silence that comes back

“Look at this fresh air. You don’t get this type of thing on the low grounds.” Ignoring the fact everything on this island is fresh air, Mallory holds her rock up as though it’s a person. Sunlight glints off the metallic paint she gave it for a face and then she lowers it with a sigh. “Okay, to the river! There’s one somewhere around here...” She can feel it, but the location of it? A little more difficult to pinpoint. It’s a vague tug in the gut. 

Her hike is a little spur of the moment. No supplies, short of Henry and a half empty canteen, and Mallory half hopes she finds something to make it worthwhile. The sounds of footsteps on the stone path behind her has her whirling around, but short of the tall grass falling into place behind her and the swaying wind, there’s nothing there.

Mallory snorts. “If you’re trying to play a trick on me, you’re sorely mistaken. I don’t get scared easily. Come out, kitty, kitty, I’ve got to reach the peak before long.”

@tamyrawilliams​

People ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at the sight of the waterfalls and its thunderous crashes. Mallory only has eyes for the trees: green, tall, and wrong. Unfamiliar. She slips away from the crowd - only enough to prod one of the tree trunks with a single finger, frowning all the while. “Toto, I don’t think we’re on our beach anymore,” she declares, drawing a hand back, squinting. She catches sight of a friend-not friend and beckons her over. “Ah, Tamyra, look, this tree doesn’t have a single marking on it. No flower, no smiley face. I’ve marked every tree I could reach near our jungle. How is this ours then? I didn’t even ask her where we were going!” She pauses abruptly at the sight of water and inhales a little shakily.

"Thank goodness, I’ve missed freshwater. Not even to drink, just to... have and see,” she says, sighing, crouching down along the edge of the water. Her fingers trail through it. She cups it, splashing some on her face, ignoring the way it makes her wine-colored crop top cling to her neck. “Okay, I guess if the water is this nice, I can accept how different this place is." Swiveling her head, she raises a brow at Tamyra. “What’s wrong with you? You know, besides running through a cave for days.” 

.

“Amazing? That is one way to put it, yes.  I suppose it is quite amazing, as in I am amazed by this…cavern.  Existing all these years under my feet.  And no one every knew about it for all this time.  No, not even Toni or Esther.”  Both of which were two of the best earth-attuned who Joaquin knew.  “Strange.  I would call it very strange, non?  But I am so glad to see you alive and well. It - it seems at least that everyone is alive and relatively well.  Gracias a Dios.”

He realized then when Mallory went into an annoyed rant that maybe ‘amazing’ was meant sarcastically, and so he gave her a sympathetic smile.  “I’ve hit my head many times in the fall, but I assure you I’m feeling much better now,” he said, happily allowing Mallory to plap her hand against his face.  “I’m looking for wine, to whet this attempt at a torch.  My fire has nothing to be fueled.”

In the dim light created by other fire-attuned attempts at fires, Joaquin made out Mallory removing her shirt with little hesitation.  “Oh -”  Joaquin immediately turned away, looking up to his right, blushing read.  But Mallory is right - her shirt is wet with wine, and Joaquin busies himself wrapping it around the branch.

“Ahhhh, quel dommage, I’m sorry for your shirt.  But - “ With a flick of his flint, he ignited the cloth.  Triumphant, he looked at Mallory, then looked immediately away.  Sure, her bikini wasn’t anything abnormal to what she often wore, but right now it just seemed…too much.  Or too little, really.

He handed her the torch and took off his dusty robe, then pulled the holey wool sweater under it.  Beneath that he had multiple layers of clothes.  “Here!  Take my sweater.  Or would you like this?” he removed the t-shirt, offering it hopefully.  He kept pulling off tops to offer her, until he reached the wine-coloured crop-top, gifted to him by Tamyra.  “Here!  You might like this one.  Would you like to wear it?”

《❀》 

“Maybe the island conjured it out of nowhere to keep us on our toes!” She declares, a finger pressing against her chin in thought. Her head shakes, curls bouncing, and she pats his shoulder. Or she assumes it’s his shoulder and could quite possibly be his chest given how broad he is. It’s a bit too dark to see anything useful. “It’ll take more than a cave-in to kill me, Joaquin.”

Her hand drops. “You hit your many times and you’re fine? That sounds incorrect, but if you’re certain!” She resolves to watch him closely the moment they can see further than a few inches in front of them. Lights flicker out of the corner of her eye as people try - and fail to somewhat hilarious results - to create a fire. She grins as she fishes over her shirt and winks at man who shoots her the most adorably upset look.

