Welcome to Gaia! ::

It took several days, but Antony finally relaxed after realizing that Billy wasn't about to come after her again. Either he died, or found some sort of drugs to keep him content and not homicidal.

So Antony had decided, after much thinking in her duplex, to go down to the beach and make a day out of it. She surfed in the morning, as usual, and after grabbing some food from the dining hall for lunch and dinner later, she combed the beach for driftwood to use for a fire. Soon enough the fire was roaring and the tattooed woman was next to it, sitting on her towel with a new sketchbook opened.

It was a good way to pass the afternoon and relax, along with smoking, that is. Only the former activity ceased to continue when the sun set, but the latter did since she was alone and there was no one there to b***h and moan about the smoke.

When the stars came out, Antony sat back and laid down to look up at the sky. She was in surfer shorts and a white tank top, which were worn over her bathing suit from earlier. Her board was laying on the opposite side of her, away from the fire, and the food was set on top of it untouched for now.

The pale sands of the beach glimmered faintly through the cracks between the forest's trees. The surface of the ocean was slick with the quicksilver light of the moon, a gentle display that nevertheless left faint purple shadows dancing across Chert's eyes after he was carless enough to let his mind wander and his gaze become static. Staying alert was proving to be a difficult task. The last decent night's sleep he'd gotten had been at Antony's. Since then, he'd been wandering across a small portion of the island, slowly expanding his mental map of the natural terrain and the manmade buildings and exploring the resources that were available to him. As it turned out, there was a large lake almost directly next to the town. Chert had taken advantage of the fresh water and the lack of human company, and had already bathed as best he could. He'd also been in and out of the cafeteria a few times, always careful to make sure there was nobody there already... Except for the lunch lady, of course, who seemed as permanent a fixture as the lights on the ceiling (and just about as silent, too). Once or twice he'd begun to fall asleep sitting at the table, but each time he'd been startled awake by the vicious jab of a nightmare.

Mostly, it had been the chimpanzee's face. The animal's features might have been foreign, but misery evident in its face was completely human. Help me, save me, have mercy. At first, Chert had simply tried to supress the memory (that particular method had served him well in the past), but the sub-conscious is an expert at digging up buried material. It had pestered him until he was too tired to keep up the pretense of "scouting" any longer. If Chert was going to try and escape, he needed his things, and to get them he would have to go back to his duplex.

That still left the question of what he was going to do with his unwelcome house-guests once he arrived. More time had been wasted dancing around that unpleasant thought. As disgusting and twisted as the creatures were, they were still only animals- victims of Doctor Moreau. As easy as it would be to just leave them where they were, Chert didn't like the thought of letting them simply die of dehydration or starvation. That additional cruelty might have been small in comparision to the other things they'd suffered, but he didn't want to have a hand in it.

He hadn't know what to do... until he'd wandered by the toolshed. There'd been a shovel...

Chert walked out of the forest with the instrument slung over one shoulder. He wanted a brief moment of peace and quiet before he did what was needed. However, he discovered that there was an unexpected fire on the beach. The light effectively concealed whoever it was that had started from sight. Curious, he wandered nearer.

The approaching figure was heard and then smelled, in that order, before she actually identified the man approaching by sight. It was Chert. A very poorly shaven and sleep deprived one from the looks of it, and he had a shovel, which was unsettling at least.

Why would someone carry a shovel onto the beach?

Lazily, Antony took one last drag from her smoke before flicking it into the fire to burn away entirely. "Going to look for buried treasure?" She asked casually, pushing herself to a half sitting position while cocking her head to the side.

A brief twitch of the eyebrows gave away Chert's surprise at finding Antony on the beach. There was an island stuffed full of subjects, and he managed to find the one he'd managed to piss of only a few days before. It was a talent, really. She didn't seem to be openly angry at the moment, though, which could be a good sign. Maybe.

Chert stared at her blankly for a moment after she spoke before belatedly realizing that she was referring to the shovel he'd carried with him. "Digging a hole to China," he said with a faint grin that probably failed quite completely to be reassuring. "I figure I'd rather take my chances there."

"To China eh?" She raised an eyebrow and pushed herself into a full sitting position. The idea of him digging a hole reminded her of her and Jamal's pit trap, and the bones they had found inside it.

Thinking it best not to mention that quite yet, or at all actually, Antony patted the towel next to her as an invitation. "China can wait," the squirrel woman stated with a grin, "Besides, they have cameras everywhere... Among other things..." She trailed off, not really knowing if she wanted to divulge any further at the moment, mostly because she couldn't think of what else to say.

The towel and the soft sand looked wonderfully inviting, but Chert shook his head. "If I sit down now, I'm going to have a hell of time getting back up," he said. Instead, he buried the head of the shovel into the sand with a quick jab downwards and leaned on the handle.

