly, I'm glad that there are warning signs in some spaces. I, for one, like to not have to always learn the hard way. I think it's wise, actually, to learn from as many sources as you can. You don't have to devalue one to exalt another. I think experience and book learning are both valuable in their own rights."

At that, James decided to change the subject quickly. He didn't really want to get into a philosophical argument about the nature of learning. Turning to Shane, he decided to respond to his first supposition.

"You know, Shane," James posed. "I wonder if they have a library. I haven't explored the whole plaza. It's more of a town, honestly. They might have resources there if you hunt for it."

Shane hummed. "I've only been there for getting coffee, so I haven't seen much, but somehow I doubt they have something like that. They're probably opposed to us learning anything about the island, period. Blocking Giggle searches is one way of doing that, but it'd be ineffective if they had resources around for us to go through."

James hummed.

"Fair enough," he said. "Maybe your powers could be of use to you in this case. If you wanted to know the history of something, you could always... touch it."

It occured to him that Shane's powers were probably the root of his fascination with history in the first place. Or at least, played a very strong influence in it.

"Though I might be careful doing that around the cabins," James added. "We've already witnessed a lot of strange things."

Shane nodded. "Right. I don't want to be a spy, or invade people's privacy."

"Which is respectable," James said.

But now that they were on the subject of magic, James realized they'd never asked Connie about his.

"Say," James said, turning to Connie. "I don't think your magic ever came up. What kind of magic do you have that brought you here?"

Just in time, Connie finished his food and was already up, setting his dishes in the sink to begin washing them and the other dishes already piling up.

"Dreamwalking," he answered simply.

Huh. He hadn't read up on that much.

"What does that entail?" James asked.

Connie didn't even look back as he began to scrub the dishes, clearly preoccupied.

"I can walk into other people's dreams or bring them into mine. It also means I can sense when someone dreams in general," Connie answered.

Suddenly, James felt a sense of... well, dread wasn't quite what to call it. Guilt didn't even feel right either. Shame might've been the better word, and the only one he could pin down now that he suddenly knew Connie was probably aware that James had been having nightmares, recurringly, on and off every single night since he got here.

Shane stiffened slightly, setting his fork down in his bowl without meeting anyone's gaze.

"Oh," James said a little quieter. "Does that... uh. Disturb your sleep at all?"

"Sometimes. Usually when others are having nightmares," Connie said.

Lovely. Well that was just convenient, wasn't it? Put the poor man who sensed nightmares with the man who suffered from night terrors. Of course Maeve would've forseen this. That was just cruel. James felt bad for Connie's sake. That meant none of them were sleeping properly.

"...Sorry," Shane said quietly after a few moments, without saying why he was sorry.

James frowned at him. Was he apologizing for having nightmares? He had nightmares too?

"I won't be invading your dreams, if that's what you're concerned about. I'd rather not, anyways," Connie said, still scrubbing away.

Shane shook his head. "I figured not."

Yeah, well. James wouldn't want to drag anyone else into his dreams anyway. It was best that Connie stayed out.

"I'm just going to say it outright," James said. "I'm sorry if my recurring nightmares have stolen your sleep from you. I assume your abilities have some kind of... limitations, right? Based on distance?"

He paused.

"Would it be helpful if I slept downstairs?"

Connie turned off the faucet, turning with sudsy hands so that he could face them more squarely, flicking his gaze between them.

"No. Sleep in your bed. It's fine," Connie said, then sighed. "I'm used to it. Everyone has bad dreams. I actually don't get dreams-- a side effect of dreamwalking. I don't judge whether you have good dreams or bad dreams. It's all beautiful noise, in the end. You have a right to have your dreams, and it's not up to me to disturb that or your sleep."

With that, Connie turned back around, resuming his dish cleaning.

Ah. Well. "Beautiful noise," was a very... Thorow way of looking at it. If it helped Connie cope, James wasn't going to poke a hole in that for him.

James hummed.

"Well," he said. "So long as it's not bothering you too much. That's all I'm concerned about, really."

"You'll know if it's bothering me," Connie said, leaving it at that.

James pulled back the corners of his mouth, looking to Shane with a brief side-eye. Shane was staring down at his now-empty bowl, and it was hard to tell whether he was uncomfortable, stuck in thought, or both.

"Are you alright?" James asked softly, his expression turning to concern.

Shane nodded after a moment, his gaze staying down. "Yeah," he said distantly. "Thanks, Connie. Appreciate it."

Connie, predictably, didn't respond to that.

"Thanks for doing the dishes, too," James added. "Do you want any help cleaning up?"

"Are you finished eating? I can clean your bowls now," Connie said as he worked on scrubbing the pan.

James looked down at his bowl. It still had a little bit left.

"Give me, like, one minute," he said, before he started to scarf down the rest.

No one picked up the conversation as he devoted himself to eating, and the three of them sat in another small silence until James emptied his dish and got up, setting it by the sink.

Connie glanced at it, then behind his shoulder at Shane. "Shane?" he called.

Shane's head shot up. "Yeah?"

"Your bowl," Connie answered, gesturing with his head to the empty bowl in front of him.

Shane got the message, standing up quickly and taking the bowl and fork with him. "Thanks," he said as he placed them both in the sink.

Connie gave him one nod as a response, resuming his cleaning.

Shane took a step back, glancing between them. "I might go to bed a little early tonight," he said. "I've been waking up earlier than I mean to as well."

James offered Shane a small smile.

"Sounds like you need the rest," he said. "We'll take care of clean-up."

Shane weakly returned the smile. "Thanks. Good night, then."

"Good night," James replied.

"Night," Connie said as well, still without turning around.

With that, Shane turned and left the kitchen, slowly taking the stairs up one at a time. James turned away and picked up a towel, wiping down the countertops while Connie finished up the dishes. Setting the towel back over the oven's door handle, he looked back at Connie, who was finishing up drying the dishes.

"You good to finish up?" he asked.

"I can handle it," Connie said.

"Alright," he said. "I think I'm going to turn in as well. It was nice for all of us to have dinner together. I'll see you later."

Connie nodded. "See you tomorrow, then."

With a nod, James agreed, and he turned to go up the stairs.

Shane took out a pajama shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants from his suitcase, setting them out on the floor to the side and leaving them folded. The action showed him a quick flash of him packing them away at home in Aphirah just a week prior, and he had to shake his head. He'd had such different thoughts about the island back then, and while he certainly didn't feel like he knew everything now, he definitely knew more than he had then.

It was nice not to worry about getting the clothes dirty as he set them down, since James had kindly vaccumed the floor of sand. It seemed like the three of them had all pitched in on cleaning duties today, and Shane was glad to see it. They were starting to become more functional.

Before Shane could get to changing, however, there was a knock at the door, and he looked up. Maybe someone needed him for something.

He left the pajamas behind and stood up, moving to the door and opening it up. It was James.

"Oh, hey," Shane said, searching his face. "What's up?"

"Hey," James said quietly. He seemed concerned. "I'm sorry to interrupt your sleep routine, but I just wanted to check in again. It seemed like something was up, but maybe I read that wrong. Are you sure you're alright?"

Shane blinked. He hadn't thought it looked that way.

"Oh," he said after a moment of hesitation. "During that last part of the conversation, you mean?"

"Yeah," James said quietly. "You withdrew when we started talking about nightmares."

Shane pressed his lips together. Okay. Maybe it had been obvious. He hated worrying people like that.

"If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay," James added gently. "I just... well, if you wanted to talk about it, I just thought I'd ask. I know we still don't know each other well, so I won't be offended if you don't want to."

"You're okay," Shane said quietly. "I appreciate you checking in, actually. Thank you." He sighed softly. "I guess... I have to make a distinction between saying I'm okay and I'll be okay, you know? But I'll be okay."

James nodded slowly.

"Okay," he said. And there was a pause.

"If you ever need anything," he said. "Just -- because I know it can help some people -- I'm up at all the odd hours. So... feel free to knock."

Shane's gaze flicked to the hallway behind him, where James' door was just out of sight. He nodded slightly.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "I really do appreciate it, James."

He paused for a moment, wrapping his hand around the doorknob.

"Right, well--" James started.

"I just feel bad," Shane said at the same time, and he regretted it immediately.

James didn't finish his sentence, and instead snapped his mouth shut, a bit awkwardly for a second before his brows drew together in sympathy.

"Ah," he said. "About... Connie? And his magic?"

Shane hesitated. "Yeah," he said finally. "That, I guess."

James looked down at the floor. "Me too."

Shane could only nod. Of course. The universe-- or just the DMV-- was playing a cruel trick on Connie.

"Is it every night for you?" James asked after some delay.

"For a little while now," Shane said quietly, "it's been every night that I've slept."

"Ah. That's dreadful," James responded softly.

Shane felt all the possible things to say in response or to add slipping away from his thoughts, and he swallowed, only able to look away.

"I hope you get some sleep tonight," James said, like he sensed Shane wasn't going to say any more. "Hopefully with less of the nightmares. Thanks for answering the door and all. I know you're tired. I'll let you go now."

"You too," Shane said quietly. "Thank you. It does mean a lot."

With a small nod of his head, James began to back away.

"Goodnight again, Shane," James said.

Shane mustered the faintest of smiles for him. "Goodnight again, James."

And at that, James turned away, walking down the hall towards his own room. Shane waited until he was out of sight before he closed the door, sighing softly afterwards. The exhaustion was hitting him all at once suddenly, and he wanted to hope for a peaceful night's sleep. But he knew this night wouldn't be different from any of the others.

With a heavy weariness, Shane went back to getting ready for bed, bracing himself for the restlessness and dreams that were sure to follow once he closed his eyes for the night.

It had been a fairly uneventful week, but that was the beauty of the island. They were given ample free time to explore and discover each other, which Alan appreciated. So far, he spent his time discovering what the island had to offer, bonding with others for the first time, and playing music.

