Email this topic to a friend Printer-friendly version of this topic Bookmark this topic (Registered users only)		Previous Topic | Next Topic
Conferences Story Competitions Forum (Protected)
Original message

Estee 22510 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 12-22-06, 01:41 PM (EST) "Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #12: Custody Of A Curse" LAST EDITED ON 12-23-06 AT 10:43 AM (EST) ----------------------------------------------------------------- After ----------------------------------------------------------------- Ms. Bracia was emerging from her doorway as I came down the steps. She was carrying a bag of garbage, loaded down with the fragments of leftover wrapping paper and crushed boxes from the hundreds of perfume samples her field of potential paramours had gifted her with for Christmas. Not that it was Christmas just yet, but she had never been the sort of person who could stand to wait. She also wasn't that good at clearing away all the results: the various scents had blended and created something that was just a little too close to fafaru for my taste. "Cole?" She frowned. "Where are you going this early?" Out. Normally it would be the police station. (It wasn't that early: it was just that dark.) But if I was going there, I should take along the latest threats -- and those weren't going to be in for a while. At the current download rate for my computer, several hours. The morning mail had been at an all-time high, and the word 'mother' had been in about a quarter of the briefly-surveyed titles. People were casting their personal votes, probably to see if they could get me out of the species. I didn't know for sure yet -- I had only read one of the letters -- but I didn't think I was going to see much support for last night's actions. I didn't think I was going to see any. "Just out." It was too cold to walk. It was too cold to do much of anything. I just couldn't stand to be in the apartment for another minute. And I wanted to go out early, while it was too dark for people to see my face. And early enough to get back in time to punish myself a little more. There was someone I had to see, and reactions I had to take. Celebrity was officially over. The tearing down was about to start. "Oh." She frowned. Part of that scent was definitely alcohol. Either there was a heavy liquor base for most of the perfumes or she'd spent the night asking Mr. Brooks for his expert opinion on multiple subjects. Along with a few more free samples. "Look -- about last night --" There just won't be any escape this week, will there? I could have kept going. I paused on the stairs, four steps below her landing, waiting for it. As long as I was looking for pain anyway, why bother with the wait? "-- I don't blame you." Huh? Was this support? For rejecting my mother, for getting rid of Mary-Jane, for breaking the alliance with Gary? I wasn't being blamed for any of it? Well, not one-third of it. Ms. Bracia solemnly nodded at my silence, or at least came as close as she could without having her head loll on her neck. "Maybe you didn't openly realize she was a dyke, but you must have figured it out deep-down, especially after she kept trying to get her arms around you and see you nude. That was the first chance you had to get rid of her, and you took it. I can't blame you for that. Who the hell wants that kind of freak hanging around them for three more minutes, let alone three days -- why are you looking at me like that?" She recoiled slightly, spine almost seeming to pull the feet back with it. "Stop looking at me like that!" And now her back was trying to get through the closed door without the rest of her: who had time to spare for the drag-along? Save yourself! Softly, "What am I looking at you like?" No, really. Yes, we have a problem here, but criticizing the way I focus my gaze probably shouldn't be it. Angry now, hate trying to cover up a growing fear. "I should have known! Never a goddamn man in your apartment, you never date -- you're one of them, aren't you? Just another homo trying to pass herself off as a real person! You're -- stop looking at me!" Apparently her personal court used the same evidence admittance procedures as Jake's. "I never have any women up there either." I never have anyone up there: delivery people don't count... was she sweating? It was too cold in the building for that: the stairways were perpetually underheated, which made the bathrobe she'd chosen as her taking-out-the-garbage outfit into an extra-stupid decision. "Unlike some people, I don't think my day is incomplete unless I've deflowered a virgin. Preferably a rich virgin. A rich, stupid virgin who doesn't realize you've got six others just like him waiting in the wings. You've really got a talent there -- but you've got to work on your judgment for 'rich'. Eight dollars an hour and spending seven of it on keeping up his car payments isn't it." "You -- you can't hit me!" Burrowing into the door. "I'll sue you!" I hadn't made a fist. I hadn't pulled back in a threatening gesture. I'd given her what I thought was a pretty good dozens line, but I hadn't gotten any credit for it. At this point, I just wanted to get down the stairs. "Fine. I can't hit you. Are we done?" Direct eye contact: are we done? Because I really wasn't interested in continuing. If the judges weren't going to give me any points, then why bother playing? A dull thud against the landing: she'd just dropped the garbage. "You -- you freak! All I have to do is tell someone --" and dropping immediately into what she probably thought was cunning. It wasn't an improvement "You don't want anyone to know you're a dyke, do you? I bet the media would be really interested in that sort of thing. You've got at least something like a hundred thousand coming, don't you? I bet it's worth half of that to make sure no one ever finds out..." Actually, I had to give her credit: for a five-second blackmail plan, it wasn't horrible. There had to be worse ideas. Somewhere. And besides, for the fifth place I'd locked up on the previous night's episode, it was more like forty thousand. "Two problems. First, because you missed it: I never have any women up there. I don't date. Not dating isn't a crime." Not yet, anyway. "Second -- do you know why I never hit anyone on the island?" I decided to take the twitch as a substitute for a head shake. "Because it was against the rules. Because the first person to connect is out of the game and the second is at the mercy of the host. And he doesn't have any. But mostly, it was because of the cameras. Lots of evidence, being gathered every second, ready to be edited and shown to -- what do you think the numbers were last night for viewers? Are we at nine digits yet?" Exaggeration, but the ratings had been skyrocketing... And softly, "Do you see any cameras here? Do you see anyone?" The twitching turned into a desperate glance around: no, no one there. No support, no witnesses. She could presumably yell loudly enough to wake her children, but that would mean letting the rest of the building know she had some. Stuttering now. "You -- y-y-you..." Always good for a loss of two points. Good thing the judges had taken the day off. Locked, pupil to pupil. "I took out a jaguar in less than a minute. How long do you think I need for you?" "Stop looking at me!" It wasn't all that loud. The sound of her door slamming easily topped it for volume, and the clicking of the multiple locks produced more of an echo. It had just been very forced. I shook my head. Great. Blackmail schemes. Just another one of the benefits of celebrity. Some of the other benefits were currently being channeled into my hard drive, which hopefully had enough room to take all of it: my E-mail count had been at twenty-seven thousand when I'd woken up, and there were probably a few thousand waiting in line behind the current stream, with more on the way. I'd given people a lot to talk about. A lot to hate. The one message I'd had even the faintest interest in seeing had been nestled in the first hundred, and had taken virtually no time to download. There wasn't much to bring in. There hadn't been much to say. {I hope you see this VI} {I'm sorry.} There hadn't been much to believe, either. ----------------------------------------------------------------- {Topic title: Gary & Alex: hidden shattered alliance} {You know what's driving me insane here? Seriously insane? Alex-insane? Now that I know it was there, I can't see what the hell it did. Okay, fine: the minority of you who stood by those early Survivor Gold confessionals were at least half-right. And that's all I'm giving you, because there's every chance that Gary was playing Alex at the same time Gardener was using her as the stringed instrument of your choice, or even vice-versa if you really want to call it that way. Gary and Alex were aligned, probably right from the beginning of the game, and they stayed that way right up until Gary said 'I wonder what this button does?' and mashed down the candy-red Alliance Destruct just to see if it was hooked up. But what good did this alliance actually do either player? Up until her on-camera nervous breakdown last night (and yes, I'm going to say that's what it was: why do you break an alliance just because someone's telling you some things you don't want to hear? Because you're insane. Thank you. In lieu of a thousand agreement posts, throw money), Alex seemed to be running through the game pretty much on her own: actively running -- right, Robin? -- but solo. Gary was just coasting. This alliance didn't take the game apart. It's hard to tell if it ever did anything whatsoever. Alliances revealed never succeed? Fine. This one was revealed just in time for it not to succeed. But alliances hidden apparently don't have to be active. Whee. Hooray for the surprise revelation. Someone pick Gary's jaw off the sand and we can all move on.} {You know the worst part? This won't even get the Gardener/Alex thread to shut up. If Alex was dumping her secondary in favor of riding her primary all the way...} {You know the real worst part? She couldn't even partner with someone who had a different initial. Or first three letters. G/A or G/A, take your pick. Thanks a lot, Alex: I don't know who half the latest crop of newbies is talking about with anything over fifty percent accuracy.} {I'll take this one on. Okay: put Alex & Gary together. You probably are starting the link on Day One, or at least somewhere in the first cycle. (Hopefully Gary confessionals a little about this to start off Thursday: we need a timeline here.) What does Gary get? Same thing Gardener would have: access to one of the smartest minds in the game and a unique perspective on same, a window into the female side of Turare, and everyone's favorite alliance element: a vote in your pocket when you need it the most. What does Alex get? Well, she still gets that initial view into the male side. She still gets the vote she might need at a crucial moment -- and did, because thanks to this morning's very, very late posting on the official website, we now (and finally) know that Gary was Vote #3 for Desmond at the sixth Council. Although Alex played Gary a little there, and congratulations -- to me! She tested him with that vote: are you really my ally? Let's find out! But after the tribal stage, she got an unexpected bonus: a window into Haraiki -- and Connie. I can't exactly pick out any situation where Gary has been their go-between -- and the show confirmed that Gardener did the swinging -- but with Gary on her side, Alex at least has a vague idea what Connie is up to, especially when her enemy is approaching her ally and asking him to join their alliance. (Maybe being with Alex is what kept Gary from defecting there.) As far as votes go, I agree: this alliance hasn't been all that active. Gary thought he was saving Alex once -- thought, because I'll still bet dollars for a lot more dollars that he never knew she had the idol until it came out. And Alex saved Gary once: told Gardener to take out Mary-Jane at last night's Council, keeping her partner around for another three days. Beyond that, they've been communicating information and sharing strategies together. There wasn't even a real chance for them to reveal themselves at Rewards -- the one order-sorter Gary got, Alex sat out, and the one person she got to take along on a Reward was assigned to her by sort-of-random draw. Swinging votes and twisting up the game? Not much. But they haven't needed to be that active. There have been two strikes here, each at a critical time for the pairing, and they've both hit their targets. Not bad. It brings up the question of whether this could have lasted to the endgame, and what they would have done there. But... ...here comes Gardener. This is how I now see it: Gardener and Alex are not formally aligned. Neither of them has ever said the words, the lack of which came back to haunt Mary-Jane last night. But they do work together for the reasons to be found on the hyper-long original G/A thread: two intelligent players who compliment each other's abilities while not necessarily getting along as people. Alex has saved Gardener twice because she sees him as both essential to the tribe and vital to her game as a whole. Gardener is starting to feel the same way about Alex. Probably not because she's been protecting him: Gardener is also something of a bottom-line pragmatist, and while gratitude could be a short-term part of his game, I'm not sure he'd let it influence him all the way to the end. What have you done for me lately? Nothing? Fine: you're cut. Good luck hooking up with another team. But right now, Alex is vital to Gardener, and why? Because she's been pissing people off left and right. Mostly 'far left', because we start with Angela, who will never vote for Alex. Period. (You've kind of got to take her at her word there, don't you?) Next up, on either the left or the right because we all know he can't tell, we have Tony, who will vote the way Angela wants him to vote. Third: Phillip, who, while he has some respect for Alex, will not vote for her if she's there against a Haraiki, and who would vote for Gardener as the stronger competitor in a G/A F2 pairing. Take Alex with you all the way, and you're looking at three votes in your favor from the opposing tribe. This is a pretty good deal. All you need now is one from your own, or maybe just to sweeten the pot with Robin a little. A bonus three days might go a long way towards that goal, although it's got major backfire potential. You're Gardener, and what has Alex done for you lately? She's just about won you the damn game -- if you can stay in yourself and take her all the way to the end. Which is going to be tricky, because you've also got to keep Connie happy for a little while longer -- but maybe that's not such a big issue. Connie is starting to take on an extra role for Gardener's team -- and we'll hit that in the appropriate thread. Keep it with Alex for a while. (Look, I'm a moderator. I have to set an example for the whole 'threaded community' thing here.) You're Gardener, and you need Alex. But you've got problems. Sitting on your own tribe are two people who haven't done as much to offend people. Two potential jury threats. And given a choice, you really want to get rid of Gary. Mary-Jane is actually a secondary issue, because Mary-Jane has annoyed some people: Connie with her religion, Angela with her perceived lack of smarts -- no 'I respect her gameplay' vote there -- and of course Tony follows Angela again. But Gary? Gary is getting along -- has gotten along -- with just about everyone. Gary isn't Phillip, but he's way too close for your personal comfort. So you decide to make a double play and pull off a magician's force at the same time. Give Robin three extra days and hope that eases things a little between you two, get rid of Gary by giving Alex the no-choice between the woman you believe she's aligned with and the person she has no reason to protect. Oops. What Gardener had to be expecting here was Alex making the Gary decision: the person he really wanted to get rid of anyway. Understand, ultimately, Gardener's fine with getting rid of Mary-Jane. It had to happen sometime: it's happening now. But his first choice was Gary: he just wanted the official word for that decision to be in the hands of Alex. (And if Alex had picked Gary last night, you can bet Gardener wouldn't have told Mary-Jane and made it four-two again.) But Gardener figured he'd propose Mary-Jane, Alex would fight back by telling him to go with Gary, back and forth they'd go for a while, and finally he'd grudgingly go along with her and make it Gary. It puts him at a bit of a risk -- he has to be at least a little bit worried about an Alex/Mary-Jane/Robin trio -- but it also leaves him as the last male standing, and he probably thinks that gives him a pretty good challenge edge to begin with. Note Gardener's priorities in the votes: challenge-strongest first, leaving him standing as the lone big dog. Gary's no major challenge threat for the high physicals, but -- he's the last remaining other male. But here's Alex, and she's fine with Mary-Jane going. Why? Because as was said on the update thread last night, the damage is finally coming out to play, and it's got a casting vote. It's actually not the worst game decision in the world: Mary-Jane has to go sometime, and she can't be someone Alex wanted next to her at Final Two. But for the first time all game, I don't exactly believe Alex was thinking with pure game detachment. Alex is probably thinking She heard everything, I can't stand her knowing, she's a major talker and eventually she's going to talk to someone... Which M-J nearly did several times at Council, and did once in camp. Alex has to get rid of Mary-Jane before Mary-Jane spreads Alex's early childhood all over camp. Think Connie would have ignored that conversation? 'Back off her -- you don't know what she's been through!' Connie would have had a field day, assuming she could stand being outdoors that long. Gee, Alex was virtually aborted: now her mother was extra-insightful! (Still not quite a match for Trina, but not bad.) Gardener can't change his mind here. 'You know, now that I think about it, I want to look at M-J for three more days. Gary just doesn't have the same kind of visual appeal.' So -- Mary-Jane, out the door, and Alex openly takes the blame for it thanks to Gary's consistent handwriting, along with M-J's no-longer-secret crush. Guess what? Four votes against Alex are now sitting on the jury... I still think Alex has been playing an incredible game here -- or was until last night. Yes, the initial decision wasn't smooth: it went for a bumpy ride over the scars on the soul Connie will insist she doesn't have. Could she have forced the tie? Absolutely: same trio as Council #6. But she choose not to, because Alex wanted M-J gone, couldn't stand the thought of her still being there, and so she went along with Gardener. But that's still game-okay for Alex, because now she has a new trio waiting in the wings: herself, Gary, and Robin turning on Connie & Gardener. She can still get control, she can still get rid of her worst enemy... ...and then Gary put the sharpened pencil in her hand and told her to carve up her wrists with it. What was Gary thinking? Gardener gave us that clue just before Alex dragged the jaguar into camp, so don't feel bad if you missed it in the middle of the chaos that was Episode #8. Gary is the dad. And when you're the dad, everyone else becomes 'the child'. Maybe Phillip is the biggest family man in the group, but Gary is the rock-solid father figure for the original sixteen. He believes in family as much as Phillip does, and Mary-Jane gave him Alex's story, presumably unedited. Family is important to Gary, possibly more important than anything else. He thought Alex should have made some attempt to reconcile with her mother, because her mother is family and Gary's a Christian, if not exactly in Connie's mold. The sin was committed: now you have to forgive it. Alex's defenses were down, she just wanted to do anything that wasn't thinking about the vote, and -- bang. #3 lead pencil, right through a major artery. She starts to leave. Gary, who's really on a roll here, decides to confront her with the truth about Mary-Jane: no, she wasn't your ally, she just thought she was your friend. Alex breaks the alliance. Up until last night, Alex was playing one of the greatest games I've ever seen on this series, and that's even after factoring the jaguar out. It was a game that couldn't win -- not with the jury as it would have to be composed for her -- but just getting to the Final Two would be one of the greatest accomplishments in reality history, and you could make a case for the absolute #1. But right now, I think she's on a path towards self-destruct. The original posted theory about Alex being damaged in some way also proposed that the game and island might finish making her fall apart. I think it's getting very close to doing so. Alex still has Gardener, if not formally, and Gardener almost has to bring her along now. Alex may no longer have herself.} {It makes sense. Gardener definitely didn't want to be at Final Two with Gary. That pretty much assumes Gary wins and takes Gardener, but we've seen stranger things happen. Given a choice between the behind-the-scenes mastermind that got rid of them and the nice guy who just happened to be there, the nice guy might just walk off with the whole thing. (As Alex said on Survivor Gold, people vote their hate.) Gardener wanted Gary gone and he was expecting Alex to fight for that -- which tells us that up until last night, Gardener didn't know that Gary and Alex existed as a unit. Pretty good stealth for an alliance that's been right under his nose for that long. But what's going through Alex's head? Get rid of Mary-Jane because she knows about me, get rid of Gary because he confronted me? Is she about to head for Robin and try to keep her in the game? She doesn't have the numbers for it -- she won't go back to Gary, and she can't get Connie.} {I'll buy Gary-As-Dad. Does that give us Alex-As-Rotten-Kid? 'Don't tell me what to do!' She rejected her mother in the first part of the episode and dumped the substitute father in the last.} {Maybe Alex is just homophobic? She picked up on Mary-Jane's real intentions early on, then waited...} {I do think Cole might have had some idea what was going on there. I had suspicions from the moment Learner surprised Cole in the lake. Clearly Learner was out there going for a free look, and Cole reacted with her usual modesty. Cole had no interest in showing off, then and there or at any time. She may not have realized it consciously, but it had to have been somewhere in her twisted maze of a mind.} {I guess 'Learner' is an improvement over 'bikini-whore.'} {As the person who came originally up with the damage theory, I'm going to expand on it just a little here. Not too much, because I don't like the answer I'm getting and I don't think we can ever prove it. But Mary-Jane and Gary offended Alex with the exact same sin last night, the one Alex can never, ever forgive. They cared about her. Not as an ally. Not as another piece in their personal game puzzle. They gave a genuine damn about her as a person. I don't think Alex can take that. I don't think Alex believes that. Alex can take whatever Gardener does because she may see what Gardener truly considers her to be: one more player on the team, the one he's using to absorb the hits for him. Alex understands being used for someone else's purposes. But Mary-Jane really gave a **** about her, starting from the crush and moving on to something a lot more compassionate. Gary may have been viewing her as a surrogate island daughter the whole time: Paschal and Neleh, Rodger and Elizabeth, Gary and Alex. Alex finally started to see that people cared -- and Alex ran. Get rid of them, get away from them -- whatever it takes. I'm partially guessing. I looked for the common connection between Gary & M-J, and this was what came to mind. Going with it feels like a weird decision, and I'm not sure I'm right. But it's what seems to fit -- and it blows the loneliness thread to smithereens, because how could Alex want company if Alex can't stand anyone being near her?} {She can take Azure.} {Because Azure's not human. If Alex has been hurt by anyone, it's humans. Not animals. Animals are safe.} {Er... hello? Episode #8?} {I stand by my thread. Some people run towards and away from things at the same time. Cole may be one of them.} {So that means you're accepting my latest guess?} {I'll take that seriously. Not entirely, but I do believe you may be on to something. However, she is not a whole person: it makes it hard to understand how she thinks and feels about anything.} {...you're not about to pull out 'soulless' on us, are you?} {No. She has a soul: I will never agree with Connie there. It's just a very battered one.} ----------------------------------------------------------------- {Topic title: Mary-Jane on the Early Show.} {Stupid segment host. Stupid, stupid segment host... Try that on for an episode title.} {So basically, every other week, we're going to get a weird one, a depressed one, or a completely out-of-it one, is that it? Too bad there's only a couple of appearance chances left. Or maybe that's a good thing, because it'll give the Chenbot a couple of months for someone to program in all the things she could have said instead of the ones she did. Opening up with "Tell the world: are you gay?" Migawd... we've thought she doesn't watch the show, but now she's at the point where she's ignoring the person who reads her the notes. Millions upon millions of viewers, and the person who asks the questions is the one who refuses to join in...} {Give M-J some credit. She got through it. That couldn't have been easy.} {Since late transcripts seem to be the feature of this segment, here's the highlights. First: M-J is depressed. She's not admitting she's depressed, but it's like our second-hand sighting said: she's a lot less lively. You can see the signs, even though she's trying to cover up most of them with makeup. It doesn't do a thing for her voice, though. Most of the answers came out as if she'd had two hours of sleep before coming to New York. And that's two hours a night every night since leaving Yanini. She still had enough strength to take control of the interview, but with the Chenbot, that's like wrestling an ant. Yes, she's gay. Of course she's gay. She actually told the producers she was gay during her pre-show interviews. She can fake being interested in men and she thinks she's pretty good at it, although there isn't any point now. She just asked for things to be initially kept quiet: if she came out to someone on the show, then she was coming out, period. (Apparently Burnett took her admission to Gary as open permission to open her closet in front of the world. And how naive is Mary-Jane to think he ever would have kept it quiet no matter what happened?) A few people knew before this, including her father. The reason he's so seriously overprotective -- and the reason M-J can shoot so well -- is because he's convinced that if we ever get concentration camps in this country, they're rounding up the gays and lesbians first. His idea of gay bashing is for the gays to bash back: that's why his first reaction when M-J came out to him was to get her into self-defense and weapons classes. She actually has a permit to carry concealed, and does. She wanted that in the open, or at least her father did -- come after his daughter, you're very likely going to die. I personally don't think we're going to see physical attacks on Mary-Jane: too many people saw that target shooting challenge. Sure, she can only take out the first six people to rush her -- but are you volunteering to be one of the six? Social attacks are something else entirely. M-J doesn't date much, mostly because the model community is a bunch of gossips and they are everywhere. She said she's actually just about celibate, because so much of the industry is homophobic on the female side. Gay male designers? Not a problem. Gay female models? Not in the dressing room with me! What's she looking at? Is she going to come on to me? Get her out of here! So while it might not cost her that many jobs in being initially hired -- at least not the same amount that just being Jewish might have cost her, although she wearily noted that she was sort of hoping on an approach from Calvin Klein -- she never risked being exposed to her potential employers because she was convinced she'd be let go after the other models started complaining. You can't argue discrimination very well in an industry that gets paid to form judgments based on appearance, or at least that's what she thinks -- and she's probably right. She got a little bit of extra work in the months since the show started, but not much: she thinks everyone was waiting to see if she won. She fully expects to be completely on the outs now. And there, she's probably wrong -- but she was actually talking about giving up and going to community college if she didn't get some jobs in the next few weeks. The time between now and spring classes starting is her testing ground, and she really seems to think she'll be a liberal arts major by late January.} {Is she dating now? She's out in the open...} {She said she isn't. I believe her: she's just not in the mood to go looking or very receptive to anyone who asks her. Besides, who can spot that swimsuit-perfect body and gorgeous face in the middle of that black cloud?} {Did you catch the America's Question? Even for the Chenbot, that was a stupid choice to put on the air. Does she still have a crush on Alex? Geez... who would even ask that?} {And the answer was just what you would have expected: eyes closed, head down, "I can't talk about that." Just about the only one she refused to answer during the entire interview.} {For contract reasons or personal ones?} {I'm thinking personal. Another vote Alex lost if she goes to Final Two.} {Did she know where the votes came from? Yes: she knows Gary's handwriting. Did she have any clue that she was going? None. The mandatory stupid follow-up from Julie: did she know Gary had told Alex everything? Partial refusal here: she confirmed what Alex had found out in that she was using Gary as a sounding board and had been since the failed flip. He was the only person she openly came out to, although she personally thought Robin was starting to get an idea. (Makes sense... spend that much time on Broadway and you've almost got to develop some gaydar.) But she can't talk about whether she ever found out about Alex getting the grand reveal, because that goes into future events. Once again, the briefing book was not programmed in. Not enough memory left over after the self-flattery routines were installed.} {Anyone else surprised she didn't cry? Mary-Jane's the most emotional player in the original pool, and maybe one of the most emotional, period. She was so subdued there.} {Like I said: depressed. She doesn't want to say it and she's trying not to show it, but it's there.} {Someone convince me that's what she deserved from her stay on the island. Someone who isn't homophobic or a gay-basher-in-training. Because I think she's right. She's not going to get much work. There's specialty areas where she could see some employment -- the magazines for the gay community pretty much have to show some fashion ads, right? -- but with the current attitude in society? Goodbye, mainstream. Emotionally crushed, shunted into the small corners of her profession and maybe deciding to leave it entirely -- did Mary-Jane deserve that?} {(Post deleted by moderator for multiple violations of guidelines, including profanity, bigotry, and open threats of violence against an individual and a group.)} {Figures.} {Mary-Jane was the most emotional player, but now it's like she's trying to become an Alex-in-training. She was so -- muted. She didn't cry, but she didn't laugh or smile either...} {She's a empathic bleeder. She hurts for other people. She's not doing as good a job of hurting for herself -- at least, not in figuring out how to stop.} {And yet another one who probably wishes she'd never gone on the show. She made one mistake: she let Alex know she gave a damn. And that was all it took.} {I want to fault Alex here, and lord knows I'd have plenty of locked-thread company, but the mentally ill aren't responsible for their actions...} {Alex isn't sick. She's just cold. Ice-cold. Deep space cold. Mary-Jane formed a crush on a comet's core and it wasn't enough to send it out of the self-destruct orbit into the sun.} {Why isn't anyone talking about the follow-up segment?} {Twenty seconds is a follow-up segment?} ----------------------------------------------------------------- {Topic title: So where's Alex's mother?} {Because the Early Show said they tried to get her on as the follow-up to M-J's time, and she wasn't there...} {Everyone else is curious, too. CNN, Faux News, MSNBC -- they're all trying to get her for segments, and every last one has said they can't get ahold of her.} {Isn't it fun, having the media so interested in our little show? If only they'd been this curious during filming -- we would have had Final Two a week before the premiere! (And they would have called it as Desmond & Michelle.)} {Getting some details on CNN's website now: she's just joined Alex's postal date among the missing, although she forgot the part about leaving drugs stacked up outside for pickup. (Probably ones that induce premature denial.) She pulled her children out of school and vanished. Saw the media blitz coming and decided she wanted no part of it. Apparently she was at an airport late last night and then -- gone.} {Which airport?} {Phoenix -- she lives in Scottsdale, so call her a DAW by proxy if nothing else. Her name -- since we never got it last night -- is Marla Templeton. That's her married name, by the way: nothing about her birth one yet. But her husband (Steven) is deceased, ten years ago. She kept his name postmortem. Children are Andrea, Rebecca, and Crystal, in age order. PhD in biochemistry. Worked at Merck Pharmaceuticals in New Jersey around the time of Alex's birth.} {The usual bits from the neighbors -- a nice woman, very family-oriented even though she had to work full-time and then some, extremely devoted to her children. Never said anything about having given her firstborn up, never gave any hints as to Alex's existence at all.} {Is she fleeing criminal charges here? Because you could argue for attempted murder. What's the statute of limitations there?} {Not sure... she helped manufacture the drug or knew the people who did, so she had to know what it could do. But was she trying to outright kill Alex or just get rid of her?} {Some difference.} {It was a deliberate overdose. It had to be. Okay, Alex is screwed up beyond all recognition, but give her credit for having a viable excuse. You find out your birth mother started off your life by trying to end it: how well-adjusted are you going to be?} {Running out of the country with two teenagers in tow after millions of people worldwide saw what she looked like, and no one can find her...} {Smoking Gun just posted the medical records! Everyone go see! Especially our doctors, because I can't make heads or tails of this stuff!} {Wow. That's some impressive speed. I thought they'd need at least a day to find someone who was willing to sell out.} {Shouldn't this be on its own thread?} {Not if it's the main reason she ran.} {Is this as ugly as I think it is?} {You have no idea. Okay. As one of the board's doctors, I just spent a couple of spare hours reading over Alex's records. I can make heads or tails of this stuff, plus I can read the universally-horrible handwriting -- Tony's in the wrong profession -- and I have my reference texts to help me with the stuff that's out of date -- as Alex said, that drug fell out of fashion. There's a lot here, and I'm not exactly breaking doctor-patient confidentiality in sharing it. Brace yourselves: this isn't pretty. And if you're among our Alex-haters, get your denial ready to go -- and take comfort, because it turns out that you've had plenty of company for a lot longer than you might have thought. First, the birth records. Alex told nothing but the truth last night. The attending physicians had her at twenty-six weeks along and extremely sick. She wasn't expected to survive three days after birth: for her to make it through shows just how stubborn she was and just how early that trait kicked in. The overdose -- and it was one -- was responsible for most of it, combined with her being too young and small to tolerate the drugs. (Also note the birth weight: very low for that far along.) The first year of Alex's life reads as a series of medical tests: she gets better, she gets worse, she seems to be on the road to recovery, she relapses. There's notes here: she was in fact not initially offered up for adoption because of exactly what she said: adopt today, funeral tomorrow. Just something one of the doctors jotted down in a quiet moment. Alex's mother overdosed on the drug, induced labor, gave birth to a baby who wasn't supposed to live -- then gave that baby up and vanished for the first time. At least she's consistent, right? All right. That's the first year. After that, Alex stabilizes. An state-run orphanage isn't exactly a great place to grow up, but it does ensure that you're getting medical exams on a regular basis. Some of that includes psychiatric work-ups. Not for babies, of course, but this comes into play later. From her first birthday on, Alex is a fairly normal child. She still has a problem with ear infections, but that clears up by the time she's four. Notes here say she's having a pretty standard life on the medical front otherwise: she gets her shots, she has a few scrapes, bumps, and bruises from play. Some of her doctors think she's just a little bit quiet, but she's also very curious and eager to learn. One of them put this down under 'other symptoms': 'would not stop asking me what that did.' No visible learning disabilities. World-class eyesight. Too young for IQ tests still, but they think she's fairly bright. But she hasn't been adopted because most people want the youngest babies, and the tendency to adopt a little older came in right around the time the tendency also became to adopt from the East. And she does have a very rough medical history, so just maybe people are still a little worried about letting her go out -- to the point of telling prospective parents and scaring them off. But overall, she's okay. At age five, something happens. Alex mentioned a name last night: Mrs. Paglia. In November of Alex's fifth year, that name starts appearing on her charts in loco parentis: the state employee officially in charge of her. The official tests drop in frequency -- below the state-required standard. No one seems to notice Alex isn't being brought in for mandatory examination as much as she should. On the occasions when she does show up by appointment -- or, more often, because she's been referred over by the school nurse -- she's almost always injured: extensive bruising is the most common symptom. Now these doctors aren't stupid: they start asking questions. There's notes here that say Alex said one thing and they checked it out, then got another from either Mrs. Paglia or the school. Lots of fights, and somehow, Alex is officially responsible for starting every one of them. No matter what happens, it's Alex's fault. Fights with the other children in the orphanage. Fights with the kids in her class. Alex is claiming ambush, having things stolen from her and trying to get them back, but every story is officially declared false. Every story. She's remarkably vivid in her details and the denials are absolute cookie-cutters. Mrs. Paglia starts asking for emotion control drugs, says Alex is a danger to the other children and is going to be isolated from them. No drugs given out without the psychiatric exam to determine if they're necessary. The exam is refused. Very soon after this, Alex changes primary doctors. The tests go back to their usual frequency. And the questions stop. The bruising doesn't. If anything, it gets worse as she gets older, but it also becomes more confined in area: Alex is being hit in places where it won't show when she's dressed. In particular, no one works over her face. One note here from later in life -- very dry, completely clinical, not a bit of judgment being exercised, and would I love to talk to the bastard who took this note -- about a typical pattern of bruising that Alex presented: pressure injury on both wrists and ankles, with some discoloration to the pelvic area. Diagnosis: slam-dancing. No questions asked of Alex whatsoever, referred to Mrs. Paglia for punishment because this means Alex broke curfew. This is what we call a five-point pin: four people hold you down and the fifth kneels on you and hits you until they get bored. But Alex is still being blamed for starting every fight. More notes: Alex brought in, started fight a week prior to the exam. Alex turned over by school nurse, started fight. If Alex is starting fights, she's taking on groups who bring her down within seconds and don't let her get a punch in. Every time. But this doctor either doesn't ask questions, doesn't care about the answers, or just knows he can go with the form letter. 'Patient quiet.' 'Patient sullen.' 'Patient uncommunicative.' Every time. There's only so much of this you can do without getting other people involved. Another name starts to show up: Officer Marissa Ramirez, Child Protection Services. She frequently brings Alex over from the school nurse. She may have had some questions. But more notes show up: 'As per Paglia, referred to school principal.' Don't talk to me, talk to someone else. Over and over and over. Alex isn't talking to anyone else. At this age Alex is, by state requirements, supposed to have regular mental checkups. According to this, she's been referred to a shrink other than the one the orphanage usually uses, lessening the burden by spreading out the work a little. Change supervised, approved by, and red-taped into existence by Mrs. Paglia. According to every file I was able to check, the psychiatrist Alex was seeing does not, did not, and has never existed. Eleven, and a note here on first menses: puberty has started. Thirteen, and surgery is canceled. That's all the doctor wants you to know here. Alex was scheduled for some kind of surgery and it was canceled. But he screwed up. See all the blacked-out lines on Pages Eighty through Eighty-Four? Look closely. The son of a bitch used the wrong kind of ink. He blacked it out with something translucent, and all it took to bring out the underlying text was a little digital enhancement. At thirteen, Alex was scheduled for a radical double mastectomy with a side order of sterilization. Complete excision of all breast tissue followed by a double ovariectomy: ovary removal, both sides. There are reasons given for this. They are reasons that would have any doctor in the world rushing this poor little girl into surgery after a quick five minutes to scrub up and a prayer that she wouldn't die during the rinse. But there's too many of them. From a relatively healthy -- if compulsive fight-starting -- pre-teen to a complete medical train wreck in two years? No. A lot less time than that. Try everything popping up so fast that JAMA would swoop in during the surgery and ask for a window seat: there's an entire medical paper waiting to be written here. In my very professional opinion, someone was trying to ram this surgery through before anyone could notice. Attending surgeon, who might have picked up that something was wrong? Same person who's been making all these notes since Alex turned five. Let's hear it for double specialties. But -- surgery canceled due to misdiagnoses. Whew! Good thing someone figured out they'd made a mistake! No. Someone wanted Alex cut open. They wanted any chance of her having children taken away and they wanted her scarred on top of it. Physically and mentally. Up until the two weeks prior to the surgery, Alex is hurting, but that's just because she's been beat up yet again. Her breasts started developing early and said development is proceeding faster than the average, but until the crisis point hits, it's healthy tissue and a normal growth pattern: no malformation. Amazing how quickly things went wrong, isn't it? As for the tests on her reproductive system -- they almost don't exist. Alex is in medical crisis, but is there a full battery of tests backing it up? No. Not as in 'confirm my diagnosis, Doctor: I'm afraid I may be rushing this.' Just a few quick checks. Guess who ran all of them? Right. Same person who made the initial diagnosis and who was going to do the surgery. Triple-threat man all the way. And who approved of all this? Mrs. Paglia. Alex didn't get a vote. At thirteen, Alex escaped this. There's nothing here about how, although I think the doctor (and it makes me sick to use that title) was major-league pissed-off about it: look at the jagged edges on that cancellation notice. That is the handwriting of someone who was in an absolute fury at the time. Alex escaped, and now the eyes might really be on him. I believe they -- and I'm freely using the plural here, guess who the other party is? -- went too far, almost got caught, and the 'oops!' may have been a last-ditch attempt to cover things up. Fourteen -- and we go to the emergency room. Alex is brought in. Her knuckles are bleeding: this time, she probably has been in a fight, one where she actually got to throw a punch. She refuses to talk about what happened. The doctors on call question her, and all she ever says is 'No one ever believes me.' That's it. Why is it so important to know what happened? Because someone was brought in with her, and he has a fractured skull. Adult male, forty-three. According to the paperwork, Alex made the call. The police are brought in. Mrs. Paglia arrives. Alex has her hands treated and leaves with her. And that's it. No word here on what happened to the male: that's someone else's file, and the paperwork only intersects so much. We may also be crossing over into juvee records -- which are sealed. Go through the rest of the teenage years. Clearly Patient (because her name is never used) is not in juvenile detention after the fractured skull incident. Maybe she watched the man fall down the stairs and scrapped her hands in diving to catch him. We don't know. But from thirteen on, Alex has been missing appointments. It looks like she has to be rounded up and hauled in just about every time, unless she's claiming illness from the nurse's office, who apparently has standing orders to pass Alex along on every possible occasion. Sometimes she arrives late, sometimes she doesn't arrive at all. More jagged handwriting. But he's still writing down what he sees. Spontaneous documenter: maybe he can't stop. The bruising continues. The girl cannot stop picking fights any more than he can stop noting the location of the injuries. Mrs. Paglia brings her, takes her away. Sometimes Alex is bleeding. Sometimes Officer Ramirez is with her because they're fresh from the school nurse again. But see the principal or Mrs. Paglia if you have any questions, because it's always Alex's fault. Every. Single. Time. Seventeen. The fourth of June. Alex has an appointment. Alex never arrives. Another note blacked out with the wrong kind of pen. Here's what it says: 'Patient out of control.' Reference with the website's other Alex papers. This is Alex's graduation month. The month she collected her GED and left high school. The day. Alex is not out of control mentally. Alex is out of their control. Alex just escaped, and they can't get her back. And they never do get her back because a few months later, she becomes a legal adult in every way -- and several weeks before that, the option is closed permanently anyway. Because I looked up this asshole too, just to make sure that license was real and in the desperate hopes that he didn't have it any more. I got that wish. He'll never practice again, and this link will show you why. I'm about to do something I've never done before in my life, something I hope I never have to do again, because I'm not that big a DAW no matter what my post count number says. But someone has to do it, and it looks like I'm elected. I'm going to call a press conference.} -----------------------------------------------------------------   Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Subject     Author     Message Date     ID    RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... ohmyheck 12-22-06 1  Custody Of A Curse: Part II Estee 12-24-06 2    RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part II AyaK 12-29-06 3  Custody Of A Curse: Part III Estee 01-03-07 4    RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part III AyaK 01-04-07 5    RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part III xwraith27 01-04-07 7        RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part III Colonel Zoidberg 01-05-07 8            RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part III xwraith27 01-05-07 9                RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part III Colonel Zoidberg 01-08-07 16  Custody Of A Curse: Part IV Estee 01-04-07 6    RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part IV vince3 01-05-07 10        RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part IV AyaK 01-05-07 11            RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part IV vince3 01-05-07 12                RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part IV michel 01-05-07 13  Custody Of A Curse: Conclusion Estee 01-06-07 14    Aside AyaK 01-07-07 15

