XXI: Day Three, Night.

Jupiter Valentine, 18
Applicant #9

Mal's walking faster than he normally would.

They're used to people accommodating to their speed, slowing down their own pace so that they don't have to strain their muscles in order to keep up. Mal didn't really do that, per say, but he also never went running on ahead of them like it was on purpose.

Like he's doing right now.

"Would you slow down?" they ask, slightly breathless. "Trying to keep up with you is exhausting."

"You should've went with the girls."

"Who says, besides you?" they ask. "And why?"

"Because you're complaining about walking, and you wouldn't be if you were with them."

Something in him slows, almost unconsciously. He peers at them over his shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't—"

"I know," they answer. "It's fine."

"None of this is fine," Mal mutters, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

He doesn't answer. They didn't really expect him to. There seems to be a war going on in his head, a whole lot of emotions that they can imagine Mal doesn't go through very often. He's still clutching onto the bat like it's a lifeline - it probably is. They're doing their best to ignore all of the gore towards the end of it, the blood and bits of bone that have since stuck to it.

There's a part of them that almost wants to be scared of Mal, of the anger and what he did to Myra without a moment's hesitation. He had been blank-faced, utterly committed to the deed of murder until they were all certain she was dead. It was hard to be alive with the back of your head caved in.

They were the one Mal grabbed when the girls were fighting at the cliff's edge in the first place, though. He dragged them away, made sure they weren't involved. He protected them, and they don't feel as if most people get the privilege of Gideon Mallory's protection.

And truthfully, the others scared her more than Mal does. Emmi went off a cliff because of them - Emmi is dead because of them. If they hadn't fought in the first place, they wouldn't be walking away on their own now. Mal wouldn't have killed Myra in retaliation, if it was even that in the first place. Maybe it was just one of Arwen's wishes, Mal doing the bidding.

They're really not scared of him the way they think they should be. If anything, this whole thing makes them even more convinced that if it really came down to life and death that Mal would protect them until the end.

It's a relief to know that. Not terrifying.

Maybe they're just crazy. It would be an easier explanation than anything else, if they're being honest.

"If I'm walking too fast, you just tell me," he says quietly. "I'll slow down."

"You're fine. You don't have to slow down on my account."

He shrugs. "Used to it. It's fine."

"What do you mean?"

He swings the bat a little, back and forth a few times. It looks like such an innocent gesture.

"My friend Connie... my best friend, really. She's in a wheelchair. Sometimes I just get too ahead of myself and she has to chase after me. Not easy considered Seven has a paved road about once every ten miles."

They smile. It's easy to picture, if they're being honest. Mal can seem so obtrusive at times, to the wrong people.

"Do I remind you of her?"

"Sometimes." He shrugs again. "Not really. I guess the physical stuff, yeah, but not much else. She's a lot mouthier than you are. When I get too far ahead of her she shouts loud enough for half the damn District to hear. I miss getting shouted at, not going to lie."

"I could shout at you, if you want."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I reckon you will. Have you ever yelled in your life?"

They jab him in the side and he laughs, a little, under his breath. It's better than nothing, better than the look on his face earlier today. Here they are, walking alongside a murderer, but they're no better, really. Arwen wanted him to do it, but they stood there and let it happen. Not once did they step forward and try to intervene, try to pull him away from the situation like he did when the girls were all fighting.

They're as much responsible for this as anyone else.

And they could have gone with Arwen and Jahaira. That would have been the easier option. Beside the bat they've got all the supplies, the water, the car. They have virtually nothing, except each other. They know deep down that that's not good enough, but it feels like it is. They're just glad to have someone because they don't think they could do this alone.

"Hey, Mal," they say quietly. "Stop for a second."

He does so, almost instantly, and they take the opportunity when it presents itself to step forward and wrap their arms around him, a crushingly tight hug. He goes stiff in their embrace, arms flattened to his sides where they've pushed them. They could let go, but they're not sure Mal would hug them back anyway.