It was nice. This was the change of pace and scenery that he needed. It really forced him to stay still and figure out how he wanted to better himself and how he truly wanted to spend his time.

Not that Alan was keeping still. He felt like he hardly ever stayed in his cabin outside of talking to his cabin mates or playing songs. Today was no exception.

It was mid-afternoon and he felt like paying Shane a visit. He hadn't seen him around for the past few days, after all. Perhaps they kept missing each other, but it had also been a while since he knocked at his cabin door. It didn't hurt to stop by.

It was a short trek over since they were next door neighbors, and Alan made the mental note that he really ought to stop by more often since they were next to each other. He skipped up to their front door stairs and knocked at the door, taking a step back and leaning against the railing, awaiting an answer.

A short while later, the door opened, and Shane poked his head out. He smiled when he saw Alan. "Hey--" he started to say.

An impatient sounding meow rang out through the cabin behind him.

Shane glanced over his shoulder, laughing softly. "Sorry," he apologized, turning back to Alan. "That's my cat. I've been with him all day and he's still jealous for attention."

Alan chuckled, standing up straight again as he leaned his arm against the door frame, angling his head to peer past Shane and get a view of his cat now coming up behind his legs.

"I didn't know you have a cat. He's adorable," he said. "And rightfully fighting for your attention."

Shane laughed again, scooping up the brown tabby cat and lifting him up to his chest. "He is a cutie," he agreed, as the cat stuck out a paw towards Alan, like he was trying to reach him. "I think he wants your attention too. He wants everyone's attention."

Alan hummed, reaching out and patting the cat's head for a few seconds before it turned to a weak pet. "He's a dramatic one. But who can blame him?" he said with a small laugh, pulling his arm away. "What's his name?"

At that, Shane pressed his lips together to visibly stifle a laugh. "You'll have to forgive my silliness on this one. His name is Shrimp."

"Shrimp," Alan echoed in amusement with an amused smile. "I'd say he's aptly named, but he's not very shrimpy."

"He is not," Shane agreed, as Shrimp tried to squirm out of his grasp to get to Alan. "I'm unable to explain my inspiration on that one."

"Maybe your craving for shrimp took over when you named your cat," Alan offered with a playful smile. "Although, naming pets after food items is funny and cute in general, in my opinion. No other explanation is needed."

Shane smiled, a little bashfully, but Shrimp meowed loudly before he could say anything.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll set you down now," he said affectionately to the cat, scratching him behind the ears before gently setting him down, where Shrimp paced around the porch between them.

"He'll live without the constant attention," Shane said to Alan, with a bit of a laugh. "Anyway, it's good to see you again. What brings you by?"

Alan smiled, watching the dramatic cat take a few steps to the right before sprawling on the floor, his fluffy tail swishing behind him as he stared up at them. Alan let out a puff of amused air, turning his attention back to Shane.

"I just came by to see you, actually. But I admittedly don't really have much of a plan outside of that." Alan smiled, standing up straight again. "It's been a couple days since I last saw you, but now I know why. Shrimp's been stealing all of your attention," he teased.

Shane smiled back. "He has," he admitted, while the cat stretched out gracefully. "He got here a couple days ago, via a magical present hanging from a floating balloon. The box landed on the porch as I was stepping outside." He paused. "You can imagine my surprise to find out it was my cat. I guess the DMV wanted me to have him here."

"Really?" Alan hummed, setting his hands in his pockets. "This island never ceases to amaze me. Next, you'll tell me it's raining cats and dogs, and I'll believe you."

"Well, depending on how many people have pets," Shane joked, "it very well could."

Shrimp let out an insistent meow at the word pets.

"I swear, he understands me sometimes," Shane murmured, shaking his head amusedly with a laugh as he leaned over to pet the cat's head. He paused, looking back up at Alan. "Actually, he understands Clandestine. They could talk to each other. That was a bit of a shock."

"Ah, right. I recall her mentioning that she could talk to animals. Did she translate what he was saying to you? It must have been strange to hear," Alan said.

"She said he missed me, and that he was a very talkative kitty," Shane said. "It was strange, but it made sense for him. He meows all the time."

Shrimp meowed in response to that, bumping his head against Shane's knuckles.

"Awww." Alan crouched down next to them, petting Shrimp's back. "It seems this little guy missed you so much, the DMV sent him to you as a present."

"I wonder how much of a fuss he put up," Shane mused, as Shrimp took an interest in Alan, sniffing at his other hand and bumping it with his nose. "Well, I think he likes you."

Alan ran his hand through the cat's back, starting from the head to the end of his tail. "He is very friendly," he mused, repeating the same petting pattern.

He did this a few times, flicking his eyes up to Shane and doing a double-take when he realized that Shane was curiously looking at him, not the cat.

"What?" Alan said with a weak laugh, pulling away.

"No, you're fine," Shane said, smiling. "I just don't think I've seen anyone pet a cat that way before."

Well. This was mildly embarrassing.

Alan let out another weak laugh, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright. You caught me. I don't actually pet a lot of cats, so I'm none the wiser."

"It's okay," Shane assured him, still smiling gently. "Nothing wrong with that. It certainly seems Shrimp has no objections to that way of petting him."

Alan let out a soft hum, pursing his lips and deciding to pet Shrimp from head to tail again. After doing this once, he instead opted to pet his head, giving him a gentle scratch. Shrimp purred, and Alan felt the vibration in his fingertips.

"Yeah, he definitely likes you," Shane said, looking between Alan and Shrimp with a smile. "Now he'll never leave you alone again."

"Well then. I suppose I'm trapped here for a while," Alan said with a smile, turning to Shane. "Do you have any plans for the day?"

"None," Shane said with a laugh. "I figured I would be held hostage by my own cat, but it seems he's distracted from his purpose now."

"It seems so." Alan gave Shrimp one last pat. "Do you care for company? I can either save you from the hostage situation or willfully surrender so you're not alone."

"I'd love more company." Shane laughed. "We can either go somewhere, or I can host you with blackberries. I remember promising you those."

"Very true. There were berry promises made," Alan said as he stood back up. "I don't mind either way. There are a couple spots around the island I found that could be fun to go to, but you also make an enticing point. Plus, it seems this little guy demands our attention." He gestured towards Shrimp, still purring under Shane's touch.

Shane grinned slightly. "Now you've got me mentally debating the logistics of taking a cat and some blackberries to a scenic spot on the island."

"Well, you can certainly bring one of those along." Alan looked down at Shrimp apologetically. "Sorry, Shrimp."

Shrimp, not seeming to understand, blinked up at him silently with wide green eyes as he rubbed his forehead against Shane's hand.

"Oh, well," Shane said with a slight laugh, scratching the cat behind his ears affectionately. "Blackberries will do, and I think my housemates don't mind him. He'll probably bug them for cuddles instead." He looked back at Alan, smiling curiously. "Are we going somewhere a cat wouldn't like much, then?"

Alan hummed. "I was thinking we could pass by a sea cove. I assume cats wouldn't like that, but then again, what do I know?"

Shane knelt down to rub Shrimp's chin. "What do you think of sea coves, little guy?" he said gently, like he was speaking to a young child.

Shrimp just meowed, slow-blinking again.

Shane laughed, looking up at Alan. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't know what either of those words mean. But that's okay. It means he won't be disappointed he's missing out on something." He rubbed Shrimp's fur again. "Me and Alan are going to head on a walk, okay? I'll see you in a little bit."

The cat meowed again, winding around Shane's legs.

"Alright, I think that's a yes," Shane said with a laugh, picking Shrimp up before giving him a smooch on the head and setting him indoors again. "We're good to go, then."

Alan smiled, finding Shane's affection with his cat endearing. He nodded and took a few steps back, gesturing for Shane to follow him. It didn't take long for them to get in the rhythm of walking, with Alan leading the way towards where he remembered the sea coves being. It was towards the west side of the island where the foliage was thicker, but it wasn't a strenuous or long hike.

"How has your week been so far?" Alan asked Shane. "Hopefully it's been a lot more relaxed."

Shane laughed softly, raising one shoulder in a half-shrug. "It's been a mix between peaceful and not. It's a very relaxing place, but I still find it hard to relax. Even if I end up not doing very much anyway."

Alan nodded, fully understanding. Maybe a bit too well.

"I get that. Still, relaxing looks different for everyone. Some people may find lounging around to be relaxing, and others may find that to be more of a chore. As long as you seize the day and make it yours, that's all that matters, in the end. Even if you don't end up doing very much anyways," Alan said.

"I try to," Shane said. "Even that much can be difficult. But it's worth the effort."

"On days I find living in the present to be difficult, I usually end up going on scenic walks like these." Alan paused, reflecting for a moment as they walked. "I usually end up going by myself, but regardless, I find shared walks to be more inspiring." He turned back to Shane with a smile. "Hopefully this helps."

"I think it does," Shane said, smiling back. "I haven't been able to just go on walks regularly for a while. It feels very nice to have the chance now."





It was about an hour walk through the trail adjacent to the rugged coastline. Alan had been gauging Shane's interest the whole time to see if he'd get bored or weary, but he seemed to not mind walking further, so he decided to go to the sea cove that was farther out but was more serene. He had pointed to Shane where they were headed, but it wasn't until they reached the top of the final viewpoint that they could see the destination.



"Wow," Shane breathed, staring out at the cove. "It's... just beautiful."

"It's breathtaking, isn't it? Come on, let's get closer," Alan said with an eager grin, gesturing for Shane to follow.

He skidded down the last hill, stopping when rocks were in the way. Shane's face split into a grin as well as he followed behind. When they both reached the bottom, Alan took off his shoes and socks, leaving them by the base of the trail. He walked backwards on bare feet, arms up in the air as he grinned.

"Welcome to the long-awaited sea cove," he said.

