((Jeremy Franco continued from How to Win Friends and Influence People))
Funny thing about silver linings: they have a way of getting a little smaller, a little dirtier, if you look at them real close. Fuck, not even real close. Just peel back a corner and it's plain as day, just- what? Hey, hey. I know it sounds depressing, but- don't believe me? Okay. An example, then.
Here, look at Jeremy. He felt pretty good, just a little while ago. It wasn't long ago, was it? The guy just looked so happy, didn't he. There was this pretty girl who had done some very nice things to him, so of course he was happy. But that was fucking ages ago. It didn't make him feel all nice and tingly anymore, and who the fuck was he gonna brag about it to? Anyone? Anyone out there?
Not really.
Here, want another example? Look at Jeremy's hat. It looks pretty good, just a- no, shut the fuck up. Not the point. Point is to look at the fucking hat. Look at it.
Look at it.
Remember what he did to get it. Remember everything. Remember the dirt on her knees from when he made her kneel down, made her fucking bow down. Remember all the things he said to her- there was a Don't you fucking LOOK at me when I'm talking to you! and a You fucking RAISE YOUR HAND and you wait for me to CALL ON YOU! and a And fucking LOOK at me when I'm talking to you! Remember the sound she made when he kicked her in the arm, kicked her in the fucking arm. Remember that. Remember everything.
Don't stop. Don't stop remembering. Don't stop till your stomach is empty and your lungs are drained and you're hacking wheezing hacking on the ground bent over shaking wheezing and you fucking deserve it. See that little pool of vomit there- know what that's called? That's a start. That's a fucking start, but don't you fucking dare let yourself off that easy. You still have enough strength to spasm. Means you're not done remembering yet.
And what's that right there, is that- oh, that's a bit of hope. Well. Might as well get it all out, then. Go ahead. I'm gonna make it right- yes, of course- I'm gonna find her again- of course you will- No, really, I will- so where is she?- Somewhere- where is she?- Somewhere- where is she?- Somewhere else- yes, she is- And I'll make it up to her- of course you will- And I'll give her the hat back- and she'll care- And she'll care- and she definitely will. And it'll be okay, because whatever you did to her can be made up for if you just say you're sorry and you give her back her lucky hat. That'll make it good, right? Yes? No. No. It won't.
No such thing as a lucky hat.
Remember?
Remember. Remember and keep remembering and keep shaking heaving up crying because you deserve it. And no more of this bullshit about wanting to make it up to Kimberly. Not what you want. You know what you want, so say it. Go ahead and say it.
I want this to be gone.
It's what everyone wants. It's okay to admit that. Doesn't make you less of a man, doesn't make you a failure. You're not a failure. You're not a failure, right? You're not a failure. And hey, hey, it's a start. You're not going around wheeling and dealing anymore, you're going to be trying to survive like a real person. So you're headed in the right direction.
I want out of here.
Sure, sure. Understandable. So do what everyone does. Maybe run. Maybe hide. Maybe find someone and make friends. Maybe try your hand at some violence, maybe a- no? Yes? Okay. Don't have to answer that yet. Just have to pick yourself up, brush off the vomit, straighten yourself out a bit- don't worry, you still look fine, I'm sure you still look like a badass, nobody will notice- and start walking.
I want to make a deal.
Wait, what, no.
Where's a camera.
Cut this shit out.
"Hey, uh. Danya? Mr. Danya."
What the fuck is this.
"Mr. Danya, or- if Danya's not here right now, whoever's watching can just maybe record this and let him know later, but what's going on is I got an offer to make and I think you'd be interested."
"So, um, right. Where to begin here. Lemme- lemme just say that I respect what you're doing, okay. Maybe I don't totally agree with all of the- hey, but, hey, that's neither here nor there, right? Point is I respect you, and this whole thing you got going on, I get that. I get all of it. You wanna show everyone back home how us kids are just gonna kill each other for a shot at living, right? Cause that's gonna scare the shit outta everyone and that's what you're all about. And you got a good thing going here and I respect it."
"But here's the thing here, and I mean this with all due respect, is that you can't really just keep doing the same thing, right? Like, you've made your point on that level, we all get it by now, still scares the shit out of everyone but it's kinda just there by now. Does that make sense? Uh. So here's what I can offer you."
"I think we can maybe, you and me, we can prove something entirely new about us kids. Right? Cause we already know that we'll kill on each other, that we're gonna turn on each other that way. We've all seen that before. What nobody's seen before is that somebody's gonna sell everything and everyone out and just sorta make a deal with the devil- again, all due respect, you're not the actual devil, but- but you get what I mean, right?"
"I could, like, sorta... work for you, I guess? More like volunteering, haha! Ha! Yeah, uh, didn't mean to suggest that you'd need to pay me for this, that'd be, yeah, no, this is all up to you. But what I can do for you is be a mouthpiece, right? And I can tell anyone anything you want me to tell them, or- haha, you don't even need to, I can go on my own! Right? I can talk all about how SotF is a great thing, how it's, I mean, we all have it coming and we can only blame ourselves for how it always turns out, right?"
"Right? I mean shit, it'd be scary enough if you were the guy saying all of that, but it's just that much fucking worse for everyone if it's an actual kid saying it, an actual kid who's been through it right? And all you need to do is just get me off the island, that's like what- one kid? That's not gonna make much difference, you're not gonna really uh, lose anything but you're gonna still gain a whole lot. Yeah? I think we can really help each other out here."