"I don't want you to be sad."

"I'm not sad," he huffs. "Just... I don't know yet."

"Let me know when you figure it out."

He nods, and pulls an arm free, just the one, and wraps it back around their shoulders in turn, holding them there for another few seconds.

"You know, you're really not like Connie at all," he says. "She'd have hit me and told me to stop moping, not hugged me."

They step back with a smile on their face, and for a second the horrors of the day are gone. Something as simple as a hug has the ability to erase it all, for a few seconds, at the relief that floods back into Mal's eyes. It's not a permanent solution, that they know, but it's a brief respite, and they needed it.

"Let's go, then," they offer, and this time it's them that takes the lead, waiting for Mal to catch up. "We've got water to look for."

Topher Westmoreland, 12
Applicant #24

They should have gone back by now.

It seemed almost hypocritical to tell Jay that he would need to figure something out if they didn't come back by nightfall, now. They definitely weren't going to make it back by then. The sun was setting, the sky steadily growing darker.

They'd been walking all day. They'd be lucky to make it back before dawn, at this rate.

He couldn't help but wonder what Jay would be doing, right about now. Would he try to get Tarquin out on his own? Would he risk coming after that without knowing exactly which path they took?

"Lani, we should go back."

"We can't go back without anything," she says in frustration, waving her hands about. He understands where his sister is coming from, but it's hard to not focus on the exhaustion, the pointless path they're both walking along right now.

"We're not doing them any good being out here," he offers, as a way to make her feel better. He hopes, anyway. "They're both probably freaking out that we're still gone."

"What if he's dead?" she asks, voice rising an octave. "What if he died while we were gone?"

"Why would he have died? It was his leg, not his heart. Jay can handle it for like, twelve hours. They'll both be fine."

He was patient, at first, but now he's getting angry. What are they even doing out here anymore? They really aren't doing any good, that's for sure, and it's not doing Tarquin any good either, no doubt. He'd never say it aloud to Noelani, but he doesn't exactly trusts Jay's protective and caring instincts.

He reaches forward and grabs her around the arm. "Let's go."

"Calm down."

"I'm very calm," he insists, although his rising voice says otherwise. "We need to go back. Now."

"Keep your voice down!"

"Why?" he asks, yelling just for the sake of it. "The Sentinels already know where we are! Maybe if someone else finds us they'll have some supplies to help us, or even some moral support—"

"I don't think we're alone out here, Toph."

"No, really?" he questions, rolling his eyes. "What makes you think that?"

"I'm serious!" she insists. "Besides the Sentinels and the other applicants, I think, and— oh my God."

"What?" he asks. She tugs her arm out of his grip and wraps her arms around him, bustling him behind a large rock. She basically sits on him to get him to fall to the ground, forcing him to stay still.

"What are you doing?"

"Shut up!" she whispers. "Shut up, I think I saw someone."

"Okay?" he wonders. "So let's go see who it is. We need help!"

"No, no," she says. "Stay still for just a second."

He doesn't really have a choice - like he said, she's basically seated on top of him in order to keep him pinned to the ground, craning her neck. It's not doing any good that he can tell; she's not nearly tall enough to see over the top of the rock, not without standing up.

"Promise me you'll stay still."

"I can't promise that."

"Topher."

"Okay, mother," he mumbles, muffled into the dirt. Noelani lifts some of her weight up, slowly using the rock for purchase as she rises to her feet. All subtlety is thrown out the window the second she pokes her head over top of the rock - her hair kind of does that. He's not sure why she's even attempting to be subtle in the first place.

He sits up, leaning against the rock, but stays put. He can at least try to listen.

"Do you see anyone?"

"Yeah, one person. They're up on top of the rocks over there."

"Over where?"

"Over there! East maybe? That could be west."

He sighs and slowly begins to push himself up next to her; she doesn't shove him back down, so he takes that as permission and continues. His head barely crests the top of the rock, but he follows Noelani's gaze to the rocky structure maybe a hundred feet away. He too can see a dark silhouette perched on a flat edge of it.

