Survival of the Fittest was, more than anything else in her recollection, an endless political firestorm. An event that reoccurred and was likely to reoccur again. The matter had played a fairly major role in every presidential election in her memory; it probably wasn’t the reason they were saddled with Canon now, but it was certainly a reason. Easy enough to understand; hundreds of teenagers were dead, because of something the American people could not understand why the government seemed powerless to stop. She couldn’t have said when they had started, or how many there had been, exactly; its relevance to her began and ended with its effects on the American political landscape.

Nia always knew she’d live to regret her lack of knowledge in one field or another. This, she could admit, was not the one she was expecting.

[G014] APOLLONIA "NIA" KARAHALIOS: START

When she woke up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, reality asserted itself rather quickly. She was on a beach, which was an unusual place for her to be waking, considering she had never been to a beach in her life. Her memories came back to her as soon as she sought them out and established exactly why she was here, what she was doing, and why there was an unfamiliar bag present with a number on it

G014. 14. A decent enough number. Not all that meaningful, but not ugly, either. She had a habit of attaching meaning to numbers where there was none. She liked numbers, generally. They were easy to understand. She didn’t feel particularly positively about being a number, but she supposed she didn’t have much of a choice.

She also supposed she should be feeling more strongly about this.

She would. Given time. Some of her peers were convinced to the contrary, she knew, but she was not an automaton. She had emotions. She was… unhappy, to put it politely, but at the moment she couldn’t be bothered to give that any attention. There was proof of years and unreturned bodies behind the reality of her current situation, proof that she wasn’t about to ignore at the altars of panic and self-pity. She could die, easily, for less. She would assess the situation, she would figure out what tools she was working with, she would find somewhere safer—she was about as exposed as she could possibly be, sitting unarmed on the beach—and then she would allow herself to cry, or have whatever emotional reaction she felt appropriate.

She probably wouldn’t cry. This felt like a reasonable situation to do so, if she needed to, though, so she gave herself advance permission regardless.

Her bag. Two bags, rather, the one with her number emblazoned on it and a second, similar, equally unfamilar one. The former, she recalled, was more important in terms of immediate needs, as it presumably contained her means for survival. She remembered, vaguely, discussion of weapons, as she unzipped her bag.

Convenient for her that she remembered, or else she would be far more confused as to the… item that had somehow found its way to the top of her new set of belongings. As it were it was still more than enough to momentarily shock her out of her self-induced dispassionate state and into total bewilderment. She… could see how it could be considered a weapon, she supposed. It certainly was large enough. Probably fairly heavy, as well, though she was loathe to pick it up to find out. It was technically better than nothing, though it wouldn’t be for as long as she wasn’t willing to touch it. She closed the bag. She could work all that out later.

Were people really elastic enough that something that big could fit inside them? The mind boggled.

Priorities, she chided herself. She assumed that bag contained other things; food, water, first-aid. She could investigate more thoroughly at a point that was not right now. She glanced inside the second bag and found some of her own belongs, primarily a couple of changes of clothes; she didn’t look thoroughly, but it appeared to be the contents of the knapsack she’d taken on the bus. A quick pat-down of her pockets told her what she already assumed; her phone was long gone. Of course. She imagined someone with more technical know-how than herself could do something quite clever with a phone given the chance, even if all signals were blocked. Better safe than sorry, etcetera.

It was only at this point—and it was this point that she was truly irritated with herself for, so caught up in her own need to detach from the situation that she had missed the most obvious threat to her immediate safety—that she realized she was not quite alone.

The figure was some distance off; their (for she couldn’t even guess at gender from this distance, let alone identity) clothing was dark, starkly contrasting with the sand. She could of course argue with herself that had the person in question actually intended to attack her she would have noticed them more quickly, and therefore her lack of attentiveness was irrelevant, but it hardly felt like much of an excuse. Had they been luckier than she had been, and all things considered it would be difficult not to be, they could be shooting at her by now. She could already be dead. She kept the reality of that at a safe distance, facts measured and set aside, the sudden feeling gripping her stomach not something she could deal with right now.

She was not under attack. She was alive. The figure was not moving. Squinting against the sun, she could see that they appeared to be lying prone, likely still unconscious.