"I really do. I really think we can get something going here and hey! Hey! I can sweeten the deal right? I can say everything you want everything you need and I can just also you know make it worthwhile from a financial place. I'm pretty rich I have some money stashed away and it's yours I mean I know this all of this has gotta be pretty expensive so I can help cover some of the costs and I know it's gotta be chump change compared to what you're dealing with but like I said it's the cherry on top and all."
"Please."
"I mean yeah this is all still up to you obviously but I think we can work something out I think we can make this happen and what I need from you right now is just some kind of signal that you're interested okay? It doesn't have to be a yes yet, okay? I don't need anyone to come here yet because it's not final. Okay? It's not final we can still change up the terms if you need and we can talk this out. You can send someone down so we can talk this out and maybe just make my collar blink once or twice so I know you're thinking about it."
And here he started to cry again.
"Please. I don't need you to say yes yet I just need to know that this is something you're willing to consider. Okay maybe just the collar could blink and then I'd know and then I'd be okay because we could talk more about it."
A long pause.
"I wanna talk more about it I wanna make a deal. We can make a deal. It's a win for both of us. It is. It is. We can do this. You can, come one, I need to know. Not now it's okay if you don't say now because it's okay and I can wait. Maybe you need some time to"
A long pause.
"Consider and it would be okay. It's okay. Just get back to me and I'd like to know please."
A long pause.
"Please."
There is no response. He waits for a blink or he waits for some words or he waits for the helicopter to touch down and no. There is no response. Listen. Closely. No. There is no response.
That's okay. That's okay.
It's not final.
Please.
The Beggar King
Private
The Beggar King
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storyspoiler†
- Posts: 152
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
(Liz Polanski & Mirabelle Nesa continued from "Blackout")
They ran.
It wasn't really running, huffing and puffing, having Belle hold her up by the arms, punching cameras out with the bad end of the pen and (later) the knife again, once the pen had taken enough abuse. The South-Eastern Woods, a wing in the House of Mirrors (there had been shouting in the other parts--she wasn't touching that), inside the carousel at the Fun Fair, the bunker in the Greens, and now to the Mansion, cracking cameras in the front hall and--oh, someone was in one of the upstairs bedrooms.
Liz and Belle crept up, Belle first--no, Liz first, once they got upstairs, because Liz was armed with a gun and she wasn't going to let Belle get shot if Belle just had a couple of knives and a net gun to her name. The doors were pretty thin here; they could recognize the voice, if not the words.
Jeremy Franco.
Liz had slept with Jeremy Franco, once, twice, many times. She could handle this.
"Let me deal with him." She said. "Scout the rest of the house."
Belle opened her mouth to protest, then nodded, upon seeing Liz's look. And she left.
Liz listened, pressing her ear to the door. Heard Jeremy plead. Then opened the door.
He startled a bit, from behind, at the noise. She aimed carefully, fired--she's been practicing with the pistol a bit, on high-up cameras, in case she needed it.
The camera in front of him shattered.
Jeremy turned, gaped. Liz, bewritten, wounded, looked like a freak on a stick. She was scowling.
"Don't talk to that man." She said. "It's not worth it. I tried." A stiff smile. "He breaks his promises."
Her voice was almost clear now.
"Welcome to the team."
They ran.
It wasn't really running, huffing and puffing, having Belle hold her up by the arms, punching cameras out with the bad end of the pen and (later) the knife again, once the pen had taken enough abuse. The South-Eastern Woods, a wing in the House of Mirrors (there had been shouting in the other parts--she wasn't touching that), inside the carousel at the Fun Fair, the bunker in the Greens, and now to the Mansion, cracking cameras in the front hall and--oh, someone was in one of the upstairs bedrooms.
Liz and Belle crept up, Belle first--no, Liz first, once they got upstairs, because Liz was armed with a gun and she wasn't going to let Belle get shot if Belle just had a couple of knives and a net gun to her name. The doors were pretty thin here; they could recognize the voice, if not the words.
Jeremy Franco.
Liz had slept with Jeremy Franco, once, twice, many times. She could handle this.
"Let me deal with him." She said. "Scout the rest of the house."
Belle opened her mouth to protest, then nodded, upon seeing Liz's look. And she left.
Liz listened, pressing her ear to the door. Heard Jeremy plead. Then opened the door.
He startled a bit, from behind, at the noise. She aimed carefully, fired--she's been practicing with the pistol a bit, on high-up cameras, in case she needed it.
The camera in front of him shattered.
Jeremy turned, gaped. Liz, bewritten, wounded, looked like a freak on a stick. She was scowling.
"Don't talk to that man." She said. "It's not worth it. I tried." A stiff smile. "He breaks his promises."
Her voice was almost clear now.
"Welcome to the team."
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
[[Garrett Hunter continued from The Middle Children of History]]
This was a long time incoming.
Rewind a bit. Two days ago, Garrett Hunter passed out on a dusty road outside the Sawmill, abandoned and empty but for a certain Madeline Smith, who had, inexplicably, chosen to wait with him, despite his reminded that she could very well leave at any time. That reminder had to have come from some last vestige of pride remaining in his blood-soaked and sedated brain, given that courtesy and kindness were not words that meant much in his vocabulary. Still, Madeline stayed there with him on that road, for many, many hours. How many hours, it was impossible to tell, and Madeline certainly could have left and come back during that time, but the fact was that she was there when Garrett finally opened his eyes again.
Also present was the world's most enormous headache.
