"I'm a psychiatrist, who also…is skilled at hunting and fishing."
Not too surprisingly, Cosette was voted in faster than before. Visibly elated that she got her wish to be with Marius in their next round, she took her place with him inside the bunker. Next it was Courfeyrac's turn, who was just as confident as he had been in the previous round, until he read out his extra trait.
"I'm a mechanic, who is a compulsive liar." He didn't need to look at the faces of his friends to know his odds weren't great. Still, he tried appealing to those he was closest to, looking to Combeferre, whose mind was torn between what logic and his heart wanted to say.
"No one else here knows that much about cars – my skills will still be a necessity once the year's up"
"That's not true" Said Jehan, though his tone and face were both hesitant to say anything – after all, he wanted Courfeyrac to live if it was possible.
"Bahorel and Feuilly both know enough about mechanics that your extra characteristic pulls your bunker-worthiness down a few points"
"I'm afraid I have to agree with him."
"And me. Sorry, Courf'"
With the extra support from Enjolras and Joly, just like that, Courfeyrac was the first to face death by radiation. As he returned to his space on the floor, Jehan let Bahorel go before him, given their ambiguous seating plan.
"Alrighty…" His general playful, cheeky demeanour made people want to vote for him regardless, though at the look on his face when he read his card through once, doubt was already sweeping through the group.
"I'm an architect, who also has Chlamydia. But guys, come on – you'll still need someone to build things, someone with that knowledge-"
"We also need to think about repopulation." Replied Enjolras, followed by a nod from Combeferre.
"Besides – I don't think STI's are something we need to bring into the population if we can help it."
Taking the loss of votes well, he went to where Courfeyrac was theatrically holding his arms out, as if to comfort him in the most overdramatic way possible.
"It's alright, my friend. We both had a good run in round one."
"Ah, so true, so true."
"Okay Jehan, come up."
Giving Bahorel a gentle pat on the head as he made his way to the front, the redhead brought out his card, visibly anxious to see if his trait would save him this time.
"I'm a published poet, who-"
"BANG."
Their teacher suddenly yelling the word made more than a few of them startle back, and the gun he'd formed from his fingers that was pointed at Jehan's head only added to the confusion.
"…What?"
"I'm sorry, but his place goes to me. I'm simply saving you all the risk of having to choose between two people later on who should both be included, who couldn't be because you felt sorry for him."
"So you killed him?"
The look the teacher cast over the group was chilling, to say the least.
"A gunshot to the head is far more merciful than leaving him to suffer nuclear fallout. Or rather, letting you send someone with vital skills to die."
"You don't know what else my card said!" Snapped Jehan, his voice rising a little in disbelief and anger. "I could have been useful!"
"And are you?" The teacher retorted, motioning to his card, which was now being held to the poet's chest defensively. "Tell us, not that it matters – what is your extra trait?"
Opening his mouth to speak, his voice was much quieter as he answered a moment later.
"…I'm a published poet, who's also gay."
"Case in point."
"That's not fair – there's nothing wrong with that!"
"No, not in today's world. But that world is gone forever, with only a limited amount of people now inhabiting the Earth. What is a gay poet going to bring to the preservation of the human race? Homosexuality will always be present in nature, you're nothing special. And you can all wipe the offended looks off your faces. I've been teaching you all to think with your minds, not your feelings. Think logically now. You have only eight places in that bunker, you have to think practically."
Looking from the conflicted faces of the group to Jehan, who had a hundred and one words flitting across his face, but in a rare moment, had no way of putting them across, the teacher sighed.
"Go and sit down."
When he didn't move straight away, Courfeyrac got up and gently took his arm, leading him to where he and Bahorel had been stationed. The silence that followed was only broken by the teacher nodding at Joly, who got up to say his piece.
"…I'm an electrician, who is, ah…" Rolling his eyes with a little, sheepish smile of defeat, the dark haired student finished his sentence. "I'm sterile."
When no hands went up straight away, he moved to join Jehan when Bossuet suddenly spoke up.
"He's still skilled in something we'll definitely need. There are plenty of guys here, so having one who can't help reproduce isn't that much of a loss."
