5 Things That Never Happened to Dylan on an Island.
oo1. Him
Typically, Dylan was a pretty laid back person. She went with the flow, adapted easily. But she thought if she had to take one more day of him she would go mad. The flirting started out fun enough, and she'd accepted the offer of the last bed in the basement because -- Well, because it was a bed. She hadn't counted on how annoying the experience would turn out to be. More than once she had considered whether she hadn't been better off sleeping on the beach.
If it wasn't bad enough that the Surly Goth Guy was going at it constantly (That damned sock was perpetually on the door knob, it seemed), she had to bed next to him. Had to endure his constant come-ons in that nasal voice that had all the charm of nails on a chalkboard. He thought he was subtle and smooth. He was anything but.
One of these days, he'd make yet another failed attempt at innuendo and Dylan was going to lose it and shoot Sheppard with his own damned gun.
oo2. Roses
The Gate was still active, and if she could just... get there. The monster had shifted in front of it, and when Dylan moved to try and dart around it, she was knocked back again, the impact ellicting a startled cry from the back of her throat. This was so not on.
"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" she howled at the thing after pulling herself back up again. "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU AND THIS WHOLE FUCKING FICTIONAL BULLSHIT WORLD! YOU'RE NOT EVEN REAL!!" Frustrated, she motioned violently with her hands at the beast. "You're a fucking figment of my imagination, so you and that cat can KISS MY ASS AND BRING IT!"
For all the good it did, she might as well have recited a lullabye at the thing. The Jabberwock's head reared back it let out a deafening roar that chilled Dylan to the bone. It sounded like nightmares and triumph.
Dylan tried to move, tried to at least get away, because there was no beating this thing, not by any method she knew. She was unarmed, tired and hurt. When her eyes shifted back over to the Gate, she saw it flicker out, revealing rows of well-tended rose bushes beyond.
"No," she breathed, and hot tears welled in her eyes even as the beast struck again, knocking her sharply against a tree and sending excruciating pain shooting across her abdomen and up her spine. When she coughed, the taste of blood came with it.
oo3. Regret
Dylan Sanders had done many stupid and reckless things in her lifetime, and a fair number of those involved men. But never had she regretted any stupid thing more than she did just then. Yorick hardly seemed to notice from where he lay beside her in the back of the Hummer, sweaty, sated and in that hazy, drowsy afterglow. He was already half-asleep, she noted by the sound of his breathing. She, herself, was far too wide awake.
oo4. Choices
"Is it true?!"
Dylan winced at the hurt echoing in Natalie's normally cheerful voice, but didn't answer.
"Well? Is it?!"
Slowly, Dylan nodded, daring to lift her eyes to her friend's confused and pained face.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Nat breathed, and Dylan made a vague motion with one hand in reply. It was a difficult situation; surely Natalie would know that.
"I'm sorry," she offered, as well.
"Why are you sorry?"
"That you had to hear it from Rodney."
Natalie hesitated, and then shrugged. "Well, I guess you should be sorry about that, but it's okay." She paused for an awkward moment, and then tentatively asked, "What about John?"
"What about him?" Dylan's gaze was steady.
oo5. Trampoline
Dylan, who had traditionally never been much of a crier, hadn't stopped crying for three days. She'd gone through all of the expected phases of loss, although it seemed that her violent phase lasted a bit longer than necessary. She'd practically dismantled the entire trampoline in a blind rage, only stopping when John physically dragged her away.
The day they buried her was bright and sunny. It seemed appropriate. Dylan had known her best, of course, but couldn't speak, so they had mostly just stood in silence. John was stoic and doing a good job of offering much needed support to both his girlfriend and his best friend. Rodney, for his part, looked utterly numb and just a little horrified, as if he believed that somehow his admonitions had caused the accident to come to pass.
It was a beautiful day. A beautiful day for a beautiful woman, full of life and love and knowledge, gone in the blink of an eye and the quiet snap of her neck.