"Cameras?" The news wasn't unexpected, but it was a little disappointing to have his suspicions verified. Getting off the island would be that much harder. "Where've you found them?"

The squirrel woman's ambiguous reference to "other things" hidden on the island besides cameras was curious, but she seemed hesitant to broach the subject. Maybe it was something she didn't want Moreau to know she knew. Perhaps it was just unpleasant. He wasn't exactly jumping at the chance to talk about the creatures in his room. Chert figured she'd get to it in her own time.

"Then don't get up," she concluded, frowning slightly as she shrugged, "I've slept right here several times, back when the ******** lock out happened." Antony gave him a pointed look that implied he should be happy he didn't have to deal with that. "I'm all for camping, but waking up middle of the jungle and then having to spend two months fending for ourselves until the staff suddenly appeared again... Not so much fun for a lady." Hopefully, he'd get the idea of why Antony didn't like being without access to her duplex, and thus her tampons and birth control.

"Anyways," she grunted before she could remind herself too much of the pregnancy scare she had had right there on the beach, "They're in all the buildings, and everywhere else I'd assume... We're like a giant soap opera to them I'd think, and they know exactly who's slept with who and whatever else happens on those shows."

They probably got off on watching her and Jamal for all she knew. Free porn and all.

Chert's eyes widened; between the dark rings that were already beginning to form there and the deep shadows that the fire cast around his eye sockets, he looked a little like a highly indignant racoon. "That sadistic ******** sociopath!" he spat. The knuckles of the hand that gripped the shovel's shaft were white. It was the first he'd heard of the lockout, and he was appalled at the blatant disregard for simple human decency that it demonstrated. "Who the hell does he think he is, playing with people's..."

The man seemed to realize what he was saying, laughed quietly, and rested his forehead on the handle of the shovel. "Right," he said. "But don't the evil-doers usually 'get theirs' in the soaps?"

Her eyebrows raised when he sneered, remaining silent until he finally cut himself off. "God probably," Antony finished for him, running a hand through her hair out of habit before speaking up again. "This island's an experiment, and the whole Survivor thing was one big experiment... Apparently to see how we reacted to our new 'instincts' in the wild."

She tried to keep her voice as level as possible while explaining this to him, as to try to keep him from storming off again.

"I don't watch soaps really," she admitted after the question was asked, "Or rather I didn't since I was mostly working at my jobs and... Well, the usual nightly activities..." A crooked smirk played on her full lips as she watched him for a reaction the the last statement, making a point not to include romantic relationships to the list.

It sounded as if there were any number of things that could have gone awry during that whole little "experiment." He'd seen a cat-like woman a few days before. Chert wondered what happened when you mixed a hungry, confused predator with someone that was turning into a prey animal (say... a squirrel). Would instinct prevail, or would human reasoning keep anything too unfortunate from happening? The thought that the transformation affected more than their physical shape wasn't a happy one.

Chert happily snagged the chance to steer the conversation away from Moreau's grand adventures in genetic modification. "Crossword puzzles? Thrilling nocturnal chess tournaments?" he suggested, feigning innocence. The fact that Antony had completely omitted any mention of romantic relationships didn't strike him as odd; Chert was exactly the type to discuss such squishy, touchy-feely things. Ugh.

"What'd you do before you came here, anyway?"

A part of him realized he was letting himself get distracted from his original goal, again.

Antony gave him a confused look when he mentioned various games, and she simply looked at him as if he were crazy before responding, "I rearrange furniture, actually." It was partially true, even if it was a joke, which she gave away by letting her eyes sparkle something not so innocent.

His next question caused her to smile somewhat sadly, "Professional tattoo artist and an auto mechanic, though I can fix just about anything... Machine wise." The last bit was added on as an afterthought. She wasn't exactly the emotional fixer upper person, or whatever else girls usually did.

"Damn I miss my car," she practically moaned in pain as it dawned on her that she'd never get to drive again, or see her Sandy again. And that made her materialistic and sad. Antony had, after all, rebuilt the 1967 Pontiac GTO herself.

The love of her life.

Chert tilted his head to the side slightly. "Like... 'fang shway?'" he inquired doubtfully. The last time he'd rearranged his furniture was when he'd moved into his house.

Auto mechanic clicked in neatly with his mental picture of Antony, though he decided against mentioning his own car- it was liable to make a mechanic cry, and not in the good way. Jeeps as old as his probably only held together because they were half-fossilized.

