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Deleted Scenes: Spoilers through 6x11, 'Happily Ever After'
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thefilmchick
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PostPosted: Mon Feb 22, 2010 2:01 am    Post subject: Deleted Scenes: Spoilers through 6x11, 'Happily Ever After' Reply with quote

Please don't read any further if you're worried about being spoiled for the episode that most recently aired in the US. There are major spoilers in these pieces. You've been warned.

6x03: (Upcoming) (will be in this post)
6x04: Hunger (in this post)
6x05: Clarity
6x06: Fasad
6x07: Perception
6x08: Preparation
6x09: Certeza
6x10: Duality
6x11: Oddity

All 'deleted scenes' will take place immediately after the A-plot of the episode for which they are written. Most, I expect, will be from the focal character's perspective, if we're given a focal character (with the exception of characters whose perspectives we haven't been shown yet, like Flocke.)

I may be right; I may be wrong. Part of the fun will hopefully be seeing how closely, or how differently, the characters' actions will follow what I'm guessing. Hopefully people enjoy it! All comments and critiques are welcome.

---

6x04: Hunger

Thirty years that felt like three, or was it three years that felt like thirty? Sawyer wasn’t sure anymore. All he was sure about, as he trudged through the jungle brush for the thousandth time, was the dull certainty that things had taken a bad turn yet again. By now, it was beginning to feel like a crappy song that wouldn’t stop coming up on the radio.

He tried his best to keep up with Locke (or what had once been Locke). Locke was moving quickly, though, as if deliberately trying to leave him behind. The bald man’s arms swung, point-counterpoint, unfailingly rhythmic.

When he’d said he wanted to get off the island, had he failed some sort of test? It sure felt like it. Anxiety gnawed at him. Well, that and hunger. He hadn’t eaten in a while, and all that booze he’d drunk back in the village hadn’t done much to cut down his appetite.

Twigs crunched beneath his feet; he almost tripped on something. “Hey, hoss, you wanna take a break for a while?”

Silence. He could hear himself suck in a breath at the look the other man gave him, and then thought: I can’t be afraid. Whatever happens, if this son of a bitch thinks I’m weak, I’ll die.

“Look,” he tried again, “I almost fell off a rope ladder to my death. I ain’t had a damn thing to eat. It’s getting dark. Don’t you trapped things got to take a break every now and again?”

Locke’s eyes bored into him. He’d seen that look a few times before. Not for a long time, though. It was the look of the twenty-to-lifers up in the state pen, the look that guys wore when they had nothing left to live for, when they were simply existing.

“I suppose we can,” Locke replied. “If you’re tired.”

There was a point there, but it was one that Sawyer didn’t care about pressing. He shrugged and dropped where he stood. As far as they were into the jungle, there was no real point in looking for a clearing.

The thing that looked an awful lot like John Locke took a seat across from him, with the same casual attitude that Sawyer remembered from a long time ago, back when he’d gone chasing after a boar.

“So when do I get to eat something? Ain’t you gonna hunt us down dinner or something?”

For all of Locke’s lack of response, it was like having a conversation with the wall of names. Moments passed, the same stillness settling over them. Locke sat still, his face turned away from Sawyer.

Anger swelled somewhere inside him. He’d trusted this guy to answer questions, and instead the mysterious bastard had only asked twenty more. Maybe he was the one being conned. He had never put that past this island, and he wouldn’t necessarily have put it past Locke. If this figure turned out to be anything like either one, there was a very real possibility he was being deliberately screwed with. Maybe he should just shoot the bastard and get it over with.

“Listen, you bald-headed f — ”

“A very long time ago,” Locke began, “I was hungrier than you’ve ever been, James. Hungry and waiting. That was before the Dharma Initiative, before the Black Rock, before even the people who built the Temple.”

Jesus H. Christ. Story time. Sawyer didn’t bother to hide the yawn, since Locke couldn’t see it.

“I didn’t need food, though. I needed nourishment. They’re different, you know.”

“Right. I don’t care.”

“You should, though,” Locke said mildly. “Because I think you can understand that hollow feeling, can’t you? It’s something that all the booze in the world won’t fix.” The bald head swiveled around, an expression of satisfaction clear on Locke’s face.

