Brook's face contorted in an array of emotions that warped with each given development with his new guest. Good ol' buddy Dutchy wasn't running away yet, or showing any sort of violence or hatred towards him. Nobody was calling anybody a monster or a sick freak or, most gravely of all, a mediocre gardener. This warranted an off-guard, but still mostly relaxed look of surprise. His already-derailed train of thought ground to a halt in the muck trying to contemplate just what the boy was thinking. No doubt his garden might need outright volunteers to join, since all of these fights were starting to make him weary, as wonderfully fun as it was to kill an unwilling decoration.
Not that it took long for the familiar scenario of tears and terror to enter the scene, anyway. Dutchy was turning into more of a wreck than most, just breaking down so... tenderly. It was enough to pull Brook's mood up into vivid excitement, his curling lips following suit to openly display just how he felt. Yes, this was a place to be feared, to render you to shambles if you were ever confronted with it. Now Dutchy found himself to be the latest to crumble in the presence of the sight he was forced to take in, asking completely inane questions that nearly pushed a stream of laughter from Brook's throat.
"Why did I hurt Vivi?" Brook giggled once more, turning his nose up to look down on Dutchy, to show him just who was running the show here. "Oh, come off it, I didn't hurt him. Her. Whatever. I mean, holy shit, understatement of the year, much? Dutchy..." Brook grabbed a hold of the boy's shoulders, stooping down to match his eyes with his prey's. The unbroken bird still had a long way to go before he could be added to the garden proper. Orn would have to be attuned to it, to learn to enjoy it, just like Brook himself did. Then he'd put a bullet in his head like a polite man and call it a day.
"You really, reaaaaaaally should have been there. I mean, you don't even fucking know..." Brook said to Dutchy, his voice playfully darting about as though telling a secret to a good friend. "Hurt doesn't even begin to cover it. You see, I kinda have to spread about as much blood as possible before actually killing them, since um... it soaks the ground a little more, you know?" Brook paused for a second to let that sink in before continuing the macabre lesson. "'Cuz people apparently don't bleed as much when they're dead or some stupid shit like that. So, yeah, Vivien and I got to spend some time together before it had to die! Hee hee... but hey, I'd like to think that I fulfilled a few favors in doing my job!" Brook could no longer hold it in at this point, raising himself up high once more and laughing as loud as he could, so Tiffany might hear him.
"Good fucking GOD, I feel so terrific!" Brook shouted joyfully, his iron grip never wavering. "I mean, is there a single way this day could go wrong for either of us? Probably not, you know? Look around you, Dutchy! No, really, look around you!" To illustrate the point, the larger boy positioned himself behind the wibbling sack of blood and forcefully turned them both to get a good pan of the garden. The glory had to be sinking in by this point, Brook had no doubt about that. Because there was still some justice in this world, he'd take a new approach of assimilating the new meat into the garden before putting them to sleep. And then they would all rest together, and have a fantastic eternity as long as none of them were disturbed ever again.
The matter remained of just where Dutchy might be placed. He knew of Vivien... no, given his irritating concern for her, he was likely good friends. Brook was many things, but he couldn't possibly be cruel as a matter of principle, and it was only right that Dutchy would be placed right next to his friend. "Ah, right... Vivien..." Brook murmured as his attention focused on the beaten corpse that was close to the both of them. "Wouldja like to meet with your buddy again, Dutchy?" he helpfully offered, pressing on the boy's shoulder. "Let's take a closer look so you can get a feel for my work!"
A feeling that hadn't come to him since the event with Vivien was welling up inside him once more. No words could place the emotion, somewhere far beyond stability and happiness but still rather pleasant, but when it built up, everything slipped away into a new spectrum of colors and feelings. The giddyness quickly became an insatiable urge to perform the tasks asked of him... no, begged of him by Tiffany. Resent had become a big factor, rebelling against her professed false love for Peter. He cared about her more, and his monument showed it. Was the great Peter Siu off and amassing a monument in her memory? Of course he wasn't; he was likely just running around like a damn fool, along with every other equally detestable blood sack on this island. He hated them all, hated that he had to do this in order to prove a damn point, but at the end of the day, he was still succeeding, wasn't he? He was. He was doing more than Tiffany could ever hope to have from him.
So Brook laughed some more.
Bloodgarden
An endless dedication... (CONTENT WARNING)
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
-
Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Dutchy couldn't think anymore. Everything the boy said, every word, was filled with raw malice, sick enjoyment at what he was doing. The boy's hand clamped down on Dutchy's shoulder, stronger then he thought possible. Dutchy jerked feebly, struggling to escape. It was no use. He was weak, too weak to defend himself. He was hopeless, completely at the mercy of his tormentor. The boy crouched down, smiling menacingly at Dutchy, an insane glimmer in his eyes. Dutchy was more afraid then he'd ever been in his life.
There was no sympathy in the boy's eyes, no remorse. The boy had seen past that, he was operating on an entirely different level, driven by something so alien there was no hope in Dutchy even attempting to comprehend. The boy was talking fast, maniacal and excited, gesturing to the terrifying sights around him, as if it were some twisted gallery, a shrine or art exhibit, the meaning lost on all but the creator. Dutchy couldn't take it. His heart was beating steadily faster, and his breathing came in quick panicked gulps, as if he were drowning.
"Look around you, Dutchy! No, really, look around you!"
And with that the boy was behind him, jerking him around, displaying the garden in all its glory. Dutchy struggled, not much, not enough. His eyes were wide, any chance of planning lost as he took in the horrific view. It was all too much. From deep within him, a high pitched whine escaped his lips. The boy ignored it, pushing him forward.
"Let's take a closer look so you can get a feel for my work!"
No. Oh God, oh no, please-
Dutchy dug his heels in, but it did him no good. The boy kept his firm grip, driving him ever closer to the bloodied form of Vivien sprawled across the ground. He had to escape. He couldn't take it anymore. What had he done to deserve this?
Please, please, please no-
Dutchy stood over top the downed boy, frantically kicking his legs, trying desperately to back up away from the corpse. Choking sobs were the only thing escaping his lips as he stared down into the vacant eyes of Vivien Moran. But the boy was having none of it. He was like a rock wall and despite his feeble attempts, the boy held him fast. Through the panic filled haze of his mind Dutchy realized the boy was laughing.
This can't be happening- this can't be happening!
"Plea-" He sobbed, his words cut off as the boy shoved him forward. Letting out a scream Dutchy toppled forward onto the corpse of his friend. His blood turned to ice. Dutchy began to scream again, a bloodcurdling noise, echoing throughout the surrounding forest. He scrambled , his only goal escape, to run far away and never look back. Dutchy tore at the ground, in a desperate bid to crawl away.
WHUMP!
Pain shot through him. Dutchy felt the air exit his lungs and he didn't have to look around to know what had happened. Brook had kicked him, jammed his foot down, pinning Dutchy to the corpse of his fallen friend. He squirmed and struggled with all his might, but it was as good as over. Defeated Dutchy collapsed, his head pressed up into Vivien's chest, his entire body shaking.
Please, please no more- I can't- no more, no...
There was no sympathy in the boy's eyes, no remorse. The boy had seen past that, he was operating on an entirely different level, driven by something so alien there was no hope in Dutchy even attempting to comprehend. The boy was talking fast, maniacal and excited, gesturing to the terrifying sights around him, as if it were some twisted gallery, a shrine or art exhibit, the meaning lost on all but the creator. Dutchy couldn't take it. His heart was beating steadily faster, and his breathing came in quick panicked gulps, as if he were drowning.
"Look around you, Dutchy! No, really, look around you!"
And with that the boy was behind him, jerking him around, displaying the garden in all its glory. Dutchy struggled, not much, not enough. His eyes were wide, any chance of planning lost as he took in the horrific view. It was all too much. From deep within him, a high pitched whine escaped his lips. The boy ignored it, pushing him forward.
"Let's take a closer look so you can get a feel for my work!"
No. Oh God, oh no, please-
Dutchy dug his heels in, but it did him no good. The boy kept his firm grip, driving him ever closer to the bloodied form of Vivien sprawled across the ground. He had to escape. He couldn't take it anymore. What had he done to deserve this?
Please, please, please no-
Dutchy stood over top the downed boy, frantically kicking his legs, trying desperately to back up away from the corpse. Choking sobs were the only thing escaping his lips as he stared down into the vacant eyes of Vivien Moran. But the boy was having none of it. He was like a rock wall and despite his feeble attempts, the boy held him fast. Through the panic filled haze of his mind Dutchy realized the boy was laughing.
