Reyes / Sullivan / Katrina | Drew

Reyes had been enjoying his 4am down by the pond, as he did every other, with his journal in hand and some sort of terrible-tasting protein smoothie that made his contemplation time so much less tranquil. On this particular morning, a handful of leftover drunkards were also taking away from the serenity of his early morning routine. He heard a few of them stumbling down the path, laughing and conversing with one another much too loudly. Out of the corner of his eye, he also saw another individual making their way down towards the pond. He considered that he should probably guide that person away from the water in case they had a death wish, but he decided that it was their problem to begin with, and if something happened it would only make the world quieter and less chaotic. Chaos was the very fabric of his nature, the object of his attraction, but he had far removed himself from that. When he thought of chaos, he thought of a lot of things. Now, Drew was added to the list of things that came to his mind when he heard that five-letter word. She was also one of the things that reminded him of what he’d left behind, his whole life and his whole identity alongside. He could never let himself get close to her, she’d open up too many old wounds he preferred to leave recklessly and carelessly patched up. Yet, something deep within him knew that she knew that, and she’d take it as a challenge. He didn’t know how he felt about that yet, he had to think about it.

After a few more moments of agitated observation, Reyes decided to make his way down to the barn early. It was almost time for Katrina to make her way down to the barn and start her own rides, and he was counting on her to be present while he hacked a new and particularly unruly stallion that had just come in from somewhere in Europe. Or maybe it was Florida. There were so many new horses these days that he couldn’t keep them straight. On his way down to the main barn, he bumped into Sullivan Doyle. He could only tell by the noticeable limp in his stride. It was unique, distinct, something that Reyes envied to some extent. It made him stand out from the rest of the world. Reyes always wished he had one of those things, he tried to create one often in his past. Since he’d lost himself, he’d forced himself into solidarity with the elite crowd here at White Oaks, though he felt so far from it. So much of him wanted to cry, to feel pain for the complete sacrifice of self he had done. He wanted to run back to his past, he’d crawl back if he had to. Nostalgia was lying to him, telling him that life was better then and he’d never be the same, he’d never be this person. He felt so conflicted. Then again, when did nostalgia ever tell the truth?

“Sullivan,” Reyes greeted coldly. Still, it was more of a greeting than most received.

“Hey there...buddy,” Sullivan’s expression acknowledged Reyes, though it was dark and he couldn’t see exactly who he was speaking to.

“Don’t tell me you’re drunk too.”

He gestured with his fingers, “only a little.”

“Dios mio,” his expression disapproved. “How many White Oaks people were at that poor couple’s wedding?”

“What wedding? There was a wedding?!”

Before he could respond, one of the stragglers slowly stumbled into Sullivan’s arms. He didn’t seem to mind, he even opened his arms to receive her. “That’s it, come on in,” he didn’t seem to mind at all that a stranger was hugging him, he even seemed to welcome it. He was the most intriguing individual to Reyes, he had completely piqued his interest. “You wanted a hug, you got one of the best.”

Seeming perfectly content in this drunken embrace, Reyes studied him for a moment. Then his gaze dropped to the stranger in question, who was little of a stranger at all. “Drew?” Her hair was a mess and her clothing was all too revealing. In a benevolent, protective kind of way, he wanted to cover her up, to protect her from prying eyes. He knew all too well that the world was cruel and ruthless, he didn’t want her to attract the wrong kind of men. He knew they were the only ones that remained from the party the night before, and he feared what might happen to her if she walked around here in the dark in this vulnerable state.

“Ew, physical affection. Reyes,” Katrina greeted as coldly as he had greeted Sullivan. “Did you still want to hack together this morning? I’m headed down to bring a few horses in for rides now.”

“Yeah,” he deliberated, “just, give me a minute. I’m going to take her back to the dorms.”