Sawyer didn’t answer.

“I had to wait a very long time, though. The first group that came built me statues from their faith. The second group brought me slaves from their greed. The third brought me science from their knowledge. None of those things were satisfying, though. None were worth my time.”

“Fascinating. So you killed ’em all.”

“Not all of them. A few stayed alive.” Locke’s smile softened a little, as if recalling some old memory. Exactly how old, Sawyer didn’t want to know. “A few are still alive today, too. But none of them were able to meet my criteria, though. I don’t need worshippers, or servants, or discoverers.”

The obvious question presented itself. What did the man need instead? Sawyer felt a little thrill of satisfaction in not asking the question, though, and in rolling his eyes and looking away from John Locke. Between them, the dusty path snaked past Locke to the thick jungle forest beyond, and through those trees lay freedom. Locke had promised it. Sawyer had never wholeheartedly believed it, but it was looking better than any of the present alternatives.

“What I need instead,” the man continued, “is trust. Do you trust me?”

Most times, people who asked that question weren’t worth the trust they wanted. Sawyer knew all the expressions that went along with that — the wide eyes, the outstretched hands begging for the other person’s confidence. He’d even used a few of them himself. But Locke wasn’t wide-eyed, wasn’t begging him. It was an inquiry, not a request.

A pang of hunger shot through him, spasming through his stomach. He drew a deep breath, telling himself, Be careful. “I don’t know.”

Locke’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t even blink. “You will know.” In a smooth movement, the man drew himself upright, towering above where Sawyer had taken a seat. “Stay here, James. I’ll see about dinner.”

Like I’d know where to go, anyway. But before Sawyer could respond, the man disappeared through the brush, making no sound whatsoever. Not even a rustle of a twig. Sawyer stared until Locke vanished, and then let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. All he could hope was that the guy wasn’t heading back to cross his name off the wall.

---

Thoughts, comments, and critiques are quite welcome!
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blackwolf1480
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PostPosted: Wed Feb 24, 2010 3:39 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

“I had to wait a very long time, though. The first group that came built me statues from their faith. The second group brought me slaves from their greed. The third brought me science from their knowledge. None of those things were satisfying, though. None were worth my time.” <-- I loved these lines. They really made me think of how this could be another clue to more answers on the show.

I like how canon it is, as if we could see this next episode and of course it ends at a cliff-hanger, how suiting, haha.

You also captured Sawyer's state of mind and how Flocke reacts to it perfecty.

Overall, amazing work Thanks for posting!
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PostPosted: Wed Feb 24, 2010 4:05 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thanks for looking it over, Serena! I'm glad you enjoyed it and thought everything was in-canon. The 'deleted scene' was my intent, anyway, so it's great that it could pass as such!

(I'm thinking of doing one 'deleted scene' short work per episode and seeing how closely I can predict things, but I'm not really inspired by the A-plot of 'The Lighthouse' as of yet. Still, stay tuned.)

FakeLocke seemed incredibly patient with hung-over and despairing Sawyer, and so I wanted to keep the patience here, although it's probably a very creepy type of patience. Because, after all, FakeLocke/MiB has all the time and resources in the world.

And I'm glad you thought the 'groups' bit worked, too; I can see that being the crux of the whole thing, so let's see if I'm right!
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PostPosted: Wed Feb 24, 2010 9:21 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Doing a deleted scene per episode is a good idea. I'll look forward to them
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PostPosted: Wed Feb 24, 2010 11:57 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Serena: Since the idea's grown on me (and it'll give me the chance to write from the perspective of characters whom I haven't yet, which seems like a fun challenge), here's the next!

All 'deleted scenes' will take place immediately after the A-plot of the episode for which they are written. Most, I expect, will be from the focal character's perspective, if we're given a focal character (with the exception of characters whose perspectives we haven't been shown yet, like Flocke above.)

I may be right; I may be wrong. Part of the fun will hopefully be seeing how closely, or how differently, the characters' actions will follow what I'm guessing. Hopefully people enjoy it! All comments and critiques are welcome.

(NB: Credit to MysticWondering for observations about what Jack wants with regards to the island. 'Clarity' takes some of her ideas and runs with them.)

