Fiona seemed a bit surprised as Nik put his hands on her shoulders. She stopped her stomping and mutterings and listened to what the boy was saying. He had a definite point... Not everyone was going to be like Omar. But if one guy was able to kill another in cold blood, especially someone that seemed as nice as Omar, there were probably many others that were wiling to do the same. That chilled Fiona right to the bone. She even began to visibly shake a bit.. What did she expect? Survival of the Fittest had a few different seasons, and in all of those seasons, the students had brutally killed each other. There were no exceptions. It was around this point that Fiona realized that Survival of the Fittest, that brutal reality show, was not just a mere show.
Well, she sort of knew that upon waking up here. The point was, SOTF was not just some show about kids killing each other. It was a reality in which kids killed each other. And if that was a reality, then this was a reality. Fiona rubbed her head and nodded at Nik. "Yeah, yeah. You're right. I really want to find Evelyn," she muttered as he released his grip on her shoulders and turned to talk to the group as a whole. Fiona folded her arms in front of her and listened. She was so glad that she wasn't alone in this..
Once Nik finished his little speech, Fiona definitely felt more confident. He was right! They were quite the intimidating group! She held up her axe and watched as the blade caught a glint of light from the rising sun. "I agree. I'd like to find some of my friends too."
She stopped talking when she realized that Jessica was explaining what she had see Omar do. Fiona listened and made a face at the account. Good Lord... Maybe he snapped? People typically didn't smile when they shot other people, but.. "He mentioned Sierra? I wonder.." Fiona muttered, running a hand down her dreadlocked head. Her face went slightly pale when Jessica guessed that he could be killing for Sierra. That was a terrible thought. Fiona didn't know Sierra terribly well, but she was sure that Sierra would be horrified at the thought of her boyfriend killing for her. It just sounded insane.
Fiona was about to say that they should probably leave Warren's body be, but a voice distracted her. She looked back to see Maria Graham walking towards them. Fiona smiled and shook her head at the girls question. "Playing? Nope, not us. Who are you looking for, if you don't mind me asking?" she said. But at this point, Maria noticed Warren's body.
It probably didn't look good, Fiona realized. Warren was lying on the ground dead, surrounded by four very well-armed teenagers. Oh boy... "Ah, uh.. O-Omar.. Warren was.." She couldn't find the words to adequately explain how Warren was killed. It just seemed so wrong..
Ten Shades of Gray
B067 Start --- Private Thread
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ZombiexCreame†
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Pigeon Army†
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((Dustin Royal continued from Wood and Wire))
Dustin had no idea how long he, Maria and Cassidy had been walking. It had been at least an hour, but he couldn't be sure. His watch had decided to up and die before they reached the island, rendering the $200 timepiece little more than an expensive bracelet and rendering Dustin just that bit more unable to track how long it had been since his last meal. The group hadn't talked much as they cut across the top of a cliff and searched for any sign of civilisation; Dustin had attempted some singalongs, but the general mood was apparently one of apathy - well, either that or no-one cares about the classics - and he had been left to sing the back-catalogue of Bob Dylan all by himself.
The sun was high and the desire to keep a water-rationing timetable was low when Maria stopped and drew the group's attention to a cluster of buildings off to the east. The girl, whose soft drink preference and menstruation calendar Dustin had inadvertently learned during the tramp, sprinted off towards the buildings, leaving Dustin to shout a feeble "Wait!" and stand around for a few seconds, his hands flopped awkwardly over his guitar. Having never been in a scenario he could rightly call 'life-and-death' (well, aside from that one time with the hot Texan at that Hold Steady concert in '06), Dustin searched for guidance on how to approach the situation - and when none was forthcoming, Dustin murmured, "Fuck it," and followed the girl with the highlights.
As Dustin jogged up to the buildings, the duffel bag and the guitar swinging at his sides and making his run more than a little ungainly, he caught sight of Maria and four other people. Dustin recognised them all, and quietly cursed as he realised that none of them were really prospects for a bit of exotic island fun. The plain one, Jessica, was a mopey wallflower, the tomboy, Alex, had a pretty impressive chassis but ran on redneck fuel, the fat one, Fiona, was...well, fat, and Kronwall was a dude, and that was out of the question.
Dustin sauntered up to Maria's side as she started her introduction and smiled at the girls, but they were too busy intensely muttering to each other and looking to Kronwall for guidance. As Fiona looked up, Dustin's eyes wandered to a thick red puddle creeping towards the feet of the other group. His eyes fixed on the advance of the treacly liquid, he moved around to the other side of Maria, and traced the puddle to its origins - a kid he recognised as a bass player. Or, to be more accurate, a dead bass player.
Dustin went white.
He hadn't been expecting to see the game actually begin for a few days, and now he was faced with the knowledge that these four people - who had rifles and axes, which was not advantageous for Maria and he - had killed someone. Actually shot him. In the head. Struck by the circumstances, Dustin did what any reasonable person would do in his position.
He panicked.
As Maria and Fiona noticed the body, Dustin struggled with the zip of his duffel bag and pulled out the curvy sword, fumbling with the sheath as he yanked it out and brandished it. The weighty girl stuttered something about a guy called Omar pulling the trigger, but he wasn't paying attention. Dustin Royal, over-confident charmer of Bayview Secondary School, was backing up, holding his sword to his chest and shouting "OH! OH! GOD!" very, very loudly.
Dustin had no idea how long he, Maria and Cassidy had been walking. It had been at least an hour, but he couldn't be sure. His watch had decided to up and die before they reached the island, rendering the $200 timepiece little more than an expensive bracelet and rendering Dustin just that bit more unable to track how long it had been since his last meal. The group hadn't talked much as they cut across the top of a cliff and searched for any sign of civilisation; Dustin had attempted some singalongs, but the general mood was apparently one of apathy - well, either that or no-one cares about the classics - and he had been left to sing the back-catalogue of Bob Dylan all by himself.
The sun was high and the desire to keep a water-rationing timetable was low when Maria stopped and drew the group's attention to a cluster of buildings off to the east. The girl, whose soft drink preference and menstruation calendar Dustin had inadvertently learned during the tramp, sprinted off towards the buildings, leaving Dustin to shout a feeble "Wait!" and stand around for a few seconds, his hands flopped awkwardly over his guitar. Having never been in a scenario he could rightly call 'life-and-death' (well, aside from that one time with the hot Texan at that Hold Steady concert in '06), Dustin searched for guidance on how to approach the situation - and when none was forthcoming, Dustin murmured, "Fuck it," and followed the girl with the highlights.
As Dustin jogged up to the buildings, the duffel bag and the guitar swinging at his sides and making his run more than a little ungainly, he caught sight of Maria and four other people. Dustin recognised them all, and quietly cursed as he realised that none of them were really prospects for a bit of exotic island fun. The plain one, Jessica, was a mopey wallflower, the tomboy, Alex, had a pretty impressive chassis but ran on redneck fuel, the fat one, Fiona, was...well, fat, and Kronwall was a dude, and that was out of the question.
Dustin sauntered up to Maria's side as she started her introduction and smiled at the girls, but they were too busy intensely muttering to each other and looking to Kronwall for guidance. As Fiona looked up, Dustin's eyes wandered to a thick red puddle creeping towards the feet of the other group. His eyes fixed on the advance of the treacly liquid, he moved around to the other side of Maria, and traced the puddle to its origins - a kid he recognised as a bass player. Or, to be more accurate, a dead bass player.
Dustin went white.
He hadn't been expecting to see the game actually begin for a few days, and now he was faced with the knowledge that these four people - who had rifles and axes, which was not advantageous for Maria and he - had killed someone. Actually shot him. In the head. Struck by the circumstances, Dustin did what any reasonable person would do in his position.
He panicked.
As Maria and Fiona noticed the body, Dustin struggled with the zip of his duffel bag and pulled out the curvy sword, fumbling with the sheath as he yanked it out and brandished it. The weighty girl stuttered something about a guy called Omar pulling the trigger, but he wasn't paying attention. Dustin Royal, over-confident charmer of Bayview Secondary School, was backing up, holding his sword to his chest and shouting "OH! OH! GOD!" very, very loudly.
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((Cassidy Wakemore continued from Wood and Wire))
For a while, Cassidy could push aside her recent memories and enjoy the moment. She and Maria and Dustin walked through a picturesque forest, decorated in a variety of pleasant green and brown hues, as Maria yammered about whatever popped into her head. Occasionally Cassie managed to respond to one of her points. She completely agreed with Maria about Coke, for instance, though for different reasons. It wasn't so much a matter of how it tasted as how much better their ad campaign was. Pepsi had a confrontational inferiority complex to their ads, always making a point to demonstrate just how much better their drink was than Coke. Coke, on the other hand, completely ignored Pepsi and took the high road. The result? Well, Santa didn't get decked out in Pepsi's red and blue colors, did he?
Eventually the forest ended, giving way to a cluster of houses surrounding a small fountain. Before either Cassie or Dustin could say anything, Maria darted ahead to explore. Apparently she found people, because she started calling out to them. Cassie and Dustin ran up ahead, with Cassie being careful to keep the point of her javelin far away from any of Dustin's soft, squishy parts. Her daypack thumped against her back as she ran into the central fountain.
She noticed that Maria had suddenly gone very quiet, her gaze fixed on a prone figure on the ground. Cassie looked at it and recognized Warren, lying on the couch, watching her hook the bass around her shoulder and limbering up her muscles.
"Alright, Cassie, whenever you're ready," Zach said. He looked pretty chill with her. He was chill. Cassie didn't really even know him that well and she was getting to be pretty chill, too. No wonder Maria liked this guy so much.
She chuckled as she searched her guitar case for her favorite pick, a marbled gaudy pink thing that matched her current hairstyle. "Heheheh. Alright, guys. I've practiced this motherfucker for a couple weeks now. I dare you to top this one, Warren!"
"Whatever," he said, lazily looking up at her from his supine position.
Cassie winked at Maria, sitting behind her rather ramshackle drum set. She winked back, crossing her sticks in an X-shape. This was all the encouragement Cassie needed to play the first note of one of her favorite bass numbers of all time.
Things went well at first when she started playing. Her eyes unfocused and she began to lose herself in her own little world. The song made her think of a world of scarred and pitted metal, a forest of brass and chrome forming trees with jagged, sharp edges and gnarled, mottled branches. The leaves of these trees were razors that could slice clean through bone in their prime, but the autumn had sapped them of their strength, reducing them to flakes of rust that fell off and covered the forest floor.
Through these woods stalked a sleek creature with leaden skin and glowing red eyes. It resembled a panther, but with rather scarier attachments like wicked barbed spines down its back and covering its twin tails until they ended with syringe needles. It opened its mouth and exhaled, expelling blistering air from the furnace inside its belly. The mishmash of parts forming the creature caused it to shriek as it moved, mimicking the shrieks of Cassie's own bass.
As the song crept closer to the point where Maria would join in with drums and the tempo would pick up, the creature reared back, preparing to pounce on and chase after its unseen prey.
"Hey guys, sorry I'm late!"
The voice of an angel broke through loud and clear, dissolving the world and the creature into individual atoms all swept away by the wind, leaving only the void of space and the pounding of her own ears. She drifted in the void until she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She turned and looked at the gorgeous unblemished face of someone new, someone she'd never seen before. His flawless skin was framed with platinum-blond hair, leaving only a wisp of it over his forehead. "You okay?" he asked, looking concerned.