"Do they have a weapon?" he asks. "Where did they get a weapon?"

"I'm telling you, it could be someone else! Someone we don't know."

If he's being honest, he had already forgotten about that bit. Again, he doesn't want to say it aloud, but his sister may just be a little crazy. He can't judge her for that - this place could do that to anyone.

He sinks back down to the ground. "Stop staring at them, then. We'll wait until they go away."

Noelani hits the ground beside him with a very spectacular thud.

Or at least he would think it was spectacular, if not for the arrow in her throat.

He didn't even hear the flight of the arrow as it whizzed all the way towards them; no, all he hears now is the awful choking, the bubbling of the blood out of her mouth and all over chin. She lands on her back, stretched out before him, all her limbs jerking out in panic.

"Noelani," he chokes. "No, no, no, it's okay, you're okay."

He flings himself over, grabs a hold of her arms. She grabs him back in a similar way. Another arrow goes flying overhead, nearly skimming the rock they had just been peeking over, and he ducks over her, as close as he can get. Some of the blood and spittle flies up, hitting him in the cheek, and he flinches.

"It's okay," he repeats, the threat of a sob blocking his throat. "It's okay, everything's okay."

Her hands are still curled around his forearms. He expects her to pull him closer. Another arrow comes shooting overhead - this time it collides with the rocks and shatters, bits of wood and the fletching scattering over his back.

Her hands, instead of holding on, push him away.

It's a feeble motion, and Topher hardly goes anywhere at all. She tries again. It's harder, this time. Still not enough to force him away properly, but he sees her mouth moving amidst all the blood, trying to force a word out that she can't form.

Another arrow zooms in. This one is lower, and he feels the breeze nearly catch the top of his head.

She wants him to go.

If he goes, she dies.

There's so much blood, so much worse than Tarquin. He doesn't know the statistics, but he can't imagine she's going to survive with an arrow through the front of her neck, crushed beneath the back of her throat. He has no chance of getting her back to the others; she won't last that long.

She shoves at him again and it's slow, weak. Already there's so much less force behind it than before.

He looks up. The person is still there, hugging the rock. Ready to shoot again.

No one, he knows, would have the aim this person did. None of them were that good. If they shoot again, and he's looking like this, they'll hit him, no doubt about it.

They release another arrow. He lets go of Noelani's arms with a very ugly sob and dives out of the way.

There's rocks everywhere, boulders scattered through the dirt like a mountain collapsed directly overhead. He scrabbles away on his hands and knees, over and over again, feeling the sharp edges of the stone underneath tear at his palms and knees. It doesn't matter how much he bleeds.

There are tears streaming down his cheeks, hotter than anything now that the sun's gone down.

It was bad enough when the bracelet went down to seventeen, when he knew they were really and properly doing this without a choice to go back. They had been walking at the time, chatting, when Noelani had noticed it.

It's even worse when it ticks down to sixteen, because that one belongs to his sister.

Seventeen. A number. A placement.

He doesn't want to be sixteen.

Jupiter Valens, 14
Applicant #16

"Jay?"

"I thought I told you to go to sleep."

"Kinda hard," Tarquin mumbles. "They're still not back yet?"

He shakes his head, even though Tarquin hasn't opened his eyes. He probably gets the message loud and clear regardless.

He watches the sun disappear below the horizon with a yawning, black pit in the bottom of his stomach, a pit as big as the darkening sky above them. It feels like it's going to eat away at him until something comes spilling out. Maybe it would feel better than he feels right now. A sort of release.

Probably not.

"When do you think they're going to come back?"

He shakes his head again. He almost doesn't want to know. He just wants to hear the duo's approaching footsteps as they struggle their way back up in the rock in the dark, unable to see if where they're stepping is solid or some chasm ready to drag them in.

