Alright guys! Time for the next Rest Day. I know there's no eliminations in these, but I like to think they're still plenty entertaining in thier own right! The first few were focused on "events" of sorts like the poker game and truth or dare, but now people are just gonna be chilling and dealing with the absolute fallout from the events of last chapter.

We're getting down to the wire now, with only eight people remaining. I'd like to have this completed before the new season of Total Drama comes out, so I gotta start getting my butt in gear a little more!

Anyways, let's get to it! Here we goooo!

The moonlight glistened off the beautiful Barbadian water. The camera panned over the sandy beaches and the closed beachside bars, over to the majestic Crane Hotel.

A quick flash inside showed an ornate clock above the bar. It read 12:30am. The bar/lobby was mostly empty this late, save for the bartender, a young couple at one of the few tables scattered around, and Duncan, who was sitting at the bar with a large glass of beer in front of him.

"Calling last call soon, bud," the bartender told Duncan, walking up to the punk as he polished a glass. "You gonna want another one?"

Duncan swigged the last of the beer and thunked the glass back down on the marble bartop. "Yeah, I'll do one more. Just give me a whiskey on the rocks."

The bartender nodded and headed towards the shelf.

"Not too heavy a pour, though," Duncan called after him. He rubbed at his head and rolled his eyes, "still not totally recovered from that damn tequila," he muttered under his breath.

While the bartender was getting his drink ready, someone else entered the lobby from one of the upper floors and drifted over to the bar.

Dawn sat down on the stool next to Duncan without making a sound, and the punk didn't even realize she was there at first. It was only when the bartender came back with his drink and addressed the blonde that Duncan noticed her presence.

"Whoa there, grade schoolers can't sit at the bar, hon, sorry."

Dawn frowned at the bartender. "I'm part of the VIP Total Drama tour," she told the bartender patiently. "And I'd love a tequila sunrise."

The bartender looked a little embarrassed. "My apologies, your drink is coming right up."

"When did you get here?" Duncan asked the wispy girl.

"Just now," Dawn replied amicably. "I wanted to talk to you."

Duncan raised an eyebrow and swirled his whiskey around in his glass, yet to take a sip. "Oh really? About what?"

Dawn was silent for a second as the bartender came back with her drink. "Thank you," she told the bartender, "you can put our drinks on Chris McLean's tab. I believe he's staying at room 31."

"The penthouse suite," the bartender whistled, "you got it."

"Nice move," Duncan smirked, tilting his glass towards the girl.

Dawn clinked her glass with Duncan's, and they both took a sip.

"If you're coming at me with some froo-froo feelings aura crap, I'll tell you right now I'm not interested," Duncan warned after a moment of silence.

Dawn gave him a thin smile, and shook her head. "No no, nothing like that. I was curious to see if you'd be interested in working together."

Genuine surprise filled Duncan's face. "Hold on, you mean like an alliance?"

"Exactly."

If Duncan's brain could make the dial-up noise, it would've been. He took another sip in an attempt to buy some time as he processed the idea of being in an alliance with Dawn of all people.

Eventually, he was able to splutter out a response. "...why?"

Dawn took a sip of her own drink, "well, I feel like my time in this game is not up yet, and I wish to remain in the game a little longer. Allies help you stay, but don't you already know that?"

Duncan figured she wasn't trying to be condescending, so he just shook it off and clarified what he meant. "No, I mean why do you want to be in an alliance with me? I haven't exactly been...on the top of my game, this season."

"Very true," Dawn agreed, "you've been emotionally unstable and immature to the point of hilarity. A far cry from your past performances."

Duncan's eye twitched a little, and his hand tightened on his whiskey glass. "You've got a funny way of pitching yourself," he said through gritted teeth.

Dawn put a hand on his arm, "the truth can sting," she assured him, "but I understand you're trying to recover. Without my vote to send Sammy home, you would not be in this bar right now."

"...That's true," Duncan admitted after a moment of silence. "I guess I owe you one. I'm surprised you and Lightning weren't voting together, given how weirdly tight you two are."

"We do not need to be allies to be friends," Dawn told him, "much like how you and I don't need to be friends to be allies."

Duncan saw no fault in this logic, so he ended up just scoffing and shrugging. "Well, I'd be stupid to turn down an ally at this point, so I guess that works. What's your goal?" He scratched at his jet-black mohawk, "in the game, I mean."

Dawn sucked back the rest of her drink and stood up from her bar stool. "That can be discussed tomorrow," she told him placidly, "It's time for me to go to bed. I enjoyed our chat, Duncan...for the most part. Goodnight."

Duncan just stared blankly, a little startled by the waif's abrupt exit. He watched her pitter-patter across the lobby and into the elevator.

"Weird girl," the bartender told Duncan off-handedly as he wrapped up.

"You can say that again."

(Hotel Confessional: Dawn.)

Dawn is in the bathroom of her hotel room, where there is camera taped to the wall in a hastily-constructed Confessional. "The alliance talk with Duncan was, for lack of better terms, a total scam." She stares pensively into space for a second, "my intention with him is to help him work through the issues he's had so far emotionally and mentally, but I knew I could not just open with that. I have to gain his trust before he opens up to me, so approaching him about an alliance is the best way to go about that." She sighs, "with Sammy and Noah gone, I feel like my missions are all almost accomplished. Duncan is so stubborn though, I know I'll need some help. Fortunately, I know just who to call upon for aid."

(End Hotel Confessional: Dawn.)

(Hotel Confessional: Duncan.)