Cassie blinked and looked around. Maria seemed a bit confused, holding her drums up in the air and looking at her. Zach frowned and pointed to the ground, where she saw her pick lying on the floor.
"How long has that been there?" she asked.
"Since Winston walked in," Zach said. "You were strumming air for half a minute."
Oh. Oh fuck. Cassie felt her cheeks alight as she clumsily picked it back up. "You wanna try it again?" Zach asked.
"No no no thanks," she said. "I'm fine. Let Warren go."
"Really? Because that wasn't half bad. You just needed to keep a better hold on that pick."
Cassie moved in front of the couch, where Warren had pointed his face up and closed his eyes, apparently to concentrate on the music. She reached for his hand to help him onto his feet only to find that it was deathly cold. Pale, too. Except for the red stuff on the underside of his hand, that sticky, dark, filthy red stuff.
She heard the beating in her ears again, then shook her head and took another look at Warren. It didn't change. Same lack of motion, same red stain in the center of his chest, same black hole opening into the void. No matter how many times she blinked, those remained.
The realization snuck up on her like a snake. No wonder Maria fell silent. Who could say anything to this?
For a while, Cassidy could push aside her recent memories and enjoy the moment. She and Maria and Dustin walked through a picturesque forest, decorated in a variety of pleasant green and brown hues, as Maria yammered about whatever popped into her head. Occasionally Cassie managed to respond to one of her points. She completely agreed with Maria about Coke, for instance, though for different reasons. It wasn't so much a matter of how it tasted as how much better their ad campaign was. Pepsi had a confrontational inferiority complex to their ads, always making a point to demonstrate just how much better their drink was than Coke. Coke, on the other hand, completely ignored Pepsi and took the high road. The result? Well, Santa didn't get decked out in Pepsi's red and blue colors, did he?
Eventually the forest ended, giving way to a cluster of houses surrounding a small fountain. Before either Cassie or Dustin could say anything, Maria darted ahead to explore. Apparently she found people, because she started calling out to them. Cassie and Dustin ran up ahead, with Cassie being careful to keep the point of her javelin far away from any of Dustin's soft, squishy parts. Her daypack thumped against her back as she ran into the central fountain.
She noticed that Maria had suddenly gone very quiet, her gaze fixed on a prone figure on the ground. Cassie looked at it and recognized Warren, lying on the couch, watching her hook the bass around her shoulder and limbering up her muscles.
"Alright, Cassie, whenever you're ready," Zach said. He looked pretty chill with her. He was chill. Cassie didn't really even know him that well and she was getting to be pretty chill, too. No wonder Maria liked this guy so much.
She chuckled as she searched her guitar case for her favorite pick, a marbled gaudy pink thing that matched her current hairstyle. "Heheheh. Alright, guys. I've practiced this motherfucker for a couple weeks now. I dare you to top this one, Warren!"
"Whatever," he said, lazily looking up at her from his supine position.
Cassie winked at Maria, sitting behind her rather ramshackle drum set. She winked back, crossing her sticks in an X-shape. This was all the encouragement Cassie needed to play the first note of one of her favorite bass numbers of all time.
Things went well at first when she started playing. Her eyes unfocused and she began to lose herself in her own little world. The song made her think of a world of scarred and pitted metal, a forest of brass and chrome forming trees with jagged, sharp edges and gnarled, mottled branches. The leaves of these trees were razors that could slice clean through bone in their prime, but the autumn had sapped them of their strength, reducing them to flakes of rust that fell off and covered the forest floor.
Through these woods stalked a sleek creature with leaden skin and glowing red eyes. It resembled a panther, but with rather scarier attachments like wicked barbed spines down its back and covering its twin tails until they ended with syringe needles. It opened its mouth and exhaled, expelling blistering air from the furnace inside its belly. The mishmash of parts forming the creature caused it to shriek as it moved, mimicking the shrieks of Cassie's own bass.
As the song crept closer to the point where Maria would join in with drums and the tempo would pick up, the creature reared back, preparing to pounce on and chase after its unseen prey.
"Hey guys, sorry I'm late!"
The voice of an angel broke through loud and clear, dissolving the world and the creature into individual atoms all swept away by the wind, leaving only the void of space and the pounding of her own ears. She drifted in the void until she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She turned and looked at the gorgeous unblemished face of someone new, someone she'd never seen before. His flawless skin was framed with platinum-blond hair, leaving only a wisp of it over his forehead. "You okay?" he asked, looking concerned.
Cassie blinked and looked around. Maria seemed a bit confused, holding her drums up in the air and looking at her. Zach frowned and pointed to the ground, where she saw her pick lying on the floor.
"How long has that been there?" she asked.
"Since Winston walked in," Zach said. "You were strumming air for half a minute."
Oh. Oh fuck. Cassie felt her cheeks alight as she clumsily picked it back up. "You wanna try it again?" Zach asked.
"No no no thanks," she said. "I'm fine. Let Warren go."
"Really? Because that wasn't half bad. You just needed to keep a better hold on that pick."
Cassie moved in front of the couch, where Warren had pointed his face up and closed his eyes, apparently to concentrate on the music. She reached for his hand to help him onto his feet only to find that it was deathly cold. Pale, too. Except for the red stuff on the underside of his hand, that sticky, dark, filthy red stuff.
She heard the beating in her ears again, then shook her head and took another look at Warren. It didn't change. Same lack of motion, same red stain in the center of his chest, same black hole opening into the void. No matter how many times she blinked, those remained.
The realization snuck up on her like a snake. No wonder Maria fell silent. Who could say anything to this?
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storyspoiler†
- Posts: 152
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
(Mizore Soryu start)
Mizore Soryu was looking for paint.
She hadn't brought any on the camping trip, because she thought it was rude to paint on trees. The dusty residence she'd been dropped in didn't have any. And she'd been hoping against hope that the terrorists had included some paint in her bag. They hadn't. Balls.
Likely she'd have to do whatever she needed to do in reverse-graffiti instead. Which took longer, and wasn't nearly colorful enough for Mizore's taste. But it would have to do.
Mizore was pretty sure she was going to die. She was a pacifist, which meant at some point someone with a substantially more beneficial set of core beliefs would kill her, or Danya would blow up her collar. This didn't really bother her--she had always known she was going to die, this was just a matter of sooner. What did bother her is that she didn't have paint.
Because if Mizore Soryu was going to die doing anything, she was going to die making something look awesome.
I will be remembered.
Mizore Soryu was the half-Japanese face behind Radio Asuka, the mysterious anonymous graffiti artist whose very name had gotten her a full ride into Bennington college. Life On Enceladus--the freegan commune she spent most of her time with--had gotten her onto graffiti arting as a kick, but soon she'd taken it up as a full time job, and then suddenly one day she was famous, a headline in the St. Paul Pioneer Press, WHO IS RADIO ASUKA?, a lit-up picture of her swirling pseudonymous signature, and an investigative piece in the Star-Tribune the next day that called her the "Banksy of St. Paul" (exaggeration, thought Mizore). When she asked the Life On Enceladus people, they told her she'd been mentioned in thumbnails and arty blogs earlier. But she hadn't thought those meant anything.
So suddenly she was famous. Albeit as a pseudonym. And now she was going to out herself, because, screw it, there were cameras everywhere. And there was no way she wasn't going to spend her last few days on earth making art.
This would go faster with some paint. Or even a felt-tip pen.
She licked her finger, and attacked the wallpaint on the clapboard with her fingernails. It came off easy, and buried itself in the quick of her skin; this paint was weak and old, near to dust. She opened her bag again, and dug out the caltrops she'd been given as a weapon. No good on an island where everyone was wearing hiking boots, but suitable for scraping paint off a wall.
She needed to remember they were weapons though. After a few tries, her hands were bloody from letting the spikes dig into her palms. She wrapped her left hand in an ace bandage and tried again.
The caltrops looked like origami stars.
Voices outside. They didn't sound like imminent death. That was good. She ignored them while she finished.
The gray door now had a darkly-carved long-legged teenage girl clinging to the lock, done in Radio Asuka's signature psychedelic, eerie style. The swirling tag completed it. There. Let the art world weep.
This is how she would be remembered.
She didn't quite know what to think of that yet.
Outside, now. The people outside were all clustered around something. From their voices, a corpse. Mizore dug the caltrop into her bandaged hand. Somehow, she hadn't expected darkness to fall so soon.
Very well, then.
"Hey," She called to the group. "Does anyone have paint?"
Mizore Soryu was looking for paint.
She hadn't brought any on the camping trip, because she thought it was rude to paint on trees. The dusty residence she'd been dropped in didn't have any. And she'd been hoping against hope that the terrorists had included some paint in her bag. They hadn't. Balls.
Likely she'd have to do whatever she needed to do in reverse-graffiti instead. Which took longer, and wasn't nearly colorful enough for Mizore's taste. But it would have to do.
Mizore was pretty sure she was going to die. She was a pacifist, which meant at some point someone with a substantially more beneficial set of core beliefs would kill her, or Danya would blow up her collar. This didn't really bother her--she had always known she was going to die, this was just a matter of sooner. What did bother her is that she didn't have paint.
Because if Mizore Soryu was going to die doing anything, she was going to die making something look awesome.
I will be remembered.
Mizore Soryu was the half-Japanese face behind Radio Asuka, the mysterious anonymous graffiti artist whose very name had gotten her a full ride into Bennington college. Life On Enceladus--the freegan commune she spent most of her time with--had gotten her onto graffiti arting as a kick, but soon she'd taken it up as a full time job, and then suddenly one day she was famous, a headline in the St. Paul Pioneer Press, WHO IS RADIO ASUKA?, a lit-up picture of her swirling pseudonymous signature, and an investigative piece in the Star-Tribune the next day that called her the "Banksy of St. Paul" (exaggeration, thought Mizore). When she asked the Life On Enceladus people, they told her she'd been mentioned in thumbnails and arty blogs earlier. But she hadn't thought those meant anything.
So suddenly she was famous. Albeit as a pseudonym. And now she was going to out herself, because, screw it, there were cameras everywhere. And there was no way she wasn't going to spend her last few days on earth making art.
This would go faster with some paint. Or even a felt-tip pen.
She licked her finger, and attacked the wallpaint on the clapboard with her fingernails. It came off easy, and buried itself in the quick of her skin; this paint was weak and old, near to dust. She opened her bag again, and dug out the caltrops she'd been given as a weapon. No good on an island where everyone was wearing hiking boots, but suitable for scraping paint off a wall.
She needed to remember they were weapons though. After a few tries, her hands were bloody from letting the spikes dig into her palms. She wrapped her left hand in an ace bandage and tried again.
The caltrops looked like origami stars.
Voices outside. They didn't sound like imminent death. That was good. She ignored them while she finished.
The gray door now had a darkly-carved long-legged teenage girl clinging to the lock, done in Radio Asuka's signature psychedelic, eerie style. The swirling tag completed it. There. Let the art world weep.
This is how she would be remembered.
She didn't quite know what to think of that yet.
Outside, now. The people outside were all clustered around something. From their voices, a corpse. Mizore dug the caltrop into her bandaged hand. Somehow, she hadn't expected darkness to fall so soon.
Very well, then.
"Hey," She called to the group. "Does anyone have paint?"
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Too many people were stumbling on to a scene that could only look bad for Nik and the three girls. Here was a group, visibly armed, standing over the corpse of boy. It did not help that Nik had a gun, and this kill was executed with a gun. What also did not help was that deep down Nik knew that he and Staffan would be targeted. The two foreign kids. The two NHL prospects. What did they care if the people around them died? They had a guaranteed future to look forward to. It was everything Nik didn't want to do, but people would expect that of him.