There's only so much he can do. Tarquin's comfortable, relatively speaking - as comfortable as he'll be able to get him. He tried to stay under shade most of the day, and inched Tarquin as close as he could in turn. He spent some time pacing once the sun started setting, back and forth. He poked his head into the black mine-shaft in the mountainside that Tarquin pointed out, but didn't dare venture inside. Not without a light that he does not have.

There could be something in there, maybe, but his life isn't worth the risk. He's not sure it's worth any of this.

At least he doesn't feel quite so sick now, if you ignore the pit in his stomach.

"I'm sorry," Tarquin says.

"For what?"

"I know you didn't want to stay here."

"Well, you heard what Noelani said."

"I know, but... you wanted to be the one to go. You didn't want to sit here with me. If Topher and her weren't siblings, he probably would have stayed and you would have gone. That would have been your ideal choice."

"You have an awful lot of energy to talk for someone stuck in a bear trap."

"Can't move." He shrugs and seems to regret it instantly, wincing in the trap's grip. "Gotta use the energy for something. And you didn't deny it, you know."

He gnaws at the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, biting down hard to keep himself from saying something to make the situation worse. So what - Tarquin's right. A lot of people have been right about him before. It makes no difference.

"Let's just agree that neither of us are in the situation we wanna be in right now," he mutters, and Tarquin sighs. He's still lying flat on his back, staring up at the stars.

Jay has no idea what he's thinking, and doesn't want to imagine.

The two of them sit in silence for a long while until Jay can't bear to any longer. He gets to his feet, swinging the metal bar back and forth. It's still hot but not unbearably so with the sun gone down - it's as good of a time for another pace as any. It's not like he can go that far anyway, unless he climbs down. He has the best vantage point from up here; no matter what way he looks, though, there's no sign of Noelani or Topher.

He should have never agreed to this in the first place.

The mine-shaft is somehow even more imposing in the dark, an inkier black than the rest of their surroundings. He can hear dripping water from somewhere, and it's almost enough to tempt him.

Almost.

Most of the supports have crumbled down to the ground below, but behind the first ten or so feet the pathway looks clear; it wouldn't take all that much to clamber aside and explore a little bit. The only issue is he can't see anything beyond those ten feet. For all he knows it drops off into nothing, the way some of the rock does here. He could stumble off into nothing.

Besides, the noises are keeping him from taking the plunge. The sound of dripping water, the creaking, the occasional pitter-patter of a falling rock rolling to a stop, and... voices?

Are those voices?

He presses himself up against the first fallen support and it nearly gives way. A cloud of dust erupts from the ceiling and the whole tunnel seems to shake for a moment before it comes still.

The noises, the voices, those stop as well, until everything falls still again. Then they resume, quieter this time, but he can still hear them. It's more than one - that much he can tell.

He takes a few experimental steps back away from the mine's entrance and the voices fall, until he's straining to hear them.

"There are people in there," he says, to no one in particular. It makes him feel better to say it aloud, less crazy.

People... applicants, Sentinels, or something else?

Someone else.

Probably someone else.

"Tarquin," he hisses under his breath, picking his way back to their resting spot. "Tarquin, hey."

He doesn't move upon Jay's initial approach, breathing even and deep. Jay's not sure how he can do that with his leg caught in a bear trap. He's out cold, though. And what is he going to do? If there's people in the mines and they're coming up, he can't stay here. He can't get Tarquin out, either, not this quickly and not without making a hell of a lot of noise.

He angrily kicks at some of the rocks, internally kicking himself for the noise it makes. Tarquin's asleep. He can't stay here.

Which means he's going to go.

And leave him here?

"Yep," he decides. "Yep, alright, let's go."

He's talking to himself because Tarquin's out, because there's no one else around except for the people who may come up here and kill him. Maybe not, but he's not feeling so optimistic.

And like he already said, his life isn't worth the risk.

He looks down at Tarquin again. He should wake him up, or at least try to get him out. Smash the chain tethering him to the rock to pieces, peel the trap away from his leg - something other than abandon him.