Lobby | Topics | Previous Topic | Next Topic

Messages in this topic

ohmyheck 1117 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Politically Incorrect Guest" 12-22-06, 02:40 PM (EST) 1. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #12: Custody Of A Curse" So, who is this doctor? Kevorkian, her father, her mother? One of our sixteen contestants? Connie's husband?   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Estee 22510 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 12-24-06, 03:15 PM (EST) 2. "Custody Of A Curse: Part II" LAST EDITED ON 01-07-07 AT 08:54 AM (EST) It took the whole day. Twenty-seven thousand letters in the initial grouping. For most of them, having 'mother' in the title represented only half the word. Much to my surprise, there had been some support -- but most of it had been the same false comfort Ms. Bracia had been offering: you got rid of the dyke, good for you, should have done it in the first episode but it's nice to see you catching on at last. (And it was absolutely amazing how they'd all been able to figure it out in the first five minutes.) All of those letters ignored what had happened with my mother. A few of them did bring in the last scene of the evening, my breaking the alliance with Gary -- but they were equally complimentary: not only had I ditched a dyke, I'd disposed of the darkie. Hooray for Alex, hero of the bigots. Not as many death threats as I'd been expecting: they'd been on the fall ever since the eighth episode and somehow, this hadn't brought them back. Still pretty much nothing on the potential rape front. Lots of religiously-oriented letters, most coming from people who had checked in before. I'd broken a commandment: I was extra-damned. No matter what had been done to me, the Bible said that was my mother. This meant she had the right to do anything to me that she pleased, and I had to honor her decisions. I should be thankful I had any kind of life at all. Not that they were in favor of abortion because that just wasn't their field, but a couple of people were suddenly willing to consider allowing a one-time exception. Questions, so many questions. No, I must have known, right? That whole thing was staged for television, anyone could see that. Surely I'd contacted her since the show ended, there must have been some kind of reconciliation. Did I know Mary-Jane had a crush on me before the vote? Were we currently seeing each other? Could I draw a picture of the results from our having seen each other? Was I sick? Insane? I didn't answer the letters. I hadn't answered a single one that wasn't work-related since the day the season had premiered. I just sorted them out, isolated the work-related ones, packaged (and occasionally signed) books, and did some commission work. By the time I finally finished sorting through the initial avalanche of hate, it was too late to see Officer Ramirez: her shift had been over for hours. I could only read so fast, needed time to categorize, separate anger from hatred from rage. Not a problem: she had an early Saturday shift. I could go in tomorrow. There were presumably thousands of E-mails piled up behind the first group, still waiting on the server. I didn't look at them. They could keep waiting: it wasn't going to change what they said. Somewhere in there would be the official notice from Coleman saying they were going to drop the cross because they didn't want to be associated with me. I was sure that was lurking in the flood. Maybe I'd get really lucky and it would be followed by a note from Donald, saying I wasn't the kind of person he wanted at his parties and he'd be taking the dress back now. I still had it in the box, ready to go. The phone had been ringing for most of the day. I hadn't answered it. After a while, I'd turned off the sound. The answering machine could handle things. I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone anyway, and it wasn't as if there was a single person out there I wanted to talk to. There wasn't anyone who would believe me. I still didn't even believe myself. I avoided my own forum. One look at my bandwidth usage statement told me there wouldn't be anything waiting there that I wanted to see, either. Mary-Jane. In the morning segment. I'd spent the whole time waiting. She was going to laugh eventually, right? Giggle, surely. There would be no way she'd get through the thing without a smile. Mary-Jane bounced back: it was almost the definition of Mary-Jane. Sure, there were things that could make her miserable, but she always got over them, always found the smile Phillip had sent her in search of. For Mary-Jane, life was something you enjoyed, and there was always something around to remind her of that. Surely she would have found something to bring her back in the intervening months. Anything. One of the cliches for just about all the shows: 'I'm not here to make friends.' Maybe Mary-Jane had somehow never heard that. Phillip had certainly missed it. I thought about the sketchbook. I'd have it back in a little over a week: someone would come up to me after the Reunion and turn it over, the timeline no longer hidden, images released. How many individual portraits had I made of Mary-Jane before that vote? Four. She was very drawable. Plus lots of images that included her: the original gatherings for Turare and Amanu, the group at the lake for Phillip's cannonball, endless challenges, scenes of camp life, coming in on the raft on Day One... Mary-Jane was all over the sketchbook. And in virtually every single image, she'd been having fun. But during the segment... Quiet. Repressed. Facial movements minimal, sometimes tightly controlled, sometimes muted. Not much tone in her voice. Recital of facts. Detached. Me. I stayed awake well past midnight, trying to get caught up. Once the media tour started, I'd lose work time. I had to get some things done before then. I had to -- stop thinking -- make sure I didn't fall too far behind. Saturday. One week from tomorrow, I would be on the stage with Mary-Jane. She would be looking at me, and I would be looking at her. And she wouldn't smile... Go to bed. Sleep. No dreams that I could remember. Get up, get dressed, don't bother checking mail because I didn't want to be there all day again, get the DVD, go downstairs. Head down, peripheral vision cut off by the hood. Too cold out. Checked the forecast on the computer: the high might get up to freezing if the entire city caught fire. The garbage bag was still outside Ms. Bracia's door, but it was too cold for the stink to have gotten any worse. Even the normal background odor had been muted by the icy air. Dirty building, getting dirtier every year. Why spend money to clean it? Five dollars in scrubbing chemicals might justify a fifty-dollar rent increase, that was why. Explain it that way to the landlord and surely he'd have the place fixed up, although the increase would be more along the lines of a hundred dollars a month. Dirty windows on the front door, too dirty to see through. Bright lights outside though, some of them flashing. Someone pulled over for a ticket, someone parked illegally. Angela's revenue stream in action. The area is poor, a lot of the population can barely afford to exist, so let's take the little they have away from them, see if it forces them into illegal acts, then arrest them, get them out of the neighborhood, and hope someone richer moves in. City improvement through civil fines. Angela would probably call it a master plan and be willing to protest it, but no one in the area would have the money to hire her. Unless she started with a 'let's get acquainted' discount in an attempt to rebuild her business. I should probably feel guilty about that. It was very likely my fault. There had been a time when everything always turned out to be my fault, and that meant I should be used to the idea. Open the door, step outside -- "-- Alex! Alex, are the allegations true?" "What can you tell us about the papers?" "Did you ever find out about what happened to Mr. Massee?" "Is there any --" "-- could you get that light out of my eyes?" Someone complied. I looked around. Media vans, police cars that were apparently trying to clear out the media vans with little success, reporters, microphones stuck directly under my chin and what's personal space, exactly? Don't ask these people, because they were crowding closer. I could see some of the logos on the trucks, major news networks, cable stations that I couldn't watch unless I went shopping, and did someone just say 'Mr. Massee'? No, I must have misheard that, there's too much noise... "Everyone, calm down!" It was a pretty good imitation of Jeff. The noise abated somewhat. "Well, you're all on time delay..." Shouldn't the media had made a ridiculously overblown fuss about this yesterday? There must have been some real news for a change. "Look, you should all know the drill by now. I can't discuss the show. I can't afford to pay the fine for breaking the contract. None of you are going to give me that money. Eventually, I'll go into the media rotation and everyone who's signed up with CBS will get a chance at me. Given that, I don't know what you're doing here. Have a little patience: you'll get to tear me apart soon enough." 'Tell me you're starting to get sick of this...' Gardener might have just charged the line to see if they'd give way. I didn't have the body mass for it and the no-contact rules didn't apply here, so they wouldn't be thrown out if it somehow looked like they'd hit me first. Maybe if I tried it anyway -- -- as if anyone ever really ever listened to me. "Alex, what do you have to say about the allegations of child abuse?" I blinked. "I've never abused any children." I don't have children. Plus I don't really associate with the neighborhood kids. Okay, sometimes I'll toss a ball back if it comes my way, but I've never accidentally hit them with one. "Haven't I done enough on the show for you to yell about without having to make stuff up?" The police were really trying to get the vans to stop blocking the street. Go, police: these people have money. More slowly, same reporter, generic handsome We Hire Minorities, Really face just visible in the depths of the We Ask Them To Dress Just Like Everyone Else, Though fur-lined hood. This was the Asian variation. "Alex, what can you tell us about Mrs. Paglia?" And more shouting, people trying to find spins on that question that would work, anything that would pull out a response... Someone had just stepped on ice. They must have. I could hear the sound of something shattering. It's too early! It wasn't supposed to be happening yet. It was happening now. I'd said the name, yes, the name had come out on national television, but it didn't mean anything except to a few dozen people, and none of them would have cared... The cold air burned my lungs all the way through the long inhale, and then did it again on the way out. I didn't seem to have warmed it any. More yelling, apparently no one was as interested in getting an answer as they were in asking their very own personal non-unique question, my answers didn't matter anyway because they could just hear whatever they wanted to: editing just doesn't take place in the production rooms, it goes on in brains every minute of every day. I said it. I said the name last night. Someone -- no, why would anyone look that up? Why would they -- -- why would anyone believe me now? Because I was on television. Because I was still some flavor of celebrity, absolute bottom of the totem pole or not. Because millions of people had heard me say a name in the middle of throwing my mother out of my life, and at least one person had looked it up, or maybe one person had remembered and finally asked the question instead of believing everything that had come from the sterling voice of Authority... "Can I answer the question, please?" Eyes closed against the cold. All the more freedom to look backwards, absolutely no ability to stop. "If everyone will stop yelling in my face for about two minutes, it'll let me say something you can use." Words even, tone neutral. That was easy. "Two minutes?" I was in a place where I knew what two minutes was, surely they could count it off too... They could. It took a while, but eventually, the group settled down. Even the flashing lights slowed a little. Everyone waiting for me to speak and maybe, just maybe even willing to believe what I would say for the five seconds before they started spinning it through the deliberate ignorance cycle. The moment I'd wanted for so very long, the dream I'd held onto for the greatest amount of time. Everything I'd ever hoped for over a period of years, right in front of me. All I had to do was find the words. Say them. I'd wanted to, right? It was every closet-bound fantasy, every tear cried into the rotting pillow. It was everything I'd survived for... So I did. I found five words and said them. Five words that cost me an entire lifetime to get out. "It doesn't matter any more." The pause that followed those words should have been just long enough for the babble of mindless variations to start up again. It didn't happen. I wasn't sure why. But it let me keep talking. Maybe they'd realized my two minutes weren't up yet. Technically, I was probably supposed to get fifteen. "You're really on time delay. Whatever happened is over. There's nothing that anyone can do to change it. It can't happen to me again because I'm past that point in my life. It won't happen to someone else from them because it can't. For me, it doesn't matter because it doesn't change anything. Maybe the next time it starts happening to someone else, you'll ask questions. Maybe you'll listen to the answers. Maybe the next kid will get a chance..." No one was saying anything. I could make any speech I wanted and get all the way through it without interruption. Angela would kill for this. "Just keep your eyes and ears open, and be willing to listen to all sides. Question all sides. That's what you're supposed to be here for. You're supposed to protect us, as much as they do." A steady, strangely soft gesture at the police cars. "But most of the time, you don't. You just yell and scream and tell people to be afraid, and you can't even tell them to fear the right things. You make monsters out of people, and you never look at what everyone else considers to be people and wonder if there's a monster hiding inside..." And still no interruptions. This had to be some kind of world record in progress, mostly likely because they were too insulted by the last statement to come up with an immediate response. I'd finally gotten a solid, irrefutable ten on the board. Looking around at all of them. Some of them pulled back slightly as my gaze crossed their faces. Just another touch of strangeness on a very strange day. "The only reason you're here today is because I'm on television. People are talking about me. Judging from yesterday's E-mails, the majority of them are talking about how much they despise me. And now you've got a sympathy angle. You switch the story to another mode and keep it alive for that much longer. Fine: maybe it'll get you some ratings in the end, even if you're splitting them --" quick survey "-- sixteen ways. But if I wasn't on the show, no one would care. And no matter what happens on Thursday, next Sunday after the Reunion, I'll be off the show -- and people will stop caring. For me, it doesn't matter any more." Softly, knowing the microphones would still pick it up, "For the next kid, it's their whole life." No response. They were just looking at me. Waiting. Maybe even listening, although that was a longshot. "Go find those kids," I tell them. "Get them out while they've still got time." And -- "That's two minutes. Mine's up." If it had been a movie -- if it had been any kind of story -- they would have silently let me pass through their ranks, allowed me to go down the street without pursuit, stood in place and silently thought about what I'd just said. But it was the real world. I passed silently through their ranks while wondering what the hell I'd just said and how long it would take them to edit it out. No one tried to stop me. I reached the street, started to cross -- and whatever spell they'd been under broke. The shouting started up, the questions were being fired, everything melding into a mindless babble that I couldn't make any sense out of, they were following me and they'd keep following me until -- -- if it was a story -- -- someone came to rescue me. But this was reality... "Get in!" The door thrown open, a blare of sirens to startle the pursuit, the stink of nicotine wafting out, followed by a hacking cough. "Come on, Alex! Get in!" I stared -- and got in. The police car sped away, or came as close as it could while having to weave around a dozen news vans. Most of the reporters kept up until we reached the end of the block. One went down, the stumble over that perpetual bad spot on the sidewalk clearly visible in the rear-view mirror. The three people from competing networks who almost took deliberate pains to step on her were just as easy to see. I wondered if anyone had filmed it. Editing it out of the subsequent broadcast was pretty much a guarantee. They know... Or they were starting to suspect. Too little, too late, and so what? What had happened yesterday? Officer Ramirez glanced at me when we reached the first red light. "You've got the DVD, right?" I silently patted the appropriate pocket. "Good. That means we don't have to go back." A sigh, interrupted by another coughing fit, not quite long enough for the light to change, then -- "I guess I had to show in time once, right?" The light changed. There were no cars behind us. No vans, either: it would take a while for that tangle to sort itself out. There didn't seem to be any pressing need to move, and we didn't. We'd never really gone anywhere. She couldn't move because she was bound, I couldn't move because I was held... ...and maybe it hurt her. Maybe it really did. Trying had to count for something, right? "Yeah. Once." She nodded. We went through on green. ----------------------------------------------------------------- {...if I ever, and I mean ever, say anything about trying to call a press conference again, y'all are cordially invited to shoot me. I promise not to treat myself afterwards.} {Doc, what happened? You just totally dropped out there -- not a single response to the near-hundreds of '...what did you say?' posts that followed your analysis of the papers. I was actually looking for you on the news channels, but then I realized I have no idea what you look like...} {So how was your first experience as a world-class attention-seeking, media-hogging, hey-everybody-look-at-me DAW? And which show did it lead to your signing up for? Personally, I always thought you'd make a great Apprentice. The total lack of business experience can only help you. It's not as if anyone ever uses any.} {*sigh* Remember that post where I made fun of Alex for being such a child of the media that she actually repeated the standard series warning while she was half-under? I'm taking it back. Because it turns out that I'm such a child of the media that when I have something I believe a small portion of the world needed to know, I think I have to call a press conference. If I was younger, I probably would have tried a bulk E-mail. But no, I grew up watching shows and seeing movies where people in a rush to get information out call press conferences. Boy, I'm well-trained. Guess what? There isn't some sort of master hotline you can call where one person sees the red phone flashing and yells out "Holy cow, it's the Press Conference Call! Someone turn on the Press Signal!", and then a thousand suit-wearing crimefighters with fedoras and notebooks attendant slide down poles before racing off in the MediaMobile. No, you spend time looking up contact information. And then you start making phone calls. "Hi, I have some information about a Survivor contestant that I think the media needs to know. Do I know who won? Well, no --" click. Call again. "No, this is important. I'm a doctor and I have a theory that I feel needs to be shared with the public. Did everyone get some kind of exotic tropical disease on Yanini from being exposed to excessive variety of plant life? Well, no. I'm a pediatrician and I wouldn't be able to figure that one out on a bet, but I still --" click. Oh, what fun. And that was it for that network. Hey, you lost your exclusive. Better get someone with a working brain answering the phones, even if it would be the first person with that quality your network had ever hired... Finally, I get ahold of someone. They seem willing to listen. By this point, I've learned that I identify myself as a doctor first, don't say what kind, and don't say anything about being on an Internet reality show discussion board at all. This means I get to actually explain my theory all the way through. That I was looking at the medical records on TSG, that I did some digital enhancement, I read what was under the blackout, and in my expert medical opinion, here's what was going on. I was told they'd check it out and get back to me. They asked for numbers where they could call me back, I provided some, and -- click. Two hours later, the story broke. And about thirty minutes after that, the other networks started picking it up. 'According to a medical expert...' I'm still waiting for someone to call me back. I think the only reason anyone waited that long was because they were running their own enhancements on the files.} {Ow. And I bet someone will have Dr. Phil on within a day, and he'll claim to be the medical expert...} {Sorry, Doc. But at least you got it out there, right?} {Did he ever. The 'Alex Cole: abused child?' headline is scrolling, and like he said, it's even moving between networks. People are looking at those papers, and they're trying to connect them to other papers. It looks like everyone's going after her full records now, locked or not, and with so many people trying for them, someone is going to cave in and give them up.} {There's an old analogy about puzzle-solving -- that if you took someone who'd never seen a jigsaw puzzle in their life and dropped him in a warehouse full of pieces from different boxes, with everything strewn all over the place and not a picture to go by in the entire building, then all he has to do in order to win is one thing. He has to figure out what a jigsaw puzzle is. As soon as that happens, the rest is a formality. In the last episode, Alex finally told us we were looking at a puzzle -- and then, as a special bonus, she gave us the first two major pieces out of the box: her medical records and Mrs. Paglia. Our premiere puzzle-solver for the season has finally given us the first keys that might let us beat her own. And we've got help. Lots of help. Assemble all the paperwork, and maybe we'll get a more comprehensive picture. But right now, we know we've got a puzzle, and we even know where to look for the next corner of the frame. We are winning. Just give it time.} {Do you think we'll ever get credit for any of this?} {'and don't say anything about being on an Internet reality show discussion board at all.' That would be a no.} {Um... hang on. My phone just rang...} ----------------------------------------------------------------- So they knew. Everyone knew. Or everyone was going to know soon enough. Not know for certain, but as Gardener had said, you didn't exactly need evidence to convict any more. We'd gone to the police station. I'd given her the DVD, and we'd talked about the contents. There had been a lot of things we hadn't talked about, and why should we have? It wouldn't have changed anything. What had needed to be said, had been said. The words were out there. I couldn't take them back. I couldn't erase thirty-nine days, I couldn't request a given two minutes from existence and ask to have them done over. Wishes that never came true, wishes that had been made over and over, wishing when I knew wishing never worked... And after a while, it had been all I could do not to run out of the office. I had woken up on Friday to hatred. I emerged on Saturday to pity. Everyone was looking for more evidence. The medical records were almost enough. Should have been enough. But they wanted more, the voracious media with a story to get their teeth into. The subject didn't even have to be there: my contract was backfiring on me. If I couldn't talk about anything show-related, and this tied into the show at all, then I couldn't defend myself. I couldn't say 'It's over: please stop.' Or I could if I really wanted to -- but the moment for listening had passed. Words that didn't do any good should never be spoken. I'd had two minutes and I'd wasted them. Marissa had offered to drive me back to the apartment. I'd declined. She'd insisted. I'd still declined. I had to pick some things up at the post office. She said she'd swing me by, and we'd gone back and forth like that for a while, but I'd finally gotten her to let me go with the understanding that I'd call if anything happened. Not that I had a cell phone: that was Gary's Reward, and maybe she'd forgotten that. But I'd worked my way free in the end. I had to be on the street. I had to see how people reacted to me -- -- and the answer to that was 'pity'. Looks of sorrow, expressions of pain. Eyes squeezed shut in empathic agony as I passed. Complete strangers walking up to me and offering words that they thought would be a comfort. Attempts to put arms around my shoulders. They were sorry. They were all so sorry. Over and over. There were people I'd almost hoped to see. Former teachers, principals. Anyone who had cooperated, anyone who had believed. No classmates, even if their parts had been played on the opposing side too. Definitely not Cyndi. None of them had appeared. I could go and seek them out, of course. Several of the teachers were still working in the schools. I could confront them and ask if they'd changed their minds yet: maybe I wasn't stupid, maybe I wasn't a storyteller, maybe I wasn't lying. Was there any chance that they'd see things differently now? Some of them, yes. A very few. Most of them would still insist in my falsehoods. And none of it would matter in the end. It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. You can scream and no one hears. You can cry out in pain and no one believes you're hurting. You can finally have the world find out -- -- and all it gets you is pity. Pity doesn't change the past. Pity doesn't make you a different person. Pity doesn't give you a different life. All pity does is hurt. Down the street to the apartment building, the media gone now, the police gone too. Everyone cleared out. Probably more due in tomorrow: the police couldn't maintain a constant presence. Definitely people due next Sunday if I made Final Four. Marissa had confirmed it: one more episode without an ouster, and Alex Cole Day was on. (On Friday, it had almost been off. On Saturday, it was on again. Presumably people would take Sunday off before changing their minds again on Monday.) The long-range forecast was even prepared to cooperate, because the cold wave was just about on the verge of snapping. If the 'no, we never get it right and no one ever calls us on it' accuracy finally hit a moving target, then the Sunday of the finale would be an unseasonable fifty-three degrees. Christmas Eve in a near-spring zone. Just about perfect weather for a street fair. Of course, if I didn't make Final Two, then there wouldn't be any need to crowd everyone into the bars, but they'd probably be in a drinking mood anyway. Get rid of some of the tension produced by the growing number of gang signs through channeling it into drunken fights. Patterns of scars in the middle of palms from broken bottles. Almost the same as a broken picket sign, but not quite. We'd talked about my Thursday night encounter. I'd given her what information I could. Another reason she didn't want me walking home. Familiar. Something familiar... Go inside, take off the jacket. My answering machine was full. I turned the phone's ringer on and caught the call in mid-alert. Someone calling to pity me. I unplugged the cord. More E-mail off the server. Watch the hatred drain away, watch the anger fizzle and die under a flood of non-understanding, watch the rage channel itself in other directions. We didn't know. We're so sorry for you, so very sorry. How did you get through that? What's left of you after getting through that? No wonder you rejected your mother: you blamed it all on her. No wonder you got rid of Mary-Jane, threw Gary away. No wondering here at all, because we've decided we know everything about you. You aren't a poor orphan baby crying for her lost parents. You're just crying, you've been crying all along and we didn't see it, we feel for you, we can help you, this holy book will solve all your problems if you'll just take it into your life now, we pity you... Not all of them. Never all. Still the vicious words, still the verbal attacks that now had more ammunition than ever to fire. I was hurt once? Good. Then I should recognize the feelings when they hurt me again. But at least those were honest. Consistent. Telling me they wanted to see me suffer wasn't a lie. Everyone lies to me. Or everyone lies about me. Same thing. My forum... It wouldn't take much at all, would it? Sitting in front of the computer, looking at my forum. Looking at some of the thread titles. Looking at the sadness that came too late, the emotion that was just a lie anyway, the words that never would have come if I hadn't gone on the show. No one ever would have cared. They were only pretending to care now because of that little touch of fame. And they'd forget, and no one would ever look for the next ones and save them, because no one ever cared that much... I was so sick of looking at lies. Maybe Marissa cared a little. Maybe that was why she'd hurt so much, found cigarettes in her quest to make the pain go away all the more quickly. Maybe that was why she'd finally promised to stop. But these people, these intruders on my life who were so convinced they knew me... ...I could make them all go away... What was it? A click here, a click there? Type in my password to confirm? E-mail gone. Forum gone. Website gone. Don't leave the apartment except to get food. Maybe look into having food delivered. Go to the Reunion to avoid the fine and take the last part of the punishment I had coming. Never talk to anyone ever again. Never have to feel the false pain that came from their eyes, the pain they only wanted to believe they felt because it would somehow absolve them. Shut down the strip. People would forget the show, people always forgot. But without the strip, no one would ever have an ongoing reason to seek me out. No more contact. No more words. No more pity. Privacy, isolation, some kind of peace, with just a few clicks... ...there, that was the first one done, the right window was open, I had access to the account... "Alex." No. Not now. "I'm tired, Jeff. I'm so tired..." "I think you could have a rougher time after the show than during." I wished he'd shut up. I wasn't going to get that one either. Wishes don't come true unless they can backfire. "Echoes. Everything echoes forwards and backwards... I'm tired of listening to the past when all it does is make the present hurt..." "You know this isn't the answer." "People will stop talking to me." It would be a start. Close off my main avenues of access, then stop dealing with everyone for the rest of my life. Easy. It was too early, but it was happening now. More punishment for Mary-Jane. The show had a leak. The show wasn't involved at all. It didn't matter. It was out there now. I'd even thought it wouldn't be used, there was no real reason to use it because I didn't know what my edit was going to be and if I wound up a villain they wouldn't see any need for it, like Angela's explanation of her speech, that had never made the air, nothing would ever make the air and if it did, I just didn't have to think about it until it happened, I'd been so good at that, everything was normal, everything was fine, I was fine -- -- I'm okay, I can do one more -- -- only one more was no more. Later was now. I hadn't thought, I'd hoped. And then I hadn't thought at all, because there were other things to think about. Because it wasn't time yet. Because it was too early. It would happen later. It was happening now. Couldn't blame Gardener. Couldn't blame Trina. Couldn't blame anyone except myself. I said it, I did it, it was all my fault in the end. I brought it on myself. But I could make it all go away. It would all go away so very easily... "It's suicide." ...what? That didn't make any sense... "Everything you are is in that art. Everything you should have been is on that page. If you shut it down, you kill yourself." -- but -- but I -- "You go over the cliff for a reason. Not just because there's a cliff." And so very slowly, the compassion that wasn't supposed to be there at all, "Alex -- if you do this -- they win." It was so cold in this apartment. Warmth cost too much. Rage is hot, hatred is cold. I knew how to deal with hatred. Hatred was an everyday thing. You got used to it. Hatred was easy. Pity... I looked at the screen. Looked at the mouse. Four clicks, tops. But -- "-- living is the best revenge." "Or -- surviving..." ...just four clicks and a little typing... "No. Surviving is what you do until you can start living. Surviving is almost over. What you have to do now is live." ...stupid, stupid line, couldn't even remember reading it anywhere... ...just four... I got you, you stupid bitch, I got you... "...a little late, but I got you..." I pushed my left sleeve back. Ran my right hand over the scars. Closed the window. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Before ----------------------------------------------------------------- {Welcome to Week #12, where -- where... you know, I'm not even going to pretend I know any more. This is Week #12. Sunday is Week #13. Strangely enough, they both take place inside of a week. That should only be the least strange thing to happen in the next two episodes.} {Robin's got to go, right? She has to go. Pagongus Interruptus has been cured.} {Not quite. The biggest pill in the contestant pool is still on the island.} {Given that kind of lead-in... We've all seen and heard from Alex lately: that little speech she gave to the media hordes on Saturday, and her being spotted going about her business since because the media either isn't satisfied with what she said or doesn't know what to do with it. I'm guessing both. (Gotta love the dryness in her voice sometimes: CNN actually showed her giving an MSNBC reporter this classic kiss-off. 'Look, if you're going to follow me, you're going to carry books. Grab that box.' And the guy did it. Didn't get him anything in the way of an exclusive, but at least he got a workout from it...) But I'm curious: has anyone heard from Connie? Alex is all over the news -- you'd figure someone would have at least approached her nemesis for the mandatory jaw-clenched 'No comment.'} {Nothing in the last week.} {Too quiet on Connie's front.} {I distinctly remember asking you to never use those two words again.} {Oops?} {Yeah, right. 'Oops.'} {This long since the Big Partial Reveal, and no one's made much progress. Even TSG has been quiet.} {They usually post to bash. Bashing Alex is getting harder by the second, at least for the popular media -- and as much as that site would ever hate to admit it, guess what they've effectively become? (I know our total number of LOA members took a major jump, and the Alex-haters have generally been either very, very quiet or very, very banned, because the ones who remained decided that the only things they had left to say were on the other side of the guidelines.) Nothing more from Alex after that little speech that turned a few of our long-timers into moist-eyed sigpic rider signups, but that's because she's been invoking her contract for some reason -- probably because it's the good old-fashioned interview-stopping cure-all, although she might appreciate it if the media would start believing that. Other people are refusing to talk: embarrassed, humiliated or, in one case, unemployed: the principal of her old high school just resigned rather than say a word to anyone about anything. And the central parties can't exactly be contacted. We're waiting on paperwork and witnesses. Something almost has to emerge -- but if it wants to beat out the finale, it'll have to hurry.} {Okay -- maybe Alex-bashing is getting a little harder. And yet, certain people are still here.} {Just for tonight. The next time I see Cole, I will be looking directly at her. This link is to a picture on my own webspace: click if you want to see the details of my upcoming absence.} {Holy... and no, I don't care if that offended you -- how?} {I won a radio contest. I had to give them the boot order, starting with Michelle, in less than thirty seconds. Fourth caller to try it and first to make it. See? I have been paying attention.} {And you're going? Those tickets are selling for thousands right now! Instant profit! You might not be able to turn one into a new car, but you could get one hell of a down payment plus at least a partial warranty! You know there's buyers out there -- are you relatively new to just us or the Internet as a whole? Listen to me closely. StubHub. eBay. Come on, man! If money is the root of all evil, then it's time to get some in your hands and tear out the roots!} {I realize what the ticket is worth. I also realize I may never see another one. And -- I saw this in. One way or another, I think I'd like to see it out. Given the opportunity to do so from a few dozen feet away, I will. You should all be thrilled, because you're going with me.} {...I've been getting the impression this is one ticket...} {True. But I can talk into my cell phone, have it automatically convert to type, and get it to post here. Or tap out the words as long as I have enough light to see by, although that's much slower. But as long as I keep it very, very low and do a good job of concealment, I believe I can give you live updates from the live Reunion. A bit of a redundancy, but...} {So concealing it won't be a sin?} {Hardly. And I think I can do it.} {*sigh* Well, if you had to win the ticket, you lucky can't-use-the-word-here, then there goes my last theory about you.} {Which was...?} {That you're Edward.} {*grin* No.} {Speaking of new cars... tonight's the night, isn't it?} {Do you ever see preview commercials? Drop by in Spoilers? Anything?} {Dude, I'm on the road a lot.} {Radio commercials?} {Yes, tonight's the night. We have a car sponsor and there's five people left, so this is the car challenge. Someone's going to win a pair of prizes: a new vehicle and a total chance of winning the game of zero in five. Whoever gets the wheels does not get the title of Sole Survivor, although Biggest DAW generally remains up for grabs. This is the Curse Of The Car. So it has been said, so it has played out season after season, and so it will be done. And with that said, for the first time all season, I will say this: Go, Connie! Win that curse! Win it and begone!} {The previews had it as a season-in-review challenge... that's going to be trouble for her. And she wasn't in most of the shots.} {She could have been edited out.} {On her own, she's a challenge drag. Good luck editing that out.} {I'd bet on Robin if only I had an offshore casino to do it in. Phillip got his Reward before going out: she'll do the same.} {The Sucks Riddlemaster is very clearly ignoring the car. 'You can have one last bullet. You can't have a working weapon.' So unless Connie tries to run Alex over and has the engine stall out on her, the Reward challenge is off the answer board.} {I still think this is Robin -- the last bullet in the original Haraiki arsenal. (You can't count Connie any more.) And Robin goes out tonight -- the final shots at Immunity and the idol fail. As she said, she gets nothing she wants out of this game. Nothing at all. But we should get one world-class rant for her final words. Everyone get ready for the second SI bleepfest: Desmond, a woman is about to top you again.} {Hey, Doc, are you with us?} {...barely.} {In that case -- DAW. } {If I could just move, I'd kill you... explaining things to idiots for nearly a solid week by breaking it down into pieces they were supposed to be capable of swallowing and just wound up choking on, my God... I finally found people lower than the average freak-out new parent on the common sense scale, and they're the ones funneling information into our lives...} {And thank you oh so very much for mentioning the site. I realize you probably tried to bring it up every time and they only let you get it in once, but for all the foul-mouthed newbies I've had to ban and redundant threads I've spent a week locking, thank you. Oh, thank you oh so very much. You know something? Celebrity sucks.} {You know the worst part? All that work for what totaled out to about twelve minutes. Hours and hours of preparation for twelve total minutes. Patients pushed back... I repeat: shoot me. Everyone at once. Maybe the two cells that survive will know not to do it again.} {We could recruit Mary-Jane, and then you wouldn't even have to worry about that...} {Recrap! With everyone finished waving goodbye to Phillip -- come back, Phillip's dead dad! Come back! You were the most sensible person here! -- we can finally get to the family Reward, which they couldn't have until he left because A. he was already playing for two the whole time and we kept waiting for the birth plus B. if the living ones started appearing, suddenly we've got a seven-hour show. (And that's just to get through the first cousins.) So let's bring out the relatives! Gary's daughter is a polarize-the-board kind of hot! (You don't like bottom-heavy? Boy, I'm glad I'm already married.) Mary-Jane's father is forcing us all to lower our bass levels! Connie's husband is -- well, we think he's alive -- at least, he's moving... Robin's sister is -- Robin! And Gardener's wife is kind of on the forceful side: well, like calls out to like... Okay, that's everybody, because Alex is sitting this Reward out due to not having a family member who can come out for her and despite Edward proving that the show can get a near-corpse moving, it's just a little bit harder to animate a pile of paperwork. So let's -- bring out Alex's mother? Are you serious? We've spent most of the season not knowing which universe we're operating in and now we don't even know what network we're on? Wherever we are, it's a very strange place, because Alex just cried. And laughed. And arguably got a degree of revenge. Mary-Jane got to witness all this while everyone else was partying on the beach, the later event nearly making Gary's Reward win into a moot point. Still, Shari gets to tour the camp, and then gets to play for Immunity along with all the other genetic links, so everyone is in this contest -- wait. Oops. Okay, Alex needs a partner. Someone who can move fast, solve clues, and really, really annoy Jeff. Now who can we get on short notice? Oh. So you're saying we may be back in our own universe, but we've firmly left our time slot. Is this really happening? It must be happening, because the Lastings-Adams team svcks at challenges just as much as the solo act! Let's see, who hasn't worn the necklace yet -- how about Alex? Why not: it goes with what she's already got on. And with the extra teeth and claws, it's just the thing to be wearing to a formal occasion, namely a Tribal Council backstab, where Mary-Jane is officially invited to take a runway sob walk out of the game, because if there's anything Gardener can't stand, it's a jury threat, and if there's anything Alex can't stand, it's a full range of human emotion. Gee, maybe someone should have told Gary about either one of those things. Gee, maybe Gary is going to Explain It All To Us again, only he's saying things Alex doesn't want to hear, and if he doesn't stop talking, she's going to take this previously-hidden alliance and twist its head right off! -- too late... So Gary is alone, Alex is losing her mind, Gardener has the game right where he wants it, Connie has a free ticket to the Final Four, and Robin? Still doomed. But that's what we said last episode, too. You'd think that at some point in this season, we'd be right about something. And in order to increase our odds, even though it's one episode too early, I choose to stand by the best prediction I've seen all year: Azure over the slugs, four to three.} ----------------------------------------------------------------- During ----------------------------------------------------------------- Walking up the beach. Down the beach. Once in a while, I switch to moving across the beach, mostly for variety. I think I've been doing it for a while, because the camera operators just switched off: a yawning, worn-out male exchanged for a yawning, not-very-happy-to-be-awake Julia. Apparently I'm expected to deliver a confessional. As long as I'm up, I might as well be doing something useful for the show. I have an obligation, right? After all, look at all the show has done for me. Up the beach. Down the beach. Nowhere near our beach. Surely Gary had to be asleep by now. Telling that many lies in a row must have worn him out. Maybe if I knew what time it was, I'd have a better idea. The sky is clear, the stars are out, millions of little lights, an infinity of patterns that are absolutely no good whatsoever for figuring out the actual hour. Maybe an astronomer would know the time just by glancing at the wheel of the sky. Somehow, we'd missed getting one in the original contestant pool. And if we'd been that lucky, he probably would have been voted out in twelfth place. Or just overdosed on starlight. Too much twinkling was probably bad for you. Overexposure to torchlight, completely safe, but starlight? Very likely fatal. "You should really go to bed." Slightly biased advice from Julia, who presumably wants me to just so she can. "You know there's a challenge in the morning." Right. And if I tell her what I think it'll be for, she'll deny it. "Are you supposed to be talking to me outside the grove?" She shrugs. "Are you supposed to be up at this hour?" "There's nothing in the rulebook about bedtimes." Great: I'm a kid again. Presumably I'll be punished. Maybe they'll call my mother and ask her what she thinks should be done. I never even got her name. I could do all this with an actual label attached, something a lot less nauseating than 'mother', and I passed on the opportunity to get even that much. Way to go, Alex. "If I want to stay up, I'll stay up. Besides, I don't know what time it is. It could be nine-thirty and you're just being a bitch about this." "Are you kidding?" A completely reflexive question if I've ever heard one. "It's almost --" Inhale. Dead stop. Almost got her. 'Close' still doesn't count. "I'm walking. I'm not going to do anything strategic. Go to bed." "I can't leave you here." Echo, echo, echo... "Okay, fine -- they want a confessional. What's the real reason you voted for Mary-Jane instead of forcing the tie?" "Why don't you ask Gary? He seems to know everything." Change course, head along the beach level path towards the Cliffs. This inhalation is considerably sharper. "Fine. Let's get right down to it. Are you a homophobe?" Well, this is a new direction for confessionals. "I didn't know Mary-Jane was gay until Gary told me. No, wait -- I still don't know if she's gay. Maybe she's bisexual." I still can't force enough air through my nostrils for the full Gardener effect. It's got to be something to do with the overall shape of the nose plus total lung capacity. "Or Gary could be lying. He was lying about Mary-Jane having a crush on me. She's a model. Models are supposed to have taste. But as long as you're going that far with your story, might as well really make something up." "Gary wasn't lying about Mary-Jane's sexuality." Softer, more neutral, although it lost something from the yawn at the end. Oh, really? "How would you know?" Placid. "Takes one to know one." I stop. Turn. Look directly at her. About five-foot-ten. Auburn hair pulled into a single long French braid that goes down her back, following the spine to the exact curve. Light green eyes, the faint ring of a contact lens around the iris that isn't hidden by the camera. Very tanned skin, but that's common for the crew. Early thirties. Some upper body muscle, mostly because she has to haul around a camera all day. Absolutely nothing screams 'gay!' anywhere in the package. And it would pretty much have to, because I don't have gaydar. Mary-Jane may have proven that. She watches me survey her with one eye, films the process through the artificially-aided other. "Either you're going to draw me later or you're about to ask for another confessional filmer." A small shrug. "Don't worry. You're not my type and I'm married." And a soft sigh. "Let's hear it for Massachusetts residency. Travel all over the world, sure, but be really careful about where you put your home base... Now, Trina was my type. I was more than a little pissed off when I drew you. It's not just the viewers who get the eye candy, you know -- I figured as long as I was getting a confessional assignment, why not hope for one where I'd get to enjoy the view for as long as the contestant stayed in? Sophie doesn't consider that to be cheating. But lucky me -- I got you. I had to try and draw thoughts, plans, strategies, and emotions out of you. And because the confessional people are supposed to develop a rapport with their contestant, they left me with you. They always hope you'll get comfortable, let things slip because you'll feel like you're either talking aloud to yourself or chatting with a friend -- and what do I get? You. And you'll notice I didn't ask to be reassigned. Because I got to have some idea of what the hell was going through your head, for as much as I could get out of you, and it was a challenge and a half -- do the Detour, turn around, then do the other half of the Detour before you could receive anything even remotely resembling a clue..." She trails off, looks me over. "If you're going to ask for a switch, now's the time." And now I know it isn't midnight yet: Revelation Day is still going. "I already drew you..." I start walking again. My head feels like it's spinning. The sky almost looks like it's following suit. Too much for one night, too much. Too much for one cycle. Too much for one life. I want to get off the island. I want to throw the Immunity necklace into the sea, find out if anyone will make a Council retroactive... ...but you don't quit, you never quit... Julia is still following me. "So you didn't know." It isn't a question. "I thought you might have gotten some idea after she came out to try and catch you nude. I thought that was on purpose after she almost snuck a peek while you were all changing during the first storm. Mary-Jane could be pretty direct at times. Not as much as Robin, but -- enough." Pause. "Robin's straight, but I'm pretty sure everyone's figured that out." Past tense for the recently deceased. "I'm used to other women trying to catch me in the nude..." ...well, that just slipped out. I must be tired. Keep walking anyway. She's tired too: maybe she'll just fall asleep on the spot and leave me alone. Then again, a feed line like that probably gave her energy. "Oh, really? When did this happen? I doubt it was on any sort of date. That's kind of an intriguing plural, but still..." I'm so tired... "Sixteen. After gym. Washing up in the shower stall." I hadn't been allowed to take showers at the orphanage that week. Trying out something new in the punishment cycle, the desperation point starting to visibly approach. This one hadn't stuck. "Cyndi and her crew broke in on me, tried to pin me down so they could try out Cyndi's new camera and do fun things with the results. Probably Internet uploads, followed by telling the principal I'd started a career in underage pornography. I guess they could have hung them up all over the school, too. And maybe she would have been able to convince the administrators that I'd stolen her camera. She sure got me for breaking it. And no one wanted to know where or how or why, not from me, because she had all her friends as witnesses. Absolutely typical Cyndi. Have your alliance ready to cover for you at all times. I don't think she was capable of functioning alone." And now to see if that shuts her up. A long silence -- but not long enough. "What happened?" "I got free." One of the very few times I had gotten free. "They got some pictures coming in, they tried to get me on the floor so they could get some more -- they loved the five-point pin -- but Cyndi moved in too close before the pin was complete, and she decided to start kneeling early. I got my left leg free and kicked the camera into the wall. I guess it wasn't that good a model after all -- it broke." I'd wrenched the rest of the way free while they were staring at the ruined toy, managed to reach a towel, got out of the area and threw my clothes on as fast I could, practically working on the run. I'd been sick for a week from running through the winter chill with soaked hair. "And then I got punished for it: a week of in-school suspension. They wanted me to pay for the camera, but... well, my allowance was suspended." Of course my allowance had been suspended. I'd been in the orphanage, therefore, my allowance was suspended. "So Cyndi was supposed to get paid directly from that... I don't know if that ever worked out. I never saw a penny of my allowance, so why should anyone else...?" Did I just say that last part out loud? Julia's quiet for a while again, and the words she finally chooses to end the silence with are almost timid. "Who was Cyndi? Exactly." I don't know where the answer comes from: I just know that it's right. "Cyndi was Connie." Keep walking. "Cyndi was the most popular girl in school, mostly because she was able to convince other people that she should be, and that they shouldn't. Cyndi found people to hate and climbed up over them to reach the top. And Cyndi hated me, because I knew her before that happened. I knew her when she was four, when she was one of the lucky ones who got out after they cleared diapers, when she was still in the orphanage with me. Cyndi hated me because my being around her was a reminder that she had gotten lucky, and there had been other options on the table. She liked to pretend she'd always been rich, born into the family, wanted all the way through, and then she saw me again, someone with the truth on her, and she struck first..." Softly, "Did you ever tell anyone? That she was adopted?" I shake my head. "No one would have believed me. And there wasn't any point... But she never tried that trick again. Maybe it just took too long to get the money for the camera back. Not enough instant gratification to try it twice." We walk on for a while. The sand, white now, shifts under our feet. Waves softly cascade across the beach, lessen to miniature crests of foam sluicing towards us, soak our shoes. "Why did you vote for Mary-Jane?" And we're back to this. "Gary was my ally. I had a choice of two people. I couldn't let him go out." She should know this. I wonder if the eventual audience will know it. Maybe Gary and I are destined to be a hidden alliance. Or a four-alarm soap opera. There probably isn't much in between for editing styles. "You could have forced the tie. You, Gary, and Mary-Jane. That would have given her a fair chance." Sure it would. "That depends on the tiebreaker. And we still don't know what that is." Maybe it's balance and Robin would dance all the way to the platform. "Everyone leaves, okay? At the end, you get two people facing the jury, and then they leave. When it's all over, everyone is gone. You're new here, maybe you haven't noticed --" "-- I watched the show," she shoots back. "I knew people who worked on the show long before I ever got here. I have a pretty damn good idea of how things play out. You could have tried to save Mary-Jane. You couldn't have guaranteed it, not with the three voting against you -- but you would have given her a chance. She's out because you folded." "I didn't fold." Almost a hiss. We're coming up to the cave now. Maybe I can just sleep in there tonight. For all I know, Gary's picked this as the perfect time for a world-class case of insomnia. At this rate, I might join him. Companions in sleepless nights, allies again shortly after Connie's hell of choice freezes over. "Mary-Jane had to go. It's game strategy. Gardener was right: she was a jury threat." "For who? For him? Or for you?" "Everyone is a jury threat for me." Hasn't she figured that out yet? "And it doesn't matter, because I'm still probably going to be on the thing. That's a three in five chance. Just ask Jeff." Go wake him up. It's about time he put some late hours in. However late this actually is. "Mary-Jane was never my formal ally: until tonight, Gary was. Until he did the stupidest, most ignorant, arrogant -- "-- you're giving me two things I can believe, Alex." And now even the person who's supposed to film my expressed thoughts thinks they have to be cut off. "The first is that you got rid of Mary-Jane because you were afraid of her as a lesbian. Guess what? I don't believe that one. The second is that you got rid of Mary-Jane because she overheard you yelling at Jeff, and the last thing on Earth you could stand was having someone around who knew that much about you. And then you dumped Gary as an alliance partner because it gave you the freedom to get rid of him without having to feel anything about it. Anyone who gets close to you has to go, is that the master plan? Trina figured out something about you, and you had no problem dumping her. Mary-Jane learned a secret, she's gone. I'm guessing Gary's got three days left and any second now, you're going to ask someone to get rid of me..." "Mary-Jane lied, okay?" Enough already! "She didn't have a crush on me! Maybe Gary was deceived here! Mary-Jane played the flirt card with Frank: guess what that makes me? The back-up plan! The male doesn't go for her, see if the female will fall for it! Sure, she came up to me at the lake to see how receptive I'd be: do I secretly like that she caught me, am I eager to have my hair done without bothering to get dressed first? She already had Frank at that point, but what's an extra relationship to manipulate? Doubleheader: no problem! Frank probably would have loved it: instant threesome! Mary-Jane lies to Gary, looking for sympathy, maybe get him as a vote once I deserted her after that stupid flip, and Gary stays with me, or maybe he was staying with Mary-Jane because he didn't vote for her, he was playing me on the side..." Suddenly, Gary's a world-class liar and an alliance-juggling genius! Funny, up until tonight, he didn't look anything like Brian... "People like Mary-Jane do not have crushes on people like me any more than they like me, whether they're male, female, or switch back and forth on alternate Wednesdays!" She'd better be following this, because this is one solid chain of logic. "You saw Mary-Jane's strategy -- we all did, Day One, right from the second she got on the raft. Same strategy Angela had: she just wasn't as good at it. Get a sucker, keep a sucker. Guess what that makes me?" Count of three. "The spare sucker. Nothing more. And Gary -- Gary had no more right to do what he did than Jeff had to haul her out here in the first place. Even if he was lied to -- even if he fell for Mary-Jane's lines -- I could forgive that. I could forgive his passing it on. I forgave Mary-Jane for buying into Angela's all-female ploy. But making me draw my mother, when he knew I never wanted to see her..." "So throw it away." Come again? "Throw what away?" I already threw Gary away and he doesn't qualify as an 'it'. "That page." She shrugs. "You never finished it, right? You never completed the eyes. And it's a picture of something you don't want to see. There's the ocean, right there. I'm guessing that paper is biodegradable. Just rip it out of the sketchbook and toss it into the waves. It'll take what, three seconds?" I stop. The sketchbook is in my right hand, the torch in my left. It doesn't take long to plant the torch in the sand, less time to sort through the pages. It's a very thick sketchbook: on the incredible tiny chance that I got any real time on the island at all, I wanted to have the room. But I've been working from the first page on, heading towards the last. The most recent work -- just flip through until I see white, then backtrack. Find the page, grab it, tear it out, and throw it away. She's right. Once I locate it, it'll be the work of a few heartbeats. Tops. There's white -- just a few pages back, and I can -- -- close the book. "I'm not getting thrown out for littering." And she's smiling. Very small, but there's nothing else it could be. Just a ghost of mirth. The Death card coming out again. "You can't do it." "I can do it. I'm not doing it here." Plain statements of fact. "And you have reasons for that." A small sigh. "Great reasons. Reasons that might actually sound like they make sense if you let any of them out. That's the problem with smart people. You're really good at convincing yourselves of things. You can come up with some incredible arguments, and of course they make sense to you, because you came up with them..." "I'm smart." Plain and stark. "That'll come as a major shock to my old teachers. And Angela. Just don't tell Gardener: I'm not sure he can take it. He might just laugh himself to death. And attract a thousand seals to the beach with all that barking..." Recover the torch, move on past the cave. "You still don't get it. Mary-Jane had to go. I don't know why you can't see that." I think she's shaking her head again. I'm not looking at her. "I get that part. I just wish you would listen to yourself on why. You're staying angry because as long as you're furious, you don't have to think. You don't have to turn your insight on yourself. You can just come up with every excuse in the book as to why you were acting -- not out of the stupidity you were so worried about, but out of fear." "Gardener was afraid of Mary-Jane as a jury threat." We've been over this. Is it ever going to sink in? "Given the choice between her and Gary, I went with her." And of course she has a response ready for that. "Gardener was afraid of having Mary-Jane in front of the jury. You were afraid of everything she represented. Not just someone who knew a secret about you, and not because she was gay. You --" "-- hold it." There's a glint in the sand, torchlight reflecting off metal. "I see something --" "You'll see anything if it gets you out of this conversation." Completely exasperated and willing to ignore the fact that we were supposedly in the middle of a confessional. "You don't want to hear yourself and you already decided to ignore me --" "No -- look." I point with the torch. "Maybe it's another shotgun shell casing." Definitely metal, anyway. I get closer: right now, all I can really see is the glint. "I thought I saw something when I was bringing the jaguar back, but I wasn't even sure about the cave..." Kneeling down... Julia still isn't happy. Not exactly a shock. "Now she's self-distracting -- Alex, we are going to finish this confessional." Or whatever it actually is. "Fine: you've got a casing. We've got about sixty of them back at the mansion. Go ahead and keep it. We're talking about why you voted for Mary-Jane." Can we drop this for even five breaths? I know why I voted for Mary-Jane. I'm not going to admit it. "It's not a casing... it's the wrong shape. There's more under the sand." I plant the torch again, then start clearing grains away. Too round, too large, too many grooves at the top, and now there's too much below the surface. "Will you stop changing the subject? You are terrified of --" Got it: I grip the handle just below the pommel and try to pull it out all the way of the sand, ready to stand up and display my find, which has to be important enough for a change of subject... ...but something comes out with it. -----------------------------------------------------------------   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