6x05: Clarity

The waves rolled in, one after the other, with a mind-numbing sameness. If he stared hard enough, Jack imagined that he could almost make out the flat, uninspiring construction of the Los Angeles airport.

Did he want to go back, anyway? He must have asked himself that a thousand times, and each time, he had come up with a different answer. Now, though, he was sure. He’d seen what would greet him on his return. A two-story house that looked like every other mid-century home, a dead father, and a job he could no longer stand and could barely perform. Very little was left at home to hold onto, and it would have been futile and stupid to try.

So he was here instead, back on the island, back in the same familiar routine, feeling like he’d unintentionally signed up for another trip he hadn’t intended to take, with no particular destination in mind. Considering what Los Angeles meant to him, maybe it was all for the better. Events would sort themselves out soon, though, he hoped. They would have to.

“Hey, you OK, man?” Hurley’s concern was audible, the younger man’s voice lifting over the waves towards him. “You’ve been sitting there for, like, five minutes or something.”

Jack squinted over at Hurley’s face, but couldn’t see it for all the dazzling sunlight against the sea. “Yeah. I’m fine, Hurley. Let’s go.”

It seemed Hurley had been waiting for him to take action. As soon as Jack stood, the kid burst out in an enthusiastic, “Awesome! Where?”

“Back to the Temple. We need to warn people: Miles, Sayid.”

A ripple of panic went through Hurley’s shoulders. “Um, yeah. There’s a problem with that. See, Jacob told me it was too late.”

Jack could feel anger at that boiling to the surface. He forced it down, though. “We’re not listening to Jacob. Because if we wait around here, it really will be too late. Come on.”

“Dude, no way. I’ve done enough walking for the day. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in shape for a marathon. We’re staying here.” There was a distinct firmness in Hurley’s voice.

Since returning to the island, Jack realized, Hurley had grown stronger. And when he became stubborn, like he was now, there was no convincing him otherwise. No logical arguments or solid reasoning would change things.

“Fine, Hurley. You can stay here, but I’m heading back. Just answer me one question.”

“Sure. Anything.”

Despite that, Jack knew there were a couple of questions he couldn’t ask. He hoped the one he had in mind wasn’t one of them. He drew a deep breath, meeting Hurley’s eyes. “Why do you believe him?”

Apparently, that was an unexpected question. He easily read the series of expressions that flickered over Hurley’s face: Surprise, confusion, panic, and then the sudden flash of alertness that was the last to settle and stick around. “When someone who’s dead comes and gives you advice to stay out of trouble, you don’t ask questions, because they’d know about trouble. Being, uh, dead.”

It made a rather obvious sort of sense, Jack had to admit. “So he’s keeping you and me safe. From what?”

Hurley shrugged; the particulars didn’t seem to concern him. “Something dangerous that’s coming to the Temple. I mean, I guess it’s not already there, but it’ll be there. Soon.”

“The Temple, where they’re keeping people there or else, and where they’re trying to poison people? You’re sure it’s not already there?”

“Yeah. Jacob said it wasn’t.”

“And you believe him because – ”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Something very close to mania threatened to burst forth now, tying knots in his stomach. He let himself laugh, although it sounded a little weaker than he had wanted. “Right. Good point. You win.”

Hope lit up each word that Hurley spoke. “So we’re not going back to the Temple, then?”

Jack couldn’t answer at first. Beyond Hurley, the waves rolled in, unceasing. For a moment, Jack looked past him, half-expecting that something had changed. Nothing had, though. It was all the same familiar, vacant blue that he’d spent the last while trying to stare through. He had expected to find clarity there, and had found only emptiness. Stop trying to find a purpose, he told himself. It’ll probably come when you’re not even looking for it.

“Oh no, Hurley. We’re still going back there. You’re going to ask Jacob to take us there.”

As he said that, he had the feeling of being on a precipice, vertigo and euphoria swirling around inside him. If he didn’t swim, he’d drown, and he had to start moving to swim. Doing nothing would be trouble, whether he waited at the Temple or here at the Lighthouse. He had to act quickly and decisively.