"Oh, SHIT. FUCK! FUCKING FUCK SHIT FUCK OW! MY FUCKING HEAD! WHAT THE FUCK! Fucking shit cocksucking fucker fuck ow ow ow ow ow-"
He went on that way for a while, as he was wont to do, and as he felt like something was drilling holes in his skull from the inside, he felt justified in doing so. In fact, it was a while before he made note of Madeline's presence at all. He stood, paced for a bit, still cursing, limping now- not that he took notice of even that- before taking notice of the tiny girl sitting on the ground near where he'd been but a moment ago.
"Who the fuck are you? And where the fuck is this? Fuckin'...dirty-ass ground and shit, why the fuck am I out here, how long-"
He looked at the sky, and paused.
It was already dark. He'd been out for over 24 hours.
Memories came back.
Madeline.
Mirabelle.
Liz?
He blinked and growled, looking away from the girl who he realized now he probably owed his life. That was so...that was so pathetic and it was close to impossible for him to even grasp how, and why, he'd let this girl help him. He would never live it down, ever. His friends at home would be laughing- he'd passed out for a full day with a fucking midget bitchas his only protection.
Without her, you wouldn't have lived it down. ...Because you'd be dead.
Garrett ignored this newly evolved voice of reason, shaking his head. Doesn't matter. Death before dishonor and all that.
Anyway.
Point was, Garrett was alone on this road with this midget girl who saved his life. He was having trouble putting weight on his right leg- oh right, I got fucking SHOT- but at least his headache seemed to be settling down. Memories of the day before came trickling in at their own pace.
Mirabelle. Fucking Mirabelle. She was there. She...gave me a cigarette? That...makes no fucking sense, what the fuck happened there-
What'd I say to her? Something about...something about Liz Polanski, fuck if I remember. Liz Polanski...
The girl who's breaking the cameras. Who broke out of her collar. The girl I met, the one who was trying- shit. Fucking hell, I remember her. Ran like a little girl when I got pissed.
But she's done some shit. Some real shit. I've gotta find her, figure out what she knows, what she can do, even if she is a fucking girl...ugh, my head...
Mirabelle...huh. She could've killed me. Wonder why she didn't?
Garrett stared at the sky, thoughtful. He knew why she didn't kill him- she wasn't the killing type. Like him. As much as he hated her godfucking guts, he recognized that they were similar, in a few ways. And it was a testament to how weird he was feeling right now that he could recognize that without immediately punching himself in the head.
What the fuck happened yesterday?
Garrett kept looking up. The stars were out- there was very little light on the island, so that was only natural. A couple of the stars were moving. That was...odd. Stars don't move. In his still-imperfect state it took him a moment to recognize that those weren't stars.
They were...helicopters.
Garrett's heart froze.
Those weren't rescue helicopters. That much was obvious. Rescue helicopters would've been shot down. Would-be rescuers, if they managed to succeed, would have to disable their collars in order to rescue them, and his was still on and in working order, probably. More than any of that- it was premonition. This was not good. This was in fact very bad and Garrett didn't want to be anywhere near it.
"Run," he said. It was more like a whisper.
They ran.
---
It was pure stubbornness, with more than a dash of pride, that got them this far in the first place.
Someone running on pure logic, with more than a dash of working survival instinct- traits that would get someone far in this game, in other words- that kind of person would head straight for the infirmary. After all, Garrett still wasn't at his best. He was limping, he was slow, he was in pain that he swallowed with every move. He could definitely use some more disinfectant, or at least some painkillers. But Garrett wasn't about to do that, because that would be admitting that he needed help. Of course he had pretty much admitted that when he passed out on the goddamn logging road with a hobbit for a bodyguard, but Garrett was a big fan of letting past mistakes go.
Especially if they were his mistakes.
So the infirmary was a no-go.
They were heading south- Garrett couldn't confirm that until they were far enough from the logging road that they could already see the infirmary. The residential area was out of the question- it was generally advisable to avoid places where you've been shot in the past- but heading further south, ignoring the infirmary, there wasn't much they could do. It was too late, too dark even with their flashlights- and they were far too tired. And Garrett was in too much pain, not that he'd admit that. They had to stop, here where they'd ended up- here, deep in the woods.
Garrett ripped open his pack and devoured half a loaf of bread, right then and there. It was all he could do not to eat the rest of the loaf. He fell asleep soon after, not bothering to speak, not having much to say. His body had spent itself over the last few hours. It would not allow another moment of consciousness.
He let his eyes take in the sky, the stars shining through the trees, one last time before he let unconsciousness take over, yet again.
What the hell am I even doing...?
---
He slept right through the announcements. The crackle of the loudspeakers was loud enough to wake most people, but like the night before, he could've slept through a tornado. This time, though, he woke up maybe a bit before noon, judging by the position of the sun. Madeline was already awake, so maybe she'd heard the announcements. Garrett didn't bother asking. He was pretty sure the girl would tell him if Mirabelle, or Liz, was dead, and he didn't care much about anyone else right now am I saying I care about Mirabelle fucking Nesa? I really am fucked up in the head. He got up, and started moving, now that he had a destination in mind.
The mansion.
Why?
Why the fuck not?
It wasn't like there was much of a choice. He could go back the way he came- back to where that helicopter had probably landed and some crazy terrorist hit squad was roaming around, no thank you- or keep going. The only other thing they'd pass, going south, was the groundskeeper's hut, and what the fuck was gonna be there? Nothing interesting. Nothing worth going out his way to see. The mansion, on the other hand...he'd thought of himself as practically in the lap of luxury, back in that house in the residential district. A mansion, now, that would be something special.
It was impossible to miss. It was, after all, a goddamn mansion. They came across it soon enough, and Garrett, too tired and too irritable and too damn proud to do the logical thing, went ahead and flung the front door open.
"Anybody home?" he called out, stepping inside.
