Like Coffins in a Row

Who: Conor and Zania
Where: Around the chapel
When: Late Morning

This was chaos. Pure chaos. Sure, they were assigned to tasks, but the tasks were vague and no one seemed to have direction. Zania would rather have been in her tent sewing people new things to wear, but she hadn't exactly been given that choice, so she was back on shelter duty. Yesterday that had been a productive endeavor, but today it seemed kind of pointless. Or, from where she was standing it was, at least. The building part was done, in her opinion. Now there were other tasks to be seen to, and she'd get on them if no one else was going to do them. The chapel, for instance, wasn't quite being utilized to it's full capacity. For one thing, it was hot as hell in the afternoon, with so many people in it, but at least it had a roof, a solid roof at that. Zania slowly began to walk around the chapel, looking up at the windows. They needed to open all the windows and let some air in. And she wondered if it was possible to climb up to the top of the bell tower...

It couldn't be said that he was sad to be parting ways with the unpleasant Asian girl, but Conor wasn't completely convinced this had been his best bet ever. Of course, it would be hard to top the time he'd guaranteed he could base-jump from the top of the Chrysler Building. He'd only lost that wager because of the arrest -- apparently he hadn't paid the right people, but he felt that was entirely beside the point. Though he believed her to be mostly demented, clearly bitter, and positively in need of a good laying out (of a sort), Conor also suspected she wasn't entirely wrong about what she'd said. Scientists, for all their work, were a notoriously unstable bunch, and he still hadn't been told why the place had burned down -- or when they'd be relocated, or if they would be at all. Asian Girl's opinion was hardly complimentary or particularly valid. He walked around the chapel, smoking absently, and laid eyes on a white girl, which he felt might conclude with more promising results, especially if she wasn't fucking blind. "Hi," he said, more to get her attention than to greet her. "I'm looking for Bitchface McSheriff." Conor observed her more closely. "Unless you have anything particularly illuminating to share."

Zania turned to the man that greeted her, quickly assessing that he was new. It took less than a second, based on the fact that he had clean clothes, something most of the camp was severely lacking. What a laugh, she thought, They'll even bring people in when there's nowhere to put them. It only solidified her belief that they'd get new living arrangements eventually. "Are you talking about Hannah or Lina?" Zania asked, raising one brow with a little smirk. "Bitchface would be Hannah, the blind Asian girl that's looking to be smacked by someone. McSheriff would be Lina, I'm assuming. While she can be a bitch, I guess, she has nothing on Hannah. She'd be our house authority. I think she's gone hunting for the day though." Zania considered his final comment, then nodded to herself. "Interested in helping out?" Zania asked. "I'm thinking about re-arranging the church."

"Ah!" he responded, pleased to have gotten information without needing to ask -- even though this one seemed like a talker, too, God help him. "Unpleasant Blind Asian Chick. Yes, I've met her. I assume she's the one who came up with the unfortunate little nickname for -- what did you say her name was, Lina?" The house needed an authority? Good Christ. Conor shrugged at her; he didn't have anything better to do, even if he didn't particularly have what she considered interest. Besides, he supposed it was too early to be resistant to the Ways of the Experiment, not until he'd sorted out what was required or expected, and what it all meant. Helping in the church wasn't his idea of entertainment, but then, neither was building a shelter. "I tithe," he offered glibly. "Planning on rearranging that particular practice?" He exhaled smoke, glanced at the chapel. It wasn't as large as the churches he'd been in -- of course, he didn't suppose it was expected to hold thousands of funereal guests either. "Whatever you want," he remarked.

Amazingly enough, that amused her and Zania snorted softly as she smiled. "I was thinking more along the lines of the pews," she said, "I'm not sure I'd count anything here as a religious experience, unless you've been searching out one of the many layers of hell. Follow me?" she asked, then began to lead him around to the front of the church. They passed a group trying to build a large tent-like structure, random people doing different tasks. The stockades still stood outside the church, broken. Zania led him inside. "I was thinking we'd move that row of pews between those," Zania said, pointing. "That way the benches will face each other, providing a place for people to lay down. It'd also free up this space. I know we need to leave the front alone, since that's where the doctor is set up, but I think it would be useful back here." Zania looked at him, curious to what his opinion would be. "Did they really just drop you off out here?" she asked, unable to help herself. It still seemed like a fabulously cruel joke. Then again, everything was to the scientists. She no longer knew what was real and what was not.

