DEFEATISM

10

Darlington is trying to focus in the staff room. His floor would be a better place to find some quiet since he is the only resident assistant on the floor, but here he is, in the staff room all the same. Hover, his room is marked with bad decisions. The glasses on his desk, his clothes on his floor, and his unmade bed as he rushed out.

"It's not the end of the world," Hadley's voice crackles from the other end of the floor.

Darlington doesn't even quite have the words to answer. While he always had empathy for Tempest, her predicament is making his stomach uneasy. Everything is terrible. Since they are out of WiFi, they are not video calling, and so Hadley cannot see the remarkable glare Darlington holds for him.

"You've got to take charge," Hadley points out. "Burns is going to shit with panic. You got any people like that on your team?"

"Too many to name," Darlington says, although they aren't too many to count. Tempest and Galilee, really, are the two that come to mind. He doesn't want to talk about Tempest to Hadley. Galilee perhaps though, but if he remembers last night at all, she seemed fine enough.

"Well, pick one, and work your Darlington leadership magic," Hadley's voice says. In the basement, his voice is fuzzier. "Listen, my parents are calling. They are trying to figure out if I'll be home for Christmas. I think they are already planning a lawsuit. People in my Hall are getting antsy."

"Good luck," Darlington says, and in a way that is entirely unlike Darlington, he hangs up before Hadley can say goodbye. They'll chat tomorrow when Darlington will absolutely force himself to stop being miserable. There are people to save.

On the whiteboard, someone wrote a phrase.

Press F to pay respects to the WiFi

It must be Jerry. Darlington isn't feeling quite like a leader. Actually, he isn't feeling quite much. All he really can do is mourn. So, he approaches the whiteboard. Jerry's quote is in black. Darlington goes to the package with the rainbow of whiteboard markers and takes out the red one.

F

~~~

"Okay, we'll have to cut the string longer," Marcellus points.

Callie is the perfect partner for this activity, he thinks. She's got steady hands and a good eye. He never thought an art major would be so good at making a Rube Goldberg machine with the limited items in the supply closet. The planning stage is still going well. The pair hope to have it done by Christmas.

"I wish we had a Christmas tree," Callie says. "Contraband rules are stupid."

"Agreed," Marcellus says. It isn't the fake trees that are contraband, but rather the Christmas lights.

While Marcellus has been trying to make the machine theoretically work, Callie is trying to substitute the items for Christmas-themed things. She isn't sure that everyone celebrates Christmas, but she is sure that people won't deny her the luxury of a nice thing when they are all trapped in here. So far, she is trying to incorporate as many ornaments as possible. They had a bunch in the closet, for making something for the group.

Benedict walks in with a plate of food. They are, after all, in the staff lounge. He sits down on the couch. The idea of eating more pancakes is not pleasant, but he'd rather savour the good stuff when he needs it. Already, supplies are dwindling.