"Man, that was so weird," Duncan, tired and tipsy, talks to the Confessional Camera. "But who am I to turn down an ally at this rate?" He shakes his head. "The only time I've ever had the deck stacked against me this bad was in World Tour, and I got my butt beat back then. I gotta evolve from that because..." he stares off into space for a second, before returning his attention to the camera, "because otherwise, what's the point of even being here?"

(End Hotel Confessional: Duncan.)

Alone in her dim hotel room, Jasmine was huddled under the blankets. There, in the privacy of her covers, she had allowed herself to weep, as evidenced by her puffy and swollen eyes. The clock on her bedside table read 3:30am, yet the tall girl didn't even look tired.

She sniffled loudly, and muttered a soft "damn it" under her breath.

Knock knock knock.

Jasmine froze, startled. Unsure of whether or not she was hearing things or not, she waited to see if someone would knock again, or if it was just her imagination. After a few seconds, it happened again.

Knock knock knock!

Confused and a little annoyed, Jasmine swung her long legs over the side of the bed and hoisted herself to her feet. In three easy strides, she crossed the luxurious room and yanked open the door, prepared to bark at whoever was bothering her at such an absurd time of night.

Owen was revealed in the cozily lit hallway, a plate of cookies clutched in his chunky hands and a sad smile on his face.

Jasmine blinked, taking the sight in, before sighing. "Owen...do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Late," Owen said sheepishly, "but I thought you might like some cookies." He held the plate out to Jasmine. "It was kind of a rough ceremony."

Jasmine eyed the plate with a raised eyebrow, "Where'd you even get these? ...and why are there only two cookies on the plate?"

Owen giggled, "I snuck into the kitchen to snag 'em. There were originally 20 of them, but I got a little hungry on the way here."

A dry smile cracked Jasmine's lips, and she couldn't help but her shake her head as she accepted the plate. "Of course you did. Well, thanks mate...but I don't feel up for much of a chat."

Owen nodded, "I figured, I wasn't gonna ask to talk." He held up his tubby arms in a gesture for a hug, "I just wanted to check in with a friend and let you know that I'm here for you." He gave her a warm smile. "I know it was a rough day for you."

The corners of Jasmine's eyed prickled, and she stooped down to give the big lug a giant hug. "Thanks, Owen..." she croaked out as she embraced him, "I just...what if I've made a big mistake? What if I've lost Sammy for good? What if Shawn thinks differently of me? What if he..." she couldn't finish, and had to choke down a sob.

Owen separated from the hug to look sternly up at the now extremely teary Jasmine. Her lip trembled as she fought to keep the tears from spilling over her lashes, and she peered down at Owen like a lost child.

"Jasmine," he told her firmly, "Shawn's my friend, and I know how much he loves you. No way he could ever judge you for that."

"But...but..."

"No buts!" He put a hand on her back and guided her back into her room. "Now come on, let's get you tucked into bed. I think some sleep will help you clear your head and feel better. We can talk in the morning, okay?"

Jasmine sniffled and nodded, lifting up the blankets and sliding under the sheets. "Thanks Owen...you're a good friend."

"Aw, thanks Jasmine, so are you!" Owen beamed at her. The smile quickly slipped off his face though, as a noise like a small herd of buffalo erupted from his stomach. "Uh oh...those cookies seem to be clogging up the ol' pipes. I think I better head out before I shatter the windows in here."

Jasmine paled, and stuck her head under her blankets. "That's a good idea! Smell ya later, mate!"

(Hotel Confessional: Jasmine.)

"Owen really is a top bloke," Jasmine says fondly, her lips pulled down and her eyes tired. "Without Shawn and Sammy around, all I have his him. I'm really grateful for the guy."

(End Hotel Confessional: Jasmine.)

(Hotel Confessional: Owen.)

Owen is off camera, presumably on the toilet. However, his panicky and pained grunts can be heard. "This is what happens when you only drink one glass of water every two or three days. Nrgh, oh no..."

(End Hotel Confessional: Owen.)

The next morning, bright and early, three contestants were having an emergency meeting.

Jo closed the door to her room, having just let two other people in. She plopped down on her bed, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and grey sleep shorts.

"Man, Lightning don't understand why he gotta be here," Lightning complained, in all his muscular glory. The jock didn't have a shirt on, and his ridiculously impressive physique was on full display. "Didn't he specifically say he wasn't planning on working with you two long term? And y'all didn't exactly do yourselves any favors last night. You got played big time."

"We didn't get played, Lightning," Jo scoffed, annoyed. "We just didn't plan on Jasmine making what might possible be the most strategically brain-dead move in Total Drama history."

"Tell me about it," Scott grumbled, choosing to remaining standing. The farmer was dressed in his usual attire, and leaned lazily against the wall as they talked.

"Besides," Jo continued, still addressing Lightning, "with Jasmine out of the alliance, and Dawn not with us, we're in big trouble. It's 5-3, so you need allies too."

"Does he?" Lightning scoffed, "because unless the Lightning is mistaken, he's won three outta three immunities so far, and that plan continues through the entire rest of the game."

"Good luck with that, moron," Jo scoffed. "What happens when the challenge is solving a puzzle, or basic addition? If you've won a bunch of immunities and have no allies, your threat level will be too high and you'll be toast."

"Yeah, if Lightning loses a challenge," Lightning said smugly, "he don't see that happening. Besides, y'all seem like a lost cause anyways. Ain't it in Lightning's best interest to make nice with the other side?"

"Making nice won't matter if your target is the size of China," Jo told him. "But sure, go ahead and do that. It'll be nice to have a free vote the moment you don't win immunity."

"Also, not all hope is lost," Scott interjected.

"True, we still have my idol," Jo said pointedly, giving Scott a displeased look.

Scott snorted, "Jesus, Jo, will you get over that already?"