"No, no, no, no." He whispered to himself.
"Okay, can I have everyone's attention please thanks," Nik said, trying extremely hard to mask his accent, "I know what this might look like, but we did not do this. We want to give him a proper burial. It is what he deserves. Warren was a nice guy from what I can remember."
Nik took off his hat, feeling his sweat dampened hair brush against his ears as the strands fell.
"So, are any of you going to help me? Or do we just leave him here?"
The tone in Nik's voice was clear that it was not really a question, and the look in his eyes reaffirmed that sentiment. Someone was going to help him carry out what Alex said. They were not going to just leave him.
"No, no, no, no." He whispered to himself.
"Okay, can I have everyone's attention please thanks," Nik said, trying extremely hard to mask his accent, "I know what this might look like, but we did not do this. We want to give him a proper burial. It is what he deserves. Warren was a nice guy from what I can remember."
Nik took off his hat, feeling his sweat dampened hair brush against his ears as the strands fell.
"So, are any of you going to help me? Or do we just leave him here?"
The tone in Nik's voice was clear that it was not really a question, and the look in his eyes reaffirmed that sentiment. Someone was going to help him carry out what Alex said. They were not going to just leave him.
Stuff. Things. Stuff and things.
Jessica was not a fan of crowds. In fact she downright hated them. They made her nervous. In her normal everyday life, big gatherings of people that she did not know in the exact same place made Jessica squeamish. Calling it a phobia would be pushing it. Calling it overreacting would be fair. Even Jessica knew her fear was irrational, but in this case it seemed very appropriate. Too many people meant too many risks. Too many people meant greater chances to run into someone like Omar. Too many people. Too many weapons. Too many awkward pauses. Too many glares. Just too much of everything.
Jessica didn't like the looks on Cassidy and Maria's faces, not one bit. She knew that they had to be shocked about Warren but Jessica could sense something in their faces. It didn't matter that they were pretty far away, it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that they were wondering what the hell happened. Dustin's reaction seemed to solidify this - he even out-overreacted Jessica. They would definitely not jump to conclusions but at the same time -
Jessica looked over at Nik. He had a gun. They were definitely going to see him and think murderer. It was ridiculous, Jessica knew this, but Jessica was sure that had she stumbled across this scene herself she would have come to the same conclusion.
"Nng..."
The headache got worse. Jessica pressed her hand against her forehead, taking a reflexive step back. She accidentally bumped into Alex. She spun around and bowed her head apologetically.
"Sorry," Jessica said. Her face flushed and she turned away from her friend.
It was around this time where Jessica noticed her surroundings. The center of town was absolutely beautiful and it definitely didn't look run down. Jessica wouldn't lie - she had watched the last season of Survival of the Fittest. The place looked like an abandoned military base or something. The forums seemed to say that at the very least. The point she was mentally driving at was that last season the stage looked rundown. Decrepit. It didn't appear to have been in use for a long time. Now she was spinning around, looking at the center of town. It looked like it had been used very recently, and apart from the graffiti across the edge of the fountain not a single thing looked at all ruined. It was as much of a uplifting thought as it was disturbing. Were people really living here? And if they were, what the hell happened to them?
A girl wandered out of a nearby house. An asian girl with black hair and a very colorful set of clothes. It almost intimidated Jessica, though it wouldn't take much to intimidate her. The girl asked if anyone had some paint. No one answered. Jessica forced a smile, a small one where only the edges of her lips seemed to move up. She didn't really know why the girl wanted paint, but it wasn't her place to ask.
"Sorry," she said without a hint of enthusiasm. "No paint."
Jessica remembered the girl from school, but then who wouldn't recognize her? Jessica could not recall a name, but whenever the girl passed her in the hall her eyes would always catch her. She looked like she jumped straight out of one of those Japanese cartoons. Anime, yeah, that was the name. Those green eyes, the tied hair and the longcoat. She looked like she was pulled straight out of there. Jessica had never really been a fan of Anime. She could remember this one show, Cowboy Bebop. They always aired it on late at night and Jessica didn't have a vcr in her room, so she would stay up late at night and watch it. She would be tired the next morning but that never seemed to bother her. Most of the other ones she had seen were so boring that they almost put her to sleep, but Jessica could easily point out the bizarre features Mizore had. It wasn't an insult, just very distinct details caught her eye.
Jessica had memories flooding her mind. Looking at her now reminded Jessica of her home. It made Jessie smile. Jessica was in her happy place. She was calm. And then Nik had to go bringing her back down to earth.
"...what?" Jessica whispered, turning to Nik.
To be honest, Jessica had not been paying attention to the beginning Nik's speech. Until he got to the part where he said they were going to bury Warren. Ridiculous. It would be way too much trouble.
Jessica didn't want to sound, well, selfish but Jessica was not going to be digging up dirt just to drop Warren in there. What sort of burial would that be? They would have to drop Warren in the hole like a sack of potatoes where he'd be eaten by maggots and other bugs and the thought of that alone made Jessica want to disagree. Besides, was it going to make a big difference if they did something with Warren's body or not? It was grim but Jessica knew the second that she woke up that unless someone rescued them (the chances of which were slim to say the very least) that there were going to be bodies. Plenty of them. Over two-hundred of them. Burying one person was not going to make one bit of difference. If you bury one, you'd have to bury them all, killer or not.
Jessica just did not see the point. No, that wasn't why Jessica didn't want to do it. Touching a dead body seemed to cross an unseen boundary that Jessica was on the verge of crossing. Jessie was afraid to cross it, like she would become less of a person if she took one step over the line.
"I think..." Jessica started but she hung it out. She stopped and looked over at Alex. Was she all for this? Alex had been the one who asked about what they were going to do with Warren. Was she fine with this? Jessica looked over at the girl in the longcoat, her eyes pleading. She didn't say anything but it would be very easy to tell that she was asking the girl "Are you actually going to go along with this?!" with a very rushed "Please say yes." Maybe if Mizore actually agreed with her, then that would prove that Jessica wasn't crazy, that burying seemed like an extreme.
Jessica turned back. She felt a little guilty. "I-I'm sorry," Jessica gulped."but "I mean, don't you think that seems extreme?"
She looked at Cassidy and Maria. Jesus, Jessica really hoped that she wasn't talking to dead air. At the time it felt like she was right. "I-I didn't know him, Warren I mean, b-but I don't think it'll..." she wanted to say that it wasn't going to matter, but she didn't want to sound hateful. "What I mean is that, uhh, i-if we bury Warren then we have to bury everyone else we see." She gulped, shoulders straight, her heart pounding. Calm down Jessie... Be blunt, don't beat around the bush."No one really deserves to be here. It's a shame. However, I think burying Warren will just be a waste of time and just give someone with a very good weapon the opportunity to send us along with him. I feel sorry for him, really, and I really don't want to be the selfish one here but we've got to think about ourselves and not worry about people that have already lost. If we keep ourselves stuck in the past then we can never truly move forward, and if I know anything it's that the ones who are going to survive aren't the ones who kill the most. It's those who know who "
Jessica stopped. She hadn't planned on talking for so long. She looked around, finally realizing that she had grown a little more confident. She was standing up straight with her arms crossed and pressed against her chest, Her eyes met with the back of Nik's head. "I don't want to sound like the bad guy. We just have to be logical here. Acting like this is only going to get us hurt."
Jessica didn't like the looks on Cassidy and Maria's faces, not one bit. She knew that they had to be shocked about Warren but Jessica could sense something in their faces. It didn't matter that they were pretty far away, it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that they were wondering what the hell happened. Dustin's reaction seemed to solidify this - he even out-overreacted Jessica. They would definitely not jump to conclusions but at the same time -
Jessica looked over at Nik. He had a gun. They were definitely going to see him and think murderer. It was ridiculous, Jessica knew this, but Jessica was sure that had she stumbled across this scene herself she would have come to the same conclusion.
"Nng..."
The headache got worse. Jessica pressed her hand against her forehead, taking a reflexive step back. She accidentally bumped into Alex. She spun around and bowed her head apologetically.
"Sorry," Jessica said. Her face flushed and she turned away from her friend.
It was around this time where Jessica noticed her surroundings. The center of town was absolutely beautiful and it definitely didn't look run down. Jessica wouldn't lie - she had watched the last season of Survival of the Fittest. The place looked like an abandoned military base or something. The forums seemed to say that at the very least. The point she was mentally driving at was that last season the stage looked rundown. Decrepit. It didn't appear to have been in use for a long time. Now she was spinning around, looking at the center of town. It looked like it had been used very recently, and apart from the graffiti across the edge of the fountain not a single thing looked at all ruined. It was as much of a uplifting thought as it was disturbing. Were people really living here? And if they were, what the hell happened to them?
A girl wandered out of a nearby house. An asian girl with black hair and a very colorful set of clothes. It almost intimidated Jessica, though it wouldn't take much to intimidate her. The girl asked if anyone had some paint. No one answered. Jessica forced a smile, a small one where only the edges of her lips seemed to move up. She didn't really know why the girl wanted paint, but it wasn't her place to ask.
"Sorry," she said without a hint of enthusiasm. "No paint."
Jessica remembered the girl from school, but then who wouldn't recognize her? Jessica could not recall a name, but whenever the girl passed her in the hall her eyes would always catch her. She looked like she jumped straight out of one of those Japanese cartoons. Anime, yeah, that was the name. Those green eyes, the tied hair and the longcoat. She looked like she was pulled straight out of there. Jessica had never really been a fan of Anime. She could remember this one show, Cowboy Bebop. They always aired it on late at night and Jessica didn't have a vcr in her room, so she would stay up late at night and watch it. She would be tired the next morning but that never seemed to bother her. Most of the other ones she had seen were so boring that they almost put her to sleep, but Jessica could easily point out the bizarre features Mizore had. It wasn't an insult, just very distinct details caught her eye.
Jessica had memories flooding her mind. Looking at her now reminded Jessica of her home. It made Jessie smile. Jessica was in her happy place. She was calm. And then Nik had to go bringing her back down to earth.
"...what?" Jessica whispered, turning to Nik.
To be honest, Jessica had not been paying attention to the beginning Nik's speech. Until he got to the part where he said they were going to bury Warren. Ridiculous. It would be way too much trouble.
Jessica didn't want to sound, well, selfish but Jessica was not going to be digging up dirt just to drop Warren in there. What sort of burial would that be? They would have to drop Warren in the hole like a sack of potatoes where he'd be eaten by maggots and other bugs and the thought of that alone made Jessica want to disagree. Besides, was it going to make a big difference if they did something with Warren's body or not? It was grim but Jessica knew the second that she woke up that unless someone rescued them (the chances of which were slim to say the very least) that there were going to be bodies. Plenty of them. Over two-hundred of them. Burying one person was not going to make one bit of difference. If you bury one, you'd have to bury them all, killer or not.
Jessica just did not see the point. No, that wasn't why Jessica didn't want to do it. Touching a dead body seemed to cross an unseen boundary that Jessica was on the verge of crossing. Jessie was afraid to cross it, like she would become less of a person if she took one step over the line.
"I think..." Jessica started but she hung it out. She stopped and looked over at Alex. Was she all for this? Alex had been the one who asked about what they were going to do with Warren. Was she fine with this? Jessica looked over at the girl in the longcoat, her eyes pleading. She didn't say anything but it would be very easy to tell that she was asking the girl "Are you actually going to go along with this?!" with a very rushed "Please say yes." Maybe if Mizore actually agreed with her, then that would prove that Jessica wasn't crazy, that burying seemed like an extreme.