Hurley seemed to look past him for a moment, nodding at something just over Jack's left shoulder. Jack was half-tempted to ask what the younger man was looking at, or to turn and try to discern it himself. Something told him not to, though he wasn’t sure if it was a newfound sense of trust or just a case of nerves.

By the time that Hurley’s shaggy-haired head dipped in a nod, Jack was already starting to head away from the lighthouse and back towards the bushes. The “Sure, all right” that trailed in his wake sounded far more accepting and eager by now.
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blackwolf1480
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PostPosted: Thu Feb 25, 2010 2:50 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wow, you posted the 2nd one pretty quick! I wish I could conjure up something this good.
I could deffinitly see something like this happening in the next episode; I felt like I was reading a spoiler, haha. Only next week will tell I guess Also, I smiled at Hurley's part in this. You portrayed his character very well, along with Jack.
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PostPosted: Sat Mar 06, 2010 11:31 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

(Sorry for the delay, Serena and anyone else who might be reading these. The last episode threw me for a loop, and when I’ve written from Sayid’s perspective (years) before, he has been a collected, rational presence. I am taking Serena’s advice to write him in as dark a manner as possible (although I’m still hoping he’s trying to fake out Flocke or has some other plan, personally). If I can write a sympathetic Jack, I hope I can write an unsympathetic Sayid! With any luck, next week will be easier to piece together.)

6x06: Fasad

Fasiq, fusuq, fasad. The word echoed in Sayid’s head like a chant, like a new rhythm he’d learned. He was fasiq, disobedient to God. He had committed fusuq; he had done evil. He was a man who had joined the side of fasad. He was corrupted. It was strange how the words all sounded alike in Arabic, and nothing alike in English. This curiosity took his mind away from what had happened, the bodies that floated a short distance away in the Temple pool and the knife he still held in his hand.

Next to him, the disheveled blonde he’d once recognized as Claire walked with a rapt look on her face, fascinated by something that it seemed only she could see. Her mouth moved with the syllables of a song that he could not hear, and he wondered if she could even hear it.

It was dark, and they walked by torchlight, the flames flickering on the path ahead. It was a silent progression, with barely a leaf crumbling or twig crunching beneath their feet.

Kate’s voice broke the silence. There was a note of desperation or of concern. “Sayid?”

Still walking, he turned. It felt mechanical. He blinked twice, and allowed his face to soften. “Yes?”

The girl looked confused, her brows drawn together in a familiar expression, but Sayid had no idea why. The rifle slung over her shoulder would do her no good in the coming war, and he was about to ask her why she bothered carrying it when she asked him a question instead: “Where are we going?”

Part of him had no idea. Part of him knew, however, and that part of him spoke. “To find Jacob. Then, to leave.”

Something in his words must have sounded strange to her. Her confused expression grew more prominent, almost exaggerated. For a moment, he thought he saw a creature springing behind her face. A horse, glossy black and long-maned, wild with abandon. The horse had run from the corners of her eyes by the time she spoke again. “Where were you?”

“Doing what needed to be done,” he said. It felt like another chant, and each word shot out like a bullet. He avoided a low-hanging branch, and held it aside for her. Even if she should not have come with them, there was no reason to avoid being polite. Nonetheless, he could not let her disrupt their march. “You ask too many questions.” She would know that note in his voice, and the implied message it contained: So stop asking.

Of course, Kate was not someone given to appreciating subtle messages. She grabbed his arm, her dusty hand scuffing the slickness of his still damp skin. “What’s happened to you?!”

Sayid heard the panic in her voice, and somewhere in him, some small sliver dimly registered that he should be concerned for her. He was done humoring her, though. She would have to accept things as they were, and he would not waste time babysitting her. There were so many more important things that they still had to do.

He slipped his arm free of her grip, sharpening his stare. Something in his eyes made her stop in her tracks and back away from him, like Benjamin Linus had less than an hour ago. He spoke softly to her, not wanting to further startle her. “Nothing has happened to me, Kate. I’m fine. I simply cannot answer your questions. I’m sorry.”

“You mean you won’t. But you used to ask plenty of questions. What happened to you at the Temple?”

“Nothing,” he replied. That was not a lie. Nothing had happened at the Temple, specifically. Everything had happened in the jungle, amongst the too-green leaves and the sparkling sunlight. When he was a child, and Omer had had nightmares, he’d told his brother that they would go away in the day. He had been wrong, though. Bad things happened in the day as well. He knew that all too well.