Then, to Joaquin, she nudges him. “It’s fine. At least I’m still wearing shorts for now. I can’t give you those, though, I don’t fancy walking around showing my bare ass to everyone. Well, not tonight.”

Bemused, she watches him remove his clothes too and wonders about those stories about him wandering nude through the jungle. But, no, it’s just to reveal more clothes and she’s only a tinge disappointed by it. “Why are you wearing so many clothes? That sounds so hot. Temperature wise, not sexiness, but I suppose this is charming in it’s own way. Ooh, is that a crop top? Thank you!” She snags it from his hand with one hand and deftly manages to yank it over her shoulders without dropping the torch.

Location: Caves Babey! Time: Post Event Midmorning  @mallorycastle​ 

Had it been anyone else, save her granddaughter or Genevieve (grandGenevieve?), Magnolia would not be deep in the newly revealed cave system right now. In fact, she wouldn’t be in a cave at all. She would be above ground where water didn’t drip down and stain her shirt, where her boots didn’t need to struggle to grip the alternating moist or sandy floor, and her head didn’t ache from constantly trying to unspool the knotted mess of auditory feedback that bled through the interlocking tunnels below the island. 

Regrettably, however, Magnolia liked Mallory. And the last time Mallory attempted to spelunk alone she ended up stuck, alone, in a hole. And, now, Esther was also lost, alone, and in some hole or buried beneath rubble. 

Now they could get stuck in a hole together. Better? Arguably not, but they had committed at this point. 

No halted in the middle of the cave as they reached another fork in tunnel, the echoes from their footfalls filtering back up told her that down either side would lead them to yet more divergences. “Which way do you want now?” She tilted her head towards Mal, the furrow that had carved itself between her brows the moment they began this venture remaining fixed in place as she kept the route they had taken (right, right, left, another left, right–) in her head. 

《❀》 

Mallory spun her map around with a frown. Her flashlight is tucked between her shoulder and her head, pointed at the map. As she spins the map around, biting her lip, she imagines she looks deranged. “Well, I’ve been using this as a reference. I mean, look, we know this weird dead end was the one we saw a while back, so this is clearly a map of the same area. But his map only go so far. It looks like he went this way and then just... stopped.” Whether this was before he died, or when he hit the same fork and gave up, she doesn’t know.

“But no one has been down here in so long. Maybe this isn’t even his...” She lowers the map with a sigh. “I can feel the water - that trickle of it - but I’m not certain if that’s the same one either. Doubt we want to go back that way either. So maybe...” She looks down one tunnel, then another, then another. It’s too much to hope for a giant arrow to guide their way. A pause for thinking and she indicates a left, so they avoid circling around on their previous steps.

As they walk, the passageway grows more narrow and her light bounces off the walls, reflecting off little pieces of light. Mallory watches her from the corner of her eye. “I’d ask if you can hear anything, but you’re hearing too much.”

Location: …under North Beach? Time: to panic

@mallorycastle​

Joaquin began a string of muttered Quebecois curses under his breath, as his attempt at making a torch to provide others with light, was extinguished again.  Either the torch burned out too fast, or the strange gusts of air streamed and swirled from the underground caverns, blew it out.  

“Ah - perhaps if I found some of No’s alcohol…ah Madre.  Quel dommage pour nous, non.  We were only trying to celebrate after two months of hardship and struggle.  We thought we were doing nothing wrong - but we were sinning nonetheless.  We were grasshoppers, when we should have been ants.  Trés terrible, I am so shamed for our hubris.”  Joaquin mumbled all of this with contrite glances to his right, as he pat around the dirt, hoping to find a bottle of Magnolia’s that might’ve still had some wine in it.  Something to lubricate the wrapped cloth, so Joaquin could maintain the flame for longer than five minutes.

As he searched, he didn’t find any wine, but instead found - “Ah!  Mallory?  Is that you, my dear?  Oh gracias a Dios –”  He pulled the younger woman into a warm embrace.  “You are alive.  Are you harmed?  I’ve been trying to find any bottle of wine, you see, but to no avail.  You don’t happen to have a bottle of wine with you, my dear?”

《❀》

“Oh... Hi Joaquin,” she mutters, gripping his shoulder as she pulls herself up. Glass cascades from her hair and shirt, the results of a clenched glass reaching its breaking point with this latest quake. Mallory grimaces, brushing it off with trembling fingers. Adrenaline rush, it’ll calm down. “This is fucking amazing. How long have we been down here? Where is... here?”