Jessica turned back. She felt a little guilty. "I-I'm sorry," Jessica gulped."but "I mean, don't you think that seems extreme?"
She looked at Cassidy and Maria. Jesus, Jessica really hoped that she wasn't talking to dead air. At the time it felt like she was right. "I-I didn't know him, Warren I mean, b-but I don't think it'll..." she wanted to say that it wasn't going to matter, but she didn't want to sound hateful. "What I mean is that, uhh, i-if we bury Warren then we have to bury everyone else we see." She gulped, shoulders straight, her heart pounding. Calm down Jessie... Be blunt, don't beat around the bush."No one really deserves to be here. It's a shame. However, I think burying Warren will just be a waste of time and just give someone with a very good weapon the opportunity to send us along with him. I feel sorry for him, really, and I really don't want to be the selfish one here but we've got to think about ourselves and not worry about people that have already lost. If we keep ourselves stuck in the past then we can never truly move forward, and if I know anything it's that the ones who are going to survive aren't the ones who kill the most. It's those who know who "
Jessica stopped. She hadn't planned on talking for so long. She looked around, finally realizing that she had grown a little more confident. She was standing up straight with her arms crossed and pressed against her chest, Her eyes met with the back of Nik's head. "I don't want to sound like the bad guy. We just have to be logical here. Acting like this is only going to get us hurt."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Alex instinctively stepped closer to Jessica and the others as the group in the square suddenly doubled, none of which she knew very well at all. Although, they apparently knew Warren fairly well. The fact that they'd lost someone they were close too so soon only reinforced Alex's need to find Roman. This may be a sick twisted game, but she'd feel a lot better once she found out if her brother was okay. She glanced over concerned as Jessica stumbled away from her. Jessica seemed fine, in fact she seemed to be talking to the Asian girl that was worried about paint. Yeah, cuz that's what important right now, Alex mocked in her head.
"You guys haven't seen my brother have you," she asked the new arrivals. "He's my size, brown hair, blue eyes, glasses."
She smiled at Nik when he seconded her notion of burying Warren. Then Jessica began talking and it was all Alex could do not to gape at her friend. Burying Warren a waste of time, I so don't see that. Just because we've become victims of this stupid game doesn't mean we should all start acting like Omar and pretending we're not human. She shrugged at the waste of time argument, what else did they have to do here. At least this could be one small thing that they could do.
"I disagree. I don't really think we're on some sort of timetable. It's not like they're letting us off the island tomorrow if we can make it to the docks," Alex said. "Besides if all of us pitch in it shouldn't take very long at all. As soon as we find a shovel, that is. No one got one did they? I mean as they're weapon," Alex continued on ignoring Jessica's objections. I guess I see her point, but I'm going to waste my time burying Warren, by myself if I have too. Her mind made up Alex moved a couple steps from Nik, Jessica, and Fiona, looking for anything she could dig with.
"You guys haven't seen my brother have you," she asked the new arrivals. "He's my size, brown hair, blue eyes, glasses."
She smiled at Nik when he seconded her notion of burying Warren. Then Jessica began talking and it was all Alex could do not to gape at her friend. Burying Warren a waste of time, I so don't see that. Just because we've become victims of this stupid game doesn't mean we should all start acting like Omar and pretending we're not human. She shrugged at the waste of time argument, what else did they have to do here. At least this could be one small thing that they could do.
"I disagree. I don't really think we're on some sort of timetable. It's not like they're letting us off the island tomorrow if we can make it to the docks," Alex said. "Besides if all of us pitch in it shouldn't take very long at all. As soon as we find a shovel, that is. No one got one did they? I mean as they're weapon," Alex continued on ignoring Jessica's objections. I guess I see her point, but I'm going to waste my time burying Warren, by myself if I have too. Her mind made up Alex moved a couple steps from Nik, Jessica, and Fiona, looking for anything she could dig with.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Arscapi. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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Super Llama†
- Posts: 339
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 7:39 am
No. No, wait a minute, this isn't right. This couldn't really be happening. This was only the first day! Warren couldn't be dead yet! She was supposed to meet up with him, and then find Max and Duncan, and then they could just...just...
But it couldn't be real! This couldn't be real! Maybe just waking up and finding out this whole game was just a bad dream was too much to ask. But she was sure that in just a second, she'd wake up to find out that somehow she'd fallen asleep while they were on the move. Then she'd tell Cass and Dustin about it, and they'd share a laugh and continue on their merry way. That's how it was going to go, right?
Right?
A million thoughts zipped through Maria's head at once, crashing and smashing into each other in some kind of million-thought pile-up, and disappearing before she could even dwell on them. Finally, she looked back up at the four in front of her. Did they kill him? The people right in front of her? She heard Nik speak up, disclaiming any kind of responsibility. But if they didn't do it, then who did?
Omar? She thought she heard Fiona mention his name. Did Omar do it? She remembered Omar. Not very well, but she at least knew of him. A pretty stand-offish person; never seemed to get along with other people. Did he really kill Warren? She couldn't even be sure; All she heard was a name, without even any proper context.
She wanted to know who killed him. She wanted to know, so she could...so she could what? What would she do once she found out?
Hurt him.
She wanted to hurt him. Or her, whatever. There's no way Warren would play the game. No way in hell, especially right on the first day. It had to be murder. That was the only explanation. Somebody just walked up to Warren, and shot him. Killed him. In cold blood. She wished she could return the favor. Whatever the killer had done to him, she wanted to do back, tenfold. She'd make him sorry he'd eve-
Oh God, what was the thinking? Her train of thought was beginning to frighten her. Is this how it happened in the last three games? Somebody loses someone close to them, then something inside them just snaps, and suddenly it's perfectly okay to start killing now? No, no, she didn't want to think like that. Maria Graham was not a killer. But she still wanted to know who did it. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Like if she knew who it was, if she could put a face to Warren's killer, all those horrible thoughts would just come rushing back.
And then the idea of digging a grave for him was being discussed, points being made for and against it. As she thought about it, she really didn't want to dig a grave; not because of the whole "if we dig a grave for Warren, we're gonna have to dig a grave for everybody else" argument, or whatever it really was about, but because it just seemed so...final. Digging a grave was like the final nail in the "Warren is dead" coffin. Could she really do it, knowing that once she was done, that was it? Warren is dead, he's never, ever coming back? Ever?
But it was the truth. He really wasn't coming back. Digging a grave was the least she could do for her former bandmate. For her friend.
"Hey, Warren! I thought your bass playing was really awesome! Welcome to Blank Nation!"
"I-" Maria said, the words catching in her throat again, but this time, after a moment's hesitation, she forced them out anyway. "I'll do it." She says, her voice cracking mid-sentence, as if it was the hardest thing in the world for her to say. Her body stayed rooted to the ground, refusing to move at first, but even that passed as she found herself moving over to the next flowerbed, feeling so detached, as if her body was on autopilot, and she was just an observer.
"Warren! You remember that our first gig is on Saturday, right? Zach wanted me to tell you we're going to be doing that one song as the finale instead. You know, the one with the bear. 'Bear Rampage' or 'Bear Rocketship' or 'Bear-a-Gadda-Da-Vida' or something."
She reached down, pulling out a few daisies by their roots, and then a few more, and a few more, until enough of the flowerbed was cleared out for her to start digging. The soil was soft, easy to dig up, even with her bare hands as she was doing.
"Warren, our first gig's tomorrow! Are you syched? I'm syched! Like, super-ultra-mega-ultra syched! 9000! Part 3, the Search For Curly's Gold! ...wait, what?"
As she dug, only barely acknowledging anyone who would've decided to join in, her mind begin to drift off. Back to Blank Nation's first gig, at the White Stallion, as always. Though she had already been in a band and gone to gigs with them before, she was still nervous. This was a brand new band, a fresh start, and she begun to wonder how the audience would react. Those worries quickly dissipated, though, as they begun to play, and she quickly lost herself in the music. In the want, the need, to just belt out the best performance she could possibly give. And they loved it. The audience's cheering gave her the best feeling in the world. She could just die right there and be perfectly content.
And then Zach dumped her and kicked her out of the band, because he wanted to further his music career.
...no, that wasn't it. That wasn't it at all.
It's because, when it really came down to it, she was worthless.
Zach was right. She was holding the band back. When it came to playing the drums, there was just no restraint with it came to her. And what if they needed something that called for restraint? Hell, she couldn't do it. The only way she knew how to play the drums was to just go at it full throttle. And her bandmates? Hell, she was so scatter-brained the others were probably just annoyed to no end with her, and didn't want to say anything because she was dating the band's frontman. Even her own mother would rather just throw herself into her career than pay any real attention to her. She was just a liability. A selfish, incompetent liability.
And now that she was on the island, what could she possibly do? Even her goal of finding all her friends and bandmates and such was born out of pure selfishness. She just couldn't stand to be alone in a situation like this. Once she got together everyone she wanted, what then? She wasn't smart or clever enough to come up with an escape plan, and without that, they'd just be stuck watching each other die. Or worse, turning on each other once the fact that there could only be one really sunk in. They'd be better off just never seeing each other at all, but here she was, trying to bring them all together, just because she didn't want to be alone.
She was so worthless.
She was worthless to Zach.
She was worthless to the band. To Winston and Warren.
She was worthless to Duncan. And Cass. And Max.
She was worthless to her own mother
The only thing she was good for was digging this grave.
Digging this goddamn grave.
"It...it's done." Finally, she pulled back, surveying her work, only to find it sorely disappointing. It was so shallow; only deep enough to cover Warren with maybe a half-a-foot of dirt. But she couldn't dig anymore. Her fingers were raw; the soft topsoil having given way to the coarser stuff pretty early, with even a few heavy rocks that she had to pull out. It was the best she could do, but it just wasn't good enough.
Just not good enough.
Tears begin to pour down her cheeks that she could no longer stop, and she begin to sob.
Looks like she was even worthless for digging this grave, too.
But it couldn't be real! This couldn't be real! Maybe just waking up and finding out this whole game was just a bad dream was too much to ask. But she was sure that in just a second, she'd wake up to find out that somehow she'd fallen asleep while they were on the move. Then she'd tell Cass and Dustin about it, and they'd share a laugh and continue on their merry way. That's how it was going to go, right?
Right?
A million thoughts zipped through Maria's head at once, crashing and smashing into each other in some kind of million-thought pile-up, and disappearing before she could even dwell on them. Finally, she looked back up at the four in front of her. Did they kill him? The people right in front of her? She heard Nik speak up, disclaiming any kind of responsibility. But if they didn't do it, then who did?
Omar? She thought she heard Fiona mention his name. Did Omar do it? She remembered Omar. Not very well, but she at least knew of him. A pretty stand-offish person; never seemed to get along with other people. Did he really kill Warren? She couldn't even be sure; All she heard was a name, without even any proper context.
She wanted to know who killed him. She wanted to know, so she could...so she could what? What would she do once she found out?
Hurt him.
She wanted to hurt him. Or her, whatever. There's no way Warren would play the game. No way in hell, especially right on the first day. It had to be murder. That was the only explanation. Somebody just walked up to Warren, and shot him. Killed him. In cold blood. She wished she could return the favor. Whatever the killer had done to him, she wanted to do back, tenfold. She'd make him sorry he'd eve-
Oh God, what was the thinking? Her train of thought was beginning to frighten her. Is this how it happened in the last three games? Somebody loses someone close to them, then something inside them just snaps, and suddenly it's perfectly okay to start killing now? No, no, she didn't want to think like that. Maria Graham was not a killer. But she still wanted to know who did it. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Like if she knew who it was, if she could put a face to Warren's killer, all those horrible thoughts would just come rushing back.