Shane kicked off his shoes as well, turning in a circle to get a full view of the scene as his feet sank into the sand. "It's well worth it," he said, a light in his eyes as he smiled. "It feels like... hidden treasure. Like part of the beauty is in finding it."

"It does, doesn't it? In that case, thank you for coming along with me on this treasure hunt."

Still smiling, Alan dropped his hands and gestured with his head for Shane to follow as he walked by the edge of the shoreline, the water lapping over his feet. Shane stepped in, at first pulling his foot back with a laugh.

"It's cold," he said with surprise, but then followed.

Alan nodded, leisurely strolling through the shoreline with Shane as he looked out over the ocean. "How can something so beautiful be so cold?" he mused.

Shane chuckled. "Is that a philosophical question, or do you just prefer the heat to the cold?"

Alan looked back at him with an amused smile. "What do you think?"

"Could be both," Shane guessed. "I've never judged beauty based on temperature."

Alan hummed. "Maybe you ought to. Summers and winters are beautiful in their own way, after all."

"They are, but I wouldn't say in different amounts. At least, that's more subjective." Shane looked down at the beach as another tide washed over their feet. "But it is fine if that was just your way of saying you don't like the cold," he added with a laugh.

Alan watched him talk as they approached the halfway point of the small beach, only more amused. The water continued to lap over their feet, but since Alan was closer to the water, it sloshed over his ankles. It was cold, but he was getting used to it. Such was a price to pay.

"I confess I do prefer summers and warmth. But I also confess that I've never witnessed a proper winter with snow and ice, so perhaps my answer would change with more experience," he said.

"Really?" Shane asked, intrigued. "I take it you aren't from the mountains, then."

"No," Alan said with a chuckle. "I see the mountains from the distance a lot, but I'm not from there. That's where the rural villages are, and they're fairly isolated from the rest of the country since it's hard to travel through there. That also means I'm isolated from winter, too, though."

"Right," Shane said with a nod. "Our capital's in the mountains, which is an unusual choice compared to most of the world, since those tend to be more rural areas like that. It sees some pretty harsh winters, but it manages to endure it."

Alan hummed. "Do you prefer winter or summer, then?"

"Fall, actually," Shane said with a slight laugh. "Something in between, I guess. Where the two extremes blend into each other and create a new kind of beauty."

"Fair enough. Although, you could also argue the same case for spring," Alan said.

"It's in a different sort of way," Shane mused. "If spring's a crescendo, fall is a decrescendo. They're both going between the same two things, but in different directions, with a different start and finish. Spring builds its way up from the quiet of winter to the vibrancy of summer. Meanwhile, fall is a gentle fading into calm, cool rest, but still full of the color of warmer days. I've always found the fall to hold the bold power of summer while keeping the tranquility of winter."

Mid-way through, Alan had come to a stop in front of small trickling waterfall at the other side of the cove that trickled against the canyon walls. He still gave his undivided attention on him, intrigued and fascinated by his thoughts.

"I admire the way you think. That's a very poetic and artistic interpretation of the seasons. I'm also fairly certain you're describing Veevaldee's Four Seasons concertos. Now you're speaking like a true musician," Alan said with a smile.

Shane laughed. "I do love those concertos, but I'm neither a poet, artist, or a musician. Just speaking what comes to mind."

"I disagree that you're speaking with your mind," Alan said, then reached over and poked the left side of Shane's chest. "You're speaking with your heart."

Shane laughed again, looking down at his hand and back up. "That sounds more like what you do. I like it."

Alan chuckled, shaking his head. "We can both speak from the heart. It's not a finite resource. It's the beauty of being human, among other reasons."

Shane smiled a little brighter, meeting his gaze. "It is something beautiful," he agreed. "I'm glad for it."

"Speaking of beauty," Alan said as he gestured to the small waterfall behind them, "have you seen many waterfalls? I'm feeling like yes, since you live on a mountain. So maybe this isn't as impressive."

"I have. But impressive doesn't always translate directly to beautiful," Shane said, chuckling as he took a step closer to the waterfall. "This one might be small, but it's one just for the few people who venture here."

Alan smiled, following as they approached the waterfall. "You're right. It's perfect as is." He stuck out his hand in the way of the stream, letting the water splash on him for a few seconds. "It's still cold, though. So maybe not perfectly perfect."

"I thought we just decided beautiful and cold were not contradictory," Shane teased.

"See, you're missing a crucial point of context," Alan said with a teasing smile, flicking away the water on his hand towards Shane, who laughed and ducked. "I don't like the cold."

"We should find you a hot spring," Shane joked. "I don't think this is that kind of island, though. This will have to do."

Still smiling, Alan sighed, tilting his head up to see the top of the cliff-side where the water left the land.

"Ah, to be trapped in the body of a sun-loving lizard on a luxurious coastal island. Whatever will I do," he moaned.

Shane let out a puff of laughter. "The second part isn't so unattainable, if it's any comfort."

Alan paused then turned back towards him with a growing smile and a raised brow. Shane merely grinned back.

"Maybe," Alan said instead, hand under the stream of water again.

"Maybe?" Shane echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe," Alan said again, now grinning as he glanced at him.

"Maybe sounds like a yes," Shane said, still grinning, "but I don't know what the question is."

Alan couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking his head. This was starting to feel silly. He thought maybe Shane was subtly suggesting that he could still go to the water despite not liking the cold since they were surrounded by ocean, but it seemed that he misread the undertones in his words.

"Do you want to go for a swim?" he asked out of the blue.

Shane grinned a little wider, laughing. "I could brave the cold for that."

Alan took a sharp breath, stepping in front of the waterfall and letting the water soak through his hair and run down his clothes. The pressure of the cold water felt nice, but it was also admittedly borderline painful-- partly because it was so frigid.

After the quick soak, he stepped back along the rocky wall and pulled his now-wet hair out of his eyes. His shirt was clinging to his skin, and he already felt a chill run down his arm. Regardless, Alan laughed, rubbing the water out of his eyes under his glasses. Water had already sprayed across the lens, so he decided to remove his glasses, squinting at Shane as he rubbed a dry spot of his shirt against the lens.

"I'm getting there. I'm warming up to it," he said with a teasing grin.

With a laugh, Shane moved forward, standing just in front of the waterfall for a moment before stepping under. He immediately let out a surprised, delighted yelp of laughter, shivering under the cold water. Once he'd gotten soaked as well, he stepped out next to Alan, grinning even as his teeth chattered.

"That is cold," he said with another laugh. "Not sure I'll ever be warm again."

"Are you sure you want to go in the ocean? This may be a bad idea," Alan said with another light laugh, putting on his glasses again so he could better see Shane.

"It could be," Shane said, still grinning. "But I think we're committed to it at this point."

Alan grinned back, nodding.

"Alright then," he said as he side-stepped away from the waterfall, already pulling up his shirt. "Let's go for a swim."

So, the logistics of the island still somewhat eluded Lyall, even after a full week. There was a sort of central hub with a town center vibe and arrangement. But, keeping in line with the "all expenses paid" feature of this trip, they didn't have to actually pay for any of the goods and services there.

Meandering through with Alan now, Lyall was also beginning to notice that there was only one employee per shop at any given moment. Which made sense in a way, since the island population was so miniscule.

But what was the island's budget? How much of it was going toward materials and amenities, or the producers' own pockets, and how much of it was used to pay the staff? All of the buildings were so extravagant, it really didn't surprise him when he started running into the same faces working in different shops or settings.

As a smaller scale example of the island's strange logistics, the wine cellar below their cabin was always well-stocked and pristine. Lyall never shopped to replenish what they did use, and anytime he did go to clean the space, it simply was never dusty to begin with.

But...that was just the cellar? The rest of the cabin functioned like any other lived-in space.

This whole ordeal was still so bizarre anytime he stopped to think about it.

And then just a smidge stressful, whenever he stepped back to look at the bigger picture of the ordeal. Like, the fact that they were on an island. Surrounded by water. And not just any water. The ocean. Big water! Dear god, there was so much of it out there, just waiting to swallow the place whole.

Just hours ago it made its first strike. It took their shoes and socks the instant they turned their backs!

Note: Never turn your back on the ocean.

"Alright, if we get more sandals, we need to make sure to not lose them by the ocean again," Alan said, gesturing for Lyall to follow him towards this so-called plaza. "I suppose we have countless of free shoes to choose from while we're here, but think about all the turtles that would choke on that sandal."

"The solution," Lyall replied, "is simple; never walk by the shore again."

"Or," Alan offered with a reasonable tone of voice, "you can tie your shoes around your ankle."

"Or," Lyall countered lightly, "I just stick with my original plan."

"Which is to buy Kroks, right? I've heard they make excellent water shoes. And they're fashionable, too," Alan said with a teasing smile.

Lyall laughed, half-amused and half-mortified at the mere thought of the sin. "Good lord, no!"

"There are also sock-shoes that wrap around each of your toes and also provide a sole for your foot. I'm sure you'd love that, considering it'd be impossible to lose to the water," Alan went on jokingly, playfully elbowing his side.

Lyall batted him away. "I think you misunderstand the problem," he said, still giggling.

"Personally, I think you'd look great with Kroks. Maybe I'll get a matching pair," Alan mused.

"We'd easily elevate those loathsome loafers," Lyall agreed, "without a doubt."

Speaking of loathsome fashion, a streak of neon flashed by them. Frankly, it caught Lyall off guard with how fast James was running past them, uphill, in some kind of mad, focused tunnel-vision driving him forward. James was on the other side of the wide path, appearing to be in his own little world with blootooth headphones visibly in.

Lyall checked behind them to see if they should be running too.

Nope. James was just insane.

Cupping a hand around his mouth, Lyall called, "Mister James!"

The man whipped his head over his shoulder, as if James hadn't even noticed them while passing. Like a race horse with blinders. He slowed to stop and popped out an earbud.