Her bereaved groan caused the corner of Chert's mouth to curl upwards in a small grin. It sounded almost as if she were grieving for the loss of a beloved family member. "A moment a silence, please, in respect for Antony's automotive mobility," he said, although he wasn't entirely devoid of sympathy. But it was a hell of lot easier to joke about the losses that came with life on the island than to just sit there and think about the things you'd never get to do again. "I s'ppose my old job isn't much use, either, unless there's a tropical elk species we've overlooked."

"Feng shui?" She asked, trying to hide her laughter before allowing it to spill freely out. "Use your imagination a bit more dear Chert." Antony made sure to speak in a more throaty tone since he was male, and obviously needed a bit more help figuring this out.

His next comment caused her to roll her eyes as a smile crept onto her lips, "She's a 1967 Pontiac GTO... And my one true love," the tattooed woman purred, eyes glazing over somewhat to accompany the noise.

Pulled out of her trance by his next question, she raised an eyebrow curiously, "Tropical elk? Explain." She honestly didn't know how to respond to that. Maybe he was a strange hunter? Proving he's a big man by shooting bigger animal men and hanging their heads on the living room wall.

A laugh even escaped from Chert as he belatedly realized what Antony had been alluding to. "I've been accused of being many things, but imaginative isn't one of them," he said with a wry grin. Although his smile seemed sincere, a raw edge of stress and fatigue was visible behind it. "Before coming here, I studied wild elk populations and gave some tours for Zion. As you could probably guess-" The gesture of his hand included the wide expanse of ocean and the tropical forest a short distance away, "-I'm a little out of my element."

He despised not knowing the names of the plants that he saw, or recognizing at least some of the bird song he heard, or being able to wear long sleeves without feeling like his was roasting in his own juices. Island life was highly overrated.

"What're you doing out here at this time of night, anyway?" The question was a little abrupt, but it fit in well with his own, silent mental processes.

"Ah, well I think I'm much more out of my element than you," she gave him slight grin before pushing her hair back out of her face. "You can always learn though... Anjali's a botanist..." Trailing off, Antony chuckled nervously, "Who's turning into a plant..."

There was that irony again.

Sighing in relief when he changed the subject, Antony shrugged slightly, "I've been here for a while... Surfed this morning, rebuilt the fire, and then spent the afternoon sketching to relax... Besides, I appreciate the beach more when I'm not sleeping on it every night. Sand isn't exactly giving to curves, among other things." That had been the one thing that had pissed her off about the Survivor thing, her back becoming kinked up in all the wrong places.

"What about you?" She asked, tails flicking before settling back on the towel.

"He's a real card, that Moreau. Bet he's got the whole ********' staff in stiches." Secretly, though, Chert was amazed that such a transformation was possible. Most of the people he'd seen (with the exception of the fish girl) were at least remaining mammals. The other woman's creature wasn't even in the same kingdom. He wondered briefly what would happen to her circulatory system, not to mention her skeletal system, and decided he was very glad that he was not Angali.

The next reversal in the flow of conversation very nearly caused Chert to wince, although he should have expected it. Damn social conventions. "I thought we'd been over that already," he said with an air of careful nonchalance. "Me. Shovel. Communist paradise." Despite his casual tone and studiously bland expression, his blue-green eyes suddenly shone cold in the warm light of the fire.

"Ah yes, I'd forgotten... How was it again you were going to shovel through the core of the Earth when it can't even be done with the best of technologies?" Antony may have seemed more than a bit curt, but it was his cold eyes that influenced her tone. She didn't appreciate being treated as if she were simply a stupid woman, even though something told her that he wasn't trying to do so.

Taking a deep breath to calm her temper down somewhat, Antony glanced up at him and cocked her head to the side. Up until that last comment, she had really been enjoying his company, and hopefully she could make it last a little bit longer. "How old are you?" She asked, tails twitching up against her lower back.

For a moment, after his attempt to gloss over the issue had failed miserably and Antony's ire had been aroused, Chert was certain they were both going to suffer through a repeat of the last argument they'd had. His jaw was already set mulishly in that distinctive position that signified he wasn't planning to give up an inch, even if he were standing in the middle of the train tracks with a whistle sounding in the distance. But then, instead of continuing to dole out more scathing remarks, Antony merely took a breath and asked his age.

The train had jumped its tracks and floated serenly over Chert's head like a big, improbable bird.

"Thirty," he answered cautiously, the feeling of defensiveness already deflating. It was simply too difficult to maintain under the pressure of fatigue. Besides, if she wasn't asking about his activities that day or his plans for the near future, there's wasn't really anything to be defensive about. By morning, it won't be a problem he thought grimly, but said aloud, "Although with my skin, people tell me I could pass for a young girl of twenty."

Actually, people commonly mistook him for a man of slightly later years; all that time under the desert sun hadn't been kind, and there were already faint lines beginning to collect in the corner of his eyes.