And then the idea of digging a grave for him was being discussed, points being made for and against it. As she thought about it, she really didn't want to dig a grave; not because of the whole "if we dig a grave for Warren, we're gonna have to dig a grave for everybody else" argument, or whatever it really was about, but because it just seemed so...final. Digging a grave was like the final nail in the "Warren is dead" coffin. Could she really do it, knowing that once she was done, that was it? Warren is dead, he's never, ever coming back? Ever?
But it was the truth. He really wasn't coming back. Digging a grave was the least she could do for her former bandmate. For her friend.
"Hey, Warren! I thought your bass playing was really awesome! Welcome to Blank Nation!"
"I-" Maria said, the words catching in her throat again, but this time, after a moment's hesitation, she forced them out anyway. "I'll do it." She says, her voice cracking mid-sentence, as if it was the hardest thing in the world for her to say. Her body stayed rooted to the ground, refusing to move at first, but even that passed as she found herself moving over to the next flowerbed, feeling so detached, as if her body was on autopilot, and she was just an observer.
"Warren! You remember that our first gig is on Saturday, right? Zach wanted me to tell you we're going to be doing that one song as the finale instead. You know, the one with the bear. 'Bear Rampage' or 'Bear Rocketship' or 'Bear-a-Gadda-Da-Vida' or something."
She reached down, pulling out a few daisies by their roots, and then a few more, and a few more, until enough of the flowerbed was cleared out for her to start digging. The soil was soft, easy to dig up, even with her bare hands as she was doing.
"Warren, our first gig's tomorrow! Are you syched? I'm syched! Like, super-ultra-mega-ultra syched! 9000! Part 3, the Search For Curly's Gold! ...wait, what?"
As she dug, only barely acknowledging anyone who would've decided to join in, her mind begin to drift off. Back to Blank Nation's first gig, at the White Stallion, as always. Though she had already been in a band and gone to gigs with them before, she was still nervous. This was a brand new band, a fresh start, and she begun to wonder how the audience would react. Those worries quickly dissipated, though, as they begun to play, and she quickly lost herself in the music. In the want, the need, to just belt out the best performance she could possibly give. And they loved it. The audience's cheering gave her the best feeling in the world. She could just die right there and be perfectly content.
And then Zach dumped her and kicked her out of the band, because he wanted to further his music career.
...no, that wasn't it. That wasn't it at all.
It's because, when it really came down to it, she was worthless.
Zach was right. She was holding the band back. When it came to playing the drums, there was just no restraint with it came to her. And what if they needed something that called for restraint? Hell, she couldn't do it. The only way she knew how to play the drums was to just go at it full throttle. And her bandmates? Hell, she was so scatter-brained the others were probably just annoyed to no end with her, and didn't want to say anything because she was dating the band's frontman. Even her own mother would rather just throw herself into her career than pay any real attention to her. She was just a liability. A selfish, incompetent liability.
And now that she was on the island, what could she possibly do? Even her goal of finding all her friends and bandmates and such was born out of pure selfishness. She just couldn't stand to be alone in a situation like this. Once she got together everyone she wanted, what then? She wasn't smart or clever enough to come up with an escape plan, and without that, they'd just be stuck watching each other die. Or worse, turning on each other once the fact that there could only be one really sunk in. They'd be better off just never seeing each other at all, but here she was, trying to bring them all together, just because she didn't want to be alone.
She was so worthless.
She was worthless to Zach.
She was worthless to the band. To Winston and Warren.
She was worthless to Duncan. And Cass. And Max.
She was worthless to her own mother
The only thing she was good for was digging this grave.
Digging this goddamn grave.
"It...it's done." Finally, she pulled back, surveying her work, only to find it sorely disappointing. It was so shallow; only deep enough to cover Warren with maybe a half-a-foot of dirt. But she couldn't dig anymore. Her fingers were raw; the soft topsoil having given way to the coarser stuff pretty early, with even a few heavy rocks that she had to pull out. It was the best she could do, but it just wasn't good enough.
Just not good enough.
Tears begin to pour down her cheeks that she could no longer stop, and she begin to sob.
Looks like she was even worthless for digging this grave, too.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Super Llama.
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ZombiexCreame†
- Posts: 305
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:29 am
Fiona looked up slowly from Warren's body as another person approached. She recognized the boy from a few of her classes, but all she knew about him was that he played guitar. As if to reinforce this detail, Dustin's guitar was slung to his side. She wanted to question him about why he was carrying around a guitar at a time like this... How convenient would that be? A guitar would just get in the way in the heat of a fight, although if times got rough, he could always smash it over the head of an opponent... Fiona was about to say something to Dustin, but he noticed Warren's body after following the trail of crimson blood. Once again, Fiona flopped. She just couldn't find much to say.
Fiona raised her eyebrows and took a slight step back when Dustin wielded a sword. He seemed to be panicking a bit. "Dustin!" Fiona called out, her voice finally flooding back into her throat. "Calm down! We.. We didn't do this! It was someone else, we swear!" She took a deep breath and glanced back down at the bloodied corpse. Another figure had approached while Fiona was preoccupied with watching Dustin pull out his sword. This girl wasn't so familiar to Fiona, but she was touching Warren's body. Perhaps this people personally knew him? Then no wonder they were reacting so strongly... It hurt to lose someone that you personally knew... Not that she had much personal experience. "But it'll happen. That's a given... I'll lose all my friends, most likely," she reminded herself. A lump formed in her throat, but she willed it away. This was no time to cry or angst over the irreversible.
And then came another person. This was getting to be quite a crowd! ...Fiona didn't know how she felt about that. It was one thing to team up with Alex, Jessica, and Nik... They all had the advantage of decent weaponry. Well, Fiona's axe couldn't deal much damage in a gun fight, but it was decent enough. But with all these other people? Surely nothing good could come from that... And this girl (Fiona recognized her as one of those artsy types) was asking for... paint. Paint on a god-damned island of death. ...Psycho. They were trying to deal with a corpse here! Fiona looked over at Mizore and said, a little bit harshly than intended, "No. If you haven't noticed, painting is the last thing that people should worry about here."
Fiona was surprised at the hostility in her own usually perky voice, but she couldn't help it. This situation was unlike anything else she had ever experienced. It was okay to let her personality evolve a bit. She couldn't go around acting like an idiot forever.
She looked over at Nik and listened as he made his small speech. He wanted to bury Warren? That was the worst idea that Fiona had ever heard. It was preposterous! Ridiculous! Why waste time burying a single body? In just a few days, this island would be RIPE with corpses! So much could be done in the time that it took to bury a body... They could formulate a solid plan or move themselves from standing out in the open like a bunch of sitting ducks.
And that's exactly what they would be if a killer found them burying some body! Sitting ducks! Someone could come and mow them all down in a single spray of bullets while they were burying Warren! It would be pure and utter chaos. Fiona didn't like it. Looking over at Nik, she tightened her grip on her axe and shook her head. "I don't think burying Warren is such a great idea... It's a.." She paused. She didn't want to sound insensitive, but it was! It was a huge "waste."
She bit her lip and twirled a limp dread around one of her fingers. Jessica was speaking now, and although she was normally very quiet and reserved, Fiona felt herself hanging on to every word. Jessica seemed to share the same opinion as Fiona. They were both anti-burial. Fiona smiled and glanced at Jessica. "I agree with Jessica." But apparently Alex didn't. It would be impossible to convince everyone not to bury Warren, and she honestly didn't want to look unsympathetic, but... She was not going to take any part in this.
Maria knelt down and began to dig a grave in the flowerbed with her bare hands. Fiona sighed deeply and made a show of taking another step back, glancing over at Jessica. She could not take part in this. Sure, she felt sorry for Warren and everything, but burying every body they came upon was stupid. Another lump formed in Fiona's throat. She gulped in an attempt to rid herself, but it just wouldn't go away. Why was so being so frigid? She wasn't usually like this... Maybe she should just help? Fiona slung her duffel bag onto her shoulder and stared at the shallow grave. It was only deep enough to barely cover Warren... But it was good enough. Thankfully it didn't take that long.
Maria was sobbing. Fiona couldn't take this; her cheeks burned bright. She looked at the other members of her group for comfort. What were they supposed to do? This small group of classmates appeared from out of nowhere to mourn the loss of Warren. It was a bit too much for Fiona. Tears began to appear along the edge of her eyes. She hated hearing other people cry! Wiping the moisture away with embarrassment, Fiona said softly, "Ah.. Don't cry, Maria.. It's a.. good grave... It's not like we can afford to dig six feet under right now." Fiona looked down at the grass beneath her feet and sniffed. This stuff was much too deep for Fiona to handle right now... Why couldn't she just return to her happy and carefree life?
Fiona raised her eyebrows and took a slight step back when Dustin wielded a sword. He seemed to be panicking a bit. "Dustin!" Fiona called out, her voice finally flooding back into her throat. "Calm down! We.. We didn't do this! It was someone else, we swear!" She took a deep breath and glanced back down at the bloodied corpse. Another figure had approached while Fiona was preoccupied with watching Dustin pull out his sword. This girl wasn't so familiar to Fiona, but she was touching Warren's body. Perhaps this people personally knew him? Then no wonder they were reacting so strongly... It hurt to lose someone that you personally knew... Not that she had much personal experience. "But it'll happen. That's a given... I'll lose all my friends, most likely," she reminded herself. A lump formed in her throat, but she willed it away. This was no time to cry or angst over the irreversible.
And then came another person. This was getting to be quite a crowd! ...Fiona didn't know how she felt about that. It was one thing to team up with Alex, Jessica, and Nik... They all had the advantage of decent weaponry. Well, Fiona's axe couldn't deal much damage in a gun fight, but it was decent enough. But with all these other people? Surely nothing good could come from that... And this girl (Fiona recognized her as one of those artsy types) was asking for... paint. Paint on a god-damned island of death. ...Psycho. They were trying to deal with a corpse here! Fiona looked over at Mizore and said, a little bit harshly than intended, "No. If you haven't noticed, painting is the last thing that people should worry about here."
Fiona was surprised at the hostility in her own usually perky voice, but she couldn't help it. This situation was unlike anything else she had ever experienced. It was okay to let her personality evolve a bit. She couldn't go around acting like an idiot forever.
She looked over at Nik and listened as he made his small speech. He wanted to bury Warren? That was the worst idea that Fiona had ever heard. It was preposterous! Ridiculous! Why waste time burying a single body? In just a few days, this island would be RIPE with corpses! So much could be done in the time that it took to bury a body... They could formulate a solid plan or move themselves from standing out in the open like a bunch of sitting ducks.
And that's exactly what they would be if a killer found them burying some body! Sitting ducks! Someone could come and mow them all down in a single spray of bullets while they were burying Warren! It would be pure and utter chaos. Fiona didn't like it. Looking over at Nik, she tightened her grip on her axe and shook her head. "I don't think burying Warren is such a great idea... It's a.." She paused. She didn't want to sound insensitive, but it was! It was a huge "waste."