"What?" he asked.

Lyall raised both arms in questioning. "Where's the fire?"

James stared at Lyall for a moment, and then rolled his eyes, barking out a mirthless laugh.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe you should start one!"

With a long sigh, Lyall dropped his arms to his sides. He did this to himself.

"Lyall," Alan said, clearly supressing a laugh. "Let's get closer so we don't have to yell."

"Well, maybe I find this a comfortable distance," Lyall said (at normal volume); which, admittedly, he didn't.

"Was there something you wanted?" James hollered back. "Or did you just want to harass me?"

"I'd hardly--" Lyall started, then waved a dismissive arm. "We're coming to you!"

After closing the distance, he tried again, "I'd hardly call that harassment."

"Debatable. You did stop him just to ask why he was running," Alan said, nodding to James as a hello.

"That was merely an honest question!" Lyall huffed. Then turned to James. "Seriously, what on this good green earth has got you running to win first place in the Kuntooky Derby?"

James gave Lyall a flat look.

"It helps me calm down," he said plainly.

Lyall was skeptical. Then supposed sometimes the elevation of one's heartrate can indeed help clear the mind. And given Hawke's unique physiology, the effect was probably directly proportional to the intensity level.

"Fair enough," he decided. Then smiled as a thought occurred to him, and offered, "Care to join us as we mill about, leisurely, or are you still in the midst of your daily masochistic ritual?"

"Wow," James said in monotone.

"That's right, we were on our way to get Kroks, right, Lyall? Want to grab a pair with us? I think I saw a fuzzy pink one the other day. It wouldn't make great running shoes, but it would at least match your outfit perfectly," Alan said with a grin.

James didn't look down at himself, but he was, indeed, covered in pink nearly head-to-toe. His disgustingly sweaty t-shirt was a bright, neon pink reading: "live, laugh, love," and his running shorts somehow happened to perfectly match - being white with the same ungodly neon accents. His shoes were the only thing semi-normal, being a neutral white.

"Fuzzy shoes sounds like a disaster on a sand-covered island," James said.

Alan hummed. "True. That would be a fashion crime." As if Kroks to begin with weren't. "Maybe you can get normal rubbery holey shoes instead."

James looked down at his feet, taking out his other earbud as he did so. He pulled out a little case and pocketed them away. Then he looked back up at Alan. There was a slight delay, as he seemed to be mulling over the proposition.

"We can level up from silly shirt society to silly shoe society," Alan added.

Lyall shook his head. The things one does for The Bit.

"Sure," James finally said.

"Wonderful. You know the way, right, Lyall?" Alan teased.

"To my own personal hell of your design?" Lyall stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded as he took the lead. "But of course."

Alan chuckled, and the three of them followed behind.

"So James, I have to ask. How was running with Lyall?" Alan asked.

James cast a Lyall a sideways look, and it was one that was hard to read.

"It was fine," James said. "It was a good run. We had a nice chat, too."

"Did you both run this fast? You're quite a sprinter," Alan said.

"No, I slowed it down," James said. "I know most people can't match my pace."

"A true mercy that was," Lyall agreed lightly.

Oh god, could you imagine if James had taken off like that on him? Lyall would've had to simply throw in the towel right at the start, and wait for him to come back to have any sort of chats.

"I thought you were exaggerating when you said he was fast, Lyall. I take back my doubts," Alan said with a small laugh. "It felt like the wind passed us."

James laughed, but it was more like a sigh.

"Oh, that reminds me, James. Were you able to sleep the night I saw you running?" Alan asked.

Looking between the two, Lyall was reminded of the aforementioned second run that morning. He also noticed a flash of discomfort in James's expression, though he disguised it quite quickly.

"Oh," James said, tilting his head to the side. "Well. Truthfully, I couldn't fall back asleep. But I did lie down for some time."

...Well, that was not a comfort.

"I managed to fall asleep that night at a normal time, though," James added quickly. "So I think I'm starting to finally switch over to island time."

"That's good. It doesn't help when you have jetlag and detention messing up your sleep schedule. Glad that you can get some rest," Alan said.

"Yeah," James said. "Me too."

"Outside of nights, though, how have you been? What's been keeping you busy these last couple of days? Besides running, of course," Alan said, being subtle but quick to move on to a different subject.

"Oh, well, I've been catching up on a lot of reading," James said. "Getting to know my housemates a bit, too. Enjoying the outdoors. Exploring the island. Those sorts of things. What about you guys?"

"Not much different from you, I suppose," Lyall answered. "Simply settling into...whatever this is."

"I'd say it's the same for me as well," Alan said, but went on to provide more detail anyways. "The island has a lot to offer, so I've been exploring scenic spots and taking walks down there by myself or with others. I've also been to the plaza a few times now too, which is a bit moire noisy, but rewarding in its own way. We're not really given too much direction of how to spend our time, but I try to spend it with the other contestants when I can. This week I've gotten to know you two more, as well as Cyrin, Alex, Shane, and Hild. I try to take it one day at a time, though."

"It's all one can do in a situation such as this," Lyall said with understanding.

Ah, the shoe shop. They had arrived.

With his eyes fixed on the sign that announced "Fancy Feetwear", Lyall mentally ground to a halt.

Well now, when did Alan have opportunity to "get to know" Hild? Why? Alone, just the two of them? When? Why?

"Ah, here's the shop. I knew the fuzzy pink Kroks were on display," Alan said as he peered in the glass casing, pointing at it as he looked back at James for confirmation.

"Tempting," James said. "But practically, I do not think I could make use of them. Perhaps we could find a fluff-less pair in like kind."

"Hm. Let's see if they have fluffless versions then." Alan turned to Lyall, closest to the door and in the way. "Ready to go in?"

As he made a new note to question his sister later, Lyall put on his most convincing, care-free grin. "As ready as I'll ever be."

With an exaggerated sideways bend, he reached and opened the door for his...now-tentative friends. He still liked them of course, but he made a note to simply keep a closer eye on them.

Half the shop was filled with Kroks. It was an utter eyesore, and he despised it. But, if the Silly Society was truly trading horrendous shirts for so-called "fancy feetwear", "no" was less of an option, for the sake of loyalty.

"You want pink, right?" Alan asked James, admiring the shelves with one arm crossed and the other hand stroking his chin as if he were contemplating a piece of modern art that no one had any real hopes of understanding.

"If I'm going to put them on after we leave here," James said. "Then yes."

"What about this one?" Alan bent down to pick up a bright neon pink and fluff-less pair of Kroks, offering it to James.

James picked them up, holding them up to his shirt as if to compare the colors.

"Yeah," he said. "That'll work." He searched the shelf and grabbed a box of shoes to try on.

Alan nodded, satisfied. Then he turned to Lyall. "What about you, Lyall? Any catch your eye?"

Well, certainly. But in the way that made him want to, out loud, slander the shoes.

"Wouldn't you know it," Lyall said, bending to get a closer look at a bright yellow pair with fake fur, "the more conventionally-styled ones are the standouts."

Alan hummed, giving him a nod of approval as he eyed them. "So you're on team fuzz. Interesting."

Scoffing, Lyall swore under his breath. "Never in a million years will I ever stoop so low."

"There's ones with glitter," James suggested. It was hard to tell if he was being serious or not.

"Even better," Alan said with an enthusiastic nod.

James picked up a shoe that was bright yellow and covered in yellow and silver glitter, sparkling in the sun. It was a sickly shade of yellow, and frankly barf-like. An abomination, truly.

"What size are you?" James asked.

Bending sideways, Lyall checked for a number on the sole. "That's the right size, but not the right color. In the least."

"You don't like yellow?" James asked.

"I like a nicer yellow," Lyall countered.

James's hand hovered over the yellow krok to the one right next to it. Cherry red, and also covered in glitter. He pulled out Lyall's size and handed it to him. Wordlessly.

Lyall stared blankly at the decidedly not-yellow shoes. "Perfect," he said simply.

The glitter was garish, of course. However, it was without a doubt a superior alternative to fuzzy.

"It suits you. It really completes the look and makes you shine," Alan said.

"It compliments your skin's undertone," James said, deadpanning. "You were right. The yellow one would make your ankles look sickly."

Lyall huffed a laugh as he toed off his regular shoes. "Quit ogling my ankles," he play-muttered.

"Not much to ogle," James retorted, setting the box on the bench beside Lyall. He sat on the other end, taking off his tennis-shoes to try on his own hot pink pair of kroks.

As he slipped on the kroks with the ostentatious gem-like quality, Lyall nodded toward a shelf just past Alan. "I think those'll be a particularly flattering color on you."

Alan was crouching down examining bright oranges ones nearby, but at Lyall's suggestion, he stood up and dipped behind the other shelf, returning with sparkly rainbow kroks.

"Very flattering colors indeed," he said as he lifted them up for Lyall to see. "We can sparkle together."

James, sitting there with the hot pink kroks, twiddled his feet in response. Alan sat between them, switching out of his shoes for the kroks.

Hopping back up to his feet, Lyall experimentally clicked his heels together. Thrice, for good measure.

"Damn," he lamented when they didn't magically transport him back home.

"Sorry, you're not in Kramsas anymore," James said.

Lyall sighed and shook his head sadly. He dropped back down onto the bench next to Alan. "How do they feel?"

"Silly, but comfortable." Alan paused, admiring his new rainbow kroks. He then slipped his foot out to place the strap behind his ankle. "And well-protected from the ocean."

"I think I will get a charm," James mused aloud.

"Why stop at one," Lyall said, staring bleakly at the charms display.

Shuffling over, James drew closer to look at his options, squatting and spinning it around slowly in the throws of decision. One by one, he started plucking different ones off. A martini charm. A cat with a winky face. A flamingo with a cocktail. The running man emoji. And the blushing emoji.

Ah. And a dumbbell charm. Naturally. The psychopath.