This can't be happening- this can't be happening!
"Plea-" He sobbed, his words cut off as the boy shoved him forward. Letting out a scream Dutchy toppled forward onto the corpse of his friend. His blood turned to ice. Dutchy began to scream again, a bloodcurdling noise, echoing throughout the surrounding forest. He scrambled , his only goal escape, to run far away and never look back. Dutchy tore at the ground, in a desperate bid to crawl away.
WHUMP!
Pain shot through him. Dutchy felt the air exit his lungs and he didn't have to look around to know what had happened. Brook had kicked him, jammed his foot down, pinning Dutchy to the corpse of his fallen friend. He squirmed and struggled with all his might, but it was as good as over. Defeated Dutchy collapsed, his head pressed up into Vivien's chest, his entire body shaking.
Please, please no more- I can't- no more, no...
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Little Boy. 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.
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
The dream that began seven days ago had spun itself into a nightmare, but one boy had found a way to rise above it. As long as he remained above everybody else and above the bloody ocean that spewed from them, the night terror would never haunt him again. In pushing his boot down onto Dutchy, holding him down in his final embrace with his dear friend, the gardener of Bloodgarden was establishing himself as one of the lucky ones who could escape this hell, no matter how many he had to throw into its fiery maw in order to accomplish this task. As long as it continued to feel this great, nothing would ever mar his broken conscience.
Struggling constantly fed into Brook from the weary bodies of his subjects. Every thrash and writhe from pain fueled the sadistic desire to see more pain caused. Oh yes, how Dutchy would suffer just like everybody else on the sacred forest floor. Not all of this would be fun and games; Brook knew this from the start and dwelled on the fact with a frown tugging down on his lips. The much-reviled blood would soon have to come out and splatter across everything. Tiffany still needed more, and each time she received what she got, she furthered his punishment by spraying more of the blood across his body. At least, he hoped it was her telling him to do it all. Otherwise, he might not be sure who to blame.
"We should probably... you know, cut to the chase..." Brook sneered. "Snuggle time's over. Sorry, but maybe if I'm in a good mood, and the feng shui works just right, I'll place you near Vivien, kay?" That should have ended all the cares and worries of the annoying little brat under his boot, but Brook was starting to get the distinct impression that it wasn't. Even though Dutchy's struggles had stopped, he felt limp... unfeeling, as though he weren't moved by the gravity of the situation. Oh well, he'd get it soon enough... and with that, Brook took his weight off of the offending foot and booted Dutchy in the side to get him off of Vivien.
The once-kind cross country runner and all-around student did his best to keep in the bits of his temper that threatened to flare out from the cracks of his composure as he strode along to Dutchy's prone form, dropping sharply to one knee. Luckily for his leg, he had the luck to have an Icelandic boy on the ground to break the fall. Ribs, as annoying as they may be to eat or to strike against, still absorbed impact a little better than rock or particularly packed-in dirt. Brook did his best to offer a smile, something which came with tremendous effort in order to hide the seething hatred for all that blood that laid in waiting just beneath the surface.
"Now then..." Brook took some time to position himself, scooting his knee back towards the boy's decidedly softer stomach. His hand got a nice firm grip on the Liberator, his prime tool so far. In the position that he had dropped himself into, his pants tightened around the form of his other handgun, which had currently gone unfired. He had to remember that his trashy but trusty old gun had limited ammunition. Luckily for him, the memories of each and every kill, each and every injury embedded themselves into his mind, much like they would this time. Then he could enjoy them over and over and over again... one shot into Raine, one shot into Ridley, three at Colin, three into Vivien... that was eight shots so far. Two more, then he could switch.
"Hee hee... heeeey Dutchy, look what it is?" Brook giggled, waving the .45 caliber weapon around and making a collection of deep, guttural and throaty noises. "Open wide for the choo-choo! Chugga chugga chugga chugga...", he chanted, pushing the barrel of the weapon up against Dutchy's lips. Much like a child commonly would in the scenario Brook was imitating, the station just didn't seem to want to let up for the train. "Come on, you little..." Brook whined, quickly losing patience with this whole deal. After a few seconds of the conductor's correspondence ended in no progress, his mercurial temper spiked once again, sending the palm of his left hand right across Dutchy's cheek.
"I said open up, you stubborn piece of shit!" Brook snarled, pinching Dutchy's nostrils shut out of frustration. "Come on, COME! ON! You don't want the train to be late, do you you!?" He pulled back on his right hand and pushed it forward again, repeated the process several times to bang the gun against Dutchy's lips and teeth. The combination of the two acts finally broke through the iron will of the boy and his clenched jaw, and the liberator wound up firmly placed inside Dutchy's mouth. Brook hadn't expected this much of a struggle from the boy, not this late in the game, but he still won in the end. He always would.
"H-ha... see, that wasn't so hard, now was it?", he managed to say as he forced himself to calm down once more. He owed Dutchy at least that, to splatter his brains all over the ground in a relatively civilized manner. Just one pull of the trigger... and it'd be over. Just like Raine, just like Ridley, Vivien, and the absent Colin. And, unfortunately, just like the one shot that was needed to kill Tiffany, and nothing more.
Struggling constantly fed into Brook from the weary bodies of his subjects. Every thrash and writhe from pain fueled the sadistic desire to see more pain caused. Oh yes, how Dutchy would suffer just like everybody else on the sacred forest floor. Not all of this would be fun and games; Brook knew this from the start and dwelled on the fact with a frown tugging down on his lips. The much-reviled blood would soon have to come out and splatter across everything. Tiffany still needed more, and each time she received what she got, she furthered his punishment by spraying more of the blood across his body. At least, he hoped it was her telling him to do it all. Otherwise, he might not be sure who to blame.
"We should probably... you know, cut to the chase..." Brook sneered. "Snuggle time's over. Sorry, but maybe if I'm in a good mood, and the feng shui works just right, I'll place you near Vivien, kay?" That should have ended all the cares and worries of the annoying little brat under his boot, but Brook was starting to get the distinct impression that it wasn't. Even though Dutchy's struggles had stopped, he felt limp... unfeeling, as though he weren't moved by the gravity of the situation. Oh well, he'd get it soon enough... and with that, Brook took his weight off of the offending foot and booted Dutchy in the side to get him off of Vivien.
The once-kind cross country runner and all-around student did his best to keep in the bits of his temper that threatened to flare out from the cracks of his composure as he strode along to Dutchy's prone form, dropping sharply to one knee. Luckily for his leg, he had the luck to have an Icelandic boy on the ground to break the fall. Ribs, as annoying as they may be to eat or to strike against, still absorbed impact a little better than rock or particularly packed-in dirt. Brook did his best to offer a smile, something which came with tremendous effort in order to hide the seething hatred for all that blood that laid in waiting just beneath the surface.
"Now then..." Brook took some time to position himself, scooting his knee back towards the boy's decidedly softer stomach. His hand got a nice firm grip on the Liberator, his prime tool so far. In the position that he had dropped himself into, his pants tightened around the form of his other handgun, which had currently gone unfired. He had to remember that his trashy but trusty old gun had limited ammunition. Luckily for him, the memories of each and every kill, each and every injury embedded themselves into his mind, much like they would this time. Then he could enjoy them over and over and over again... one shot into Raine, one shot into Ridley, three at Colin, three into Vivien... that was eight shots so far. Two more, then he could switch.
"Hee hee... heeeey Dutchy, look what it is?" Brook giggled, waving the .45 caliber weapon around and making a collection of deep, guttural and throaty noises. "Open wide for the choo-choo! Chugga chugga chugga chugga...", he chanted, pushing the barrel of the weapon up against Dutchy's lips. Much like a child commonly would in the scenario Brook was imitating, the station just didn't seem to want to let up for the train. "Come on, you little..." Brook whined, quickly losing patience with this whole deal. After a few seconds of the conductor's correspondence ended in no progress, his mercurial temper spiked once again, sending the palm of his left hand right across Dutchy's cheek.
"I said open up, you stubborn piece of shit!" Brook snarled, pinching Dutchy's nostrils shut out of frustration. "Come on, COME! ON! You don't want the train to be late, do you you!?" He pulled back on his right hand and pushed it forward again, repeated the process several times to bang the gun against Dutchy's lips and teeth. The combination of the two acts finally broke through the iron will of the boy and his clenched jaw, and the liberator wound up firmly placed inside Dutchy's mouth. Brook hadn't expected this much of a struggle from the boy, not this late in the game, but he still won in the end. He always would.