AyaK 3603 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Thong Contest Judge" 12-29-06, 11:36 AM (EST) 3. "RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part II" {Not more weirdness associated with Alex. She's Douglas Adams' infinite improbability generator come to life.} {Who's Douglas Adams?} {You know, some of y'all need to spend a little less time with reality TV.} {Is that bashing?}   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Estee 22510 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 01-03-07, 05:29 PM (EST) 4. "Custody Of A Curse: Part III" LAST EDITED ON 01-08-07 AT 08:30 PM (EST) {We open on Night Thirty-Three with one of those ultra-rare flashbacks to recent events, reminding us about the little alliance-dissolution that took place just before we left -- then duck away to find Gary deep in the heart of confessional (and destined for Survivor Gold in the morning). "From the beginning? Alex and I were allied from Day Two on." And a ultra-mega-rare flashback to distant events, showing them shaking hands on it!} {It's amazing how much they've both changed physically in that time -- when you see it happening week to week, it doesn't have the same effect as a quick glimpse at the 'before'...} {Gary Explaining It All To Us -- he approached Alex because of the cross: he's a big fan of the show, he never thought of it, and he believed his best chance might be to align himself with the kind of person who could. "It's better to have that kind of mind working with you than against you. Ask Desmond. Or Angela." Stops, stays silent for a few seconds. "Or Mary-Jane." Sighing, "I've tried it with my own children: take the long way around, and sometimes you can find yourself at the heart of the problem. Sometimes confrontation works when nothing else will -- make someone really look at themselves, think about what's been going on, force the issue. I thought that what Alex needed more than anything else was to bring things out into the open, stop repressing everything that's been happening, have one more good scream or a cry..." More silence. "Desmond, Angela, Mary-Jane -- and now I get to wait for it." Very tired, very resigned. He usually looks younger than his calendar age and in this shot, you could swear he's pushing sixty from the wrong direction.} {'my own children'. There it is, all right: island daughter. Alex never figured it out, and she probably would have dumped Gary even sooner if she had.} {It was still a monumentally stupid stunt to pull.} {Not necessarily: I've done it with my kids and had it work. But it was definitely the wrong person to pull it with.} {Switch out to Alex, who's wandering around the island and delivering one of the strangest confessional styles those of you who aren't on the SG program have ever seen... And even in this season of unofficial extra players, how weird is it to hear a crew member?} {Is this what it's like for the subscribers? More of an interview session than a stream of consciousness?} {*nods* They've been keeping people teamed with the same camera people for the most part, hoping some sort of rapport will develop. There's been some switching off as people move around, but for the most part, contestant and confessional filmer have been operating as a set team. I know Connie's switched off at least twice -- Jake did one of hers on SG, but then he wasn't exactly around any more to do the rest.} {Listen to all this denial. Mary-Jane lied. Gary lied. Anyone lied as long as it means Alex doesn't have to believe someone actually cared about her.} {And another look at the first card...} {Well, Trina's had that checked off for a while. The Moon and Tower only went confirmed on Friday.} {This whole week has been the first card.} {Burnett still going with the damage theory... and congratulations, Doc: there's one five-point pin confirmed by Alex.} {Lovely school she went to. I'm willing to bet the name that was edited out of that segment is the same person who tried to fix her up with Hough. I know the type: they're your enemy as long as it amuses them, and then when that gets boring, they'll pretend to be your friend and see how that works out for laughs. Most of them tend to wind up in urology.} {...okay, this probably isn't a body...} {It scares me that you thought of that. It scares me more that I thought of it.} {...huh?} ----------------------------------------------------------------- ...and Julia shrugs. "Congratulations. That's only the second one." She fiddles with the camera, focusing the lens on my find. "Chris -- you might remember him: he's the young guy with the challenge people who's going to need some serious scuba training -- found the first one when we were originally clearing Challenge Beach. That's the thing about throwing daggers: if you throw enough of them, some are going to wind up lost." It's a beautiful piece. Spiraling grooves around the handle, tiny highlights buried deep into the blade. The pommel is a deliberately-dulled gold, still capable of glinting under torchlight, but dark enough to not flash into the prey's eyes and give the hunter away. The blade, dark grey and still sharp, has a similar quality. Not steel: I'm almost sure of that. Steel would be showing corrosion by now. Titanium? "He used arrows when guns got boring, and I guess he used daggers when arrows were starting to get a little stale." Another shrug. "I don't know what the rules are for this one. The shell casings, you could keep, but the daggers... it's outside the mansion, so I don't know how much of a claim the so-called heirs really have on it. Chris is trying to keep his... Distraction over. Let's get back to the main subject." She didn't see the rest of it? It only came partway out of the sand -- maybe the lower edge of her viewing window obscured it. Carefully, "Look down?" "Why?" She's very clearly getting fed up with me. It's a very large club, it's easy to join, and the membership wouldn't even dream of being exclusive. "I'll get to film an entrance to a tunnel going to China? I'm pretty sure we'd come out in Africa going on a straight line --" "Look down." She looks. Neither of us say anything for several heartbeats. And then she drops to her knees, starts to reach out with her free hand -- stops. "I can't. You have to do it." Right... I clear away more sand. It doesn't take very long: there isn't much to expose. No one's ever said when the billionaire died, no one's put a time on when everything went irrevocably wrong. Amanu believes it was at least seven years ago, but there's assumptions built into that: that the billionaire was originally American, that his supposed heirs are from the States as well -- and, most importantly, that the local legal system (whatever that is) follows American standards, for this if nothing else. Seven years, and you're legally dead: the vultures can stop circling and start looking for places to land. It hasn't necessarily been seven years. It could have been a shorter period, and it may have been longer. But with water rushing over the beach during the highest tides and strongest storms, soaking into the sand -- it's more than enough time to start rotting cloth. The damage could have been worse: I guess expensive fabrics hold up better. But it's still pretty bad. There's just enough left to tell what it once was. A pile of clothing. Shirt, pants, male underwear -- briefs -- socks. Folded carefully. Stacked on top of each other. With a dagger slit in the middle. There's no blood on the remaining cloth. No rips or tears: just rotted areas. I look at the shirt, trying to fill in the gaps. There's something familiar... ...the wardrobe. "This looks like the clothing in the master bedroom." Julia takes a long, careful look. "I'm going to take your word for it..." Her voice is a lot shakier than her movements. "Why was it folded?" Better question: why was it stabbed? Pinned down and buried under the sand, a very rare butterfly kept in a very strange case. "Do you have to call this in?" A very shaky nod. "Yes. Give me a minute..." She backs away slightly, makes the call while continuing to film me. It only takes a few estimated minutes to get a lot of beeps and muffled conversations going at the other end. I want to unfold the pile. I want to check the sizes. It could be the billionaire's clothing. The material and style certainly look right, but I need sleeve length and torso width. I need to see if there's bloodstains lurking out of sight. I want to know if absolution has to be taken back -- -- there's something in the breast pocket. Another glint reflecting in the torchlight through a hole at the edge. Carefully, I reach in and extract it. Gold eagle. ----------------------------------------------------------------- {Two Mobilized Crew: just about everyone's up and out at the beach, with the very not-visible exception of Jeff: maybe this was just way past his bedtime. Time-lapse shot of their digging up the beach. No bodies. No bones. No anything. Just a dagger, a folded pile of male clothing, and a gold eagle. Someone does bring some samples from the master bedroom, then unfolds the found shirt and compares it to the recent arrival. Same size.} {So was it his? A servant who wore the same size clothing, stole from the boss, and got a very special kind of termination for it? Or did one of the servants decide to have a very special kind of employee/employer debate with his boss and won?} {It's not like he had name tags seen into his stuff, you know.} {But it doesn't explain the fleeing. If the billionaire was murdered, and the animals were safely locked in the basement, what was there to run from?} {Vengeful friends? The jaguar? Azure?} {Great. S:SI:CSI: Screw-Up Edition. They don't have the equipment they need to properly analyze this, they probably destroyed the scene just by uncovering it, and all we get out of this is one more mystery. I'm starting to think Gardener was right: we're never going to know what happened, and it's starting to piss me off.} {And at long last, we can put a wrap on Day Thirty-Three: someone notices Alex is still quietly hanging around watching the proceedings, and she gets hustled off to bed.} {Hey, did anyone remember to get the dagger from her?} {Not sure. Check Gary's back in the morning.} ----------------------------------------------------------------- It's very quiet in camp today. Gardener and I don't generally talk unless there's a full-scale debate or player backstab in progress, Connie doesn't have any fresh insults today because she accomplished pretty much everything she wanted to do at the most recent Tribal Council, I'm not talking to Gary, and Robin has been spending most of the day going up and down the Tree Mail path. We all know that when it arrives, we'll get the signal. Robin will probably even get to read it. She's just not willing to wait the ten extra breaths. Robin wants what this Reward is probably going to promise, because she needs to get something before she goes, and she believes she has nothing to fear from the automatic rider... Gardener's noticed. "If you keep this up, they're probably going to stall it until tomorrow just to see what you do." "Don't even joke," Robin immediately shoots back. "Come on -- there's no way they're going to break this part of the schedule. It's Reward day and there's five of us left. Guess what that means?" Gary smiles. "It means another chance to prove I'm not superstitious." This gets a small laugh out of Connie. "It sounds like we're all agreed for once." Which is probably a cue for Jeff to pull out a single slice of pizza. "Too agreed." She automatically glances at me, eyes narrowed -- but this one wasn't meant for her. "It wouldn't surprise me if they brought out a tricycle just to see how we'd react." Gardener can go along with that. "'Here comes the Outcast tribe...' Yeah, they'd love to get that kind of shot." A snort. "Whatever it is, the setup's taking a while. We're definitely into the early afternoon here -- sounds like a multi-stager to me, with no endurance factor. The delay helps you, anyway." That to me. "What time did you get to bed? You were in the shelter this morning like you were playing outwit, outlast, outplay, and outsleep." I shrug. "How am I supposed to know what time it was? I did some work and went to bed." I haven't told the others about the find, and the crew hasn't brought it up. I'm just not in much of a talking mood -- Gary would probably use it as an excuse to get me to draw my father, because my mother presumably showed him some pictures along with bringing home movies -- plus I don't have much to show for it: the dagger was taken by production, and the clothing is probably on its way to a lab somewhere. No one remembered to get the gold eagle: I have it in my left pocket, and Jeff will probably request it at Council -- which will be the cue to tell this story. Hopefully all the lead-up bits can be left out. Gardener doesn't have much to say about my non-curfew -- at least, not much that isn't sarcastic. "If it was still the tribal stage, I could really chew you out for this. As-is, I can just hope you're still trying to shake off the effects of an all-nighter so you'll pull an Angela. Maybe this would be the perfect time to tap into those last two bottles of champagne: one more taste that you've never tried and won't know how to deal with, just in time to have it hit you in the challenge..." Robin glances back at us from her near-sprint starting position at the entrance to the Tree Mail path. "We should really open those." And a predatory grin from Gardener. "Final Four only. Hell, maybe even Final Two." He looks me over for a few heartbeats. "Of course, if that's you and me, I don't know what the hell we're going to do with them. Toss rings around the bottles, maybe. All we need is some rings." Uh-huh. Gardener and I are going to be the Final Two. Thirty-three days ago, that would have been the funniest joke on the island. Today... well, Connie seems to be finding it very amusing. "They're tribal property. Robin's part of the tribe." For two more days, at least -- maybe more, depending on how Immunity and the idol turn out. "If she wants to open one, we can vote on it -- and I'm voting in favor, because I don't want the stuff." I've seen far too much of Mr. Brooks post-consumption to have any curiosity about what being drunk would feel like. I know what it looks like. And how much it cries at night. Robin grins. "That's two, Gardener -- all I need is a third --" Apparently the budding Bubble Alliance will have to wait: the signal is given. "Mine!" And before anyone can hand out a formal reading assignment, Robin dashes down the sticker-free trail. (The last protruding bits were broken off days ago.) Gary fakes a groan. "She's going to be unstoppable..." He looks at me. I don't look at him. Yes, she's probably going to give everything she has for this challenge. Robin wants it, possibly more than anyone, certainly visibly more than anyone. But I don't have to talk about it with him. I don't have to talk to him about anything. Come to think of it, the worst thing about Robin likely going out in two days is that it'll take away the last non-feathered person I can actually have a one-sided conversation of some sort with. Mostly her side, because Robin really likes to talk. We all think we know what the Reward is. But we haven't said the name. Maybe everyone's just a little bit superstitious about this one. The winner of the car -- the primary car: can't forget Amber -- never wins the game. As curses go, it's fairly major. Trina probably even has a card for it in her deck -- -- and Robin's back without even having waited to read the poem off in the clearing: the scroll tie comes off for the first time in front of us. "Maybe it'll hurt less on a cold reading..." Interesting theory, but it doesn't help the audience any. Or, as it turns out, the reader. "'Rewind and do it all again, better this time, experience is your friend' -- oh, come on!" Even Connie winced at that one. "'Four left to beat, you've come so far -- but are you leaving with --'" -- and we all chorus on the last two words. "'-- the car.'" "Hell, that's the best rhyme we've had since we got here," Gardener decides, and heads for the shelter -- there's a camera operator pointing at Connie's branch-hung swimsuit, so we're going to be in the water again. "Might as well change here if we've got time." Ducking in, getting the trunks out from under his pallet. "So who has no intention of going for this thing?" A little sardonically, "Robin, that's obviously not you..." "The curse?" Confirmation, and Robin replies by imitating his snort. "So what do I have to lose, exactly?" Maybe part of her is still hoping on an immunity streak, but it seems to be the minority. It can't be hoping on numbers: she can't get Gardener or Connie, I'm pretty sure that Gary won't flounder for a new ally and wind up thrashing in that direction, and -- well -- maybe Gary's enough of a jury threat to be voted out at this stage, but Robin's more of a challenge risk. She can't go any farther, not with some form of Immunity. Gardener shrugs. "Your call. I just know that when things go wrong after a given event that many times in a row, you really start pushing the borders of coincidence." Gary gives him a look of mild surprise, which Gardener returns with an almost weary regard. "Sports people do believe in luck, even if some of them won't admit it. Some of them even believe in curses -- because curses work. But they work because you believe in them. Ever hear of Bill Veeck?" Gary and I nod. "He said that a team is most unstoppable when the other team starts waiting for something to go wrong. You get a few passes that shouldn't have been caught, an interception out of nowhere, have the refs seriously miscall a penalty in your favor -- enough of that, and whoever you're playing starts to think about it. You're on a lucky streak. That means they're on an unlucky streak. So they're going to make a mistake, and they know it, they're waiting for it -- which is the perfect setup to start making mistakes. Tell someone their team's been losing for nearly a century, and somewhere in the back of their head is going to be 'Well, what if I'm the one who adds another year?' So you win the car -- and you start waiting for things to go wrong... That's the rational explanation, anyway." Connie actually looks mildly interested in this line of thought. "And the irrational one?" A light laugh. "I do believe in curses -- at least divine ones. Ask Job if he ever started to." And she's probably really good at trying to invoke them on other people. A world-class snort. "Damned if I know. Maybe Colby really pissed off the spirits of the Dreamtime. Or maybe his mother did... Come on -- we know what this one's for. I just hope the damn grid is off the review track. Not even a shirt this time -- scraped to hell and gone, and Phillip laughing all the way through the jury review because it didn't happen to him... Alex, what do you think?" I think you could wear a shirt if you really wanted to. Now why is he involving me in this? "About the challenge or the curse?" The later. "I don't know, honestly. Part of it could be jealousy: you got a car, why do you need the million? But that's really misplaced. It is too many years in a row, though..." Just don't ask me about the Dreamtime. I know what it is, courtesy of someone else's strip, but I don't know how to deal with it. Call in Trina! Again! "But for something to be real just because people believe it's real -- that makes sense." Ask Angela about it, reference the idol, then duck. Connie's miffed. "Voodoo. That sort of thing has no place in the real world." There's a certain amount of hypocrisy there, but no one comments on it. Instead, we all get changed -- Connie takes forever in the bathroom again, but the shower door cycles open regularly -- and head up the trail. I glance down at the dig site as we pass it: from the elevated view, it's clear that the place was overturned recently, but the excavations stopped at some point during the night. Lots of piles of sand and multiple holes which are currently being filled in by the tide, but no one from the crew is at work in the area. They found all there was to find, and then they stopped. Or they're waiting on a backhoe so they can get deeper down. (It'll give Phillip something to do.) No one else looks at that area: why should they? There's no reason to check it, and I'm at the back of the line, so no one sees me look... No delays this time: we reach the entrance, we get our "Come on in, guys!" and we come on in. We don't do so very quickly, because we all stop short as we survey a challenge course like none we've ever seen before -- because we can't see it. There are five small platforms floating out in the water, about a football field away, with something bobbing next to each one: it looks each platform is sporting an attached CPR dummy. Everything on the beach is draped in yellow canvas, creating a layered tent (several fabric overlap points) a couple of hundred feet long, held up by some very irregular shapes underneath. Jeff grins as he notes our examination-in-progress. It still doesn't make him look any more trustworthy. It does mean he's not going to bring up the previous night's events just yet, because the sponsor has to be made happy first. Or maybe he's just saving it to liven up a Pagonging-standard Council. "Welcome to your final Reward challenge," he tells us, taking Terry's power lunch out of the mix, "and your first look at our new style of challenge setup. This one is a multi-stage run -- and you won't know what you're doing next until you finish what you've done last." A gesture at the tent. "That's designed to break away in sections. The first four people to complete the first stage will watch the curtain being whipped off the second. One more person will drop out in that segment -- and so on until we get to the last two playing. Want to know exactly what you're playing for, since we've already given you the general idea?" We give him the answer he wants -- and Jeff points to the ocean. "Watch." We look. There's a boat approaching, the type with a heavy-duty passenger area and a drop-down ramp at the back, almost a modern update on the troop transport Kubert drew so well. It's coming up to the beach back-first, ready to drop the ramp and unload what it's hauling. And in the cargo zone -- -- Gardener's eyes go wide, Connie gasps with delight, Gary makes a sound that can't be described -- it's sort of like someone having an entire steak in one bite after thirty-three days on fish -- and Robin might have just found the truffles. For my part, I'm trying very hard not to dream, and it's not working. Freedom. To go shopping and have it take less than three hours. To carry more than what my arms can manage. To be able to go places, have more range than what my feet and a recalcitrant bus system can grant, to see any location at any time I want to, no longer dependent on someone else's schedule and say as to just when and where I can go at all, to be free... Jeff heads right into the most frequent part of his job: he tells us exactly what we're looking at. "The GM Sunfire. That is next year's model: you'll be the only person who has one. A hybrid sports car." The lines are so sleek: it guides the eye from curved hood to friendly-seeming headlights, up to the smooth slant-back of the windshield and the clearly-convertible roof... "Zero to sixty in a time you wouldn't believe. An incredible fifty-eight miles per gallon on the highway. Fully loaded with air conditioning, an exhaust system that makes it the least polluting car to ever come off the assembly line, heated seats for the winter, GPS navigation system, road service, bumper-to-bumper warranty for the first two hundred thousand miles -- and a paid subscription to Sirius satellite radio for as long as you own the car. And you have to hear the sound system." It looks like Gary wants to hear it now: he takes a step forward, trying to get closer -- then returns to the mat. Definitely no contact before the challenge on this one. "Beautiful blue, isn't it?" Everyone nods. There isn't much else we can do: it's the same shade as the majority of Azure's feathers. "The most expensive -- and environmentally friendly -- car we've ever offered. Win this challenge, and it's yours -- along with a special bonus: steak for the winner, served immediately after the challenge. Just because we thought the deal really needed to be sweetened a little more." A very big grin. "I don't think I have to ask if the car is worth playing for." Well, he could, but if Robin has to wait any longer before starting this one, she may try to strangle him. "Ready to hear the first part of the challenge?" We are. "Floating out in the water are five rescue dummies." Come to think of it, they look something like Connie. "Each of you will untie yours from the platform and swim it in, then bring it across the finish line." He points: it's five feet away from the ocean end of the tent. "The first four people to cross will continue to the second stage. Are there any questions about that part of the challenge?" Just one, from Connie. "I thought this was a season-in-review challenge -- we never hauled dummies. Is this the challenge we missed because of Frank's removal?" Jeff shakes his head. "We were inspired on the first day." A glance at me -- and then another at Connie, who gets it all at once: her eyes go hard. "Plus we were thinking of an ocean-bound version of Rescue Cot -- and yes, that was the one Frank's medivac took out. Anyone else?" No, because questions would take precious time away from dreaming about the car. Even Gardener's eyes are going a little unfocused. And if it means a two-second lead in any stage of the challenge, Robin is ready to lift the car. "Platform assignments are as follows --" Azure is secured, and we head out. Gardener takes a curving route to the water's edge and gives the side of the carrier boat a light tap before starting to swim. For my part, I can't keep the cartoons out of my head. Me in the car, the top down, my hair actually streaming back because that's the sort of thing that happens in those images, although my hair would have to be a little longer than it currently is to really pull the picture off. Me getting out of the neighborhood just for the sake of getting out of the neighborhood, spending a day cruising on the roads. Me -- -- free... No more tired feet. No more being limited to my personal carrying capacity. No more freezing all the way there and back in the winter. No more fears of slipping on the curb ice and sliding into the road just in time to meet an oncoming truck. Just get in, drive away, go anywhere... I'd have to learn how to drive. I'd used the simulators in high school, taken and passed the mandatory driver's education class (it's hard for people to steal homework when everything is done in the room), but I'd never gotten my license -- borrowing a car to train and take the test with: yeah, right -- and I hadn't been all that comfortable with a stick shift. The Sunfire is probably an automatic transmission, but even so, I would definitely need a refresher course -- -- I should stop kidding myself, right now. I'm not going to win this challenge. I can probably beat this stage of it and be one of the four to advance, but after that, who knows what lies ahead? And no matter what happens, this is probably going to be all Robin. Maybe she hasn't won challenges, but she's been competitive in most of them, and if it's just the right mix of types... Reach the platform. Take my position. I'm dead-center this time: Connie to my right, Gary on the left. I look just long enough to confirm that, and then go back to not looking at either one of them. Especially Gary. "For the GM Sunfire -- Survivors ready --" Yes, but not as much as Robin. "--go!" I don't bother with a dive: that just means time lost reorienting. Step off the platform, fall into the water next to the dummy -- artificially-bright strands of fake blonde hair: it does look something like Connie -- and start untying the knots. There's three of them, but they haven't been in the water long: the rope is sliding smoothly. Someone's muttering on my far right, and it's very probably Robin. I think she's rooting herself on. Or cursing at the hemp. One of those. Last knot, grab the dummy -- now how am I doing this? Well, no one said the thing had to be in any kind of rescue position, so I put it in front of me and use it as a kick-float, bracing on the shoulders while keeping my face out of the plastic tresses -- Jeff doesn't say anything about it -- pushing for the shore. I've got to beat someone here but I don't have to come in first place, this thing is actually lighter than Connie was and it's definitely more cooperative, splashing sounds to both sides of me, doesn't matter, anything except last is fine if only to give me time to get those stupid sunglasses out of the image because it's not as if Desmond would grant me a permanent loan. My feet touch the shore, and then it gets harder: I have to haul the thing and it's fastest just to drag it through the sand, too much effort to get it over my shoulders and Jeff doesn't say anything about that either. It's still a lot heavier out of the water, I'm not looking to the sides, "Gardener first to cross!" and that makes sense, he's got a lot of short-term speed -- "Alex crosses!" I let go of the hair. "And stops punishing her dummy!" He's looking amused again. "Alex really rough on her dolls as a child -- Robin crosses!" What dolls? Several breaths later, Gary reaches the finish line, and Connie gets the news as she steps onto the sand: out again. She doesn't slump all the way to the bench so much as she stalks the thing with the intent of wrestling it to the ground if it gives her any trouble. Connie wanted this one. Too bad. "Second stage --" and we have to wait while the challenge staff gets that part of the tent ready for the supposedly-instant whip-off. "-- stilts." Robin's eyes light up. Gary groans. And Gardener gets right to the point. "Damn it!" This may be the first time he's ever glared at Jeff. "Don't even bother getting the words out: I'm not quitting. But if I knew that was coming..." Jeff isn't taking the bait. "All you have to do is cover the distance." About a hundred feet. "First three to do it continue to the next stage. But this time, if you fall off, you have to go back and start again." The stilts are braced against the ends of four small staircases, and there's little clamp-locks holding them in place. So every fall means going back, re-locking them, getting on again, finding just the right shove to get them out of the clamps without sending yourself into the sand again... no, Gardener is not happy about this one. For my part, I'm just really glad Azure's been secured. And Robin's finally got one in the bag, she knows it, and she only wishes this was Stage Four... No one has any questions. We all take our places, Jeff gives the signal, and Robin finishes crossing the course. It's that fast. I just take it slowly, making sure to plant the legs carefully and minimize my step distance. There's no need to rush: I have no delusions about playing for first in this stage. All I really have to do is stay away from Gardener's lane, because his stilt legs occasionally flail in an awkward direction. Like straight up. He's nowhere near as bad as Desmond was, but he still has his problems when it comes to planting his weight, and the first fall comes fairly early in the course. As does the second. And the third, which I get to watch from the finishing platform. Gary keeps it slow and steady too, and while he still has some problems -- along with one near faceplant into the sand that almost gets a little bit of revenge for the previous night -- he gets far enough ahead to force Gardener into taking risks. None of which pay off: he keeps going back to his staircase and starting over, he keeps fighting -- but Gary reaches the end just as Gardener's knees reach the sand for the fifth time, adding to his collection of scrapes. "Not a word," he mutters as he heads for the bench. "Not a word... 'time credit to Gardener', why doesn't someone try that out and see how it fits...?" Jeff elects not to commit suicide: he gives Gardener a quiet pass until the bench finishes vibrating from the hard plop. "Third stage --" and another delay which the show will wind up editing out "-- bamboo grid and ropes. Wind your way through, detach three keys, and use them to unlock yourself from the rope at the end. You'll be connected to the rope by three locks, so each lock will fit a key -- but it may take some luck to line the right ones up." Robin's perfectly fine with this one too, although Gary's looking a little dubious: this grid isn't quite as regular as the original one -- some of the openings are a little smaller, and presumably Gardener's starting to feel somewhat better about when he went out -- and he's the least flexible person remaining. Some serious bending will be required in a couple of places, and he may not be up to all of it. Which would leave me one stage -- and stop the thought right there. So far, these are all things that Robin can either do or outright excels in. The game is fair. The challenges are not. In a full season, there are enough different types to give everyone a shot at beating at least one -- but some are strength, some are intelligence, some are balance. If you don't have all the fields covered, then you're not going on any streaks. As Jeff would say, that's life. Right now, we're still in Robin's field, and she's perfectly content to be there. (In fact, she's so happy with her progress, she hasn't said a word for the last stage and a half.) The challenge staff locks us onto the ropes, we head into the grid -- -- and Robin gets her luck back. On the original challenge, she got seriously stuck at one lock, fumbling through keys while trying to find the right one, almost reprising Hayden's performance with considerably fewer locks. (I don't think Desmond would get that one either.) On this one, I'm far enough back to watch as she hits the first two locks with the right key on the first try, which gives her an automatic pass on the third -- and she crosses the finish line for the stage first. I'm second. Gary spends too much time trying not to pull a muscle and doesn't pull enough rope: out. And the last stage. A much smaller tent, one that really can be whipped off with just about a single pull. One more thing to do -- -- one more thing to do and Robin has a new car -- -- I don't want to feel the imaginary wind in my hair. She's going to win this one, she'll have earned it, she wanted just one before she went out and this will give it to her, maybe Amazon sells cars and I can save up for a year and pick out something used... "One last stage." Jeff's voice is very solemn. "Alex -- Robin -- this is for the car." We both nod. Robin's eyes are locked on the tent. "Under this canvas is the final part of the challenge. Win this, and the Sunfire is yours." Robin manages a tight nod. Mine is steadier. "Take a moment, collect yourselves, and get ready." Sound advice: I take a few slow breaths. I can't win this, there's no way I can win this, but... I look over to Robin. "Good luck." Which gets eye contact in return. "Trying to jinx me, bag job?" But she's smiling. Somehow, that's not an insult. An attempt to take me out of my game with a crack that didn't work the first time, maybe, but not an insult. Go figure. "If you say so, ski jump nose..." What is under that last tent? Another sharp bark. "I just got restored: Lisa's my proof. And I know you're plastic-free -- unlike some people." A nod to Connie, who probably can't hear us: we're keeping it fairly low and she's talking to Gary. Good look getting that new ally, Gary: I think she's spoken for. "I just wish she'd admit it already --" -- and Jeff decides that's enough composition time. "Final stage." We focus on him. "The instant you see it, move forward and start -- solve this." The tent comes off. Two tables. Two piles of pieces. Two three-dimensional puzzles. Maybe Robin's eyes go wide. Maybe she closes them. I don't look: I just move for the table. That's a weird curve, that one's got a bend at the top, and that has a point -- it's a bow and arrow, locked together! But she does curse. Loudly, fluently, and repeatedly, all the way to her table, keeping it up while she angrily sorts through her pieces, presumably making some kind of effort because there's no risk of injury here unless she somehow throws one into her own foot, but knowing, knowing she's out, the same way I know I'm a group of slides, rotations, and locks -- plus one check -- away from being free, my hands are on autopilot, I can see what to do and I'm doing it, just a few pieces to go, being careful because the curve of the wooden bowstring needs some delicate work, but after that, it's just a quick adjustment to get the arrowhead into position and -- "-- Jeff!" He looks. Time stretches, extends, refuses to move -- "-- Alex! Wins the final Reward!" Robin screams out one last curse, completely wordless -- but the tone gets through. Connie grits her teeth. Gardener says "Well, hell..." in a completely neutral tone. Gary is silent. Good for Gary. It took him a while to get there, but at least he knows where he's supposed to stay. I own a car. I own a car. I'm free... I look up at Jeff. He did just say that, right? This is really happening? Robin's stopped working on her puzzle, but maybe I'm about to be punished for everything that's happened up until this point, I did almost hit him and that's probably not something that gets me on his good list if he even has one, he could take it back... He looks back at me. "Go check out your new car, Alex." It's real. The first thing I do is go and get Azure: she's been on the sidelines long enough. She snuggles against me all the way up to the shoreline, which is unusual for her when approaching water -- but maybe she's used to cars. I'm not. But I don't think it'll take very long to adjust. The others follow me, Jeff signaling them in as he trails behind. I'm the only one allowed onto the boat. Into the car, looking out over the beach. That's the radio. That has to be the GPS system. That's a small television screen where the rear-view mirror should be: filming the back and the blind spots, which just means I get a view for the rest of the boat. Multiple speakers. The seats are warm, but it's a beautiful day and that's probably just the sun. They're not scorching, maybe they have a cooling system too... I make sure the car is in Park -- I remember that much -- and press the button to start the engine. Several lights come on, including one that tells me the engine is now running. Absolutely nothing happens in the way of sound. The car is absolutely silent. I saw it somewhere: hybrids at rest or running at under what I think was twenty-five miles an hour are on the electric motor, and that means no noise... Azure hops down, wanders around the passenger seat. I look at her. Could she understand this? That it's as close as most of us ever come to flying, and I've spent my whole life tied to a perch? Does she understand the promise of freedom? Dreams of the future, when dreams are the only thing you can keep for yourself... She dreams. I do believe that. Jeff pokes his head in the open window. "Want to drive it onto the beach?" It's actually a funny question. "I don't have a license -- this is my first car." It feels okay to admit that. Besides, it's not as if he probably didn't know already. "I don't even have a learner's permit, but no one can give me a ticket just for having started it..." Is that a clock? And it's set! -- to what's probably California time... But I could turn on the radio! Satellite broadcast: find any station, even for a few seconds... Our host nods to that. "Fair enough -- you can wait until you've got the paperwork. You still have a decision to make, though -- get out of the car?" I recover Azure and exit the Sunfire. I should name it. I'm not sure why. It just seems like the thing to do. Okay -- decision... Obviously someone is coming along with me on this Reward: steak for two. It's definitely not going to be Connie. Gary can choke on a fish bone. Gardener took me with him on the KFC Reward and I owe him one, but Robin came in second... Jeff stands next to me. Azure gazes up at him with what's probably adoration. I don't hate him at the moment, so she's perfectly okay with this. "Alex --" Gardener or Robin... better make a decision... "-- this may look familiar." Robin gasps. Gardener's mouth falls open, but only by about an inch. Connie doesn't seem to know what to do with whatever's going on: a state of shock that approaches the moment I first walked into Haraiki's camp. Gary just blinks a few times. And Jeff is pointing behind me... I turn around. Four more boats are on the approach. And every one of them is carrying a Sunfire. Red, yellow, green, and black. Four more cars. It looks very familiar. And I'm suddenly very aware of my spine. It wants to curve forward and take my shoulders with it. Jeff's voice is oddly soft for the amount it must be projecting. "You know the lore of this show. Since we first began doing the car challenges in Australia, the primary winner of that challenge has never won the game. In Guatemala, we gave Cindy the option to get rid of the curse by giving up the car -- or just passing the curse on to four other people. You now have the same decision to make. If you say the word, they get new Sunfires." Another gesture, this time to the strangely silent audience. "But you give up yours. Of course, by giving up your car, you might get something even better..." Yeah. Right. Like being free of the curse. The curse that works in part because people believe there's a curse. Like the goodwill of a jury that I won't be facing, and wouldn't give me any if I somehow wound up in front of them. I wasn't afraid of winning the car because I knew I couldn't win the game. I've known that for a while now. Get what you can while you can, and be glad you got that much. So I fought for the car without fear of curses, because there was nothing a curse could do to me that I haven't already done to myself. But now Jeff is asking me to give up a new car, the first car I've had in my life, a dream machine -- -- wait... Robin's gone back to her first resort, but it's changed focus a little. No more tough girl, because tough girls don't get free cars. She's actually going for begging. "Please, Alex, please..." And there goes her entire image, along with what's probably her entire edit. Jeff raises his cut-off hand. "No requests from the four of you. Alex, no negotiating with them." The other four boats back onto the sand. Their loading gates drop: a four-part thud in muffled harmony. "No one can make any deals here. Alex, this is your decision." Not that deals would have mattered. There's no point in pretending to bargain: wheels for votes. They aren't votes I'm going to receive anyway. A dream machine. Which means -- "Jeff?" I have his complete attention. "How much is the car worth?" He blinks. It wasn't the question he was expecting -- but he still has the answer. "With all the extras loaded into it and the comprehensive coverage? It's seventy-two thousand dollars, Alex." Robin moans. Jeff decides not to call that a request. And I think. I do the thinking I should have done when the challenge started. Seventy-two thousand dollars. If I go out in two days, I'll have a fifth-place check. Forty-five thousand dollars. That's enough that I'll have to pay taxes on it. I'll also have to pay taxes on the car. And then I'll have to insure it. A first-time driver in New Jersey: that is not going to be cheap, even non-drivers know that the state's insurance ripoff rates are legendary, the worst in the country. Plus there's gas: even for a hybrid, that's an expense. Plus -- and this is a major point -- it's a seventy-two thousand dollar car in my neighborhood. With no garage. Not that a garage would slow the gangs down for more than three seconds. Either stolen in the first week or just blown up because no one in the area should have a nicer ride than the gang leaders. The insurance company would refuse to pay off because that's what they do: it's how they keep their insanely high rates at maximum profit margin. 'You had that car in that part of Haledon? You wanted it stolen. No check.' And I wouldn't be able to afford a lawyer to debate it for me because I would have spent every remaining bit of my check on taxes for my winnings and the car... "I can't afford it." It's just a little above a whisper. And I should have thought of that before the challenge even started. I should have just thrown the thing on the first stage. But no, I had to get caught up in a dream of freedom... Another blink from Jeff, who isn't thinking this through. "Alex, the car is free." I shake my head. "With the taxes, insurance, the cost of just having it around -- I can't afford to keep it." How many tickets in the first week just because the local police would decide I could suddenly afford them? Sixteen? And Gary's face just went solemn, while Robin's is alive with hope. "I --" It's freedom. It's a curse. And the curse is called 'bankruptcy'. I couldn't even sell it, could I? I'd have to pay taxes on whatever I got from it. Double-hit. And just starting the thing probably lowered the resale value by ninety percent. Maybe the taxes are charged on the full retail price no matter what you get for it, the government always wants their share... It means giving Connie a car. A car she can afford. She wanted the mansion Reward too badly to sabotage me. I don't hate her enough to sabotage myself. "I -- choose to give up the car." It comes out strongly enough to not sound like a declaration of surrender. "Guys -- they're all yours." I'm close enough to Jeff to hear him swallow back his shock. Connie looks like she's about to lay a balut egg. Gary can't stop blinking. Gardener, sounding younger than he ever has, yells "Dibs on the red!" and takes off, running right for it. Robin does something else entirely. She just looks at me -- looking up, I'm a little elevated in my position on the boat -- and says "You didn't have to do that." As softly as I've ever heard her speak. "I did." I didn't have any other choice. Still gazing at me, almost gently. "I'm not going to forget this," she murmurs -- then, back to her normal volume all at once: no dial turned, but a switch flipped. "I got a Sunfire -- dibs on green!" And she's off, racing across the sand... Connie collects herself enough to shrug, then turns to Gary. "I don't have a preference between black and yellow. I was going to repaint it silver when I got it anyway." Because her getting it was a guarantee, especially coming from me. Gary considers for a moment. "Black." He looks up at me. I don't look at him. I just step off the boat, walking away from Jeff and what is no longer my car. I wonder what they'll do with it. Probably an Internet contest: enter to win the car Alex rejected. Second place gets the mother Alex tossed aside. Jeff allows the vehicle exploration to go on for a while, watching Gardener's open delight as he finds out the radio is hooked up: he manages to pull in three pitches of a ballgame before production can stop him. Gary plays around with the GPS system and discovers, much to his surprise, that he is currently on Yanini. Connie takes a little spin around the beach, not hitting any part of the challenge course or running over me -- but I stay well back from her wheels. And Robin just lies back on the hood and lounges in her swimsuit, posing for the cameras. I watch. Azure watches with me, nuzzling against my hair again. Finally, Jeff puts a temporary end to the vehicle fun and games. "Connie, pull up over here -- everyone, get out and stand next to your cars..." It takes a few dozen heartbeats to get the group organized, but it happens. "Because Alex gave up the car, she also gave up the steak that goes with it. That means all of you are eating. Head down that trail --" Turare's old hunt one "-- and you'll find your food waiting for you." Back to me. "Alex, I have nothing for you here. You gave up the car, you gave up the food that went with it, and the others can't invite you. Head on back to camp -- you'll see them after they finish." Production separates us: they go one way, I go another. We're being herded. Clear the beach: the cars have to be moved out, the challenge has to be broken down because we've got another one tomorrow. I wonder if anyone will try to smuggle anything back from the meal. Probably not. It may be traditional, but this will be the one time it'll be stopped. Nothing from this Reward for me. I head back up the trail towards camp, Azure along for the ride, once again knowing something is wrong, still not knowing how to fix it. She still has her ride, at least for a few more days. I just gave mine up. For what might have been as many as five minutes, I owed a car. For five minutes, I was free... At least I never named it. -----------------------------------------------------------------   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