"Thirty," she repeated with a slight bit of surprise. He had looked a bit older than that in all honesty. Then again, Owl was in his fifties and he had definately not looked as old as that. That and Antony wasn't exactly the best at age guessing anyways.

The woman was not about to divulge hers unless he asked her. If he didn't care to ask then she didn't care to tell.

His next comment caused her to snort softly before breaking into light laughter, "A young girl of twenty eh? Well I guess I can see that, with your young, taught bosoms and all." Her eyes twinkled playfully so he wouldn't have an excuse to take offense to the comment, she had been joking, after all.

Antony didn't know about him, but several of her guy friends looked at the twins to try and gauge age. Mostly they took it as an excuse to oogle them, but if they hung too low... Well then, they determined you old.

Chert didn't seem to mind her surprise. It was a reaction he was used to, and he figured there wasn't much point in being upset about it since everyone was going to die eventually, anyway; if people tended to mark him as a little older than he was, that just meant that he was further away from expiring of old age than most people expected. And that was a good thing, in Chert's book. It was probably as close to an optimistic philosophy as he'd ever get.

He was a little disappointed when Antony didn't respond in kind and reveal her age as he'd expected she might, but after the omission asking her directly seemed a questionable course of action. Some people got upset over that sort of thing, and as Chert wasn't observant enough to tell if Antony belonged to that group or not, he decided it was best to err on the side of caution and keep his mouth shut. Judging age wasn't one of his talents, either, but it seemed likely she was somewhere close to his own. He did, in fact, have a few friends that swore up and down the wall that examining a woman's bust was the most accurate way to tell her age. They argued that after millions of years of evolution, males ought to be pretty clued-in to the secrets and subtleties of the female mammary glands. Chert wanted to know how plastic surgery or padded bras factored into to all that. His friends had sighed and insisted that he was missing the point. Either way, he decided that Antony definitely fell into the "not old" catagory.

Antony's jest caused the man's face to break into a grin, which he tried to counter with a mock-frown. "Is that really an image you want floating around in your brain?" he inquired.

"Well," she began, grin on her face echoing his, "Since I own a pair, I think I'll live... Unles you want to give me a better one." Antony gave him a cheeky smile while cocking her head to the side and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. It wasn't meant to be entirely serious, but to be comical in a strange way.

The tattooed woman did notice that Chert steered clear from asking her age, and she chuckled softly to herself before answering his silent question, "27." Hopefully he'd be able to pick up on what she was referring to.

Chert raised his eyebrows in feigned perplexity. "Sorry, but I only have one," he said with a shrug.

Part of him was laughing helplessly at the surreal nature of the situation. Engaging in suggestive banter with a squirrel-woman on a beach in the middle of the night just a little while before he planned to go back and reclaim his duplex from the nightmares that had been placed there by a mad scientist's very pissed off girlfriend- ... well, you just couldn't make that s**t up. He scratched at the stubble growing on his chin and snorted mirthfully. The world tended to be at least twice as funny when one was viewing it through the foggy goggles of sleep deprivation, and it was harder to prevent oneself from laughing at thoughts that the rest of the world wasn't privy to.

Antony chuckled, "That's because men are lucky bastards."

As he spaced out, she tilted her head to the side and watched him in both the light of the moon and the fire. He began to act quite strangely, scratching his chin and snorting. Not to mention his expression was one that Antony couldn't describe for the life of her.

"So is Chert just a nickname?" She asked, the weird silence bothering her. Besides, Antony was honestly curious about this one. Chert was a strange name, afterall.

The question dragged Chert out of his thoughts almost before he'd realized he'd begun to sink down in to them. "It's my punishment for hanging out with a bunch of geologists," he answered. A good-natured eye roll said what he thought about them. "I don't even remember what the joke originally was, but the name stuck."

Actually, he recalled the joke fairly well- his colleagues had only told it five thousand times- but he also recalled the blank looks the joke's explanation drew from non-geologists. Chert has been completely unamused, himself, but that only seemed to make it that much funnier for them.

"My real name is Brian, but no one calls me that." It was funny how the name on his birth certificate sounded so foreign when he said it aloud, as if it weren't actually his. "What about 'Antony?'"

Nodding, the tattooed woman smiled and nodded, "I don't get it... But probably because I'm not a geologist." It was true, the joke was a loss to her, and she wasn't going to pretend to understand.

With his question, Antony actually chuckled, grin growing wider, "Well, my birth name is Antoinette after my mother, but back in high school a bunch of my friends decided to start calling me Antony because all the preps thought I was a lesbian. Scared the hell out of them. It was brilliant because I was never bothered by any of that clique nonsense. Though, I think that rumor spread and morphed into me being a lesbian porn star... Or some s**t like that..."

She was obviously proud of herself, and entirely found the memory amusing still.