Not that he gave a fuck.
This was a long time incoming.
Rewind a bit. Two days ago, Garrett Hunter passed out on a dusty road outside the Sawmill, abandoned and empty but for a certain Madeline Smith, who had, inexplicably, chosen to wait with him, despite his reminded that she could very well leave at any time. That reminder had to have come from some last vestige of pride remaining in his blood-soaked and sedated brain, given that courtesy and kindness were not words that meant much in his vocabulary. Still, Madeline stayed there with him on that road, for many, many hours. How many hours, it was impossible to tell, and Madeline certainly could have left and come back during that time, but the fact was that she was there when Garrett finally opened his eyes again.
Also present was the world's most enormous headache.
"Oh, SHIT. FUCK! FUCKING FUCK SHIT FUCK OW! MY FUCKING HEAD! WHAT THE FUCK! Fucking shit cocksucking fucker fuck ow ow ow ow ow-"
He went on that way for a while, as he was wont to do, and as he felt like something was drilling holes in his skull from the inside, he felt justified in doing so. In fact, it was a while before he made note of Madeline's presence at all. He stood, paced for a bit, still cursing, limping now- not that he took notice of even that- before taking notice of the tiny girl sitting on the ground near where he'd been but a moment ago.
"Who the fuck are you? And where the fuck is this? Fuckin'...dirty-ass ground and shit, why the fuck am I out here, how long-"
He looked at the sky, and paused.
It was already dark. He'd been out for over 24 hours.
Memories came back.
Madeline.
Mirabelle.
Liz?
He blinked and growled, looking away from the girl who he realized now he probably owed his life. That was so...that was so pathetic and it was close to impossible for him to even grasp how, and why, he'd let this girl help him. He would never live it down, ever. His friends at home would be laughing- he'd passed out for a full day with a fucking midget bitchas his only protection.
Without her, you wouldn't have lived it down. ...Because you'd be dead.
Garrett ignored this newly evolved voice of reason, shaking his head. Doesn't matter. Death before dishonor and all that.
Anyway.
Point was, Garrett was alone on this road with this midget girl who saved his life. He was having trouble putting weight on his right leg- oh right, I got fucking SHOT- but at least his headache seemed to be settling down. Memories of the day before came trickling in at their own pace.
Mirabelle. Fucking Mirabelle. She was there. She...gave me a cigarette? That...makes no fucking sense, what the fuck happened there-
What'd I say to her? Something about...something about Liz Polanski, fuck if I remember. Liz Polanski...
The girl who's breaking the cameras. Who broke out of her collar. The girl I met, the one who was trying- shit. Fucking hell, I remember her. Ran like a little girl when I got pissed.
But she's done some shit. Some real shit. I've gotta find her, figure out what she knows, what she can do, even if she is a fucking girl...ugh, my head...
Mirabelle...huh. She could've killed me. Wonder why she didn't?
Garrett stared at the sky, thoughtful. He knew why she didn't kill him- she wasn't the killing type. Like him. As much as he hated her godfucking guts, he recognized that they were similar, in a few ways. And it was a testament to how weird he was feeling right now that he could recognize that without immediately punching himself in the head.
What the fuck happened yesterday?
Garrett kept looking up. The stars were out- there was very little light on the island, so that was only natural. A couple of the stars were moving. That was...odd. Stars don't move. In his still-imperfect state it took him a moment to recognize that those weren't stars.
They were...helicopters.
Garrett's heart froze.
Those weren't rescue helicopters. That much was obvious. Rescue helicopters would've been shot down. Would-be rescuers, if they managed to succeed, would have to disable their collars in order to rescue them, and his was still on and in working order, probably. More than any of that- it was premonition. This was not good. This was in fact very bad and Garrett didn't want to be anywhere near it.
"Run," he said. It was more like a whisper.
They ran.
---
It was pure stubbornness, with more than a dash of pride, that got them this far in the first place.
Someone running on pure logic, with more than a dash of working survival instinct- traits that would get someone far in this game, in other words- that kind of person would head straight for the infirmary. After all, Garrett still wasn't at his best. He was limping, he was slow, he was in pain that he swallowed with every move. He could definitely use some more disinfectant, or at least some painkillers. But Garrett wasn't about to do that, because that would be admitting that he needed help. Of course he had pretty much admitted that when he passed out on the goddamn logging road with a hobbit for a bodyguard, but Garrett was a big fan of letting past mistakes go.
Especially if they were his mistakes.
So the infirmary was a no-go.
They were heading south- Garrett couldn't confirm that until they were far enough from the logging road that they could already see the infirmary. The residential area was out of the question- it was generally advisable to avoid places where you've been shot in the past- but heading further south, ignoring the infirmary, there wasn't much they could do. It was too late, too dark even with their flashlights- and they were far too tired. And Garrett was in too much pain, not that he'd admit that. They had to stop, here where they'd ended up- here, deep in the woods.
Garrett ripped open his pack and devoured half a loaf of bread, right then and there. It was all he could do not to eat the rest of the loaf. He fell asleep soon after, not bothering to speak, not having much to say. His body had spent itself over the last few hours. It would not allow another moment of consciousness.
He let his eyes take in the sky, the stars shining through the trees, one last time before he let unconsciousness take over, yet again.
What the hell am I even doing...?
---
He slept right through the announcements. The crackle of the loudspeakers was loud enough to wake most people, but like the night before, he could've slept through a tornado. This time, though, he woke up maybe a bit before noon, judging by the position of the sun. Madeline was already awake, so maybe she'd heard the announcements. Garrett didn't bother asking. He was pretty sure the girl would tell him if Mirabelle, or Liz, was dead, and he didn't care much about anyone else right now am I saying I care about Mirabelle fucking Nesa? I really am fucked up in the head. He got up, and started moving, now that he had a destination in mind.
