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Namira
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((Brock Mason continued from Dirty))

Brock was compiling a mental list of things he was really fucking hating at that moment. Even setting aside the inane, like 'wet feet' and 'nachos' (normally an indulgence, turned out they didn't go so great with dry crackers), the list was getting pretty damn long. 'Brock Mason' probably rated highest, because goddamn was he pissing himself off. Alright so he was no Einstein, but surely it should've occurred to even him that taking off alone whilst in the middle of a freaking swamp had been a moronic idea? Well no, no it hadn't because it turned out that right about now, Brock didn't have three brain cells to run together. He'd found Deidre, an actual honest-to-goodness friend. He'd found Jimmy, somebody else on the team. And then what had big dumb Brock done? He'd gone and fucked up, that's what.

Moving off so suddenly had obviously taken the others off guard, by the time Brock looked around to make some remark to Deidre, he was alone. Naturally that left him feeling like a prime idiot, and being in the middle of a swamp - those could go on the list too - really hadn't helped his navigation. Long story short, when Brock emerged from the marshland a couple of hours later, it had been by himself and in an utterly foul mood. He'd pissed away the only good piece of luck he'd had on the island. On that kind of form, Hilary would show up and Brock would crush her ribs hugging her or something.

Then along had come the next reason 'Brock Mason' was heading the list. He'd lost his map. Yup, 100% tried, true and moronic. Brock had made the colossal fuck up of losing the only thing that had the slightest chance of telling him where he was. He had no freaking idea how he'd managed it, but he'd put his hand in his pocket and... bam, it was gone. And Brock was trying to find Hilary to protect her? The way things were going, he needed to be babysat, let alone look after someone else. So that was strike two, and Brock was stuck to using his compass to get a vague sense of where he was going. At least if he kept to one direction, he wouldn't get (more) lost. So Brock had headed south, hoping against hope for another piece of blind luck that would see him run into somebody trustworthy and inwardly assigning item after item to that list of his, always coming back to himself...

Brock's stomach gurgled and he winced. But seriously. Fuck nachos.

The ground shifted slightly under Brock's feet and startled, he stumbled. Snapped out of his thoughts, Brock stopped plodding along and looked at his surroundings for the first time in what felt like hours. Somewhere along the line, dirt and grass had given way to a scattering of shale and rough rocks. Had he really been paying so little attention? It had been gladdening when he finally broke free of the forests, wading across that river dampening his spirits to the point where Brock was just trying to keep moving. He swore softly, head snapping this way and that as he took in what was around him. It looked like he'd run across the entrance of an abandoned mine... but there was no telling who else could have found it first.

You really ain't a smart one, are you, Brock?
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