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party wurmple never sleeps. only dances.
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Alba. That was the girl’s name. It wasn’t familiar in the slightest, but her explanation gave a good reason why. Bryony could probably give the names of just over half of her senior classmates off the top of her head, and could connect even fewer of those names to faces. It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course. But trying to lock yourself away from the world for a good portion of your life made it hard to get familiar with the classmates in your year; recognising the junior students was near impossible for Bryony.

And yet, despite their complete lack of shared history, despite the fact that this was the first time the two girls had ever talked to one another, Alba was willing to help her out. Despite the fact that their only shared ground, the only thing they had in common, was the fact they were both trapped in this living nightmare, Alba was still able to pick up Bryony’s clothes and give her an uneasy smile.

And somehow, as she shakily took her belongings back, Bryony managed to give a tiny smile in return.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, as she moved out of the water and onto the beach, towards her bag.

Her situation had hardly improved. She didn’t believe that the rescue boats were on their way right now. People were going to start killing, and people were going to start dying. People she was friends with, and people she’d never get a chance to be the same with. The reminder, gently pulsing inside of her head, had already removed her shaky smile. But she hadn’t been abandoned. For every murderer and wannabe ‘player’, there was someone who wanted to protect their friends and team up with strangers. For every thief, there was someone who reached out a hand to those in need.

Bryony looked down at the clothes in her hands, then lightly pressed her right hand against her damp t-shirt. God. It was completely sodden through. If she put her hoody on over this right now, then she’d just get that soaked too, and then she’d have to traipse across the island, wet and miserable again. Her panties were in a similar state, but, obviously, they were a lot smaller than a t-shirt, so with a bit of luck, they wouldn’t be so much of a problem.

Placing her clothes down on to the sand, Bryony briefly wiped down her patches of bare skin, trying to get rid of any excess droplets of water. She looked up and down the beach, making doubly sure that no-one was walking towards her, then triply sure. Then she made certain that Alba was looking somewhere else. As quick as she could, Bryony pulled her t-shirt up and over her head, the fabric doing its best to stick to her back. Dumping the sodden shirt onto her bag momentarily, she scooped up her hoody, and hurriedly threw it on. It felt weird, the slightly baggy clothing occasionally brushing against her bare skin, but it was a huge improvement, and she was already beginning to feel slightly warmer. Her sweatpants, socks and shoes shortly followed the hoody, and as if by magic, the only sign of Bryony’s grand idea was the strands of wet hair sticking to her face.

Bryony tried not to look at the handful of food bars as she re-opened her bag, but her eyes kept on getting drawn to it. Luckily, her instincts provided a fantastic solution; she screwed her eyes up, clenched her fists, then balled her t-shirt up and covered her rations up with it. Out of sight, out of mind. Hopefully her t-shirt would be able to dry fairly quickly in her bag. The only other thing of note in there was an ordinary looking pack of cards that had been a hair’s breadth away from flying open and starting an impromptu game of 52 card pick-up. They didn’t belong to Bryony. She’d made her own set of cards back at home, that were probably right now gathering dust on her desk. She’d made them RWBY themed, drawing little versions of the weapons on the back, and her favourite characters for the kings and queens and jacks. Someone else had to have put this in the bag, and after a few moments, the penny dropped, and Bryony realised that this had to be her ‘weapon’.

She snapped the bag shut, stood up and turned to face Alba, doing her best to push the familiar sinking feeling inside of her out of the way for as long as possible.

“Okay… I think I’m all dressed and… stuff…”


"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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Morphogenetic Fear · Shoreline