The mansion.
Why?
Why the fuck not?
It wasn't like there was much of a choice. He could go back the way he came- back to where that helicopter had probably landed and some crazy terrorist hit squad was roaming around, no thank you- or keep going. The only other thing they'd pass, going south, was the groundskeeper's hut, and what the fuck was gonna be there? Nothing interesting. Nothing worth going out his way to see. The mansion, on the other hand...he'd thought of himself as practically in the lap of luxury, back in that house in the residential district. A mansion, now, that would be something special.
It was impossible to miss. It was, after all, a goddamn mansion. They came across it soon enough, and Garrett, too tired and too irritable and too damn proud to do the logical thing, went ahead and flung the front door open.
"Anybody home?" he called out, stepping inside.
Not that he gave a fuck.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hollyquin. 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.
So she was still hot.
More or less all he had to say about her. More or less all he felt because he'd just puked his guts out and he'd just cried his eyes out and he'd just poured his soul out and if there was anything even left inside him it didn't have a fucking thing to do with her.
Who the fuck was she, even? She was the chick he'd nailed a bunch of times in senior year. She was the chick who'd gotten her collar off. And now she was the chick who was talking to Jeremy like she knew what the fuck she was saying. Oh, she'd tried talking to him? Oh, he broke his promise? Good to know, downright educational shit. Hey, maybe that was why she'd gone on her wacky collar adventure! Tried to cut a deal with Danya, didn't like it when he told her to fuck off, threw a shit fit and broke her collar off?
Real mature. Real fucking mature, hey Liz! Listen up for a sec here, Liz! Jeremy's talking, he's got some tips for you. Of course Danya's gonna tell your deal to go fuck itself if you don't bring anything to the table. Did you remember to bring something to the table? Did you remember to give something in exchange? D-did you? Oh. You didn't. You never do. And now you're facing the consequences.
Oh, right, consequences! Hahahaha how about those. Liz, Liz, shouldn't you be worried? About the bounty on your skinny pathetic ass? First one to put you out of your misery gets a free kickass gun and you're standing here preaching at Jeremy. Oh, Liz. You and your priorities.
That was a point worth mentioning, though. Wasn't it? First one to kill her. Well, who could that be. It could be any of the ruthless killers on this island, already armed to the teeth but happy to welcome another gun into their cozy little families. It could be someone perfectly kind and sweet, tired as fuck of all the random innocent folks getting their collars popped on Liz's account.
It could be you.
Couldn't it? Rick-reward that shit. She looked half-dead already. She was tiny. She probably didn't have a gun in there. And he had a sword-cane, a fucking sword-cane, and he had the one thing left inside him which just so turned out to be the will to fucking live. And he'd get a gun, wouldn't he. And he'd get some goodwill, wouldn't he. Danya would appreciate that shit. Danya would tell him thank you. Danya would be willing to sit down and chat and deal and listen. Wouldn't he.
It was easy. It was so fucking easy it was so plain to see it was so simple to do. He could make this happen right now, pick himself up and get this done and let nothing stand in his way and he could turn
a profit
No. N-no.
No I, no- no that's n- but I- no c-can't can't... n-n-n-no n-no never that's no I don't- d-don't no can't no.
It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense.
He couldn't do- no, that wasn't it. He didn't want to. Why didn't he want to? It was all there, all laid out in front of him and, what, did we have to go over the reasoning one more time? Two more times? Five, ten? It was gonna be there every goddamn time telling him the same goddamn things. Kill her please just kill her just please just kill her please kill her. There's a profit it's right there it's right in front of you so go take it.
And every goddamn time he'd say no.
It wasn't love. It definitely wasn't love. Okay to be fair he'd been a little hard on her just now and he probably didn't hate her that much and it was probably just the crushing self-loathing talking. Sorry about that, Liz! But Jeremy also wasn't in love with you, and it sure as fuck wasn't why he was refusing to kill you. Sorry about that too!
And it wasn't an epiphany. Okay sure there was maybe a little voice wondering if all of Jeremy's relentless pursuit of profit had been all been a waste, but that fucker just showed up from time to time so the more sensible parts of Jeremy's mind could laugh at it. And they were still laughing at it. That was good. Something nice something familiar.
It was, okay, maybe it was an epiphany. It was a few simple words. It was just that
Profit is for losers who haven't already made enough.
And Jeremy? He'd made enough. Fuck, more than enough. Last summer he fucking ran eBay, he fucking punished at that Ameriprise internship. What's that, assholes? You wanna laugh about Jeremy's coke-and-chips racket, call him a rat, call him small-time? You'll have to speak up because he can't hear you from behind his piles of fucking money.
Yeah, Jeremy made enough. Try to tell him he didn't. Because he'll just say a couple numbers, all of them true, and then you'll look like a fucking idiot.
But this all begged the question, of course: someone so big on turning a profit, and all of a sudden no need to turn any more? Like, what was he even supposed to do now?
Well shit, that was easy enough.
Philanthropy.
---
Jeremy Franco stood up, straightened himself out, took off his hat- because you see a girl had just entered the room- and cracked a bit of a smile.
"Okay boss, glad to be on the team. Where can I help out?"
More or less all he had to say about her. More or less all he felt because he'd just puked his guts out and he'd just cried his eyes out and he'd just poured his soul out and if there was anything even left inside him it didn't have a fucking thing to do with her.
