The Answers Exist in the Choices We Make

Who: Conor and Zania
Where: In the woods near the campsite.
When: After the others go to find the body.

There was something to be said for having the capability to fool one's own mind. For instance, Conor could make his brain believe that he wasn't sick. He could make himself think he was invincible. He had, admittedly, suffered under the delusion that he was immortal for several years now. These facts were never challenged, not even in the very darkest recesses of his own mind, until his chest was tightening and his lungs were grasping and his throat was closing. Like now.

It probably didn't help that he'd moved harriedly, or that he had spent a good few minutes in his panic only half-dressed, or that he'd tried to take control of a situation he blatantly had no control over. It should have been simple: find some people, get to the body, bury the corpse. Of course, none of the other volunteers seemed all that willing to volunteer, and the questions had frustrated him to the height of breathlessness. Asthma paired with panic was the one thing his mind couldn't deny or ignore, the one thing his body succumbed to even when he was at his most Zen. Fortunately, propriety kept him upright and steady, at least until he was out of sight.

He did this alone, always. When he had been a child, his mother would hold him in her lap, desperate as he was for one breath of air to pass into his lungs and remind them of their very purpose. By the time he was ten, he refused her help or anyone's else, generally sneaking away to let the attack overtake him in the safety of solitude. He needed to learn to care for himself, that was the excuse, but the truth beneath it was much more human, much more masculine, and that was that his pride always suffered more than his body from the attacks.

Having effectively stormed away from a mass of irritating strangers, Conor hoped to have distanced himself enough to survive or die alone. He pressed his back against the trunk of a thick tree, using it for balance as he slid to the ground. Rummaging unsteadily through his coat pocket, he searched for his inhaler. What, had he fucking moved it? This was not the time.

For Zania, illusion had just become reality. She'd known Ashley's dead body was floating in the lake, had seen it on her computer screen time and time again. But every time she'd gone down to the lake, it had been nowhere in sight. It had seemed like an illusion, just as the little girl in the house had been, and the queen of hearts. Then again, the queen of hearts had been there in person and had somehow knocked her out. Maybe she'd just wanted it to be an illusion. It certainly made things a little less frightening. But reality came crashing down, and Zania didn't feel she was the best person to take charge. She'd gone looking for Lina, only to find she was missing completely. Her head spun, trying to figure out who else might be of help, but her search for the doctor failed as well. More people missing didn't help her at all, and she wondered if they'd turn up in the lake eventually. What was to say they wouldn't?

Ashley had been a member of the experiment, just like her. Zania had helped her make her mask for the masquerade. She'd been... a friend? Maybe? It was hard to say. Zania thought she'd been removed. If this was what it meant to be removed, how many bodies were in the lake? How many were rotting in the woods? Zania stumbled away from the campsite, her ankle throbbing as she hurried away. Running on a twisted ankle wasn't working out for her though, especially without shoes. When she fell, it was onto her hands and knees, cursing the ground as if it was it's fault for her clumsiness.

Pulling herself to her feet, Zania attempted to regain composure. It was then that she spotted Conor, sitting at the base of a tree. For a moment she just stared at him, never quite sure when her eyes were telling the truth, but then she started over towards him, limping slightly. "Are you okay?" she asked. She'd known he'd abandoned the task of retrieving Ashley, but she hadn't exactly known why. He'd seemed far more composed than she'd been in that situation, but then, everyone came from a variety of backgrounds with many different experiences. Perhaps this was on par with what he was used to.

The sound of someone near startled him, as if it wasn't bad enough he could hardly draw breath, and Conor glanced up, watched Zania tumble to the ground. Simultaneously, he felt the urge to reach for her and to crawl around to the opposite side of the large tree, in hopes of avoiding her. He wasn't sure why she had come into the forest, but it was definitely cramping his style. Conor closed his eyes as she pulled herself up and came near him, trying to get enough air that he wouldn't sound like he was fucking dying when he spoke. It didn't work, so instead he waved a dismissive hand, pausing in his search for his inhaler. He'd beat it without that, now she was here, and try to contain the damage later. "You?" he managed, the word escaping wheezy and strained. He didn't roll his eyes; maybe if he pretended everything was normal, she would too.

Brushing the dirt off her hands and knees, Zania made her way over to him, slowly coming to sit beside him on the ground. Falling was not all that big a deal, not compared to the fall she'd taken into the pit. This had only served to frustrate her, even if it brought her back to reality just a bit. "Kinda," she said, watching him carefully. He seemed to be having trouble breathing and, with the doctor missing, she really hoped he wasn't having some kind of panic attack. Not that he'd be the first, but still, he seemed to be dismissing it. If he wasn't worried about it, why should she be? "I'm just kinda... freaked out. About the dead girl in the lake."