She bit her lip and twirled a limp dread around one of her fingers. Jessica was speaking now, and although she was normally very quiet and reserved, Fiona felt herself hanging on to every word. Jessica seemed to share the same opinion as Fiona. They were both anti-burial. Fiona smiled and glanced at Jessica. "I agree with Jessica." But apparently Alex didn't. It would be impossible to convince everyone not to bury Warren, and she honestly didn't want to look unsympathetic, but... She was not going to take any part in this.
Maria knelt down and began to dig a grave in the flowerbed with her bare hands. Fiona sighed deeply and made a show of taking another step back, glancing over at Jessica. She could not take part in this. Sure, she felt sorry for Warren and everything, but burying every body they came upon was stupid. Another lump formed in Fiona's throat. She gulped in an attempt to rid herself, but it just wouldn't go away. Why was so being so frigid? She wasn't usually like this... Maybe she should just help? Fiona slung her duffel bag onto her shoulder and stared at the shallow grave. It was only deep enough to barely cover Warren... But it was good enough. Thankfully it didn't take that long.
Maria was sobbing. Fiona couldn't take this; her cheeks burned bright. She looked at the other members of her group for comfort. What were they supposed to do? This small group of classmates appeared from out of nowhere to mourn the loss of Warren. It was a bit too much for Fiona. Tears began to appear along the edge of her eyes. She hated hearing other people cry! Wiping the moisture away with embarrassment, Fiona said softly, "Ah.. Don't cry, Maria.. It's a.. good grave... It's not like we can afford to dig six feet under right now." Fiona looked down at the grass beneath her feet and sniffed. This stuff was much too deep for Fiona to handle right now... Why couldn't she just return to her happy and carefree life?
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Pigeon Army†
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Dustin staggered backwards until his back thudded against a building. Almost involuntarily, he slid down the wall and sat down, his weapon still clutched tightly to his chest, his eyes still wide open. It wasn't like Dustin hadn't seen a dead body at all - he watched TV, he saw them on the news and on CSI and shit. But this was different. This was here. This was now. And if he wasn't careful, this would be him in a few days time.
The action in the town centre was building up to fever pitch. Everyone was debating whether or not to bury the dead boy, crying and yelling and flailing around. Dustin shook uncontrollably, staring straight ahead and avoiding making eye contact with anyone, even the boy with the blood pumping out of his body - especially the boy with the blood pumping out of his body. The voices all began merging together, the fat girl and the plain girl and Kronwall and the redneck and the girl looking for paint and they all kept talking and talking but they weren't actually doing anything and they were acting like the body wasn't even there how could they be so calm and so rational in a time like this "JUST GET RID OF IT!"
Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit the boy, and he jerked to one side, dropping his sword and gagging on the vomit caught in his dry throat. Threads of thick dribble meandered out of his mouth and dangled on their way towards the ground. The puke was burning the back of his mouth and his throat, and he retched again. A small glob of bread and water splattered onto the concrete. Dustin watched as it lazily seeped into the cracks in the pavement, unable to do anything else. He spat out the rest of the regurgitated rations, the taste of the acidic puke almost triggering another bout of sickness.
Slowly, Dustin pushed himself back up, his back straight against the bricks. The crisp air flowed through his burning nostrils and scoured throat. After a second, he absent-mindedly unzipped his duffel bag and began searching for tissues. His hand chancing upon a small pack of them that had apparently been transferred from his original bag, he fumbled with it and clumsily ripped it open. Pulling out a single tissue, he wiped the brown and orange sludge from his mouth and blew his nose. Staring at the gory remnants for a second, he tossed it away and took in a deep breath. Smooth, he thought to himself, derisively chuckling at his grand gesture of disgust.
He picked up his yatagan from in front of him and turned back to look at the group. Maria was crouched over the flowerbed, her hands all red and covered and dirt. She was sobbing, and the fat girl was starting too. Dustin sighed as he looked at the small trench Maria had dug in the flowerbed, presumably to give the dead boy some kind of impromptu grave. It was kind of touching, in a way.
Dustin continued watching. If this had been any other time, he probably would have made his move and hit Maria up for some grief sex.
This wasn't any other time.
The action in the town centre was building up to fever pitch. Everyone was debating whether or not to bury the dead boy, crying and yelling and flailing around. Dustin shook uncontrollably, staring straight ahead and avoiding making eye contact with anyone, even the boy with the blood pumping out of his body - especially the boy with the blood pumping out of his body. The voices all began merging together, the fat girl and the plain girl and Kronwall and the redneck and the girl looking for paint and they all kept talking and talking but they weren't actually doing anything and they were acting like the body wasn't even there how could they be so calm and so rational in a time like this "JUST GET RID OF IT!"
Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit the boy, and he jerked to one side, dropping his sword and gagging on the vomit caught in his dry throat. Threads of thick dribble meandered out of his mouth and dangled on their way towards the ground. The puke was burning the back of his mouth and his throat, and he retched again. A small glob of bread and water splattered onto the concrete. Dustin watched as it lazily seeped into the cracks in the pavement, unable to do anything else. He spat out the rest of the regurgitated rations, the taste of the acidic puke almost triggering another bout of sickness.
Slowly, Dustin pushed himself back up, his back straight against the bricks. The crisp air flowed through his burning nostrils and scoured throat. After a second, he absent-mindedly unzipped his duffel bag and began searching for tissues. His hand chancing upon a small pack of them that had apparently been transferred from his original bag, he fumbled with it and clumsily ripped it open. Pulling out a single tissue, he wiped the brown and orange sludge from his mouth and blew his nose. Staring at the gory remnants for a second, he tossed it away and took in a deep breath. Smooth, he thought to himself, derisively chuckling at his grand gesture of disgust.
He picked up his yatagan from in front of him and turned back to look at the group. Maria was crouched over the flowerbed, her hands all red and covered and dirt. She was sobbing, and the fat girl was starting too. Dustin sighed as he looked at the small trench Maria had dug in the flowerbed, presumably to give the dead boy some kind of impromptu grave. It was kind of touching, in a way.
Dustin continued watching. If this had been any other time, he probably would have made his move and hit Maria up for some grief sex.
This wasn't any other time.
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A drop of blood flowed down Cassidy's finger to the second knuckle from her fingertip, then fell down to the soil and vanished. Cassie watched her hands and the thin layer of red that coated them. The blood had already started to dry. As she watched, she heard people talking, and knew they were speaking English, but she couldn't find the strength to understand them just yet. She didn't even notice that other girl intruding on this sacred moment and asking for whatever it was she wanted.
They talked about Warren. They voted on whether to bury him. It wasn't until Cassie heard the sound of the ground being scraped and scooped next to her that she finally turned away from her hands and blinked. She looked at Maria, an act which nearly finished off her composure.
Maria looked like a completely different person. The goofy smile that captured her frenetic spirit died with Warren. In its place there stood a tortured rictus pulling the corners of her mouth down and exposing her teeth. Her cheeks glistened with the trails of tears leading down to her chin, her cheeks and nose flushed bright red, and clear mucus trickled from her nostrils. Cassie tried to think of the last time Maria had looked like this, and realized that she couldn't. She'd never seen Maria cry, not even when Zach dumped her. Nothing could get her down, ever! If Maria's cheerful disposition couldn't even survive this... Jesus.
And so Cassie began to take on that exact same expression herself. Her vision blurred, causing her to blink. She felt hot tears flow from her eyes, then an irritation in her nose caused her to sniffle. Left with little other choice, she reached down with her red hands and started helping Maria with the digging process. By then Maria was mostly finished, having gotten the easy part out of the way. Cassie kept on going with her fresh hands, taking out rocks and pebbles as quickly as she could. She managed to get another six inches out of the whole grave, but it was bitter work. She got out of there with her fingers aching and throbbing, and upon closer inspection, fresh blood - her blood - covered a scratch running down the side of her right middle finger.
All the while, she tried to focus, tried to recall what everybody said. Nik said yes. Fiona said no. Dustin said nothing, retching instead. And Jessica also said no, but three votes beat two, and even if it didn't, these girls weren't going to listen to the naysayers anyway.
She remembered what Jessica said. She tried to sugarcoat it with all of the concerned inflections and insipid platitudes about not wanting to be the bad guy, but her point remained. Warren wasn't special. Warren was a liability now. Warren didn't deserve to be buried.
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
In a haze of anger, Cassidy retrieved her javelin and thrust it at Jessica, impaling her stomach on its sharp point. Blood flowed down the shaft of it in far greater quantities than she'd gotten from Warren, making not only her hands red but her forearms, too. She didn't look so much like an artist now. She looked feral. She looked rabid. She looked ready to bite.
"Take it back, shithead!" she said, staring into Jessica's terrified eyes as the taller girl struggled to stammer out an apology. It proved inaudible and unintelligible, which only made Cassie angrier, causing her to twist the javelin. Jessica made another sound that resembled a shrieking badger, unable to articulate anything because of the pain.
"I SAID TAKE IT BACK!" Cassie said.
Except she didn't. She didn't do any of that. Her javelin sat on the ground, too far away for her to reach it without giving the others plenty of time to react to her. Instead of hurting Jessica, she just gave her a stony, pointed glare and moved to Warren's body. She kneeled over it and let out a single sob before collecting herself again.
"Warren, I'm sorry about everything," she said, eyes closed. Flashes of her failed audition ran through her mind: the opening to Anesthesia, the pick slipping out of her hand, sitting on the couch watching with slackened jaw as the band performed a perfect cover of an Aerosmith song.
"When you beat me back then and got accepted as Blank Nation's bass... I couldn't be happy for you. I just couldn't." She hung her head as Maria enthusiastically congratulated her, looking back up only when that same girl, that same girl with raw fingers and a reddened face, gave her a pat on the back. They talked, and Maria tried her best to cheer Cassie up.
"There was just too much attraction for me in the idea of being in a band. I'd never gotten the opportunity before, and I came so close to doing it that day. It was only because of... of..." Cassie was inconsolable that day, though. She only half-heard Maria's words. She was too busy looking at Winston and Zach and Warren shooting the shit and discussing songs to notice. "-because of a freak accident that you beat me out, I thought!
"I couldn't let it go. I wanted to be a part of the band so badly. That's why I made so much artwork for it, Warren." Days later, Cassie looked far more cheerful, skillfully wielding a paintbrush and applying black paint over the pencilled outline of her brainchild, the band's logo. She painted a fakey fake country with four borders. To the east stood a perfectly straight line, tilted to the west. In the north, she painted a similarly angled border with a few kinks in it. Afterwards, she moved onto the western border, a more organic, wavy line, denoting a river. Lastly, she closed the country with a coastline that zigged and zagged in the south, painted a little star right above it, then in the center she wrote "BLANK NATION" in the font she'd seen in a Rand-McNally Atlas. "I kept painting and painting and put it on the flyers and shit, but at the end of the day, when Blank Nation was onstage... I wasn't with them. I was just another fan.
"I'm sorry, Warren. It wasn't your fault. And now I know..." Sniff. "I know that you were the better bassist anyway. We could have a thousand bass battles and you would win nine-to-one, at least. I'm not that good with the bass. I'm not that good with anything. Every time I get going, I get bored and focus on something else. I didn't have your dedication!"
She swallowed the snot that gathered at the back of her throat and reached under Warren's body, lifting him in both arms with great difficulty. "I wish I could have been honest with you while you were alive. I'm sorry." She lowered him into the grave as gently as she could; it turned out to just barely be big enough for him.
She tried to think of something else to say, but couldn't. Her monologue just petered out on her. It was up to Maria to finish it all.