"H-ha... see, that wasn't so hard, now was it?", he managed to say as he forced himself to calm down once more. He owed Dutchy at least that, to splatter his brains all over the ground in a relatively civilized manner. Just one pull of the trigger... and it'd be over. Just like Raine, just like Ridley, Vivien, and the absent Colin. And, unfortunately, just like the one shot that was needed to kill Tiffany, and nothing more.
-
Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
He needed to think. He needed to think of something, something worthwhile, something worth dying with. But there was nothing. There was fear and pain, and through it all the boy seemed to be screaming at him, laughing and kicking, scattering his thoughts, leaving only enough room inside himself to scream. Dutchy was going to die. That was all there was too it.
No, no please, not like this, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I didn't-
"Snuggle time's over. Sorry, but maybe if I'm in a good mood, and the feng shui works just right, I'll place you near Vivien, kay?"
There was pain and he was spinning, tumbling off Vivian and onto his back. The pain shot up through him and he cried out, tears staining his face. Something had broken, he was sure. He tried to curl up into a ball, to melt into the ground and disappear. The boy would have none of that.
The boy's leg pounded into his chest and for a moment Duchy couldn't breath. He scrambled, tried one last time to crawl away, but it was hopeless. He looked up into his killers face, his eyes wide with terror.
"Hee hee... heeeey Dutchy, look what it is?"
No, no please no no-
"Open wide for the choo choo!"
The gun seemed to sparkle in the air above, like an angel descending from the heavens. The boy grinned maniacally as he slowly brought the weapon down toward his prey, and Dutchy's heart beat faster. His mind raced as the barrel of the weapon came down toward his mouth, the cold steel pressing up against his lips. He pressed his lips tight together, shaking uncontrollably.
No no no no nonononono...
"Chugga chugga chugga..."
Oh god, please- Mommy- anyone- please-
"...chugga chugga chugga..."
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean anything, mommy, I just- please-
The boy's hand flew down, smacking him across the face. Pain shot through him and Dutchy saw stars. He was vaguely aware he was screaming again, screaming louder then ever, the names of his parents, his friends. The boy snarled jerking Dutchy's head back towards him. Dutchy closed his mouth-
The boy shot his hand down, pinching his nose shut.
Dutchy flailed his arms in panic, realising what was happening. The gun came down again, banging against his closed mouth, pressing, trying to find an opening. The boy tried again.
And again.
His eyes watered. His heart was pounding and his lungs screamed for air. He flailed again helplessly, staring up towards the boy with pleading eyes. But there was no sympathy to be found. The gun came down again, smashing into his closed mouth.
"MMMMMFFFF!!"
The world swam before him. Dutchy felt weak, battered and broken far beyond the wounds on him. It was too much. Dutchy closed his eyes, and asked his mother to forgive him. He just couldn't take anymore.
Dutchy opened his mouth, gulping the cold air. The boy moved fast, and he felt the barrel slam into his mouth, scraping against his teeth. Dutchy lay on the ground; his heart beating faster, his courage spent. All resistance was gone. This was the end.
"That wasn't so hard, now was it?"
Dutchy jammed his eyes shut, letting out one last pathetic whimper. After everything, after all the heartache and pain, it was finally over. Despite the panic overtaking him, Dutchy struggled one last time, to picture his family back home, his father holding his mother close-
- his mother, tears running down her weary face.
nonono-
No, no please, not like this, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I didn't-
"Snuggle time's over. Sorry, but maybe if I'm in a good mood, and the feng shui works just right, I'll place you near Vivien, kay?"
There was pain and he was spinning, tumbling off Vivian and onto his back. The pain shot up through him and he cried out, tears staining his face. Something had broken, he was sure. He tried to curl up into a ball, to melt into the ground and disappear. The boy would have none of that.
The boy's leg pounded into his chest and for a moment Duchy couldn't breath. He scrambled, tried one last time to crawl away, but it was hopeless. He looked up into his killers face, his eyes wide with terror.
"Hee hee... heeeey Dutchy, look what it is?"
No, no please no no-
"Open wide for the choo choo!"
The gun seemed to sparkle in the air above, like an angel descending from the heavens. The boy grinned maniacally as he slowly brought the weapon down toward his prey, and Dutchy's heart beat faster. His mind raced as the barrel of the weapon came down toward his mouth, the cold steel pressing up against his lips. He pressed his lips tight together, shaking uncontrollably.
No no no no nonononono...
"Chugga chugga chugga..."
Oh god, please- Mommy- anyone- please-
"...chugga chugga chugga..."
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean anything, mommy, I just- please-
The boy's hand flew down, smacking him across the face. Pain shot through him and Dutchy saw stars. He was vaguely aware he was screaming again, screaming louder then ever, the names of his parents, his friends. The boy snarled jerking Dutchy's head back towards him. Dutchy closed his mouth-
The boy shot his hand down, pinching his nose shut.
Dutchy flailed his arms in panic, realising what was happening. The gun came down again, banging against his closed mouth, pressing, trying to find an opening. The boy tried again.
And again.
His eyes watered. His heart was pounding and his lungs screamed for air. He flailed again helplessly, staring up towards the boy with pleading eyes. But there was no sympathy to be found. The gun came down again, smashing into his closed mouth.
"MMMMMFFFF!!"
The world swam before him. Dutchy felt weak, battered and broken far beyond the wounds on him. It was too much. Dutchy closed his eyes, and asked his mother to forgive him. He just couldn't take anymore.
Dutchy opened his mouth, gulping the cold air. The boy moved fast, and he felt the barrel slam into his mouth, scraping against his teeth. Dutchy lay on the ground; his heart beating faster, his courage spent. All resistance was gone. This was the end.
"That wasn't so hard, now was it?"
Dutchy jammed his eyes shut, letting out one last pathetic whimper. After everything, after all the heartache and pain, it was finally over. Despite the panic overtaking him, Dutchy struggled one last time, to picture his family back home, his father holding his mother close-
- his mother, tears running down her weary face.
nonono-
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Little Boy. 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.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
((Kimberly Nguyen continued from Seeking))
Kimberly was a thousand shades of pissed as she ran towards the scene. She couldn't even begin to express the degree to which this shit wasn't her problem. This was total psychopath nonsense. Kimberly didn't do psychopaths. She didn't understand them, was unable to relate to them, couldn't toy with them. There was no rhyme or reason to their actions, no read she could get on them and then exploit.
She'd almost walked by. She'd almost just let this shit go down how it was gonna go down. As soon as she'd stepped into the area, as soon as she'd smelled the decay and seen the corpses at a distance, old and molding and mutilated, every instinct in her had cried for her to split. She'd been keeping nice and quiet. She'd gotten pretty fucking good at being quiet. It would've been a cinch to slip away. But then she'd heard the shouts. She'd heard someone getting murdered, and she'd closed in just to see who it was, and damn if it wasn't somebody she couldn't just let die.
Dutchy.
They hadn't parted on good terms, she imagined. She hadn't bothered to sugarcoat how fucked she'd thought the whole group was. This had, of course, been the day after she'd threatened Dutchy when he caught her limping back to camp. Yeah, their team dynamic hadn't been optimal. Fact was, though, Dutchy wasn't half bad. Of the whole group of patronizing, worried fucks, he was probably the most tolerable, in part by virtue of being pretty damn helpless himself. She'd left him in the care of Sarah and Bridget and Roland. She'd figured they'd stay safe enough, and, until now, it had seemed like they had. But here was Dutchy, alone and unarmed, getting the shit beaten out of him by a psychopath (Brook, yeah? The gardener?).
Sarah and Bridget, those two zealous protectors, were clearly nowhere in the vicinity. They were gonna have a lot of explaining to do when Kimberly tracked them down. She had better things to be doing with her time than retrieving lost teammates.
She was afraid of Brook, of course. He was a known killer, and, from the scene before her, more than a few bulbs short of a tulip garden. But dammit, when people scared Kimberly, she couldn't just walk away, couldn't just back down. In this case, she had to deal with him. She had to pull Dutchy's ass out of the fire.
This wasn't gonna be fun.
She'd decided, though. She wasn't leaving here alone.
So she ran towards Brook. She didn't have the knife in her hand. Didn't need it. She wasn't planning on killing anyone else in whatever remained of her life. She wasn't looking to get into a physical struggle with a boy much bigger than her, one who could use both his arms. What she had to do was stall him for about three seconds, grab Dutchy, and get the fuck out of Dodge.
And oh, would there be hell to pay when she found Sarah and Bridget.