"Never."

"Whatever. Anyways, I doubt Duncan and Jasmine are gonna be all buddy buddy with each other. Pretty sure Duncan hates her after the Gwen vote."

"That means he hates you too, though," Lightning scoffed, "ain't no way he gonna work with y'all."

"No, but this game is more complex than just two sides," Scott pointed out, "there can be three or four different, smaller clusters. If we play the idol right and fracture their alliance, we might be okay with just the three of us."

"Yeah, true," Jo conceded, "the question would be who to target out of the others, though. Jasmine seems like a pretty safe bet considering how much she hates your guts and you hate hers."

Scott's arms, which were crossed, flexed dangerously at the mention of the Aussie's name. "You can say that again. She's gotta pay for what she did to Sammy."

"Save your wallowing for someone who cares," Jo told him dismissively.

"Sha-brutal," Lightning chuckled.

"Shut it, Lightning. It's not like Scott expects any froo-froo sympathy crap from me anyways."

"It's true, I don't," Scott agreed.

"See?" Jo said happily, "that's why we can work together. I'm aware that he's a dumb, dirty, doofus, but here we are, in this meeting."

Lightning stomach rumbled. "Any chance this meeting is gonna be finished soon? Lightning's not much of a strategy guy. He's willing to go along with y'all in this, but he's not really one to make plans. And he's hungry."

"Sure," Jo said, a blunt edge to her voice, "we're not really counting on you for anything strategic anyways. We just need your vote, and for you to help us show these losers why the second generation of campers is the best. Anne Maria and Brick may be total duds and Zoey may have gotten done dirty, but we are the three best competitors out of our cast. Let's run circles around the competition." She held her out for a fist bump.

"Sounds like a sha-plan," Lightning agreed, bumping his knuckle into the midst.

Scott nodded and walked over to the two, adding his own fist. "For Sammy," he said solemnly.

"Like I said, Hickface, no one cares."

(Hotel Confessional: Jo.)

"I don't like Scott or Lightning," Jo says matter-of-factly, "but Scott has the idol and he's smart. Lightning can be a powerful tool even if he is a doofus. I've learned from my past mistakes in this game." She narrows her eyes and clenches a fist in front of her face. "This is a game of small concessions. If you want everything to go your way and can't adapt, you will fail. All-Stars taught me that lesson real quick." She scoffs, "but here I am at the Final Eight in what has easily been the toughest season of Total Drama... from a competitive and strategic standpoint, I mean." Her tone gets a little harsher, and a vein thrums in her temple, "and we could've had a clean sweep to Final Five if Sammy, Scott and Jasmine hadn't all been a bunch of babies! Now I feel like I'm back to the bottom. But I'm not giving up." She gets up to leave the bathroom. "People may like to make me the butt of their stupid jokes, but they better not forget what a dangerous player I can be."

(End Hotel Confessional: Jo.)

(Hotel Confessional: Scott.)

"The fact that Jo and I don't like each other is actually comforting when it comes to our alliance," Scott says with a bit of a sardonic chuckle. "Weird, right? But, if we clash heads and still wanna work together, it's because we actually are each others best interests in this game."

(End Hotel Confessional: Scott.)

Bridgette hummed happily to herself as she bustled around the breakfast buffet of the hotel. Having loaded up her plate with eggs, toast, fruit, and other non-meaty breakfast items, she headed out onto the outdoor dining balcony to watch the crystalline waves break on the white beaches.

She sat herself down on the plushy chair and set her plate on the table in front of her. She let out a happy little sigh, and began to eat her breakfast.

She was left in blissful silence for a short while, but it wasn't long before someone joined her at the table.

"Sha-dang, the Lightning is hungry!"

Bridgette looked up from her half-eaten plate to see Lighting thump into the chair across from her. She raised an eyebrow at him as the jock got himself comfortable in the chair.

"Did you sit at the wrong table or something?" Bridgette asked the jock curiously. She wasn't trying to be rude, and there was no malice in her voice, but the surfer was confused.

"Oh, my bad, is there designated tables or something?" Lightning craned his head to look around the patio. His plate, in contrast to Bridgette's, was stacked high with sausages, greasy pieces of bacon, and other various breakfast meats.

"No," Bridgette answered, popping a piece of pineapple into her mouth, "you just have barely said two words to me this entire season, so I found it a little strange that you decided to sit with me for breakfast."

"Don't be silly, Briskitowitz. Just because we ain't talked that much don't mean we can't have breakfast together!"

Bridgette raised an eyebrow. "Ummm...what did you just call me?"

"Briskitowitz! Ain't that your name?"

"No...it's Bridgette..."

Lightning shrugged his swole shoulders and began to eat his breakfast. "Close enough."

Bridgette turned to give the camera a deadpan look. "Well, I guess you can sit here...Jeremiah."

Lightning looked up from his breakfast to give Bridgette an incredulous look. "Did you just call Lightning Jeremiah in an attempt to clap back at him for getting your name wrong?"

Bridgette sighed, "maybe..."

He cracked a grin at the defeated blonde. "Sha-dang. That was weak."

"I know," Bridgette admitted, "insults and comebacks have never been my strong suit."

"There ain't nothing wrong with being nice," Lightning assured her, "his step-mom taught him that."

"Is that why you're so much nicer now?" Bridgette asked him curiously.

Lightning's pointer finger stroked his goatee absentmindedly as he considered Bridgette's question. His brow furrowed. "She helped, for sure. But a lot of it just came from growing up. What good is winnin' everything if there's no one to celebrate with?"

Bridgette blinked, "that's...surprisingly insightful, Lightning. Color me impressed."

