RP: Wronged Characters: Isadora Time/Date: Late afternoon, October 20 Location: old!island, her room Warnings/Rating: angst Summary: Isadora angsts and ponders Status: Complete
She was not surprised. She was distressed, she was displeased, and at points during the day she'd been beyond words, beyond emotions even. There were destructive urges, certainly, aimed toward their captors. But she did nothing. She watched the video, watched the camera play over the various bodies, thought she glimpsed Spike's hair on one of the taller bodies covered by a sheet ...
Isadora didn't want to believe that they would do that. She didn't for a moment believe it was an accident. Nothing they did was an accident, and she was tired of those words. They hadn't accidentally drawn the wrong people when they 'sent them home' that time, nor did she believe they'd accidentally loosed the bears on the island without armor.
Which left two options: they'd deliberately loosed the bears there, or they'd staged it. She wouldn't put either event past them, and she tried to be logical about it. She knew Lily was a fixture here, so of course her death made sense -- as much sense as any of it could make. The child was easy enough to figure out: most people had soft spots for children and were most incensed when the victim was a minor. Lizzy was by far the most minor person in the experiment, and the most minor one on that island. Severus she couldn't quite figure out, but she reasoned he had relevance to someone they were trying to dig at.
The rest of the sheeted bodies were for their benefit, certainly.
She tapped her nail lightly on her bottom teeth, and shook her head. "There wasn't time," she said finally. "Eight hours for an attack and a total cleanup?" Dora shook her head.
Iridia looked up at her, but said nothing.
"The communications cut out ... just before midnight, as far as we're aware. The videos were posted this morning, eight hours later. So in eight hours -- eight hours when most people were likely asleep -- we're meant to believe they were beset by bears who killed them all, that they had time to recover and clean up a dozen bodies? That no one managed to talk down the bears, that ..." she gestured.
"The cuts are too clean," Iridia said softly. "There's no bruising. No tearing. The picture is bad," he admitted. "But I don't think a bear did that." His tail twitched slightly. "If a bear had gone for her throat, there'd be no throat left to show us."
"Are we just making arguments to make ourselves feel better?" She murmured as she glanced to the cat.
Iridia glanced to her before he looked away. "I don't think so," he said quietly. "I don't think they're dead."
"But we don't know. We can't know."
"No," he agreed. "We can't know."
Isadora turned the video back on, watching it play once more. She maximized the window and leaned closer, watching it rather than listening to Matt's words. She studied the corpses (if that was what they were), and she thought. Was it possible the bears, missing their armor, had gently mauled the people they assumed responsible? She didn't think so, but she truthfully wasn't sure if it was because she didn't want it to be true, or because she genuinely believed her theory. She'd never seen a human victim of a panserbjorne, so she had nothing to compare it to. But the bears were big, and strong, and they had grasping paws that could crush, rend, tear. It was possible for them to make careful injuries like these, but was it likely?
She didn't know. It was enough to make her crazy. So they could assume the worst, as was expected, because they had no way of knowing for certain. No way of getting in touch with the other island now. No way to know.