He looked back at Kate, hoping she was satisfied with his explanation. He did not particularly care what she thought about it, but he did not want her to slow them down or divert his attention from the way they were headed. Even though she looked unconvinced, at least she was walking. That was an improvement. The jinn of smoke and fire, Iblis, kept walking, leading the followers.

“You’re going to tell me what’s going on, Sayid.” It was Kate’s final statement on the matter. “Or I’ll find out myself.”

“Of course you will,” Sayid murmured. She would indeed find out. Presently, he did not care how she reacted.

When he looked into the blackness that swarmed out before him, he could see nothing. He used to see Nadia’s face in the blackness, a sign of comfort, but such comforts were far beyond him now. It was the isha’a, time for the evening prayer; however, he felt no call to anything but walking.

On his left, the blonde creature kept walking as well. She wore Claire’s face, but her left eye was as black as the night sky. He gazed up to the sky, which had sent him a song long ago, broadcast from half a century before. The song he now heard was much older, though, and it was the same song that babbled from Claire’s lips, a song about fire and blood and corruption.
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PostPosted: Sun Mar 07, 2010 6:17 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thanks for rolling with my advice Kate! I loved how you began this deleted scene; so intrieging!! Your description of Sayid's poisened mind was spot on from how I assume Sayid, and the other "dark" people, is thinking.
I like how you called Claire a blond "creature" and you stayed in character with Kate well.
I loooved how you interpreted Arabic and Sayid's religion in this; they made it seem more personal.
Well done Kate!!!
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PostPosted: Sun Mar 07, 2010 7:18 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thanks again, Serena! Like I said, that was a tricky one to write, for a variety of reasons. It was kind of fun, though, seeing as it's a facet of the character I haven't really dipped into previously.

Kate's tough for me to write too, but I think she's easier to write away from Jack or Sawyer. She's always been (for Kate) fairly up-front with Sayid, and so I have to believe that she'd be all 'wtf?' at him for the moment.

And Claire... who knows what planet she's on at the moment? I don't believe it's this one.

The religion thing, I sincerely hope they address in the show. Since Sayid is the only main character to be represented from a religion other than Christianity, if it's as simple a case as 'not being Christian makes you evil,' or the writers merely whitewash the whole thing away, I will be incredibly disappointed. Since we've seen before that Sayid is pious, I'd like a nod to that struggle should he be going dark.
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PostPosted: Sun Mar 07, 2010 9:46 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I love the latest one, Kate. Sayid is probably my favorite character at the moment (of the ones who are alive, that is ). You write him really well! And I thought Kate was in character as well.

The bits with Claire were so sad..... I liked how you worked in the song she was singing.
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PostPosted: Sun Mar 07, 2010 11:28 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hi, Eryn! I was wondering if anyone besides Serena was reading these. (No offense meant, of course, Serena! The more comments the better, guys, good or bad. You all know I'm a sucker for any kind of feedback.)

Good to know you appreciated the Sayid one, especially since it was a lot weirder/harder to write than the prior ones. And good to know the Claire bits worked; I was hoping it wasn't overly melodramatic, anyway.

(Not that Lost is ever overly melodramat--DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN'T DO! IT'S DESTNIY! IT'S FATE!--um. I place the blame squarely on Locke! Haha.)
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PostPosted: Wed Mar 17, 2010 12:30 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

In before next episode (next one will be up sooner; this week has been chaos!)

6x07: Perception

He figured he had to be the first to see the periscope breaking the surface of the waters. Beside him, he saw Richard Alpert flinch as well, looking up to see shock on the other man’s face. It was an expression that Ben wasn’t used to, and for a moment, he couldn’t find any words to express his surprise.

Those that came out weren’t as coherent as he would have liked, either. “Is that – ?”

“Yes.” Richard’s voice was crisp. “It is.” The taller man turned, clad in black, to stride over to the rest of the group, his long-legged stalk purposeful and businesslike. “We need to go.”

The woman who’d recently come close to killing Ben shook her head. “No. We’re staying right here.” Ilana was looking past Richard, staring at the horizon. “We’re going to see who they are and what they want.”