It was then that she had an idea, one that she had no choice but to implement quickly if she wished to implement it successfully. Considering how far her sight lines went she felt confident that no one was close enough to storm in and steal her possessions, and for that reason she did not think about it further before rising to her feet and padding, slowly, frustrated by the lack of traction, toward the boy in the sand. Boy, she knew quickly enough. His identity quickly became equally obvious. She exhaled sharply, her shoulders shaking, a slight wheezing sound escaping her. Laughter. Lucky, for once, that hers didn’t make a sound, because she couldn’t guarantee her ability to have resisted it otherwise. Because what were the odds? What kind of ridiculous joke was this?

The unconscious boy in front of her, terribly overdressed for his day at the beach, was Alexander Brooke.

She knew him, or knew of him, more accurately; his dog was unlikely to escape notice, and was also conspicuously absent from his person at the moment, along with the cane he sometimes carried. He seemed like an interesting person, quite intelligent if nothing else, more than capable of holding his own in class discussions. They had mutual friends; she had asked about him in passing, out of curiosity. But she only knew of him for the quite obvious reason that it was nearly impossible for them to communicate. She could not speak for him to hear, he could not see her signs or her writing. A possible barrier to cross using text-to-speech, but not one that seemed worth making the effort in the past.

Of course, now that it was a matter of life and death, even that option had been taken from her. Short of making physical contact, something she loathed to do even with her family, she could not speak to him in any meaningful sense.

Not that she necessarily intended to speak to him, considering her plan. Her plan was not focused on him but on his presumably-primary bag, identical to hers but for the label of B068. Another unremarkable number, comfortable but not special in any sense. The bag was unzipped, not proof that he had truly not yet awakened, but evidence, at least. Her steps were more cautious as she traversed the few feet that separated her and the bag; she leaned over to open it, one hand cupped over the zipper as it moved across, muffling the distinctive sound.

… Despite her attempts at impassivity, Nia felt her heartbeat catch in her throat.

Living in Tennessee it wasn’t as though Nia had never seen a handgun before, but she certainly hadn’t touched one, lacking both the occasion and the desire. Her hand trembled a bit as she reached out to take it, looking almost toylike to her untrained eyes, wondering if it was loaded, if the safety was on, if she could figure out how to use it? There was ammo, too, and what appeared to be a manual; she made a note to herself to peruse it as soon as she was safe and alone. It wouldn’t do to have obtained such a thing only to ruin the whole enterprise through lack of basic knowledge. She glanced up at the still-sleeping Alexander; he couldn’t possibly use such a weapon properly, right? Of course he could probably still attack someone trying to attack him directly, but he was potentially a danger to unintended targets if he used it in other circumstances.

It was for the best, she tried to convince herself, but the ableism in her own thought process was so ironic that the selfish explanation was preferable. It wasn’t for the best, for him, not at all, but she needed this gun.

She glanced back to her own bags, unsurprisingly still untouched. No as of yet unseen invaders arriving to ruin her day. She wondered, staring at the gun in her hands, if she ought to replace them with what she had received. Perhaps it would be kinder to not subject the blind boy to having to feel up a horse dick. As a bonus she wouldn’t have to subject herself to holding it for too long, either. She examined the bag again for a moment and, in a stroke of inspiration, opened the first aid kit she found hiding within. She removed a small bottle of aspirin before closing the kit and setting it on top of the rest of the contents. Taking advantage of his disability, perhaps, but it would keep him from asking questions in the short term. He would likely assume he’d been given some sort of poison, or drug, or something of the like. Not that it would necessarily matter, to her.

Nia slowly closed the bag, cupping the zipper again, before slowly backing up—eyes locked on Alexander’s sleeping face, examining it for any sign that he might awaken—and then, having determined he was still out cold, turning tail and heading straight back toward her own things. She did not plan on being here when he woke. Smart though he might be, she would have her own disabilities to cope with. If he had potential as an ally in this situation, it was heavily outweighed by disadvantages that would be present even if she could speak, let alone with their total inability to communicate. She slipped the gun and assorted accessories into her bag, eyeing her assigned weapon for a moment before picking it up with some distaste and tossing it, letting it roll toward the sea. Good riddance.

She picked up her secondary bag, lighter than she’d expected—she decided it would be for the best to empty the contents into the other bag if they would fit, though that could wait until she reached a safer location—and then picked up the bag with her number on it. It wasn’t extraordinarily heavy, though a bit moreso than she was used to. She would have to be careful with how much she travelled. She glanced at Alex, in the distance, still fast asleep, and some measure of pity came to her. Being unable to speak on an island where people are trying to kill you was one thing. Being unable to see was quite another entirely. Unfortunate, for him. It wasn’t her problem.