Of course she wasn't thinking about having a religious experience; Conor didn't know many people that did. Think of it, that was. Or have them, for that matter. He followed her into the chapel, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looked around. The place was as creepy as churches tended to be, though he supposed if they were intending to break it down, they could satisfy the need for an institutional look. He listened to her idea, considered it, and raised a brow. "They're wide enough they'll do alone." He motioned. "I'd line them up back to front." Several coffins in a row. "Otherwise you're sleeping face to face with someone." In his case, a complete stranger. Conor took a quick drag off his clove. His sister had smacked him at their father and brother's funeral when he'd lit up. He glanced at the redhead. "What, that isn't typical protocol?" Sticking the clove in his mouth, he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a light fixture. Conor placed his hands on the first pew and began to shove it between two on the other side. "So what kind of authority is she, anyway? Lina," he clarified. "The kind with handcuffs and a gun or the kind with a bullwhip and pointy boots?"

"That would be easier," Zania agreed. For some reason she'd thought to give people room to stretch out, like a small bed. Instead, they could fit more people in, although... "It would be a bit like sleeping in drawers, don't you think?" She'd rather sleep outside, under a tree. If she was going to sleep in the church, she preferred to be under the pew, rather than on it, but she knew her preference would not be shared by others. "It's protocol, but we don't have a house now. So you get nothing too, just like us? I think we'll get something eventually. They'll drug us up and a house will appear overnight. I don't know how they do it, but then, I've seen weirder things here than that." Like her dolls moving on camera, trying to attack her. The little girl, running through the halls. The marionette in her closet, waiting to attack her... "I'd say more of the handcuffs and gun type, though she'd be kickass with a whip and pointy boots. Actually, I think she's more of a girl with a megaphone. A traffic cop maybe. And there's too many people to direct when they don't know where they're going. So I'm making it up. We could open the windows too. It's kinda stuffy in here."

"Coffins," he responded without thinking about it, continued to shove the first pew neatly along the floor. He wedged it in, gave it a few rough pounds, and looked at the result with satisfaction. Conor didn't have the slighest care as to what the others thought about the setup. They would be able to sleep a larger amount of people, not only on the pews, but also on the floor left spare, for those that were willing. He'd actually been wondering if it was protocol to wake up outside, but she cleared that up with her implications about the previous existence of a house. Conor let her talk, which she seemed content to do, as he continued to push the pews between each other. It wasn't hard work, a little mindless, vaguely satisfying. He figured he could be doing worse things -- like fishing with sour-tongued Hannah. Occasionally throughout her ramblings, he would glance at the redhead, particularly at mentions of random dormitory-appearances and "weirder" things occurring, but he didn't respond. Just by hearing her speak, he was getting an idea of her personality, her character -- her neuroses. Paranoid, he decided, like the rest of them, he felt it safe to assume already. Not necessarily without reason, but certainly true. Conor shoved the next pew into place before pausing, walking back across the room, and unlatching the window. It took a little work -- they had been painted shut at some point -- but he eventually got it open. Conor looked at her, raised a brow, and went back to the original task to which she'd set him.

He'd opened the window. Just like that. No bitching, no whining. Zania was quiet for a moment, looking at the window, then back at him. "Thank you," she said, a little smile curling up on her lips. Putting her weight against the next pew to move, Zania slowly began to push it across the floor. She was nowhere as fast as him, but just as effective. "What's your name?" she asked, her bare feet pushing against the floor as she shoved the bench. Next time she evacuated a house due to a fire, she'd be sure to grab her shoes. "Where are you from?" They were standard questions for the newbies in the house, the first of which was usually answered by looking at the plaque next to their bedroom door. Without a bedroom, there was no plaque. "Maybe later we should draw up a map of where everyone is, so we don't lose anyone again," she said thoughtfully. "We should also put up some kind of protection from the wolves." While she'd never seen them, she knew they were there. Greg had been eaten, after all.