So Kimberly ran at Brook, making sure to lead with her good shoulder. Simple. Just hurtle into him. Knock him away. Yeah, Dutchy might lose a couple teeth as the gun came out of his mouth, but those were the breaks sometimes. Then they'd run, and hope that Brook was set on sticking to his fucked up rot shrine.
And then, she was there, and there was no more time to think.
Kimberly was a thousand shades of pissed as she ran towards the scene. She couldn't even begin to express the degree to which this shit wasn't her problem. This was total psychopath nonsense. Kimberly didn't do psychopaths. She didn't understand them, was unable to relate to them, couldn't toy with them. There was no rhyme or reason to their actions, no read she could get on them and then exploit.
She'd almost walked by. She'd almost just let this shit go down how it was gonna go down. As soon as she'd stepped into the area, as soon as she'd smelled the decay and seen the corpses at a distance, old and molding and mutilated, every instinct in her had cried for her to split. She'd been keeping nice and quiet. She'd gotten pretty fucking good at being quiet. It would've been a cinch to slip away. But then she'd heard the shouts. She'd heard someone getting murdered, and she'd closed in just to see who it was, and damn if it wasn't somebody she couldn't just let die.
Dutchy.
They hadn't parted on good terms, she imagined. She hadn't bothered to sugarcoat how fucked she'd thought the whole group was. This had, of course, been the day after she'd threatened Dutchy when he caught her limping back to camp. Yeah, their team dynamic hadn't been optimal. Fact was, though, Dutchy wasn't half bad. Of the whole group of patronizing, worried fucks, he was probably the most tolerable, in part by virtue of being pretty damn helpless himself. She'd left him in the care of Sarah and Bridget and Roland. She'd figured they'd stay safe enough, and, until now, it had seemed like they had. But here was Dutchy, alone and unarmed, getting the shit beaten out of him by a psychopath (Brook, yeah? The gardener?).
Sarah and Bridget, those two zealous protectors, were clearly nowhere in the vicinity. They were gonna have a lot of explaining to do when Kimberly tracked them down. She had better things to be doing with her time than retrieving lost teammates.
She was afraid of Brook, of course. He was a known killer, and, from the scene before her, more than a few bulbs short of a tulip garden. But dammit, when people scared Kimberly, she couldn't just walk away, couldn't just back down. In this case, she had to deal with him. She had to pull Dutchy's ass out of the fire.
This wasn't gonna be fun.
She'd decided, though. She wasn't leaving here alone.
So she ran towards Brook. She didn't have the knife in her hand. Didn't need it. She wasn't planning on killing anyone else in whatever remained of her life. She wasn't looking to get into a physical struggle with a boy much bigger than her, one who could use both his arms. What she had to do was stall him for about three seconds, grab Dutchy, and get the fuck out of Dodge.
And oh, would there be hell to pay when she found Sarah and Bridget.
So Kimberly ran at Brook, making sure to lead with her good shoulder. Simple. Just hurtle into him. Knock him away. Yeah, Dutchy might lose a couple teeth as the gun came out of his mouth, but those were the breaks sometimes. Then they'd run, and hope that Brook was set on sticking to his fucked up rot shrine.
And then, she was there, and there was no more time to think.
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Brook should have been having the time of his life right now. Up until a few seconds ago, actually, he was. It wasn't like there was anything Dutchy could do to save himself at this point. He wasn't like Colin, or anybody actually worth a damn who could fight themselves out of this situation. No, he was just a bunch of meat and blood to be tossed on the ground and split open, watering the grass. Hell, if Brook hadn't known any better, he might have actually thought the ratty little whiner came here to die! He put about as much of a fight. In one way, that wasn't fun at all... but in another, it was hilarious and empowering! The crimson torrential downpour would just keep coming and coming at this rate with no signs of stopping, a masochistic storm of pure joy... what wasn't to celebrate?
But a noise began to bother him. Brook wanted to look up, but his gaze was transfixed on the boy who would be dead just seconds from now. It felt like some annoying voice was calling him away from a very good TV show, and he just wanted to watch for a few more seconds before washing the dishes or whatever the hell it was. A voice... felt so distant at this point, and one that wasn't really there at all. A warm feeling. There was a home somewhere, but he had almost forgotten about it. This felt like his new home now, the place that he'd stay and watch over. As good a use for his skills as any, rate? Maybe he'd just develop the irrigation system he-
Oh, right. He should've looked up to see what that sound was.
Brook changed his posture and managed to glance up from Dutchy just enough to see some... girl running/bouncing/jiggling/mostly running towards him. Great tits th- no, wait, that thought got completely ruined when her shoulder decided it was going to fly right into his chest. He tried to straighten up and back off before the impact, but any sort of effort Brook made was futile beyond pulling his hand back far enough that he actually managed to hold onto the gun when it was wrenched out of Dutchy's mouth. For an interfering little bitch, that actually hurt. That hurt a lot, enough to make him shriek out a little when she collided with him... and with every stumble he took to try and regain his balance, every pound of pressure he had to place on his sternum with his left hand to try and kill the pain of the impact and calm his heart, Brook grew more and more frustrated.
"Okay..." Brook panted after managing to stop his backward careening. He had gone several arm's lengths back, and it was a wonder he hadn't been knocked flat out on his ass. His chest hurt, though... it hurt bad, enough to make him just want to breathe for a while. Breathe and curse. "What... the FUCK was that!? Seriously, what is with the sudden bullshit teamup!?" His hand was already raised, the liberator poised to party, but it seemed the two had plans to get the fuck out of Dodge. Only instead of some musty ol' city in the wild west, it was this glorious garden. HIS garden.
That wasn't happening.
But a noise began to bother him. Brook wanted to look up, but his gaze was transfixed on the boy who would be dead just seconds from now. It felt like some annoying voice was calling him away from a very good TV show, and he just wanted to watch for a few more seconds before washing the dishes or whatever the hell it was. A voice... felt so distant at this point, and one that wasn't really there at all. A warm feeling. There was a home somewhere, but he had almost forgotten about it. This felt like his new home now, the place that he'd stay and watch over. As good a use for his skills as any, rate? Maybe he'd just develop the irrigation system he-
Oh, right. He should've looked up to see what that sound was.
Brook changed his posture and managed to glance up from Dutchy just enough to see some... girl running/bouncing/jiggling/mostly running towards him. Great tits th- no, wait, that thought got completely ruined when her shoulder decided it was going to fly right into his chest. He tried to straighten up and back off before the impact, but any sort of effort Brook made was futile beyond pulling his hand back far enough that he actually managed to hold onto the gun when it was wrenched out of Dutchy's mouth. For an interfering little bitch, that actually hurt. That hurt a lot, enough to make him shriek out a little when she collided with him... and with every stumble he took to try and regain his balance, every pound of pressure he had to place on his sternum with his left hand to try and kill the pain of the impact and calm his heart, Brook grew more and more frustrated.
"Okay..." Brook panted after managing to stop his backward careening. He had gone several arm's lengths back, and it was a wonder he hadn't been knocked flat out on his ass. His chest hurt, though... it hurt bad, enough to make him just want to breathe for a while. Breathe and curse. "What... the FUCK was that!? Seriously, what is with the sudden bullshit teamup!?" His hand was already raised, the liberator poised to party, but it seemed the two had plans to get the fuck out of Dodge. Only instead of some musty ol' city in the wild west, it was this glorious garden. HIS garden.
That wasn't happening.
-
Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
(GM'd Kimberly out of the thread.. Toben, feel free to post if you want too, I'll just edit this post. It was really late, and I wanted to sleep and I couldn't get a hold of you on chat xD)
It had all happened, too fast. A blur of movement, pain, as steel death was wrenched from his mouth. A great weight lifted from his chest. Dutchy opened his eyes and saw the sky again.
Kimmy.
In a flash he was on his feet, despite the hurt. His heart was pounding, but his mind was clear. Get out. That was all he wanted in the world. Kimmy had him by the hand, no words needed. And then, his legs were pumping, his heart beating so fast he was scared it'd shoot right out of his chest. He was fast, but Kimberly was even faster. They bolted from the clearing at a breakneck speed.
Behind them he could hear the boy. He could hear the anger in his voice, sense his sadism.
Please. Oh please-
He was crying again, panting. His legs were moving too slow. The trees, too far away.
They'd never make it.
Please. Please, please-
There was a loud crack, gunfire from behind.
They didn't stop running.
All I want, it's all I want.