"If we let in Eponine and Musichetta, that's all the girls in the group and three spaces filled. That's five left, minus Marius and the wildcard. That leaves us with only three spaces left." Came Babet's voice from the back of the group. His contribution came as a slight surprise to Montparnasse – in all honesty he thought he'd fallen asleep.
"That's three spaces that should go to men who aren't shooting blanks. And besides, we've got the wildcard."
"So?" Countered Bossuet, "He knows the exit code. That's all."
"That's not all. How do you think he knows the code?" Pausing for dramatic effect, he continued. "He's the one who built the bunker, or at least got the electrics up and working. That means that it's more than likely he's also got the same know-how as Doctor OCD up there."
The teasing nickname was quickly met with attempted retaliation, though Musichetta was fast enough to pull Bossuet back.
"As much as I hate to agree" Said Combeferre carefully, "It does make sense. What are the chances he'd just know the code for the sake of knowing it?"
Joly met his friend's apologetic glance with one of understanding.
"Anyone else against?"
When the majority of the room put their hands up, Joly went and joined the others who hadn't been so lucky. Swiftly taking his place at the front of the room was Musichetta, who shot Babet a venomous look as she spoke.
"Before I read out my card, I want to clarify something for you"
"Oh Christ, please spare us."
"Joly has a name, and he happens to have hypochondria. It isn't the same thing as being afraid of germs, and it isn't the same thing as OCD – which, by the way, isn't something to laugh at either. So, if you're going to insult someone, at least do a bit of reading first. Though, even if you read every picture book in the library, if you try to call him names again, I'll fuck you up so badly the coroner will have a hard time identifying your remains as human. Got it, ass-clown?"
Montparnasse's laughter at his friend was only drowned out by the applause of the others, which came to a close as Musichetta gave a small curtsey, and proceeded to read out her card as planned.
"I'm a classically trained ballet dancer, who is…'has' an IQ of 200. So, not only am I female – something majorly lacking in this sausage fest of a class, but I'm also a treat for the gene pool."
Grantaire was the first to put his hand up, unashamedly grinning in amusement. Even Enjolras had a hard time not smiling at her way with words. Hands followed in quick succession, all received with a bright, triumphant smile from the young lady in question as she took her place with Cosette and Marius in the bunker, giving Joly a small kiss on the head on the way.
Hoping to follow Musichetta, Bossuet clambered to his feet, accidentally tripping on Combeferre's foot as he went, though he managed to catch himself just as fast. Once composed, he opened his card, his expression hopeful.
"I'm an illustrator, which is pretty useless I suppose – but I also have an eidetic memory."
"Photographic memory would be helpful in preserving human history, biology, that sort of thing" Said Combeferre, looking to Enjolras to see where he sat on this particular choice.
"That is true, yes…but that's all he can offer, other than his artistic skill."
"It's not only artistic skill" Bossuet added, turning the blond's attention back to him. "I mean, illustrators, artists, poets – we have a knack of being resourceful, and a creative eye and mind-set is never a bad thing to have around."
Across the room, Jehan took the reference to his rejection with a silent appreciation, the arm around his shoulders giving him a light, encouraging squeeze.
"While all of that is true, we only have four spaces left." Replied Eponine, causing a few members of the class to count how many people they still had to go through; eight. "I'm sorry, but I don't think it's worth the risk. Someone else could have some really practical skill that we won't be able to include if we put you in."
Giving a small bow when he was voted out, Bossuet went to where Joly was moving up to give him a space to sit, despite there being a lot of floor space around them.
Then came Babet's turn. Musichetta and Joly shared an equal look of disdain, but they still listened as he read out his card, scratching at his jaw absently as he did so.
"I'm a professional singer, who also has bipolar disorder."
He was voted out fairly quickly, though whether or not that was due to the group's general dislike of his attitude, or his extra trait, or both, no one could really say. Although Montparnasse couldn't help but feel far cockier as he read out his.
"I'm an actor, who also won the genetic lottery. So, short of me getting shot in the face or falling off a cliff, I'll live to the age of one hundred and three. I'll never get bone disease, brain disease, heart disease, any kind of cancer or generally any sort of common ailment. You all know where to put me"
"Don't be so sure" Enjolras remarked, though this was met with a smug kind of sneer.
"You're trying to repopulate, right? Someone with my genes is something you can't pass up. Plus, I'm an actor; there's your entertainment 'morale' factor shit sorted." With a look towards Jehan, "Sorry Keats, no offence."