Chert waved a hand dismissively "Nobody gets geology jokes but geologists." Nevermind that he could easily picture Larry sitting down and saying the same thing about Chert's awful biology jokes. Back home the two had kept up a running debate over which science was superior even though they both knew that it was ultimately a moot point; they were all connected at the end of the day. Still, harmonious agreement wasn't very entertaining. Chert was amused that he still felt the need to keep up the argument even though Larry was miles and miles away.

The small pang of regret that the thought of his friend stirred up was swallowed by the surprise of Antony's real name. "Antoinette?" Chert repeated, at a loss for anything better to say. He tried not to grin too widely.

The name and the rumor she mentioned dredged up a faint memory, though. It was faded and tattered and hard to hold onto, but it was there nonetheless. "Porn star..." he muttered contemplatively.

"After my mother, she died giving birth to me," Antony shrugged, sighing somewhat before noticing him attempting to hide his grin. "What's so funny?" Granted, her name was quite girly and... French, but it was her mother's name.

The look that came over his face moments later caused her to raise an eyebrow and cross her arms over her chest. "Yes, a lesbian porn star, but I'm entirely straight as long as I'm sober." She stated, not really knowing what to say, his expression confusing her to a point.

The explanation of Antony's namesake effectively wiped the grin off of Chert's face. "Er, nothin'," he muttered guiltily.

Her near-defensive posture rekindled his amusement in the next moment, though. "I'm not questioning your sexuality. I just seem to remember-..." The fingers on his right hand twitched in a cryptical, unhelpful gesture. He didn't have a face to go with the memory that was bothering him and the possibility that she was involved seemed remote, but he didn't see the harm in asking. "Did you go to a private school?"

"Nope," she replied, raising an eyebrow when he seemed to be thinking awefully hard. "Public school in Maryland... Why?"

It didn't exactly seem possible that he had gone to her school, or even that he was from the same town as she was from. Then again, this island was ******** weird. "Well Brian, where are you from then?"

Antony absently wondered how anyone could see her at a private school with tattoos and piercings.

The use of his Chert's name earned Antony a dark glare and an irritated growl. Apparently, she'd locked onto one of his largest pet peeves almost effortlessly. He opened his mouth to growl something caustic, but it was then that the memory he'd been poking at clicked into place. The rumor hadn't actually started at his school; it had been one of those rare, long-reaching stories that breached the borders of its home institution and spread to the surrounding areas like a virus. "Candy Coxx?" he blurted. Unless she knew what he was talking about he'd likely end up sounding like a complete a**, but he almost preferred that scenario. Some coincidences were almost too bizarre to bear.

She gave him a simple smile when he growled, as if pointing out that she had done it intentionally and because he had laughed at her name.

Suddenly her eyes went wide in disbelief. "I don't ******** believe it," she blinked, tilting her head to the side and staring up at him. "I'd just like to state that I wasn't the one who annointed me with that name... It's horrible."

This was... so strange.

"That's kind of the point of a porn alias, isn't it?" Effective advertising and all that.

It was hard to believe that the woman sitting in front of him had actually been the center of the high school rumor. First, there'd been, then Valentine, then Aubrey- and now Antony! Goddamnit, Chert had graduated high school over a decade ago. This was ridiculous. "You've got to be shitting me," he muttered under his breath.

"Do you really think I'm shitting you?" She grunted, rolling her eyes before lazily cracking her neck It was getting stiff after she had been looking up at him for a while. "Eh, kept me out of all that high school drama..."

Trailing off, her face darkened somewhat as she remembered a certain male that she dated during high school. Antony suddenly shook her head, as if to literally shake the thoughts from her head. He wasn't who she wanted to be thinking of right now, or ever again.

Judging from Antony's expression, the subject matter was inspiring some less-than-pleasant thoughts. Either that, or he'd managed to give her a hell of a crick-in-the-neck by maintaining his upright position for so long. His feet certainly weren't singing him songs of praise at that point.

"And what do you do to keep yourself out of all this island drama?" he asked, thinking of the events that had taken place a few days before in the cafeteria.

Antony chuckled, "Oh believe me... I'm definately in the middle of a lot of the drama... I know it may come as a shock to you, but I can be a bit... abrasive." Her grin was cheeky, and she feigned a sort of propriety.

"Eh, I'm just not a goody-goody, and so I stick out like a sore thumb." It was true, her and Jamal were pretty much the only 'trouble makers' around it seemed. At least before Billy arrived that is. "That and I have a bit of a temper, which if I recall our first meeting correctly, you share that lovely quality. It really does take one to know one sometimes..."

She didn't say this to be mean or even to poke fun at him, but simply to make mention that she had the quirk as well.