((Dutchy Ayers and Kimberly Nguyen continue in A White and Soundless Place))
It had all happened, too fast. A blur of movement, pain, as steel death was wrenched from his mouth. A great weight lifted from his chest. Dutchy opened his eyes and saw the sky again.
Kimmy.
In a flash he was on his feet, despite the hurt. His heart was pounding, but his mind was clear. Get out. That was all he wanted in the world. Kimmy had him by the hand, no words needed. And then, his legs were pumping, his heart beating so fast he was scared it'd shoot right out of his chest. He was fast, but Kimberly was even faster. They bolted from the clearing at a breakneck speed.
Behind them he could hear the boy. He could hear the anger in his voice, sense his sadism.
Please. Oh please-
He was crying again, panting. His legs were moving too slow. The trees, too far away.
They'd never make it.
Please. Please, please-
There was a loud crack, gunfire from behind.
They didn't stop running.
All I want, it's all I want.
((Dutchy Ayers and Kimberly Nguyen continue in A White and Soundless Place))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Little Boy. 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.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Impact. Perfect. She had enough momentum to make Brook feel that one. He gave out a little scream. That had Kimberly grinning nice and wide. Okay, physical pain wasn't her shtick, but some people were just begging to be roughed up a bit. Like most people, Brook couldn't take what he dished out so willingly. Wimp.
Poser.
Kimberly's thoughts didn't continue much in that vein, though. Brook was whining about their team up, because clearly a girl with a bum arm and a sobbing boy resigned to death were an overwhelming challenge for a quadruple-murderer with a gun. Wuss. It was time to get moving, though. Fuck actually fighting. The mission was a simple extradition.
Kimberly had Dutchy's hand, now, and they were running. It was a damn good thing she hadn't pulled out the knife. The last thing she needed was to be forced to choose between slicing Dutchy's palm open or dragging him along with her bad arm.
They were making it, though. Brook was nice and winded. He couldn't pursue them.
Kimberly heard the shot, and tensed for a second. She hadn't expected the total panic that gripped her in that moment. She'd been near guns since the first day, of course. She'd had them shoved in her face. She'd been ready to die by one. No one had shot at her in that time. No one had forced her back to that beach, to Kris, to lying in the sand and screaming and crying and hoping she wouldn't die and wishing she hadn't been so stupid.
She didn't die. The shot hadn't touched her. She was only slowed for a second.
She was biting her cheek. With a conscious effort, she stopped. Fuck this noise. She had what she'd come for.
And, like that, they were gone.
((Kimberly Nguyen continued in A White and Soundless Place))
Poser.
Kimberly's thoughts didn't continue much in that vein, though. Brook was whining about their team up, because clearly a girl with a bum arm and a sobbing boy resigned to death were an overwhelming challenge for a quadruple-murderer with a gun. Wuss. It was time to get moving, though. Fuck actually fighting. The mission was a simple extradition.
Kimberly had Dutchy's hand, now, and they were running. It was a damn good thing she hadn't pulled out the knife. The last thing she needed was to be forced to choose between slicing Dutchy's palm open or dragging him along with her bad arm.
They were making it, though. Brook was nice and winded. He couldn't pursue them.
Kimberly heard the shot, and tensed for a second. She hadn't expected the total panic that gripped her in that moment. She'd been near guns since the first day, of course. She'd had them shoved in her face. She'd been ready to die by one. No one had shot at her in that time. No one had forced her back to that beach, to Kris, to lying in the sand and screaming and crying and hoping she wouldn't die and wishing she hadn't been so stupid.
She didn't die. The shot hadn't touched her. She was only slowed for a second.
She was biting her cheek. With a conscious effort, she stopped. Fuck this noise. She had what she'd come for.
And, like that, they were gone.
((Kimberly Nguyen continued in A White and Soundless Place))
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
The gun was pointed at one of the two, both still within range for a weapon that, while shitty by just about every measure, had served well (then again, it's hard to miss at or near point-blank range). A pull of the trigger, and a round was fired off. Nobody stopped, but automatically, the gun was pointed at the other figure, and Brook went for a second shot.
Silence swallowed up the garden and refused to spit them back out.
Pull after pull of the trigger revealed the same results. Nothing. Desperate squeeze, repeated squeezes until he wrung sweat off of his trigger finger, but no bullet came out and no thunder broke against the trees. His lips curled up and bared teeth in frustration, culminating in an agitated scream as Dutchy and random whore of the week #3 escaped out of view. Once again, somebody had left his garden like an indignant little bitch. Now what was he supposed to do, huh? Another awkward period where he's just left standing there like the host of a party where one person showed up, ate all the chips and dip, then left without saying a word?
"F.... F.... FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!" Brook screamed towards the sky. The sky, being yet another rude whore, didn't even have the manners to scream back. In retaliation for the day suddenly striking against him, Brook flung the failure of a handgun, his 'trusty' liberator, away from the clearing and turned away. Before he clutched at his temples in a sharp-clawed attempt to gather what shredding bits of his brain could still form thoughts, he heard the scraping sounds of the gun unapologetically shattering against some tree. Good, served the thing right.
But why did it fail him!? The thing could have jammed, that was always a possibility. It should have had one bullet left, enough to squeeze off a round at the bitch, or another opportunity to fell Dutchy. He counted it all up, and he was certain there should have been eight. Eight was not equal to nine, god damn it. That meant he should've been able to fire twice, enough to cap them both. Unless...
"... Leila... Oh god, Leila, you fantastic little cocksucker, you."
Brook fell to his hands and knees to crawl towards Tiffany, giggling the whole way. "Tiff.. Tiff!" He called, the hysterics bursting through every seam, just dying to pop him open and pour out. "Tiff, she... you'll never guess... she got me! Hee hee... holy SHIT, she made a plum right fool out of me!" Brook drove his forehead into the ground before the silent and vindictive beauty, taking turns with each hand to ball them into fists and slam away at the ground. "Blew it blew it blew it wouldn't you fuckin' know it? I mean... WOW, I'm just...
"... Yeah, you're right. I need a fucking break, don't I?" Brook shivered, blurting out the first words that came to mind to fight back the sobs of anger and exasperation. "I need a break... Tiff, do you mind if I use your stomach? Your chest is kinda bloody... all of you is kind of..." Brook babbled, fighting against his own terrible, terrible will to press the side of his head down against the girl. He couldn't bear to look at Tiffany's own displeasure, shamed that he even asked to touch her after all of this, and so he pressed his left cheek against her, staring at her feet. Another day would soon end.. another nightmare to plague him over and over again, probably. Nothing he wouldn't have deserved.
That polite Mr. Danya fellow greeted him that morning, just like any other morning... considerate of him, really. Brook pushed off of the ever-still girl that he had been using for a pillow and tried to gather his wits to understand the grainy voice that somehow managed to infiltrate his garden every day. He still hadn't found out just where the goddamn cameras or loudspeakers were hidden so he could purify the area, but it was probably all for the better. As terribly intrusive as the cameras were, the world could at list witness the grandeur of the place. Maybe... maybe sometime, Brook would give tours.
No, no, focus first. Focus on the announcements, those lovely informative announcements, then carry on with your day. Surely, there had to be something important to say. Maybe about Jason's whereabouts, or if he was paying a visit. Or maybe the cost of corn all around the world had gone down, or the island got a shipment of tiger lilies, or...
"Örn Ayers was shot by Liam Brooks, and bled to death."
"... Well, I'll be damned." Brook said, absolutely astonished. So, he had gotten... 'Orn'... seriously, what kind of fucking name was 'Orn'? He got Dutchy... ... actually, that name kinda sucked too, but the point of the matter was that he killed the snotty bandage-nosed little fucker, and maybe he hadn't gone too far. Not another Colin, Brook couldn't afford to hunt down where that sleazeball had managed to stow away his bone-bag. Dutchy had actually been shot... bullets killed decently quick, right? Retrieval duty seemed like it would be in order.
However, that involved leaving the garden, which was a daunting task he hadn't attempted since its founding. At least, he hadn't left it for too far. Brook shivered at the thought and searched through his bag, rummaging until he found the weapon that good ol' Vivien had left for him. "... Tiffany, I'm going to be back very soon, okay?" Brook said without looking, the scent of blood plugging up his nostrils and flooding his sense of objectives. "I'm going to get our friend and bring him back. It's very important that he cuddle up next to no-balls, y'know? ... And if you don't like it, you can just lay there and rot."
He marched out to the edge of the garden and never looked back. There'd be hell to pay for that little remark later, but she'd learn to deal with it. He didn't feel like listening to her bitch for once.