They talked about Warren. They voted on whether to bury him. It wasn't until Cassie heard the sound of the ground being scraped and scooped next to her that she finally turned away from her hands and blinked. She looked at Maria, an act which nearly finished off her composure.
Maria looked like a completely different person. The goofy smile that captured her frenetic spirit died with Warren. In its place there stood a tortured rictus pulling the corners of her mouth down and exposing her teeth. Her cheeks glistened with the trails of tears leading down to her chin, her cheeks and nose flushed bright red, and clear mucus trickled from her nostrils. Cassie tried to think of the last time Maria had looked like this, and realized that she couldn't. She'd never seen Maria cry, not even when Zach dumped her. Nothing could get her down, ever! If Maria's cheerful disposition couldn't even survive this... Jesus.
And so Cassie began to take on that exact same expression herself. Her vision blurred, causing her to blink. She felt hot tears flow from her eyes, then an irritation in her nose caused her to sniffle. Left with little other choice, she reached down with her red hands and started helping Maria with the digging process. By then Maria was mostly finished, having gotten the easy part out of the way. Cassie kept on going with her fresh hands, taking out rocks and pebbles as quickly as she could. She managed to get another six inches out of the whole grave, but it was bitter work. She got out of there with her fingers aching and throbbing, and upon closer inspection, fresh blood - her blood - covered a scratch running down the side of her right middle finger.
All the while, she tried to focus, tried to recall what everybody said. Nik said yes. Fiona said no. Dustin said nothing, retching instead. And Jessica also said no, but three votes beat two, and even if it didn't, these girls weren't going to listen to the naysayers anyway.
She remembered what Jessica said. She tried to sugarcoat it with all of the concerned inflections and insipid platitudes about not wanting to be the bad guy, but her point remained. Warren wasn't special. Warren was a liability now. Warren didn't deserve to be buried.
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
In a haze of anger, Cassidy retrieved her javelin and thrust it at Jessica, impaling her stomach on its sharp point. Blood flowed down the shaft of it in far greater quantities than she'd gotten from Warren, making not only her hands red but her forearms, too. She didn't look so much like an artist now. She looked feral. She looked rabid. She looked ready to bite.
"Take it back, shithead!" she said, staring into Jessica's terrified eyes as the taller girl struggled to stammer out an apology. It proved inaudible and unintelligible, which only made Cassie angrier, causing her to twist the javelin. Jessica made another sound that resembled a shrieking badger, unable to articulate anything because of the pain.
"I SAID TAKE IT BACK!" Cassie said.
Except she didn't. She didn't do any of that. Her javelin sat on the ground, too far away for her to reach it without giving the others plenty of time to react to her. Instead of hurting Jessica, she just gave her a stony, pointed glare and moved to Warren's body. She kneeled over it and let out a single sob before collecting herself again.
"Warren, I'm sorry about everything," she said, eyes closed. Flashes of her failed audition ran through her mind: the opening to Anesthesia, the pick slipping out of her hand, sitting on the couch watching with slackened jaw as the band performed a perfect cover of an Aerosmith song.
"When you beat me back then and got accepted as Blank Nation's bass... I couldn't be happy for you. I just couldn't." She hung her head as Maria enthusiastically congratulated her, looking back up only when that same girl, that same girl with raw fingers and a reddened face, gave her a pat on the back. They talked, and Maria tried her best to cheer Cassie up.
"There was just too much attraction for me in the idea of being in a band. I'd never gotten the opportunity before, and I came so close to doing it that day. It was only because of... of..." Cassie was inconsolable that day, though. She only half-heard Maria's words. She was too busy looking at Winston and Zach and Warren shooting the shit and discussing songs to notice. "-because of a freak accident that you beat me out, I thought!
"I couldn't let it go. I wanted to be a part of the band so badly. That's why I made so much artwork for it, Warren." Days later, Cassie looked far more cheerful, skillfully wielding a paintbrush and applying black paint over the pencilled outline of her brainchild, the band's logo. She painted a fakey fake country with four borders. To the east stood a perfectly straight line, tilted to the west. In the north, she painted a similarly angled border with a few kinks in it. Afterwards, she moved onto the western border, a more organic, wavy line, denoting a river. Lastly, she closed the country with a coastline that zigged and zagged in the south, painted a little star right above it, then in the center she wrote "BLANK NATION" in the font she'd seen in a Rand-McNally Atlas. "I kept painting and painting and put it on the flyers and shit, but at the end of the day, when Blank Nation was onstage... I wasn't with them. I was just another fan.
"I'm sorry, Warren. It wasn't your fault. And now I know..." Sniff. "I know that you were the better bassist anyway. We could have a thousand bass battles and you would win nine-to-one, at least. I'm not that good with the bass. I'm not that good with anything. Every time I get going, I get bored and focus on something else. I didn't have your dedication!"
She swallowed the snot that gathered at the back of her throat and reached under Warren's body, lifting him in both arms with great difficulty. "I wish I could have been honest with you while you were alive. I'm sorry." She lowered him into the grave as gently as she could; it turned out to just barely be big enough for him.
She tried to think of something else to say, but couldn't. Her monologue just petered out on her. It was up to Maria to finish it all.
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storyspoiler†
- Posts: 152
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
"No. If you haven't noticed, painting is the last thing that people should worry about here!"
Fiona Sparki. Cheerleader. Angry, in denial. Trying to tell her what the priorities should be. Mizore disagreed. They were all going to die in fourteen, fifteen days, right? And Mizore probably sooner. The throat-collar that she refused to touch was a constant reminder: the relevant priority here was not surviving well or respecting the dead, but learning how to die knowing that death would be violent and soon.
And painting was what Mizore had in the way of that particular priority. Making something pretty would keep her from paying attention to the bitter, scared taste under her tongue. She had Radio Asuka's last exhibit to do, with a definite deadline and death as the theme.
More waiting. More talking. Maria Graham dug a grave. Cassidy Wakemore crackled with emotion, talked and trailed off.
Mizore Soryu upended her pack.
She was lucky, and thanked her disorganization for it. In the bottom of her bag was a smashed pack of black wax pencils, wedged under some old receipts and a bag of teryaki beef jerky. With some noise, she took out the most undamaged pencil, the largest receipt, and began to draw.
People were staring at her now.
When Mizore was nervous with wax pencil, she pressed down hard. The lines became blurs, chunky with wax, losing all nuance, fat speechless curves. She didn't do that now. Nervousness comes with lack of focus, and there is nothing that brings focus quite like death, the darkness that licked Mizore's fingers now. She did not know Warren very well, but there were flickers she remembered: green eyes, thoughtful smile. They went on paper. The finished product was light-stroked, nimble, accurate and strange. Portrait of Warren. She put it between two stones, like an ofuda, and laid it on the shallow grave.
"I'm with Jessica on respecting the dead here." Said Mizore. "But it seems like the conventional thing to do."
That sounded...bizarre. Mizore wondered if she should care. She decided not to.
She put on her rucksack and left the grave.
(Mizore Soryu continued in The Quiet Lives Of Baron Saturday)
Fiona Sparki. Cheerleader. Angry, in denial. Trying to tell her what the priorities should be. Mizore disagreed. They were all going to die in fourteen, fifteen days, right? And Mizore probably sooner. The throat-collar that she refused to touch was a constant reminder: the relevant priority here was not surviving well or respecting the dead, but learning how to die knowing that death would be violent and soon.
And painting was what Mizore had in the way of that particular priority. Making something pretty would keep her from paying attention to the bitter, scared taste under her tongue. She had Radio Asuka's last exhibit to do, with a definite deadline and death as the theme.
More waiting. More talking. Maria Graham dug a grave. Cassidy Wakemore crackled with emotion, talked and trailed off.
Mizore Soryu upended her pack.
She was lucky, and thanked her disorganization for it. In the bottom of her bag was a smashed pack of black wax pencils, wedged under some old receipts and a bag of teryaki beef jerky. With some noise, she took out the most undamaged pencil, the largest receipt, and began to draw.
People were staring at her now.
When Mizore was nervous with wax pencil, she pressed down hard. The lines became blurs, chunky with wax, losing all nuance, fat speechless curves. She didn't do that now. Nervousness comes with lack of focus, and there is nothing that brings focus quite like death, the darkness that licked Mizore's fingers now. She did not know Warren very well, but there were flickers she remembered: green eyes, thoughtful smile. They went on paper. The finished product was light-stroked, nimble, accurate and strange. Portrait of Warren. She put it between two stones, like an ofuda, and laid it on the shallow grave.
"I'm with Jessica on respecting the dead here." Said Mizore. "But it seems like the conventional thing to do."
That sounded...bizarre. Mizore wondered if she should care. She decided not to.
She put on her rucksack and left the grave.
(Mizore Soryu continued in The Quiet Lives Of Baron Saturday)
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Nik watched with a surprising sense of calm as the grave was dug. He knew that they were right, and they couldn't bury everyone they came across, but to at least attempt to pay respects to fallen friends seemed like the right thing to do. It was how Nik had been raised. It was how he had been taught in every sport you played. If someone went down, you stopped to help them in any way you could. In this case, part of Nik's mind was telling him that Warren's family would find some fraction of solace in the make shift funeral for their son. The other part of Nik's mind was instantly overwhelmed with the realization of what his family, both the Killops and his family in Sweden must be thinking right now.
Should he have even been in this game? He and Staffan weren't even American citizens after all. Alex Ovechkin had applied for American citizenship before he'd been abducted, and Sidney Crosby was at least North American.
Nik's deep thoughts were broken by Fiona barking at the girl who had asked for paint. Nik quickly placed his hands on Fiona's shoulders in an attempt to calm her down.
Ignoring whatever reply the girl sent Fiona's way, Nik leaned over to whisper in Fiona's ear,
"Let's just go. We've done all we can. We know who did this, and we have to stop them. Let's go. I don't think the others are coming with us. I'd rather stick with people I have trust in."
It was difficult for Nik to say those last words. He'd always been so jovial and trusting of his new American friends. He'd never had a problem with anyone. He was always so happy when he'd call home, telling his folks in Sweden how much fun he was having, and the new friends he'd made. Now, it was donning on him that he couldn't put his faith in everyone he saw. His naivety would get him into trouble if he didn't keep in check, and the first step of that was splitting from this group.
"Thanks Maria." Nik said with a somber tone to the girl who had dug the grave.
Nik looked around to the other people of the group before continuing,
"Good luck and be safe guys. I'm going with Fiona now. If anyone runs into my brother or Evelyn Reed, please tell them we are okay and looking for them."
With that, Nik turned and began to walk. He wasn't sure of his destination. Maybe Fiona would know where they should go? Either way, he knew he had to focus. He had a friend to protect and loved ones to find.
((Nik Kronwall continued in Walkabout))
Should he have even been in this game? He and Staffan weren't even American citizens after all. Alex Ovechkin had applied for American citizenship before he'd been abducted, and Sidney Crosby was at least North American.
Nik's deep thoughts were broken by Fiona barking at the girl who had asked for paint. Nik quickly placed his hands on Fiona's shoulders in an attempt to calm her down.
Ignoring whatever reply the girl sent Fiona's way, Nik leaned over to whisper in Fiona's ear,
"Let's just go. We've done all we can. We know who did this, and we have to stop them. Let's go. I don't think the others are coming with us. I'd rather stick with people I have trust in."
It was difficult for Nik to say those last words. He'd always been so jovial and trusting of his new American friends. He'd never had a problem with anyone. He was always so happy when he'd call home, telling his folks in Sweden how much fun he was having, and the new friends he'd made. Now, it was donning on him that he couldn't put his faith in everyone he saw. His naivety would get him into trouble if he didn't keep in check, and the first step of that was splitting from this group.