It’s a cave. That’s right. “I love caves, you know I do. But I think this cave is awful!” Mallory clambers to her feet, relieved the ceiling isn’t low enough to bash her head. Very few ceilings are with her height. Then reaches out to pat his face, baffled at his words. “What? You want to find wine? Did you bang your head on something?” 

She tugs at her shirt. It is sopping wet still, but dust coated from their various running and falling. “The only wine I’ve got is on my shirt. I was holding a cup when we fell and it’s turned into a heavy perfume, can’t you smell it?” She nearly quips about how he could buy her a drink before she takes off her shirt, but figures there’s only so much blasphemy good ole Joaquin can handle with her. Instead she pulls it off and holds it out to him. “Let there be light,” Mallory declares, fumbling for his hand to press her shirt into it. “That’s my best Hawaiian shirt. Thank Madre I’m losing it to a good cause.”

Mallory shields her head from the falling rocks with a curse, running blindly for a path. Any path. Somewhere she can avoid cracking her head, preferably. The rumbling stops, but her eyes stay squeezed closed, waiting for the dust to stop tickling her nose. “I’ve really had enough of this cave. Who the hell woke up the giants?” she demands, but though someone mumbles a response, it’s short-lived.

Her eyes snap open. The rockfall cut her group off from the rest, leaving her standing with a huffing German man named Renard who looks at her with loathing. As if it’s her fault the earth is trying to eat them. She sneers at him and then halts as she spots a familiar figure. “Tomas! Wow, it’s like you haven’t aged a day,” she jokes, bypassing a stoner woman she vaguely recalls from her last foray with Tomas and some random guy wearing too many different shades of plaid. Unlike her, they watch the ceiling, trying to peer through the thick cloud of dust hanging in the air around them.

She reaches out to ruffle the dust from his hair, but then stops before the motion can be began, frowning at him. “You’re not looking so hot. Please tell me you didn’t get hit by a rock because I’m a pilot, not a doctor! I mean, we had some medical training, they require it, but not a lot and definitely not down here in Satan’s asshole.”

.

“What I’ve learned,”  Joaquin mused softly, after listening to Mallory’s philosophies on her thieving tendencies.  “Is that no matter what you do, there will always be someone unhappy with your choices.  Perhaps I have a very simplistic approach, heh heh.  But people certainly do adore you, Mallory, regardless of whether or not you go out to seek adoration, or cause trouble.”  Joaquin smiled sadly at her.

“Even those who are no longer with us, their love still remains, hm?”

Mallory answered Joaquin’s question about going up to the western coves cliffside, by looping her arm into his, and together they headed out.  Which, despite the disaster of the books, being arm-in-arm with Mallory did cheer him up greatly.  It felt comforting and curious, like they were embarking on a little adventure together (not too much of an adventure, though; certainly not a grand adventure.  A little adventure would do nicely though.  Something gentle and interesting, something they could talk over later on, maybe over a fire.  Maybe sharing a fish for supper!)

“Perhaps for the sake of a personal experiment, you could try to do something different?  You have been using this same tactic for decades, my dear.  Everyone knows by now, that you are a thief.  Not hardly a challenge, when we all know and expect that you will just give back the things you take.”  Joaquin winked at her.  

“Not that I am hinting you should keep what you steal!  And not that predictability is a bad thing, either.  I like being predictable, even when I’m unpredictable.  And I suppose you have a whole new set of people to cause mischief with, ever since the aero-tram crash last year.  Ah!  A whole year.”

Unfortunately, Philip’s fate did await them all, sooner or later, in one way or another.  But Mallory knew this; she just didn’t want to think about it.  So Joaquin pat her hand, muttering nonsense words of comfort under his breath.  There was nothing he could do to assuage her sadness, over such a loss.

As they walked, Joaquin pondered her question about confronting the thief.  “I would consider it more of a vandalism, than thievery.  It seemed like a child, throwing a tantrum in the library.  And tearing at books for attention and not for any gain, don’t you think? Which means…”

Joaquin hummed, unused to deduction.  He tried to channel Aurélie. “Which means perhaps…this vandal was trying to make…a statement?  Perhaps make a point.  That perhaps collecting books is a waste of time and effort, on Meridium.  Ah!  So I will endeavour, therefore, to convince this poor, scared, upset soul that indeed Meridium is precisely where we need to retain knowledge, culture, and art.  We are a civilization, and civilizations need culture as much as we need agriculture.”

He looked at Mallory for her thoughts.  “Oui, mademoiselle?”