AyaK 3603 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Thong Contest Judge" 01-04-07, 10:18 AM (EST) 5. "RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part III" LAST EDITED ON 01-04-07 AT 10:18 AM (EST) {Taxes on something like the car would be amazing. Alex would have to pay taxes on about $125,000 of income; as a single, that probably puts her in the 28% federal bracket. Plus she'll have to pay social security taxes at a 14% rate on about $90,000 of it. Plus state taxes at about an 8% rate -- or perhaps higher; I don't know NJ tax rates. Then there's a use tax on the $72,000 car itself at whatever rate NJ's sales & use tax is (6%?). And then there may be an ad valorem tax -- California and Massachusetts have one, but I don't know about NJ -- at about 5% of the car's value in the first year. Not counting insurance. {If she only made $50K cash (which is possible after that stunt with Gary), she WOULD have to sell the car, because her cash winnings wouldn't be enough to pay her taxes, and we already know that her income level is barely above the poverty line.} {Sure, as if being on the show with all of these weird things happening wouldn't raise her income level. She could just do mall appearances for a month with Trina.} {Are you thinking of the same Alex that I'm watching? She'd be more comfortable doing the Heidi-and-Jenna naked peanut butter challenge than mall appearances ... and we've already seen the lengths that she'll go to to remain fully clothed.}   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

xwraith27 1015 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Politically Incorrect Guest" 01-04-07, 08:41 PM (EST) 7. "RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part III" {OK, this may seem out of topic (and may seem like a n00b question), but what exactly constitutes the Car Curse? Do you have to just win the car reward challenge to get "afflicted" with the curse? In All-Stars, when Rob gave Amber the car, Jeff pointed out that the Car Curse was still technically in effect -- Amber didn't win the car, she was just given one. Now, Alex wins the car reward but gives it away. How does that pass the curse to the other players? Like Amber, they didn't win the car, they were just given one each. Does this mean that Alex is still (technically) cursed and that the four aren't?}   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Colonel Zoidberg 1435 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Beef Jerky Spokesperson" 01-05-07, 08:22 AM (EST) 8. "RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part III" In All-Stars, Amber may have been cursed, but two things played into her victory - first off, both F2 players won cars, so there wasn't much the jury could do to keep the million out of the hands of a car winner. Second, she didn't actually win the challenge, so we're led to believe that it's the act of winning the car that curses a person. I don't know how it would play out if someone did what Alex did. Cindy in Guatemala had the chance, and she dismissed it - and then stupidly talked about how great her car was in front of everyone. Frankly, the car curse probably plays into effect in this way - who wants to go to the Final Two with someone who gave three jurors a car? Alex will have to go on a heck of an immunity run in order to secure an F2 spot, since there are no idols remaining after F5.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

xwraith27 1015 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Politically Incorrect Guest" 01-05-07, 11:13 AM (EST) 9. "RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part III" LAST EDITED ON 01-05-07 AT 11:48 AM (EST) In All-Stars, Amber may have been cursed, but two things played into her victory.... we're led to believe that it's the act of winning the car that curses a person So, are you saying that Amber should actually have been cursed but that because we want the car curse to remain unbroken, we tweaked the rules a little and said that she really wasn't because she didn't win the car? And FWIW, I think I figured it out (I think)... Rob gave Amber a car, but he kept the one he won. Alex, OTOH, didn't. I guess that means that it's not the winning but the keeping of the car that makes up the curse. Still, I don't think that just because Alex gave away the cars doesn't mean that she "passed" the curse to the other four. Like you said, it just complicates things from a player's point-of-view. I'm sure I wouldn't want Alex in F2 now more than before if I'm going against her.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Colonel Zoidberg 1435 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Beef Jerky Spokesperson" 01-08-07, 08:19 AM (EST) 16. "RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part III" What I am saying is this - first off, All-Stars was a wonky season. Second off, Rob actually won the car, and by the fact that he earned the right to pass a car on, he also won that second car; he just didn't get to keep it (unless he divorces her and gets it out of her, but that's another story.) Also, the two car-holders somehow made it to the end. That's the only way to break a curse, and this curse went back into full-force for the civilian Survivors the following season. Therefore, since Amber won and Rob didn't, we're led to believe that actually winning the car is the curse. The only thing that has yet to be proven is if giving the car away dispels the curse. Cindy had that opportunity but chose to keep the curse; if she had given them up, she likely would not have won because she was too dangerous of an F2 opponent. Theoretically, the same should affect Alex. However, I haven't read the rest of this episode yet. I do know Alex isn't going anywhere just yet.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Estee 22510 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 01-04-07, 01:28 PM (EST) 6. "Custody Of A Curse: Part IV" LAST EDITED ON 01-15-07 AT 02:24 PM (EST) {'All I want is a car somewhere, far away from the stupid Council air. With one enormous bass blare -- aaooow, wouldn't it be loverly?'} {Talking about the car curse again, but this time, no one has to explain it to Desmond... Interesting point from Gardener there. Sure, in part, it probably works because people believe in it. Even Connie had that right: there's a voodoo aspect to it, because that's how most voodoo works. Of course, Connie's overlooking something here...} {Care to define that?} {Nah. I'm perfectly satisfied with the knowledge that you guessed right.} {At least the poem didn't even try to hide this one. At this point, they know they're dealing with experts, at least for viewership. (Actions are something else.) Why play coy?} {Off we go -- well, this wasn't in the commercials: mystery challenge! We actually know more about this than they do because we've seen parts of the course uncovered that they haven't yet, which is why everyone thinks Gardener isn't going to win -- stilts much? -- but they're in the dark.} {Yes, that is a very nice car. Yes, it comes with a lot of features. No, there is no way on earth you've ever going to win the game if you take it home. And why? Because deep-down, you believe it too.} {Was Jeff getting a shot in on Connie there?} {Not quite -- he was just pointing things out again. And now we know what the challenge was that Frank took out: just not if it was originally Immunity or Reward. Fair enough. Sounds like Frank saved us from more than just a boring episode: I hate that challenge. Michelle's probably pouting up a storm, though -- that's the one she could have helped Haraiki beat.} {And they're off! Connie using her teeth on the knots, Gardener just about tearing the dummy free and doing a classic lifeguard style all the way in, Alex is treating the thing like she probably wished she'd treated Connie on Day One...} {Robin's got a decent pace here -- we haven't had much in the way of swimming challenges: this is the first time since Day One when we've really seen her making an effort over the surface of the water.} {Good line from Jeff. I bet Alex was subconsciously thinking she had Connie in her grip there.} {Just a little more violence from her.} {Um... yeah. She's been sort of -- what's the word I need here? Oh, right. 'Provoked.'} {Remember the medical records? Age fourteen? If that guy's skull was fractured, then she fractured it.} {Maybe. But she doesn't seem to have spent any time in juvee. Maybe she called the ambulance after a mugging where the mugger got the worst of it? There are times when her instincts are good.} {You mean as in 'Go for the head: best target?'} {I mean she went to help Connie on Day One.} {Oh. So her natural instinct is generally to act against her own best interests... yeah, she's really good at that.} {And Connie's out. Western civilization promptly collapses from the sheer shock.} {Robin having the best day of her entire game, right here: Jeff barely had the last echo die away before she got to the platform.} {Alex doing a lot better without the parrot handicap, Gary eventually staggers in, and Gardener would like to invoke a Denadi: let us never speak of this again. Except that we will, and he can't stop us. Why? Because I'm not on the UMich football team. I'm on Ohio State's. Come and get me, big man! We need a new strength coach and our pension plan sucks!} {Back to the grid -- is anyone else starting to feel like this thing was designed for Robin to win?} {The challenge types are decided long before the contestants ever reach the island. Some are easier for people than others -- as said, Michelle and the missing Rescue Cot, anyone? -- but I don't exactly think they took the whole thing apart last night and said 'Let's give her one she won't complain about.' Getting Robin not to complain is almost a lost cause. Unless she's winning something. Has she ever been this quiet?} {Was that enough to stop the mandatory conspiracy theory thread tomorrow morning before it got started?} {No.} {And now she gets the keys when she needs them! The ultimate technique is silence, young one -- master it!} {Robin goes to the last stage. This is probably not foreshadowing. So does Alex. And ditto.} {A little reprise of Day Five here, but with a different tone to it. Robin does like Alex now, and Alex -- well -- can stand Robin, because she probably doesn't believe Robin actually likes her. And Jeff may not have been taking a dig at Connie earlier, but I think EPMB just got another one in.} {Final part -- and guess what? This thing is rigged!} {How badly did they want Cole to have a car? A puzzle for the last stage? Robin's almost better off just throwing the pieces into the air and hoping they land in the right shape.} {See? Instant mandatory conspiracy theory thread, because the show had long-terms plans built up around the contestant who believed she was out first. Makes perfect sense.} {And now our songbird is back in full bleeped voice. I knew we had to get one more musical number before she left.} {Alex! Wins the oldest curse!} {Aw... it's her first car. Apparently she's decided to get the first scratch parrot dropping in early so she won't have to worry later.} {This is one incredible machine. If she had to take on the Curse -- capital justified -- this is a good one to do it on.} {Oh, no... not again...} {Didn't Cindy teach them not to try this trick? It didn't work then and it's not going to work now.} {Hey, at least we could get four cars out of it. The Internet contest probably starts right after the closing credits -- get your reload programs ready!} {Or it's text messaging. Ten dollars per try plus you go on the Eyemail list forever. Or it's another fifteen dollars to get off it. Per week.} {Commercials, presumably to give Alex a chance to think. Now what's her move here?} {No negotiations... I remember when Cindy was in this position. I thought the best thing she could do was turn to the others and say "I'll give you each a car if whichever one of you wins gives me your spare." Great suck-up to the potential jury if you're Final Two, and if they keep the promise, you get the car anyway: no more than one car per winner, remember? But it presumes one more car for the Sole Survivor and a kept promise -- no guarantee either way. With Alex -- I don't know. I think asking her to give Connie a car from the hope it'll buy her vote may be a little bit much.} {I think Alex has to be aware of how bad her potential jury situation is should she somehow reach Final Two. As said before, she has four votes against her right now -- five when you count Connie. She's already lost. As a kiss-up move, this doesn't do enough. And since it's also her first car, I think she'll keep it. I can't really blame her there. Nothing to gain by giving it up and a car to lose.} {I guess her walking days are over -- so much for the travel sightings. This thing is going to be delivered tomorrow.} {The season is over in three days. I don't think sightings matter as much any more.} {Yeah, there's no way she does this. "Here, Connie -- I hope this means you'll be my new mommy." Not a chance. Plus she's pissed at Gary and Gardener can't be bought.} {We're back, and Alex apparently thinks she's on TPIR, because she would like Jeff Bob to give her the actual retail value.} {*faints*} {She did what?} {Trooper?} {No, but I do a really good imitation. Hang on while I finish it by holding my breath until Alex takes that back...} {Alex -- gave Connie -- a car. This is the Twilight Zone.} {Alex just kept me from winning a car. And I'm such a loyal LOA member... how could she do this to me?} {*sigh* Welcome to Poverty 101, kids. As a proud NJ resident, I can give you my best guess as to what a first-time driver would pay on that thing for insurance: A Lot. Add that to the state and federal taxes she'd have to pay on it, the same taxes on her current winnings, figure in what we believe she makes in a year as the poorest of the contestants, and Alex just made a purely pragmatic decision. She gave that car away because of the exact reason she stated: she couldn't afford it.} {Why not just sell it and get a used car?} {Sell it, pay taxes on the sale value... I don't know. She could have: it would have been enough to get something with. Maybe she just didn't think of it in time. She's had a rough couple of episodes.} {Episodes? Season.} {Not sure Robin believes her motivation -- 'Car for me! Yay!'} {I don't think Cole was playing up to a jury she doesn't believe she'll face. I agree with our Jerseyan: she didn't think she could afford it. Connie didn't deny her the mansion and Cole didn't deny her the car. } {Please don't tell me you think that makes them even...} {After the mandatory celebration shots, Part II -- cute: Gardener actually manages to pull in a little bit of a Tigers broadcast, and would someone please tell Howard that he's in the interview rotation if he wants to be? Sirius is a sponsor: you've got to figure either someone forgot to tell him or someone forgot to tell him and will be hearing some major unbleeped grief about it -- the others head off for their steak. Looks like Delmonicos here, but they have to do their own cooking. Gardener assumes the role of Head Chef and takes over the grill. The steak fries are already prepared, as are the oatmeal-raisin cookies.} {Lots of eating going on here -- they're going to be out there a while.} {Robin cracks open a beer and leads a toast to Alex for being so generous as to be their hostess and benefactor -- not her exact words, of course, but you get the idea. Gardener and Gary join in, although Gary's a little quieter about it -- still thinking, I guess -- and you can guess how sincere Gardener comes across as being. Connie hesitates, then says "It's a very nice car." Even when she considers the source.} {Alex heading back to camp, completely down in the dumps. Talking to Azure. "What do you think the taxes are on an ownership period of a few hundred heartbeats? Probably one hundred percent of normal, plus a penalty fee..." Stops to look over the dig site -- still nothing new going on -- gets to Turare's beach and heads in.} {And what's going to attack her now, given that we're staying with her?} {Probably a shark, just to show up Richard one more time -- she's passing up on the opportunity to do horrible things to Connie's clothing and going straight for the fishing gear. She knows she has to catch her own meal today: Gardener is otherwise occupied.} {Wait a minute...} ----------------------------------------------------------------- The voice is soft. Insistent. And not Julia's, although she is in the area. And it says four words. "Look at the shelter." Fine, whatever. Maybe Butch was our secret super-special unseen guest star for the day and now it's on fire. I look at the shelter. There's a note pinned to the side of it. "You might get something even better..." "-- like Immunity!" I sprint up to the shelter, Azure squawking in protest at the sudden acceleration. (And it's still not exactly the best activity to attempt in the swimsuit, either.) The parchment type, the handwriting -- this is the idol clue! Everyone else is at the Reward, so I get the first shot at it! If I can just get it -- -- then Connie is out! Give it to Robin, she and I vote for Connie, there goes the bounce, Gardener is derailed -- no, be practical, I could get rid of Gardener if I really wanted to, I could get rid of anyone. As long as I don't think I'm in control of the game, then everything's fine. It's just a matter of finding the idol. If I can find the idol. Two hunts in a row have come up empty for everyone. The streak stands a good chance of reaching three: I reach the clue and read it. And then I read it again. It doesn't take very long: it's only one word. "'Wish.' Is this a joke?" No response. Not even Azure, and I was half-expecting her to say something about how I only got three. 'Wish'? What good does wishing do? Well... no, it can't possibly be this simple... I close my eyes and put out my left hand, palm up. With as much dignity as I can muster, "I wish for the idol." Outside of several camera and production people coming down with abruptly muffled giggle fits, absolutely nothing whatsoever happens. I shrug with my one available shoulder. "It was worth a try..." How long do I have until the others get back? Probably a couple of hours if it's a big meal: Reward time tends to stretch out. And as soon as they return, this clue goes all-access. I may have until the moment Gardener gets a glimpse of it. And I don't know how long that's going to be. I barely have a grasp on 'a couple of hours', especially as the center range of a major variable. "'Wish'..." Several camera operators gesture at me: they want the speculating done aloud. Fine. "Okay -- wishing. You wish because you have a ring." Do we have any rings here? The fire pit. Would that be double jeopardy? One idol for Haraiki's, one for ours... except that ours may have some hot ashes buried deep down from the morning's water boiling: I'd have to be really careful about digging through it. "No, that can't be it... no one wants to risk another medivac..." Or so goes the theory. It would be a weird one, though: The Michael Skupin Memorial Idol. I'll check there anyway if nothing else comes to mind. "You wish on a lamp -- but we don't have any." Torches for traveling, the fire pit for central illumination. No lamps have been offered as Rewards, no lamps have been won, much less made. "You wish because you're an idiot who doesn't realize it never works." What was the saying? Wish in one hand, spit in the other, see which fills up faster -- -- I wish I'd never come here. I wish I'd known what Mary-Jane was thinking, how much of it was true, how much of it was a lie. I wish Gary had never done that to me. I wish I'd never seen my mother, never ran into the jaguar, never applied, never looked at that newspaper and seen the ad. I wish -- -- and none of it does any good. I look at Azure. Quietly, "I wish I knew what the answer was." And she doesn't know, although I get another comfort headbutt. "I wish on a ring, on a lamp, on a star --" Wait... ...no, that can't be right, it's even more simple than my first guess... but it fits... I don't run for it: there's no need. I have some time left. I have to be able to conceal the idol if I'm right, and the swimsuit isn't going to do it. I really don't feel like having the thing in my bra again. It may be the only real choice, but I want other options available, including foot-sliding. So I get changed, put on normal island clothing for a warm day, make sure my socks are ready to take on a possible passenger, grab a scroll tie so I can lash the thing against my leg if necessary, and then walk out along Frank's trail, Julia among the following crowd. If I'm right, there's just one place it can be -- a place we've all explored, seen, and know by heart. Even the Haraiki people have been out there. We've just about picked it clean... Azure stays with me, quiet. She knows we're hunting. She may even be waiting on a command. But she can't help me here: she hasn't been trained to spot this. I have. We've all become very well-trained. Go there. Do this. Speak aloud. Admit your thoughts. Betray people who said they were your friends and lied about it. Give them one last bit of hurt because you thought of a way to deliver it and came up with a reason for it. The vote wasn't just the game: it was a little bit personal. So what? It was still about the game. And Mary-Jane found the lie she wanted to get away with before she left, found it at the absolute last minute, maybe even convincing herself it was true so she'd be able to sell it better. Mary-Jane wasn't stupid. Naive sometimes, but not stupid. Smart people can come up with all sorts of reasons to hurt others and justify them, even if it's the only focus of intelligence they have. Ask Cyndi. Ask Mary-Jane, but don't introduce them: they're not going to get along. Mary-Jane's competition. (Cyndi would probably try to destroy her with the lesbian angle within minutes. She'd done it to two girls in junior year. Having it actually be true could only speed the process.) Ask -- -- my mother... I stop. Aloud, "'You can come up with some incredible arguments, and of course they make sense to you, because you came up with them...'" Julia doesn't respond to the quote: one rule bending was enough. She just waits for me with the others. "I -- could have fought for Mary-Jane. She thought she was doing something for me once. Not saving me, because she didn't know about Gary and the possible tie. Just protesting with me. Just -- aligning with me. Just --" Julia waits. Azure waits. A soft breeze comes through, rustles the leaves, moves on. The island has its own way of waiting, always has. "-- being my friend..." What if that was really it? What if Mary-Jane actually somehow liked me? Because this isn't high school, because the future isn't the same as the past, forever and ever, amen? Attracted to me, that's still a longshot. Crush on me, laughable. But -- liked me? Robin said she sort of liked me, but it could have been a play to a future member of the jury when she was confident of Final Two. Mary-Jane... "...no, this is wrong... any time someone likes you, it's just a setup for later. Especially out here. Mary-Jane doesn't care..." All Mary-Jane does is care. 'I thought we were friends...' A fifty-fifty shot. The tiebreaker. Not the worst odds. Robin was supposed to go out then anyway, right? Mary-Jane could have always gone at Final Five. Or -- I could have taken her and Gary, turned on Gardener and Connie. But I got upset, I reacted out of stupidity -- -- liar. I reacted out of fear. Because Mary-Jane knew too much about me. Because she would tell other people -- had told someone else. Because she cared. "Why would she like me?" Azure doesn't have an answer. Julia probably does, but she's not saying it here. I could turn around, head for the grove. We need to have a confessional. I have to hash this out. I have to talk myself out of it, because if Mary-Jane could somehow like me, then maybe Gary had a different reason for acting, something that wasn't there just to hurt me even if that's what it did anyway. But -- I had a reason to hurt someone. I followed through on it and told myself it was okay because the situation justified it. No matter how badly it hurt the victim. I had my reason: who cared about the aftereffects? I am living the worst fear of all daughters. I'm turning into my mother. A look back at Julia, who's still waiting. "After this, I need a confessional." She nods. We move on. It's not much farther. A few steps. Down to one step. One step that feels far too large for the distance it's actually crossing -- -- and there's the idol. Right where I thought it would be: lying in the middle of the increasingly-sparse patch of starfruit. Wish upon a star, or the botanical version of same -- and you get Day Thirty-Seven. Or maybe more, because all I have to do now is pass it off to the right person. It's time to plot and scheme. Of course, this is going to be harder than before: once the others walk into camp, they'll see the clue, and they'll have to figure there's a good chance I have the idol. Acting like I don't won't help this time, because Gardener and Gary are going to have very strong memories of the last time. They might actually vote for me in the hopes that I'd passed it off. Definitely going to be trickier to work it at the next Council. Of course, if I somehow win Immunity on top of it, then I can pretty much do whatever I like at no risk -- I'm going to give it everything I can in that competition... I kneel down to recover it, giving myself Day Thirty-Seven as an individual Reward, Phillip's necklace swings out a little as I lean forward, lift it -- -- there's something taped to the back. A folded piece of parchment. If Jeff was here, he'd be pausing for his life. The idol is suddenly very cold to the touch. I'm being signaled: I have to take the note off, unfold it, and read it aloud. Still crouched down, Azure pretending to read it with me from my shoulder, I do so. And the words are among the last I wanted to hear. "'You have found the final hidden idol of the game. It may be used at the next Council to keep you safe and give you a free passage to the Final Four.'" The last trophy of the hunt. I'd figured they would have to stop before there were just three people left: one person with Immunity, one with an idol, automatic exit for the third. Not going to happen: the drama of the choice was too important for the show. But the chance of one more at Final Four -- that had been there. And now it was gone -- as was something just as important. "'The final idol may not be transferred. As the holder, you must either play it as the subject of the majority vote or hand it back at Tribal Council..." I can't get rid of Connie. I can't get rid of Gardener. I can't go back to Gary. Robin doesn't give me enough votes to work with, and I can't give her the idol, necklace or no necklace. I have Day Thirty-Seven. Fourth place is a lock. I made it to the last episode, if not the final cycle. I will have outlasted, outwitted, and outplayed seventy-five percent of the original contestant pool. I was supposed to be the first boot and now I'm Final Four. No allies left: just the plans of others. No schemes I can use: no numbers, no tool to make them work. No friends. But I'm Final Four... I kneel next to the starfruit patch and wish I could cry. And that one doesn't come true either. ----------------------------------------------------------------- After ----------------------------------------------------------------- (From the CBS website, Survivor Gold section: Alex's twenty-sixth confessional, unedited for premium subscribers.) {ALEX walks into the grove. Her posture is slightly more slumped than usual, and she transfers AZURE to the ground by hand before leaning back against the tree and straightening up. The hidden idol is in her right hand, passed off to it in an attempt to make AZURE's non-vocal removal easier. ALEX displays it for the camera, looking slightly weary.} "Well, there it is: the most useless piece of equipment in the game. I guess I get to be Terry after all." {Off-camera voice prompt, female: 'That idol means you're in the Final Four.'} "This idol means Connie is in the Final Four. The old one wouldn't have." {sighs} "I almost want to drop it at Robin's feet when she's not looking. Maybe once she picked it up, that would count as a second find -- don't even bother saying it. I can see your face: that's illegal." {'You have to hold this one. That's the rule. The only way you could effectively get a bounce from it would be to get people voting for you. It's a Reward idol: you won the chance for a solo hunt by giving up the car. If you'd taken the car, then the others would have the clue waiting for them.'} {curious} "All four? No bring-alongs for the steak?" {'No. All four would have had their shot -- you couldn't take anyone with you for the meal. It would be unfair to whoever you brought along -- they would have missed the chance to hunt. That's also why the others couldn't bring you.'} {sighs} "Got it." {looks the idol over again} "So they won't know it can't be transferred?" {'Not unless you tell them or Jeff brings it up after the Council. But they're going to believe you have it.'} "Like I said... useless." {slumps slightly} "Just like my chances of changing things. Completely useless. Gardener has his plan. Connie is too vital a part of it. Robin has to go now. My only hope would be Gary -- and guess what I did?" {spreads her hands as she straightens up again} "Guess what I did before that? Can't get Gary to work with me again. Can't hope on Mary-Jane because she's gone. I'm isolated, and my only hope is -- Gardener. How much does that stink? And I can't say anything about it, because I did it to myself..." {more softly} "I hate questioning myself. But I hate realizing how badly I might have screwed up, too." {'Does this mean you're accepting last night?'} "I don't know." {even lower} "Maybe -- maybe Mary-Jane thought we were friends. It's just so hard to see... And I'm still mad at Gary, I still think he went way too far there -- but now I don't know about his motivation. I don't know what he was thinking, but maybe there wasn't malice there because I ruined his plans... maybe it wasn't just the game. I screwed up. I did it to myself." {somewhat hollow} "I can't even blame my mother. Or Trina. That may have touched it off, but I'm the one who dealt with it. It was the wrong play for the game. Maybe it was even the wrong play as a person. I don't know about that last. I don't know what I think any more..." {'You could try going back to Gary.'} "No." {'Why not?'} "He's not going to forgive what happened. I don't know if I've forgiven it. And he'd know it was strictly a short-term game move. He's not going to have me back." {'Again: why not? Why wouldn't Gary want one more vote in his corner, even as just a game thing? There's been stranger pairings and short-term alliances, between people with a lot more reason to dislike each other than you two have.'} {in a rush} "Because Connie likes him. Because Gardener's getting rid of Robin next. Because Gary is Final Four. He has no reason to believe he's at risk at the next Council. He isn't. Robin would have won today with a different final stage -- that'll just reinforce the need to vote her out." {used in episode} "The Final Four is just about set: me, Gardener, Connie, and Gary. The only way out of that is to have Robin win Immunity -- and that might mean Gary goes out. I'd like to think it would mean Connie, but -- I'm not that delusional. Gardener didn't just promise her Final Four, he needs her for Final Four." {end episode-used exert.} {more volume, back to a normal level} "I'm actually thinking about lying down on Immunity tomorrow. If it gives Robin any kind of extra chance... Maybe then Gary would vote with me. Not forgive me, not any more than I can forgive him -- but at least vote. One last chance to swing the game. After that..." {sighs} "After that, I still can't win. But at least --" {stops} {'Go on...'} {carefully} "Just an idea." {'What?'} "It's stupid. It's so stupid I don't want a permanent record of it, especially on those unedited confessionals you mentioned." {'Try a paraphrase?'} "Well -- I think I've had Gardener's plan worked out for a while now. And some of my plan has been to go along with it -- because it was the best way through things. You could argue that it worked -- I'm Final Four. I might not go out at the next Council without the necklace or idol. I'm part of Gardener's plan -- and the more I screw up, the more vital I might be. It's not a sure thing: he has a fallback position. But even so -- right now, he needs me at Final Four. He may even need me at Final Three, although I'd have to be exactly right for that to work. And after that..." {'What happens after that?'} {briefly wry} "The usual." {'And that's all I'm going to get from you, isn't it? Look, if it's any help -- I forgive you.'} {wryly} "You're not in the tribe. I'm not sure you count." ----------------------------------------------------------------- During ----------------------------------------------------------------- {I think I've found the pattern. Either Alex gets the idol within minutes or she doesn't get it at all. And since this was the last one to get, she has no chance of breaking that habit.} {She's really down: it's getting easier and easier to pick out. She had plans based around passing off that idol, and now they've all been locked away for someone else's season. Do you think the producers decided to defang her necklace -- or, to solve the riddle, give her the weapon, but not the means to use it?} {I think this was planned all along -- having the last idol be a keepsies proposition -- but at this point, I'll believe just about anything if it keeps the conspiracy threads down. Even so, Alex was the most likely to take a chance and play it, including as a pass-off. As-is -- she can't transfer it, and the others are going to believe she has it, so all this means is that Alex has Immunity. The self-projected first boot is in the Final Four, and EPMB smiles and lets the licks of flame touch his lips. This is his central ratings draw, and he'll have her for the whole season -- possibly minus an hour, up until her jury question.} {You know what my only consolation is? No one has a working PTTE pick for Alex. The highest anyone had Alex pre-season was seventh, and I distinctly remember laughing at her pick list for at least twenty minutes. Some of us have the other three up there, but not as a group...} {It's all about your game score, isn't it?} {More or less. But at least I'm willing to admit it.} {I don't see any need to brag about my being in first place.} {Other than that line?} {Funny how Alex was starting to question herself there. We've had the damage pointed out to us -- is she starting to see it in herself?} {Recognizing a problem doesn't automatically solve it: ask any addict. But asking the questions is at least putting her on the right track towards the answers. We've just all seen how good Cole is at denying answers she doesn't like. I'm predicting a relapse, and quite possibly within the remainder of this episode.} {Does Gardener need Connie for Final Four? Some of us have been pushing that theory, but 'need' is a strong word.} {We'll see. At this point, I have to believe she's in there -- this is definitely Robin's night, barring Immunity. But with that wild card still in play...} {Meanwhile, back at the Reward, Gardener keeps grilling them up, and the others keep chowing them down. Gardener takes a moment out to do some smuggling -- he's securing cookies, so it looks like Alex is getting dessert -- and Connie is starting to drink just a little too much beer. Gary is warning her about her consumption, but she's not having any of it. As she puts it, she already had Angela riding herd on her at the merge feast, and look how much good that did. She's an adult, wine is a sacrament, and beer isn't exactly a sin. If she wants to have a little extra, she will. Gary backs off. Connie does slow down a little, but she's clearly tipsy.} {She's not going to take this well, is she?} {The idol? Call it a hunch, but -- no. She doesn't exactly have a problem with letting her feelings regarding Alex come out when she's sober, so...} {Robin's making sure she paces herself -- she knows she needs to be clear-headed for Immunity.} {A lot more eating later, the new car owners head back to rendezvous with their unexpected benefactor -- who is on the beach, working with one of the fishing lines. She's already got two small catches, and she's bringing in a third when Gardener comes up to her and asks if she wants him to take over. She tells him that it depends on whether they're going to bother with a late dinner after their big meal: if the tribe is eating, they need more, but she's just about set for herself. I think we call this 'the calm before the storm', because Connie is ignoring all this and heading up the camp trail. Magician's non-force: pay no attention to that woman about to walk into the main clearing -- but this is really all about what happens when she reaches the shelter.} {Still waiting... Gardener invokes tradition, gives Alex the cookies, she thanks him, he thanks her for the car and if you listen to nothing except his tone, he might be thanking her for inserting Line #2, you'd never know.} {...and I think that would be the sound of Connie spotting the clue.} {Pitch needs a little work, but that is some awesome volume.} {And out she comes, blowing past Robin and Gary on the way! Right out to where Gardener is inspecting Alex's catches, nearly trips over his ankles, comes to a stop in front of Alex, and demands to see the idol. Alex has the only reply possible. "What idol?" Connie isn't exactly screaming here, but she isn't much below it: she knows Alex has the idol, they all know Alex has the idol, and if she doesn't pull it out and confirm that she's got it, it's going to get very ugly in here. Why should Alex care? She's safe. She's Final Four. And just because Connie sounds like she'll grab the idol out of Alex's hands and try to stuff it down her throat is no reason not to show it to her, right? Gardener's a little confused at the start of this, but it only lasts for about five seconds: he realizes Jeff's thrown another twist in -- nothing for Alex on Challenge Beach, but our host didn't say anything about the camp -- and tries to intervene. A lot of yelling later -- mostly from Connie: Alex is just sticking to her story while occasionally trying to get a break from beer breath -- he gets the confirmation: clue up, one word. This is when Robin and Gary come back out, and of course they never reached camp because they U-turned to see what Connie was screaming about. After some more yelling -- now entirely Connie -- they all head back in to get a look at the clue. Alex looks at the shelter and says "When did that get there?" Gardener tells her he's pretty sure it's been there since sometime starting on Day One, but it's been a while and he may have lost track. He clearly believes Alex has the idol, and he may not be thrilled about it, but there isn't much he can do, either. Right now, the only reason Alex may be playing this secrecy game is to see how long it takes Connie to lose her mind. And if you had 'one scene or less', you won.} {Robin not exactly happy any more... she just lost one of her two chances to short-circuit the existing Final Four, and she knows it. But she's not as down as she could be, either. Call it the Boost Of The Car.} {Eventually, things calm down, mostly after Connie goes into the shelter to lie down with a very mysterious headache. (No apparent reason for it at all.) Alex makes her own dinner -- everyone else is full after the steak and takes a little fruit at the most. Gardener comes up to her while she's cleaning the fish and asks her, point-blank, if she has it. Because he checked where he thought it would be -- the exact place she found it -- and it wasn't there, but it did look like someone had been out there recently. She reminds him that they had starfruit for dessert the day before. Gardener shrugs, says she can play it however she likes -- but at this point, she'd be insane to let it go. Of course, as he reminds her, she's insane, so it wouldn't exactly surprise him. Walks away. In confessional -- looks like this was shot the next day -- he's a little more on the worried side. "You want to talk about challenges? Lift things. Untie knots. Dive and stay under until you nearly drown. Figure out what the hell is going through Alex's head. Do I still vote for Robin? Is Alex going to pass this thing off to her? If she does, who's she trying to bounce? How badly do I need Immunity? Hello, paranoia... Honestly, would it have hurt that much to keep Trina for two extra challenges?" Really, he's taking this a lot better than I thought he would.} {Confessional from Connie, same time frame, and it looks like she managed to dodge the hangover. The conspiracy theory, however, may be settling in for a long stay. "You know, there was a moment when I almost thought about thanking Alex again. It would have been the polite thing to do. Nothing elaborate -- just a quick 'It's a very nice car: I'm glad I'll get the chance to drive it.'" (And rubbed it in Alex's face that she wouldn't have one.) "But when we get back to camp -- guess who's got Immunity? And we all know she has the idol. It almost makes you wonder how she really got the thing, doesn't it? Just put out her hand and wished someone on the staff would give it to her? I get a Reward at the mansion, but Alex gets the Amazon pass. I get a car -- and now I get a special bonus to go with that: Alex's guaranteed presence on Day Thirty-Seven. We left the pop quiz zone a long time ago. This is a full-fledged final exam." Honestly, what's with her? I know there's a rivalry here, but doesn't she think this was Robin's ouster time? Did Gardener convince her Alex was out at Final Five?} {Hard to tell... she may have just wanted the option. She definitely wanted the idol in her own pocket, and now both possibilities are closed.} {Notice how Alex and Gary are staying away from each other? They're not even in the same camera frame most of the time.} {Late on Night Thirty-Four -- Robin's still up. Looking around the shelter -- Alex's pallet is empty, and the others are asleep. She looks the space over for a minute, whispers "Well, it couldn't hurt." After a little comedy -- she's still not that great at getting her torch lit, and it's a warm enough night that they let the fire go out -- she heads off to find Alex, who's in her usual spot on the beach, watching the waves with Azure...} ----------------------------------------------------------------- ...who keeps glancing over at Robin. I'm pretty sure Azure's worked out who all of us are, even if she hasn't memorized -- or granted -- names across the board. She may even know enough to realize this isn't a regular pairing: I think she's a little confused. "Okay. Right down to it." Robin plops down into the sand. "Do you have the thing?" "It won't help." Unless she's looking for a reason to go through insomnia -- in which case, I've got an absolute winner and anyone's welcome to it. Especially Connie. "Just don't think about it. Get some sleep -- you need to rest for Immunity tomorrow." "That almost sounds like you want me to have it." Challenging. "Why not pull the same stunt twice? Just give it to me. Gardener's going to be twitching in sixty different directions, figuring out who it's safe to vote for -- if you get the necklace, you could pass it to me, or give me the idol and know you were safe. Hell, we could do a double switch -- I get the necklace, give it to you -- that'll really make Jeff's day. You want Connie out? We'll get Connie out. I'll give you my vote there -- I've been waiting for over a month to cast that vote and have it count. Just say the word, Alex -- all it takes is one fast pass." She's right, and I make one: right into her hand. Robin looks down at the note, frowning. "You wrote out your kiss-off in advance?" "Just read it." I watch her eyes as she unfolds it, keep watching as she reads it, spot the moment when awareness falls into her face... She refolds the note before passing it back. Almost placidly, "Well, that sucks." Robin lies back onto the sand. The contrast of red-on-black only becomes more startling in the firelight. The situation almost calls for a sigh, but I don't have the strength left to make one. I've been watching the waves for too long. Thinking about Mary-Jane. Thinking about Gary. Wondering about myself. Some of us are changing on the island, Jeff said. I seem to be changing into someone who second-guesses her motivations far too much. "I was thinking about doing it. I just wanted you to know that I couldn't. Not won't -- can't." How seriously I'd treated the option, and what I'd been thinking for any potential bounce -- that didn't have to be discussed. But now Robin knows that road is closed. Forever shutting down the avenues of escape as each one is located... Great. I'm turning into my mother and Mrs. Paglia. Once a year is more than enough for thinking about either one. I'm going to be seriously over quota. A horizontal shrug. "I believe you -- I know how to spot the handwriting from the stupid poems by now. Your calligraphy isn't that great and you don't have any parchment." Her right foot kicks a little rise of sand away. "So I win tomorrow or I'm out." Very matter-of-fact. "I wanted the last challenge -- there's been balance involved so many times, and I rock on balance. When Angela basically gave me that one, I thought I could break her and Tony up -- take him to Final Two and beat him because he would have been pulled through the game without having to do anything. Maybe six-one if I got lucky. But..." Another shrug. "Stupid game." It still assumes Angela would have kept that promise, and I still think Robin would have been out in fourth place. Maybe fifth. I'm having a hard time understanding why Robin still believes it -- other than revision of reality: I lost, but it's not really my fault. Completely different from my situation. "Yeah." Stupid game. She turns partially onto her side, props her head up on her palm, looks up at me. "Listen -- I don't know if anyone ever said it, but -- thanks for the car. I understand why you gave it up, but you could have just tried to keep it and find the money somewhere. I'm going to have a bitch of a time covering parking when I go to work, but it saves me a lot of subway time..." She notices my blink. "Used to have one, but city traffic -- well, you know. It broke down for the last time about three years ago and I just said 'Screw this: you don't need to wash a Metrocard every time there's salt on the road.' But three years of getting pushed, shoved, and groped in the damn subway -- I'm ready to go back." "Gardener thanked me." While he was looking over my catches: very quick, no eye contact, the usual sardonic note. Gary hasn't, but we're not speaking, so good luck finding a chance. (The secret agent academy might teach sign language, but I don't know it.) "And Connie didn't." This gets a sigh out of Robin: "I don't believe you had to give her a car." I shrug. "I want to think I gave her something else." Robin waits for it. "Custody of a curse." Even if I don't believe it's going to apply. I won the challenge and I know I can't win the game: given that, does it actually matter who winds up with the car? Robin might believe it does: she laughs. "Yeah." A long pause. "Are you thinking about Final Two? Seriously." "With five left? I've thought about it." Serious details not forthcoming. "I never really considered it when I got here -- it was too far away." I never seriously considered it before I arrived because I really thought I'd be out first from whatever my tribe turned out to be. "But now? I know I've got Final Four, and I know it's just two more steps to go, but -- there's a lot that can go wrong. There's no guarantees." Connie wins Immunity. Connie wins two Immunities. Three in a row. The island splits in half and falls into the Pacific. That gets a nod: the red strands shift against the sand. "Look -- if you get there -- it won't be a shutout, okay? No matter what happens, no matter who you're up there against -- if I'm on the jury, you've got my vote. Gary hasn't done enough, Gardener's done too damn much and too damn little -- mostly in the damn bathroom -- and Connie -- yeah, right. Take that to the bank: Jeff's going to have to read at least five off before it gets settled." Another sharp bark of laughter. "I don't know if I'd take you if I won the next three necklaces. I might be better off with someone else. But if you're in the last two and I'm stuck in the side seats, count on one vote. For whatever's that worth." It's worth either one theoretical vote or one lie that Robin really wanted to get away with. "Thanks." A long silence. "I should have gone to purple, damn it. Elmore cost me the game: he'll be laughing for weeks. I should have come over and given you guys a four-four male-female split -- who was the last onto your raft? Desmond? Okay, we would have had a sucky shelter, but you still would have given us fire on the first day..." I sit and listen to Robin as she recreates the season. It's a fairly imaginative tale, with some unforeseen plot twists, a few challenge results that I don't see coming, and it's interesting even if I know who the ultimate winner is going to be. And it's also a new way to pass a little time under a starry sky, listening as people are voted out, idols are played, and Azure reacts to the word 'defect' with "Fire The Whole Staff!" Robin talks, and I let her guide me through votes, merges -- two this time, as the tribe are brought together, split back apart for a surprise vote, and then reunited -- all the way to the Final Two, which has a fascinating jury question round and a Sole Survivor that you might not have seen coming if you didn't know who was spinning the tale. Robin needs sleep so she can fight for Immunity tomorrow. I need to listen to her not sleeping because it means I don't have to think about tomorrow and what comes after. Maybe Robin needs to tell her story so she doesn't have to look ahead to what'll happen if she loses. Too much of a potential threat at the prospective final Immunity challenge, which is the best possible reason to make sure she never gets close enough to hope for it. Maybe she knows that, deep down, and she's talking herself around it so she doesn't have to have that realization. Ever. If that's how it's working, then I could almost envy Robin -- because she can make it work. I can't. Two women on a beach, one talking, one listening, and no game at all. It's not a bad way to pass the time. But like everything else on the island, it can't last. Immunity tomorrow, no hunt because the idol has been found, a Council, a vote, and one more snuffed torch. It won't be mine. It could be Robin's. It'll be Day Thirty-Five soon. Day Thirty-Seven is in sight. The end is in sight. I leave in three, four, or -- maybe it's just remotely possible now -- five days. But soon enough, I'll be leaving. We'll all leave. 'They're not going to forget you.' Let that be her lie. -----------------------------------------------------------------   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