The beach was a particularly unfair spot for him to have been dropped. Not much to orientate himself with, here. No one else here to help, either.

Shame, really. He would die eventually either way.

The ease with which that thought came to her churned her stomach despite her best attempts to keep her emotions at bay. It was true. If she wanted to leave here, he would die. So would everyone else, names and faces she refused to think about for as long as she could. Every one of them. But he was right here. She knew his name, his face.

She had taken the one thing that might have given him any hope. Now he was nothing more than cannon fodder.

That was not her problem. She did not care about Alexander Brooke. She would not care about anyone else. She refused. The feeling in her stomach was crawling up her throat. She kicked at the sand, frustrated. Since when was she so irrational? Why was she choosing the worst possible time for this particular impulse?

She kicked at the sand again, but this time she set on a path back toward the boy she’d just robbed. This was, quite possibly, the worst idea she had had in her entire life. Convenient that she didn’t have much time to have a worse one.

Gallows humor. It wasn’t helping. She was beginning to think she might throw up.

((They took his dog.))

There were obviously far more pressing things that should have been on Alexander Brooke's mind as he laid in what felt like slimy sand, but this was his first coherent thought upon waking up, after the expected "oh my god's" and "what the hell's". He had been sitting near the front of the bus, Montague lying down in the aisle next to his seat. Alexander had been idly patting his head, reflecting on the events of the trip, enjoying the relaxing warmth and soft fur of his animal companion after the annoyance that had been the bus transfer.

Then he had passed out before he had time to panic. Then he had woken up, in a strange room, and heard nothing but panic until a single sharp crack silenced everything and the devil himself gave a short speech. Again, he’d been too shocked to really panic before he was knocked unconscious.

Now, though? It was excruciatingly bright. He instinctively flailed around until he found his sunglasses, which had fallen off his face at some point. The pain in his eyes would linger for a while even after he put them on, but at least it wouldn’t get any worse. Maybe he should’ve welcomed the pain. It was quiet, nothing but his thoughts and what sounded like waves. If he had woken up to Montague whining and nudging him, well, maybe the distraction would make things more bearable; but he was finally, truly, free to be overcome by fear.

How novel! Alexander had never really had cause to feel a deep-seated terror take root. Starting in the gut, spreading through the body, paralyzing him and yet screaming that he needed to get up, needed to run somewhere, anywhere, run away from the sound of the waves and hope for the best, plunge himself into the sea and swim swim swim even though he had never even tried before but it couldn’t be that hard, could it, anywhere was better than there, anything was better than this, anything, anywhere, anyhow,

completely overcome by everything, Alexander just grabbed his head with both hands and shook quietly in the sand for a while. He wanted to cry, to laugh, to scream, to do anything, but the noises died in his throat just like the thoughts died in his head just like he was going to die-

His cheek happened to press against the ground beneath him, and the cold, slimy sensation was gross enough to snap him out of it, at least for now. Ahem. Enough of that, thank you very much. Alexander groaned, finally sitting up. He was uncomfortably warm, and it felt like sand was clinging to every inch of his clothing. He brushed as much as it off as he could. It was at this point he realized that there was something new around his neck. He prodded it experimentally, grateful that it wasn’t choking him. They had taken his dog from him, and then collared him like a dog. Delightful. Like he needed another constant reminder of where he was.

Now that his faculties were finally clearing up, Alexander realized how disconcerting it was to have absolutely no idea what his surroundings were. The continuity of his life had been completely broken. Sometimes it was a bit jarring when he fell asleep in cars and busses, but at least he was still in the same vehicle once they had reached their destination, and he’d still have his friends or Montague to guide him.

The waves sounded like they were coming from about the same elevation he was at, so it was probably safe to assume he wasn’t at the edge of a cliff or anything. Dying in such a stupid way would be unforgivably shameful. He’d still have to be careful as he made his way around.

He vaguely remembered something from Danya’s speech about a weapon. He despised even having to consider that violence would become an integral part of his new life, but it would be irresponsible of him if he didn’t at least check if he had anything useful.

Alexander carefully felt around the area where he had woken up, finally finding two duffel bags. He checked the larger one first, which seemed to be full of supplies. Plastic water bottles, a container that seemed to contain first aid supplies when he opened it, various wrapped food bars, a few pieces of paper… nothing he could really call a “weapon”. Maybe they’d just given him a brochure and called it good. Not like he’d have any way of knowing without asking someone else.