Who the fuck was she, even? She was the chick he'd nailed a bunch of times in senior year. She was the chick who'd gotten her collar off. And now she was the chick who was talking to Jeremy like she knew what the fuck she was saying. Oh, she'd tried talking to him? Oh, he broke his promise? Good to know, downright educational shit. Hey, maybe that was why she'd gone on her wacky collar adventure! Tried to cut a deal with Danya, didn't like it when he told her to fuck off, threw a shit fit and broke her collar off?
Real mature. Real fucking mature, hey Liz! Listen up for a sec here, Liz! Jeremy's talking, he's got some tips for you. Of course Danya's gonna tell your deal to go fuck itself if you don't bring anything to the table. Did you remember to bring something to the table? Did you remember to give something in exchange? D-did you? Oh. You didn't. You never do. And now you're facing the consequences.
Oh, right, consequences! Hahahaha how about those. Liz, Liz, shouldn't you be worried? About the bounty on your skinny pathetic ass? First one to put you out of your misery gets a free kickass gun and you're standing here preaching at Jeremy. Oh, Liz. You and your priorities.
That was a point worth mentioning, though. Wasn't it? First one to kill her. Well, who could that be. It could be any of the ruthless killers on this island, already armed to the teeth but happy to welcome another gun into their cozy little families. It could be someone perfectly kind and sweet, tired as fuck of all the random innocent folks getting their collars popped on Liz's account.
It could be you.
Couldn't it? Rick-reward that shit. She looked half-dead already. She was tiny. She probably didn't have a gun in there. And he had a sword-cane, a fucking sword-cane, and he had the one thing left inside him which just so turned out to be the will to fucking live. And he'd get a gun, wouldn't he. And he'd get some goodwill, wouldn't he. Danya would appreciate that shit. Danya would tell him thank you. Danya would be willing to sit down and chat and deal and listen. Wouldn't he.
It was easy. It was so fucking easy it was so plain to see it was so simple to do. He could make this happen right now, pick himself up and get this done and let nothing stand in his way and he could turn
a profit
No. N-no.
No I, no- no that's n- but I- no c-can't can't... n-n-n-no n-no never that's no I don't- d-don't no can't no.
It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense.
He couldn't do- no, that wasn't it. He didn't want to. Why didn't he want to? It was all there, all laid out in front of him and, what, did we have to go over the reasoning one more time? Two more times? Five, ten? It was gonna be there every goddamn time telling him the same goddamn things. Kill her please just kill her just please just kill her please kill her. There's a profit it's right there it's right in front of you so go take it.
And every goddamn time he'd say no.
It wasn't love. It definitely wasn't love. Okay to be fair he'd been a little hard on her just now and he probably didn't hate her that much and it was probably just the crushing self-loathing talking. Sorry about that, Liz! But Jeremy also wasn't in love with you, and it sure as fuck wasn't why he was refusing to kill you. Sorry about that too!
And it wasn't an epiphany. Okay sure there was maybe a little voice wondering if all of Jeremy's relentless pursuit of profit had been all been a waste, but that fucker just showed up from time to time so the more sensible parts of Jeremy's mind could laugh at it. And they were still laughing at it. That was good. Something nice something familiar.
It was, okay, maybe it was an epiphany. It was a few simple words. It was just that
Profit is for losers who haven't already made enough.
And Jeremy? He'd made enough. Fuck, more than enough. Last summer he fucking ran eBay, he fucking punished at that Ameriprise internship. What's that, assholes? You wanna laugh about Jeremy's coke-and-chips racket, call him a rat, call him small-time? You'll have to speak up because he can't hear you from behind his piles of fucking money.
Yeah, Jeremy made enough. Try to tell him he didn't. Because he'll just say a couple numbers, all of them true, and then you'll look like a fucking idiot.
But this all begged the question, of course: someone so big on turning a profit, and all of a sudden no need to turn any more? Like, what was he even supposed to do now?
Well shit, that was easy enough.
Philanthropy.
---
Jeremy Franco stood up, straightened himself out, took off his hat- because you see a girl had just entered the room- and cracked a bit of a smile.
"Okay boss, glad to be on the team. Where can I help out?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Jonny. 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.
(Madeleine Smith continued from The Middle Children of History)
It was a fortunate thing that Madeleine had not passed out and never woken again by this point. Tired did not begin to scratch the surface of how she felt as of the moment. Rather, she was practically a zombie, barely cognizant of what was transpiring all around her. She kept her focus on the man she was protecting, making sure that he got assistance with walking whenever he needed it and that he was well supplied with food and water. She had drank water whenever necessary, but had mostly skipped out on the food.
Why was Madeleine wrecking herself so much for someone who she barely knew? What was the point of it all? Something about somebody named Liz. She was certain that a character named Liz was in there somewhere. Maybe once she'd had the opportunity to rest a little, she'd be able to remember what it was that was so important about this Liz.
As the two of them approached the mansion, Madeleine suddenly snapped back into reality when she stepped on something that crunched under her feet. Raising it, she saw that she had stepped onto a largish piece of glass. How fortunate that she'd planted her sandals right on top of the glass rather than sliding her foot into it. That would have been messy. Still, it made her wonder just what had dropped glass on the ground. Raising her eyes, she saw what was unmistakably a camera, with the lens knocked out of it by something or other. Though she thought that strange, it wasn't until the two of them had entered through the front door of the mansion that it suddenly hit her.
Liz Polanski, the person breaking the cameras. The one who's killing us.