Alan, meanwhile, was a little slower to scour through the options, but he gave the charms some quick glances before placing them in his palms and looking through the pile again. He had a violin charm, the salsa woman dancing emoji, a wine glass, taco, sun with sunglasses, and a rose.

Ah, what the hell. He already tossed the last shreds of his dignity out the window the minute he stepped into the shop.

Hopping up once more, Lyall meandered over and gave the display rack a good spin to scan the options. Grabbing them mostly at random, he picked through a little charm pile in the palm of his hand. There was a small flame, an aloe plant in a little white pot, an abbreviated set of piano keys, an ale mug with a cheeky wink, and the poop emoji. Some were more apt than others, but he was abiding by the "take what you touch" rules and stuck with them.

"Found one for you," Alan said to James, tossing him a charm.

James caught it, and flipped it around, revealing a potato. With a face.

"Nice," James said.

"And here's one for you," Alan said to Lyall, tossing him a different charm.

Catching it, Lyall held it up to the sunlight. It was a charm of the grossly-yellow fuzzy crocs. With a tired smile, he blinked at Alan.

"I will treasure this," he said with great feeling, clutching it over his heart.

"Treasure, you say?" Alan mused, tossing him another charm.

This next one made him snort; a treasure chest charm.

"How are you so prepared with these?" he wondered aloud.

"I don't think he has enough space for all of those charms," James said.

"Nonsense," Lyall countered, "have you seen these abominations? They look like they came straight from a western showdown. Got all shot up."

James snorted, getting to his feet.

"Well, I'm ready to make my purchase," he said.

"Don't worry about that," someone said, and Lyall turned to see Dante-- wearing stylish shades as always-- step into the aisle. "Those are for free ninety-nine."

Dante must've been pulling double duty like the rest of the island staff, working specifically as a Kroks salesman. Still dressed sharp as a tack and donning those same mysterious aviators, he looked the part of a salesman. The only thing different about him now was his own pair of electric teal kroks-- probably a requirement in order to really sell them.

Lyall bit back his amusement when he saw that Dante had also donned a good variety of shoe charms. One on foot, there was a pirate flag, a monarch butterfly, and a slice of rainbow-colored cake. On the other, a painter's palette, a ghost emoji, and, naturally, a pair of shades.

"Hey, Dante," Alan greeted. "Do you usually work here?"

"I do not, luckily," Dante said, with a slight chuckle and shake of his head. "They just need someone here for this one shift. I'm not sure I fully heard the question when they asked me to do it and just said yes."

"An honest mistake," Lyall hummed.

From the sounds of it, Dante will likely think twice before blindly agreeing to another favor in the near future.

"Don't mind him," Alan said, gesturing towards Lyall with a playful smile. "Lyall is coming around to loving kroks."

"I'm becoming desensitized," Lyall corrected pleasantly.

"Small victories. I'll take it," Alan said.

"So we really don't have to pay?" James asked with a perturbed frown.

"It's free," Dante confirmed. "Well, it costs you nothing in money. But it might cost you a brain cell or two. For anyone getting anything from this store, they make you watch a Fancy Feetwear commercial before you leave with your item."

Lyall stared blankly at him. "What."

Dante shrugged helplessly, tilting his head to a projector screen that had just illuminated. "Sorry. It's the sponsors."

Commercial wrote:The screen faded into the shore of an ocean. Two pairs of shoes were slowly drifting away from the sand and into the water. Suddenly the backs of Alan and Lyall were shown as they came into view and watched the shoes drift away. They exchanged a look, and the narrator's voice-- which sounded suspiciously like Mireya-- voiced over the video.

"Do you ever feel lost at sea? Do you ever despair that no amount of 2 AM runs in neon shirts with bikini-wearing pineapples will ever make you truly the fashion envy of your block? Then come on over to FANCY FEETWEAR~!"

The video then panned to a computer generated animation of James striking various fashion poses with his neon pink outfit and neon pink kroks, making him look like a magical anime girl. Alan and Lyall acted like his sidekicks, leg extended towards James with their kroks meeting in the middle, staring at the camera with serious faces as they glittered, shining along with their kroks. Cheery retro music played in the background.

"Get your KROKS for KRACKIN NOSES just like THE HUMAN LIGHTNING ROD!" Mireya's voice narrated like a monster-truck rally announcer. "No, you didn't hear me say that. COME TO FANCY FEETWEAR TODAY!"

"You should really feel bad for me. I have to watch some version of that every time someone gets something from here," Dante said.

"I will never shop here again," James said distantly.

"Understandable," Dante said. "I appreciate that you're making good choices for your mental health."

"Is... that a real commercial?" Alan said, still staring at the screen, which was now only showing static.

Lyall likewise squinted at the now-blank screen. "Did you drug us somehow?" he whispered.

"No, and no," Dante said. "I don't think Mireya is properly authorized to make real commercials-- that is, until she starts spending more than five minutes putting them together-- and if you are drugged, it has nothing to do with me."

The long silence that ensued was...haunted, to say the least.

Alan cleared his throat. "Alright. Well. Thank you... for the kroks."

"And your sacrifice," Lyall added solemnly.

"Of course," Dante said, sounding a little tired.

"I'm a little unsure of how effective this business model and marketing campaign is, but I hope it all works out anyways," Alan said.

"Oh, I hope it fails and they decide it's a bad idea," Dante said. "But thank you anyway."

James seemed to have nothing left to say on the matter, as he'd proceeded to quickly pop the charms he'd "purchased" into the holes of his kroks. Alan followed suit.

Lyall took pity on the grounds manager, turned temporary Kroks salesman.

"Is your shift almost done?" he asked. "Perhaps you can step out for a few moments, grab some refreshments with us."

Dante thought about it. "Technically, I'm not done here yet. But my job as grounds manager trumps this role, so if you only pretend to have questions for me, I am allowed to leave."

"I have millions of questions, actually," Lyall said quickly, "no ruse necessary. This couldn't be a more legitimate occasion."

"Perfect, then. I'll just change shoes real quick, and I'll be there to help you." Dante gave them a quick salute and smile, before disappearing from the aisle.

Oh. A bit of a shame, Lyall thought with a slight pout. But a man had nothing if not his in-tact dignity, and he wouldn't blame a single soul for not wanting to be seen publicly wearing Kroks.

"Do you think he's going to change out of his kroks to wear a different pair of kroks?" Alan asked with a silly smile, standing as he finished putting his last charm in the krok hole.

"Probably not," Lyall guessed. "There wouldn't be a point in switching out one eyesore for another."

"Maybe he wanted to put the silly in silly shoe society," Alan offered.

The "agreement" from the start-- though he was hardly a willing participant-- was that Aaron was required to step outside and sustain a full conversation with at least one living individual, face to face, for at least two hours. Every day. Talk to someone.

For good measure, they didn't give him furniture in his bedroom in order to barricade himself in from that obnoxious ass, Alex. Aaron could lock the door like a simpleton, and he often did since that's all he had. But even that didn't even give him any miniscule amount of peace of mind, since apparently they housed him with Jay, a seemingly spectral being to whom the laws of the natural world did not apply. Go figure.

The loathsome, attention-seeking nightmare-weaver Alexander, from their very first day, cast his vote that Aaron's room would devolve into a "sty". And later expressed other unflattering assumptions about his capabilities as a fully functional human being.

Well, joke's on him! There was nothing to mess up in his room to begin with (aside from a hammock and a night stand for the lamp), and Aaron was actually a pretty good cook, if nothing else. He just often didn't come across the materials for a complete, well-rounded meal.

Aaron did find comfort in his housemate having false information about him, however, so he made a point to only use the fresh produce that magically appeared in their shared kitchen, whenever Alex and that new lady Tula were out being...social. Eugh.

Setting the cold vegetables and a knife on a cutting board, Aaron quickly scanned the room and ceiling. Did a double-take when he thought he saw something floating in the corner, but it was just a dust bunny. He squinted suspiciously at it, anyway.

He didn't like never knowing where the spectre, Jay, was hiding.

In the tug-of-war between keeping as much of himself a secret as possible and hunger, hunger quickly won out. It usually did.

In the midst of chopping vegetables, however, his brief departure from his room went awry. The spectre phased through the wall without announcement, nearly causing Aaron to chop off a finger.

Throwing himself into the corner, Aaron instinctively threw the knife. His heart skipped a beat with sheer panic as he registered his mistake.

"Dude," Jay said, as if unimpressed, as the knife went through him, like he was a ghost, and the knife clattered off the wall behind him.

Clutching at his chest, Aaron heaved a long, loud, withering sigh. If there wasn't a cupboard behind him, he would've just fallen over and passed out there on the floor.

"I keep forgetting about that," he eventually coughed, hauling himself back up to his feet.

"Good to know you meant to kill me, then," Jay said, walking over to the fridge on what appeared to be solid feet. But Aaron could never truly know.

He hadn't, but true intentions meant nothing at this point. Jay remained unharmed, and Aaron now had to clean off his knife. In the presence of another person, Aaron hastily resumed vegetable beheading with far less confidence.

"The hell are you so anxious about, anyway?" Jay asked as he opened the fridge, sticking his head in. "We so much as breathe next to you and you flinch."

Before Aaron could come up with an answer, Jay popped his head out from the fridge door and made eye contact with him, his expression never changing from its constant look of disapproval.

"I'm not asking because I care," he clarified. "I'm just obligated to make conversation."

"That makes two of us," Aaron muttered. He tossed the vegetable cubes into a tall stock pot. Then stared at them as they sizzled in the oil, wishing they were meat while also debating on how to answer.

He settled for a reasonable sounding, "None of this is natural, and I don't know any of you."

"So you're not like this at home?" Jay asked, pulling pita bread out of the fridge alongside some hummus.

"Not at all," Aaron half-lied. He seasoned everything and gave it a good stir.