vince3 3618 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Thong Contest Judge" 01-05-07, 04:02 PM (EST) 10. "RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part IV" {I wonder if Alex still has that idol-shaped rock from Episode 6 around.....} {Why?} {Reverse Magician's Force: Since she can't give Robin the final Immunity Idol, give her the rock and tell her to make it look like she did.....} {....and start the paranoia into overdrive! Brilliant!}   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

AyaK 3603 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Thong Contest Judge" 01-05-07, 07:30 PM (EST) 11. "RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part IV" {Gotta get through the Immunity Challenge first and make sure that Connie isn't immune. Alex only benefits if she can arrange to oust Connie, who wouldn't vote for her under any circumstances. Getting anyone else kicked out doesn't help Alex's cause.} {hell will freeze over before connie wins anything except "most annoying." what challenge could she win? hypocrisy? the plastic surgery challenge? she wouldn't even win bible study -- gary would.} {And the idol-shaped rock was in episode 8, not 6.}   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

vince3 3618 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Thong Contest Judge" 01-05-07, 07:59 PM (EST) 12. "RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part IV" LAST EDITED ON 01-05-07 AT 07:59 PM (EST) {You're right it was in Angela's bounce, not Desmond's bounce that the rock came into play} {Watch this be a bible study IC, and Connie does manage to win it.}   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

