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dated: Oct 5/6

It's been over a week, and nothing has happened. Nothing bad, anyway. Her family is getting used to the idea of her strange, uninvited friends crashing with them. So far, everyone's followed the rules, and most of the people who'd followed her here have enough of a grasp on Sign Language to hold and follow silent conversations.

And thanks to her mom, Regan's able to keep people somewhat entertained with board games that won't make a racket.

But it's still weird. Regan still doesn't know how she's here, or how all of her friends are here, too. She's come home, but she remembers Darrow. She didn't think that was supposed to be possible.

And yet here she is, standing off to the side while she watches all of these people that she's grown to love and care for, trying to adapt to this new, silent life. How long will they be here for? Is this forever?

It's time to get more fish, because the incredible excess of mouths to feed means they're going through their food much faster. Some of the people who'd come along are more than capable of fending for themselves, so Dad organizes them into groups, with whoever he decides is trustworthy and smart enough to keep people safe and quiet to lead each one. Regan can tell Marcus is relieved he doesn't have to go.

But she still wants to. There are enough people that she allows herself to get easily lost into one of the groups, and they make their ways out, each going in different directions. It's just smarter that way. The fewer people going through the same sandy path, the less likely they'll be to make a fatal mistake.

At least, that's the plan.

It's nice to get out of the yard for awhile, anyway. Some people have stayed behind to help Mom and Marcus get more sleeping areas set up. If they start to think this is permanent, then they'll probably have to find a way to house everyone. They can't all cramp into one space. That's a surefire way to get killed. But for now, spreading out beds is a good move. People need their privacy, and their space.

She doesn't know how it happens. She doesn't know the cause. But suddenly, people are trying to scatter, trying to hide.

And there's a creature. They move so fast, it's easy to overlook them, but she sees it. She'd recognize those movements anywhere, she thinks. And her body responds in instinct, hands clamping over her mouth and staying stockstill.

[ Another gathering! As before, jump in at any point in the post that you want to. Be one of the hunting/foraging parties that gets attacked by one of the creatures, or stay at home and maybe have an encounter of your own! Tag each other, tag around, utilize the NPC Abbott family as needed. Whichever group you want Regan to be apart of, she will be, because Darrow is MAGIC and reality is what we make of it XD be the reason the creature hears your group, or be part of a group completely unscathed and just have a nice little vacation trip to the waterfall! As before, any questions you have can be directed here, and I'll do my best to answer them! ]

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I wanted to point out that I'd done things more dangerous than that before. I'd swum with sharks, battled pirates, fought against the Many-Eyed, and I knew it was different, I knew these creatures were foreign to me, but I also knew it would be wrong to leave Richie there. Even if all we could find was his glasses, it would just feel wrong. Forever.

Beverly's suggestion cut through my thoughts, though, and I nodded. Quickly, I looked to Eddie, my eyebrows drawn together in the question. Would that be okay? I hoped it would. It was a compromise, it meant we would all stay here in relative safety, though I knew it was more than possible for those creatures to come here, too.

"We can do it here," I agreed and my voice cracked and fell apart on the last word.

"Yeah, sure, Regan's dad can go," Eddie said, quickly latching onto the suggestion, because it would mean they wouldn't have to go back out into those woods. They wouldn't be asking him to do anything he wouldn't already be doing, anyway. It would be fine.

"Then we can..." He trailed off, looking around the basement, as if there might be an answer there. The only person he'd even known to die was Georgie, and even then, there'd been Bill with his unwavering hope that his little brother might one day come back. And with that thought, Eddie wondered— God, he wondered... Had anyone ever survived getting attacked by one of those things? Was it possible? What if they'd just left him out there?

But Eddie had seen them, seen their teeth, seen the wicked looking claws on their impossibly long limbs, and all the blood left behind...

"Oh God, I feel sick," he whined softly as he leaned down, doubling over his knees, his arms folding over his head.

As much as anything can be right now, it's a relief when they both agree. At least it's some sort of plan. Whatever is out there — and that really isn't a thought she wants to think too much of that — at least they'll be able to do something for him, even if it's too little, too late. An actual funeral might be out of the question, but they can come up with some sort of marker, maybe. Just thinking about it and the odd finality of it makes Beverly have to hold back a fresh burst of tears, but then Eddie is talking about feeling sick, and she tries to keep it as under control as she can. She turns towards him instead, resting her hand against his back like he'd done to her a moment ago, a little tentative and unsure of herself in a way that she hasn't been with physical affection around Eddie in a long time.