"Where is home for you, anyway?" Jay asked, taking a seat at a stool by the counter.

Aaron let a long moment of quiet lapse between them, in the hopes that they could forget about the conversation in that short time and carry on in silence. Then let out his most put-upon sigh when it felt like Jay wasn't budging.

"...The Annexed States," he mumbled.

"You know," Jay said. "You have no right to complain about not knowing anyone here if you don't even try."

Jay lifted up a piece of pita bread and pointed to himself with it.

"Me? I'm trying. Stop giving me shit for asking normal questions," Jay said. "And don't tell me you weren't. I know that sigh."

Aaron visibly bristled. "I don't want to be here," he shot back. "My free will, my entire life, is being screwed with. So forgive me if I try to take back what little control I can by 'giving you shit'."

"You're living in a luxury house that's a thirty-second's walk from the beach," Jay said. "You have more comfort right now in this moment than some people have in their entire lifetime, and you can't appreciate it because its not on your terms. I refuse to feel sorry for you. You don't deserve my pity because you don't deserve this."

Glaring daggers at the spectre, Aaron remained quiet. A dreadfully long silence passed before Jay spoke again.

"The Annexed States," Jay said plainly, as if he hadn't just insulted Aaron's most-core principles. "Are they just like they look on the map? Like people say?"

"For someone who 'doesn't care'," Aaron replied instead, "you are awfully opinionated."

"I can have opinions and not care about you as a person," Jay retorted, taking a bit of his pita.

Fair enough.

"For the sake of meeting required social minimums," Aaron said, now filling a large measuring cup in the sink, "where are you from?"

"Nye," Jay answered.

"What part in Nye?" Aaron idly furthered. He dumped the water into the pot.

"The Great Sands," he said.

Aaron wracked his brain for more conversational fuel, if only to get out of socializing faster. "What are your...career prospects?" he forced himself to ask.

Jay didn't seem to like that question, because he flickered in and out of existence. At least, Aaron assumed that meant he was irked. It seemed to happen when he was upset.

"Don't really have any," Jay said. "I don't want to be a barista all my life."

Glancing up from the pot, Aaron studied him closely once more. "You...work in customer service?" he asked doubtfully.

"I put on a face, just like everyone else," Jay said. "And it comes off the moment I clock out."

That tracked.

Once the vegetables came to a boil, Aaron turned it down to a simmer, then covered the pot.

Damn. Now he had no excuse to not look at Jay.

"What about you?" Jay asked, looking down at his pita as he dipped it in the hummus. "What are your career prospects?"

Eyes trained downward as he drummed his hands on the counter, Aaron reluctantly answered, "Pharmacologist. Hopefully."

"Are you in school for that?" Jay asked.

"Yes." Aaron shifted his weight between both feet. He looked at a wall clock hanging in the living room.

A long pause passed.

"How familiar are you with poisons?" Jay asked.

Slowly, Aaron looked back down to Jay and blinked hard. Suspicion prickled the back of his mind, but it was drowned out by a tinge of excitement and great intrigue. "Quite," he answered quietly. "Why?"

Jay didn't look up from his food, but glanced off towards the stairwell.

"...Just in case," Jay said, then met Aaron's eyes. "For when their deal falls through."

Aaron briefly followed his gaze. Very begrudgingly, he had to admit to himself that he liked how Jay thought.

"Don't touch my food, though," Jay said after a moment.

"Don't give me reason to," Aaron agreed.

At that, Jay only nodded.

"Good talk," he said, picking up his pitas and hummus.

He got up and turned to walk away.

Good talk, now that it was finally over and done with.

In a small (presumably) break room, behind the scenes, Bo and Dante sat at a small table, listening to a quiet, tinny pop-song coming through the speakers in the other room.

The taller man was leaned back in his chair, and the chair looked a little strained under his weight as the front legs barely lifted off the floor, balanced only by the will of man in the seat. He was sipping a glass of water, and in front of him was an empty plate, with crumbs left behind from a now-eaten sandwich.

Meanwhile, across from him, Dante was in his signature sunglasses, even in the dully lit room. He had no plate in front of him, but he did have two different coffee mugs on the table-- both empty. The sunglasses kept him from looking too tired, but the way his head was tilted back slightly towards the ceiling made it seem like he'd had a long day.

"They got you on krok duty, huh?" Bo asked, setting his cup down on the round table in front of him.

"They did," Dante said, with a faint chuckle and shake of his head. "There's a few perks to this job, but the knowledge that at any point I can be sent to wear those shoes is not one of them."

"I mean, shoes aren't really that torturous," Bo said. "Are they?"

"I used to think so," Dante said, looking down from the ceiling again. "Torturous might be a little heavy of a word, however. Maybe krok duty counts as more of a burden that can easily feel like a punishment."

Bo hummed.

"Punishment for what?" he asked.

Dante rubbed his eyes under his sunglasses. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I get the feeling that the Trieus don't like my style, so it could be something there. But if they don't, I'm not sure why I'm still here."

"Could just be a contractual thing," Bo said. "Since we all signed contracts upon hiring."

A pause.

"Sucks that they don't like your style, though," Bo added. "I rather like your style."

"Oh, thank you," Dante said with a light laugh, resting one elbow on the table so he could rest his chin in his hand thoughtfully. "I'm just trying to strike the right balance between doing what seems best and not rocking the boat too much, I suppose."

Bo nodded with understanding. "That's a hard balance to keep," he said soberly. "And it's only week one."

"Eleven more to go." Dante scratched the back of his neck. "Speaking of, how's the first week been treating you?"

"Not too bad," Bo said. "I've just been doing a lot of prep work. Honestly, most of it's budgeting and planning. I'm in charge of keeping stock of everyone's food, and all."

He paused with a chuckle.

"I bet the contestants all think the food appears magically."

Dante chuckled as well. "That's what I've heard as well. I haven't actually corrected the assumption yet to anyone."

"I have a feeling they have a lot of questions about how this island works," Bo said.

Dante nodded. "The strangest one I've heard so far is, 'Do the kitchen tiles work the same way as the one at the pool that flipped over?' I didn't know how to respond, except to assure them that nothing like that would be happening in their kitchen."

"I thought Carter rigged this whole place like a giant mechanical underground chutes and ladders, though," Bo said.

"Right." Dante sighed. "So I don't even know if I was telling the truth."

"Huh. That's kind of a bummer," Bo said.

Dante hummed, looking down at the table as he poked one of the empty mugs, which spun around with a clatter. "Being the go-between is strange like that. It's constantly making decisions about what to tell contestants and what to tell the higher-up staff."

"I mean, I'm not saying it's a reflection on the judgement of our superiors, but they clearly hired you thinking they could trust you with that judgement," Bo said. "So I wouldn't overthink it too much. You're in touch with your gut feelings. You probably won't always make the perfect decision, but sometimes there is no 'perfect' decision."

Bo offered Dante a small smile.

"It doesn't hurt to talk about it though, if you've got the time and you're unsure of anything," Bo said.

Dante smiled faintly. "I appreciate it, Bo. Nothing terribly crucial for me to do has come up yet, but..."

He hesitated, for just a moment.

"This season's contestants are not endearing themselves to our superiors," he said. "Which makes me worried about my ability to help them properly."

Bo looked off in thought in a knowing manner. Without saying, they both knew who Dante was referring to.

"You're not going to be able to protect them from everything," Bo said with a sober sadness. "But what you can do is prepare them for it and help them to navigate it when it comes."

Bo looked down into his water glass with a small sigh.

"And if you must rock the boat," Bo said. "Plan it wisely. Because it'll affect everybody."

Dante nodded slowly, and even though his eyes were covered, it was obvious from the rest of his face that his gaze had gone distant.

"Right," he said. "There's going to be some storms ahead. Better to prepare for them than tell the weather what to do."

"That's Ivar's job," Bo said.

It was a joke, but it was clear that what he really meant was that neither he nor Dante had the power to change the tides. Not truly. That was in the hands of the DMV and the Game Master.

Dante let out a huff of laughter all the same, but it was dampened by the dark mood.

"So I'll do my job," he said. "Try not to spite the storm and keep everyone safe."

"That sounds like a solid plan to me," Bo agreed.

And in the silence that followed, a pact was made.

James knocked on the door of the women's cabin, deciding to just take a chance and see who was home. Without a phone, he really had to way of communicating with anyone outside of face-to-face, and it made it so if he wanted to meet with anyone, he had to seek them out, rely on a chance meeting, or plan something ahead of time. It was working well enough in the mornings - he and Hild had an unspoken arrangement to join one another outside at 5am on the dot, and they'd run around the island and see the sunrise. Often, they'd get breakfast after.

It also worked well enough to run into his housemates when he was home. He often ran into Shane, and they'd get to talking more about history or any other subject of interest. He was becoming easier to engage in conversation, but honestly, it was just as comfortable for them to both sit in the living room and just read. Sharing the same space.

Even Connie would join them on occasion, though it was too soon in their stay to say it was a recurring pattern.

As for everyone else, though, he really only ran into them on accident. It happened on occasion with Clanny in the mornings, since she'd walk her dog. Or Alan, sometimes, when he'd wander outside in the middle of the night. But he hadn't really been able to run into Eve.

He never had a chance to really thank her for bringing his things back. And it'd almost been a week already.

Standing outside, he waited a beat before he heard a response.

"Only Clarity is inside. Hild and Clandestine stepped out," a voice said after he knocked, coming from the sitting area to the side of the cabin.

He recognized the voice as Eve, but he found himself searching for where she was before finally turning the corner of the porch, seeing her seated in one of the porch chairs, her legs brought up to her chest as she tilted her head back towards him.

"Ah," James said. "I was actually looking for you."

Eve wore white overall shorts with a black tee underneath, and she had a closed book in front of her-- though it didn't have anything in the front. It looked to be closer to a journal, especially since she held a pencil in her other hand. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, and at his statement, surprise fell over her face.