((Liam "Brook" Brooks... taking a short break in A White and Soundless Place. And returning, funny enough!))
"H... H-Heh heh heh..." Brook chuckled. "Honey, I'm... I'm hoooooome!"
Dutchy's body was a real, literal pain in the neck the way that he was slung across Brook's shoulders, but the pressing desire not to go back on his arrangement was far too strong to ignore. Finally, finally they were all home together. Dutchy had been laid in a way that his hand fell over Vivien's, though his face was decidedly in better shape. In a way, it was almost cute.
Brook gazed down at the two and rubbed what little of the back of his neck he could reach without touching the annoying collar, which had only made things worse. It was bad enough that he had to have neck pains... now he had to look and feel like a damn dog at the same time? That just wasn't fair, now was it? But... but regardless, he did what he needed to do, and could admire those two friends together in death. Sort've made him wonder when Jason was finally going to show his face around these parts.
I'm waiting, after all. Heh... heh heh...
Silence swallowed up the garden and refused to spit them back out.
Pull after pull of the trigger revealed the same results. Nothing. Desperate squeeze, repeated squeezes until he wrung sweat off of his trigger finger, but no bullet came out and no thunder broke against the trees. His lips curled up and bared teeth in frustration, culminating in an agitated scream as Dutchy and random whore of the week #3 escaped out of view. Once again, somebody had left his garden like an indignant little bitch. Now what was he supposed to do, huh? Another awkward period where he's just left standing there like the host of a party where one person showed up, ate all the chips and dip, then left without saying a word?
"F.... F.... FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!" Brook screamed towards the sky. The sky, being yet another rude whore, didn't even have the manners to scream back. In retaliation for the day suddenly striking against him, Brook flung the failure of a handgun, his 'trusty' liberator, away from the clearing and turned away. Before he clutched at his temples in a sharp-clawed attempt to gather what shredding bits of his brain could still form thoughts, he heard the scraping sounds of the gun unapologetically shattering against some tree. Good, served the thing right.
But why did it fail him!? The thing could have jammed, that was always a possibility. It should have had one bullet left, enough to squeeze off a round at the bitch, or another opportunity to fell Dutchy. He counted it all up, and he was certain there should have been eight. Eight was not equal to nine, god damn it. That meant he should've been able to fire twice, enough to cap them both. Unless...
"... Leila... Oh god, Leila, you fantastic little cocksucker, you."
Brook fell to his hands and knees to crawl towards Tiffany, giggling the whole way. "Tiff.. Tiff!" He called, the hysterics bursting through every seam, just dying to pop him open and pour out. "Tiff, she... you'll never guess... she got me! Hee hee... holy SHIT, she made a plum right fool out of me!" Brook drove his forehead into the ground before the silent and vindictive beauty, taking turns with each hand to ball them into fists and slam away at the ground. "Blew it blew it blew it wouldn't you fuckin' know it? I mean... WOW, I'm just...
"... Yeah, you're right. I need a fucking break, don't I?" Brook shivered, blurting out the first words that came to mind to fight back the sobs of anger and exasperation. "I need a break... Tiff, do you mind if I use your stomach? Your chest is kinda bloody... all of you is kind of..." Brook babbled, fighting against his own terrible, terrible will to press the side of his head down against the girl. He couldn't bear to look at Tiffany's own displeasure, shamed that he even asked to touch her after all of this, and so he pressed his left cheek against her, staring at her feet. Another day would soon end.. another nightmare to plague him over and over again, probably. Nothing he wouldn't have deserved.
That polite Mr. Danya fellow greeted him that morning, just like any other morning... considerate of him, really. Brook pushed off of the ever-still girl that he had been using for a pillow and tried to gather his wits to understand the grainy voice that somehow managed to infiltrate his garden every day. He still hadn't found out just where the goddamn cameras or loudspeakers were hidden so he could purify the area, but it was probably all for the better. As terribly intrusive as the cameras were, the world could at list witness the grandeur of the place. Maybe... maybe sometime, Brook would give tours.
No, no, focus first. Focus on the announcements, those lovely informative announcements, then carry on with your day. Surely, there had to be something important to say. Maybe about Jason's whereabouts, or if he was paying a visit. Or maybe the cost of corn all around the world had gone down, or the island got a shipment of tiger lilies, or...
"Örn Ayers was shot by Liam Brooks, and bled to death."
"... Well, I'll be damned." Brook said, absolutely astonished. So, he had gotten... 'Orn'... seriously, what kind of fucking name was 'Orn'? He got Dutchy... ... actually, that name kinda sucked too, but the point of the matter was that he killed the snotty bandage-nosed little fucker, and maybe he hadn't gone too far. Not another Colin, Brook couldn't afford to hunt down where that sleazeball had managed to stow away his bone-bag. Dutchy had actually been shot... bullets killed decently quick, right? Retrieval duty seemed like it would be in order.
However, that involved leaving the garden, which was a daunting task he hadn't attempted since its founding. At least, he hadn't left it for too far. Brook shivered at the thought and searched through his bag, rummaging until he found the weapon that good ol' Vivien had left for him. "... Tiffany, I'm going to be back very soon, okay?" Brook said without looking, the scent of blood plugging up his nostrils and flooding his sense of objectives. "I'm going to get our friend and bring him back. It's very important that he cuddle up next to no-balls, y'know? ... And if you don't like it, you can just lay there and rot."
He marched out to the edge of the garden and never looked back. There'd be hell to pay for that little remark later, but she'd learn to deal with it. He didn't feel like listening to her bitch for once.
((Liam "Brook" Brooks... taking a short break in A White and Soundless Place. And returning, funny enough!))
"H... H-Heh heh heh..." Brook chuckled. "Honey, I'm... I'm hoooooome!"
Dutchy's body was a real, literal pain in the neck the way that he was slung across Brook's shoulders, but the pressing desire not to go back on his arrangement was far too strong to ignore. Finally, finally they were all home together. Dutchy had been laid in a way that his hand fell over Vivien's, though his face was decidedly in better shape. In a way, it was almost cute.
Brook gazed down at the two and rubbed what little of the back of his neck he could reach without touching the annoying collar, which had only made things worse. It was bad enough that he had to have neck pains... now he had to look and feel like a damn dog at the same time? That just wasn't fair, now was it? But... but regardless, he did what he needed to do, and could admire those two friends together in death. Sort've made him wonder when Jason was finally going to show his face around these parts.
I'm waiting, after all. Heh... heh heh...
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
How much time had passed?
Brook had nearly forgotten. He had forgotten what day it was by this point, so that meant he'd have to pay extra-special attention to the announcements the next time they came on. They wouldn't have anything interesting, sure, unless Jason or somebody else somehow managed to get themselves killed. That'd piss him right the fuck off, wouldn't it? If Jason had managed to get killed by somebody else before he had the chance to off him...
"Well, take your time, you Aussie bastard..." Brook groaned, walking around the garden to plant, transplant and arrange some more of the wildflowers. The garden was rather beautiful by this point, no doubt reacting well to his gardening expertise, his green thumb... as dark and stained with red as the green might be now. His other gun, the weapon he received as a gift from Vivien, that was going to suit him just fine.
Everything was ready, the stage was set for the next person to arrive. Now all they had to do was show up.
Brook had nearly forgotten. He had forgotten what day it was by this point, so that meant he'd have to pay extra-special attention to the announcements the next time they came on. They wouldn't have anything interesting, sure, unless Jason or somebody else somehow managed to get themselves killed. That'd piss him right the fuck off, wouldn't it? If Jason had managed to get killed by somebody else before he had the chance to off him...
"Well, take your time, you Aussie bastard..." Brook groaned, walking around the garden to plant, transplant and arrange some more of the wildflowers. The garden was rather beautiful by this point, no doubt reacting well to his gardening expertise, his green thumb... as dark and stained with red as the green might be now. His other gun, the weapon he received as a gift from Vivien, that was going to suit him just fine.
Everything was ready, the stage was set for the next person to arrive. Now all they had to do was show up.
((Rachel Gettys continued from Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly.))
After hours of looking around, they hadn't found Robert. Well, after an hour at least. Then Rachel just gave up. Seriously, what kind of man just walks off from their group without telling them where he's going? At a time like this too. If he got himself killed by walking off a cliff or something, that might just be doing the world a favor.
Of course, to Neill, she kept up the pretense of continuing their search. Every so often, the two would stop to try to figure out where to go, and maybe trade notes on how they might carry out Neill's insane plan. Something about cracking collars open to see if they'd explode or not. Of course, the only collars they'd managed to come across in their trek around the island were ones that had already exploded.