The smaller bag seemed to contain the various snacks he’d had in his bus carry-on bag. A large, half-empty bag of pretzels, a couple granola bars, an unopened bag of miscellaneous fruit snacks, his own water bottle… he frowned. He always carried his collapsible cane in a bag, for emergencies, but he couldn’t seem to find it. He felt around the bag, increasingly desperately, taking each item out one by one. No cane.

Were the terrorists that committed to tormenting him? First his dog, then his ability to walk around unaided, with dignity? What the fuck was he supposed to do, crawl around on his hands and knees to avoid stumbling down a sudden flight of stairs? Alexander wasn’t a man given to rash displays of anger, but he kicked the bag as hard as he could. It had a satisfying thud in the sand, several feet away.

As he stood there, breathing heavily from the anger and exertion, he heard three loud, deliberate snaps from a short distance away. Somewhat embarrassed, he turned to face in their direction. “Hello? Someone there?”

Nia would approximate that three minutes had passed from the moment she sat down, about five solid paces away from Alexander, and the moment he began to stir.

Her actual positioning was a matter of some questioning; there were excellent reasons for her to remain standing, for one. Sitting would limit her ability to flee, should things go poorly, or should a third heretofore unknown individual announce their presence in a disagreeable sort of way. Those factors were outweighed by the simple, unfortunate fact that Nia was not in good shape, and standing still with the rather heavy primary duffle bag, in particular, was going to quickly wear on her. Dropping the bags was pointless as it would negate the advantages standing had in the first place; leaving her bags behind in a hasty escape would be tantamount to suicide. The distance was considered as well, just far enough that he was unlikely to run into her accidentally before she made her presence known but close enough that she could observe.

And observe, she did. She wasn't exactly surprised by his pronounced emotional reaction, though it was quite interesting to watch. She supposed most of her classmates would have expressed similar feelings. Given the circumstances she couldn't exactly dismiss them as irrational. She had to admit, she was fascinated. This was the sort of intense personal study that researchers of psychology were no longer allowed to perform for fear of their long-term effects on the mental health of their subjects. She almost felt like taking notes.

A flippant thought, considering their situation, but she would allow herself those for the time being.

He—and she, at more or less the same time—took notice of his collar. It was only then that she moved her hand to her own, tight to her neck, thin and featureless. Somewhat impressive from an engineering perspective, she thought. She hadn't noticed it right away, but she was more familiar than most with the constant feeling of something squeezing her throat.

He didn't seem to be particularly concerned by the lack of a noticeable weapon in his bag, though she couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, which obscured his expression to some degree. His second bag, though, caused him some obvious upset. Something, evidently, had been missing from it; she made a mental note to check her own more thoroughly when she got the opportunity. What took her by surprise was the empty bag being hurled in her general direction. It wouldn't exactly cause any damage if it did connect, but it indicated a level of distress that might come with heavier objects being thrown. Not something she cared to be on the receiving end of.

She had to alert him to her presence. She couldn't speak, of course, and she still wasn't quite sure how she was going to bridge that communication gap between them, but she could certainly make some sound. She considered clapping, but in his nervous state he might mistake such a sound for a gunshot. Clicking her tongue might not be loud enough, though she imagined his hearing was heightened by his blindness. She settled on snapping, three times in succession, an unmistakably human sound.

It worked, evidently. His expression quickly turned as though embarrassed by his prior actions now that he was aware of an audience; truly the importance of unobtrusive studies could not be underestimated. Now what? She snapped once more in acknowledgment and, straightening her hands to mute the sound, clapped twice. She sounded ridiculous to her own ears, like some sort of trained circus seal, but she would need to get across one way or another that she was both present and unable to speak. Surely he was aware of her existence, having spent four years at school together; he would put two and two together, given time.

She would set aside, for now, what a ridiculous farce it was that the two of them had been left here together in the first place.

More meaningless noises. No, that wasn't right - more noises Alexander couldn't determine the meaning of. They were deliberate. Whoever it was, they were trying to get his attention. He hadn't heard them walk up, but the sand likely would've dampened their footsteps, and he had been, erm, occupied for a while. He hoped they hadn't been watching for too long. He might be disheveled and covered in sand, but he'd been hoping to grab hold of his dignity again; though he guessed that was ultimately just a luxury.