But Noelani and Topher are gone. They told him to figure something out. They never said what exactly that entailed, and he's certainly not about to kill Tarquin to spare him.

That leaves him one option.

He hardens his resolve, tightens his grip on the bar, and starts climbing down.

Tarquin's out of view quickly, still sound asleep, but the pit in his stomach only opens up wider

Icarus Devereux, 17
Applicant #10

Maybe it's because of all the heat-induced sleeping he did earlier, but he sure as shit can't sleep now.

Or maybe, just maybe, it's because he's cramped up in the passenger seat still. It was different when he was exhausted, disoriented. Now he's just slightly annoyed.

Okay, beyond slightly annoyed.

He glances into the backseat at Soran, who appears to be enjoying his sleep quite thoroughly. Maybe that's because of how much room he has for his legs and just about everything else - Icarus wishes he had that much privilege. He's not used to being the one without that option.

He's tempted to throw something at him, but he's got one of the water bottles or one of the weapons.

Both seem kind of harsh.

Fuck it, though, because this guy shoved him out of a car two days ago and could have very well killed him.

He picks up one of the water bottles and lobs it into the back-seat. It hits him nearly square between the shoulders and he smiles as Soran shoots nearly perfectly upright, eyes wide.

"Hand slipped," he claims, and reaches into the footwell to grab it back. Soran gets there before him, wrestling his hand away to get it first, and then he throws it back. It bounces off the center of his chest and over his feet, into his own footwell.

"Hey."

"You threw it at me first."

"I said my hand slipped!"

"Yeah, backwards and directly into me. Likely story."

He nods in agreement, reaching down to scoop the bottle back up.

"Is something wrong?" Soran asks. "Or were you just feeling particularly petulant?"

"That's a big word for you."

"Particularly is longer than that, jackass. Any reason you woke me up, or can I go back to sleep? I know you're almost exclusively relying on me to protect you - again, likely story, but—"

"I do not need you to protect me," he exclaims. "I'm uncomfortable."

Soran looks at him. "Okay?"

"Give me the backseat."

"Why are you so demanding?" Soran asks. "Give me the keys, give me the backseat, give me this, give me that. Does it ever end?"

"Well, you've been back there for a few hours, and I think we should switch."

"You had all day to sleep back here," Soran points out, which is fair, but Icarus isn't about to admit that. "I'm the one stuck driving from dawn 'till dusk because someone is too afraid to do it himself."

"I'm not afraid."

Soran barks out a laugh and lays down again, stretching all the way out. Again, he's not going to say it, but he's envious as hell. He kicks his legs out all the way to the opposite door, folds his hands behind his head. He looks miles more comfortable than Icarus is. He tries to do the same, but his knees bump up against the dash even at the best of times, and the seat won't go back anymore because the lever is stuck in place.

"Go for a walk if you feel so cramped."

"Maybe I will," he snaps, but doesn't reach for the door, nor does he make any effort to move. He tries to make himself comfortable, settles more firmly into the seat-back, but it hardly does anything at all. He crosses and uncrosses his arms a few times, wiggling around.

"God," Soran grumbles. "Please let me sleep. It's like the bunks all over again."

He wiggles a bit more and falls still, listening to Soran sigh in the backseat as silence comes back over them once again.

"Do you think there's enough room for both of us back there?" he asks, nearly five minutes later.

"Don't you dare."

He clambers over the seats and into the back, sitting first on Soran's legs and then the actual seat once he shoves them out of the way. Soran's shoes hit the mats with a thud, and he stares blankly at the ceiling.

"God help me."

"You could sleep in the trunk, if you like," he offers.

"You're gonna end up in the trunk if you don't shut up."

"Don't kill me in my sleep, please," he begs, trying to settle down. Soran's inched over - not much, but it's a bit of a start. Soran's feet are also nearly in his face once he lifts them up and back on the seat, but he feels like mentioning that will get him stabbed.

"No promises."

"You wouldn't."

"I'm still considering it."

