noonelaughed | All My Luck [Dated Early March, open to all]

Chris reckons he's mostly just lucky that he's got something to keep his mind off it.

Tony's not exactly his best mate, but he's still a mate, so finding out that he's disappeared like so many others is kind of fucked. Though, everything sort of works out for Tony back home, doesn't it? Yeah, so he's in the accident and it's really, really shit, but he gets through it. He's Tony, so of course he does, just like he said he would that day at the pool. He'll just go back to all that.

If that's even how it works when people leave. Maybe it'll be different for Tony and it won't even happen at all this time.

Either way, it mostly just reminds Chris of how he can't go back, and how he's not gonna see his mate again unless the island brings him back. It's fucked up that it works that way, that there's nothing he or anybody else can do about it.

But fuck it, sitting round, being sad about it's not gonna do anyone any good. It's not gonna bring Tony back and it's definitely not gonna make any of this make sense, or make him stop thinking about what'll happen if Maxxie or Cass wind up being next.

Or anyone, really.

The hut's been up for over a week now and the tanks are in place, but he's still got to get the stuff to go in them. Rocks and plants, fish and water. Over a month and he still hasn't got a fucking clue how he's gonna get all the water in it. Or exactly how he's gonna manage to get the massive rock he's found not only up the beach, but into the hut with the tanks, then into the actual tank.

He should have known he'd be shit at this.

Flopping down on the sand next to the rock, he sighs and leans against it, then closes his eyes for a second as he digs his fingers into the sand. When he brings his hand up again, there's something clasped in his palm, something that was there, just under the surface. It's not real gold, of course, but it reflects the light just like Chris reckons it might if it were real gold.

It's not like it matters that it's not real, though, mostly cause Chris know just where it's come from. Maybe the details are all fuzzy from when he first got it on account of the drugs they gave him in hospital, but he does remember bits. He remembers Jal's voice, for one.

Not that any of that really matters all that much, anymore, what with him stuck where he is, knowing that he's the only one he knows who won't ever get to go back home.

Chris wipes grains of sand off of the coin, then turns it over in his hand.

Luck. That's all this is.

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"Yeah, mate." Chris says, "I figure she's probably better off back home though, yeah? I mean... she's gonna be famous."

It's been over a year now, and Chris wonders how she's doing at music college. He knows she got in. They'd have to be fuckin' morons not to let her in.

Eduardo draws in a breath, frowning a little, if only because it makes him think briefly of Olive. Though he's long since realized that he has it better off here than he would back home, no matter how much money he may have wound up with, he knows the same can't be true for her, even if neither of them will ever admit as much. She could do fucking anything; here, she's got to just be held back. It doesn't mean he wouldn't keep her with him if he could, inherently selfish as it might be, though he'd never actually ask her to stay.

"What'd she do?" he asks, figuring that's probably a better direction of conversation than one that will likely lead to them both being increasingly maudlin. He's curious, anyway. After having known Chris for a good long while without a subject like this coming up, he can't help wanting to know a little more about it.

"Clarinet," Chris says, with a small nod, and fiddles with the coin, moving it from one finger to the next, mostly to have something to do with his hands. "She was fuckin' brilliant at it, she was."

Not that he really knows anything about clarinet aside for the times he heard Jal play, but that doesn't mean that she's not amazing at it. Chris is pretty sure Jal was amazing at just about everything, really.

"She's better off though, you know. Not a lot of demand for clarinet players here, yeah?"

"Not a lot of demand for anything, really," Eduardo says, a vague sort of agreement, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. "Except cooking and construction." He'd hated that about this place when he first arrived, the one thing he'd been good at, had spent just about his whole life working towards, rendered irrelevant. It's not a feeling he would wish on anyone. Even so, he knows how much difference people can make, and he isn't so sure that Chris' girlfriend wouldn't be able to find the merits of this place to be with him. "I know what you mean."

Chris is the one who said it first, that Jal's better off, and there's part of him that wishes Wardo would've disagreed with him. It's fuckin' mental to be let down about being agreed with, but it's the way it is anyway.

"Parties, though," Chris replies, and finally pockets the coin, trying to push thoughts of Jal from his mind just then, "Lot of demand for those, though, yeah? I mean, the way I hear it, they were like... fuckin' boring before I showed up."

"Comparatively speaking, I think any party would be fucking boring next to one of yours," Eduardo points out, cracking a wry smile. He can't pretend it isn't a more comfortable subject, though he has to wonder if the shift in topic is deliberate. If it is, that's all the more reason to go along with this now, even with a hint of concern still in his expression. "I don't know how you do it, it's pretty fucking impressive."

"If you throw it, they will come, mate," Chris replies, because that's pretty much all he does. That and find Neil or that guy Walter for supplies beforehand. It doesn't exactly take a lot of planning on his part.

"So when's the next one?" Eduardo asks with a raise of his brow, smile broadening a little. He's teasing, mostly, but it still wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if Chris had something in the works for one. Around here, there's got to be some excuse, and he knows there was one not too much later than this time last year (mostly because he remembers what he and Olive did after). "Soon?"

"Dunno," Chris says with a small shrug, "My birthday's comin' up though, so maybe then."

He hasn't really thought about it before now, that's it's his birthday soon. Twenty seems fuckin' mental, considering he wasn't even supposed to make it to nineteen.

"You should definitely do it," Eduardo says, nodding in easy approval. "What better occasion for one, right? And you know Olive and I will do anything to help." Olive's much better at that sort of thing than he is, of course, but that doesn't mean he won't try. After all, it'd be for a good cause.

All My Luck [Dated Early March, open to all]

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