Someone was trying to get his attention, but they weren't talking. The sounds they made were loud enough that he doubted it was out of fear of being overheard by someone. Additionally, he presumed everyone at school had at least a passing awareness of 'the blind guy', so unless they were ludicrously dense he doubted the noise was accompanied by some kind of pantomime. The only explanation that really made sense was that they couldn't talk, for one reason or another.

"Did the gas do something to your throat? Or..." Alexander thought for a moment. "Nia? Is that you?" He didn't know the girl at all, but it was hard not to be at least aware of someone who was for, all intents and purposes, a ghost to you.

"Apologies, but... erm... clap twice for the first, snap twice for the second, cough if it's none of the above?" It felt somehow degrading, but it's not like they had any other option with no one else around.

It appeared that he was approximately as intelligent as she had given him credit for. It was good to know that her opinions of people she didn't know well weren't entirely unfounded; she had a tendency to make assumptions that were occasionally proven wrong, to her utmost irritation every time. She would be selling herself short to call reading people a weakness of hers. She was quite good at it, in her own estimation. But any sort of study required a reasonable amount of data to draw from, and sometimes her available information happened to be limited.

Alexander, by dint of his disability, made himself more interesting than most, and therefore more prone to draw her from-afar observation. For the best, if she was seriously considering allying with him despite his major disadvantages. She assumed he didn't know much about her at all. That was also for the best.

She snapped twice, loud and easy, intrigued by his response. She wondered if he would dismiss her out of hand; his loss, if he did, considering that she was the one between them with a weapon, but she would consider her moment of empathy sated and go on her way. Of course, if he didn't, they would have to find some better solution to the communication problem. "Clap once for yes, twice for no" was only going to get them so far, and Alexander being the only one between them capable of expressing complex thought would make him the leader by default.

Nia did not relish the idea of being a follower at the best of times, and this was, unequivocally, the worst of them.

So it was Nia. That, or a liar, but such a gambit would be so ludicrous and purposeless that Alexander dismissed the possibility out of hand. He welcomed the presence of anyone who didn't simply see him as an easy target, but he was a bit confused at why Nia had approached him. As she was the one who had initiated the exchange, she clearly knew the difficulties in communication that were about to ensue. Did she want something in particular from him, or was she just being sociable; perhaps out of distress for the situation she was in? He couldn't make any assumptions.

Well, if Alexander couldn't assume, he'd just ask. "I have nothing against your company, Nia, but was there something specific you wanted from me? I'm, uh, sure we'll both get very sick of this quickly, but clap once for 'yes', twice for 'no''?"

He certainly wouldn't mind having Nia around, especially if she was willing to guide him around in lieu of a cane; but such an arrangement would be so ludicrously lopsided he doubted it'd hold any appeal. He'd have to rely on her for almost everything physical, and in conversation she'd only really be able to respond to the ideas he had; unless they met a third person or got very creative.

Admittedly, such a challenge was intriguing in and of itself. Maybe they could make it work.

Well. Was there something specific she wanted from him?

It was difficult to say. It was difficult to define specific in this particular context. Her original reason for approaching him didn't fall under that umbrella, seeing as it was a passing and frankly inane impulse that brought her here. Now that she was standing in front of him, though, perhaps there were more specific reasons to stay, since she could easily pick up her bags and walk away. She didn't imagine he'd make a move to follow her, considering his general demeanor. What, then? He seemed like a pleasant enough individual, but considering their difficulties in conversation that didn't count for as much as it might normally. She wasn't sure wanting him as an ally counted as specific, as it seemed like the path of least resistance here was for the two of them to travel together regardless of her answer to this question.

Specific or not, what benefit did having him beside her offer? She wasn't so absurdly sentimental that she would enter a potential arrangement like this that held no benefit to her at all. There was some truth to there being safety in numbers; while he couldn't keep watch in the traditional sense, he was certainly better than nothing in terms of trading off night shifts when and if they lived long enough to try to get some sleep. He was intelligent enough to perhaps come up with plans or ideas she herself might miss. His hearing was likely better than hers, and if she were to be honest with herself he was clearly more charismatic than she was, which would come in handy when diplomacy became necessary.

He would also be very easy to abandon if necessary, or to use as a distraction if caught in a crossfire.

She clapped twice. It wasn't something specific, no, not one thing. She simply wanted to travel with him, and that would be enough. He was correct in assuming that the clapping was already grating on her nerves a bit; she had been thinking through the problem since she'd spotted him, and thought she had an idea that was clunky but usable. Of course, that idea would require him to allow her to touch him, but if he needed her to guide him, which he likely would, that was inevitable either way. She would wait for him to broach the subject; for now she waited, curious as to his thoughts.