“I’ll do it,” Sullivan offered, “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Reyes didn’t trust him enough. “No, it’s fine. I forgot something anyway.” That was a lie. He wanted the satisfaction of seeing her laying in her bed and feeling the lock of their door behind him. That way he knew she was safe, at least as long as she didn’t try to follow him back out. “C’mon, Drew. Let’s get you back where you belong, alright?” His voice was softer, gentler talking to her. It was as if he were talking to a child or a puppy, something that only partially understood him. “Walk with me, okay? Take my hand so you don't wander off.”

Rena | Alex, Katya, Sofia

Alex was judging her, she could feel it in his gaze. He couldn’t even look at her. She felt pitiful in a way that she physically had to remove herself from feeling. Though, wasn’t that how people felt around her all the time? She couldn’t look at them in the same way that he couldn’t look at her. She could also feel the self-loathing radiating off of him--an equally familiar feeling. “Don’t feel guilty,” she softly interrupted the conversation she knew he was having with the voices in his head, “you need to hear that it’s not your fault. If you had spoken up, if you’d gotten someone to find me sooner, we’d have much bigger issues. It happened exactly the way it was supposed to.”

Even she could hardly hear herself say those words, reason that it was fate or God’s perfect plan. Viktor was dead. If he hadn’t died, it would be Max that would be dead. Or maybe both. Maybe Rena too. Was it wrong that something deep within her wished that Max had died and Viktor had lived? Was that selfish? Malicious? Psychotic? She sighed gently, physically manufacturing a pleasant expression, something carefree that would put his mind at ease. That was her job, wasn’t it? To kill herself to make everyone around her feel comfortable? That was a feeling she’d never know, comfort. There was only where she was and where she was supposed to be. Her life was the sum of boxes left unchecked on a never-ending to-do list.

“Hugo? Oh, thank you,” the half-smile returned to her face yet again as her memory recalled her beloved horse. She stopped thinking about him after day two or three, the name felt unfamiliar on her lips. She had a certain expectation that as soon as she returned to the farm it’d be back to work for her. Now she had four horses to ride. Max’s, Viktor’s, and her two. She even thought about taking up one of the boarders on doing training rides on a Thoroughbred gelding just to keep herself moving. A small voice in the back of her mind screamed in terror that this trauma would be permanent, though, that she’d have some kind of reaction to the smell of a barn or the feeling of dirt. She didn’t know how she was supposed to feel, and she wished someone would tell her the guidelines of how to act so she could appropriately exceed objectives as usual.

As she was lost in her own thoughts, she began to watch Alex unravel. She thought she watched him reach every stage of grief, all in a flowing sequence. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. He hadn’t reached the final stage yet, she worried he wouldn’t. Watching the devastation wash over him felt like something of a fever dream, shouldn’t she feel that? Shouldn’t she feel something? She made a conscious choice to turn her emotions off, she felt absolutely nothing. It was like she was in a protective, waterproof bubble and while everyone else was drowning in the tsunami of grief, she was just floating atop it, high above the destruction and the death. She let him process the information, then watched him grow more frantic. The Rena who felt things--any things--and especially felt love for Alex would have wanted to get up, comfort him, do anything to take his pain away. All this one felt was numb, comfortably numb. In an almost sing-songy, inquisitive tone, Rena asked, “when you escape in your mind, where do you go?”

As he started to go off on a tangent about what was and wasn’t okay, she gave him the simplest, softest smile. Her voice returned to that gentle, neutral tone, so far from its usual excitement and passion, its zest for life and knowledge. “Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay, it is okay. I promise. I am okay. I’m better than okay. I’m going to get everyone through this, okay? I promise. We’re all going to make it through this.” She watched him with sympathetic eyes, forcing as much empathy as she could wear without seeming suspect. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You and Sofia are going to take me home, I’m going to take a shower and put on clean clothes and do whatever else I haven’t been able to do for eleven days, then we’re going to sit down and I’m going to start working on plane tickets and funeral arrangements and everything else that happens after someone dies. It’s going to be okay. We have a plan, and we’re going to get through it. I’m going to get us through it.”

