CASTAWAY ⚓ R.C, J.M

T H R E E

Kiara huffed crossing her arms. She knew as well as the others that the only people kicked out would be the Pogues.

Topper smiled triumphantly. "I'll have to buy you that drink another time, Harley." He walked away with his friends in tow.

"Jackass," Kiara muttered.

"You should have punched that cocky smirk off his face." JJ raved in annoyance. "Fucking Kooks, bro."

Kiara was first to head back to the table. The group slipped into chairs sending a few hate filled glances Topper's way, before focusing on each other.

"What are Pogues and Kooks? Are you guys in a gang? Or?" Harley searched their faces and stopped on John B. "Should I know what it means?"

"We're definitely not in a gang," Pope stated. He looked mortified at the idea.

JJ sucked in a breath between his teeth. "I mean, you could say we are. We're in a gang."

Harley started to believe him until he chuckled at Pope and said he was kidding to calm him down. Pope had looked like he was about to burst a vein. Pope was definitely the golden boy, it was endearing.

It was becoming clear that JJ was more the joker of the group. Harley studied him and he radiated chaotic energy, like he would be gone any second doing something he shouldn't be.

"It's simple really," John B shrugged. "The Outer Banks is paradise on Earth. It's the sort of place where you have two jobs or two houses."

"Two tribes, one island," JJ leant back resting his head on his interlocked hands.

"Alright. This is Figure Eight," John B grabbed the metal tissue box. "The rich side of the island. Home of the Kooks." John picked up a ketchup bottle and placed it on top.

"So, guess where we don't live."

Harley answered JJ, "Figure Eight?"

"Ding! Ding! Ding! Correct."

"Are you really making a diagram with condiments?" Pope questioned.

Kiara patted him on the back. "This is the most creative John B has ever been."

In turn, John B rolled his eyes and grabbed another tissue box placing it below the first. "This is the south side or The Cut. Home of the working class, who make a living busing tables, washing yachts and running charters. The natural habitat of... drum roll please..."

The group appeased John B, drumming the table lightly whilst he grabbed a salt shaker.

"The Pogues." He placed the salt on top of the second box. "That's us."

"Pogues," Harley repeated.

"Pogues. Pogies. The throw away fish. The lowest of food chain. Although we may be smaller," John B shook the salt. "We're an essential part of this island. Kooks may be bigger in terms of money and status, but they are not exactly needed all of the time."

JJ pushed over the ketchup bottle for effect. "Kooks and Pogues do not get on."

"The downside of Pogue life, is the that we're forgotten and neglected. The upside of Pogue life? We're forgotten and neglected, which means we can do whatever we want, whenever we want."

Harley tried to picture a fancier side to the island in comparison to the side they walked through to get here. It was hard. Next, she imagined all of the things Pogues got up to.

"Why don't you get on? Topper seemed fairly nice when I bumped into him."

"They're arrogant assholes" JJ stated.