Hm. Perhaps Nia really was only looking for company. That was probably naive of Alexander to think, but distrust wouldn't get him off the beach. Still, on the island anyone could be pointing a gun at him and he wouldn't even be able to tell. The idea was disconcerting, so he purged it from his mind for now. When he was relying on the goodwill of others, he couldn't afford to dwell on dark thoughts that'd sour his demeanor.

"Well, if you just want to hang around me for a while, I certainly don't mind. Could I trouble you to guide me off of this beach? Just to somewhere with buildings so I can actually get my bearings would be fine. Our captors confiscated my cane. And my dog." He hoped they had only confiscated Montague, at least. In the best case scenario, they'd simply left him by the side of the road when the kidnapping happened, to be picked up by a concerned motorist. In the worst case, they'd already shot him. He simply had to hope that the terrorist's empathy for animals was far stronger than their empathy towards innocent high-schoolers. He hated the thought of one of them flat-out adopting his dog, too; but at least then Montague would probably live a happy enough life, unaware of what had happened.

"I would really appreciate it." Being concerned about Montague was no reason to forget his manners.

Nia smiled, to no one's benefit. He was awfully polite considering the circumstances. Being concerned about imminent death, she supposed, was no reason to forget his manners.

She clapped once, already more-or-less established as a reliable translation for "yes". It would have been the cane whose absence had caused him so much distress, then, when he was looking through his things. His distress on awakening was likely a near-universal reaction, though the absence of his dog would likely have amplified his emotions in the moment. She remembered the dog; it was difficult not to, considering how much attention it got on a regular basis from students who had apparently never learned not to pet a service animal while it was working. She had no particular affection for animals of any variety, but she could appreciate the job it had done for him. Likely for the best that the creature hadn't accompanied him to the island, though. Eventually someone would have killed it, accidentally or maliciously, and then where would Alexander be? Better to get his distress out of the way. He wouldn't see the dog again regardless.

The request for guidance was tantamount to permission to touch him, she supposed, as she couldn't properly give the assistance he needed by sound alone. It was, if nothing else, a convenient excuse to try out her improvised idea at opening a line of communication. She rose to her feet, her steps toward him measured, leaving her bags behind her for the moment. She reached and touched his hand, giving him a moment to recognize her touch before taking his hand and turning it palm up. With her other hand she pressed her finger into his palm, drawing letters, one at a time, slowly and deliberately.

"H-E-L-L-O."

One clap. How kind of her. It irked Alexander to have to rely on the goodwill of strangers, so he chose to reframe it as a diplomatic success on his part. Not that he was ungrateful, just... annoyed at being stripped of even more of his independence for his last days. He was sure he could find a stick or something, eventually, but for now Nia it was.

Last days. Hm. Intellectually, he knew the phrase was accurate; but it didn't register on an emotional level. Well, he'd already had his mental breakdown for the day, so if the grim specter of his mortality decided not to make an appearance, all the better.

He could hear Nia steadily walking towards him. Alexander stiffened a bit at the unexpected touch, but didn't pull away; and soon understood what she was doing. Clever, if uncomfortably intimate. He wasn't going to complain about the one avenue she had to actively communicate with him, though. "Oh, hello. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." He smiled slightly. If only it had been under better circumstances. Given how she was reacting to the dreadful situation, it seemed she had a good head on her shoulders. They probably would have gotten along.

Still could get along. Just, in a much more roundabout and exhausting process. "I presume there isn't much here for us on the beach, so. Ready whenever you are."

Workable. Inelegant, perhaps, but workable. Considering the circumstances, Nia was willing to sacrifice efficiency for the sake of having something immediately usable. Given time perhaps she could think of something a touch quicker; the method would quickly become untenable in the dangerous situations that would inevitably come up in the near future. Of course in that sort of scenario the spoken word had limited utility when simply grabbing his arm and dragging him in the desired direction would take considerably less time.

She was thinking rather too hard about this considering the unlikelihood of it ever mattering. There were easier solutions to the problem. It was a reasonably interesting thought exercise, but her companion seemed eager to leave the area as soon as possible.