Nodding once at her appreciative comment, Conor wondered exactly what it was about him that seemed to have people -- even blind ones -- believing he was incapable or unlikely to assist when asked. He was pretty sure he didn't sound like a pampered rich kid, although he was aware that he occasionally sounded bored of his surroundings -- because more often than not, he was. And in Hannah's case, she couldn't see him, but even if she could, his clothes didn't declare his wealth. So the bent to believing he'd resist helping was interesting. Of course, his parents had never been able to get him to do as they pleased, but usually their demands were negligible anyway. In this instance, he could hardly refuse when it benefited him as well. He didn't particularly plan on sleeping in the makeshift coffin-boxes, but he wouldn't protest if the chapel was up for use in general. They could make it functional, there were enough people to require it, so why not do it? Besides, as often as he'd camped outdoors, he didn't particularly enjoy doing it without gear. Or at least when it wasn't on his terms. The redhead as talking again -- this was no surprise. "Conor," he grunted, feeling his shoulders tense as he wedged another pew across the floor. The foot was caught at the opposite end and he jumped onto the seat, walking across to free it. "Manhattan," he responded in exasperation, glancing up at her from his place practically beneath the pew. Conor straightened, having completed his objective, and looked at her. For some reason, the way she talked, his brain was connecting lose anyone with protection from the wolves, which sincerely did not bode well. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Fire," he said simply. "Where are you from?" He had a wager already.

"Oh, that's true," Zania said with a glance towards the window, then back to him. "Do you think we should keep it burning day and night? Or do wolves only hunt at night?" Zania shook her head, thinking that that sounded ridiculous. Wolves would hunt whenever they wanted to. "Are they scared of us like we're scared of them?" Zania asked, "Or does that only work for rabbits and deer... not that we're scared of them." It was a saying she'd heard somewhere that perhaps she didn't translate quite right. She wasn't completely sure. "I'm from London, but before that, Italy. Venice mostly, but around. I'm Zania." And while she didn't know where Manhattan was exactly, she knew it was in the US, though his accent had been enough to give that away from the start. She'd grown up mostly in Venice, though her family had trouble keeping settled. Rome had come later, and she preferred not to think too much on it. Things were better when she moved to England. "Everyone seems to be from all over." Like Twitch; he was from Russia. And she knew there had been another girl from Italy. And Dan was from England.

Conor blinked. Were all these people insane, or was it just some of them, while the rest completely lacked common sense? Although he knew he didn't seem it, he was the spoiled rich kid from New York, and yet here he was, being asked questions about combating wolves. He inhaled. "Night would be less wasteful," he finally said, walking between the next row and grabbing the end of the next pew. Pulling, rather than pushing this time, to alternate the muscles being used. He'd noted her accent, which was difficult to place, and which he found suspect. Her confirmations to his assumptions came quickly and easily, though Conor wasn't certain she knew she'd put a card in play. The vagueness on her part seemed purposeful, but then, most people didn't like admitting that their lives weren't standard. Something to do with embarrassment. As far as he was aware, as far as he had guessed, she was a vagrant, or at least a nomad. Even the way she talked bespoke to similar physical rambling. Her name was strange enough, though he supposed it was the Italian version of Sonia -- why they'd need one, he didn't know. "Mm," he responded, and she was lucky she got that. As yet, he didn't particularly care where the others were from. He'd meet them first, decide on his own what he knew. Location was hardly important; it was what they did in or due to that location that mattered. He looked up at her as he dragged the last pew into place. "Want to open the rest of the windows?" He didn't think it completely advisable, but then, if this place burned down as well, they'd need an easier way out than breaking them.