He glanced at her hands as she dusted them off, presumably checking for cuts or scratches, although what he might do about them if he found them was another story. Conor watched as she lowered herself to the ground, trying to slow the heaving of his chest as she spoke. Distracting himself seemed like a fine idea, allowing his body to take over and try to fix itself while his mind focused on other things. He nodded, almost excessively, at her explanation for why she was upset, and lifted a hand to pat her shoulder lightly. "Dead people happen," he wheezed wisely. In fact, he was probably going to be joining the ranks soon if he didn't settle this. Wouldn't that be just the thing to make her day the most traumatic it could be? "We... have coffee?" he asked.

Zania wanted to point out that, in his house, dead people didn't just 'happen'. Ashley was young, couldn't be much older than Zania herself, or might have even been younger. She didn't die of natural causes; she drowned in the fucking lake! And worse, the scientists had removed her stuff, leading them to believe she'd been removed like so many others. These were all good arguments to make, things she might have argued if he hadn't turned the conversation in a direction that she didn't understand in the least. "Coffee?" she asked, trying to figure out what that had to do with a dead girl. As far as she knew, absolutely nothing, which left her wondering what to say to that.

Conor's point was the same, regardless of what she thought. Dead people did happen, all the time. Even if a death wasn't brought on by natural causes, the person suffering was still dead. Hell, Conor was twenty-four years old. His death wouldn't be natural at all if it came by way of an asthma attack. He knew he had managed to set her off-track with the comment, which was a damn good thing, because even if he wanted to, Conor didn't have the capability to try and explain. He nodded, closing his eyes tightly as the moment got more difficult. He exhaled harshly, trying to convince his brain that now his body would inhale just as hard, filling his lungs. When that didn't happen, he pawed at his coat, his fingers feeling useless. He rolled his eyes, closed his fingers around his inhaler, despising it for its very existence, and put it to his lips. Press and release, inhale and hold. It was meant to be so easy, but it never was. His resistance to his medication was getting worse, and since he no longer had his preventive tablets, he had only so much to rely on. The smoking needed to stop, he realized grimly, if he intended to live through the year. A poor thing it was his singular vice. The epi-pen weighed heavily in his pocket, waiting for him to be desperate enough to use it. He only had once, in his entire lifetime with the struggle, and didn't intend to let it happen again. Of course, as this morning had proved, his intentions were not always maintained.

Okay, so, it didn't really matter what he was talking about because it seemed he couldn't breathe. It was an issue Zania didn't know how to handle, one that would probably take calling the nurse, but then he seemed to be taking care of it himself. Or, she hoped that was what he was trying to do. She'd seen people use inhalers before, though she didn't quite understand their use. Perhaps it helped him breathe? God, she hoped so. Though her eyes were wide and her skin was pale, she did nothing, having no clue what to do in the first place. She supposed she could try to give him CPR, but he was conscious and attempting to breathe and-- "What-- What should I do?" she asked, feeling like she really should be doing something for him.

Slowly, his lungs began to function again, his fist relaxing where it had gripped at his side, and Conor tilted his head back against the tree trunk. His throat opened, his chest loosened, and he sighed, coughing in a manner so feeble that he felt anger flare. His face was wet; he swiped at it roughly, glancing briefly in Zania's direction. "Nothing," he wheezed, coughing uncomfortably. He was relieved it hadn't been as bad as it could've, despite his behavior earlier. Thank God he was new; they'd put it down to madness or hysteria or bastardom and he wouldn't have to explain himself. He straightened against the tree trunk, trying to keep his airways clear and open, and stuffed the inhaler back in his pocket. "Keep quiet," he suggested in answer to her question. It was better than nothing, in this case, since he didn't want word of this to get out. "And give me a hand in a minute," he added grudgingly.

The fact that he could answer made her feel worlds better and Zania did as she was told. He may not have known it, but there was loads she'd been keeping quiet about, including the girl in the lake. It was such a small thing, not to mention this to anyone, and Zania really had no reason to do so. As his panic began to dissipate, so too did hers, and she eventually found herself sitting casually on the ground, waiting. This was better than being back at camp and dealing with the fact that, not only was their authority figure gone, but their doctor seemed to be missing as well, oh, and dead girl. Right. He could ask her to play patty-cake and she'd still think it was a better idea than hanging around camp while people worked themselves into a panic. Or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe she was the only one who cared that someone was dead and that chaos would be soon to come. Without Lina, Zania was fairly certain it was just a matter of time.