michel 2370 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Seventeen Magazine Model" 01-05-07, 08:37 PM (EST) 13. "RE: Custody Of A Curse: Part IV" {Doesn't Alex need to go up against Connie in the final 2 to have a chance to win? Booting Gardener could help her} {You mean the Mansion reward where Alex and Connie worked together to win could have been foreshadowing?} {Editors love irony} {And Alex seems to have more problems with the ones that like her than the ones that hate her}   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Estee 22510 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 01-06-07, 00:17 AM (EST) 14. "Custody Of A Curse: Conclusion" LAST EDITED ON 01-12-07 AT 10:30 PM (EST) {Too bad the unedited story won't make Survivor Gold. I'd love to hear the rest of that merge-split-remerge scenario. Stupid time-lapse shot... bet EPMB was just trying to hide the details because he's going to use it next season...} {Interesting -- what was Alex's motivation in letting Robin know she couldn't save her? 'I already gave you a car, I'd save you if only I could, please vote for me?'} {That's asking if Alex really believes she's Final Two at this point. I think she sees ways the game could play out that have her getting there, but I also believe she knows how many votes against her are sitting on that jury -- which could be all the more reason for someone to take her along. Getting one vote doesn't change a thing. And Robin obviously doesn't see the possible benefit in taking Alex. I think that was just straight honesty: Robin asked the question, Alex answered it. Robin now knows she has to save herself.} {Jeff's words before the merge almost turned out to be anti-foreshadowing: we have had people saving each other -- once -- but after that, Alex failed to save Phillip (mostly thanks to Phillip), and now she can't save Robin.} {But does she really want to? She has to see Robin as a challenge threat -- and no, don't laugh, I know Robin hasn't won yet, but she did just invoke why you don't want her around at Final Three.} {They're all presuming, though -- what if balance has nothing to do with it?} {I'm thinking a balance/endurance combo this year: the classic 'who wants it most?' With this group, that could take a while to settle.} {Can you believe Robin is still buying Angela's promise?} {It's her personal version of the game, just like her story. 'I would have won, if only...' She lost -- or she'll have lost if she doesn't get the next necklace and the two after it -- but it wasn't her fault. Robin's lying to herself, and she's pretty good at it.} {And we're back! Day Thirty-Five dawns bright and sunny, and Robin's still on the beach: she's doing more limbering exercises, although these are a little easier to watch since no part of her body looks like it's on the verge of detaching to play the game on its own. Voiceover confessional: "All or nothing: I'm going for 'all'. Three necklaces in a row, or one jury seat. Can I do it? If the challenges break right, sure: I just need the right types and a little luck. Will I do it?" A long pause while the on-screen Robin examines her feet. "Well -- at least I got a car..." As the seemingly-endless supply of self-confidence finally spots barrel slats at the bottom.} {Gary and Alex moving around camp and past each other, still not speaking. Gary in confessional: "If Robin doesn't win Immunity, I have to think I'm safe tonight -- despite what happened a couple of days ago: Robin pretty much has to go now. If she does, and Alex has the idol -- then anything can happen from there. Actually, anything can happen before that just because Alex has the idol. It could be me, Gardener, or Connie -- whoever doesn't have Immunity is at risk. But vote for Robin, and you could trigger the bounce. Vote for Alex, same problem. Vote for Gardener -- who knows? We're looking at musical idols again -- and there's no way to tell when the song is going to stop." Interesting -- Gary and Gardener are really feeling paranoia bite deep: into their lives it has crept, and it's not leaving any time soon. Alex might not need the ability to pass the idol off -- it almost sounds like they're talking themselves out of voting for Robin, just in case the bounce triggers. And if they vote for Alex in the hopes that she's handed the thing over, then she and Robin control the ouster -- hopefully: it would be a lousy time to see a split in the minority vote.} {The poem, which Connie gets to read -- think that's making her a little paranoid? -- and Robin's happiness will make no more special guest-star appearances in this episode. 'Survival skills, we know them well: fire, food, and water. But others exist, this you can tell -- or at least, you'd better oughta.' Of course, no one could sit through that without spasms of pain, but now Robin knows it's not going to be her favorite challenge type. Sounds like this is fundamentals-related -- not fundamentalist, Connie, sit back down -- and balancing on top of a post doesn't qualify unless there's something clawing at the bottom.} {Maybe they did find another jaguar.} {It would definitely liven up the challenge a little... and given that Connie normally drops out first...} {Robin doesn't even have time to groan about this in confessional before they go (although there's always time for a look of disgust): into a travel shot, and this time, Gardener catches Alex glancing down at the dig site, where no further progress has been made again, but there's still a lot of holes visible. He asks her if there was a major failed idol hunt a few days back. She tells him the production people are trying to build a tunnel directly to Boran.} {Hello, beach! Hello, lean-to! Hello, huge stockpile of building materials! Goodbye, Robin's chances of winning the game!} {Alex hands over the necklace after a brief comedy break: it gets a little tangled with Phillip's and refuses to come off without taking the lesser version with it. She needs a few seconds just to get all the claws and fangs sorted back to their proper owners before Jeff can take custody of the working one.} {Jeff giving the speech -- when people come into this situation, there should be certain things they're prepared to do. Make fire -- shot of Alex there. Source food -- Gardener. And of course, you'd better be prepared to build a shelter. As such, here's a lean-to, and the players will have five minutes to examine it before the challenge starts. After that, they'll report to their stations, which are back near the treeline, at equal distances from the pile. On Jeff's signal, they can race out to the pile, start grabbing materials, and bring them back so they can assemble a matching lean-to on their mats. First contestant to get a close-enough-for-jazz match wins Immunity and a guaranteed passage into the Final Four, where they will join Alex or whoever is believed to have the idol. Robin is already muttering bleeps under her breath. I guess that's her idea of self-motivation.} {Isn't there a fairness problem here? Jeff's going to be the judge on who finishes the shelter first...} {You know, the attempts to plant bias on Jeff just aren't working this year. Besides, if this works the way I think it's going to, everyone will be told to stop while he checks, so no one's going to play catch-up while someone else is getting it wrong. If two people call it at once, it will be the one who's closer to an outright duplicate. And he knows what he's looking for: a match within a given level of tolerance.} {It's the 'given level of tolerance' I'm having a problem with, because it depends on who he wants to tolerate.} {Jeff is neutral. Come on -- if he was going to get rid of someone who annoyed him, Connie would have been out several attempts to get someone else -- I can't remember who -- kicked out ago. He needs an actual rule breakage before he can act: otherwise, he's just watching.} {And judging.} {Everyone judges. What do you think you're doing?} {Typing for my very life?} {They're looking over the model -- Gardener keeps glancing at Alex when he thinks she's not looking, and she keeps returning the favor on a lesser scale. (So far, they're not catching each other.) This goes back to Episode #5: they both practiced this sort of thing at home. They're clearly thinking of each other as the strongest competition here, and we know Gardener has reason to fear Alex getting Immunity and the idol as a double play -- he doesn't know she can't give up the idol, but she just might hand over the necklace.} {Ouch -- yeah, she could pull off Jeff's bifecta. She's got the idol, Robin gets the necklace, and suddenly, it's a question of who aligns where with their votes, with no real time to think about it. If everyone's reacting on first instinct... Gardener's at serious risk in that scenario: the others could turn on the big challenge dog by taking his legs out from under him. He's not exactly going to be holding back on this one.} {I don't think Gardener's ever held back on anything.} {Voting off Alex: Episode #2.} {Conceded.} {Say it with me now: "Survivors ready -- go!"} {And they're off! I think we can count Connie out right here: she's getting the least off the pile for her first haul, and we know she very much sucks at shelter construction. Robin's trying to carry more than she can realistically manage, and nearly winds up impacting her right foot as stuff slips out while she's running it back. Gardener really loading up on wood, but he's got the strength for it.} {Gary steady here, but not that fast-paced -- he's going for quality at the outset instead of trying to ram something together in a hurry followed by a quick-fix.} {Alex isn't doing badly at all -- this is really another kind of puzzle for her: there's the pieces, here's the final form, go!} {Gardener working fast -- Connie making an effort, but she stops to yank a splinter out -- and we finally check on Robin, who is trying, but the low-level flow of bleeps tell us what she thinks of her results. And also confirms what I think of her results. She's having real trouble getting the branches to balance each other off, and does anyone else feel just a little bit of irony there?} {Gardener hesitates, corrects a support, goes back to work...} {And Connie just gets out of the way in time! The whole front half came apart on her: she just barely heard it coming and ducked out before she got clobbered! Staring at the resulting wreckage in disgust, then looking around at the rest of the field, seeing how far along Gardener and Alex are, disgustedly grabbing a piece of wood and flinging it aside...} {Which leaves Robin as the new non-quitter last place: she's just not that far along. Unless the paranoia seriously kicks in, there goes the prettiest songbird on the island. (What? I think creative cursing is musical. And attractive.)} {Unless Alex wins.} {I don't think so -- Gardener just called for a check! Jeff tells the others to pause, he's looking it over --} {Let's hear him try to complain about this!} {Gardener! Immunity! Second time! Tied with Alex three-three for the title of Challenge Whore! And going to the Final Four! Listen to him roaring it up -- he knows he's potentially had another line removed, and this time, he got to do his own extraction.} {Robin giving serious thought to kicking her attempt into a million pieces, but finally just spits on it -- because it's all the lean-to's fault -- and walks away.} {Survey shot -- Alex in second again: she was probably a minute or two away from calling for her own check. Gary third, Robin fourth, and Connie do-you-have-to-ask?} {Off they go. Robin keeps shooting frustrated looks at her shelter attempt, and we can start arguing about the Curse Of Haraiki's Shelter: you couldn't do it the first time, you barely managed something on the second attempt, and third time strikes out for all -- commercials.} ----------------------------------------------------------------- Improved spirits generally seem to come along with the necklace, but the effect is a little harder to pick out on Gardener. He certainly seems at least somewhat content most of the way back to camp in that he's not grousing about anything, but his first move on reaching our beach is to announce that while there may be less people to feed, he seems to be doing most of the work in feeding them, he did all the grilling yesterday, and he'd like a little company in the work department. Which makes it sound like fish is the only thing we eat -- everyone's had a turn at bringing in fruit and cooking rice -- but no one's ready to argue with him, especially after he points at me and decides that since I've had the most recent refresher course, I can join him on the lines. And it'll be both of us on lines, because he's getting a little tired of swimming. This probably qualifies as a secret alliance conference in the eyes of someone. Just not me. We gather up the fishing equipment from camp, sort through the Tony Tangles, head back out to the beach, and take our positions. Gardener watches me make the first cast. "Not bad," he shrugs. "I guess Trooper got something through." Yeah: I'm not snagging cameras any more -- at least, not more than one time in eight. I do have to be very careful about Azure, but she generally leaves me when I'm this close to the water. Maybe she's keeping an eye on Gardener. "So what's this really about?" Let's get right to the point, shall we? "That wasn't the best cover-up attempt for a conference." Immunity overconfidence rearing its fanged head? Another shrug. "It's not as much of a worry when you're up with the numbers -- I just didn't feel like giving Angela a tribute by doing it in front of the group. Besides, they know we're talking. Some of them probably figured out we've talked before this." He glances down at me. "We do a lot of strategy talking for two people who don't actually have a formal alliance." Noted, logged, and agreed with. "You'd be picking a weird time to ask for one." I'm almost absolutely sure he's not about to. Gardener snorts: the Immunity necklace shifts slightly on his broad chest. "Sure, suddenly I'm the one with the timing problem... We are allies. We're just allies of convenience most of the time. Same tribe, so we had to win together. Same minority group, so we had to look out for each other. But you covered my ass -- and I kept my word to you." This could almost be sincere if I didn't know who it was coming from. "Welcome to the Final Four, Alex -- idol or no idol." There's only one response I can give to that. "What idol?" Which just gets a smirk out of him -- and then a thoughtful pause. "It's been a hell of a game, hasn't it? This was a season for the books. After that flip, I wouldn't have bet you a penny against a million-dollar payout that the two of us would be in the Final Four. Pagonged out, just about one for one -- and now that I've seen the challenges, I can't even make myself believe in a retroactive Immunity run. But -- here we are." Here we are. "Which means your promise is up." Azure briefly regards him through eyes that are briefly even closer to fully closed than his usually get. There's a tug on Gardener's line: he pauses for a moment to pay attention to it -- but the fish slips the hook before he can really start bringing it in. "Damn it... yeah, that promise is kept. I swore on Audrey and I didn't go back on it. But it still means we've got to figure out who we're voting for tonight." No: it means he's going to present me with a couple of options, force the decision onto me, and then make me take the blame. "Maybe you'd better let Gary know first." His eyes narrow even more than usual -- not quite approaching Azure's potential imitation, but close -- and the pause stretches out for several breaths before he starts speaking again. "Should have known we were going to do that one -- are you going to buy any excuse I give you, or can we just cut past it and get to tomorrow's vote? I'd like it to be quiet up until Council: no idol hunt to worry about and I want to believe I know exactly where the damn thing is." Currently tied to my left calf, which probably wasn't his first guess. "I had my reasons. Don't blame me if you didn't see them coming." "I don't. Subject over." Was that a tug? No, just a bit of undercurrent. This actually gets his eyes to widen a little -- and the snort which follows has a little bit of cover-up to it. "The important thing is that you didn't go out. That's always the most crucial part. Look -- let's get to it. I want Robin out. You?" I nod. "Robin. Go ahead and cast the vote." Now, how is he going to take that? Answer: with a degree of paranoia. "Are you saying that because you're going to pass the idol off to her and bounce me -- sorry, this is an Immunity-holders-only conference, it'll have to be someone else -- or because you're actually going along with this?" I don't have to force the sigh. "You gave Robin her extra three days. They're going to be up. Everyone's so worried about a final challenge that we can't be certain on -- maybe it's pain endurance, or Fallen Comrades, or for all we know, it could be hoping on one foot until there's only one person who hasn't fallen over. But it could be balance. That's always somewhere on the roster, even if it doesn't get to play. You're not going to vote for Connie because you promised her Final Four. You don't want to give Robin any more chances to advance. Guess what? Neither do I. Because all she has to do is get lucky twice, and that means I get squeezed out. So do you -- I don't think she's bringing either of us along. So we vote for Robin. Connie's already going along with it and I'm guessing you're actually going to tell Gary what's going on this time." Just a little bit sarcastic on that last. "Four people, three days. We work it out from there. I bet you already know exactly who you're voting for after this unless the necklace lands on that target." He nods to that. "And you think you know, too?" There's frequently a little bit of challenge to Gardener's words, no matter what they actually are. It's there now -- but there's an undertone, too. He's curious again. It's been known to happen. "Maybe." Truth. "You're a little hard to predict." Lie. A full-fledged blow-out-the-sinuses snort. "I'm hard to predict -- pot, kettle, color scheme..." He gives his line a prefunctionary check -- then regards me again, this time with a frown. "Why do I think you might be holding something back?" Probably because he's still a little worried about the idol, and I'm not going to tell him he has nothing to worry about, courtesy of the rulebook. (If it's anything else, he'll just have to wait on it.) Instead, I just shrug again. Azure decides Gardener's safe -- interesting decision -- plus she's getting tired of being this close to the waves: she flies down and wanders back up the beach. Come to think of it, I do have something I can potentially appease his mild paranoia with. "Because I've been keeping a secret for a couple of days." I have his full attention. "Those holes in the beach? The crew was digging. I think they were looking for a body." Both of his thin eyebrows shoot up. "You're serious -- what the hell happened? This was when you were staying up late the other night, wasn't it? Find the jaguar, find the secret door, find idols -- I'm on a tribe with a damn human dowsing rod... what did you find this time?" Maybe I can get the million from the James Randi Foundation, whatever that is. Except that I can't do it whenever I want to, either. Maybe it comes from all my experience in looking for lost change: one glint of metal can get you that much closer to changing your life, or at least extending it for a few minutes... "A dagger." I give him the highly edited version: nothing of the argument with Gary, nothing of the wandering confessional delivered to Julia. I was up, I couldn't sleep, I wandered and found something. Just the dagger and the folded pile of clothing: I don't mention having the gold eagle, mostly because I intend to give it to Jeff tomorrow night after Council, handing it over at the same time I return the idol. I don't want to be thrown out of the game because someone decides keeping found money qualifies as 'stealing'. (I know at least one person who would still have no problem with that definition. I've met over a hundred.) Gardener listens to all of it, nodding when I finish. "Any guesses?" "On what happened?" Exactly. "I thought suicide -- but that was just for a few seconds. Taking off his clothes as a means of stripping away everything that tied him to his life, pinning them down in the sand with the dagger, and then walking into the ocean. But he was a billionaire -- it doesn't make sense to kill yourself when you have so much, and it wouldn't explain why the servants fled..." His voice usually doesn't get this quiet: "Having things doesn't keep people from committing suicide." It sounds like the voice of near-personal experience: I look up at him. "Recruit we were going after once -- great kid: smart, funny, and talented as hell. Had the skills to go all the way and the one-in-a-million personality that could deal with the fame without collapsing under the weight of its own artificially-inflated ego. He even knew not to let other people get his ego up -- that's the rarest thing of all. Guaranteed career in the NFL, fifteen years at wide receiver if he could just stay off the injury list, and he had the durability to go with everything else -- five tacklers could hit him at once and he'd get up smiling. Friends, family, girlfriend was cute as hell and more loyal than your damn parrot. Everything in the world to live for." Neutral, but forced into it because it's the only safe place to be: "We got the letter of intent on Friday and the phone call on Monday. Hanged himself. No note. No drugs in his system. No one else did it to him -- believe me, the cops looked for weeks, trying to figure out who could be responsible for killing the heart of their town. They needed someone to blame. But he killed himself and no one ever figured out why." He stops for a moment -- then, just a little more softly, the change only detectable because I know his voice so well now, "A billion dollars isn't always a reason to live, Alex. I can imagine a night where he would have been staring at the ceiling and thinking about the things he did to get it, because it's damn hard to get that much money without stepping on someone along the way. Hell, maybe we were all wrong. Maybe he did kill people here, and the guilt finally caught up with him. Or maybe all it takes to kill yourself is being convinced it's necessary for five seconds in a row, with no one around to talk you out of it. But you're right -- it doesn't explain why the servants ran. It was only one damn jaguar. And the fire damage you described sounded like a lightning hit that the rain put out. Maybe if it was the same damn night, but --" He stops. "This is useless. We don't know. We're never going to know. All we've got is a bunch of pieces that won't fit together. Let someone else work on the damn puzzle." "I knew someone who killed herself." And now he's looking at me. "Not well -- she was just a girl at my school. But everyone knew why -- they just didn't want to admit it." Sybil. Matt. I haven't thought about them for years. "They took the first story that came along -- the one that meant they didn't have to blame themselves for any part of it -- and they ran with it. But they knew the real reason, deep down... they solved the puzzle and decided they didn't like what the answer said about them, so they put it away forever." Steadily, "Peer pressure? They were trying to get her to do it and it finally paid off? I know kids can be that cruel." No, that was the tactic tried on me. Matching his tone, "Something else." Change subject, now. "But... I think we're trying to solve the puzzle because we're part of it now." I glance back at Azure, who's examining a shell. "We're the frame, and we're trying to work in towards the center." Surprisingly thoughtful, "Or we just want to know who the extra player is. The setting is the last man in just about every season -- Africa wouldn't have come out the way it did if it had been anywhere else. You could probably say that for practically everything after Borneo. The island is part of this game -- and the billionaire was the damn island. This is his creation: as long as it's still here, so's he." The line jerks to the left, and the pole nearly comes out of his hands. "Hell -- got a big one!" He starts pulling back on the line, walking backwards up the beach. "Hope this holds -- I think it's at the limit on the line..." I watch him work. There isn't much I can do to help him: an extra pair of hands won't really assist. This is all about the breaking strength of the line. Gardener can do whatever he can with pace, effort, and raw strength, and it'll still come down to the materials he has to work with. Intelligence, power, skill -- all in the hands of his tools, and they don't care about any of it. He thinks I've been his tool. I've been using him as one of mine. There's nothing that says we can't both be right. It's a very big fish. He doesn't let it get away. ----------------------------------------------------------------- {Interesting conversation there: two intelligent people trying to reason out what happened. I'm not sure about Gardener's last point -- the setting plays some part in the game, but I'm not sure it's as major as he seems to believe it is.} {So Alex almost confronted him on leaving her out there to take the full blame for M-J, but backed off on it...} {Apparently Gardener does not belong to the Egotistical Agent school of non-suicide thought. Thanks to that postal footage, we know who Alex was referring to -- but does anyone know the recruit he was talking about?} {Yes. I'm a big college football fan, and I was originally depressed because he wasn't signing with my school. And then it got worse, because I couldn't even watch him play...} {And we all know what Alex was referring to there, excepting our late-arriving newbies. Just to save some time, here's the link to the main thread in question.} {Gardener's F4 promise is pretty much up. It sounds like we have an absolute confirmation on Robin and looking at the clock, I don't think we have enough time left for a post-Council scene. So this should be a pretty normal vote: the last toll of the Pagong, and then on Sunday, we get down to the hard part. We know where the idol is and we know it can't move. Gardener's not giving up the necklace. Robin's out. The only thing that could save her now would be the twist she came up with: split them back into tribes and play an Immunity challenge right there at Council. Unless EPMB got the call and decided to revise the season around his newest unpaid scriptwriter's ideas, she's looking at four-one and goodbye. Wonder if we'll get any confessional bleeps?} {And we're back! With no hunt to worry about, it looks like we're going to speed through Day Thirty-Six: Gardener comes up to Robin and basically tells her that her check isn't getting any bigger: sixth place got traded for fifth, but fifth is all she'll have. Robin looks up at him and says "Tell Audrey I said you were an asshole. But at least you were a consistent asshole." This gets the last thing you'd expect out of Gardener for that speech: a grin.} {Robin going around camp -- she's doing an imitation of Alex without the tool to make it work: checking with Gary to see if she can shift his vote. No luck -- Gary's as worried about her breaking the challenge losing streak as anyone, and while he's very polite about the rejection, he's making it very clear that it is one. No attempt to swing Connie -- in fact, she isn't even talking to Connie. What's the point?} {One last insult? Ten last insults?} {No -- I think she's saving that for the right moment...} ----------------------------------------------------------------- It's another warm night, and the walk to Tribal Council is comfortable -- at least as far as the weather is concerned. We're on a streak, and it may even last until Day Thirty-Nine. The last of the storms may have passed -- but again, that's only the weather. Robin's been talking most of the way down the path. I think she's actually trying to make us jealous of her being lucky enough to go out. "I don't know what I'm going to have first. It's probably going to be an awesome spread -- Reward food, and then some. Sleeping in a real bed, getting time in the mansion -- bet the jury gets Internet service if they wired a hotspot for Alex -- it may not be a vacation in Sequesterville, but after thirty-six days out here, it's definitely got points." And apparently she's up to wishing she'd gone out earlier. Gardener elects not to call her on it. "Sounds like you're not going to make it a hard one -- maybe we can just get Jeff to wrap this thing up in five minutes and we'll all get some sleep. Maybe we won't have your bed, but at least we finally all get blankets and pillows --" pauses. "Damn it, that's why we got four in the first place, isn't it?" Presumably Gary nods: he's at the back of the line today. (Robin is leading the charge to the Council set: why wait?) "Makes sense to me." Connie laughs. "Four pillows and four blankets for the Final Four." She's just ahead of me, arms moving easily, her step light and untroubled. Connie's been in a good mood for most of the day. Why not? She's made the Final Four, she knows it, and there's nothing that can take her out of it -- at least, nothing that she's decided to visibly worry about. Right now, the only way to go out would be by voting for me and getting the others behind her on it, followed by my minority vote controlling the bounce. It's not a chance she's willing to take. She wasn't happy to have me in the last group with her, but she can accept it for now if it means her being in the last group with me -- -- and once again, Jeff is watching from the missing wall. "Come on in, guys," he tells us, probably just to make sure he's meeting his quota. "Take your seats and we'll get started." We do. The leftmost elephant leg in the front row is semi-officially mine: no one else tries to claim it. But with five people left, our numbers are low enough for everyone to get a front row seat if they want one -- and after some hesitation, that's what happens: Connie at the far right, with Gary beside her. Robin decides to go next to me for the evening -- and nearly winds up with Gardener in her lap, as he heads for the same target without checking his landing zone first. She yelps just in time to save herself from a broken pelvis, and a quick argument ends with Gardener in the center position. Jeff watches the scramble with barely-hidden amusement, possibly thinking about his own interpretation of Tina's theory -- then calls our attention to the door with a long, silent, very visible gaze towards it. Amanu collectively settles in and waits. "We will now bring in the current four members of our jury." Angela, still dressing to impress whoever's on the other side of the hotel reservation desk: I'm not here to work, but if it comes down to it, I could destroy this place with three phone calls, so I'd better get good room service. Tony, still in a tank top, still sporting his parent club's cap, and staying very close to Angela as he enters -- but she's trying to stay away from him by an extra step, and moving very quickly in order to accomplish that goal. (There's an extra motivation in place tonight: Tony has a visible -- and audible -- case of the sniffles. Maybe he was outside during the last storm, or just got too much exposure to the sick members of the crew.) Phillip, still smiling, looking like he's already starting to put a little weight back on, clearly having talked the staff stylist into restoring his bowl cut, which may have taken a while just to get the screaming stopped. And -- -- Mary-Jane. I wonder if she did her own makeup. I wonder how long it took her to pick out the outfit she was going to wear to her first jury session. We all have those outfits, separated from our luggage before the final inspection, waiting for us at the mansion -- or repacked into our bags and flown out to Sequesterville for the early departures. She must have thought she'd lose weight, and carefully choose her pieces to both cover it up and present the illusion that the body underneath had the exact same configuration it displayed on Day One. It's a masterful job: the silky fabrics conceal and cling while still billowing enough to make it look like there's a few extra ounces underneath. The makeup has filled out her face, made the hollows vanish and taken away the edges that were starting to appear. She's beautiful. She's always been beautiful, always known how to display it to her best advantage... She doesn't look at me as she passes. She just goes to her seat, next to Phillip at the far right edge of the jury's front row, and takes her place. Eyes downcast -- then going to Jeff -- Azure -- the torches on the wall -- Frank's, still waiting for us to finish our business -- anywhere but me. Angela whispers to Tony for a moment, points at his running nose. Tony nods and shifts seats, moving to the back row and taking a place as far away from Angela as possible. He loves her too much to risk getting her sick. "Before we get started," Jeff announces, "we have a bit of business to discuss from after the end of the last Council." That gets Mary-Jane's attention, and I wonder what her last words to the confessional camera were -- but I know what this probably is, and Gardener now has an idea. As it turns out, we're both right. "We didn't have much of a chance to talk about it before the challenges, mostly because we had to run them and at this point, I know I'm going to get held off until we're all gathered here." He steps behind his throne, reaches down -- -- and brings up the dagger. Everyone stares at it, including Gardener, who never got a look at the thing. I'm examining it right along with them: it looks different in the blend of electric and fire lights. The highlights are sharper, the blade's edge somehow thinner as Jeff turns the dagger over in his grip. With the others --- well, no one seems to be expecting a literal backstab as the next twist of the game, and besides, right now, we could all see it coming. For all the others know, this is the Readmittance Dagger and the jury members are about to compete to see which one gets to hold it and cut their way into the Final Four: Angela's curious eyes seem to be the most ready when it comes to believing that option. "Alex --" or maybe Jeff is about to cut me out of the game: curiosity just became wild hope "-- finders keepers." He walks it over and presents it to me, along with a homemade leather scabbard and matching belt strap that came from the art design team. "We checked it with Legal: anything in the mansion is the potential property of the heirs, anything found outside it belongs to the person who comes up with it." Which presumably made Chris happy, although I'm still going to check on the gold eagle before we leave -- and now I have everyone's full attention, even Mary-Jane's, although she's mostly looking at the dagger. So is Azure, and her eyes seem unusually bright. Maybe she's recognized it. All Angela's recognized is a tease: her expression collapses into frustration. "It looks like most of you didn't get this story -- Alex, want to update us?" I give them the same version I gave Gardener -- Phillip seems to have the most intense interest -- then present the suicide theory, along with the main reason it doesn't seem to fit: no explanation of the servants evacuating, beyond a strange, unreasoning fear of what might have lurked in the basement when it was safely locked away. "And it doesn't go along with what the judge said about the billionaire getting what he deserved." Jeff nods. "The crew has been discussing it." Because he's not the only person who gets to watch those hourly reviews -- at least just this once. "We didn't get any further along than you did. For the record -- we had the blade privately examined: emergency flight to Hawaii and back. There were fingerprints on it -- the two crew members who handled it before it went into the bag, and Alex's." Mine were presumably compared to the ones on the car door. Connie's going to have a very hard time asking for my removal based on my having broken the no-murdering rule: the billionaire wasn't a contestant and I'm pretty sure I can prove my whereabouts from seven years ago on back. "Fingerprint oils break down after a while: a burial in the sand is not the best place to store them. The blade has very faint traces of dried animal blood on it. With the clothing -- it looks like it came right out of his wardrobe: his sizes, his colors. It's being examined for trace hairs. We can compare those if the lab gets them -- all we need is some old pillowcases. But all it'll tell us is that he once wore them -- not if he was wearing them at the time." Jeff displays one of his rare frowns. "Personally, I want to know where the shoes are. But for now, unless something happens where a courtroom needs it as evidence -- which is really hard to see right now -- the dagger belongs to Alex." At least until Cyndi sees it, and then she'll claim she originally dropped it from the plane during a summer vacation flight, it belongs to her, and her old crew is going to help her take it back. I put the belt on, align the dagger so it rests against my right hip -- -- and Azure flies over to me. Nothing unusual in her position: directly to my left shoulder, eyes bright, somehow seeming eager. She comes over whenever she wants to: a signal isn't required to inspire whim. But the timing is enough to make both contestants and jury hesitate, along with drawing a small gasp from one member of the crew -- -- which Jeff takes as a cue to yank things back on track. "Let's start with the Reward challenge tonight," and so much for Gardener's five-minute Council. "Call it a hunch, but I think this is going to get a reaction..." It does: Phillip breaks one of the unspoken rules of jury protocol by openly laughing when he hears about the idol clue (and Connie's reaction to same), and Tony is almost visibly kicking himself for going out too early to score a non-Chevette. Oddly enough, Gary is the most defensive of my choice. "I've been trying to figure out how I'm going to manage keeping it. There's income tax -- a couple of different levels of it. Use tax for the district. Social Security tax. And it can be worse than just that, depending on where you live. I'm already paying one partial tuition bill -- Shari's on half-scholarship -- and Michelle and I have been saving up for Tanya and Eric's college funds. I can't channel that into a personal luxury item. The best way to come up with the taxes for this thing may be to sell it. I could use a new car, I said as much once -- but it doesn't have to be this nice of one. If I get the million, I can keep whatever I please and send the kids wherever they want to go. Without it -- minivan." Besides, the cars with the flamethrower and machine gun options have to be returned to the motor pool after use. This leads to a light round of questions about how the others are going to hang onto the car -- Gardener's willing to devote his winnings-to-date (although it'll mean a fifty-fifty split of drive time with Audrey), Robin's decided she'll figure something out even if details aren't exactly forthcoming because she hasn't gotten that far yet, and Connie knows Edward can cover it. And after a little more discussion of the features, optional extras, and just how much Gardener got to hear of the game -- the Tigers are still in first -- we move on to Immunity. Robin's decided to let the frustration have a little more outside time. "I'm not complaining about the car challenge. Why should I bitch about that? End result: I got a car. That's pretty hard to argue with. I'm just complaining about the timing. I finally got one I could stay in for most of the way, would have taken with a different last stage -- and it was Reward. It wouldn't surprise me if everything I got to hear about from over there --" a quick, sharp gesture to the jury seats "-- was something I could have beaten. Fine: every challenge can't be something I'm good at. But if every one that's left is, I'm going to have some serious bitching to do when my time comes around." Tony looks more than a little sympathetic, even in the middle of blowing his nose. It doesn't surprise me that Connie's also feeling a little frustrated: the topic is a surprise. "I would have liked to win Immunity yesterday: I want to know how that necklace feels. I wanted to win Reward, because I'm not afraid of the car curse --" we'd discussed it in front of the jury earlier, with my claiming not to have passed off the vehicles just because I was worried about it "-- plus I got a very good look at that car, and it was well worth winning." She still hasn't thanked me for giving her one. "I think I'm almost in Robin's position right now. I have won -- but not by myself. I'd like to experience that." A pause. "Of course, if the only victory I get is the final one, I can definitely live with it." Gardener's feeling pretty good about his position, at least short-term. "This is my passport." He touches the largest tooth on the Immunity necklace. "You can plan things as much as you like, figure angles and try to work schemes, votes, maybe even bounces -- but having Immunity is the one-Council guarantee." Count of one, two, three... "Right, Alex?" At least this response can show a little variety. "You tell me -- you've got it this time." Phillip, who's probably just amusing himself, manages to chorus on the snort. (It should have gotten a smile out of Mary-Jane. It doesn't. She hasn't smiled once since she walked in.) Gardener's the only one who gets the vocal follow-up. "The idol -- Jeff, I swear she's doing this just to see who cracks first, and it's not going to be me... Look, I know what that clue worked out to, or at least I think I've got a damn good idea. Wish upon a star: put the thing in the middle of the starfruit. I'm not going to assume that I got that wrong and Alex blew it. As far as I'm concerned, she's leading the pack in idol finds. She gave up the car and she got the idol -- not exactly the worst trade in the world. And because I've got the necklace, I don't personally have to worry about any games she might play with the thing. So this is just amusing the hell out of me more than anything else. Before I won yesterday? Issues. But right now, it's funny as hell." Jeff decides to play the 'hypothetical' card. "Alex, let's say you actually do have the idol -- or at least, you found it and don't necessarily have it now." Angela still isn't even remotely over this. "If you had it, would you consider passing it off tonight?" And he knows I can't. So does Robin, who just rolled her eyes -- and that isn't visibly helping Gary or Connie at all: minimal reactions for both, but visible: they don't know that the eye roll means the idol is locked. They may think it's a secret 'Immunity over here' signal. "It's an option that has to be considered every time it's available -- whether you'll get farther by keeping it or by giving it to someone else. But there's so few of us left, and so little time... that almost makes keeping it the better option just because you don't know if you'll have other possibilities later. When it gets down to four people, there isn't much room for dealing." Our host nods. Azure nods. Well, at least it isn't just me... "Of course, if you do have the idol tonight, you have the same certainty as Gardener: you know you're Final Four. Whoever's holding it is guaranteed a place. That sounds like a pretty strong incentive to keep it all by itself." Robin's been remarkably quiet about the contents of the note. She doesn't use this as an opportunity to break that silence. "Wish I had it..." Gary laughs, but there's a nervous undertone to it. "Or you're saying that because you do have it and you want us to vote for you." Of course, we're not allied any more: if I have things figured out right, we can't be allied... and I could be wrong so very easily... But you're afraid of the bounce, aren't you? I couldn't try for Gardener if I passed it off, and you're actually not sure I'd target Connie. You think I see you as a jury threat -- the best choice to get rid of. You're actually afraid of me... On some level, it should be a comforting thought. Tricking me into drawing my mother, telling me about Mary-Jane and sending me into a spiral of confusion... making Gary sweat should be an absolute treat. But it isn't, and I don't know why. Robin's grin is remarkably vicious. "Well, if you're that worried about it, just vote for Alex. That way, you won't get the bounce from me." Apparently Connie's looked this far ahead. "Unless she still has it, you don't, and you're trying to divert us onto voting for her because it protects you two ways: you don't get voted out, and someone else is gone." And now Gary is really nervous. Gardener has no worries, no pressure, and a two-pound shield around his neck. Gary is in the middle of the firing range, and none of his secret agent training covered catching bullets. "Hey, there's an idea!" Robin sarcastically proclaims. "Alex and I could have worked that out in advance! Now let me think -- if that's what's going on, I'd probably have to give Alex my vote to make sure the bounce went in the right direction and we didn't wind up with an accidental one-one split. Who