"No, you're not," he says, mostly for his own benefit. If he can convince himself that Soran won't murder him the second he closes his eyes it will make rest come easier, he's sure. And it sounds like half the truth now, anyway. If Soran wanted to he'd have done it by now. There's a reason he shoved him out of the car instead of murdering him outright - Icarus isn't sure what that reason is, per say, but he'll take whatever it happens to be.

He's not quite laying down; neither of them are, now, but there's just enough room for the both of them to stretch out. One of his legs is hanging off the seats and hitting the ground, but he knows when to choose his battles.

Most of the time, anyway.

"I'm surprised they didn't teach you to be an insomniac at the Academy," he says quietly, and Soran mumbles something into the fold of his arms.

"You're teaching me how to be one right now," he mumbles, just loud enough for Icarus to hear him say it. It's satisfying, but also slightly... disheartening? He should probably let him sleep.

Is he going soft? God forbid, especially not for Soran.

"Really, though, what did they teach you? I know you were only there for a year and a half."

"They go easy on you when you're that age."

"Well, I'd certainly fucking hope so," he quips. "So what, just the basics?"

He hums in agreement. "Basic weapons - most of the smaller ones. Knives, short-swords, things like that. A lot of mental conditioning, really. The younger they could get you the better. It gave them more time to shape your mind the way they wanted."

"That's sort of fucked up," he muses, and Soran hums again. "Is that why you killed someone so easily?"

"You did it first," he repeats, but this time he almost sings it, like it's really that amusing to him.

It probably is. The mindset of a murderer, and all that.

They both have the same one, then.

That's sort of a disturbing thought.

It's more disturbing than realizing he's sharing a backseat with the guy, because he really doesn't think Soran's going to hurt him. Not right now, at least. Maybe in the future, if it comes to that. Maybe not even then.

He's not so sure anymore.

Soran's gone quiet, finally, and Icarus almost pipes up but settles down properly, instead, letting whatever floating thoughts drift away in the hot desert breeze. He probably should let him sleep; like he said, he is doing all of the driving, and for that Icarus should at least be grateful. He probably wouldn't be alive right now if Soran hadn't let him back in the car. He'd have just withered away in the desert, or melted under the sun.

It doesn't seem so stupid now that he's out here.

It does seem stupid to almost, maybe trust someone who nearly killed him once, but stupid is what he's best at.

Estella told him that once, he thinks. It's getting to the point where he can't remember much of what she said.

He guesses it doesn't matter, anymore.

Not out here.

Isperia Martorell, 16
Applicant #17

"You don't look so good," is the first thing she says in nearly three hours or so, and it sounds very stereotypical once it comes out.

It's the truth, though. Meris looks like she's fading, and faster than before. They've been trying to travel more at night, trying to see what they could find, but even that may have not been the brightest idea.

Ria gets the sense that they've been traveling so much because Meris wasn't all that inclined to stop. Stopping meant close quarters, meant the possibility of conversation...

Usually Ria wasn't so inclined to do either of those things herself, but right now they may not have much of a choice.

"I'm good," Meris decides, eventually, but it sounds labored.

"I'm not doing so well either," she admits. Everything hurts in an odd sort of way - her body doesn't have nearly enough hydration to keep going at the pace they're going for much longer. Meris peers back at her, eyes narrowed. There's sweat still pooling in the hollows of her cheeks, creating steady tracks down her temples. Despite the sun having gone down it's still impossibly hot; she can't say she's all that surprised.

"Where do you suggest we stop, then?" Meris asks, flinging her arms about as if to indicate the overwhelming presence of nothing in the immediate area. It's mostly just a lot of flat, a bit of bushes here and there, scraggly and brown from the heat.

"We could go back to that little shack, maybe? It's not that far. At least if we fell asleep we'd have some shelter from the sun when we woke up..."