Not long after, Katya and Sofia re-entered. Sofia’s face gradually fell as she made her way from the hallway back into Rena’s arms, Katya showing her grief blatantly as well but in a more silent way. Rena resumed her position comforting Sofia, telling her how strong she was, how proud of her she was, how proud Viktor would be, how they’d get through it. Promises that would be empty and meaningless if they didn’t come from Katarena Suta. She changed into the clothing Sofia had brought her from her dorm and wobbled on her cane, making a careful effort not to touch anyone or receive help from them, even if it killed her. She hadn’t wanted a wheelchair despite her weak and slowly improving state, she’d insisted on something that would grant her the slightest bit more independence. They said goodbye to Katya and drove home.

“Sofia,” Rena began, “I know how badly you’re hurting, but it might do you some good to get your mind off of it for a little while. We have all night to cry in our rooms, okay? Why don’t you take Hugo for a hack? His tack is all in the tack room, it’s labeled.”

She nodded softly, walking off in the direction of the dorms to get dressed for a hack. She’d been very silent the entire drive home, they had all been. Rena assumed that eventually she’d have to take Alex back to get his car from the hospital, she hadn’t thought any of that through when she’d offered him her master plan. She wondered if he’d driven with them out of pity. That had to be it, right? Pity? She hated pity, it was the worst thing a human being could extend to another. Worse than malice, worse than anything. She turned back to him. “Well, unless you want to spend your afternoon making funeral arrangements for a grieving family, you’re free to go do whatever it is you do in your free time.” She smiled softly, that same fake smile she was getting far too used to. “Thank you for coming to the hospital, and for coming back with us, and for everything. You didn’t have to. It’s appreciated.” Keeping that same smile, she turned towards the dorms as well, wobbling down the front pathway on her cane at a slow enough pace that she wouldn’t grow too dizzy. “Text me later if you need anything, I’ll be around,” she called over her shoulder, forgetting that, in fact, he did not have her number to text her. She felt annoyingly, perfectly strong and emotionless, which was exactly how she wanted to feel. She felt successful, admirable, the things Viktor never allowed her to feel for too long before he pulled the plug on her apathy.

Silas Su-Jin | M: Rish has too many characters

"Ooh! Ducky, Jinny, Mister Z... My favorite's Six. Cause, you know, six." Su-Jin raised his hand at the last bit, wiggling his fingers so as to draw attention to the number. "Betcha didn't notice." He added with a playful wink.

The buzzing in Willa's pocket was enough to encapture his entire attention. It was pure luck that he'd resisted the desire to grab the device out himself, beat by the woman's noticing. As she answered the call Su-Jin tried to be polite and tune out the sound, forcing his eyes to wander around the dim, boring room they'd found themselves in, to a lack of success. "Eavesdropping", if this could be considered that at all, was just too interesting to ever pass up. You could learn so many new things, big and small, that you otherwise never would! But, unfortunately the conversation only lasted a moment, so this didn't turn out to be much of a chance, as he hoped it would. Shame. He gave an accepting nod to Willa's comment, at least glad to have an official destination in mind, finally.

Of course their conversation moved to horses. It wasn't surprising whatsoever, being on a horse farm and all, though surely uncreative. Wasn't enough to phase him at all, but it deserved acknowledgement. Everyone here, at some point, would turn to horses, to avoid anything deeper. Even his family did it. Su-Jin longed for something more personal. He'd often been called nosy or annoying for this preference, but he couldn't help loving originality. Ah, well, he loved his equine companions with a fiery passion, too, anyhow, as long as the moment was right. He could muster the same excitement for this as he had naturally for secrets.

"I'm sort of an indecisive hobbledeegook. Somewhere around here I've got both a teeny weeny gaming pony, and a dumbass monster show jumper. Can't go wrong with fun." Su-Jin smiled that soft look he was so good at. "My family has, like, a million. But those two are my favorite. I might as well just steal them. What do you do, then? You don't strike me as a wine gobbling polo heehaw."