Beside Ilana, Richard shook his head at that, making a fidgety little gesture of frustration.

The periscope was getting closer. As he stared out at the waves, Ben could see the black rod with its unblinking eye growing larger and larger. I thought we’d finished with submarines when John Locke blew up the last one.

Behind him, there were sounds of surprise and panic. He could hear Jack trying to marshal people together.

“All right, all right. I’m coming. Jeez, you’d think nobody wanted me to keep these things, anyway.” Miles’ complaint pierced the din of discussion, and Ben turned, curious.

“Keep what?”

Miles’ look towards him was sharp and angry. The guy was hiding something, but Ben had no real urge to find out exactly what that was. “Nothing,” Miles snapped. “Shouldn’t we be watching those guys about to blow this place to hell, anyway?”

It was a good point. The periscope continued to close in on them, and Ben could sense himself backing up, feet shuffling in the sand. He knew who it was; he knew who was coming for him. He wasn’t done with Charles Widmore yet, and Widmore wasn’t done with him, either.

The submarine’s upper hull broke the surface of the waves, glossy with the water through which it had been traveling. It couldn’t come much closer, though, or it would risk beaching itself here, where there was no dock to properly secure itself.

“They’ll be coming out in rowboats,” he murmured. “We should set up a perimeter on them.”

It seemed to be the very thing that Ilana wanted to hear. She waved a hand at him. “Come on, then! Get out of sight!”

They had some cover here at the beach, behind blue tarps and impromptu shacks that the castaways had constructed upon their latest arrival. They had a few weapons, too; Ben was all too aware that Ilana, at least, was armed. He watched where she went, behind the stash of stuff that was Ford’s rat’s-nest of books and knickknacks, and headed as far away from her as he could. While most of them headed for the middle ground, he wound up sharing cover behind a white tarp with Miles, who still looked suspicious of him and who edged away a little upon spotting him.

The submarine bobbed in the water where it had stopped; although Ben could hear the hum of the engine, he could see nobody coming in rowboats quite yet. They had a few minutes until everything went to hell, he figured, and so he looked back towards Miles. “So what have you got?”

Miles laughed sharply. “Sure. Now’s a good time to ask. Better than your three-point-two million, anyway. Look.” In Miles’ hand, Ben could see the glint of something clear and hard–and very expensive.

He must have been gaping, because another sharp bark of amusement came from the other man. “Yeah. Diamonds. Told you I didn’t need your money. So you can take it and shove – ”

”Hey!” Ilana’s voice lanced over to them. “Shut up, both of you. Pay attention!”

Ben briefly entertained the idea of telling Ilana that he hadn’t been the one doing most of the talking, but then figured it would be a very bad idea indeed. It would hardly be worth getting himself killed over, anyway. If Widmore was indeed on the submarine, like he thought, then he would need to have everyone on his side, including Ilana. Now was not the time to make enemies.

A water-lock opened in the side of the submarine, and he could see the vague shapes flickering along the side, climbing down a ladder to the waiting boat that was slowly jutting further and further out from a side hatch in the craft.

One of the figures might be Widmore, he thought, but then figured, no, hardly. Widmore would send others to do his bidding first. He always had. He was on that submarine instead, waiting to be brought the spoils of the war.

“He won’t get them,” Ben muttered. “The war isn’t over yet.”

“What are you yammering about?” Miles demanded, more aggravated than curious, but still keeping his voice low for Ilana’s sake. “Guess you’re more looney-tunes than I even thought.”

Ben shook his head. “He’s here, Miles.”

“Who?”

“The man who hired you to bring him my head on a platter. The man who I want to kill.”

Miles’ face showed no reaction, and his only response was dry sarcasm. “Awesome. Who dies first?”
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blackwolf1480
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PostPosted: Fri Mar 19, 2010 2:31 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I wonder if this will happen in the next few episodes. It seems plausible. Heck, everything you write here seems plausible!
I like how you mentioned the "war" and Miles little bit was funny.
I think if the sub does come straight towards them on the beach Ben and/or Richard will be the first to spot it.
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thefilmchick
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PostPosted: Fri Mar 19, 2010 7:26 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I was going to ask what I got for blatantly wrong guesses, but oh well. At least it was plausibly wrong, apparently. I do agree that they're going to be the first to spot the sub should it come their way, anyway.
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thefilmchick
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PostPosted: Tue Mar 30, 2010 10:03 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

(The show has to stop ending episodes with Kate and Hurley. Getting tired of using them along with the centrics! Apologies for the slight delay on the Sawyer-centric: The last few weeks have been busy ones. I'm caught up now, though.)