《❀》 

“Try something new? I don’t know, Joaquin. I’ve tried the drunk approach, I’ve tried the noble Aurélie-esque approach, I’ve tried the quiet approach. None of those are really me. If there’s some other route to travel, I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to find it short of flinging myself down a couple of new ones and hoping for the best.” She lifts her chin and pulls a grumpy face, mimicking Seamus’ voice with little success. “Maybe I’ll try grump next, yeah?”

She shrugs. “Suppose it’s been a little while since I’ve come to bother any of my usual people. Tamyra must be downright cheerful without my presence,” she says wryly. Her smile shifts at his pat and she sighs, leaning over to drop her head on his shoulder, content for a moment that there’s no requirement to smile among friends.

Nodding along with his words, Mallory drops his hand as their walk turns into something of a climb as they reach the western cove. “Not much use in bits of ripped paper so a statement isn’t a bad idea. I think it’ll be more important to figure out whether this is directed at someone specific, or at all of us.” It’s still a little beyond her that someone would waste time trying to make a muck of things in the present climate. It’s a hike to reach the bunch of trees that make up the portion of the cove they need, and she sniffs around in search of the scent.

“I think it’s possible, but if that’s the case, they didn’t do a very good job because whatever statement they went to make, it’s very ambiguous. Are they protesting the books on their own? Are they protesting where we put them? Are they protesting that we’re putting time into caring about them? Are they making a statement about how hopeless things are?” she wonders, brow furrowing.

Mallory pauses, gripping his arm as they stand at the base of a too tall tree. “Look, Joaquin, it’s a page from a book.” She stoops to pick it up, smoothing the jagged edges. Squints at the rips and tears. Something about it looks strange.

She glances down at their feet where bits of shredded paper are being yanked away by the breeze. Then up at Joaquin, abruptly amused. “Are we... certain a human did this? Look at the tears in this page, it looks like something was biting it. See?” She traces a finger over the cut, at the little marks left on the page. She holds it out to him to see and her eyes slide to the tree. “I think we’ve been sent on a wild goose chase. My mom always did have a quote: if you hear hooves outside your door, don’t think zebras when it’s just horses.” So maybe the smell of birds was just.. the bird that was their thief.

“Here, I’m going to climb the tree, I bet there’s a nest in there with the rest of the paper.” She jumps to reach one of the low hanging branches and yanks herself up slowly until she can swing her legs up and over. Spinning right ways up, she climbs a little more, pushing aside some of the leaves until she finds-- a nest.

“Hello sweet thing,” she murmurs to the bird resting in a nest of paper. It’s a single bird, a ruffled, ugly thing with dark feathers. It stares at her, defiant, maybe, though she’s not much use in reading bird expressions. “I don’t know much about bird types. But I’ve got our thief.” Her free hand reaches for it the way one does a cat, fingers wiggling gently, and it hops to her fingers, settling down. “You can probably call off the search party, I’m going to see if I can rescue any of the pages, yeah?” She stares it, thoughtful, and settles her back against the trunk of the tree, smiling at it, content to wait. She has all the time in the world.

“After the Leander’s collapse, Tamyra was kind enough to point out the new library being initiated here in Aurélie’s old abode.  After Matthew’s passing, people started collecting Matthew’s books from the Leander and storing them here - and indeed, it seems almost a miraculous foresight, on their part.  People do very good and kind things, more often than we think.”  Joaquin sighed, looking at the fistful of torn pages in his hands.  “And people are capable of very terrible actions as well.”

Joaquin just shook his head at Mallory’s investigatory questions, clearly too lost in his own grief and confoundment to be much use to Mallory.  But when she pointed out that thieves purposely leave messes, he looked over at her.  “And you would know that, because you sometimes commit the sin of stealing,” he pointed out mournfully.  

“Oh dear Mallory, why do you willingly cause mischief.  What if…what if you have encouraged such bad behaviour in others, and now they do things like this?”

And yet even as Joaquin was aggrieved at Mallory’s sense of mischief, she was there to assure him that people were still capable of goodness, and all wasn’t lost.  He looked to his right and nodded, with a slow smile.  “You are right, Madre.  People are deep and complex beings, and so is our dear Mallory, is she not?  Indeed, there is great levels to her kindness, even if she occasionally and deliberately sins.”

He turned his attention then to what seemed to be clues that Mallory pointed out, and Joaquin, having nothing useful to offer just yet, merely leaned back on his heels to admire Mallory’s deductive skills.  “How clever of you to see this, Mallory.  I would never have…”

When she pointed out the smell though, Joaquin frowned.  “May I?” he asked, finally releasing his own fists of pages, to take a hold of the ones Mallory had.  He sniffed, then recoiled, then sniffed again.