could Alex possibly want out of the game?" Tony, who must have had a very good seat for most of Connie's pre-merge complaining sessions, is covering his mouth with his left hand: he's either trying not to laugh or a coughing fit is on the way. Mary-Jane is still quiet. "It's a mystery to me..." Target acquired, locked onto, and hit: Connie may have been feeling the paranoia earlier, but she was able to keep most of it under wraps. Robin just made a large enough hole to let a little more come streaming out. "Alex is going to act in her own self-interest. She didn't give up that car because she was worried about being able to pay for it: there's always ways to get through the taxes. Sometimes, if you have a very good accountant, you can get around some of the taxes. Anyone paying every penny they owe just isn't trying hard enough -- isn't that right, Gary?" Who's just staring at her -- and she hasn't picked up on it. But he recovers in time to nod when she checks on him. "I'm sure you've found your own loopholes -- trying to put three children through college can't be easy. But Alex doesn't have to worry about that: she's single, she lives alone, she only supports herself. With her winnings to date, I'm sure she could manage to keep the car if she really wanted to. Alex gave up the car as a means of winning votes when the jury heard about it: making herself look charitable to the current members and getting future ones to vote for her as payment for their cars. Because she thinks she's going to reach the Final Two -- and keeping the idol is a means to that goal." Uh-huh. Let's put a stop to this right now. "So according to you, Connie, I gave you a car because I think I'm going to the Final Two and it would be the best way to secure your vote?" And now Angela is glaring at Tony, because there's no way to make that muffled laughter pass for a coughing fit. "Wow. I'm really impressed with my own plans... If I make it through to Final Four tonight, I can honestly say that at the start of this game, I never expected to be there. I think that with all the talk around camp -- and maybe in the mansion -- just about everyone here knows that." Phillip is nodding. "Even if they're not willing to believe it. You are not going to vote for me because I gave you a car. You've never even thanked me for the car. If Gardener somehow winds up over there, he's not going to let four wheels and a good speaker system influence his vote. Gardener is going to vote based on the game." Gardener breaks in. "Well, if I'm over in the jury section, I'm also going to vote based on how pissed off I am about being in the jury section. But yeah -- a car isn't going to put a dent in that." Fair enough, at least for the purposes of this argument. Back to Connie, leaning out to try and get eye contact, Azure making it before I do. "The people over on the jury aren't getting cars. I think we all remember what Angela said when she went out, so I couldn't get her vote if I gave her the car and paid the taxes." Her open silent agreement, while helpful, is not exactly coming as a comfort. "Get the idea? I gave up the car because I couldn't afford it, and honestly, I'm glad I won the challenge -- because if someone else had taken it and made the same decision, I'd be stuck here trying to figure out how to deal with the thing. At least this way, I'm guaranteed to be car-free. You can deal with the taxes? Have fun with the paperwork. I couldn't do it." Connie's confused frown is just a little too perfect. "I never thanked you for the car? Well -- it has been a rather hectic three days, and we were rushed off to the meal... Thank you for the car, Alex. I will think of you when I drive it." And that much, I believe. She'll be thinking of running me over with every rotation of the wheels -- -- oh, what the hell... "Does that mean I have your vote if I somehow make Final Two?" She doesn't even need a moment to consider her answer. With a smile, "I suppose it'll depend on how frustrated I am about being on the jury." But her eyes are the key there. She's treating that as a pure joke, and one that only she knows I've just made, I don't even know it yet... Robin cuts in with a quick laugh. "I was going to give Alex my spare car if I won the thing, but now it might be the worst thing for her..." She takes a look at Jeff: any car for the winner this year? Because that could still be her, really it could. To be determined: Jeff changes the subject. "It's been made pretty clear that Robin's out tonight unless she has the idol or something happens with the voting -- at least, that's what the group seems to want everyone here to believe. But just for the moment, let's ignore the math and pretend that everyone here is Final Four. Does everyone have a plan for getting through the next two Councils?" Nods, agreement, and general assent all around. "Gardener, care to share any details of yours?" His answer is short and to the point: "Keep this." Gardener indicates the necklace. "It's the only guarantee -- the idols can't last forever." Robin's highly amused by the question and answer, especially given what she already knows -- on several levels. "What he said." Connie's thoughtful. "I have an idea or two -- but I have to watch to see which one should be used, or whether any of them could work at all." By contrast, Gary is still just a little bit paranoid. "I'll go with Gardener and Robin. It's the easiest way through, if you think winning the challenges can ever be easy -- and we're at the point when it's hard to count on other people." A long pause. "And what other people might think of you." He doesn't look at me. He's too well-trained to even consider looking at me. But I can feel him not looking at me, and I know what he means by his words. And me, with the shortest answer of all. "Improvise." I think I know what has to happen next. But there's a stage after that -- and I could be wrong about any part, at any time, and there's no second chances left... Jeff's eyes seem to twinkle, just for a heartbeat. "Those are among the most honest answers I've ever heard about the situation -- and the most accurate. But in the end, only two of you are going to be right... Now -- Gardener." Definitely way over the five-minute mark. "You have the Immunity necklace for the second time. We're getting a little short on game-clock here -- it's just about now or never for giving it up." Gardener elects to play for a single point and overtime. "Somehow, I'm not surprised. Gardener is safe from the vote. Whoever has the idol -- again, if that's anyone at all --" and that gets some open amusement from everyone except Angela and Mary-Jane, although Connie's is faked and Gary's is faked and twitchy "-- is also safe, but there's only two ways to confirm who that is. And one of you won't like the first option. With that said -- it is time to vote. Connie, you're up first." She stands up, heads out without a word, walking with an even rhythm that has just a little too much impact against the floor. Mary-Jane watches her go with muted eyes. I watch Mary-Jane, and she decides not to see it. Gary. Robin. Me. I head out to the voting blind, Azure riding with me for this one. It's still beautiful out: warm, a clear sky, just the lightest touch of a breeze -- enough to make the parchment shift slightly on the writing desk. Azure watches the movement with some interest. She might even fetch it if it blew onto the floor. There's been times when I've wanted to look into the cylinder, see how the others voted before I placed mine. Those times could be collectively described as 'every last Council'. Tonight is no different. I want to see if the votes are going where I think they're going. She tried so hard, and maybe it even worked. If it did, there would almost be something to be said for not screwing up her minority. But... I write down the name, hold it up for the camera. "You made a great try tonight." I wonder if Robin will grin when she finally hears the words. "You really got their paranoia going -- I could see it. Maybe someone will actually be afraid to vote for you. But you've been right all along -- if your challenge type comes out of the pool, then you're too much of a threat. If the votes actually scatter and this somehow works out for you, congratulations. I just have to think about the next vote -- and that means making this one." I'd briefly thought about finding another idol-shaped rock, giving it to Robin, letting her stick it in her pocket and really get the paranoia going. But it didn't make sense. Despite her zero-for-the-season total on wins, Robin is still more of a challenge threat than Connie or Gary. Everyone leaves eventually. Tonight is Robin's night -- I think. If she's still here after Jeff reads the votes, then as Gardener might say, she earned it. But if not... ...everyone leaves. Including me. I fold the vote, place it in the cylinder, and head back. Gardener goes out as soon as I finish taking my seat, and returns quickly. He has the Immunity necklace: he's part of the Final Four. I have the idol: half of the quartet is set. There's still a chance for a variable in the last three -- but it feels so very small... Jeff nods to us. "I'll go tally the votes." Only five to count, only a count of two hundred and eighty before he gets back. "Once the votes are read, the person voted out will be asked to leave the Tribal Council area immediately." If he said that three more times, Azure might start repeating it. "I'll read the votes." For some reason, the cylinder top is placed on his seat cushion. "First vote -- Robin." Mine. I changed my handwriting again, but it was just out of habit: I don't know if it matters any more. So few of us left to place votes... "Second vote: Connie." Robin's vote there: no attempt to disguise her handwriting, and Connie knows exactly who this one came from: there isn't even a blink at its presence. There is, however, a twitch. If the idol comes into play... But it can't. All that can happen is the potential paranoia of others, and that probably won't get to play any real part. "Third vote: Robin." Gardener's vote. Still not exactly a surprise. The next one is going to tell the tale. Jeff reaches into the cylinder, pulls it out, unfolds it. "Fourth vote --" -- he's taking too long with this -- "-- Alex." Connie's handwriting. I blink. There isn't much else I can do. Either Connie decided this was a great time for another message vote, or she believed Robin's pitch every inch of the way to the plate, voted for me in the belief that Robin had the idol and this way, there was a chance she'd wind up in a tiebreaker with me: I couldn't vote for myself, Robin probably wouldn't vote for me, so she was just naming her poison to go into the tiebreaker against. It's an unlikely scenario -- I would have to vote for Robin as a fakeout move, knowing I was safe from the bounce with her vote going to Connie -- but it's not impossible. Gardener's not happy with that vote: he didn't know it was coming. I can't see Gary's reaction right now: part of the problem with trying to take a casual look past Gardener's width. But this time, Gardener was definitely in the dark -- which makes me think Connie changed her vote during Council. Well, at least he just got a reminder on how it feels when a surprise comes out of that cylinder. Meanwhile, Robin is visibly using the few heartbeats we have before Jeff pulls out the final vote to run down the possibilities. She has two votes. If I get two votes and force the tie, then the idol negates mine and she's out. If the last ballot has her name, she's out. Gary makes a surprise vote appearance, and she's out. No matter what happens, she's out -- and if she wanted to, she could blame me for it: if I'd voted for Connie and Gary gave in to the paranoia, then suddenly, Connie would be out... No, wait: if the last vote is for Connie, if Gary did twitch his way to the only available other target, then we're heading for the tiebreaker... Does Jeff look intrigued? Curious? Frustrated? Anything that would provide a clue as he opens the final vote and looks it over? No. He just looks neutral. "Fifth vote --" Prone to aggravating gaps in his speech, but neutral... "-- Robin." Who shrugs, just once. "The twelfth person voted out of the Society Islands, and the fifth member of our jury -- unless Robin can show me the hidden idol." Looking at the player seats, first to Connie, then to me. "If that happens, Connie and Alex will go to the tiebreaker." And Connie starts to go pale -- because it was a message vote, and it may have just backfired -- -- but I have the idol. Robin doesn't. She just says "I wish," gets up, and goes for her torch. It was still a great try. Gardener and Gary decided to take the chance on letting Robin and I control the ouster, Gary worried that I would target him but more convinced I'd go for Connie, Gardener knowing he was safe... and Connie with a message vote that almost ruined her entire night. But if Robin really wants to blame me for this, she can -- and probably will. So far, that's been the pattern. Anyone goes out, it's my fault. I get punished. I take the blame, and this game has been one of the few times in my life where any of it could really be justified... ...which is why Mary-Jane is still refusing to look at me... ...and the person who might be my latest victim is in front of Jeff. "Robin -- the tribe has spoken." She nods. With the smallest of smiles, "And they were pretty damn loud about it, too." Jeff blinks -- he's not used to being interrupted in the middle of his set speech -- but Robin shrugs again and tilts her torch slightly towards him, as much as the placement hole will allow. He takes it as a cue. "It's time for you to go." Every three days, one less flame. But now, things are about to accelerate... Robin slowly lets go of her torch -- each finger moves on its own, her palm gives up contact last -- and gives Jeff one last shrug. "Tell Julie she's lucky, okay?" A somewhat larger smile. "Not that you're even remotely my type, but someone should take some comfort in getting their chance to jump something in this game -- someone other than the damn tag-along." (I'm almost sure she means Amber. I doubt Tony's done any real Robin-classified jumping.) Jeff's nod is a little too solemn, and Robin heads for the door, puts her hand on the knob, pauses as dramatically as she can manage, turns with a lack of speed any slow-motion camera would envy. "You're going to find out what 'jury threat' really means," she promises us -- -- and gone. Jeff waits a few breaths before continuing. It's Robin: there's a good chance she might think of something else and stick her head in to get a few more last words. But it doesn't happen -- possibly because someone on the exterior locked the door -- and he moves on. "After everything that's happened this season, we have reached the Final Four: Gardener, Connie, Alex, and Gary." A little more softly, words that may never reach the air, words that may get close-up focus time: they feel like they're right on the border. "I don't think there's a person here who would have looked at our original sixteen and picked that quartet to be here tonight. You can never predict this game, never know how it's going to come out -- and this season may have proven that more than any other." Gardener's ready. Gary's paranoia is slowly easing down to a background level. Connie seems to have braced herself. Phillip's visibly curious to see what happens next, Angela isn't exactly happy with any of her potential votes, Tony's a little confused, and Mary-Jane is keeping her sad gaze on Jeff. I'm waiting. Jeff doesn't make me do it for very long. "The hidden idol was found and not used: it has to be turned in. Would the person who solved the wish clue please turn it over?" I take it out of my bag, packed for this Council as it's been for every one I've attended, and go up to Jeff. No one on the jury is very surprised: two people in the contestant seats may be slightly relieved. Weird thought, Connie getting to relax because I'd been safe... Hand over the idol, explain the clue, listen to Gardener's snort, ask Jeff about the gold eagle and whether he needs it back, confirm that one's finders keepers too because the camera saw me get it outside the mansion, go back to my seat. All the way into normal volume, meant for the camera, meant for us. "In the next three days, we will have two Immunity challenges and three Tribal Councils. Two of you will finish out the jury, and the remaining two will face that group of seven. Seventy-two hours left in this game -- and we will have a Sole Survivor. Head back to camp: I'll see you tomorrow -- and tomorrow -- and tomorrow." He sounds like he's quoting. Gardener looks like he recognized it. Neither of them will ever explain it to me. We stand, walk out. The jury watches us go, with Phillip quietly applauding: three slow claps, tiny impacts. There's a moment when I think I can feel Mary-Jane's eyes on my back, but -- illusion. I glance back in time to see Phillip's last manual exclamation, and she's looking at Frank's torch. Up the trail in silence, with Jeff watching us go. No one would have called this Final Four. I'm thinking about Desmond. Wondering if he threw the last tribal Immunity challenge again. Just for a few breaths, I indulge in Robin's pastime, imagining a season where we'd won that last challenge, gotten to the merge with majority, taken Haraiki out in four votes and then gone to work on ourselves. I would have had a half-interest in that group (if I hadn't been dumped early while there were still Haraiki left to Pagong), I could have tried to force a tiebreaker at my ouster vote, but -- -- idols, Immunity streaks, alliances, flips, and backstabs. There's no way to know. Gardener's the first to speak, and it's a lot softer than his usual tones. "Alex, Gary -- Connie, you weren't here for this -- remember what Frank said when we hit the beach? Right after we finished pulling the raft up?" Gary does. Gently, "Word for word. 'We did it. We all made it. We're it, dudes.'" Gardener nods, continues making his way through the fire-broken dark. "'We are finally and officially under way...'" He lets the trail-off take a few heartbeats to say what he wants us to believe he's feeling before openly trusting himself to resume. "Final Four. I know I've been saying Final Two pretty much since I got here, but you've got to be in the four to have a chance at the two -- and here we are. We're it. Twelve people gone, four left. It's not the way I thought I'd get here, and I'll be arrogant enough to say I had a plan when I came here that I thought was going to work --" a bark of laughter, but so very soft "-- and honest enough to say it went to hell." Literally. Because it went to Connie. "Jeff's right. On Day Two -- the first day I got a good look at everybody -- did I see this Final Four coming? No. But here we are." Connie's curious. "Who did you think it would be?" Because she knows she's not in the original mix. Gardener's willing to answer that, and I think it's an honest one. "Me, Gary, Frank, and Desmond." With Trooper gone as the strongest challenge threat among the males. No surprise whatsoever. "Obviously I thought we'd make the merge with majority... Connie, what was yours?" She thinks about it for a few steps. "With majority? Myself, Angela, Michelle, and Phillip -- Elmore using the idol at the first Council really put a crimp in my initial hopes." I can hear the smile, whether I want to or not. "Gary?" Who laughs: just barely audible, but enough to tell what it is. "If the goal is to prove how wrong we all were, then just count me in for that. I was in it, though -- we're all at least one-fourth right when you look at it that way." Gardener's snort serves as a booster this time, bringing him back to normal volume, tone, pace, and sarcasm. "Yeah, right -- Alex, prove Gary wrong." Not a problem. "You, Frank, Desmond, and Trooper -- you kind of have to give him a few Immunities." Which was the Final Four I originally pictured the night after I'd seen Haraiki, thinking about the possibility of reaching the merge with majority, not really considering the wild elements of the game yet. On a straight cut-down -- those four. It hadn't even been a real chance at the time -- too much ahead, too far to go -- but I'd thought that even if the others kept their initial promise to not vote me out at our first Council, Gary and I would have been identified as a pair and cut out... He can go along with that. "Yeah -- I can see that. He might have fought his way in. Proves my point, though: you didn't see yourself in there. And you're still here..." I'm right behind him, the only one close enough to pick up the words that dip all the way down into whisper for the first time, the words he may not even know he's speaking. "...and I never saw that one coming..." Back to the usual. "If any of you feel like opening those last bottles, go right ahead. I could use the edge -- who knows what Jeff's got in store for us tomorrow." Connie has an idea. "A vote." Everyone agrees. A vote. A challenge, a necklace, and a vote. No idol hunt, but right now, I'm the only one who knows that... We walk on, and I slip towards the back of the group, letting the others pass me. If I'm wrong about everything, then this will be my last walk back from the Council set: I want to make it last a while. Azure rides me, watching the torchlight play off the leaves. Not the least bit afraid of fire, just a little bit fascinated by the results. Connie passes me as I drop back, and there's a moment where we make eye contact. The hatred is tangible, forms a web between us, almost chokes the air in sticky strands. I helped give her the mansion, and nothing is forgiven. I gave her a car, and nothing changes. The last thing she expected on the first day was that I would still be here: the last thing I believed was that she would remain in the game. But here we are. No, it couldn't have been predicted. Idols, alliances, Immunities, flips, and backstabs. Even jaguars. All adding up to a workable, almost logical whole when looking back, but with no way to see it looking forward. Even Trina had only an outline, little stops along the way with no view available from those locations. Not looking through a telescope: seeing through a pinhole -- and still not as tiny as the mental perspective Connie takes in the world from. Not as narrow, anyway. Even Gardener's eyes don't get that far down. I look at her, she looks at me, Azure finds room to join in the stare, and nothing has changed. Some of us may be changing on this island. I don't think Connie has. I don't think she can. And maybe I have changed -- but if so, it hasn't been into someone she can accept. Connie. Gardener. Gary. Me. Twelve down. Two to go. One to win. Escaped from the first. Still at risk for the second. No way to accomplish the third. And still, the things that never work try to step forward. Dreams, hopes, wishes, quashed as quickly as they come. I had a thought, but -- I would have to be right. Exactly right -- and then make it work so many times over, find those keys and the locks they would fit. Too much would have to happen, so much that it can't possibly happen, and I hate myself for having those thoughts. I know wishing doesn't work. Even in stories, wishes exist to backfire and prove how little good wishing does. The only wish that ever works there is the last one: make this not have happened -- and it's one I can never receive. So I try not to dream, and for the most part, after a lot of effort, I succeed. But still -- -- if... ----------------------------------------------------------------- After ----------------------------------------------------------------- {Well, for once, Jeff's right. No one looked at the original sixteen and saw this Final Four coming. And how do I know? Because I host the PTTE game that proves it.} {I will actually agree with Cole again: Robin made a wonderful attempt to stir the paranoia up and move the vote away from her. I just don't know if Connie's vote was the result of that or another message with voting room in which to send it.} {It might have to wait for her Early Show segment -- man, Monday is going to be crowded. Here's hoping it's a long one -- there's a lot to ask.} {Here's hoping they get a different segment host, so we'll stand a chance of seeing any of it asked.} {I don't know about you, but I'm going to work out a script program to send in about a million America's Questions. Maybe I can get something through.} {Just make sure they all sound stupid and you've got a shot.} {Amazingly, Robin is not bleeping up a storm in her Final Words. She just basically reprised an earlier speech: she wishes she'd gone to Turare, she'd love a second shot at the game if anyone's insane enough to schedule A.S.S. II: Revenge Of The Failures Redux, and she's waiting for the Final Two so she can take a real shot at somebody. Bitter? Maybe not. Chomping at the bit to make someone suffer for her vote? Absolutely.} {I can't wait until we clear spoiler time: I want to start our personal vote thread. Let's see what kind of landslide Gardener wins by for our little Council.} {Immunity may be too much of a factor there -- think of all the times a weak player has gone into the Final Four -- essentially invited because they were weak and no threat to win one or both of the last two -- and then won one or both of the last two. It would not surprise me to see Connie go on a streak of two here. Mostly because of precedent, because she's still a challenge drag -- but could it happen? Absolutely.} {But that still gives Gardener the win...} {Discuss it tomorrow? I've got to start cooking for my finale party as of five minutes ago. The only way they'll let me have the laptop in the living room the whole time is if I provide the food. For some reason, they think my talking to you guys is distracting.} {Heh. Okay -- here's hoping for a non-boring one. Hey, You Who Are Unspeakably Lucky -- get there early if you can. Let us know about the set-ups if you see any, or if you're lucky enough to spot someone arriving.} {Will do. Wish me luck -- I've never tried to smuggle a cell phone before.} {Just don't take a cue from Richard.} {Unfortunately for you, I have seen that in the archives. I can't make it look like a cross, either. Although I do have one on the cover. Maybe if I just hung it around my neck?} {Guys -- turn on CNN. Now. If you miss it, just wait -- they'll cycle back. Those of you in the NYC media market who somehow don't have cable or dish access, they're probably not going to break in for it, but expect them to say something about it at ten or eleven or whatever time your channels start up. Get over there, quick.} {What's going on? Is this show-related? We're not getting a Special News Bulletin in Iowa, so I know it isn't anything world-shaking...} {It's show-related. Just hurry. I'd give you details, but there's a lot of confusion right now -- they're still coming in. But it's definitely our usual suspect, and it could be bad...} {I'm there. It's on. I think I have to start praying again.} ----------------------------------------------------------------- Late again. This time, I didn't even have a deliberate stall as an excuse. I'd had to go out: I couldn't avoid that part. My refrigerator only held so much, and I hadn't used any of the Coleman funds to get a new one. (And they still wanted to have a contract with me, were still moving ahead on the cross, were looking to launch right after the finale if it was at all possible...) Food. Fruit juice for a special treat. Laundry detergent because it was on a less-than-half-price sale and that meant it was time to stock up, along with using the money I'd saved in doing so for some fruit juice. But I'd been hijacked. Held up at the supermarket because of course people wanted to ask me questions I couldn't answer about the show and questions I wasn't going to answer about the medical records on that stupid website... It had been easy enough to piece the events together. Someone releases my papers, probably for twenty bucks. Someone else figures them out, probably for free. And then that same someone, or a different someone, or two to fifty of them at once, decides this is something they can tell the media about, possibly for another twenty bucks. It had gone outwards from there. Alex Cole, abandoned had become Alex Cole, abused in the space of about five minutes -- or possibly five breaths -- and the media hadn't shifted off that stance. Neither had the people around me. Everyone wanted the answers. Who? When? Where? Why? And they were getting no, sorry, can't, and not now until I thought I could understand what 'talked until she was blue in the face' really meant because the mental ache from the continual denials had to have a physical component... That sort of thing can stretch a three-hour shopping trip into five hours, and had. This didn't even include the time normally required to walk back: getting through aisles of shelf-to-shelf people who won't stop asking questions -- or for autographs -- or, three times, for the answer to be written down with the autograph -- once in code -- took a while. But it had been okay, at least for time, because I'd gotten an early start. The only way I could have gotten an earlier start was to begin while the supermarket was still closed. (Suddenly, the celebrity benefit of getting an entire store to oneself was starting to have some appeal. I just wasn't that kind of celebrity and wouldn't be getting that kind of benefit.) And the supermarket had been pretty good about putting up with it, possibly because they didn't want to heap more troubles on what they were seeing as an abused child, plus the police hadn't tried to arrest me for causing a commotion. No, the police had just shown up, and it wasn't even an officer from the district I'd been in. Marissa had driven down, because she'd heard about the quasi-disturbance. So she was picking me up. Not for a ride back, mind you. I was wanted in the municipal offices. No quizzes about Mrs. Paglia or Mr. Massee this time, mostly because some of the people there were too embarrassed to mention either one. With cause. No, Alex Cole Day had not been re-canceled, which meant the politicians wanted to know how much of a part Alex Cole was going to play in it. I'd thought Donald wasn't capable of taking 'no' for an answer? Donald should have entered politics. Can we have you for the whole day? "No. I'm being picked up in the early afternoon -- they have to get me to Carnegie Hall, allow enough time for traffic getting into the city, and then there's probably makeup, plus wardrobe -- I can't stay very long." Surely they'd understand if you took an extra hour. This is very important to your hometown. "Showing up on time and not paying the fine for missing the Reunion is very important to me." Even just half an hour over... we're trying to get some cable news coverage in, so the more time they get to film... "It's the same as what I told you about talking about the show. Five million dollars and you can have all the time you like." We're only getting seventy-five dollars a space from the street vendors, and it was hard enough to fill out a full complement for a Christmas Eve fair. We probably shouldn't even be doing this today because we don't know for sure if you're in the Final Four yet, but we're not giving the vendors their spot rent back. Okay -- if you don't go out tonight, then CBS wants to set up cameras in a local bar for the hometown shot. Is there one you visit frequently that you'd like to see featured? Because personally, we want to have them bid for the privilege. "I don't drink. And don't you think it's a bit of a rip-off, asking them to pay for some kind of advertising when no one's going to go there just to drink where I don't drink?" How about a speech at the fair? We've taken the liberty of writing down a few remarks for you. We think you'll like this part about how Haledon is a wonderful place to live, and you hope the publicity generated by the show gets more people to come here. Note the section about breaks for cooperate interests -- "How about I show up, see if the street vendors have anything interesting, and go get ready for the reunion?" Don't you care about what this could do for Haledon? What about all the things Haledon has done for you? "...do you want me to give you a list of all the things Haledon has done for me? Better yet, do you want me to start giving out that list in front of a microphone with cable news coverage in town?" Which had effectively ended that part of the discussion -- and sent things right back to Stage One. Hours, including two breaks for food, just to get them to understand an absolute minimum: I would show up at the fair, I would walk up and down the street a few times, I would say hello to people, and I would sign autographs for one hour. And that was all they were getting, because I had no obligations to Haledon whatsoever, and frankly, they should be glad they were getting that much. For what I was willing to do, they should pick up the bill for any street fair vendor I decided to shop from, and if they did, I intended to get every penny of my lost allowance back in merchandise. Plus interest. Not that I told them that last part word for word, which was how I got them to agree to pick up half the costs up to a given amount and call it an expense account. Plus I could eat for free. Oh, and the local banks would throw in some pens, letter openers, and tote bags, along with whatever other pieces of promotional crap the local businesses were offering that I could get for free just by showing up at any street fair. And if I had a million dollars coming, then the banks hoped I'd think of them (and only them) when I looked at the right pen. (After all, I had to cash the check somewhere.) Hours of that which had basically gotten me exactly nowhere and just about nothing because somehow, they still expected me to be grateful just for having been asked while failing to understand anything else -- really, Donald should be taking lessons from them -- and finally, walking out to Marissa's car with her: she was going to give me a ride back to the apartment. We had just enough time before the show started. Barely. Marissa wasted a few seconds on a quiet chuckle before starting the car. "I swear, if you'd just given up and gone for their necks, I would have had a fit of amnesia for the duration of the attack. That was horrible. And I think half of them were waiting for you to go for their throats. They never pay anyone anything -- I can't believe you even got a half-share on your purchases. That's got to be some kind of record, no matter how long it took you to get it. Christ, you had a couple of them nervous..." It wasn't the first time she'd hauled me into a horror show -- but I was trying to get past that, I really was... "I told you -- celebrity sucks." She nodded. "I'm starting to see where you're coming from on that. I don't even know how you've dealt with all the personal questions this week." A long pause which would normally be interrupted by a cough -- but she'd started on nicotine patches and gotten a prescription for an inhaler. "I wish you'd give me some of the answers." "I can't." Plain and simple. I couldn't. I wasn't even sure how I'd been dealing with all the personal questions when every one I heard felt like a direct hit to my stomach. I'd just been -- getting through it. Somehow. Because anything else meant Jeff's mysterious 'they' had won... Marissa sighed as she made the turn out of the parking lot, flashed her lights twice at a speeder. "There's nothing holding you back any more except yourself. You could talk about it if you wanted to. It's not as if the show's contract has any effect on you there. The only way you would have to pay five million dollars for talking about your life would be if you did it there first, and that's not going to --" She couldn't have stopped any harder by mashing the brakes through the floor. As it was, the car kept going smoothly: her sentence died in the middle of the road. "That can't be it." I didn't answer her. "And you couldn't say anything if that was it... if I got any secret from the show after this thing ends, I'd want to see that damn contract..." "So apply." Now there was a thought. They'd cast police officers before. Get back in shape, clear out her lungs... She laughed. "Yeah -- after two years in a gym and six months in surgical recovery, maybe. I'm not their swimsuit type." Left turn. "Tell you this, Alex -- when I saw the first episode, I never thought you'd be in the last five. And I thought Trooper would win." A shorter burst of mirth -- but this one ended with a quick use of the inhaler. "Part of that's rooting for the cop -- I was really hoping on Ken a few years back -- but he just looked like he could do it. And then Mary-Jane jumped..." "He would have been out on the bounce anyway." This was safe to discuss: the show always let the viewers know where the idols had been. "It was a double force -- vote or bounce, Trooper was going. We just didn't know at the time." That got a long sigh. "Damned if you do, damned if you don't -- if you'd switched targets, then you would have been dealing with Mary-Jane's flip anyway..." We were stopped at a red light: she glanced at me. "Do you do this? Go back over the season, look for moments when things could have changed?" I made a show of thinking it over before I shook my head. "No. There's no real point -- it wouldn't change anything." Marissa went for the all-time world record in Expression Of Frustration, Extremely Slow Exhale Division. It lost something from the wheeze at the end. "You've been saying that too much this week..." Green light: onwards. A few more blocks, two extra turns, and we were approaching the building. Still too much graffiti on it: the landlord was never going to do anything about that, either. He wasn't going to clean, he wasn't going to repaint, he wasn't going to fix the window on the fifth-floor landing that had been stuck open since October, he wasn't going to do anything when all he had to do was sit back and collect the checks. I got out of the car with Marissa watching me, keeping an eye out for any gang members that might be lurking in the bare-branch bushes. Cold air tonight: not as bad as before -- the warming trend was starting to work its way in, kudos for the forecasters and their one-in-infinity accuracy rating! -- but still cold enough to burn a little -- -- burn? The scent hit me before the sight: wind coming off the side of the building and working down. The glance up was almost as prefunctionary as a Jeff-check -- -- smoke streaming through the open window. The flicker of flame that emerged a second later just put the exclamation point on the results declaration. "Fire." It almost came out as a whisper. Fire on my floor. Nothing else visible yet. It must have just started -- it was three minutes until showtime, the building was probably full, just about everyone was in front of their sets, even Ms. Bracia because she wanted to see if I would go out tonight, wanted me to go out tonight... Someone set my apartment on fire. It bore repeating. "Someone just set my apartment on fire." Oddly neutral. Toneless. The challenge has been presented and I don't get to question the rules: I just have to play it. "Call it in!" Marissa stared -- spotted the smoke -- moved for the radio. "Why isn't anyone coming out?" And this was a high-speed hiss: "Because it probably just started, we change the batteries in our own smoke detectors, no one can reach the hallway ones without having to worry about breaking their necks and the landlord isn't going to spend that kind of money, the smoke hasn't reached the working ones yet --" Why was I still on the sidewalk? There was a challenge to run! I took off for the front door, sprinting at top speed, glad not to be in the swimsuit: my feet would probably freeze because neither the sneakers or the beach sandals were designed for warmth -- "Alex!" Marissa yelled after me, breaking into a coughing fit at the end of it. "You can't go --" and another one. I can't bring the cross into the game. I can't get past the first vote. I can't beat the majority after Angela's trick. I can't go into the building. Watch me! Into the building, yelling, screaming at the top of my lungs. Maybe this would be the time it finally did some good. "Fire!" Over and over, pounding on each door before heading up the stairs to the first landing, listening as people started to scramble. "Fire -- everyone get out!" The ones on the lowest floors had time: given any chance and a normal medium to move through, flames propagate up, and it would take a while before anything came down this low. Of course, all the paint on the walls was probably flammable. And toxic. Up the stairs, repeat the process on the second floor... I have to get inside. There was an extinguisher on my landing, but the odds of it being charged were close to zero. After it failed to work, I could open the Coke machine, throw soda on the doorknob, cool it down enough to turn it. All I had to do was get to my hard drive. The rest didn't matter. The work in my sketchbooks gets scanned into the computer when it's complete, making a permanent record on a just-in-case basis. I burn DVDs too, but those probably had a low melting point. I should try for the hard drive first and probably nothing else: I had a small extinguisher of my own under the bed and it was charged, but it was only enough for a small electrical fire, plus I might not even be able to reach it. Just get in long enough to -- save the strip, save my art, save myself -- and get out again. It didn't matter if I took a few burns on the way. What was a little pain? One more flight of stairs, one more door, pound on it, yell my warning, move to the next. I'd been doing this for a while: this was the fourth floor. There had been no response at Ms. Bracia's door: she was probably watching the show in the even cheaper apartment of her latest conquest, and someone else had the kids for the night. She might even know who they were. Below me, yells and screams as people opened their doors to see what all the fuss was about and yell about having their peace disturbed -- which meant they got to smell the smoke. Pounding footsteps, and I got out of the way just in time: one neighbor almost knocked me down in his hurry to reach the staircase. Good: he was out. The smell of smoke was getting stronger, but I wasn't feeling any real heat yet. The fire was still getting started. There was a small chance of getting it stopped before things got out of control: I just had to hurry -- there, that was the fourth floor cleared: the last person was on the way out, and there was the extinguisher for this landing. I wrenched the little door open and yanked it out: it wouldn't hurt to have an extra failed option. Up the stairs, closing in on the landing, I had to alert Mr. Brooks and that might take some work, especially if he was in a post-drunk virtual coma, and then there was Miss Litzfeld, but she might not even be in: she worked nights, she would have to be sick or on a day off and she was usually off on weekends -- -- it wasn't my door. It was Mr. Brooks' door. The fire was licking at the bottom, crawling up the frame, moving for the window and starting to eat through the wood. The stench was horrible, chemicals combusting and proving that no layer of the building's paint might have been up to code, much less whatever was underneath it. The flames hadn't spread to my area yet, but they could, and they would if they were left unattended long enough. That didn't matter just yet. I had to try and put the fire out, and I had to hope it hadn't really had the chance to spread inside. This looked like it was burning from the outside-in: flaming rags at the base of the door. But with all the alcohol inside, especially if he'd spilled some near the entrance, he was always spilling the stuff, I could smell it, and the stuff was an accelerant -- -- it required just a single heartbeat to take all that in: just the essentials, just what I needed to know right now. Everything else was reserved for action: get the extinguisher ready, hope it wasn't a pure chemical fire because if there was anything in this thing, it was just water and it felt too light to have very much: probably emptied by teenagers having high-powered spray fights up and down the stairs, but I had this one, I could go into my apartment for the small one and there was the one on this landing that might have a few drops left, looked over at it -- -- and a shadow unfolded itself from the side of the Coke machine. Dark clothing. Dark shoes. Dark hood, but too loose: it shifted back as he moved, one brief moment of contact with the wall enough to start the removal process. It fell completely away as he stood up. The thought came too late, and it still came at the wrong time: it didn't mean anything compared to what I was seeing. But it insisted on presenting itself in the face of everything else, believing it was somehow important. There's a fresh symbol painted on the wall near the window. The distorted double-S marks. Jake shrugged, looking exasperated, weary, and triumphant all at once. "Well -- I'm glad you came in," he calmly told me. "You should really put some numbers on your door..." ----------------------------------------------------------------- . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (End of Episode #12.)   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

