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You hate kings and you think kings are really stupid. They are petty, bossy tyrants and are really full of themselves and are basically awful in every way.
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Welcome, Helen! Welcome, because we're so... welcoming. Nothing but smiles and hugs here. Yeah, we give great hugs. The best hugs of all.

She was alright, Charlie supposed. Charlie couldn't really dislike her, since she wasn't anything... offensively bad. Probably a really nice person when you got down to it, probably didn't have a mean bone in her body, probably volunteered at... an animal shelter, maybe? Charlie pictured Helen cradling a kitten in her arms. Yeah, the shoe fits. So that was all well and good. But she... Charlie couldn't really like Helen either. Where were the awful jokes? Where was the spirited defense of the dignity of a trumpet? Where was the casual racism, for Christ's sake? There is a Latina right there and yet I do not hear a single derogatory remark. For shame, Helen. For shame.

Dave and Isabel had set the bar pretty high as far as first impressions went. Helen was having a bit of a hard time living up to that standard.

And so Charlie decided she was going to listen very closely to every word Helen said, because every word was an opportunity for redemption. Every sentence was a chance for Charlie to think to herself Alright, I guess she's not so bad after all. I guess she can stay. I guess she gets a hug. So pay close attention. Pay close attention as she talks about the batteries in her iPod running out and as she all of a sudden starts to look really sad. Which was... huh. Which actually poked and tugged at Charlie, just bit. That shit was not about to fly. Helen had just dropped a pretty serious sadness bomb on the otherwise happy sunset fiesta, which meant Charlie was gonna cheer Helen back up again.

Okay. And she even had an idea, brilliant. The only problem was that Helen was still talking, some useless small talk bullshit about everyone's names. I'm Charlie, which is short for Charlotte, but you can call me Claire if you'd like! God knows you wouldn't be the first one on this island. So Helen needed to shut the fuck up right now, because Charlie was about to start cheering her up, because Charlie was about to be nice to her, which was kinda a big fucking deal. Alright, Helen was finally done. Here goes:

"Hey, uh, if you're worried about not getting to hear music anymore, don't be. Isabella over here is a virtuoso on that trumpet of hers. Seriously just world-class, y'know, she's been giving us these little concerts and it just blows my mind every time." Charlie looked over at Isabel and grinned. She had no reason to believe Isabel was anything other than complete shit at the trumpet, and that just made it even funnier. "You, uh, you think you got one more in you? I can sing along if it's a song I recognize- and I've been told by some very reputable sources that my singing voice is absolutely decent." That part was true. Charlie was decent. She really, really was.

There, everything was set in motion. By the time Isabel was finished farting out a lovely rendition of Hot Cross Buns, Helen would be rolling in laughter and she'd have forgotten all about that stupid iPod. And Dave... Dave could try to rap again, maybe. That didn't seem like it ever stopped being perversely entertaining. Yeah. This was fun, this was happy. This was good.

This was all really, really good.
Jeremy Franco is alive. You can write a better ending, goddammit.

Charlie DuClare is dead. And nothing was easy anymore except to smile.
Julian Avery is dead. Courage was the man with a gun in his hand.
JJ Sturn is dead. Fuck it, all good things gotta come to an end.
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Day of the Dove · The Greens