"Yes, his growth of personality is a wonderous sight to behold," came a new, warm voice from behind Bridgette.

The surfer turned in her chair to see that Dawn had approached them. "Oh, hey Dawn! Good morning!"

"Good morning," Dawn greeted the two pleasantly, "may I join you two?"

"Of course, girl!" Lightning said happily, pausing from his quick inhalation of his meal to give the shorter girl a thumbs up. "You're always welcome at Lightning's table!"

"So," Bridgette asked as Dawn settled herself in a chair, "is it weird coming into the competition halfway through? I have to imagine it's tough."

"It's strange, for sure," Dawn nodded, "but I'm not here to win."

There was a strange, retching noise as Lightning nearly inhaled his fork in shock. After a few seconds of coughing and pounding on his chest, he turned to look at his friend in shock. "You're not here to win!?" He exclaimed shrilly, "that...that just ain't computin!"

Dawn giggled, patting Lightning on the arm affectionately. "Oh my dear friend, there are things more pressing than winning, I'm afraid. I've never been terribly worried about having a lot of money. Doing good in this world is more important to me."

"That's very noble of you, Dawn," Bridgette admired her fellow blonde, "what do you want to accomplish here?"

"I'm uncomfortable plainly stating that," Dawn replied, a hint of apology in her squeaky voice, "but rest assured I'm accomplishing what I need to."

"Speaking of accomplishment, now that Lightning's all fueled up, he needs to go for his morning run!" Lightning stood up with his empty plate and nodded his goodbye to the two girls. "Lightning'll see y'all around."

Both girls waved to him, and as soon as Lightning was out of earshot Dawn turned to Bridgette. "So, Bridgette, I need your help."

Bridgette quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? What with?"

"Duncan. I wish to help him heal emotionally after his ordeal with Gwen. But he is stubborn."

"Pffft, you can say that again."

"I know this show has hurt him quite a lot. Couple that with his conflicted childhood...well, it's created a very closed off young man. But I think you and I can break into that hard shell together."

"How do you think we can do that? I have a hard enough time getting through to him and I've known him for five years. You just met him."

"I have a way with his type," Dawn answered cryptically, "I actually had a progressive conversation with him just last night."

"Oh really?" Bridgette questioned, "that's good. What was it about?"

"I invited him into an alliance."

Bridgette's face lit up, "Ooh, so you're using the guise of an alliance to get close to him emotionally so he'll open up to you?"

Dawn nodded, satisfied that Bridgette had figured it out so quickly, "Precisely. I think the two of us together can chip away at him and hopefully let him heal. The poor boy needs a little healing."

Bridgette nodded, "well, count me in. It's about time somebody seriously did something about Mr. Poopypants."

A smile played at the corner of Dawn's mouth, "Mr. Poopypants...I like that."

(Hotel Confessional: Bridgette.)

"I really like Dawn," Bridgette says warmly, "she's like the cool hippie chick I wish I was, if I didn't like partying and traveling as much as I did," she chuckles a little bit, "hopefully this plan to get Duncan back on track will also help me further along in the game. I seem to be in a really good spot and not on anyone's radar right now, so I hope I can keep it that way. A few crafty votes and an immunity win or two, who's to say I can't win this whole thing!?"

(End Hotel Confessional: Bridgette.)

(Hotel Confessional: Dawn.)

"Everything is going wonderfully," Dawn says happily, "I am fortunate to work with someone as pleasant as Bridgette in this difficult task I'm about to undertake."

(End Hotel Confessional: Dawn.)

It turned out to be an absolutely gorgeous day in Barbados, as was the norm in that part of the world. The hot sun beat down on the beaches, and a few dozen people could be seen scattered along the pearly sand and in the warm waters of the ocean.

One of those people was Duncan, who emerged from the water clad in his standard dark teal bathing suit. He ran a hand roughly through his jet-black mohawk so it stood back up straight and headed for his discarded towel. After giving himself a quick rub down and tying the towel around his waist, he headed back up the beach towards the hotel.

"Hey! Hey mister!"

Duncan paid the voice no mind at first, as the voice calling out was squeaky and he didn't think anyone with that kind of voice would be calling out to him. He continued his trudge up to the hotel until he heard messy footsteps plopping in the sand getting closer, along with panting.

Duncan turned to see a younger girl, probably ten or eleven years old, bent over with her hands on her scraped up knees, huffing and puffing as she tried to catch her breath. "Mister...wait up..." she wheezed.

Duncan glared down at the child, intimidating even at his 5'9 height with his brooding aesthetic and athletic build, but the child seemed unfazed. She stared up at him with starry eyes. Clutched in her sandy fists was a piece of paper and a pencil.

"What's up, kid? Whaddya want?" Duncan asked sharply, not in the mood to be pestered by children.

"Are you Duncan? From Total Drama?" The girl was small even for her age, with numerous scrapes and bruises on her legs. That, coupled with her wild, short hair and crooked cheeky grin gave her a very tomboyish appearance.

"Yeah, that's me," Duncan said dryly. "What about it?"

The girl let out a squeal, "Oh my God, I barely recognized you without your green mohawk and piercings! My name's Brianna!"

"Don't care, kid. Now what the hell do you want?"

The girl pushed her hands out, showing Duncan the sandy piece of paper and the chewed-on pencil. "Can I have your autograph?! My parents say I shouldn't talk to strangers, but you're not a stranger! You're famous!"

"Hmph, why do I owe you an autograph, huh?"

That seemed to take a bit of wind out of Brianna's sails, and her arms, still outstretched towards Duncan, lowered a bit. "Um...well I guess you don't...but I thought I'd ask because you were always my favorite contestant!"