You could probably have sanded a table with their combined personalities, but Chert enjoyed the fact that Antony didn't seem inclined to try and swallow the prickly situation she was in with a shrug and smile. There were instances in which the whole "grin and bear it" philosophy might have worked, but he thought that mostly it seemed to begging for fate to punch your teeth out.

"What are you going on about?" Chert demanded, looking scandalized. "I'm meek as a ********' lamb. You're obviously jealous of my sunny disposition."

An eyebrow cocked at his exclamation, and she had to fight to hide a grin. He was reminding her of her friends at home, except with no piercings or tattoos whatsoever. Not afraid to curse or make jokes.

"Well, I may be blinded from time to time..." She mused thoughtfully, tapping her chin and sighing. "But you and I, my friend, are just two peas in a pod... Two easily angered peas might I add."

Chert laughed at the bizarre twist on the old cliche. "World beware, the only thing we fear are herbivores."

For a moment it was easy to forget the purpose of the shovel he was leaning on, or the reason for his fatigue. He was simply enjoying some good company near a pleasant bonfire on the beach. Ignoring the insistant pull of more troublesome thoughts wasn't easy, however, and he found his gaze wandering in the direction on the duplexes even though the rest of his mind was focused on the conversation.

"I'd think there'd be more trouble-makers, though," he said, referring back to the other islanders. "This isn't exactly an ideal vacation."

"And omnivores," she added with a 'eureka' sort of hand gesture, grinning in amusement, much more relaxed after jesting around with Chert.

Though, his next comment caused her smile to falter somewhat, "Well... A lot of the people are more accepting than others I believe... Or they haven't seen anyone else transform..." Antony glanced up at him before trailing her fingers through the sand next to her. "I just wish... People back home had... closure."

A pang of dismay struck Chert as he saw her smile fade somewhat- he hadn't expected his words would lead down such a depressing path, and he wasn't sure of how to proceed. Up until then, Chert had been running on the assumption that he was going to escape the island in the near future. There wasn't yet a cohesive plan and he hadn't even begun to collect the supplies needed for a decent escape, but there existed no doubt in his mind; he wasn't staying on the ******** island.

However, faced with such a tangible consequence of Moreau's experiments as Antony, any blithe promise of freedom Chert could make felt hollow and false. There was the matter of the horrible but apparently vital injections she'd mentioned earlier. And even if the islanders managed to escape the island and the effects of the stalled injections, that still left the question of what would happen to them once they reached the outside world. A woman with three tails was bound to attract attention, and not the good sort.

Still, hearing her talk like she was already dead lit a slow-burning fire in Chert's chest. "We'll kick Moreau's a** someday soon," he offered.

"I wouldn't advise it, the last person who attacked staff got chucked in a cage without food or water and then was put on display." Antony sighed slightly, moving her legs out straight so they wouldn't fall asleep anytime soon. Though she wasn't much of one who just lets people control her, Antony knew enough not to ******** with the 'good doctor' if she wanted her stay here to at least be decent. "Moreau's a sadistic b*****d, and if you piss him off... Your life will be more than hell..."

She knew what she was capable of, and she also knew that Moreau was ten million times worse than her. A risk she was not willing to take.

"God I need a drink," the woman grunted, eyes drifting in the direction of the Beach Bar. Maybe it was stocked up?

Chert snorted irritably to cover up the agitation that Jamal's predicament caused. It sent a clear message about the position of the islanders. "I'm well aware of that," he grumbled.

The next words out of her mouth and the possibility they hinted at eased his ill humor, somewhat. He followed her gaze to the bamboo and beachwood construction, cautiously hopeful. God, I need a drink. Amen. Chert motioned for Antony to stay seated, knowing full well she'd do whatever the hell she wanted, and went off to investigate. The small hut was better constructed that it appeared to be at first glance, and the bar felt stable under his weight as he leaned over the side to take a peek at what might be available.

"Will wonders never cease!" he called. "Pick your poison."

She watched him curiously as he motioned for her to stay seated, letting her eyes naturally wander along his form while she could still see him in what little light there was. It was when he hefted himself over the bar did her grin grow dangerously. His next statements made her quite elated.

Good. He wasn't against drinking.

"Grey Goose por favor," she called back, absolutely giddy that she had aquired another drinking buddy. Lazily, she flopped back on the towel and onto her side while she waited for him to amble back with the sweet sweet alcohol.

Chert let out an unconscious hum of approval at her choice, quite unaware of her wandering eyes. It took him a moment to locate the vodka of choice among all of the other bottles on the shelf, but he returned a short time later bearing the Gray Goose and two glasses. "Would you believe they had absinthe, too?" he asked, offering her a glass before sitting down. A few of his joint popped stiffly as he did so, displeased with their prior treatment.