Entering the building they were actually supposed to be in turned out to be a slap in the face. The professionalism of the woman guarding the place was the one sort of thing Su-Jin couldn't find a way to make comfortable. Why don't these sort of people just chill out? Tight coats, tidy spaces. Everything was just too clean. Where was the warmth, the blankets? Even at a fancy desk job, he'd bring blankets. Couldn't they at least have a comfy chair? The other people lingering in the office were a bit better, but the uptight aura still remained.

Soon he found himself stifling the urge to bounce around all giddy at the sight of a familiar face, a 'friend'. Well, it was easy to stay still when you were eternally half-asleep, but the general idea of energy was still in there. Whatever you wanted to call it, it was sparked by Sawyer. He hadn't felt like he missed him until right this second, getting to see him again, after minutes'a break. He was much too in love with every person he met, evidently.

Whoever spoke, he directed his attention to, back and forth. He wasn't used to being offered hand shakes, but he made sure to take Nash's firm. His father had made a point to grill in the correct way to shake a hand, many years ago. It wasn't something he quite understood the importance of, but if dad said he had to do something, of course he would listen. In a way, he was that man's string puppet.

"Need help? I'm a pillow but I could probably do something." Su-Jin shrugged, slipping his hands into his hoodie's front pocket. "I'll definitely join."

It crossed his mind that he may not have eaten in a couple days. He wasn't sure, really. When he did eat, he could shovel down twelve thanksgiving dinners and still feel perfectly normal, like maybe he'd just had a snack a few hours before then that was holding him over. But he never had an appetite or craving. He had to be sure to eat quite a good bit when he got around to it, as he never knew how long it'd take him to remember he had to eat again. How tedious it was. Forgetting over and over was quite relaxing, in all honesty. Still, he'd take this reminder to heart. And this way, he could still enjoy himself with people while he took care of himself.

"Do you think there's actually gonna be anything good here? It's probably like summer camp beans, isn't it... There is nothing worse than summer camp beans."

Louis | Brielle

Coming into the vicinity of potentially the most dangerous place in the whole wedding occasion – the bar, obviously – Louis began his typical scan of the people present, just to gage where he could find Reggie. And also where he wouldn’t get too involved with some boisterous uncle with an iron grip and an even stronger tongue. Because getting caught by those was always a game-over, because then he would have to listen, for hours, to how the bride was once a wee-toddler getting her first boyfriend, and how she once could fit into one arm, and how she was so grown-up and independent now. In the words of all the cool kids across the globe, TMI. As in, way, way too much information.

After homing in on the location of said uncles, his eyes fell upon an attractive woman, bedecked in a floral dress and matching jewellery. To say that she had good taste would certainly be accurate. And seeing as her smile seemed to be directed towards him, judging by how her eyes met his, presumably she wanted to chat as well. At the back of his head, he distinctly recalled having seen, or even briefly meeting her before. And never one to miss an opportunity to get to know people beyond their appearance and a vague memory that they’ve met, he threaded through the crowd in her direction.

Extending his own hand to return her handshake, he felt how petite her own hand was in his own. Yet despite that, he could feel her confidence, and even to a degree, her intelligence, in the firm manner she held his hand. Her hand wasn’t wet and without the presence of cracked skin, the number of times that she shook his hand was the perfect number and her eyes never dropped away from his. The clear markers of someone who knows their value, who takes care of themselves and is highly educated by some means or another. She was not one of those country-bumpkins, nor one of the typical blondes that he had had much pleasure meeting across the entire length of his life. Here was a one of the few counterparts with whom he could have a fulfilling and engaging conversation that stretched further than where she got her nails done.

The laugh clearly evident in his eyes and in the brilliant smile, “Would you believe me if I said neither?”

“But, more than that. So, to whom do I now owe a drink? I believe we’ve met before - briefly.”

Dublin | M: None

Nothing was okay. Not the slightest little note. This sickness was so incredibly intense, his guts might as well have been getting torn out his throat. How did we get here? How did everything sizzle into pain every time?