"Yeah, you and a million other people," Duncan scoffed, "let me tell ya, kid. I ain't all that great."

"I always thought you got a bad rep," Brianna told him, now lowering her arms to her sides as she peered up at Duncan. "I woulda picked Gwen too. I had the biggest crush on her."

"You did?" Duncan raised an eyebrow, suppressing a chuckle at her bluntness. "Yeah, I wish things could've worked out between us, but...she got done dirty."

"Well, you did kind of start obsessing over Courtney again," Brianna reminded him. "But yeah, I wish she could've been a finalist again. That bear poop really did her in."

"Huh?" Duncan was confused for a moment, but quickly realized what she was talking about. "Oh, I'm not talking about All-Stars, I'm talking about this season."

"WHAAAAT!?"

Her shriek made Duncan flinch, and he uncrossed his arms to cover his ears. The girl, unable to contain her excitement, dropped her pencil and paper in the sand and clutched one of Duncan's arm in a child-like death grip. "There's another season!?" She screeched.

Duncan uncovered his ears and plopped a hand over the girls mouth, thoroughly annoyed now. "Damn it, this is why Chris doesn't want us talking to locals. Forget I said anything, okay?"

"Mmmph-hhhmph-mmph-hmphp!"

He sighed and uncovered her mouth.

"What happened with Gwen? Did you two get back together?!"

"No." Duncan said shortly, stooping down and snatching up the pencil and paper. He scribbled his name on it in thrusted it at the girl. "Here's your stupid autograph, now leave me alone." He turned around and headed back towards the hotel.

"Waitwaitwait!" Brianna ran up to Duncan and grabbed his hand.

Feeling his temper flare but pushing down the anger, Duncan grit his teeth and glared down at the girl. "You're pushing it, kid."

Brianna looked up into his face, unintimidated, and gave him a toothy, childish grin. "Don't give up, ok? I'm rooting for you, and you can do it! Thanks for the autograph!"

"..." Duncan just stared at her, and his expression relaxed. "Thanks, kid." He said gruffly, "now I gotta go."

Brianna let him go and waved him off. "Good luck!"

Duncan stomped towards the beach, rubbing roughly at his eyes as he entered the lobby.

"So, D-man...getting chatty with the locals?" Came a voice from one of the couches in the lobby.

Duncan groaned and turned to see Chris, sipping a coffee and reading a book on one of the plush couches. "Chris...weird to see you reading. Didn't know you were able to."

"Hilarious as usual with the zingers, my man. That's why we love bringing you back," Chris said sardonically, "seriously though, try and keep the local chat to a minimum. I thought you of all people wouldn't have trouble with that."

"Yeah, well the stupid kid was a fan."

"Oh believe me I get it, I have fans too," Chris said, a touch defensive. "More fans than all you twerps combined, probably. Because I'm Chris McLean."

"I dunno," came a new, teasing, voice. "I feel like we were always more popular than you."

Duncan and Chris turned to see Owen padding into the lobby, a big bucket of fried chicken in his arms.

Chris scoffed, his ego obviously bruised. "Well well well, look at Owen here chiming in with his two cents. How quaint."

Owen approached the couch Chris was sitting on and gave the host an affectionate pat on the head. "Aw Chris, don't take it personally!"

"Yeah," Duncan smirked, settling his still damp body on the couch across from Chris. The punk was always down to get some good Chris-roasting in, and his eyes gleamed as he eyed the older man up and down. "You tend to lose fans when you go all psycho on people's favorites."

Chris's ears turned pink, and he buried his head in his hands. "Ugh, can you not remind me of that time of my life? So embarrassing."

"Don't worry, Chris-the-best-host-ever!" Owen consoled him. He ate a piece of chicken and pat Chris on the back, smearing the chicken grease all over his dark shirt. "We still love ya, even if you were a bit kill-y back in the day!"

"Don't get your gross fingers on me, Owen!" Chris complained, standing up quickly to get away from the fat boy. "Lord knows how you're a fan favorite."

"I'm actually not," Owen chuckled.

"Don't be modest, dude, you're like the face of Total Drama," Duncan piped in.

Owen nodded, "sure, but that's why people hate me. They call me a screen hog," he burped loudly, "whatever that means."

"Pffft, if you're a screen hog I hate to think what people say about me," Duncan said with a malicious smirk, "good thing I don't give a shit what those mouth-breathers say about me."

"Did you know some people have Beth as their favorite character?" Chris giggled. "Like damn, what's going on in your life if Beth is your favorite? That shrimpy little bespectacled loser..."

"Not as bad as rooting for Cameron," Duncan said darkly, still remembering how the twiggy twerp had gotten a smooch on the cheek from Gwen in the All-Stars finale.

"Did someone say Cameron?" Came Jo's voice. The jockette, sweaty and hot from her run, entered the lobby to see Owen, Duncan and Chris. "Oh snap, didn't mean to interrupt your little jerk-off session. I see Chris is here with his two pets."

"Screw off, Jo," Duncan said tiredly, "I don't have the energy to deal with you."

"Aww, is poor little Dunkie a widdle tired? Shouldn't you be stoked to still be here? You lucked out big time last night. I was almost rid of you."

"Yeah, well, maybe if you didn't align with a bunch of stupid crybabies, you wouldn't find yourself in the minority."

Jo crossed her arms over her glistening chest, glaring down at the still-sitting punk. "Who said I was in the minority?"

"Me, Owen, Bridgette, Jasmine and Dawn against the rest of you loser second-gen people," Duncan counted the numbers out on his fingers. "Looks like we have the majority to me, toots."

