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As Jane continued her tirade at Caedyn, Oskar steadily began to regret his decision to stay put. He’d initially pegged Caedyn as being the more dangerous of the two, but the ease with which Jane launched into one of her typical rants – the likes of which he’d been the occasional bystander to back home – was unnerving, to say the least. He could understand where Jane was coming from, but wouldn’t faking it for the cameras be more preferable to blowing up at the slightest provocation as she had done?

He shifted in his seat, the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in anticipation as Jane finished her chastisement and proceeded to march towards him. Part of him was saddened that Jane had effectively nuked any chances of the three of them allying within the space of thirty seconds, but part of him was glad. Caedyn was wildly unpredictable in her behaviour – he had to admit, snivelling mess was not the first image that came to mind when he thought of Caedyn in this scenario. But Jane was just being typical Jane – a headstrong ticking timebomb; exactly as he imagined her.

Back home, predictability and playing by the rules was how he survived. He’d take notice of how certain people responded to certain cues, and shape his behaviour around them accordingly. If he conveyed an image people liked, then they’d like him. If they were a threat, then he’d steel himself against them as best he could.

He slowly raised to his feet as Jane came closer, instinctively dusting himself off as he did so.

“Before you ask what weapon I got, it’s these.”

He pulled his studded gloves from the back pocket of his shorts and waved them lightly in front of her.

“Not a threat, I promise.”
Version Seven:
Tristan O’Hara
Dorothea Rodriguez
Ariana Simpson

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God Help the Outcasts · Crematorium Gardens