"Thanks Maria." Nik said with a somber tone to the girl who had dug the grave.
Nik looked around to the other people of the group before continuing,
"Good luck and be safe guys. I'm going with Fiona now. If anyone runs into my brother or Evelyn Reed, please tell them we are okay and looking for them."
With that, Nik turned and began to walk. He wasn't sure of his destination. Maybe Fiona would know where they should go? Either way, he knew he had to focus. He had a friend to protect and loved ones to find.
((Nik Kronwall continued in Walkabout))
Stuff. Things. Stuff and things.
Jessica watched Maria cry, every fiber of her being exposed like some sick act at a sideshow. Jessica felt shameful for watching her as long as she did, and felt nauseous for being so curious. This was no fun to watch. It didn't amuse Jessica in any way. It wasn't even like a train wreck because a train wreck has so much shock and awe that you can't turn away, not even for a second. There was no reason for Jessica to be watching Maria dig a dingy grave that didn't even look like it covered Warren at all. Jessica knew that she would be a hypocrite.
After this, she felt almost ready to bow her head and shame and mutter "yes sir, sorry sir, won't happen again sir". Jessica should have kept her mouth shut. She thought by saying her peace she would find some tiny bit of hope but all it did was make her feel pathetic. Was she wrong? No, she was sure she was right. She was thinking smart! All the people who died on this show were either too weak, too wreckless or just unlucky, so it was only natural that Jessica tried not to be wreckless. Why couldn't they see that?
Soon enough, Jessica began to notice that the other girl, Cassie, had been glaring at her for some time. Jessica didn't look back and kept her head straight down at Maria but she knew what Cassie was thinking. "How dare you talk like that about my friend!" Had Jessica the spine to go along with her words, she would have glared back and responded. "No, fuck you, he's dead, get over it." but Jessica couldn't do it. Instead, it bothered her to the point of making her want to slap herself.
Mizore agreed with her and promptly left, rather suddenly. It filled Jessica with some hope but not much. Not enough to make her feel better. Why did she feel so guilty? She had done nothing wrong! She was the right one here! Why couldn't they see that? And yet that look of hate drilled holes in her the size of paint cans.
"I-I'm sorry..." She said in a mutter, hoping Cassie would hear her.
She hoped to god her words didn't fall on deaf ears. She knew it wouldn't be heard, and it would just be brushed under the rug like most everything else she ever said. Cassie wouldn't care. No one cared if Jessica was sorry. Who the fuck cared about Jessica Pentangeli, girl #30, the plain chick with the rifle who always skipped class and hung out in a quiet corner at the library? The girl with no friends and who blended into the background? Who cared?
No one, that's who.
No one unless Jessica decided to voice her opinion and even then they would just disregard her. She was with eight people but she felt hopelessly alone. The odd one out.
Jessica was no monster though, this she was sure of. If she had been, she definitely would not feel a single shred of emotion at the sight of Warren's body. Jessica thought that the burial was a waste of time but it wasn't like she didn't feel bad. So was it wrong to think for herself, or to put the safety of the living above the mourning of the dead?
Nik was leaving. Wait, what? When did they decide this? Jessica stared at Nik as he left. Things were moving so fast and she was having trouble keeping up. She was at a crossroads. She didn't know Fiona, barely knew Nik. Would she be safer with them? She looked back at Alex anxiously and grabbed her by the hand.
"Are we going with them?" Jessica asked, tugging on her hand. She looked like a scared puppy. "I-I mean... I don't... C'mon, let's go."
She wanted to add, hastily, nervously that she didn't want to be alone, please stay with her, please don't leave her, but she stilled her tongue. For the moment. She had spoken enough. Now it was time for her to blend into the crowd.
(Jessica continued in Mad World)
After this, she felt almost ready to bow her head and shame and mutter "yes sir, sorry sir, won't happen again sir". Jessica should have kept her mouth shut. She thought by saying her peace she would find some tiny bit of hope but all it did was make her feel pathetic. Was she wrong? No, she was sure she was right. She was thinking smart! All the people who died on this show were either too weak, too wreckless or just unlucky, so it was only natural that Jessica tried not to be wreckless. Why couldn't they see that?
Soon enough, Jessica began to notice that the other girl, Cassie, had been glaring at her for some time. Jessica didn't look back and kept her head straight down at Maria but she knew what Cassie was thinking. "How dare you talk like that about my friend!" Had Jessica the spine to go along with her words, she would have glared back and responded. "No, fuck you, he's dead, get over it." but Jessica couldn't do it. Instead, it bothered her to the point of making her want to slap herself.
Mizore agreed with her and promptly left, rather suddenly. It filled Jessica with some hope but not much. Not enough to make her feel better. Why did she feel so guilty? She had done nothing wrong! She was the right one here! Why couldn't they see that? And yet that look of hate drilled holes in her the size of paint cans.
"I-I'm sorry..." She said in a mutter, hoping Cassie would hear her.
She hoped to god her words didn't fall on deaf ears. She knew it wouldn't be heard, and it would just be brushed under the rug like most everything else she ever said. Cassie wouldn't care. No one cared if Jessica was sorry. Who the fuck cared about Jessica Pentangeli, girl #30, the plain chick with the rifle who always skipped class and hung out in a quiet corner at the library? The girl with no friends and who blended into the background? Who cared?
No one, that's who.
No one unless Jessica decided to voice her opinion and even then they would just disregard her. She was with eight people but she felt hopelessly alone. The odd one out.
Jessica was no monster though, this she was sure of. If she had been, she definitely would not feel a single shred of emotion at the sight of Warren's body. Jessica thought that the burial was a waste of time but it wasn't like she didn't feel bad. So was it wrong to think for herself, or to put the safety of the living above the mourning of the dead?
Nik was leaving. Wait, what? When did they decide this? Jessica stared at Nik as he left. Things were moving so fast and she was having trouble keeping up. She was at a crossroads. She didn't know Fiona, barely knew Nik. Would she be safer with them? She looked back at Alex anxiously and grabbed her by the hand.
"Are we going with them?" Jessica asked, tugging on her hand. She looked like a scared puppy. "I-I mean... I don't... C'mon, let's go."
She wanted to add, hastily, nervously that she didn't want to be alone, please stay with her, please don't leave her, but she stilled her tongue. For the moment. She had spoken enough. Now it was time for her to blend into the crowd.
(Jessica continued in Mad World)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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ZombiexCreame†
- Posts: 305
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:29 am
Fiona felt like she was in a blur that she couldn't escape from. There were so many people and so many emotions running rampant. One of the boys, Dustin, was puking, which wasn't exactly something that Fiona wanted to witness... Seeing other people puke always made her want to puke, but she was able to maintain her composure. Think of better things. Think of cheerleading practice and puppies and the beach. There was a nagging voice in the back of her mind that whispered that Fiona would never see those things again. No more practicing complicated cheer moves in the gym, no more vacations to the beach with her family every summer, no more puppies... Not like she had a puppy, but she always thought that they were cute. Even though those things should have sparked a feeling of grief and emotion inside of her, Fiona merely shook those thoughts away. It didn't matter anymore. As they said, there was no use crying over spilled milk, right?
Ugh. Milk was not something that she wanted to think about after witnessing Dustin barf... Fiona shook her head and stared blankly at the little funeral going on between Cassidy and Maria. Cassidy was saying a few words (well, more like a speech) and placing Warren in the makeshift grave. Hey, do you guys want to make a headstone too?! I'll grab the stone and someone else can carve Warren's name, date of birth, and date of death in it! Want to waste some more time?
Fiona snorted. What in the hell was wrong with her? This wasn't supposed to be funny! This was serious! And yet, something was keeping Fiona from crying. Why? Fiona was typically the bumbling idiot, the laughing girl, the fat cheerleader who never frowned, never cried. And here she was, nearly to the verge of laughing at one of the most inconvenient moments of all times. It made no sense, but she couldn't help it. Maybe she just couldn't deal with all this serious stuff?
And just moments ago, she was on the verge of tears. Feeling herself to be rude, Fiona disguised her snort as a sniff and coughed weakly. She wanted to be so far away from here right now..
Seriously? Did the painter girl just draw a picture of Warren and place it on his grave? Well, sure, that was nice and everything, but... Why? Was everyone insane? Maybe she really should suggest to build a headstone! They would probably agree to it! Her thoughts began to spin again in a whirlpool of stress and hopelessness. She really just wanted to lie down, rest for a few hours...
She looked up into the face of Nik. She hadn't even realized that he had a hold on her shoulders and was whispering something to her. He wanted to leave? Fiona looked back at Jessica and Alex, stared at the for a moment, and turned her gaze back to Nik. She honestly wouldn't mind leaving at this moment... She knew Nik. They were practically friends. He was dating her fellow cheerleader.
Fiona could say nothing at this point. She simply nodded slowly at Nik and stood beside the boy as he wished everyone good luck. Making sure that she had her duffel bag and weapon, Fiona turned around and followed after Nik. Her thoughts were elsewhere, but she couldn't push Nik's words from her mind: "We know who dd this, and we have to stop them." Did Fiona really have the strength to stop Omar? Did she possess the strength to kill him... a fellow classmate? This was a lot to think about.
((Fiona Sparki continued in Walkabout))
Ugh. Milk was not something that she wanted to think about after witnessing Dustin barf... Fiona shook her head and stared blankly at the little funeral going on between Cassidy and Maria. Cassidy was saying a few words (well, more like a speech) and placing Warren in the makeshift grave. Hey, do you guys want to make a headstone too?! I'll grab the stone and someone else can carve Warren's name, date of birth, and date of death in it! Want to waste some more time?
Fiona snorted. What in the hell was wrong with her? This wasn't supposed to be funny! This was serious! And yet, something was keeping Fiona from crying. Why? Fiona was typically the bumbling idiot, the laughing girl, the fat cheerleader who never frowned, never cried. And here she was, nearly to the verge of laughing at one of the most inconvenient moments of all times. It made no sense, but she couldn't help it. Maybe she just couldn't deal with all this serious stuff?
And just moments ago, she was on the verge of tears. Feeling herself to be rude, Fiona disguised her snort as a sniff and coughed weakly. She wanted to be so far away from here right now..
Seriously? Did the painter girl just draw a picture of Warren and place it on his grave? Well, sure, that was nice and everything, but... Why? Was everyone insane? Maybe she really should suggest to build a headstone! They would probably agree to it! Her thoughts began to spin again in a whirlpool of stress and hopelessness. She really just wanted to lie down, rest for a few hours...
She looked up into the face of Nik. She hadn't even realized that he had a hold on her shoulders and was whispering something to her. He wanted to leave? Fiona looked back at Jessica and Alex, stared at the for a moment, and turned her gaze back to Nik. She honestly wouldn't mind leaving at this moment... She knew Nik. They were practically friends. He was dating her fellow cheerleader.
Fiona could say nothing at this point. She simply nodded slowly at Nik and stood beside the boy as he wished everyone good luck. Making sure that she had her duffel bag and weapon, Fiona turned around and followed after Nik. Her thoughts were elsewhere, but she couldn't push Nik's words from her mind: "We know who dd this, and we have to stop them." Did Fiona really have the strength to stop Omar? Did she possess the strength to kill him... a fellow classmate? This was a lot to think about.
((Fiona Sparki continued in Walkabout))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ZombiexCreame. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.