"Actually, I would," she chuckled before taking the glass from him and pushed herself into a sitting position again, scooting over a bit to give him room on the towel. "Fill me up baby," Antony added a wink to a sultry expression, intentionally being a bit cheeky.

"Your wish is my command," Chert said with a dry grin. He filled her glass and began to scoot onto the towl, but aborted the maneuver when he realized that the beach was determined to come with him. Oh well. His a** would survive a little sand.

Chert filled his own glass and rammed the bottle securely into the earth.

Antony purred softly as she watched the liquid poured into her glass, flicking her changed eyes up at his before taking a mouthful and swallowing it. The familiar burn was welcome, and immediately cheered her somewhat. "Do I get more wishes?" She murmured throatily. It was hard to tell if she was still joking or not, but her lips were curved into a playful smirk.

Chert took a moment to savor the taste of the vodka- definitely not cheap stuff- before answering. "I believe the standard is three," he said, flicking a few specks of sand off of the rim of his glass. Goddamnit, the stuff got into everything.

Wiggling her eyebrows at him as she took another lengthy drink of her vodka, Antony watched him curiously a moment as if considering her options. "Anything?" A grin cultivated along her lips at the possibilities this could present. This had potential...

Hopefully Chert was straight.

Straight or not, he was as dense as a neutron star. Somehow, Antony's signals had failed to penetrate his brain, although the pleasant mood the discovery of the alcohol induced might easily have seemed to suggest otherwise. He returned her grin and chuckled, "I don't dance and I don't give foot massages. Other than that, the sky's the limit."

To her, he seemed to be giving signals that he was, in fact, interested in her. The word massage perked her attention, tails twitching excitedly while her eyes drifted down to his normal hands almost hungrily. "What about back massages?" Antony asked hopefully. Jamal usually gave them to her, but ever since he grew claws she didn't really trust him with deep tissue massages. She was rather attached to her spine, literally and emotionally. Chert had normal hands.

That and for some reason, simply asking for sex didn't seem the right approach.

Chert had mostly been expecting her to say something flippant or sarcastic, so the actual request gave him a moment's pause. Back massages weren't something he normally handed out, partially because very few people sat down and said, "You know who'd give a fabluous massage? Chert!" and partially because the ones who actually did had a sneaking suspicion that he'd laugh in their faces if they asked. Still, he had technically promised Antony two more wishes, and the memory of the night at her duplex was still fresh in his mind- he'd never properly thanked her because he was convinced that it would raise a myriad of unwanted questions ("Why wouldn't you want to go back to your duplex?"), but he was grateful nonetheless. That, and the thought of giving Antony a back massage wasn't unpleasant by any stretch of the imagination. If she were a burly, bewhiskered lumberjack, there might have been problems.

Chert uttered a sound of assent and found a place to secure his glass while he waited for her to turn around.

She herself was expecting him to laugh and say no, or for her to have to pretend she was actually joking. So she was surprised when he conceeded so easily, and after throwing back another throatful of alcohol, Antony shifted so that she was laying on her stomach.

The near empty glass was carefully set in front of her so it wouldn't spill. Turning around slightly, she raised her eyebrows in mock impatience, tails flicking more fluidly thanks to the vodka.

Her expression elicited a frown from Chert- don't get too used to it- as he knelt down at her side. The firm touch of his broad hands lacked finesse, but his fingers were adept at searching out knotted muscle groups and convincing them to relax. "You sleep on a board the past few nights or something?"

She groaned into her arm where her cheek was resting, eyes closing blissfully. He may not have the dexterity that Jamal did, but they were getting the job done. Damn were they ever. "It's probably from sleeping on the beach for two months straight."

Chert smirked at the back of her head. "I thought squirrels were woodland creatures."

The movement of Antony's tails occupied part of his attention while he worked on her back. They were strange, but not repulsive, and he was beginning to suspect they were fairly decent indicators of her mood. If only he were versed in the intricacies of squirrel body language. Maybe he'd picked the wrong species to study.

"I was normal then," she grumbled, irritation soon smoothed over by the movements of his fingertips raking the knots out of her muscles. It was her 'everything is just dandy' spot, just like Jamal's was his stomach. All her worries, thanks to Chert and the alcohol, were washed away, leaving only a warm tingle of happiness, tails relaxing as if they had just eaten a full meal.

Mean spirited or not, Antony ignored it due to the happy buttons being pressed repeatedly.

And then he stopped.

Antony warily turned her head to look at him, rolling onto her side with a low groan, sad that the massage seemed to be over. Though, his next comment caused her to smile, mischief sparkling in her half lidded, changed eyes. "I have many talents," she purred, reaching up and trailing her index finger lightly along his jaw as she lazily watched for his reaction, a 'go' sign even.