Zania nodded, agreeing. Night would be less wasteful. "We haven't seen the wolves yet, but we know they're there. Unless they're just messing with us." She alternated thoughts, from the wolves to the scientists. They could be up to anything, as far as she was concerned. It was impossible to tell which was was up with them. Maybe there were no wolves out there. Maybe they had pulled Greg apart to make it look like he'd been eaten. Maybe there were speakers in the trees that played the sounds of wolves at night, like an amusement park. Zania didn't know, but she didn't care to find out for herself. Being eaten alive sounded extremely unpleasant. With all the pews moved, Zania was pleased, feeling like they'd accomplished something. "Maybe a few more, but not all of them," Zania said, looking around the church. "I'm kind of expecting the electricity to go out soon, and it's already stuffy. Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions though. It's hard to prepare for anything around here." She'd tried, at least a little, once upon a time, and quickly learned how pointless the process was. After last week, being chased by ghosts, she'd never expected the house to burn down. And she, for one, thought it had been done on purpose. There was no way in hell it had caught on fire by accident.

Considering the scientists and their motives wasn't high on his list of priorities. Everyone he'd met thus far -- admittedly, a very small number -- seemed to believe that he should be concerned about it, but he couldn't bring himself to bother. This was a bet, and even simpler than that, it was an experiment. He'd done them numerous times. He was getting the idea that this one was different, but Conor didn't doubt he could handle it. For some reason, all their nerves were serving to do was to teach him never to expect anything. The house had burned down. They had "lost" people. They were clearing a church in order to sleep more people. Fortunately, Conor's lifestyle -- from hiking in the Rockies to kayaking the rough Ozarks -- made this easy for him. He was adaptable enough. He nodded at Zania and moved for the next window, deciding on a pattern of every-other to be opened. Easier to defend, since they were so worried. The worst that had happened to him so for was that he'd woken up outside without his things and met a couple strange people. Welcome to a relatively normal day in Manhattan, was his opinion. If he wanted out, he'd get out; he'd proved time and again he was capable. "Right," he said, opening the last window. "What next? Candles?" If she wasn't sure of the electricity, it'd be best to get it all lined up, and he didn't doubt there were back rooms in this place. "Where'd you get the tents?" he asked conversationally as he searched out the door.

"There should be candles," Zania said, looking around. "It is a church. What church doesn't have candles?" Every church had candles, as far as she was aware. It just might take a little bit of looking. Surely they were in the cabinets in the back or something. "The tents were in the storage shed. It was far enough from the fire to be safe, just like the boat house." Which was where they'd gotten the tarps for some of the open-walled shelters they had built. "You don't seem all that worried," Zania said, glancing over at him as she opened one of the cabinets. Hymnals would do them no good unless they really needed something to burn. With trees all around, she didn't think it would come to that. "This can't possibly be what you were expecting." If she'd woken up with no house as promised, Zania was pretty sure she'd have thrown a hissy fit of sorts. Then again, who would care to listen and what would that prove? She'd quickly learned that the scientists didn't care and weren't going to answer her just because she wanted to yell at them. So she'd adapted, as she always had. Anyone who wouldn't wasn't going to survive.

He was pretty sure the question was rhetorical, because there was only one answer, and Conor hated answering things like that. It felt patronizing. The fact there was a storage shed offered some hope, as did the fact that the people here had managed to set up an encampment -- not that he expected everyone to be useless and inept, but his first impression hadn't been a very good one. Zania was, in her way, helping to better it. "Should I be?" he asked, surprised by the question. Conor bent and opened another cabinet, reaching in and shoving aside some cloth -- for the altar, he realized. "I didn't expect anything," he told her honestly. "And I see no point in worrying when it's like you've said -- you never know what'll happen." He still didn't necessarily believe that -- Conor found everything endlessly predictable -- but he was able and willing to be adaptable.

"Some people seem to be. Some don't seem to care. Most of the new people freak out a little when they learn they can't drop out of the experiment like they've been told. And I think even more of them would have been making noise over the fact that they got deposited when there isn't even a house to live in." She was talking observations now, not necessarily her own opinions. For Zania, the house had been more than she'd ever be capable of owning herself. It had been a suitable escape, but if it came to living off the land, she could do that too. She didn't necessarily need others to meet her basic needs, while she was sure there were some people there that would starve to death before they figured out that they needed to go pick berries. "There's no reason to panic. Not right now. Things are quiet, compared to what they could be. Though you don't seem the least bit worried," she said with a small, amused smile.