Sometime during their travels, a loud voice had started announcing that there were people at the beach looking to lift students off the island. Rachel of course, had taken the opportunity to urge Neill that it was the Lord's salvation come to them, although he seemed a bit skeptical in the truth of that. Still with the hope of getting off the island, the two started toward the nearest beach, all thoughts of making their own escape thrown aside.
Hope was not meant to last. Not five minutes after they'd started moving, the loud voice announced specific names they wouldn't be taking. At this point, Rachel knew this whole escape plan was a hoax. There was no good reason for them to not take her. Sure she'd been a little bit over the top the first few days on the island, but when it came down to protecting yourself from a killer, or killing somebody because they fell on a rock instead of dirt, there was no reason for her to get lumped in with some of those other murderers.
She was still one of God's chosen. She wouldn't be forsaken by Him.
Well, it might have come out as more of a hysterical fit of screaming when she'd discovered this, but that was in the past. Now she was more composed. And still accompanied by Neill. She was mildly surprised he had decided to stay with her, but he had, and she felt glad for that. Being alone was scary.
Especially in the dark. Even with her flashlight, Rachel was far more comforted by knowing that Neill was sticking by her.
They'd lost track of the passing hours. Presumably, the moon hung in the sky, but the trees covered up any view of that. They walked until they found a small clearing, where they could see the moon and the stars, and where they could stop to rest. Rachel sat down, retrieving a bottle from her pack and taking a sip from it before sitting down in the grassy field.
The grass was red.
Rachel bolted up and her flashlight darted from side to side. More red. She dropped the bottle and reached out to Neill, trying to find somebody to hold on to. "What happened here?" she whispered.
This was not right. Not right at all.
After hours of looking around, they hadn't found Robert. Well, after an hour at least. Then Rachel just gave up. Seriously, what kind of man just walks off from their group without telling them where he's going? At a time like this too. If he got himself killed by walking off a cliff or something, that might just be doing the world a favor.
Of course, to Neill, she kept up the pretense of continuing their search. Every so often, the two would stop to try to figure out where to go, and maybe trade notes on how they might carry out Neill's insane plan. Something about cracking collars open to see if they'd explode or not. Of course, the only collars they'd managed to come across in their trek around the island were ones that had already exploded.
Sometime during their travels, a loud voice had started announcing that there were people at the beach looking to lift students off the island. Rachel of course, had taken the opportunity to urge Neill that it was the Lord's salvation come to them, although he seemed a bit skeptical in the truth of that. Still with the hope of getting off the island, the two started toward the nearest beach, all thoughts of making their own escape thrown aside.
Hope was not meant to last. Not five minutes after they'd started moving, the loud voice announced specific names they wouldn't be taking. At this point, Rachel knew this whole escape plan was a hoax. There was no good reason for them to not take her. Sure she'd been a little bit over the top the first few days on the island, but when it came down to protecting yourself from a killer, or killing somebody because they fell on a rock instead of dirt, there was no reason for her to get lumped in with some of those other murderers.
She was still one of God's chosen. She wouldn't be forsaken by Him.
Well, it might have come out as more of a hysterical fit of screaming when she'd discovered this, but that was in the past. Now she was more composed. And still accompanied by Neill. She was mildly surprised he had decided to stay with her, but he had, and she felt glad for that. Being alone was scary.
Especially in the dark. Even with her flashlight, Rachel was far more comforted by knowing that Neill was sticking by her.
They'd lost track of the passing hours. Presumably, the moon hung in the sky, but the trees covered up any view of that. They walked until they found a small clearing, where they could see the moon and the stars, and where they could stop to rest. Rachel sat down, retrieving a bottle from her pack and taking a sip from it before sitting down in the grassy field.
The grass was red.
Rachel bolted up and her flashlight darted from side to side. More red. She dropped the bottle and reached out to Neill, trying to find somebody to hold on to. "What happened here?" she whispered.
This was not right. Not right at all.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solomir. 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.
-
xylophonefairy†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:55 am
((Neill Robertson continued from Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly.
Would like to point out that this is a momentary lapse from my awayness, I won't be back again until next Tuesday. Not that it really matters seeing as this is my only active character....))
How on earth had this happened?
Bobby had, and there was no other explanation for it, evaporated. Or climbed a tree and fallen asleep. Perhaps there had been a rapture and he had been taken away (that last one was tempting to tease Rachel with, but he was still a little bit too scared of her to make jokes about her religion). There had been that escape call, that Neill hadn't quite trusted, and not wanted to bring up when Rachel's name was read out on the list of people not welcome along. And she hadn't taken that news well, and it had taken all of his strength then to stay with her and not to run to the nearest beach and leave on an escape boat.
Because by the time Rachel had calmed down enough for him to even think about leaving her, he sensed it was too late. He was too far away, it had been too long. Time kept ticking while the Catholic went crazy.
He had missed his shot, even though it looked like the escape boats were pretty dangerous places to be right now. And of course, this meant that his escape plan was more important than ever. He had already picked a thousand holes in it, the first one being that the collars of dead people probably would explode, as that was probably a defense function to stop people experimenting on the dead to try and remove collars. Still, he knew that there must be something to his theory. There must be some way to play dead.
Even after days of thinking, however, he still had no idea how to implement it.
Rachel hadn't been much help, either. She seemed passively supportive of her plans, but offered none of her own. Neill was letting this slide, however, for fear that she might turn on him and condemn him to hell in the same motion.
At some point it had gotten dark, and by automatic gesture he had retrieved his torch from his bag. He kept the beam low, and partly covered by his hand, feeling antsy about using them in the darkened woods. They were so bright against the impenetratable darkness. Bright enough to pick out blood on the grass, a deeply stained patch of red that instantly quickened his pulse. He turned his torch of with the click of a button, and the click seemed to echo off the trees around them. His breath caught in his throat.
"What happened here?"
"Sssh," Neill said softly, as Rachel grabbed onto him, and he tried to support her as best he could. "Turn your torch off." He got a distinctly bad feeling about this, especially as he was already on edge. It paid to be cautious, caution had kept him and Bobby and Ray (Ray! They still hadn't found him...) alive for days.
Would like to point out that this is a momentary lapse from my awayness, I won't be back again until next Tuesday. Not that it really matters seeing as this is my only active character....))
How on earth had this happened?
Bobby had, and there was no other explanation for it, evaporated. Or climbed a tree and fallen asleep. Perhaps there had been a rapture and he had been taken away (that last one was tempting to tease Rachel with, but he was still a little bit too scared of her to make jokes about her religion). There had been that escape call, that Neill hadn't quite trusted, and not wanted to bring up when Rachel's name was read out on the list of people not welcome along. And she hadn't taken that news well, and it had taken all of his strength then to stay with her and not to run to the nearest beach and leave on an escape boat.
Because by the time Rachel had calmed down enough for him to even think about leaving her, he sensed it was too late. He was too far away, it had been too long. Time kept ticking while the Catholic went crazy.
He had missed his shot, even though it looked like the escape boats were pretty dangerous places to be right now. And of course, this meant that his escape plan was more important than ever. He had already picked a thousand holes in it, the first one being that the collars of dead people probably would explode, as that was probably a defense function to stop people experimenting on the dead to try and remove collars. Still, he knew that there must be something to his theory. There must be some way to play dead.
Even after days of thinking, however, he still had no idea how to implement it.
Rachel hadn't been much help, either. She seemed passively supportive of her plans, but offered none of her own. Neill was letting this slide, however, for fear that she might turn on him and condemn him to hell in the same motion.
At some point it had gotten dark, and by automatic gesture he had retrieved his torch from his bag. He kept the beam low, and partly covered by his hand, feeling antsy about using them in the darkened woods. They were so bright against the impenetratable darkness. Bright enough to pick out blood on the grass, a deeply stained patch of red that instantly quickened his pulse. He turned his torch of with the click of a button, and the click seemed to echo off the trees around them. His breath caught in his throat.
"What happened here?"
"Sssh," Neill said softly, as Rachel grabbed onto him, and he tried to support her as best he could. "Turn your torch off." He got a distinctly bad feeling about this, especially as he was already on edge. It paid to be cautious, caution had kept him and Bobby and Ray (Ray! They still hadn't found him...) alive for days.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler xylophonefairy. 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.
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Oh, trust me. It's a looooong story."