“That, my dear, is the effects of bird guano, yes?  That acidic citrus scent with the underlying earthy sulphur.  Whomever did this - ah!  Perhaps whomever did this, had a parrot!  A parrot who perhaps enjoys the taste of lemon verbena, or perhaps the lemon myrtle!  It grows on the Western Coves, yes…”

But Joaquin recalled the last time he’d met Mallory on the Western Coves. A terrible and unhappy time, when Mallory almost threw herself off a cliff, in her eagerness to join her mouther.  He looked at her, hesitant.  “Would you be…alright? To go there?”

《❀》 

“Sounds like we got a pinch of good luck for once,” she comments, lips tugging into a frown. Good luck is always followed by something terrible - though if this destroyed place is the worst of it, she’s okay with it. Her eyes raise to him, a look of surprise on her face. “There are worse things. What we lose here, we can find here.”

His question strikes a nerve. She feels her lips twitch, a grimace she can’t hide. Brushing this question off isn’t easy, and try as she might, her shrug has more tension than usual. Her thievery feels more like a sin now than it ever did before. “You know, I wonder that myself. I’ve always told myself it’s harmless. Very few people are hurt in what I do, you know. Annoyed or angry, but rarely hurt.” She chews her lip and then blows out a breath. It’s hard to justify when she’s staring at evidence of what her own thievery might inspire.

“But.” And her tone goes hesitant. Mallory twirls her hair around her finger, still looking over the scene of the crime, doubts swirling like acid. “What would I do otherwise? Sit on my hands? Worry? Fuss?” Agonize over things she couldn’t change? “Think about all the things we’ve lost? No.”

A pause. Her hand drops from her hair and she faces him.  A little stronger, she repeats: “No. That’s not who I am. You call it sin and that’s fine - but I see purpose. I challenge myself and I challenge others. I give them something else to think about than where we are. Let them be angry at what I steal, isn’t that better about thinking of the inevitable? Than thinking that Philip’s fate awaits us all?” His face flashes in her eyes, but the agony of it... well, that feels like it’s loosening its hold on her chest.

She manages a smile, turning to him. “I think Madre has it right. It’s okay if you don’t agree or you think it’s wrong, I’m not asking for your approval. You have your beliefs, I have mine,” she says, walking around the room, light on her feet. She brings the papers over to him, openly confused as he sniffs the paper. Then amused at his deduction. “... I’m going to take your word for it. I don’t make a habit of inhaling bird guano and my cave hasn’t had bats in twenty years.”

Her smile fades. It’s hard to avoid the Western Cove; her cave is located there, after all, but it’s certainly not the same as standing on the cliffs. That she’s avoided. Once more, Philip’s face flashes through her mind. Still, in answer to his question, she loops her arm through his. “Come along, friend of mine, I fear the island will have to suffer through my presence a little longer,” she says, guiding him to the door.

what unpopular archetype are you? | the dark horse

who would’ve guessed it’d be you? after all this time, it’s really you? when you were little, nobody knew your name. for so long, you’ve lived as a shade amongst shades. written off, cast aside, overlooked. you did your best work in the shadows. it took you so long to bloom, some thought you would never emerge at all. but now’s your time in the spotlight. all the heroes have failed, but you’re still standing. in the darkest hour, you came in to save the day. you’re our last hope, dark horse!

.

Joaquin was absolutely horrified.  Since Tamyra showed him the library that now occupied Aurélie’s old beach hut (a place that brought such fond if sometimes troubled memories for him), th old monk had given himself the assignment of organizing the little new library.  Sorting through books, putting such small problems in order and assuring himself that ‘keeping literature and culture alive’ was of great importance to the island’s state of civility - this felt like it mattered. 

And Joaquin was very (somewhat) invested these days, in doing things that mattered.  So long as it didn’t inconvenience him too much, anyway.

So the sight of his beloved project now laying in torn shreds on the old wood floor below…it was devastating.  Books pulled from shelves, torn apart with little care, it seemed.  Shredded, scattered, as if an impudent child had thrown a tantrum.  Matthew’s beloved collection, one of the few remaining memories of the greatest person who walked this island, better than anyone else who ever lived, aside from Jesus Christ himself.

Damanged, ruined.

He heard Mallory come in, and shook his head, wincing slightly at her casual insinuation.  That in times of trouble or strife, that was what old Joaquin Salieces did.  He’d ‘go for a walk’; as in abandon problems and disappear on some holy personal quest.