"Oh. Me?" she said quietly, setting her legs down to sit up more straightly.

James flashed a small smile.

"It's not anything serious," he said. "I just never had a chance to thank you for bringing my things back after the pool party scenario. Clandestine told me later that you were the one who brought them back after I disappeared. I really appreciated it."

He didn't really want to elaborate on how it was one of the few highlights of an otherwise terrible day, but he felt like that was a given anyway.

"That's fine. Really. It was the least I could do, considering I suggested that you place your items over there. I didn't know if you'd get it back, so I figured returning it would make this one less step stressful for you," Eve said.

"It did," he said with a small nod.

He didn't know if he should mention how his phone was dead. Or that everything inside had water damage (apart from his clothes and his towel, which were simply washed). Maybe that was better left unsaid for now.

"Did I interrupt something?" he decided to ask, gesturing to the notebook in her hands.

Eve shook her head, placing the notebook and pencil in her tote. "No. There's not much to interrupt, considering I've been idly spending my days on this island doing nothing."

James raised a brow.

"What have you been doing these last few days, then?" he asked.

Eve hesitated, obviously beginning to filter her answer. "I've done some exploring, but I've mostly stuck around the cabin area and spent time with my cabin mates. What about you?"

James's expression softened. "Sorry, I didn't mean to come off as judgemental. It's a vacation, after all, so... yeah. I haven't been up to a whole lot myself, either. I've been trying to get outside as much as I can, though. It really is a beautiful island."

"I guess the tropics just isn't my thing," she said with a shrug. "Not that I chose to be here. But it is nice to look out the window everyday and see the ocean."

"Agreed," James said, glancing over his shoulder at the waves in the distance.

There was a short pause before he looked at her again with a small smile.

"Well... if you're not busy at the moment, I'm not doing anything either. Have you had a chance to explore the plaza at all?" he asked.

Eve looked at him blankly, not following. Clearly, she didn't know the plaza even existed.

"It's in the center of the island," he said, deciding to be more direct. "It has a bunch of shops and pretty views overlooking the island, since it's uphill. If you're interested in seeing it, I could show you the way. Would you want to walk with me there?"

Eve hesitated again, but then she nodded. "I suppose I have nothing better to do," she said as she stood up, slinging the tote on her shoulder. "I didn't know there was a plaza."

"It was in the brochure," James said with a small shrug. "Did you get one of those?"

"I think I got an outdated one. The one I had looked to be printed twenty years ago," she said with a sigh.

James huffed a laugh.

"All this money spent on our cabins," he said. "And they couldn't be bothered to update the brochures."

"I know. They need to pour less money into drama and more into informational material." Eve was now standing next to him, glancing behind them towards the center of the island.

James inclined his head, stepping forward to lead the way down the cabin porch onto the sand. She followed beside him.

"Unfortunately, I think they're more interested in drama than informing us," he said. "Drama gets views. Us being informed doesn't."

Eve nodded. "I've never bought into the whole shtick that this was an innocent vacation, no strings attached. That doesn't sell. What does sell is drama, fear, and anger. I think the first weekend is just the beginning of what's to come."

"Soberly, I agree with you," James said. "When I got here, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And, well, it didn't take very long for that to happen for me. I'm afraid for everyone else, though. I think some of the other contestants are still under the impression that this is an innocent 'vacation.' As if it's not still a DMV."

"As harrowing as it sounds, I'm sure they'll learn quickly. But I could also just be a pessimist. I'm sure there will be innocent joyful moments, but at the end of the day, we're here to fulfill a role and be tested," Eve said.

"I just don't look forward to what that entails," James said, putting his hands in his pockets. "I want to think they'd keep things at least relatively... TV friendly. But with my powers being what they are it's hard not to imagine the worst."

"I imagine that not everything need to be televised," Eve said, then paused as she glanced his way. "Sorry. I know that doesn't help."

James let out a weak laugh. "No," he said. "It's fine. I'd rather go in with my eyes wide open than be caught off guard."

"Considering this is a requirement everyone goes through, I doubt it's standard protocol that the tests are painful. But, I don't know, this is strangely being televised. I have a feeling their version of pain is on the same level as the most dramaticized soap operas with bad writing," Eve said blandly.

"Oh, I don't doubt that," James said, thinking back to the menacing note from Tula when she'd cornered him in the hall.

Eve cast him a suspicious look. "You say that as if you've already been subjected to terrible soap opera scripts."

James cast a glance into the trees. There were cameras everywhere.

"My life is like a soap opera," he said.

"How dramatic," Eve said with an amused huff of air.

"You saw me," James said in defense. "I punched a guy. I was put in 'prison.' That was just day one."

"About that..." Eve said. "You said you were trapped with another contestant, right?"

James looked over at her, brows drawn together.

"Yeah," he said. "A guy named Stravos."

As he said the name, however, it seemed to reopen that memory that he'd been desperately trying to bury. This whole week he'd barely slept, and what he wasn't telling anyone was that he was drowning out the anxiety with excessive exercise. Since he couldn't manage to sleep it off.

"Stravos," Eve echoed. "I don't think I've met him, but I still have yet to meet everyone. Do you know which cabin he's staying at?"

James hesitated, slowing to a stop as they came to the edge of the circle of cabins. He slowly turned around, aware that if Stravos did live with anyone, he would've heard about it from one of their more sane contestants by now. There was only one cabin he was completely unaware of, and he found himself turning to stare at the small, tiny cabin at the end of the row.

He'd always assumed that, perhaps, Dante (the man he only briefly remembered meeting at the start) lived there, as the grounds manager. But seeing as he hadn't seen Dante around the cabins at all, that was likely untrue.

James began to realize that ignoring all of this had only become a hindrance to him putting two and two together.

Stravos had to live somewhere, and it was clear that he would be an incompatible housemate with anyone.

Except for...

Wait a damn minute.

"...Is everything okay?" Eve asked, staring at him since he'd been staring off, standing still for far too long to be comfortable.

"Stravos knows Tula," James said under his breath, his brows pinching together.

But hadn't Alex said that he and Tula lived together? Tula was not a common name. There were no coincidences on this island. He knew this because of the Ashlunds. He knew this because even Clandestine and Robin knew each other from work. Maeve didn't make decisions like this on accident.

Eve glanced behind her, towards where the camera were pointed at them. "I admittedly don't know Tula that well either. Is this common knowledge?" she asked, voice more hushed.

"No," James said quietly.

He glanced back at Eve. He felt like he was about to do something stupid. It wouldn't be the first time.

"You said you haven't met Stravos yet," he said. "What do you know of him?"

"Nothing, outside of what you've told me." Eve paused. "Which is really nothing."

"He's a mind reader," James said. "Except he sucks at it. He's accurate maybe ten percent of the time. The rest is bullshit he spouts to mess with you. And I'm pretty sure he's clinically insane. And I do not say that lightly. That guy needs serious professional help."

Eve stared at him, slowly processing. "You know all this because you spent a whole night with him. Is that right?"

"Yeah," James said. "He wouldn't shut up the whole time. But he had a few semi-lucid moments where we... sort of had a conversation."

"If he's actually clinically insane, I don't imagine that being a productive time. And the DMV brought him here and stuck him with you... clearly, he's not only a contestant, but also a pawn," Eve said. "I'm sure he's not even aware of it."

"Not to sound excessively cynical," James said. "But I'm pretty sure we're all intended to be pawns."

"At least we have the illusion of choice. For someone like Stravos, well... it sounds like he may not be stable enough to make choices for himself," Eve said.

James frowned, looking out at the small cabin again.

He really didn't want to see Stravos again, but the humanity in him was concerned for the humanity in Stravos. Was he even being cared for? Did he have his basic needs met? Was anyone checking in on him?

"You said Tula knows him? That can't be a coincidence," Eve said, following his gaze towards the small cabin.

"Yeah," James said, a little more distantly. "He seems... obsessed with her. I don't know how much of that relationship is real or imagined."

She hummed, crossing her arms. "Are you going to bring it up to her? That sounds concerning."

For some reason, James had a feeling that Tula could handle herself on this matter.

"Maybe," he said faintly. He looked back at Eve again, still working through whether he wanted to make this next decision.

"Are you seriously considering paying him a visit?" Eve asked bluntly, studying him.

"I--" he stuttered, unaware that he'd been that transparent. "Well, the guy's -- he needs help. Someone should at least make sure he's okay. I don't know if he's even in a state of mind to take care of himself."

"James, there's staff here. Too many staff members, in my opinion. It's not your responsibility to check up on a clinically insane man," Eve said.

"But they stuck him in a prison cell," James said. "How am I supposed to trust them to take care of the guy if they put him in a box of his own refuse for a few hours because he -- well, I don't even know what he did. But that kind of punishment for someone so unstable isn't ethical."

Eve stared at him like he was the insane one.

"You do know that millions of people are watching this show, right? They're not going to be cruel on purpose. Especially for a contestant who clearly needs help," she said.

James, honestly, was very inclined to disagree. But he snapped his mouth shut.

"Okay. Well," he said. "How about you just. Wait here, then. And I'll be back in a few minu--"

"What? No. I'm coming with you," Eve said adamently, but she shook her head anyways. "This is a crazy idea. I can't believe we're doing this."

"If it goes downhill fast, I can always use force," James said, but he knew it was a terrible joke. And he wasn't entirely joking, either.

Eve sighed. "Is he violent?"

James pulled back his lips into an unsure frown.

"Not violent," he said. "But he doesn't respect personal space."

"Along with the people that run this place." Eve shook her head. "I still think this is a bad and impulsive idea. But you're not going to change your mind, are you?"

James pursed his lips, giving the cabin one last squinting look. He let a small silence pass as he mulled it over once more.