She can't tell him it's okay, because it fucking isn't. Their being in this place, Richie being gone, none of it is the least bit alright. Nothing she can do or say can change that. She knows that too well. Being here for him probably won't do anything, either, but it's all she's got. Helpless, she glances up at Jamie, as if doing so might give her some idea what to say, but she's still at a loss.

"We'll ask him later," she says softly, trying to keep her voice from wavering too noticeably. It doesn't really work. She's afraid, she realizes, in a way that has nothing to do with the monsters outside, only she isn't sure why. Old instincts, maybe. Regardless, it's not something she really wants to examine. Now, when she needs to be here for her friends, isn't the time. "And try to find something that we can use to... I don't know, put his name on, or something."

I was nodding, though I didn't trust my voice, not at first. Instead I waited for a few moments, then pushed away from the wall where I was standing and went to crouch in front of Beverly and Eddie where they were sitting on the last step. I wanted to do something, I wanted to be able to comfort them, to be comforted in return, but I had never done this with anyone else before. The grief of losing my loved ones had always been mine alone, something shared by no one else on the Island and certainly not Peter, so my mourning had always been quiet. Private. This was the first time anyone else I knew had ever been hurt over the same thing I was.

I didn't know what to do.

I just sat there, my arms over my knees, looking at the ground between the three of us. Then I said, "I can carve something. Into a stone or some wood. If you want me to." It wouldn't be the first time I had done something like that. I knew how to make it look nice.

Eddie wanted to scream at them not to coddle him. Not to talk to him like he was a baby. He wanted to just scream, at no one at all. They were trying so hard to be calm, so reasonable and Eddie wanted to tear things apart.

Deep down, he knew Jamie felt the same. Bev, too. But he couldn't help but resent them, a little, just for a moment. He wanted to be selfish in his grief. It was his, and they were talking about headstones and funerals and doing something Richie would've wanted.

Richie would've wanted not to be fucking dead.

"Whatever," he sniffled wetly, wiping a hand miserably across his cheek. "Yeah, we can do that. There's some wood out behind the house, I think."

"Yeah," Beverly agrees, the word coming out as little more than an exhale. Limited as their options may be here, she still thinks there ought to be something, little difference though it will actually make. Richie is still gone. They're still stuck in this place, impossibly far away from the lives they had before. She still has to try with every bit of strength she has not to think about the last time she was party to a conversation like this. Though she was too young to do any actual planning and suspects that she wouldn't have been listened to even if that weren't the case, she remembers what it was like in a way that's somehow both hazy and vivid, and it's the last fucking thing she wants on her mind right now. Things are bad enough as it is.

She hates that she's so worried and uncertain even around two of her closest friends, but once the feeling, familiar as it is, has taken hold, it can't be so easily shaken off. There's nothing she can do and nothing she can say to make this any better. That would've been the case for anyone, she knows, but it's hard to deal with all the same.

At a loss, she does the only other thing left to her: She tells the truth. "I don't know what else to do."

It never got any easier. I had lost so many friends and besides burying them and marking their graves, I never knew what to do. Every single time, I felt utterly helpless and this was no different. I couldn't comfort myself, I couldn't properly comfort either of them and I felt like I was stuck back in the deep, dark hole that the Island had turned out to be.

"I don't know either," I admitted, then sat down on the floor and rubbed my eyes. They were dry now, but they burned and I didn't think they would stay that way for long.

"I don't know," I said again.

Eddie stood abruptly, and while he wanted to stomp, wanted to throw things and scream, he stalked quietly up the stairs and out of the basement, without a word.

He was shaking by the time he made it out into the yard. There was more space, the rolling plains of the frame and the sky stretched above them, but it felt weirdly oppressive, like it was all closing in on them, the shadows too big and dark and every little sound gripping tightly at his throat.

There was wood out back, and rocks, too. Noticeably few tools, but they didn't keep anything around that might make too much noise. He picked up a wooden 2x4, weather worn and bleached from the sun.

Beverly wants to call out after him, but although she's hardly in a very present state of mind, she's just aware enough to stop herself from doing so. Instead, after looking worriedly over at Jamie, she follows along instead, keeping Eddie within her sight but hanging back a little. She doesn't know what to do or say or sign when absolutely nothing will make this better; she doesn't know what comfort he might want or need when, in the past, that's tended to look a certain, frightening way to her. That's not Eddie, of course, not by a fucking long shot, but as much as she hates herself for it, she can't help thinking about the only other person close to her to die and everything that happened after. It doesn't exactly provide a good template for how to handle something like this.

Because of that, it's hard not to feel like she's done something wrong, though she wasn't there and couldn't have known what would happen. Keeping a distance, she wraps her arms around herself, absently — and quietly — scuffing the toe of her boot against the ground until she leans over to pick up a rock near her feet.

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