No.  Tempting as it was to flee, he had something to prove now, to the people here, who cared for his welfare and whereabouts.  Magnolia, and Tomas, maybe even Tamyra.  And Aurélie.   Especially Aurélie.

Mallory then got distracted chatting with someone else, so Joaquin tuned them out, returning to picking up the pieces of the books.  “Who could have done this?” he mourned, holding shreds of paper in his hands.  “It’s irreparable.  It’s unconscionable.  It’s - do you know what this means?”  Joaquin shook the fistfuls of paper towards Mallory.  “It means we are becoming nothing more than beasts.  I want -  Dios mio, I want to find who ever did this and…and…and…”  Joaquin cast about for some suitable punishment that wasn’t vengeful or sinful.

“I want to ask them why?” 

If Joaquin is flinching, then this is more serious than she thinks. It never occurs to her how he’s feeling about her comment. To her, Joaquin’s departure is a consistency this island sorely lacks. The sun sets, Joaquin leaves; the sun rises, Joaquin returns. She doesn’t care that he leaves so long as he comes back in the end.

Mallory squints at him, head tilting in contemplation. “Was this your hangout, Joaquin?” she questions, more to draw his attention and ease the distress than genuine curiosity. “We can fix this. Let’s see if there’s anything salvageable. Or, hang on, lemme look.”

Before they clean up the scene of the crime, she wants to look at it. “Is this mess an accident, or on purpose?” she muses, crouching, prodding one of the papers. “Can you tell if anything is missing from a glance? A bad thief will trash the place to make it hard to see what’s missing, if they aren’t good enough at getting away without being noticed. It throws people off.”

The other person departs, sensing (correctly) that her questions are directed at Joaquin and not her. “Joaquin, we aren’t becoming beasts. The fact that you’re concerned means we aren’t. Beasts don’t care, they just gobble people up like they’ve never eaten before. Like that monster tried to do in the jungle.” Had it been that long since they talked? Time is a blur since... since Phillip. She swallows.

“We’ll find them. Look, see this? The edges of this rip are coated in mud. Not footprints either. Smaller, like fingerprints sorta. So whoever it is, they were near mud recently.” Which eliminates exactly nowhere, but helps her puzzle through it.

Amelia huffed, her brows drawing together. “I hate that we keep giving the island sentience. It’s not a toddler throwing a tantrum because the adults in the room are ignoring them.” Although, there was some story there, perhaps. Two tragedies written side by side, playing out the same way somehow even though on the surface they weren’t even about the same thing. God what she wouldn’t give for a notebook and a pencil. She shrugged, “I don’t know much about what it was like before they arrived.” Amelia pointed out, “I barely know what it’s like with them here.”

She sighed, wondering not for the first time what life might’ve been like if she’d strayed just a little further into the jungle before setting up her home, if no one had ever found her. “Well, I suppose it’s one of those things you just work on your whole life, right? Like keeping your house tidy.” Or at least, she would assume. Her life hadn’t exactly been a magnet for change the last few decades.

Amelia shrugs and stares down at her hands, picking at the skin arond her thumb. She doesn’t distance herself on purpose, or to upset anyone. It’s just… How she is. She’d already screwed her courage to the wall by leaving the jungle in the first place, but it was hard to make people understand that when they didn’t know why she’d spent so long hiding there in the first place. “It didn’t even occur to me to ask.” Amelia admits quietly, “Of course I’d help you. I’m just… I’ve been doing things on my own for a long time, Mal.” Fifty odd years, with a brief reprieve in the middle wherein she clung to the new people who surrounded her and swore to make her life better, only to end up alone again.

“Ah, being watched I hate. But people staring at me just because I’m some weird new thing, not such a problem.” She smiled, tipping her head to the side, “I’m here to stare at them too, aren’t I? Can hardly judge them.” 

Amelia tries not to think too hard about the wreckage of her home, but the memories of it fill her head again anyway. “I didn’t have much to begin with. I took some stuff from those supplies we keep on North beach for newcomers. I know I’m not new, but…” She trailed off, shrugging, “well, it was that or go back into the jungle trying to find things.” And that, Amelia just couldn’t do. Not yet. “I’ve got a cave right now.” She nodded, “I’ve got enough. I’m fine. It’s- y’know, it’s weird, and I miss the birds. But I’m fine.” 

Mallory’s brows shoot up. “Well, I’ve been to my fair share of islands, but never one that acts like this. You lived in the jungle for years, closer to the heart of it than anyone, I’d say, except the castaways - how can not think it’s sentient?” she wonders, bemused. Then her voice goes abruptly lower, half-convinced talking about this aloud will bring the music to a stuttering drop. “Before they arrived, the jungle wasn’t yanking people into the trees and spitting them out as the ones on the Lagoon, for starters.”