Conor paused at the comment, raising his eyes to hers as he considered what she'd said. The very idea nearly made him laugh, that anyone thought they could prevent him leaving if he pleased. He was a fucking billionaire with a penchant for recklessness; he was unstoppable. This was the part of his personality that also kept him from complaining overmuch about being ditched outside. He was still sore about his things going missing, but eventually, he was sure they would come around. If not, he'd make do, like the rest of them. After all, Zania didn't even have shoes. What she did have, he was learning, was an ability to surprise him. Conor was rarely set on edge, but he was even less likely to be amused by people in a genuine way, and the fact that she was unpredictable had the corners of his mouth quirking up. She had caused in him the briefest moment of panic and then launched into something that might've been considered a taunt, but what was funny was that Conor knew she'd not put the two together. "You said that," he reminded her, the slightest of grins on his face. He held up his hands, a candle in each palm, victorious.

"Did I?" she asked, her lips turning up in amusement as she raised a brow. "It's possible," she said. "Sometimes I talk in circles." She'd admit that much, based on her own self knowledge. She might not have been the brightest crayon in the box, but she wasn't a complete idiot either, though she knew she might sometimes come across that way. Her basket of knowledge was just a different shape than everyone else's. "You found candles," she said, very pleased. "I doubt anyone will be willing to light them until we actually need them, but no one wants to be looking for them at that point." When they were desperate, she was fairly certain they wouldn't be quite as worried about starting another fire. "I don't think we had anything to do with the fire," she said, reaching out to take one of the candles from him. "It feels like just another test."

Conor didn't say anything about it because it didn't bother him at the moment. Besides, he was rarely around someone long enough that repetition could get to him, and though he suspected he'd be spending more time with everyone here than he did in the normal world -- after all, he would be insulated and isolated here -- Conor didn't doubt his ability to ignore the things he didn't like. What he did like was that she didn't apologize for herself; he found such people irritating. It made up for the fact that she regularly stated the obvious, but then, he supposed that made it easier for people to know where they stood with her. He grinned, rising from his crouch and tapping the cabinet. "We'll set them out for easy access," he decided, although she was right about saving them, of course. Her assumption about the fire caught him off guard, because he really hadn't bothered to think about it yet. And now they were back on the subject of the scientists testing them, which put Conor off because that was what they were supposed to be doing -- in a sense. He shrugged. "Think they can't actually afford to pay all of us off at the end of the year, so they're systematically getting rid of us by burning the house down to see who can survive in the wild? Lessen the odds of paying out more than a couple mil." Hell. That was what he had invested in this experiment.

"People come and go," Zania explained. "Some just disappear. A few died. I think one drowned," she said with a frown, thinking of Ashley's body, the way the birds had been pecking at it on the cameras. She'd never been able to find it herself. Maybe it was just a trick. "We don't know what happens to the people who leave. Maybe they get taken to another hell. Maybe they go home without a check. What we do know is that you can't request to go home. You're here as long as they say you're here. Where else are you supposed to go?" As far as she could tell, they were in the middle of nowhere. Maybe, before the house had burnt down, there had been supplies to take off and try to find a way out, but now? It seemed even less likely. As crazy as the house made her, Zania didn't see any other alternative than to grin and bear it. "I hope we get paid well. We deserve it for all the shit they put us through."

The experiment was sounding stranger than it had when he'd signed up, that much was certain. But he didn't know how much he could believe, listening to this girl he didn't know talk about things he couldn't fathom. If there was something unorthodox happening, there were limitations set in place to prevent it; but with no contact to the outside world, those statutes no longer existed. And if people were truly being hurt and disappearing, Conor didn't think it was likely they were making their way home in silence. Most people could be paid off, but others liked to make noise, and those he'd met so far proved to be of that particular camp. It was sounding more and more sinister each moment, but he wouldn't let himself be bothered. He would finish the year -- time had a certain way of moving in his mind -- and return home, no complaints for what he'd volunteered to do, regardless of the extent of his knowledge. Of course, if he changed his mind, he would be capable of destroying those that wronged him, so that was comforting. He eyed Zania. "And what have they put you through?" he asked quietly, wanting the specifics of her case rather than the speculation of others.