Alexander was right, of course. There was nothing on this stretch of beach besides sand and seaweed. The seaweed was worth noting, considering the limited supplies of food they had been allotted. Nia's knowledge in the field of foraging wasn't particularly deep and was limited to basic rules and certain toxic plants you certainly shouldn't eat, though it was entirely possible that their locale was exotic enough that even the broad strokes rules she was aware of would be irrelevant. One thing she remembered reading, however, was actually useful in this scenario. Seaweed was, at its worst, harmless to consume. Well, not necessarily harmless; she recalled that some varieties caused stomach upset, and she wouldn't be able to discern those varieties from memory. But none were toxic, and at best it would be a source of nutrients when other sources ran out.

Perhaps more important, as far as not immediately leaving the location went, was that Nia had absolutely no idea where they would be going. She needed to consult the map, along with a couple of other small errands. Still holding his hand, she wrote, slightly faster this time now that he recognized their mode of communication:

"N-O-T-Y-E-T."

"M-A-P-R-E-A-D."

She considered for a moment whether to add the other primary action she wished to take. The alternatives, of course, were to either hope he didn't hear her do it, which was at best unlikely, or to wait until he was asleep or otherwise occupied, which was potentially lethal. Besides, taken logically, she was doing it for the sake of both of them. He had no cause to complain.

"L-O-A-D-G-U-N."

Ah, yes. A map. He doubted it came with braille. Alexander was fine with Nia taking all the time she needed to plot a course for them. Her final revelation was of much greater importance, regardless.

"I see. That'll be handy to have around. Lucky us." Was it too soon to count them as an 'us'? Too presumptive? He'd been too focused on staying calm and not betraying his trepidation by trailing off like 'Oh. That'll be... useful...' that he'd lost track of his exact word choice. Maybe it sounded too flat, still; but at least that could be read as calm.

Objectively, the gun was a useful thing to have. Objectively, he was glad that Nia had a gun. There would be a rising malevolence as the days went on, as the gentle and stupid and unlucky were taken advantage of, and they needed an edge. Alexander had lived his life up till now in a world where words were power, but you couldn't speak if you were choking and coughing up blood. Couldn't speak after you'd been made an example of with one sharp crack.

Nia seemed very matter-of-fact about her weapon; even if you considered how much was lost in translation. He wondered if that reflected her general outlook towards their - no, her - survival. Well, he couldn't exactly have a lengthy discussion with her about the ethics of 'shooting them before they shot you', and he didn't want her to doubt his resolve. He'd just have to live with whatever she decided was best.

All this rumination about weapons did remind him of something, though. "Oh - would you mind looking through my bag for me? Nothing felt particularly exciting, so I doubt my weapon is anything useful; but I'm still curious." Maybe it'd been small enough that he'd simply missed it - he'd been far more concerned about reclaiming his cane, after all.

"Lucky us." Interesting. Alexander was rather quick to reaffirm the two of them as an "us" rather than a "me and you," though Nia supposed that considering it was in the context of her gun ownership it was beneficial for him to think that way regardless of his greater feelings on the matter. Even so, it indicated either some assumption of partnership between them, beyond the context of transporting him to a safe location, or it indicated that he wanted her to believe the same. Naivety or cleverness. Either suited her just fine.

Of course, it was also wholly possible that he was not in a state to be thinking so clearly as to be choosing his wording so precisely. Perhaps for the best not to assume anyone on this island was behaving in a particularly rational manner.

She let go of his hands and clapped once, agreeing to check his things despite knowing what she'd find, and took the few steps necessary to retrieve her bags and drop them along with his, sitting once again in the sand. First—well, it wasn't on her semi-official itinerary, but she grabbed a few handfuls of seaweed, tucking them into her primary bag. She'd have to wash it in freshwater before it would be safe to eat, she hardly wanted to be consuming seawater in a situation like this, but the extra calories might come in handy in the future. More important by far was loading her gun. And it was quite easy to accept that it was hers, that her properly-assigned "weapon" was an unfortunate error on the part of the organization that brought them here. The manual was quite detailed, and she would certainly make a point to read the rest later, but actually loading it—a Grand Power K100, the manual called it—was a fairly simple task.

Nia checked and double-checked that the safety was on before sliding the gun into her pocket. Terrible praxis from a personal safety standpoint, but considering her hands would be otherwise occupied as they traveled and considering that keeping it in her bag could easily kill them both, it was the best of a poor selection of options.