"I dealt with him for a whole night," James said. "I can deal with him for five minutes. But you should mentally prepare yourself in the event he does say something he shouldn't know. He's not always right, but sometimes, he is. If you don't want him poking around in your head, this is your last warning to stand back if you'd prefer."

Eve had been studying him as he talked, her expression unreadable. "What are you going to say to him?" she asked instead.

James let out a small huff of a laugh through his nose.

"Hey, Stravos, I know you're unlikely to actually answer this question, but are you okay? Do you need anything?" James posed.

"Why even ask him if he's unlikely to answer the question?" she asked. "This seems unproductive."

"I like to give people a chance even if they don't take it," James said.

Eve let out a long sigh. "Alright then," she said as she gestured towards the cabin. "I'll follow you."

James nodded, taking in a short breath before he started towards the cabin, noting that the windows were barred and locked. The drapes were pulled closed, and the cabin looked more like a prison by the time they came around to the front, where there was a large bolt over the door that was locked from the outside.

As opposed to, say, inside, where Stravos could get out on his own.

As they rounded the front, James saw one of Stravos's large, bulging eyes peeking through the blinds of the front window by the door. But when James made eye contact, the blinds fell, and Stravos retracted.

James knew that Stravos wasn't a great person, but James still found himself feeling pity for the poor man.

He was being used. Kept up in a cage, like a creature they were waiting to set loose.

This wasn't humane.

Briefly glancing over his shoulder at Eve, James steeled his nerves. Eve was apprehensive, so James was determined to at least put on a front that he was in some semblance of control of the situation.

As his hand reached for the bolt over the door, he did consider coming back again later, on his own, instead of doing this now. But somehow he had a feeling that would be an even worse idea - and one he'd probably get shunned for. Or at least... he'd get a lot of disapproval for doing so.

Releasing the lock, James carefully poked the door open - not fully - and kept his hand firmly on the door handle.

Stravos was already leaning against the doorframe, sticking his head through the crack that was just small enough to keep him from pushing more than his face through.

"You stink of disease," Stravos said, huge eyes unblinking through the crack.

"Good to see you too," James said.

Honestly, at this point, he just had to laugh. He couldn't take this too seriously.

Stravos sniffed loudly. "You stink of dread. And sweat."

"How perceptive," James placated him. "I stopped by to see if you were doing alright. Are the staff making sure you have everything you need?"

Somehow Stravos's eyes went wider as he then attempted to push his head through the crack with only his nose sticking through.

"Tula," he snarled. "You've seen her. You've seen her, haven't you? HAVEN'T YOU?"

"But she hasn't seen you, yet," James said. "Has she?"

Stravos started to howl with laughter, but it was muffled since a part of his lips were through the small crack. "She brought you here! To see me!"

James blinked slowly. What the hell did that mean?

"Okay," James said. "Stravos, I'm going to give you one more chance to let me know if you need anything before I close this door. I'm not going to let you out until I run this situation by Dante. I'm sure he's aware of this arrangement you're in."

Stravos, still maniacally laughing, starting to pant like an animal as he tried to squeeze his bony fingers through the door. He wiggled his face further in, but only managed to get his nose all the way in. He tilted his face to stare at James with one eye, his fingers around the edge of the door so he could pry it up.

James held the door firmly, unflinching, but he had to withhold the temptation to almost laugh. He felt a mix of pity and amusement as Stravos desperately squished his face in the small opening.

"Please let me see her. I want to see her," he panted.

"For all I know," James said. "She might have a restraining order on you. I have to do my due diligen--"

"I can be so useful! I'll kill you if she wants! Killing a killer!" he said with a quivering voice, grinning as he continued to weakly push the door to no avail.

"Riiiiight," James said. "Okay. Either I'm about to push this door into your face or you back up. Your choice. You've got three seconds."

Stravos didn't seem to hear him, or if he did, he didn't seem to care, because he went on to say more true and untrue facts.

"You don't know what you're doing!" he wailed. "Your family doesn't love you! Your lover wants to kill you! Mine doesn't!"

James sighed.

"I can't say I didn't try," he said flatly.

With one arm, he pushed the door in, and with the other, he forcefully pushed Stravos's face inward so it didn't get crushed. James carefully pushed the door just open enough so it didn't crush Stravos's fingers, and then - one by one - he popped Stravos's fingers back in like they were gophers from whack-a-mole.

Then he firmly shut the door before Stravos could push back through. Setting the bolt in place, he stepped back from the door with a small sigh. Stravos's muffled laugh and headbanging on the door was still heard from the other side of the door.

"Well," he said to Eve, putting on a small smile. "That was about as fruitless as you predicted. But at least we know he's still alive. A bit bottom of the barrel for expectations, but, that's kind of where things are at for me at the moment."

Before Eve could comment on that, James started walking away, back towards the path they'd formerly taken to the plaza. Eve followed after him, casting one last hesitating glance back at the cabin before setting her gaze onwards.

"That's not all we learned," Eve said, studying James again.

"I don't have a lover who wants to kill me," James said. "Though he's getting more creative, that's for sure. If he wasn't crazy, maybe he could be a writer. When we were stuck in a cell for several hours on end he came up with this whole story about my ex-husband - who doesn't exist by the way, it was entirely fictional - and I was so bored I decided to go with it. So now he probably thinks I was formerly married to an abusive partner who's waiting back in Nye to kill me. Fun stuff."

Eve nodded slowly, looking like she didn't know what to do with this information.

"Anyways," he said. "You probably weren't referring to that. What did you learn?"

"It sounds like Stravos reads subconscious thoughts and hence was able to pick up that you know of Tula. He seemed surprised that you know of her, so he must not know she's here. It likely goes both ways. I don't think she knows he's here either." Eve paused, furrowing her brows together in thought as they continued to walk. "I'm not sure what to make of it, but it does pose interesting questions. How do they know each other, why is he obsessed with her, and what is their relationship?"

James paused to think, piecing together what little he knew.

The more he thought about it, the more he had a feeling that Tula and Stravos's relationship at least had to be based in some real events. Clearly, they were not involved anymore, but they had to have known one another at some point. Whether it was truly romantic like Stravos imagined or if that obsession was reciprocated was up for debate, but from what James assumed about Tula was that she'd moved on. That, or she never cared for Stravos in the first place. James didn't think Tula's attempt to flirt with him was an indication of anything more than surface-level interest (if it was even real) but if she had no problems messing with James, he could see Tula potentially manipulating others with the same premise. Stravos, in particular, was especially vulnerable.

Anything he could conclude wasn't set in stone until proven, but if Tula didn't know Stravos was here - and he only had a feeling that she didn't - then it was possible that even if Tula was an agent set on his destruction that she was also just another pawn in Maeve's game of madness.

James felt like he came to some point of clarity, but he realized he'd been silent and stuck in thought for some time, leaving Eve's question hanging in the air.

With the constant awareness that they were being watched, James didn't feel comfortable audibly expressing all of his observations. He didn't want to let on that he was as observant as he was.

"It could also mean nothing. I could be overthinking it. Or perhaps there's nothing to deeply think about at all," Eve said when the silence dragged on for too long.

If James caught Eve at some point in either of their homes, maybe he could tell her that he thought differently. But even in that, James didn't know if that privacy was really real.

Maybe he was overthinking it. Or maybe he was being paranoid.

"I guess we'll just have to find out," James said. "I don't really know either."

He decided he was going to stick with the partially honest schtick he'd started with from the start.

"Either way, I hope he gets the help he needs. I'll make sure to find Dante later and talk to him about the Stravos and Tula situation."

Eve sighed. "You're far too benevolent. Stravos clearly doesn't care what you do or think about him."

"Do you suggest I only do good things for the people who appreciate it?" James said.

"No. I suggest not doing good things for people who only wish you harm," Eve said curtly.

James laughed through his nose with a strong puff.

"I don't know if he wishes me harm," James said. "Honestly, I don't know what he wants. Besides to see Tula. That's all he seems to care about."

Eve sighed again. "He seems to lack compassion either way. I don't know if I'd call his fascination with Tula compassion."

"Oh, yeah," James said with another faint laugh. "It's definitely not that."

Eve cast him an odd look, but didn't comment further.

"Where are we going now?" she asked, changing the subject.

Thank goodness. Yes. He was happy to move on and talk about anything else besides Stravos's alleged past sex life.

"The plaza," James said. "Now that the detour is over. There's a lot of shops and little places to see. Is there anything you think you'd be interested in? I still haven't seen everything there is to see, but maybe we can see what else they have up there."

"Ah," Eve said quietly after a brief hesitation. "Do you still want to go? I thought the plaza would be the detour and the cabin visit be the main event."

James paused.

"My cabin or your cabin?" James asked. "I'm only loosely commmited to the plans I made up just now, so--"

"I-- I meant Stravos's cabin," Eve quickly cut in.

"Oh," James said. "Sorry. I'm. Clearly very confused."

James couldn't help but laugh weakly, and he rubbed his face.

Eve cleared her throat. "We can go to the plaza. That's fine." A pause. "I haven't been there before, so I'm not really sure what to expect."

"Okay. Let's start with: how do you feel about window shopping?" James asked.

There was another pause as she mulled this over. "I can be convinced."

James raised a brow. "You sure? That was only option one."

"What's option two?" she asked.

"There's this garden area with a bunch of fountains. Very beautifully landscaped. Lots of butterflies there, too. It's a nice walk," James suggested. "If you're more of an appreciator of nature instead of capitalism."

Eve hummed. "That sounds nice. Are all the flowers in bloom, then?"

"Most of them, yeah," James said. "A lot of those big pink ones. I haven't been able to research what they're called."

He hesitated, hoping that was something that could be glossed over as to why.

"Maybe there's a sign somewhere that says the name of it," he said.

"A walk, garden, and a museum," she mused. "That does sound better than capitalism."

James laughed.

"Option two it is, then."