You were talking like it was the end of the world...

[unbellegeste]

The world has ended.

“Il est mort,” Jean-Louis says, and just like that, Marie could swear she can feel the earth crumbling into dust beneath her feet. Her stomach drops somewhere into her feet, except that it's also trying to leap out of her mouth. She's shaking, she thinks she's going to throw up

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[provenhumanity]

George had been distracted lately. For the past month or so, in fact, and most of his free time had been spent planning, making lists, and worrying about making sure everything was set and perfect for Nina. In fact, walking along the beach, George was planning dinner in his head, only taken out of trying to remember the complete list of ingredients he'd need when he heard a woman's yell.

It was always something, wasn't it?

Still, he hurried in the direction of the voice, hoping to be of some help.

"Are you okay?" he asked, in French.

[unbellegeste]

"Non!" Whatever else is going on, Marie is really fucking sure that she's not okay. She can taste vomit in the back of her throat, and her eyes are stinging with tears, and she has no fucking idea what's going on. "I'm not, I'm NOT!"

[provenhumanity]

He realized how ridiculous the question was as soon as he said it, doing his best not to wince as she shouted.

"It's going to be okay," he replied, "Is there someone I can call? Someone I can take you to?"

Oh god, he really hoped that she wasn't new. He was rubbish at welcoming new people.

[unbellegeste]

She stares at him. The words make sense, but why he's saying them takes a bit of parsing. "My friends," she says, trying to stay calm--she's a professional, she can be calm, of course she can--"were right there. Just a moment ago. What's happened?"

[provenhumanity]

She was new. Of course, she was. But at least the fact that she was shouting on the beach makes sense. He'd arrived wielding a folding chair, himself.

"You've been transported here," George replied, expression slipping to a frown. It was never pleasant news to hear, but somehow he got the feeling that this might be a bit worse than usual. "They call this place Tabula Rasa. No one knows how we all end up here or how to leave, unfortunately, I'm sorry."

[unbellegeste]

She just stares at him, trying to make sense of the words. Maybe his French isn't what he thinks it is. Maybe hers isn't, or her brain's cracked. That's probably it--she's pregnant and Ludo's dead and it's all too fucked up to be real, so she's crazy, or this is some whacked-out nightmare.

"...What the fuck?"

[provenhumanity]

If only George had a pound for every morning that was the first thing to cross his mind in the morning. Except, there wasn't any form of currency on the island, so it wasn't as if that mattered at all.

"I know. I know. It sounds completely ridiculous, but it's not, I promise you," he went on to say, fully aware of how horrible it all sounded the first time.

[unbellegeste]

She laughs, bitter, and runs her hands through her hair. "I promise you have no idea how ridiculous things are right now," she says. "So, all right. Hit me with it."

[provenhumanity]

He'd sort of given her the simplified explanation at first, now for the more complicated one.

"People are brought here from different times and places all the time. I've been here for two years now, brought from Bristol, 2009," he continued, "We've all built a community here, though. There's a government, a school... it's not home, but it's not all bad."

[unbellegeste]

There's something in her answering laugh--something tense, a little cracked, on the edge. She's just been kidnapped by cosmic forces, but at least there's a school? She's definitely lost it. "If this is a joke, it's not fucking funny."

[provenhumanity]

George was really bad at this. He wished that there was some kind of way that new people could always just immediately find themselves near someone trained in welcoming people to the island properly.

"It's not. I'm sorry," George said, "I can show you to the Compound, if you'd like, it's where a lot of people here live when they first arrive."

[unbellegeste]

"I think 'like' might be wording it a bit strongly," Marie says, because that doesn't even make sense. Now there's a Compound? Has she been Shanghai'd by freaky cultists? "What I'd like is--coffee, or a glass of wine, and the rest of my breakfast. And a cigarette. God, please tell me you have a cigarette."

[provenhumanity]

"I can certainly point you in the direction of coffee or wine, but I don't smoke, I'm afraid," George replied, feeling increasingly helpless when it came to this entire situation.

Mitchell smoked, but it wasn't as if the two of them were really on speaking terms. He couldn't really ask him for a favor under current circumstances.

[unbellegeste]

Well, whatever. Marie shrugs in resignation. She has her own, but she's going to have to wait for them to dry out. By which point, this may or may not all be making sense. "Oh well. Lead on."