"And you're so sure Dawn and Jasmine are with your little OG alliance?" Jo taunted, "that's adorable. Keep up that cocky attitude. It'll make your elimination that much sweeter."

"Your bluff doesn't scare me, Jo," Duncan snorted, "I saw your reaction during Sammy's elimination. You were shook, as you should've been. You're hosed."

Jo scoffed and stomped off. "That's what you think!" She snapped over her shoulder, "I'll be the one to get the last laugh, dick!"

Duncan just waved mockingly to her. "Buh-bye," he snickered. "Go shower off, you sweaty behemoth."

"Damn, Dunc, you served her the one-two!" Owen said, tossing the now-empty bucket of chicken over his shoulder and squatting into a boxers stance. He gave the air in front of him a couple of quick jabs. "Pow! Pow! Right in the kisser."

"I love seeing Jo getting put in her place," Chris said fondly, "such an irritable girl, that one. Brings me joy."

(Hotel Confessional: Owen.)

"What a swell time, just having some dude talk in the lobby," Owen says happily, "Chris really isn't that bad of a dude after all, huh?"

(End Hotel Confessional: Owen.)

(Hotel Confessional: Jo.)

"Ugh, they'll all pay," Jo complains, "Duncan is such a little brat. I can't wait to see that smug smile WIPED off his face!

(End Hotel Confessional: Jo.)

(Hotel Confessional: Duncan.)

"That little girl..." Duncan scoffs, "why do people root for me anyways?" He's silent for a moment, staring off into space with his unibrow furrowed, "it was kinda uplifting...which is weird since sappy shit like that, especially from little twerps, rarely does squat to me. But hey, it's just a little more drive to get my ass in gear and wipe the floor with this stupid game," he smirks, "again."

(End Hotel Confessional: Duncan.)

On a small, secluded part of the beach, two people rested in each others arms.

"Maybe getting stuck as an intern for a while isn't the worst thing that could've happened to us," Alejandro mused, on his back in the sand.

"Maybe..." Heather said sleepily from atop his chest.

Heather lay sprawled atop Alejandro, resting her head in the crook of his neck and her hands stretched out over her head, palms buried in the warm sand. Alejandro had his hands locked around Heather's waist, his hands resting comfortably on the small of her back, just above her bikini bottoms.

"However, we must figure out how to get back to the Aftermath set," Alejandro continued, "with three of the mergers gone, we're running out of time."

"How about you just shut up," Heather complained, "when you talk you're moving your neck and it's hard to doze off with all that movement."

Alejandro raised his hands and trailed them lightly up Heather's back, making her shiver. "My apologies, Heather. Please, return to your rest."

Heather sat up so she was sitting on Alejandro's waist, cheeks slightly flushed but the venom never leaving her eyes. "Don't do that tickle thing, jerk! You know it makes me all...tingly!"

Alejandro laughed, a genuine laugh not heard by many, and rested his hands on Heather's hips as he squinted up at her, wreathed by the sun. "I will not apologize for giving you the tingles, gorgeous one. You know it's what I live for."

"Ugh, you're so sappy when no one else is around." Heather scoffed, though the smile in her eyes kind of ruined the effect of her words. "If you ever said anything like that in public I would literally murder you."

"I know," Alejandro said happily, taking his hands off Heather's hips and placing them behind his head as he rested in the sand. "Now that you're not as sleepy...any ideas on how to get off this intern-Tour?"

This time it was Heather's turn to laugh, though hers was a lot more exasperated than Alejandro's had been. "So you got me less sleepy just to continue your conversation? You really are an eel."

"A humorous jest." His hands returned to Heather's hips and gave a playful squeeze, making her gasp and grab his hands in ticklish protest.

"There you two are, I was looking for-EWWWWWWWW!"

Both Heather and Alejandro turned to the new voice. Scott, sweaty and sandy from his excursion to the faraway, secluded beach, was staring at Alejandro and Heather in disgust. He immediately shielded his eyes and turned away, bright red. "Oh God, I didn't mean to interrupt! I just...outside?! On the sand!? Isn't that...like, I dunno, gritty?!"

Alejandro and Heather stared at each other for a brief second, still in shock by Scott's sudden appearance, before realizing what the redneck was talking about. With Heather straddling Alejandro's waist, her thighs were blocking out his speedo, making the Latin man look like he was in his birthday suit. And with Heather's hands firmly clasping Alejandros's hands to her hips...there was no doubt what it looked like they were doing at first glance.

As if Alejandro were suddenly made of acid, Heather leapt off him and scrambled to her feet. "Eeeeew, Scott! That is so not what was happening!" Her face had turned a violent shade of crimson, and she was switching her glare between Alejandro and Scott at an almost comical speed.

Alejandro looked like he was trying to hide a grin as he calmly got to his feet. "Heather is correct, my smelly, hickish amigo," he told Scott patiently. "We were merely discussing something."

"Discussing!? Is that what the kids are calling it these days!?" Scott retched, still not looking at either of them. "Y'know, I came here looking for a fight, but now I just wanna vomit!"

The blush faded from Heather's face as she gave Scott a questioning look. "A fight? About what?"

Alejandro's pleasant smile had also melted right off his face, being replaced by one of guarded hesitancy. "Yes, please do inform us." He took a half step to his left, putting him directly between Scott and Heather.

"I gots a bone to pick with you Alejandro," Scott told him, finally turning back to look at the villainous couple. "You been spilling little secrets to Jasmine, huh? Trying to blow up my game?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Alejandro said placidly.

"Yeah, beat it, trailer trash!" Heather added snidely.

"How did you even find us?" Alejandro asked, a little confused.