AyaK 3603 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Thong Contest Judge" 01-07-07, 03:10 AM (EST) 15. "Aside" LAST EDITED ON 01-07-07 AT 03:12 AM (EST) Breaking character for the moment... IF Alex survives this (a Harry Potter Book VII question?), Survivor Entertainment Group LLC might have civil liability for Jake's illegal actions. I'll ignore the distortion that lawyers hadn't been trying to contact Alex to sue SEG for Jake's actions on the island (because the contract was entered into in the US, SEG would be liable in the US for Jake's actions/inactions on the island) or that SEG hadn't already settled with her for enough money that she wouldn't be within 100 miles of Mr. Brooks or "Helledon." Obviously, SEG isn't criminally responsible for any actions such as arson or attempted murder that Jake took after his firing; Jake's criminal intent can't be imputed to SEG. However, the fact is that he had already tried to cause harm to Alex during the period of his employment and in the course of his employment, and if SEG let him go without any attempt to ensure that he wouldn't persist in those efforts, I think there's a strong argument that SEG breached a duty of reasonable care with regard to Alex. If Alex survives, she might get to move from Haledon to Malibu, into that nice beach house that Mark Burnett bought. He might need to see if Roma Downey can get a few more bucks from her lame attempts at acting.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Lock | Archive | Remove

Lobby | Topics | Previous Topic | Next Topic

Select another forum Lobby Private Forums (Conference)   |--Modville (Private)   |--Staffboro (Private)   |--The Newsroom2 (Private)   |--The Pressroom (Private)   |--UPI Pressroom (Private)   |--Minimodville (Private) The Amazing Race Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--The Amazing Race Fanatics Forum (Protected)   |--The Amazing Race Basher Forum (Protected)   |--The Amazing Race Spoiler/Speculation Forum (Protected) American Idol Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--American Idol General Discussion Forum (Protected)   |--American Idol Individual Contestant and Judge Discussion Forum (Protected) The Apprentice Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--The Apprentice General Discussion Forum (Protected)   |--The Apprentice Spoilers/Speculation Forum (Protected)   |--The Apprentice: Martha Stewart General Discussion Forum (Protected) Big Brother Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--Big Brother Fanatic Forum (Protected)   |--Big Brother Bashers Forum (Protected)   |--Big Brother Live Feed Updates And Spoilers (Protected) SurvivorBlows.com Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--Survivor Fanatic Forum (Protected)   |--Survivor Basher Forum (Protected)   |--Survivor Spoilers Forum (Protected)   |--Survivor Games Forum (Protected)   |--Spoiler Island Fantasy Game Forum (Protected) Other Television Shows (Conference)   |--America's Got Talent Forum (Protected)   |--America's Next Top Model Forum (Protected)   |--The Bachelor / The Bachelorette Forum (Protected)   |--Beauty and the Geek Forum (Protected)   |--The Biggest Loser Forum (Protected)   |--Dancing with the Stars Forum (Protected)   |--Flavor of Love / I Love New York Forum (Protected)   |--Hell's Kitchen Forum (Protected)   |--Laguna Beach / The Hills Forum (Protected)   |--Last Comic Standing Forum (Protected)   |--Nashville Star Forum (Protected)   |--The Real World / Road Rules Forum (Protected)   |--The Simple Life (Protected)   |--So You Think You Can Dance Forum (Protected)   |--The Surreal Life Forum (Protected)   |--Top Chef Forum (Protected)   |--Trading Spouses / Wife Swap Forum (Protected)   |--Other Reality TV Shows Forum (Protected)   |--24 Forum (Protected)   |--Desperate Housewives Forum (Protected)   |--Grey's Anatomy Forum (Protected)   |--Heroes Forum (Protected)   |--Lost Forum (Protected)   |--Non-Reality Television Shows Forum (Protected)   |--Non-Reality Daytime Soap Shows Forum (Protected)   |--Pirate Master Forum (Protected)   |--On The Lot Forum (Protected)   |--Age Of Love Forum (Protected)   |--HGTV Design Star Forum (Protected)   |--Kid Nation Forum (Protected) Off Topic (Conference)   |--The Help Forum (Protected)   |--Off-Topic Forum (Protected)   |--Off-Topic Sports Forum (Protected)   |--Story Competitions Forum (Protected) FindTheMole.com Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--The Mole General Discussion Forum (Protected)   |--The Mole Clues & Spoilers Forum (Protected) Starting Over Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--Starting Over General Discussion Forum (Protected)   |--Starting Over Individual Houseguest Discussion Forum (Protected)   |--Starting Over Spoilers Forum (Protected) TheOsbournesSucks.com Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--The Osbournes Everything Forum (Protected) TemptationIslandSucks.com Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--Temptation Island Everything (Protected) Other Inactive Shows (Conference)   |--Average Joe Forum (Protected)   |--Beg, Borrow, & Deal (Protected)   |--The Benefactor Forum (Protected)   |--Boy Meets Boy Forum (Protected)   |--The Casino Forum (Protected)   |--The Contender Forum (Protected)   |--Cupid Forum (Protected)   |--Fame Forum (Protected)   |--For Love Or Money Forum (Protected)   |--Forever Eden Forum (Protected)   |--Joe Millionaire Forum (Protected)   |--Joe Schmo Forum (Protected)   |--Grease: You're the One That I Want Forum (Protected)   |--Mad Mad House Forum (Protected)   |--My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance Forum (Protected)   |--Next Action Star Forum (Protected)   |--Outback Jack Forum (Protected)   |--Paradise Hotel Forum (Protected)   |--Playing It Straight Forum (Protected)   |--Project Runway Forum (Protected)   |--The Rebel Billionaire Forum (Protected)   |--Skating With Celebrities Forum (Protected)   |--The Real Gilligan's Island (Protected)   |--Rock Star (Protected)   |--Todd TV Forum (Protected)   |--Treasure Hunters Forum (Protected)   |--Wickedly Perfect Forum (Protected) RealityTVWorld Blowie Awards (Conference)   |--2003 RealityTVWorld Blowie Awards Nomination Forum (Protected)   |--RealityTVWorld Blowie Awards Committee Forum (Private)   |--RealityTVWorld Blowie Awards Discussion Forum (Protected) BootCampBites.com Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--Boot Camp Rant/Rave Forum (Protected)   |--Boot Camp Spoiler/Speculation Forum (Protected) LoveCruiseSinks.com Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--Love Cruise Everything (Protected) Push-Nevada.net.com Message Board Forums (Conference)   |--Push, Nevada Clue & Hint Forum (Protected)   |--Push, Nevada General Discussion Forum (Protected) Inactive Forums (Conference)   |--BlowsVivor Forum (Protected)   |--2002 RealityTVWorld Blowie Award Nomination Forum (Protected)   |--September Eleven Forum (Protected)   |--Cornertime Forum (Public) Acme (Conference)   |--Acme General Discussion (Private)   |--Survivor Spoiler News Clippings (Private)