As Garrett shouted out a greeting, alerting everyone inside the mansion to their presence, Madeleine groggily fished out the SMG from her bag. She'd let him know about it a day ago, so she wasn't worried about him flaking out about it. Though how would he react if he knew about her dark goal? It was better not to think too much into it. "She-She's here right?" she asked. "Liz Polanski, I mean?" Kind of a stupid question to ask, given that there was a smashed camera visible straight across from the front door, but it was always good to confirm things before jumping immediately to conclusions.
It was a fortunate thing that Madeleine had not passed out and never woken again by this point. Tired did not begin to scratch the surface of how she felt as of the moment. Rather, she was practically a zombie, barely cognizant of what was transpiring all around her. She kept her focus on the man she was protecting, making sure that he got assistance with walking whenever he needed it and that he was well supplied with food and water. She had drank water whenever necessary, but had mostly skipped out on the food.
Why was Madeleine wrecking herself so much for someone who she barely knew? What was the point of it all? Something about somebody named Liz. She was certain that a character named Liz was in there somewhere. Maybe once she'd had the opportunity to rest a little, she'd be able to remember what it was that was so important about this Liz.
As the two of them approached the mansion, Madeleine suddenly snapped back into reality when she stepped on something that crunched under her feet. Raising it, she saw that she had stepped onto a largish piece of glass. How fortunate that she'd planted her sandals right on top of the glass rather than sliding her foot into it. That would have been messy. Still, it made her wonder just what had dropped glass on the ground. Raising her eyes, she saw what was unmistakably a camera, with the lens knocked out of it by something or other. Though she thought that strange, it wasn't until the two of them had entered through the front door of the mansion that it suddenly hit her.
Liz Polanski, the person breaking the cameras. The one who's killing us.
As Garrett shouted out a greeting, alerting everyone inside the mansion to their presence, Madeleine groggily fished out the SMG from her bag. She'd let him know about it a day ago, so she wasn't worried about him flaking out about it. Though how would he react if he knew about her dark goal? It was better not to think too much into it. "She-She's here right?" she asked. "Liz Polanski, I mean?" Kind of a stupid question to ask, given that there was a smashed camera visible straight across from the front door, but it was always good to confirm things before jumping immediately to conclusions.
-
storyspoiler†
- Posts: 152
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
She had been impressive enough. That was good. There was a point to shooting the camera. And now Jeremy would help her. That was good.
Jeremy was a merchant. He could distribute things. He knew how to make deals. He knew how people worked, even if people didn't like him, he got money off of them. He was clever, in a way Liz wasn't.
She needed him.
So she had impressed him.
There was only one other camera in the room. She walked over to it, wrenched it off the support, and stomped on it. Stupid things were not very durable. Maybe they'll invest more in infrastructure next time.
Then she took the crumpled notes she'd given to Belle out of her pocket. Shoved them at him. He read.
Then he nodded. Didn't speak. They could both hear noises on the floor below.
"I hope Mirabelle is dealing with that."
Liz pulled her gun. Jeremy whipped out a...cane?
And they went to the stairs.
Jeremy was a merchant. He could distribute things. He knew how to make deals. He knew how people worked, even if people didn't like him, he got money off of them. He was clever, in a way Liz wasn't.
She needed him.
So she had impressed him.
There was only one other camera in the room. She walked over to it, wrenched it off the support, and stomped on it. Stupid things were not very durable. Maybe they'll invest more in infrastructure next time.
Then she took the crumpled notes she'd given to Belle out of her pocket. Shoved them at him. He read.
Then he nodded. Didn't speak. They could both hear noises on the floor below.
"I hope Mirabelle is dealing with that."
Liz pulled her gun. Jeremy whipped out a...cane?
And they went to the stairs.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler storyspoiler. 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.
"Let me deal with him," Liz ordered. "Scout the rest of the house."
Belle nodded and retreated down the hall.
She wasn't going to question this--any of it. She had tried her hardest to do good over the past few days, and it had fallen apart so quickly. Even Garrett wasn't the monster she'd wanted him to be.
Well. She'd found a way to go after the greater evil.
Danya.
Stay focused on that voice, on the evil it had inflicted them all. Help Liz make things work. She knew how to fight, that was something Liz didn't have, and there was going to be fighting, no doubt about that. She might die. People she knew might die.
But god damn it this was bigger than that and now that Belle had a taste for it--this certainty that what she was doing was right, that it was what she wanted to do--she wasn't going to give it up.
Only one doubt had plagued her, as she and Liz had wandered and tried to destroy the cameras. Samantha Ridley was going to go unpunished, though Belle was now certain she had to be stopped. But she'd asked Garrett to meet her at the Sawmill. Would he be okay? Would Samantha see his injury as a sign that he didn't want to live? Would she euthanize him too?
Christ, I'm worried about Garrett? What the hell happened to me?
"Anybody home?" she heard. She froze, her eyes flickering to her sides--she'd tucked the kinves into her belt. She frowned at them for a moment--she'd never been very good at the twin knife training Master Xiang had insisted on, but at the moment, apart from the net gun, it was all she had. At least she knew how to use them, but...
But it was possible the person who had entered had a gun. It was possible she might die.
She swallowed.
Liz trusted me.
Right.
She stepped out into the room where she'd heard the voice. "Yeah," she said. "We're-"
She stopped talking.
Garrett was standing in the middle of the room, with Madeleine at his side. He looked pale and somewhat sickly, out of breath and kind of weak. He took two steps as she watched, and by the way he moved she could tell his limp had gotten even worse.
But he was here. And he was alive. And that was something.