6x08: Preparation

“We ain’t taking the plane, Freckles. Taking the sub.”

When he said that, Sawyer saw a look of confusion cross Kate’s face and then melt into understanding. She nodded, long hair spilling with the movement. The comprehension lasted only a second, though.

“Wait. Sub? What sub?”

“The one sitting over there on the other island. Courtesy of those people I was just telling you about.”

She poked at the fire, turning the rabbit over to brown it, taking her time to think about what he’d said. “If you saw a sub,” she said eventually, “then you had to see who brought it over here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Guy named Charles Widmore. The one who sent the freighter over here, earlier.”

That was enough to make Kate forget about dinner for the moment. She pulled herself up from where she’d crouched by the fire, her eyes wide and her shoulders tense. “That one? And you’re just going to let him and Locke fight it out?” He knew her well enough to know from the slightly strained tone of her voice that she didn’t approve of his idea.

He wanted not to care about what she thought of the idea, but her reaction had rattled him a little. “You got a better one? That’s our only way off this place.”

One hand went to her hip. The tenseness in her shoulders became harder, defiance rather than concern. “Since you asked, I do have a better idea.”

He waved a hand at her. “Well, hell, all right, then. Let’s hear it.”

She looked back down towards the fire, tending to the rabbit for a moment. It was overcooked now, blackened on the edges, but probably still edible. Once she’d tamped the fire to put it out and pulled off a hunk of rabbit, she motioned him towards the food as well.

When she spoke, Kate’s voice was slow, as if she was uncertain of her own plan. Sawyer wanted to call her on that, but he wanted to hear her out, first. Maybe she would actually have a better idea, or if not, at least something which he could work with. You never knew.

“We pick a side. Widmore or Locke. All of us. As long as we’re sure it’s the right side, we’ve got enough people, and we know this island better than those guys on the submarine do. We go to ground if we have to, and we wind up on the winning side.”

It was a lousy idea. He was about to say that, but Kate held up a hand to stop him.

“Look, I know it’s not the best plan, but it is a better one. We have to do something, Sawyer. We can’t just watch and wait. Locke may not be telling the truth, so who knows what would happen if he won, and if Widmore wins, he’s not going to leave us alone. You know that.”

He chewed on a piece of the blackened rabbit. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, crispy and charred but hot enough to pass as drunks’ food at a seedy bar. “Yeah, but you and me’ll be on the sub long before they even get to D-Day.”

“And what about everyone else?”

The answer was simple. “They come if they can.”

“And if they can’t come?”

Sawyer knew what answer she wanted to hear, but he couldn’t give it to her. “Then they got to figure it out for themselves.” He shrugged, hoping it seemed careless. It gnawed at him more than he’d have liked to admit.

She didn’t, sighing exasperatedly at him. “I thought you’d changed. After everything before—and you spending three years here — and Juliet dying — “

“Tiger don’t change its stripes.” It was out before he could stop it.

Her voice was sharp, biting, condemning him. “Sure looks that way. You know what? You can finish off the rabbit alone, all right. I’m not hungry anymore.” Her face was hurt, betrayed by what he’d said, but he couldn’t catch the expression for long. She turned her back on him, stalking away and disappearing into the brush with a rustle.

“Kate, wait. I — ” His voice was swallowed up by the silence around him.

But she was gone, and he was left alone with the fire and the badly cooked rabbit and his thoughts. She hadn’t even heard about how he’d already planned to accommodate everyone else, about the deal he’d made with Charles Widmore and the contingency plan in the likely case that Widmore broke his word, but he suspected she wasn’t in the mood for hearing it now.
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Last edited by thefilmchick on Tue Mar 30, 2010 10:06 pm; edited 1 time in total
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