Zania was quiet for a moment, looking down at the candle in her hand. She turned it slowly, thinking of how fast it would have melted in the fire. "They haven't tested me yet," Zania said, then looked up at him. "Not specifically. I've been a part of the group tests. And I've had pranks pulled on me by other people in the house, but... they haven't tried to break me alone." Not like they did Torlin, at least. Not like they did Jesse and Stefan. "They've messed with my head. I see things and... I don't know if they're real or not." Zania took a deep breath and put the candle up on the ledge before her, easily accessible for anyone that needed it. "But you see a lot, if you keep your eyes open. You know what they're capable of. And then you try to prepare in case they blindside you. But it's not just them. Someone in the house has a bad sense of humor." Her lip curled up in distaste for a moment. "Someone skinned a rabbit alive and delivered it to my door. It was this bloody little creature. Screaming. That's a housemate, not a scientist."

Ah, finally, a glimpse of her ability to complete a sentence without her mind wandering off onto some Tree Limb of Spontaneity. Conor listened carefully, wondering if she was only coherent because she was speaking of things that frightened her, or if the other was an act. It would be important in determining both her character and whether he could trust her, as both were inherently significant. Though she remained vague, Conor attributed it to the fear that she obviously felt, which was interesting because she hadn't been bothered enough to spare him gritty details earlier. It was a fine and strange line Zania walked. He leant against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at her. "How do you know?" he asked her. And if she knew for certain it was a housemate, then she had to at least have some idea of who it could be: skinning animals -- and keeping them alive -- took skill and experience. By now, she'd have surely discovered who possessed it, as well as who might have it in for her.

That question was a little harder to explain, even if she was sure of it. "Well, when the scientists target people, they... well, one, they aren't known to randomly nail live chickens to people's door. And they hit home. They don't play around. I have no real attachment to bunnies or chickens, so it was just... I don't know. It's just a feeling, I guess. Like, I was getting these odd threats almost every day, and then they just stopped. They had to do with dying in a box. I have them written down somewhere. Or, I did, before the house burnt down." Now she wasn't sure what had become of her stuff, of everything she'd owned. At least the creepy doll in her closet had burnt up as well. Or, at least, she hoped it had. "It's hard to say what the difference is, but after you've been here a while, I guess you just know. The girls in the stocks this morning? That was the scientists. They even left a note to explain it. And while anyone could leave a note, I don't think anyone stayed up all night building those things. Even if they'd had the supplies, we would have heard them."

Just because they hadn't done it before didn't mean they wouldn't do it at all. Conor was starting to get the idea that the scientists were testing more than how people lived together in a single place. They could have done that with regular checks on a Manhattan apartment building, after all, or even by going through criminal reports and demographics. This, he was beginning to understand, was more about seeing what people did when toyed with, how certain personalities responded to unusual circumstances. Even so, he supposed that if a difference existed, it might be apparent somehow, and maybe Zania was even capable of realizing it. Maybe she was right about the culprit being a housemate. Conor didn't know anything about girls being in stocks -- he supposed he had slept through it -- but he didn't care to anyway. He took in what she said, suddenly feening for a clove and, oddly, a steak. He glanced around the chapel, looking at their handiwork. "Think we could take a break?" he asked. "I need a smoke and I want to take a walk." He had some things to consider; plus, he had to pee, which seemed more important for the immediate future than freedom from the chapel and a cigarette break. He doubted she'd mind.

"Sure," Zania said, flashing him a small smile. "I'm gonna see if I can't find myself some food. I'll see you around later." She knew she had chocolate back in her tent, but Zania was hoping for something a little more... well, not filling because chocolate could be filling, but maybe nourishing? Of course, chocolate sounded better than berries. She'd just have to see what was out there. Giving a wave to Conor, she headed on out of the chapel, eager to see what she could find before putting herself back to work. She, for one, would not end up in the stocks tomorrow morning.