Her heart squeezes, picturing her brother’s face among the trees. When the hold on her throat eases, she shrugs to Amelia’s question. “Maybe,” she says, not following the comparison enough to debate it.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not expecting you to embrace friendship overnight. We’ve shared this island... - how long? Decades, I bet - a long time and only met really, truly, a few months ago. We’ll figure out how the dance goes eventually.” Eventually, they’ll find a dance where neither step on the other’s toes. She taps her fingers on the table, thinking. “Well, I’ll just have to find a way to help somehow if you’ve got everything covered.”

Mallory looks around the room, trying to find whatever it is catching Amelia’s eye. Whatever it is she finds so enthralling about the lot of them. She doesn’t find it and hums in response, nodding her head.

“I feel like the supplies should be for anyone who needs them. And it sounds like you did. So don’t worry about it, they’ll restock soon enough. At least this island isn’t making us struggle completely on staying alive, thank the farm for that.” Amelia says fine enough that Mallory doesn’t believe her, but she spares her from the questions, sensing she’s prodded Amelia enough for the night.

“I live in a cave, too. They aren’t all bad, you just have to make them homey. But can’t do much about the bird unless you get a pet one someday,” she says, standing and stretching. “But I’m going to head out for the night. I’m ready for a nap. I’ll come visit you soon.” She hasn’t been here long. Her departure garners a half-glance from people who recognize her, but she ignores it in favor of giving Amelia a parting wave.

Someone mumbles it to her. Awkwardly. Slowly. Like their afraid what she’ll say in response to the accusation. Her chin tips, following silently to the scene of the crime, half-amused at the notion that she cares enough about Matthew’s collection to steal the books from it. It’s only when they are outside the library and Joaquin’s dismayed voice reaches her that she deigns to respond. “You’re giving me zero credit, if I wanted to steal a bunch of books, I’d have done it and you’d never know,” she points out, stepping past them to enter.

It’s a mess. But which is worse? The books strewn across the floor, or Joaquin’s sad squawking? “Joaquin,” she calls, uncertain he heard her enter over his... grief? Confusion? Mallory doesn’t spend long trying to decipher what he’s feeling, they’ve never seemed to operate on that wavelength. As is, she’s surprised he’s still here, and that’s what she focuses on for a heartbeat: “Huh, you’re still here? I thought it was around the time you’d go for a walk.” It’s certainly around the time where Mallory would begin hibernating, too.

“Did you do this?” a woman asks. She doesn’t remember his name, and doesn’t bother trying to recall it. Mallory hums thoughtfully, thinking that once his words would have made her laugh. “As if I’d leave such a mess behind. Is there anything missing?”

.

A minute to warm up to people. Yeah, you could simplify it like that, she supposed. It sounded nicer than the whole sordid truth of the thing anyway. Maybe in future that was all she would say; that it just takes her a minute to warm up to people. Easy, no fuss, inoffensive. Hell maybe that meant she was in good company here, that folk were going to give her just as much space as she wanted to give them. That certainly wasn’t a bad thing. 

Amelia tenses, uncomfortable with how big of a reeaction her change in living situation seems to have garnered. She didn’t think it would be a surprise. More to the point, she didn’t think anyone would really care at all. “Don’t start blaming it on the plane, or some unwritten rule about island capacity.” She protested, frowning. “The island was always mean. Take the castaways, that happened long before the plane arrived.” It echoed the conversation she’d had with Tomas after Matthew died; you couldn’t start turning on the people around you. Then you were truly screwed. 

Right. Her brother. Mallory’s brother who ended up in the trees. She shuddered at the reminder of them, but had no idea what to say that might be of comfort. Her father was the only person she’d ever watched try to process grief, and he’d clearly been terrible at it and she couldn’t help him. “I think that’s good advice.” She said softly, nodding. Although she didn’t really agree. Some changes- like your father gambling away all your money before you could finish university- were just bad. Bad things happened sometimes. 

Help. It hadn’t even occured to her to ask for support before coming here. Amelia had just… Done it alone, like she did all things. “I lived on my own in the jungle for all that time.” She pointed out, “I can do things on my own.” Ah, the glowering. Well truth be told that just didn’t do a whole lot to intimidate her, which some people might find odd considering the laundry list of things that did scare Amelia, but her father had not been much for glowering. He either got to the point or point blank ignored her. “It’s not as if I look like I could cause any problems for them.” She shrugged, “and if they’re just staring at me I don’t really care.” 

