#tamyra 01

[clementineike]

WHEN: sometime in May WHERE: North Beach @tamyrawilliams​

For how overcast the island is, no one bats an eye at walking around wearing next to nothing. It’s a dull reminder of home, but a sharp reminder of their location. Her gaze swivels over the beach, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Can you believe it’s Tamyra Williams?” someone says nearby. Her frown, absent for once, returns full force at this reminder. She only found herself the other day. “We should go say hi. We can do that, right? I mean, she’s just like us now.”

They look to her for agreement, or argument. Clementine shrugs, but when this proves inadequate, she ventures an answer. “I, uh, don’t think she’ll care.” It’s meant to prevent. She has no wish to see Tamyra from anywhere other than a distance. But they take it the opposite and jump to their feet with excitement. She’s tugged along in their wake, grimacing. Tamyra can’t miss their arrival. Dread fills her the closer they get to the woman. She can see the wreckage of the plane, and near it a small stretch of beach where people sit in the water, safe from the tug of the current.

But underneath the dread, she’s, perhaps, the littlest bit curious. How long has she read about her - or, fuck, heard about her - and never seen her from anywhere other than a magazine? “Oh, my god! You’re-you’re- Oh, I don’t know what to call you!” Sylvia says enthusiastically, hands waving with such force that Clementine has to move under it with a grunt. She’s a bird-faced woman with too large eyes, and the others are in her shadows, nodding fiercely.

“Uh, her name. Obviously.” Clementine moves away before Sylvia’s enthusiastic gestures can strike her again. She hasn’t yet looked at Tamyra, still zeroed in on the sand at their feet. To look is to make it real. Fumbled words come from her lips, sharper than she intends in her haste to pretend: “What did you say it was again? Tamyra?”

[mallorycastle]

date: 10 November 2020 location: near where Flight 441 crashed time: afternoon status: @tamyrawilliams​

Absolutely not. No way. She is not - under any circumstances - touching the slimy jellyfish on the beach, and if it wasn’t smack in the middle of the walkway, she’d ignored it altogether. Prodding it with a stick is a much better option, and she nudges the ugly thing away from the remains of the crash site. The stick is handy, though, and Mallory keeps it in her hands as she approaches the vast remains of a plane. It looks nothing like the ones she used to fly; slimmer in some ways, and too big in others. “It looks ugly and bulky,” she states bluntly, prodding the exterior with her stick. It bends, but doesn’t snap which is a plus in her book.

She walks in a circle around the remains. It’s like a hulking beast on the beach - the other half, she sees, is sparkling in the water like a great white whale. That piece is beyond her for the time being; she can’t explore what’s already submerged, at least not without a headache in the making. The one on the land is stripped, anything loose long pried from it with great hurry. No one has a delicate touch, clearly. “Williams, have they truly stripped this of everything useful?” she asks, spotting a familiar figure on the beach. Any other time, she might think twice about calling out for her-- Ah, she can’t even lie to herself about it; she avoids Tamyra, sure, but only because she doesn’t want a rehash of the same old boring argument. Beggars can’t be choosers, though, and no one else is close enough to the wreckage to ask. Tamyra is a familiar face, too, and one she imagines has been watching everything going on in the aftermath of the flight like a hawk.

“When did this happen? No, no, don’t tell me. It was the big earthquake several weeks ago?” She already knows - a golden girl told her, after all - but she’s prodding for the answers Tamyra knows, her gaze locked on the woman’s face. And gauging her ire levels in the process, especially if Mallory can’t hang out in her cave from the beginning of October to the end of January as she usually does. No, new arrivals means more possibilities and a nice, fresh glimpse of the outside world. She heaves a sigh. “Not an earthquake then. Shame, I missed all the fun apparently.” Or the heartbreak, considering this mess.

She stabs her stick into the sand, pressing a hand against the plane. It’s warm beneath her touch; the sun is heating it, even now. “Oh, what a sweet, ugly thing, you are. All the things I didn’t figure out about you yet,” she says to the plane, shaking her head. She turns, facing Tamyra. “I take it you didn’t find an escape pod yet, no? Plenty of people to help you with it now.” Her brows raise, waiting. It feels like she’s prodding Tamyra, and doing so is going to give her an ass-kicking. But, once, she might have considered her a friend, and she’s trying to figure Tamyra out in the only way she knows how now.