The shovel that sat with its nose buried in the sand had attracted Chert's attention for a moment, but Antony's unexpected touch caused his eyes to snap forward. He found himself staring directly into the strangely colored gaze of the squirrel woman, an electric shiver dancing from his jaw to the bottom of his spine. This was a sign even he couldn't overlook. But though his body was convinced that this was a splendid development indeed, the rest of him was busy spluttering in astonishment. By his somewhat limited perception, Antony's advance had some in from left field- and Chert didn't react well to surprises. Instead of responding warmly, he jerked his torso backwards a few inches. It was more of a defensive reflex than anything, though it probably could have been interpreted as any number of things- revulsion, rejection, displeasure...

Antony's arm was left suspended in mid air when he jerked away, contact broken almost immediately. Her eyes widened in shock, lower lip dropping so that her mouth was parted in surprise. It didn't take long for her expression to shift to a pained look, which quickly changed into anger, red eyes accentuating the seething glare she gave him. "You're just like Billy," she sneered, draining the rest of her glass in a sharp movement, a hiss quickly following her swallow.

Sweet, sweet alcohol.

Her chest heaved, and her fists tightened at her sides as she tried to push her anger away. She was tired of being rejected. It wasn't her to get rejected! But with the tails, and the fur...

Antony dropped her eyes to the towel, allowing her hair to fall into her face in order to cover it somewhat. It had to be realized sometime. She was a freak now. An ugly, side-show sort of display. Not sexy anymore.

And that was a harsh blow to her confidence... Again.

"Just..." She began, voice raw as if she was fighting back emotions, namely anger and pain. "Let the repulsive rodent woman get piss drunk to mend her ego." The fact that she admitted it out loud brought more pain than she would have thought.

Having never been properly introduced to Billy, Chert was unable to match the name she spat with the face of the man he'd encountered earlier. Either way, the loathing in her voice made it clear that the comparison was an insult. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded. Confusion and outrage formed an acrid mixture in his stomach. Pleasant moments seemed to slip away so suddenly on the island, like the edge of a cliff that crumbled without warning. It was simply impossible to keep your footing.

Chert got to his feet, too full of frustration to continue sitting. He could feel a thousand angry words seething on his tongue, but Antony's posture kept them from spilling forth immediately. Her demeanor seemed almost dejected- definitely not what he'd learned to expect from Antony in the short time that he'd known her.

The next words out of her mouth were just as unexpected. Chert just stood and stared in amazement. He'd given her a back rub, for godssake! Had contact with her fur and everything. Sure, it was a little disconcerting, but if he'd been disgusted he'd have simply wandered in the other direction as soon as he'd spotted her. He didn't feel obligated to visit and play nice with anyone if he didn't feel like it. Repulsive? She didn't know the meaning of repulsive. The self-pity and anger in her voice fanned the flames of his own infuriation. "******** ridiculous," he hissed.

"It means," she growled, trying to keep her calm as best as she could and failing miserably, just like her ability to form coherent sentences. "I only touched your jaw! Why the ******** did you jerk away?!" The only explanation she could come up with was that he was a male, and that wasn't exactly a valid explanation.

Her eyes snapped up to follow his movements, tails bristling as she made a sort of angry bark. "You're right! It is ******** ridiculous! Do you know how dense you are? Or maybe you just don't like women?" The last statement was a low blow, but her anger had replaced her mini-pity party right quick.

Antony was on her feet moments later, pointing an index finger irritably in his direction, "How can I not feel rejected?" Suddenly she was glad she hadn't tried to kiss him or anything like that. The blow would have been worse.

She -knew- she was a damn good kisser!

The cheap shot hit home, if the expression on Chert's face was any indication. His eyebrows seemed to climb a few inches up his forehead before knitting together in a deep and indignant frown. He twitched, and suddenly his very sexuality was suspect. "Maybe bat-s**t crazy just isn't a turn on!" he snarled, tugging ferociously on the shovel he'd stuck in the ground. Stupid of him to get side-tracked. Stupid of him to get pulled in again. He had other things to do.

But the shovel was apparently quite content to stay where it was. Chert let out a wordless cry of frustration as he rocked the stubborn tool back and forth in an attempt to unearth it. The firm dirt underneath the layer of sand gave suddenly, nearly setting the man off-balance. He recovered with an awkward, heavy step to the side and slung the shovel over his shoulder, unmindful of the bits of soil that rained down on his shirt in the process.

"Get used it," he told Antony. The bit of him that remained rational knew he'd regret those words later, but right then their bite was satisfying. He turned his back on the woman and began to stalk off towards the tree-line, although it was difficult to accomplish a proper stalk when the sand insisted upon shifting under his feet with every step.