Amelia sighed, tucking her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. “That stuff with the vines, and the fruit and the- the lagoon and everything…” She stared into the middle distance, watching a group lounging around a table and having a discussion that involved some strange hand gestures. (She imagined they were talking about magic, or what animal would win in a fight, maybe.) “My house got destroyed. The vines, they just… Ripped it to peices.” After trying to suffocate her to death, but Amelia didn’t want to get into all that. “It seemed like a pretty clear sign to get the hell out.”

《❀》 

Mallory holds up her hands, trying to avert a potential argument before it starts. “I don’t mean it as something the 441ers did. Just that it was the first big change in the last few years. Maybe the island thought things were getting too monotonous and brought more people. Then realized it couldn’t handle them.” This assumes the island is something capable of creative problem-solving. “It’s an island problem, but we can’t lie and say the plane didn’t change a lot of things. We’ve never had that many people arrive at once.” 

Her lips quirk into a half-smile, bittersweet memories swirling through her head. “It is. To decide how you react to change is a tricky thought process to put into action, though. I’m certainly no master at it.” More so lately, when it seems like everything is one change too many.

“Just because you can take care of yourself doesn’t mean you have to do it alone,” she points out, leaning her elbow on the table and her chin on her hand. For all her attempts at kindness, it certainly feels like she and Amelia will always be somewhat apart. Like a barrier separates them. Her gaze turns a little critical as she thinks. Maybe she just doesn’t know Amelia as much as she thought. “You’d help me if I asked, wouldn’t you? And you probably wouldn’t think too badly about me for it.”

Amelia’s comment is unexpected. A far cry from the woman she sat with in the wreckage of the plane, and Mallory can’t keep her surprise from her face. “Huh, I thought their stares would bother you more. But good on you, keep up the attitude.”

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“My lips have been known to have healing properties.  So I’ve been told,” he quipped.  Granted he’d been told by Iyaz, when Emre used to kiss the baby’s booboos better, but Mallory didn’t need to know that part.  “Make do with what we got, innit.”

Emre ate Mallory’s playfulness, his smile curling deeper.  “If you break your ankles, I’ll carry you around everywhere.  Full royal treatment - but just for you, mind.  No one else gets VIP services from me.”

As they both stood, Emre experimented balancing.  Holding onto her was for his benefit as much as hers, and he took a few tentative steps forward, towards the frozen water.  

“You what? A girlfriend?  You like Mazzy then - a lesbian, like?  And here I thought I had a chance with you, bollocks.”  Emre teased, having not yet fully learned the concept of sexualities beyond either ‘straight’ or ‘gay’.  Iyaz’s teachings were patient with his older brother’s ignorance.

Emre scoffed.  “Did I test the ice.  We’re water-babies, innit.  I can’t sense the snow proper, but I can sense the ice - better than I sense water, even.  It’s mental, I don’t understand how it works.  You the same, or something different?”  He stepped onto the frozen pond, then slid forward carefully, bringing Mallory with him.

“Steady on, now.  Steady…” he said - but inevitably wobbled and fell backwards, practically pulling Mallory down with him.

《❀》

Mallory laughs. She hasn’t found a label among the list of them she knows to pinpoint herself, but lesbian has always felt closest to what she felt. Then, she did miss the rise of bisexual pride in the late 90s so she isn’t aware enough of the possibilites. “I don’t tie myself down with specific labels. But let’s say I’ve never been able to say no to a pretty girl’s face.”

She has no idea who Mazzy is, head tilting as she considers it. Names aren’t her strong suit; she really only remembers a few of them. After a minute of thinking, she can’t keep her curiosity at bay. “Mazzy? We’ve got one of those here?” she questions, amused as Emre finds his footing, too. 

Her shoulders lift in a shrug. “I’m not much of an icy person. I showed you the extent of my control over it once upon a time, remember? Suppose I could make a better snowman now with all this actual snow around, though. But ice, yeah, no, it chooses to do what it wants when it wants.”

Like now, apparently. With their hands still clutched together for balance, Mallory falls, too. She lands on him with a small grunt of surprise, lifting her chin to avoid bashing her forehead into his. It’s a narrow escape. “Not very steady of you. Unless this was your goal, hm?” she asks, peering down at him, one hand pressed against his chest and the other against the ice to hold herself up. “I can see we’re very alike. You’re distracted by pretty faces, too, aren’t you?” she states dryly, but her lips twitch, betraying her laughter.