Conor appreciated the few minutes given to sit in silence, not feeling all that able to talk yet anyway, and not having much to say even if he could. His asthma wasn't something many knew about, because he was always extremely careful to remove himself promptly from situations that might cause an attack, if he found himself in them at all. He had managed this time too -- it was just that Zania had literally stumbled upon him in the course of his secret. Conor despised the attacks and refused to let them be viewed if he had any control over the circumstances. In this case, he would probably take shit for the frantic manner in which he had left, but he'd be damned if he let that bother him. Fuck them; they should have just taken him at his word, rather than pestering him for details that didn't belong in the place they'd been. The dead body should have stayed at the lake; preventing panic had been his goal. "How's the camp?" he asked her after a couple minutes had passed, wondering if they had already launched into full-scale hysteria. That was the problem with too many people being aware of something that scared them. Even Zania was pale with it.

"Lina is missing. So is Dave, our doctor. I don't know who else. They wanted me to go with them to identify the body. I told them to find Matt," she said, not sure if he'd pick up all the subtle little hints in there. Or maybe not too subtle. She'd given orders, tried to stay calm, tried to manage the situation, and they'd pretty much decided to do what they wanted. She couldn't control the situation and it only had hopes of getting worse, so she'd left. It was hard to report much more, though her growing panic had been due to things she knew that she couldn't tell him. Such as the fact that the scientists had known all along that Ashley was dead. They'd covered it up. There'd been no search party for her like there'd been for Greg. "They're still new. And stupid. I could only deal with idiots for so long," she said, knew it was at least partially a lie. She had no real basis for the insults except that they'd frustrated her.

Conor hadn't met Lina, or Dave, or practically anyone. He knew very few people, although it felt like many more than it actually was, considering how overwhelmingly irritating they could be. What he wanted to know was if chaos had broken out in his absence, as he suspected it might -- not because he was absent, but because none of them seemed willing to keep their mouths shut and decide on an appropriate course of action. If Conor ruled the world, no one would know anything unnecessary. People would be tied to vows of silence regarding certain situations, just until it could be decided what was best. Of course, in that scenario, Conor would have an extremely bright, well-paid council of advisors. In this instance, he didn't think he'd toss so much as a penny at the people he'd been trying to get to help him. He snorted at her assessment of the others, not even considering himself lumped in the same grouping, and shrugged. "You don't have to tell me." He already knew.

His response made her laugh a little and relax, yet now she was curious and wanted to ask questions. "Why doesn't it bother you? Finding a body?" she said, head tilting slightly to the side. There were some that might have come running back in hysterics. Conor had been fairly calm, at least until he'd stormed off. She'd thought nothing of it until finding him here. Maybe it did bother him, and that was the reason for his panic attack. She could assume, but she couldn't read minds. It seemed better to ask.

"I've found one before," he said with a shrug, keeping his breathing slow and even. He hadn't felt particularly calm, not after he'd come to a clear and cold realization of all that body might mean, but until that point, Conor had managed to keep a level head. In instances when he should have been highly stressed, Conor had learned that even if he couldn't beat his body, he could beat his mind. So he convinced himself to be level-headed -- that there were important things that needed to be done. The body would need to be buried; an alternate water source would need to be found, to avoid drinking or using contaminated liquid; people would need to be reassured -- if they could be. These things were simple and straightforward and kept him focused on the task. Without them, Conor's foothold was less certain, and he'd had to escape. "Kayaking. People take risks," he explained, shaking his head. Because people, on the whole, were idiots.

"I don't think Ashley was taking a risk," Zania said softly. "Maybe she did, though. She signed up for this." Which could mean any number of things. Why did a nice girl like Ashley sign up for an experiment of this sort. Zania didn't understand it. But then Kaylin had that sort of question mark over her head as well, as did Torlin. They'd tortured Torlin, done it in front of the whole house, and yet Zania doubted she'd known a word of that until it all came out. She wondered if people asked themselves about her, why she'd joined the experiment. Her answer was as good as any. She wanted an escape and the money was tempting. In the beginning, it had been better than reality. Now, not so much. "Do you want to go back? Or just... stay a while?" she asked.

Conor had distinctly not been thinking about the body in the lake, and now he had a name to put to it, as well as a recent history. He had originally assumed that the corpse had once belonged in the experiment, but he had refused to consider what that meant. He didn't know how she had died, and with the house doctor missing and the body buried, there was no way to tell, not unless they exhumed her -- and anyway, the way she'd smelled, that wouldn't do any good. She had likely already decomposed beyond usefulness. He didn't want to think about it. Conor glanced at her, nodded once, and tucked his feet up beneath him. He held out a hand to her, eyes hard as he demanded, "Up," and took a breath as he moved into a standing position. More likely than not, he looked like shit; ah, well. He'd pass it off on smoking and a lack of sleep. They could assume what they wanted -- he was coming to find that was what they'd do anyway.