The map, next. She retrieved her own, remembering Alex had expressed a preference for a location with buildings. She found their location easily enough, the nearby pier rather distinctive, and conveniently for him there appeared to be a village nearby. Less conveniently for him she would have preferred to avoid it at all costs. Their classmates, inevitably, would gravitate toward indoor locations, considering most lacked any sort of survival experience or expertise, and most would seek any minor creature comforts they could possibly come by in this situation. Of course, she lacked survival experience herself, but assuming the island wasn't stocked with predatory wildlife (a dangerous assumption, admittedly), heading into the woods to the west seemed less likely to end in a lethal confrontation.

Of course, Alexander did have a rational reason for wanting to reach the village, and if he wasn't actually making any greater implications with his earlier comment, they might well part ways there, and she could consider her good deed for the likely rest of her life complete. Then she move into the forest unhindered, assuming the detour hadn't gotten her killed.

... She would decide on the way. It wasn't as though Alexander really had a choice in the matter.

Finally, his bag. She made a, well, "show" was a poor choice of words considering the circumstances, but she made more noise than necessary searching through his things before coming up with the bottle of ibuprofin that he had apparently failed to notice. She rattled the bottle to emphasize it and stood, taking his hand more brusquely this time, as this quickly was becoming routine.

"P-I-L-L-S." She considered lying and stating it was poison or something similar, but it felt like a rather pointless lie. Stating the pills were unlabeled wouldn't work, either, as the label on the bottle was easy enough to notice by touch. No, it was far simpler to tell a half-truth.

"P-A-I-N-K-I-L-L-E-R-S."

She pressed the bottle into his hand, to do with whatever he would, before gathering her own things. The two bags were already cumbersome and carrying both under one arm was even more unpleasant; she told herself that she would do a more thorough inspection of the second bag when they reached their destination, as they'd been here far too long already doing only the most necessary of tasks. She held the map in her left hand, leaving her right arm unburdened to hold Alexander's and her right hand empty to communicate.

She waited for him to put his pills away and wrote one more word into his palm.

"R-E-A-D-Y."

"Well. At least I'm covered if I get a migraine." No 'we', this time, deliberately so. Not that Alexander would've minded sharing his painkillers if Nia asked; he doubted they were anything stronger than over-the-counter anyway. He just didn't want her to feel like he was taking her help for granted. Once the two of them reached a more favorable locale, they could have a (slow) conversation there, rather than dancing around with assumptions and careful word choices. Was Nia even trying to read into his words in the first place? Hard to tell.

Alexander wasn't trying to already be playing mind games, but his words were all he had going for him. No harm in thinking about what he wanted from this potential partnership. He'd just have to hope that Nia was a perfectly nice girl (with a gun) that was helping him out for its own sake. But if not, well. He needed to start figuring out what use she'd have for him before he learned the hard way.

He returned his 'weapon' to his bag, then quickly gathered up the snacks he'd dumped out onto the beach in his frenzied search for his cane and stored them, as well.

"Let's be off."

((Alexander wished that he could have enjoyed the sound of the waves crashing against the beach, for a while. He doubted he'd ever have reason to return to the coast.))

His wording changed. It felt deliberate, almost certainly this time; Nia felt it would be an insult to his intelligence to assume that his words were chosen carelessly. It was an interesting choice. Had him earlier referring to them as a collective been an error that he saw fit to correct? Was he implying that he was under her protection but didn't intend to help her himself? She didn't need his pills, obviously, so the actual practical meaning of his words was irrelevant. She wondered idly if perhaps it would have been smart to replace his pills in his kit with her own, such that he would be forced to assume he'd simply been given a second bottle if someone else helped him go through his things, but it had been a spur of the moment decision on her part to position the pills as his weapon in the first place. She would rely on his trust for the time being, and hope that if he did catch on it would be long after she had absconded.

She glanced at the map again. There was an obvious path that led toward the village; pros and cons of following said path were also obvious. Simplicity of travel and avoiding the difficulties of leading a blind man through tricky terrain versus being out in the open, easily targetted. Of course if she chose any other direction she lacked the benefit of having that choice. No other paths left the bay; if she wanted to head elsewhere they would be forced to travel the woods. Uphill.

Nia exhaled sharply through her nose in irritation. She imagined she would be physically exhausted in short order. Perhaps the village was the best choice after all. As much as she wanted to work off of pure rationality, she unfortunately had to take into account her physical limitations. Map in hand, though she would hardly need it with the path stretched before them, she took Alexander's arm and began to walk.

The salt was beginning to sting her nose, anyway. She had no sentimental attraction to these waters. She hoped not to see them again.

>> Nia Karahalios continued in Rigor Samsa