After some consideration, it was decided that he was right. He soon joined the others in the bunker, flipping a victorious finger to Babet in the losers section. Claquesous was next, silently making his way to front, though he made sure he was heard from under his hood.
"I'm a veterinarian who also happens to be asexual."
"That's not a lot of help…"
"Asexual doesn't mean I won't have sex for procreation. I still have the equipment and I can assure you all it works. And plus, I have a knowledge of animals, which-"
"Again, is not helpful in the long term." Enjolras interrupted, not losing eye contact with the intense, willowy student at the front. "We're not the only survivors on Earth; I find it hard to believe that you'd be the last remaining vet on the planet. We're running out of spaces, and I don't see how you'd be able to help in a way Combeferre or Feuilly could. I'm voting against."
"Fucks sake…"
"Next?"
"Go on, 'Ferre." Checking that Feuilly didn't mind him going next, Combeferre took his turn.
"I'm a lawyer, who is also fluent in LSF – French sign language."
"That'd be useful if any other survivors were deaf"
"Only if they were from France." Marius pointed out from behind the safety of the bunker doors. "And I'm assuming we're the only bunker in France..? Unless I'm wrong in thinking that?"
"What makes you say that?" Asked the teacher.
"Well, I mean…it's all rather ambiguous – we haven't been led to believe that there are other bunkers anywhere near us, and while that might be wild conjecture, we should entertain that possibility. If we are the only bunker in France, then French sign language won't mean much to a deaf survivor in, say, Sweden or England."
"…It's a bit of a stretch, but…I agree with Marius." Grantaire said at last, looking around to anyone else. After a bit of arguing and weighing the pros and cons, the vote was made; it was close, but Combeferre didn't make the cut.
"Hi all – I'm a chemist, and…um, I think there's been a mistake here?" Feuilly frowned, showing his card to the teacher. "I have two traits."
"Must be a typo. But, continue anyway."
"Okay…well, I'm also trained as a GP, and I also have a degree in electrical engineering."
"That's not too hard of a decision." Said Enjolras, raising his hand as several of the others followed suit.
"No, hang on" Feuilly cut in quickly, holding a hand out for people to wait. "There's only three spaces left, and four people including me. Now, it's obvious both you and Grantaire are getting in – your skills alone as enough to sway us in your favour, regardless of whatever your cards say. But we only have two girls in the bunker right now. Eponine, what does your card say?"
Taking the invitation, Eponine joined him at the front and opened her card.
"I'm a neurosurgeon, who also has a 50% chance of testing positive for Huntington's disease."
The out-voted shared a look between them, as did the students inside the bunker.
"What is that, exactly?" Asked Cosette, though the answer came from an unexpected source.
"It's a neurodegenerative genetic disorder. It messes with your coordination, can lead to psychiatric problems, that kind of shit…Sorry, 'Ponine. I'm voting against." Montparnasse stated firmly.
"How do you know all that?" Asked Cosette, frowning in curiousity.
"Does it matter?" He retorted just as fast. "She's got a chance of having it, which means any kids she has will have that chance as well, even if she tests negative. And if she tests positive, it'll suck for her. Either way, the gene pool's getting cloudy."
And with that, Eponine was out, while Feuilly was voted in. With his medical knowledge making up with their lost surgeon, it was a win-win. Although it was fairly obvious the last two people would get the last two slots, both Grantaire and Enjolras went to the front, opening their cards at the same time.
"I'm a survival expert, who's…gay."
"And I'm a farmer…with a criminal record." Giving Enjolras a smirk, Grantaire added; "Don't worry; I won't let the wildcard shoot you as well."
"That's comforting, Grantaire, thank you."
Sarcastic or not, he still kept his smile on his face as he looked to the others.
"So..? Can we come in?"
"Enjolras, yes – but you, we need to consider. I mean, we have to think about what your record was for."
"Seriously..? 'Ferre, come on – I could have been caught shoplifting for all we know, a record doesn't make me a serial murderer."
"He's right." Enjolras said as he made his way into the bunker. "His skillset is unique to the group, and he's generally trust worthy. We'll have to rely on that."
With the final decision made a few moments later, the teacher gave a loud clap, and a tilt of the head.
"Let round two begin."