The unstoppable flow of mistakes had unleashed a darkness over Dublin. Everywhere he turned, there was anger, impulses, panic. He just couldn't figure out how to be normal. As usual, he used his anxiety as an excuse to smoke nonstop, like his life depended on it. Quite the contrary. So upset, he'd taken to going through at least a pack a day, closer to two or three. He was trembling, twitching, almost struggling to catch a clean breath between each burst of cigarette clouds, but he was convinced they were helping. He was going to be better after each stick down. He had to be. He couldn't keep fucking up. There had to be a way to relax, right? This wasn't all there is?

Unsurprisingly, this habit had him feeling awful. What a bloody understatement. Keeping balanced was a chore under this stabbing illness, and he could hardly hold a thought anymore. The headache was paralyzing. At least he had the satisfaction of some twisted sort of success; he wasn't yelling anymore. He wasn't doing any of the things he'd been hoping to avoid, he wasn't doing anything. This was what he wanted, wasn't it?

But Dublin was failing. His work was subpar. Lessons, or any activities with Danny, had grown ugly and dangerous. He was so mad, but he couldn't muster the energy to do anything about it, especially after not having rested more than an hour a night for the last week. But yes, of course. The smoking was helping. It didn't even feel good to do it anymore, but no. This was good. This was what had to happen. People would like this Dublin. He would like this Dublin. This. Was. Good.

Some night, he'd found himself giving up on trying to sleep anymore. He was entirely exhausted, but the pain kept his bloodshot eyes glued on the ceiling, wide awake, once again. This just wouldn't end, would it? A reluctantly accepting sigh escaped from his shakily sinking chest, and with the weight of a thousand men pulling him downward, he struggled his way up to a sitting position. He jammed his eyes shut as tight as they could go for a moment, resisting one of those sleepy tears that was determined to poke through. By the time they'd opened again, he'd had an idea. He could end it for a moment. Maybe just a fleeting moment of nothingness was all he needed to crack a smile again. It's been a while since he had. This wasn't a morally right way of going about it, but that didn't matter by now. Dublin sunk to his feet, very nearly falling over, and stumbled through the empty darkness of the room, finding a coat somewhere and slipping out the door with what little consciousness he had left. The light in the hall was more than blinding, stealing any thoughts he could have had, and he never truly adjusted to it before he'd gotten outside into the embrace of darkness again.

How he made it to town like this, he didn't know. Most of the journey felt like he'd blacked out for. With what little flashes he remembered, he was actually glad he wasn't aware during it. The same thing occurred as he used what little money he had left after this whole cig ordeal to purchase multiple bottles of alcohol and fall back home. He didn't really care what it was he'd gotten, as long as it fed his desire. This was yet another thing he had an addiction for. And, like the current habit with the other, he tended to make himself sick with the quantity he'd take at a time. Right now, the overdose was intentional. He wanted to black out. It was the closest he'd get to sleep for a while.

Flash of vision here, flash there. Before he knew it he was huddled in a corner somewhere, what definitely seemed to be White Oaks again, chugging the stinging liquids mercilessly in what little light drifted in from a small lamp in the other room. An eery laugh left his lips, so heavily dragged in pain and misguidance. It felt so wrong. So it had to be right. Everything he did was wrong, this just fell in line. Oh, next bottle already? Here goes.

Dublin wasn't a fun, party drunk. He wasn't angry or violent, either. He was sad. He was real. It was a moment of clarity, knowing where he came from, what he'd done, his ongoing mistakes, and where he was going. The impulsivity and fight to protect himself from invisible villains was gone, and all he was left with was that soft, sad, panicked interior he buried himself in. And the tears rolled in.

He burrowed his face deep into his knees, arms building a wall around him. His body jerked in giant, trembling sobs, so deeply rooted within him, he couldn't breathe. Why was it so hard to fade away? Just let me disappear. Please. It didn't work. Work, work, someone make it work, why was this necessary? God? Can it stop now?