Scott drew himself up, a proud, smug expression plastered on his pale, freckled face. "Tracking skills. Followed you here to confront you. And don't try and play dumb! I know you tipped Jasmine off about me and the footage!"

Sensing there was no use in denying it anymore, Alejandro took two small steps towards Scott and shrugged. "So what if I did?"

"What business do you have interfering in a game you're not even playing?" Scott asked sourly. "Why blow up my game? It got Sammy sent home!"

"Aww, is someone a little sad their widdle girlfwend got voted off?" Heather asked mockingly from behind Alejandro. "Poor widdle dirt boy all alone?"

"Shut up!" Scott snapped.

"Kindly watch how you speak to her," Alejandro said smoothly, his tone pointed. "And I did what I did because you are a pathetic excuse for a villian. You give us a bad name."

"What?! You did the same shit in All-Stars! You literally hacked in and got evidence of Mal!"

"I'm not talking about that," Alejandro said dismissively, "I'm talking about...well everything else, really." He sighed and took another two steps towards Scott. "But I understand the pain of losing a loved one in this game."

"Do you? At least Scott didn't send his girl out himself," Heather scoffed.

Alejandro ignored her, and continued addressing Scott. "So, in fairness, I'll give you one shot."

"One shot?" Scott was confused.

"Yes, you said you wanted a fight, right? I assumed a small-brained mole like you wanted to throw hands or something."

Scott blinked, and a devious grin spread across his face. "I mean, I wasn't actually planning on a fist fight, but if you're offering a free punch to the kisser, how could I turn that down?"

"Alejandro..." Heather didn't even sound upset, just exhausted, "what are you planning?"

"Me? Why, nothing, of course," Alejandro said innocently. "Come, Scott. You get one punch. If you wish to end it there, you may. If you keep going, expect retaliation."

"Alejandro, stop this," Heather protested, "Scott, don't you dare punch him."

Scott gave her a greedy little smirk. "Sorry, toots, but if I can get any kind of revenge for Sammy, I'm gonna take it." He began rotating his shoulder, warming up his right arm. "Just a little gentleman's spat. I'll even do you a solid and go for the chest to spare your pretty face, okay?"

"You're much too kind," Alejandro said politely. The chiseled young man put his hands behind his back, presenting himself vulnerable to Scott.

"Alright, brace yourself!" Scott whooped, charging forward, arm raised to hit. He twisted his hips, unleashing a punch right at Alejandro's midriff.

Heather winced and turned away, unable to look.

In one smooth motion, Alejandro sidestepped Scott's punch and crouched down, swinging out one of his legs and effectively sweeping Scott's legs out from underneath him.

"ACK!" Scott hit the sand with an uncomfy grunt, landing harshly on his back.

Alejandro stood back up and calmly walked over to Scott, staring down at him with a sneer.

"That was cheap!" Scott complained.

"And that is why you are a terrible villian, and an idiot," Alejandro told him. "There's a simple truth that puts you leagues below people like Heather and myself, or even other competent players like Jo or Courtney..."

Scott rubbed his head and spat some sand out of his mouth. "Oh yeah? Why don't you enlighten me, then?"

"It's because you're an idiot. If you weren't an idiot, you'd know I would never simply give you a free shot at me, Alejandro Burromeurto. If you weren't an idiot, you wouldn't have alienated yourself from Jasmine, and instead endeared yourself to her so that she would be more accepting of your perplexingly genuine feelings for Sammy. Instead, you forced her hand and that resulted in Sammy being eliminated. Its your fault."

Scott's glare slowly intensified as Alejandro kept talking, and a vein thrummed in his forehead. "Y'know, Al, you may be a little more book smart than me...but there's one thing I have both you and your stupid girlfriend beat at."

"Oh? And what's that?" Alejandro asked disbelievingly.

Scott grabbed a fistful of sand and hurled it up at Alejandro's face, catching the handsome teen off guard and causing him to get both a mouthful and an eyeful of sand in the process.

"I'm better at playing dirty!" Scott cried, jumping up and tackling Alejandro the ground. Alejandro's back hit the sand and Scott landed on top of him, triumphant. He used his leg and one of his arms to pin Alejandro's arms to his side.

Alejandro spat out a gooey glob of sandy saliva and smirked up at Scott. "A big mistake, I'm afraid."

"Whaddya mean? I got you pinned down. You're helpless here, Pal-ejan-"

He was cut off as a long, pale leg whistled into his vision and caught him on the side of the face. With a sharp grunt, he was knocked sideways off of Alejandro and landed in a heap on the sand.

Above him stood Heather, rage sparking between her eyes as she sneered down at Scott. "You little shitstain," she hissed at him. "You're gonna come at us like this? When we're just trying to enjoy some alone time?!"

Scott groaned, his cheek already purpling, and lifted himself to his feet. "Jesus Christ, Heather! Overkill, much? I wasn't gonna punch him or anything!"

Alejandro had also gotten to his feet, and walked over behind Heather to casually wrap his arms around her. He had noticed her trembling with rage, and did his best to nonverbally soothe her. He rested his chin on the top of her head, surveying Scott with the same hungry aura that a tiger would its prey. "You are fortunate that all the heavy hitters in the competition are not on the top of their game, or not playing at all." He warned the redneck. "Were I playing this season, I would have already dismantled your pathetic game, annihilated your allies, and sent you back sobbing to whatever dirty trailer you came from." His eyes flashed dangerously, "and you think that's bad? That's just if I alone were playing..."

Scott glared at the two, but the fire had left him. His anger seemed more sulky than anything as he nursed his swelling cheek. He waited for him to continue.

"You best thank whatever being you pray to that Heather is not playing. She makes me look a saint," he said, his tone eerily calm.

