Since the last time they had spoken, Dieter had run out of cigarettes, now relegated to scrounging up what he could at the mercy of the general island population. This wasn't, as it turned out, too much of a bad thing, as he'd relegated his new-found restlessness to building a residence of his own, outside of the Compound. Coming down the path, what clothes he had (both brought with him from his own world and what the clothes box had given him that he'd taken a fancy to) wrapped in a sheet and tucked under his arm, he paused when he saw Margot, cocking an eyebrow at the item in his hand.
Margot glanced over her shoulder, recognizing the German after a moment. She couldn't immediately recall his name or if she'd even asked for it, the last time they'd met. She'd been distracted by the cigarette.
Offering up what could pass as a smile, he shifted the bundle under his arm, eyes glancing over the stump and the axe and beginning to draw together a hazy conclusion.
Hellstrom huffed out a laugh, almost incredulous. Wondering about the rationale behind the stump's appearance (assuming that it hadn't been there earlier, which most factors pointed to as being the case) seemed like a pointless endeavor, but it was an interesting one nonetheless.
"I don't think so," said Margot, with a slight sigh. "It's just the island playing a trick on me." And it had succeeded.
She flicked her cigarette away into the brush and reached over, casually popping off her wooden finger. Held side-to-side, it and the severed finger measured up perfectly.
She looked at the healed over scar where the rest of her finger used to be and at the fresh wound of the severed one. It didn't make any sense, but then, turning up on this island hadn't made any sense either. And she was most certainly here.
"I assume that's not the eponymous hors d'œuvre."
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"I hope not," she said.
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"Yours?"
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This island sometimes did things like that, she knew.
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"It seems to be fond of you."
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She flicked her cigarette away into the brush and reached over, casually popping off her wooden finger. Held side-to-side, it and the severed finger measured up perfectly.
She looked at the healed over scar where the rest of her finger used to be and at the fresh wound of the severed one. It didn't make any sense, but then, turning up on this island hadn't made any sense either. And she was most certainly here.
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