By now he felt the nausea of over-drinking rising within him, helped by his shaking. He grew paler, if it all possible. He imagined his mother taking care of him when he felt unwell as a child, when she was still alive. The pain intensified. He didn't want to think about her. He didn't want to admit he loved her. She hated him, why did he love her? She was gone, he couldn't love her. Stop. Fucking. Loving her, damn it.

The tears stained his face, continuously pouring like a dam break as he lifted his dizzy head, world spinning, eyelids flickering as his gaze failed to focus on anything. He might as well have been clumsily pulled along by a string puppeteer, hand patting around for the last bottle of alcohol he had left. Whatever it was, it was doing its job. He knew there was just a little more pain, probably some vomit too, until he fell unconscious. That's all he needed. He wasn't a praying man, but he found himself doing so for this.

Let me disappear.

She stayed busy. She texted the two close friends she had made. She worked like a dog and enjoyed it. She tried desperately to get better. She tried harder than ever to close ornate doors decorated with cornflowers and carved scenes from her childhood. Work kept her sane and gave her an excuse not to text her father back or answer the insistent calls. Gave her a reason to not feel any guilt when her mother called her in tears because she missed her “oh so much!” and just wished she “would come home for a week or two to visit!”

Trystan was too busy.

She was incredibly busy now, pushing Krigare over jumps she had pitifully set up herself and failing miserably at clearing them. It wasn’t his fault, the bay gelding never had an off day. Truth be told, he was getting pissy with her and she could tell. Gently she slowed the giant to a stop and dismounted with a puff of sand and a sigh of defeat. Patting the strong neck that now drooped with annoyance the girl let out an angered huff.

Today was supposed to be a good day. The sun had been shinning when she woke up and Belle had been less of a bitch than normal. Her chores went smoothly and her back didn’t ache from the hours of riding the day before. Nothing was there to bother her, nothing physical anyway.

Tryst took a dark leather glove off and reached for her phone. She cleared the two missed calls and three pitiful texts from her father before sending a quick text to Olivia and Heather to see if their days were going any better than hers. They were off somewhere on the farm or at an event she was sure (or so she hoped, she wasn’t sure she could handle their worry today).

Slipping the phone back into the pocket of her jodhpurs she called her mount’s attention back to her. He looked angered and she offered him a small smile and a rub on his dark muzzle.

“Was sagt ihr, wir versuchen es nochmal, mein kleiner Schatz?”

She muttered into his poll as she scratched his neck with her ungloved hand. The other gripped his reins tightly though were careful not to pull at his face. Her hands shook as she remounted and adjusted her helmet.

By now the sun was fading and the barn lights were beginning to turn on one by one like little blinking stars swarmed by tiny bugs and pretty-winged moths.

She took the bay in a slow warm up trot around the ring to re-engage his muscles before pulling him into a working canter. She tried her absolute best to clear her buzzing mind as they approached the first jump. Krigare was ready to do it right, he was for once getting tired of redoing the same course over and over.

He may have been ready but she wasn’t yet.

The girl hit the ground before she could register that she had even been in the air. Her lungs cleared in a miserable gasp and she let out a groan of pain that recached through each and every bone in her small frame.

Krigare watched from a corner of the arena, where concern would normally be, he merely looked unimpressed. Just like a trainer the old man knew it was coming and knew she wasn’t dying so he stayed there and waited for the girl to get off her ass.