"Yeah," Heather agreed, her angry trembling ceasing but the venom in in her voice nowhere near gone. "Now get the hell outta here before I kick your ass again."

"Jeez," Scott said, turning his back on them, "you two are freakin' crazy. Total psychos..."

Alejandro stared after his retreating back. "The hyena provokes the lions and then wonders why they bite back...a truly sad affair."

Heather squeezed Alejandro's arms, which were still wrapped around her. Once Scott was out of earshot, she turned up to look at her boyfriend. "Are you okay?"

Alejandro laughed. "You are sweet, mi amor. I've suffered much worse than a little sand in the face and a tackle from a sweaty hillbilly." He kissed the top of her head. "Look at you, all fired up. Shall we hit the gym? The hotel has one and I know it's cathartic for you."

Heather turned in his arms to wrap her own around him, taking in his scent and secretly glad they were alone so she could be affectionate. "You know me so well."

(Hotel Confessional: Scott.)

Scott is holding ice to his face. "Okay, not that I'd ever tell them to their faces, but Alejandro and Heather are scary." He shivers, "he's right, I'm glad they're not competing this season. How do you even stop such ruthlessness?! I bet the only reason they got stopped in All-Stars is because they were working against each other. Together?" He shakes his head, "man, I don't wanna think about that." He perks up, and gives the camera a smug look. "Though I'm pretty happy with how good of a fight I put up against him. I'd say I looked pretty badass." He's silent for a second and stares at the camera, almost as if he can hear the scornful laughter of the audience. "What?! I did!"

(End Hotel Confessional: Scott.)

(Hotel Confessional: Heather.)

"Ugh, I shouldn't have lost my cool on Scott," Heather sighs, checking her make-up and hair in a handheld mirror. "But when he gave Alejandro that cheap shot I just couldn't help it. It was like instinct took over. I just had to plant my feet into his yellow, crooked teeth."

(End Hotel Confessional: Heather.)

The sun was setting yet again on Barbados, wrapping up the Rest Day for the Final Eight campers.

Jasmine found herself on the roof of the hotel, glumly staring out over the water. She felt a pang of guilt for the umpteenth time that day, and sighed miserably. "...Sammy..." she muttered to herself... "I'm sorry..."

The door to the roof clanged open, and Jo emerged out onto the roof.

"Oi, Traitor!" Jo barked. "We're rounding everyone up! It's time to hop back on the Jet and take off!"

Jasmine balked at Jo's tone. "I'm not a traitor, Jo," she said dully, standing up and dusting off her long ebony legs. "Just back off. I'm not in the mood."

"I don't care that you're not in the mood," Jo said irritably, waiting for the tall girl to join her at the entrance to the rooftop. The two began the long walk down the eight flights of stairs towards the ground floor. "You fucked us. What were you even thinking?!"

"I was thinking I need to get Sammy away from Scott! How can you be okay working with him!? He was just using my best friend, and you expect me to sit idly by!"

"Look, regardless if whether he was using her or not, there were still like, a MILLION better ways to go about doing what you did!" Jo blustered. "Why not just wait until Scott didn't win immunity and blindside him! I don't really wanna work with that idol-stealing jerk, but you forced my hand after you blew apart our alliance!"

"...You woulda been up for that?" Jasmine blinked, "voting Scott out?"

"You mean sending home the sneaky little rat that stole my idol with it still in his pocket?" Jo asked her incredulously. "Uhh...no duh I woulda been down for that! But you jumped the gun!"

"..." Jasmine didn't have anything to say to that.

"Look, I respect strong women," Jo told her as they continued their descent, their footsteps clanging on the metal stairs as they walked. "And there ain't many as strong as us, so let me give you a little advice on something I learned during my time in this stupid game." She stopped walking, and so did Jasmine. Jo looked up at the guilty face of her ex-ally. "Impulsive decisions will cost you this game. You will lose if you can't keep a cool head and take a step back to look at things rationally. Your little meltdown last night is a perfect example of this. If you had just played it cool and we had sent Duncan home last night, we could've booted Scott next, still had the majority, and you, me and Sammy woulda been in the clear, thick as thieves. Instead, you now have no allies, everyone is mad at you, including your best friend, and we've handed power back to the Gen I losers. Do you see what I'm getting at here?"

"...I do..." Jasmine said hollowly. "You're right."

"I know I am. I always am." Jo turned her back on the giant woman and continued her descent . "Get a grip, Jasmine, or you'll be parachuting to Earth before you know it." The camera turned to face Jo, showcasing her grim expression as she got further away from Jasmine. "And I'll be waving you goodbye."

The camera cut to the Jumbo Jet, flying peacefully in the night sky. Another quick cut showed Chris and Chef in the pilots cockpit, eating snacks and reading books as they flew.

"Wow, things are really starting to heat up," Chris remarked to Chef. "You think we'll have a good endgame portion on our hands?"

"We better," Chef grumbled, "I ain't watch all this build up for no payoff."

"True that," Chris agreed, turning to the camera. "Where will be taking our Final Eight next? Who will be the next eliminated? Who's gonna throw hands with each other next? Find out right here, next time, on Total! Drama! Generations!"

A little longer in between updates than I would've liked, but here it is! I hope you guys enjoyed. I know there's no elimination, but I think it was juicy enough! I'm particularly fond of the AleHeather scene. Love writing them.

We're back to the Competition for two more episodes, to send two more people home before the next Aftermath. It'll be juicy, that's for sure.

Please leave a review and let me know:

- What was your favorite scene?

- Who do you think is going to be eliminated next?

- Do you want AleHeather to go back to Hosts, or stay as interns?

Catch you guys next time! Ciao!