She trails off, because Meris is staring at her, and Meris is nothing if not a bit intimidating. Meliodas seemed to like her just fine, but he also seemed to get along with everyone, even the impossible ones, so she's not sure how much weight that holds. Sure, Meris made her get up off the ground where she was sobbing, even though it had seemed a bit harsh at the time. She could barely remember the snappish words that had come out of her mouth - it hadn't mattered, really, because they had made her get up.

"Okay." Meris sighs in agreement, rubbing a hand across her forehead. "Let's go, then."

She nods and waits for Meris to pick the pace back up, but she doesn't, not really. It's more listing than before, her feet dragging through the sand. The shack is at least a mile back, maybe two. That wouldn't seem so far in a normal situation, but now it seems like forever.

Maybe forever is doable, though. It's not like they have much of a choice otherwise, to return to a shack that doesn't even have four standing walls.

She thought they should have stayed there in the first place. She should have spoken up then, before they got so far away.

That doesn't matter now, either.

She's no expert in heatstroke, or something slightly less terrible, but she reckons that someone small as herself has less energy to exert. Everything hurts, don't get her wrong, but Meris is probably worse off at the end of the day. She's slightly taller and stockier, not nearly as thin. She's also been walking at a much more determined pace the majority of the time, carrying their bit of supplies.

She steels herself and reaches for the bag still perched on Meris' shoulders. She doesn't so much flinch as she jerks a little in surprise as Ria pulls the bag from her shoulder and then shove's Mel's sweater into it, slinging it across her own arm.

It's all stiff with the dried blood and spittle, now. She tries to ignore the scrape of it across the arm of her sweater every time she takes another step forward.

"Thanks," Meris murmurs.

"No problem. Just take it easy."

Meris could have very easily left her with Mel's body, but she didn't. Maybe that's why she feels sort of responsible for her well-being now, even if that just means she gets her somewhere she can sleep easily for the night. It doesn't feel like an even trade-off, but it's all she's got going for her.

"You know, I had no idea why he was so insistent on bringing you along," she says, before Ria can chastise her for wasting her energy on speaking. Maybe that's just because she wouldn't know what to talk about.

"I still don't know," she admits.

"You're smart. Not to say he wasn't, but we all know how that ended."

She swallows, throat closing up at the memory of it - at all the foam and blood coming out of his mouth, his convulsing body tearing the wound in his stomach back open.

"Smart is good out here," Meris continues. "It's probably going to be the thing that keeps you alive. Not the ability to fight, or to run... just your brain."

Well, her brain is the thing that made them turn around and seek shelter, so maybe Meris isn't wrong. It just feels like she's going to need more than that.

"I think you're pretty smart too."

Meris scoffs. "Not as likely, if you knew me. If I were smart I'd have put him out of his misery instead of letting him suffer, but I'm not."

"I don't think those two things equal out to one another," she murmurs. "You didn't want to see him suffering any more than I did, but you were closer with him than I was. That meant it was harder for you to do anything about it. Harder than it was for me."

Meris grabs her arm around the elbow when she stumbles in the dirt, legs like jelly. She lets go almost as quickly once Ria is steady, apparently not able to focus on talking and walking at the same time, but she appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

She ignores the fact that her killing Meliodas was almost entirely an accident. There's a lot of things that don't matter now.

"See," Meris says quietly. "Smart."

She's not sure she agrees, not on this level. There's nothing smart that goes along with killing one of the only people that trusted you. Maybe the only one.

Maybe not anymore, though.

She looks up at Meris, and doesn't receive a look back. She's so used to Meris scrutinizing her, watching her, observing something even she's not sure exists. This time it doesn't come, no matter how long she waits for it.

That feels a lot like progress, in her eyes.

I've put a Final 8 poll up on my profile 'cause I'm curious, so if you've scrolled down for... some odd reason, before reading this chap, please read it before you look at that. Spoilers, obviously. Let me know what you thought of this one, and thank you to the few and far between reviewers I get. You mean the world to me!

Also, a good friend of mine has started an SYOT and is looking for submissions. It's called Absolution and is hyperlinked on my profile if you're interested.

Until next time.