Tryst could scream. If she had one less stitch of control she would have. Instead she let out a low growl and sat upright. The girl tore her helmet off before throwing it halfway across the arena in a pitiful attempt to ward off the anger. Looking down she wiggled her toes and stretched her arms. Other than dull throb that would rock her to hell and back in the morning, she was fine. Taking a glance at Krigare she groaned, if the gelding could speak he would be cackling at her from his spot far away from her.

gosh i missed having an insane one in here

Brooks Sibs + Wes + Heidi + HP | Su-Jin

“That’s nice,” Willa replied, just a bit distantly. He had been rambling on about horses while she was still fixated on locating their destination. Wine-gobbling polo heehaw. An amused smile manifested above a neutral canvas. She glanced over at him, he was an amusing individual to say the least. “Not quite. Our family bred and raised Quarter Horses and Paint Horses for generations and generations, so naturally all three of us do pretty much every western event and a little bit of english riding. Where we’re from, that’s seen as prissy, though, so we haven’t done too much of it. Had a few horses through the years with natural talent for jumping but mostly they’ve gotten sold. Sawyer does all the crazy stuff like bull and bronc riding, ‘reckon that might be the real reason he’s so stupid. I do barrels, poles, those kinds of things, and I also do a lot of reining. Nash is a lot better of a reiner than I am, though. He does that and the quieter stuff like horsemanship, halter classes, pleasure classes, stuff like that. Breed showing. Above all, we do a lot of ranch riding. We had acres and acres in Montana to work the cattle, barely had an arena. All the prissiness here is going to take some getting used to.”

“Heh, camp beans. I reckon you’ve been to camp a time or two.” His expression, his inflection, it was all nearly identical to the way Willa spoke. Nash glanced down to pick up his bag, a lopsided grin on his face at the thought. “We’re gonna get along just fine, Silas.”

“Happy Camper,” Sawyer replaced his name with a nickname, it hadn’t taken long. “Or we can just call you Camp Beans if you prefer.”

“Wes, you ever been to camp?”

The conversation trailed on casually as the group exited the office, headed towards the dorms. They forced Wes along too, just to have the company. There was very little to do in either room, just move a piece of furniture or two and unpack loosely to the point where Nash could ensure that they had everything they had left with. Decidedly, they could extensively unpack later, when there was more time and less to do. The little group, now well-acquainted, made their way down to the dining hall for lunch. On their way, their group grew a little larger.

“Hey, you, you look interesting.”

“Sawyer!” In a hushed, antagonized tone, Willa added, “you’re gonna offend someone.”

“It’s called making friends, Willa. Try it some time.” He smiled again at the girl, a red-haired girl with a conflicted expression on her face. She wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not. “Yeah, you. Come here. Your goofy-looking friend, too.”

Skeptically, Heidi crossed the lawn to greet their little gang, Hans Peter in tow. “Hallo,” she replied plainly. “I am Heidi, this is Hans Peter. Who are you?”

“Y’all aren’t from around here, are ya? Yer, like, German, or something.”

“I am from Netherlands.”

“Where’s that? Near India or somethin’? Even remotely close to Nazi Country?”

“And, that’s where I cut you off,” Nash pulled his brother’s arm, the strawberry-blond’s cowboy hat dipping and falling in his face as a result. “We’re sorry about him, we don’t take him out much.”

“They take me out too much,” he replied with a devilish grin. “Anyway, y’all hungry? You should eat with us. Or just sit at the table, I could care less if you eat or not.”

Heidi looked to HP, still confused and very skeptical, but they both nodded to each other and then to the little group. “Sure,” she said softly.

The growing group of newer riders made their way into the large cafeteria building off of the main stretch of farm, falling into a respective line and getting whatever lunch items they desired. One after the other, they seated themselves at one of the larger tables with Wes, Su-Jin, and Willa on one side and Nash, Sawyer, HP, and Heidi on the other. “So, firstly,” Sawyer began from between forkfuls of lunch, “what on God’s green earth is the story with these damned eggs? Why does everyone keep talking about them? And why are there so many left over from breakfast? I felt like I was at a strip club up there.”

“Don’t even finish that thought, buddy.” Nash smiled, subtly amused with his brother.

“He has to now,” Willa said with a certain sarcasm dripping off her words. “I’m on the edge of my seat over here.”

“Nah. It’s so much better if I don’t explain what I mean. Secondly, let’s start off with some light meal conversation. What would you do if you found a dead body in a hotel room? Camp Beans, floor’s yours. You go first, then you pick who goes next.”