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Halloween

"Okay, smarty pants. I hope you remember the story about the war between the titans n' the gods I told you before, 'cuz I ain' refreshin' it."

He stopped to lick his hands of the oily coconut juice, which made it difficult to handle their stone knives.

"So! That Atlas guy, the one who holds the world up on his shoulders, well, he had a daughter named Calypso who was also a goddess. N' she was a nice gal, really, probably didn' wanna go to war but had to support her dad. So when the gods win, Zeus is really sour about that fact, so he banishes her to an island just like this one called Ogygia..."

It didn't matter here what the old connotation was. The good thing about stories was that they were meant to be told over and over, to both the same people and new ones; America just happened to neatly fit both. Stories, he supposed, were their own legacy. Maybe the only safe kind.

Christmas

"Pretty grossed out," she assured him with a grin. "But I guess I can deal. Will you and her fix up a new place? What's it gonna be like?"

Haunted

Zeke didn't really know Dawson all that well. He knew him, had seen him plenty around the island and in missions, but they'd never really talked much before they'd found themselves here. Which, for this, was probably for the better.

Sinking down near the other other hunter, Zeke lay his elbows against his thighs, leaning forward onto them as he clasped his hands between his knees.


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Restless

It had been months, and by now their phones had died, their runes had all been used up, and their watches had slowly faded to nothing more than black bands on their wrists.

"Do you think we're ever getting off this island?" It was thoughtful, her attention split between him and the coconut she was tearing the husk off absently.

how to deal

Chance accepted the coconut half with sandy hands, tipping it up for a small sip. He didn't want to waste the water, so he nestled it in his lap, one finger idly brushing against the side of it.

"Worse," he mumbled. His eyes fixed on the ring and held. "It would be easier, if I could sleep."

He didn't have to remember when he was asleep.

Tired

He had to chuckle at the question; it was the most frequent one aimed at him next to a paraphrase of will we ever get off this island? "I'm chuggin' along," he told Jordan, indicating his makeshift fishing line.

The trapping gun no longer fired, but Dawson had disassembled it and managed a simple line and net he could keep watch over in the shallows. With his worn and dirty Hawaiian shirt and not at all matching yet equally filthy hat coupled with even shaggier hair and a thick beard, the Moon looked like a true hillbilly castaway.

"My duty here's seein' y'all are," he added with a smile. "I bet it's been somethin', sittin' here with Harrison n' Rep."

Hello Again

Alicia had long lost count of what day of the week today was and which month for that matter. It didn't make any sense trying to keep track when each day was spent much like the one before it, making sure that she had sufficient food and water before pursuing whatever came to her mind next. It wasn't like they were going anywhere or had any appointments to keep or anything out here.

Wandering around the island and snooping at what everyone else was up to, she eventually came across the hovel and Dawson who, if her memory served her right, saved Gretchen the day they arrived at the island. "So what's this supposed to be for? Are you selling anything?"

Tired

"Hey, gotta make sure the guy who's helping us stay okay stays okay too," Jordan said lightly. It was a question you asked some people and politely didn't ask others. Sometimes you already knew the answer, and knew that neither of you wanted to talk about it.

Jordan's hair had gotten long again, and he kept it braided back with one of the rubber bands he'd had in his bag. He'd grown a slight and scruffy beard, and had cut his jeans down to shorts. His coat stayed as clean he could keep it, folded away in the spot where he stashed his things.

"I'm all right," he said. It was half a truth. "It's ... been something, all right. It's awkward. I hoped it'd get less awkward, but I guess that's a bit much to ask."

how to deal
Drawing in the sand wasn't the same, he knew, so he tried a different angle. "Y'know what people in Ye Olden Days did back before they had books? They told stories," he told Chance. "How's about we swap a few the nights you really cain' take it? I know a buncha different ones. Mostly Greek myths."