Typically, Dylan was a pretty laid back person. She went with the flow, adapted easily. But she thought if she had to take one more day of him she would go mad. The flirting started out fun enough, and she'd accepted the offer of the last bed in the basement because -- Well, because it was a bed. She hadn't counted on how annoying the experience would turn out to be. More than once she had considered whether she hadn't been better off sleeping on the beach.
If it wasn't bad enough that the Surly Goth Guy was going at it constantly (That damned sock was perpetually on the door knob, it seemed), she had to bed next to him. Had to endure his constant come-ons in that nasal voice that had all the charm of nails on a chalkboard. He thought he was subtle and smooth. He was anything but.
One of these days, he'd make yet another failed attempt at innuendo and Dylan was going to lose it and shoot Sheppard with his own damned gun.
oo2. Roses
The Gate was still active, and if she could just... get there. The monster had shifted in front of it, and when Dylan moved to try and dart around it, she was knocked back again, the impact ellicting a startled cry from the back of her throat. This was so not on.
"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" she howled at the thing after pulling herself back up again. "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU AND THIS WHOLE FUCKING FICTIONAL BULLSHIT WORLD! YOU'RE NOT EVEN REAL!!" Frustrated, she motioned violently with her hands at the beast. "You're a fucking figment of my imagination, so you and that cat can KISS MY ASS AND BRING IT!"
For all the good it did, she might as well have recited a lullabye at the thing. The Jabberwock's head reared back it let out a deafening roar that chilled Dylan to the bone. It sounded like nightmares and triumph.
Dylan tried to move, tried to at least get away, because there was no beating this thing, not by any method she knew. She was unarmed, tired and hurt. When her eyes shifted back over to the Gate, she saw it flicker out, revealing rows of well-tended rose bushes beyond.
"No," she breathed, and hot tears welled in her eyes even as the beast struck again, knocking her sharply against a tree and sending excruciating pain shooting across her abdomen and up her spine. When she coughed, the taste of blood came with it.
oo3. Regret
Dylan Sanders had done many stupid and reckless things in her lifetime, and a fair number of those involved men. But never had she regretted any stupid thing more than she did just then. Yorick hardly seemed to notice from where he lay beside her in the back of the Hummer, sweaty, sated and in that hazy, drowsy afterglow. He was already half-asleep, she noted by the sound of his breathing. She, herself, was far too wide awake.
oo4. Choices
"Is it true?!"
Dylan winced at the hurt echoing in Natalie's normally cheerful voice, but didn't answer.
"Well? Is it?!"
Slowly, Dylan nodded, daring to lift her eyes to her friend's confused and pained face.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Nat breathed, and Dylan made a vague motion with one hand in reply. It was a difficult situation; surely Natalie would know that.
"I'm sorry," she offered, as well.
"Why are you sorry?"
"That you had to hear it from Rodney."
Natalie hesitated, and then shrugged. "Well, I guess you should be sorry about that, but it's okay." She paused for an awkward moment, and then tentatively asked, "What about John?"
"What about him?" Dylan's gaze was steady.
oo5. Trampoline
Dylan, who had traditionally never been much of a crier, hadn't stopped crying for three days. She'd gone through all of the expected phases of loss, although it seemed that her violent phase lasted a bit longer than necessary. She'd practically dismantled the entire trampoline in a blind rage, only stopping when John physically dragged her away.
The day they buried her was bright and sunny. It seemed appropriate. Dylan had known her best, of course, but couldn't speak, so they had mostly just stood in silence. John was stoic and doing a good job of offering much needed support to both his girlfriend and his best friend. Rodney, for his part, looked utterly numb and just a little horrified, as if he believed that somehow his admonitions had caused the accident to come to pass.
It was a beautiful day. A beautiful day for a beautiful woman, full of life and love and knowledge, gone in the blink of an eye and the quiet snap of her neck.