The curator of the garden retreated behind the tree he was using for cover following his taunting statement. Almost reflexively at the touch of the bark, he identified it as the rather common White Oak. Quercus Alba. From behind it, he awaited the response from the two latest delightful visitors.
This was probably the part where they'd freak out, maybe say something along the lines of 'who was that?' and start whipping around their flashlights. They could go ahead and do that all they wanted, but he already knew just how much good that would do them. This was his garden, his humble statement to the rest of the world. Brook knew the garden better than anybody else ever could; who else had paid attention to the position of every tree, and who else would have the mind's eye, the vision to arrange the flowers and bodies so perfectly? No... nobody ever could. This was priceless, unable to be replaced.
Perfect.
Brook carefully slipped from tree to tree, working his way clockwise around the garden by about three or four trees. A better look at his new friends was a necessary move, even if it put him at risk of being seen. Dry leaves crunched and rustled under his footsteps, but that just added to the fun, really... every sound was important to confuse, to disorient.
Brook pulled from his pocket the weapon he would now be relying on, the gun that Vivien had dropped. Friendly gal, she was, to have dropped it for him. Well... he was still a guy when he dropped it. Brook remembered that particular escapade with a devilish grin as he gripped the gun with both hands, his shoulder pressed against the tree he was currently using to keep himself out of view. Another White Oak - go figure.
From the glimpses he got of the two, he saw a guy who's name was lost on him, and so he was nothing more than the amount of blood he held within him (which, given human anatomy, could actually be quite a bit). The girl, however... she was unmistakable. Yes, Tiffany would be very accepting of the blood of one Rachel Gettys. ... No... not just Tiffany, but this entire garden. This entire thing transcended past the importance of just one person. Brook wanted to kick himself for having forgotten that, but there were more important things to take care of. Like killing!
"Beautiful, huh?"
The curator of the garden retreated behind the tree he was using for cover following his taunting statement. Almost reflexively at the touch of the bark, he identified it as the rather common White Oak. Quercus Alba. From behind it, he awaited the response from the two latest delightful visitors.
This was probably the part where they'd freak out, maybe say something along the lines of 'who was that?' and start whipping around their flashlights. They could go ahead and do that all they wanted, but he already knew just how much good that would do them. This was his garden, his humble statement to the rest of the world. Brook knew the garden better than anybody else ever could; who else had paid attention to the position of every tree, and who else would have the mind's eye, the vision to arrange the flowers and bodies so perfectly? No... nobody ever could. This was priceless, unable to be replaced.
Perfect.
Brook carefully slipped from tree to tree, working his way clockwise around the garden by about three or four trees. A better look at his new friends was a necessary move, even if it put him at risk of being seen. Dry leaves crunched and rustled under his footsteps, but that just added to the fun, really... every sound was important to confuse, to disorient.
Brook pulled from his pocket the weapon he would now be relying on, the gun that Vivien had dropped. Friendly gal, she was, to have dropped it for him. Well... he was still a guy when he dropped it. Brook remembered that particular escapade with a devilish grin as he gripped the gun with both hands, his shoulder pressed against the tree he was currently using to keep himself out of view. Another White Oak - go figure.
From the glimpses he got of the two, he saw a guy who's name was lost on him, and so he was nothing more than the amount of blood he held within him (which, given human anatomy, could actually be quite a bit). The girl, however... she was unmistakable. Yes, Tiffany would be very accepting of the blood of one Rachel Gettys. ... No... not just Tiffany, but this entire garden. This entire thing transcended past the importance of just one person. Brook wanted to kick himself for having forgotten that, but there were more important things to take care of. Like killing!
"Beautiful, huh?"
Without the light of the flashlight, Rachel felt even more vulnerable. Her only consolation was that Neill was still standing close to her, and she instinctively stepped closer to him. As afraid as she was, she still needed to keep her wits up and not back down. Even if there was blood on the ground, it was likely old. There was no reason to assume that there was still any danger around. And even if there was, she could still stand up to it. God would give her the strength to face her enemies.
A voice cackled out from somewhere in the darkness, shattering the illusion of safety. Rachel's hand found Neill's shirttail, her fingers digging into the fabric, but she did not make more than a tiny squeak. With only the light of the moon from above, it was impossible to determine where the voice had come from, but she still cast her gaze around, hoping to find some clue somewhere. The voice may have been familiar, but it had been twisted too much by the maniacal laugh to place it with a name or face. "Who's there?" Rachel called out. Not that she cared enough about who it was; she just said it to give herself a jolt of confidence.
Sounds rustled from around the two, but whether it was a breeze running between the trees or a person darting behind the darkness was a mystery. Then, the mysterious voice came out again, now with less mad revel but more insane wonder. Rachel looked around again, but there was still no sign of the voice's source. Rachel wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of playing along with his games though. "We're not here to sightsee. If you don't show yourself, we're just going to leave."
With that, she nudged Neill over back in the direction they had entered from. Getting out of here was probably their best bet. Neither of them really had anything that would qualify as a weapon, and if the blood earlier was any indication, it was only a matter of time before something very bad could happen.
A voice cackled out from somewhere in the darkness, shattering the illusion of safety. Rachel's hand found Neill's shirttail, her fingers digging into the fabric, but she did not make more than a tiny squeak. With only the light of the moon from above, it was impossible to determine where the voice had come from, but she still cast her gaze around, hoping to find some clue somewhere. The voice may have been familiar, but it had been twisted too much by the maniacal laugh to place it with a name or face. "Who's there?" Rachel called out. Not that she cared enough about who it was; she just said it to give herself a jolt of confidence.
Sounds rustled from around the two, but whether it was a breeze running between the trees or a person darting behind the darkness was a mystery. Then, the mysterious voice came out again, now with less mad revel but more insane wonder. Rachel looked around again, but there was still no sign of the voice's source. Rachel wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of playing along with his games though. "We're not here to sightsee. If you don't show yourself, we're just going to leave."
With that, she nudged Neill over back in the direction they had entered from. Getting out of here was probably their best bet. Neither of them really had anything that would qualify as a weapon, and if the blood earlier was any indication, it was only a matter of time before something very bad could happen.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solomir. 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.
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
It was just like a bitch such as Rachel Gettys to go shitting all over the fun of people like himself.
Then her brave and stubborn protests reached Brook's ears, he scowled. The satisfaction he gained from slightly unsettling her, that very light squeak he picked up on, that was just minimal. He didn't get nearly enough joy out of that. He supposed he'd just have to make up for it later, with something both excruciating and effective. Her loss, really.
So, they thought they were just going to up and leave? Yet another group of people who only wanted to peek around and then head off, just like that, without so much as a single compliment to the gardener. The very notion that nobody appreciated his art irritated him; the fact that nobody understood the sancitity of the shrine enraged him. Still, Brook was a good boy. He had to stay calm about all of this, handle it politely.
He watched the pair from the relative safety of his tree, and saw that they were coming back his way... to leave, of course. Well, at least with the direction they were headed, he was okay with that. Brook waited for them to get moderately close, kissed his gun as some stupid good luck charm that even he put very little faith into, and stepped around the corner.
'Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Look... here I am, so now you can stay, okay?"
He kept the smile on his face, and tried not to let his anger and disgust with the two show through. They'd have to die... that's the only way this would be finishing. Everybody on this island would have to come to him, line up and be executed to preserve themselves. If they didn't want to be immortalized in such a way then... just like all the others, he'd have to force them.
Then her brave and stubborn protests reached Brook's ears, he scowled. The satisfaction he gained from slightly unsettling her, that very light squeak he picked up on, that was just minimal. He didn't get nearly enough joy out of that. He supposed he'd just have to make up for it later, with something both excruciating and effective. Her loss, really.
So, they thought they were just going to up and leave? Yet another group of people who only wanted to peek around and then head off, just like that, without so much as a single compliment to the gardener. The very notion that nobody appreciated his art irritated him; the fact that nobody understood the sancitity of the shrine enraged him. Still, Brook was a good boy. He had to stay calm about all of this, handle it politely.
He watched the pair from the relative safety of his tree, and saw that they were coming back his way... to leave, of course. Well, at least with the direction they were headed, he was okay with that. Brook waited for them to get moderately close, kissed his gun as some stupid good luck charm that even he put very little faith into, and stepped around the corner.
'Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Look... here I am, so now you can stay, okay?"
He kept the smile on his face, and tried not to let his anger and disgust with the two show through. They'd have to die... that's the only way this would be finishing. Everybody on this island would have to come to him, line up and be executed to preserve themselves. If they didn't want to be immortalized in such a way then... just like all the others, he'd have to force them.