"Garrett!" she called, taking a step forwards. She didn't beam, exactly--Garrett was still an asshole--but she did offer him a smile. "You're here!"
And a good thing. She might need him.
She lowered the net gun from her shoulder. "I found her," she said, before Garrett could say anything himself. "I found Liz Polanski." Her smile widened. "We're going to get the hell out of here."
Fuck this island, fuck the killers and fuck Danya. Garrett hadn't been euthanized, and by God it was going to be a good day.
Belle nodded and retreated down the hall.
She wasn't going to question this--any of it. She had tried her hardest to do good over the past few days, and it had fallen apart so quickly. Even Garrett wasn't the monster she'd wanted him to be.
Well. She'd found a way to go after the greater evil.
Danya.
Stay focused on that voice, on the evil it had inflicted them all. Help Liz make things work. She knew how to fight, that was something Liz didn't have, and there was going to be fighting, no doubt about that. She might die. People she knew might die.
But god damn it this was bigger than that and now that Belle had a taste for it--this certainty that what she was doing was right, that it was what she wanted to do--she wasn't going to give it up.
Only one doubt had plagued her, as she and Liz had wandered and tried to destroy the cameras. Samantha Ridley was going to go unpunished, though Belle was now certain she had to be stopped. But she'd asked Garrett to meet her at the Sawmill. Would he be okay? Would Samantha see his injury as a sign that he didn't want to live? Would she euthanize him too?
Christ, I'm worried about Garrett? What the hell happened to me?
"Anybody home?" she heard. She froze, her eyes flickering to her sides--she'd tucked the kinves into her belt. She frowned at them for a moment--she'd never been very good at the twin knife training Master Xiang had insisted on, but at the moment, apart from the net gun, it was all she had. At least she knew how to use them, but...
But it was possible the person who had entered had a gun. It was possible she might die.
She swallowed.
Liz trusted me.
Right.
She stepped out into the room where she'd heard the voice. "Yeah," she said. "We're-"
She stopped talking.
Garrett was standing in the middle of the room, with Madeleine at his side. He looked pale and somewhat sickly, out of breath and kind of weak. He took two steps as she watched, and by the way he moved she could tell his limp had gotten even worse.
But he was here. And he was alive. And that was something.
"Garrett!" she called, taking a step forwards. She didn't beam, exactly--Garrett was still an asshole--but she did offer him a smile. "You're here!"
And a good thing. She might need him.
She lowered the net gun from her shoulder. "I found her," she said, before Garrett could say anything himself. "I found Liz Polanski." Her smile widened. "We're going to get the hell out of here."
Fuck this island, fuck the killers and fuck Danya. Garrett hadn't been euthanized, and by God it was going to be a good day.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
-
Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
For a brief moment, Garrett got no response. For the span of that brief moment he relaxed, because if he was to be honest with himself (unlikely to happen any time soon) he didn't want to get into any shit right now. He was tired, hungry, sore, inexplicably in need of a cigarette, and oh yeah, limping like a bitch. He hadn't gone to the mansion looking for drama, he'd gone to the mansion looking for a gorgeous place to sleep. Given that he, and everyone else on this fucking island, was going to be dead within a week or two, he figured he deserved to sleep like a king for a bit. Of course there was some voice in the back of his mind, that voice of reason everyone has but so few people listen to, telling him that it was only natural no one appeared right away- this place was fucking huge as shit. Even assuming everyone/anyone here had heard him, they could take a while to even show up. But he wasn't listening to that voice, he was listening to the voice that was saying things more like how many fucking rooms are in this place and I wonder if they have a pool.
By the time he got through those thoughts, though, he got response.
"Yeah. We're-"
...And it was Mirabelle fucking Nesa.
Well then. He had not expected this, he was pretty sure she'd told him to meet up with her at some point but he didn't even remember where and why had he, why would he agree to meet up fucking MIRABELLE? He knew some shit had gone down the day before, as evidenced by his lack of an immediate need to beat the shit out of her as revenge for their last fight, but he was really having some major memory issues. The fact that she smiled at him, and seemed legitimately happy that he was here, only added to his disorientation.
He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.
"I found her. I found Liz Polanski.
We're going to get the hell out of here."
Garrett blinked.
Liz Polanski. She's...here?
Fucking...fucking Mirabelle's actually got her shit together. A real fucking escape plan...holy fuck, a real fucking escape plan! We could actually tear some shit up! She's been tearing shit up already, Liz Polanski, cameras and shit...should've thought of that. Fuckin' A, I should've thought of a goddamn escape plan. Pathetic, letting a girl figure all this shit out first...but still, this is some serious shit. Even if it's with fuckin'...fuckin' Mirabelle.
It was weird, the way those words sounded in his head. There was no venom in the words, no venom left towards Mirabelle. It had all disappeared over the last few days and he had no idea why and it was beginning to freak him out. Hatred of Mirabelle Nesa was one of those overwhelming constants in his life and the way it was fading was freaking him out a bit. He furrowed his brow and frowned.
"Well...fuckin'...good. But see, after you left I was passed the fuck out on the logging road for about 24 goddamn hours with midget-girl here, and I seriously do not remember shit from before that. I mean, I remember you showed up out of fuck-knows-where but if you wouldn't mind telling me what happened and why I don't feel like punching you in the head right now, that would be pretty damn great."
Yeah, he was still Garrett.
He paused, and added:
"...Can I get a cigarette?"
By the time he got through those thoughts, though, he got response.
"Yeah. We're-"
...And it was Mirabelle fucking Nesa.
Well then. He had not expected this, he was pretty sure she'd told him to meet up with her at some point but he didn't even remember where and why had he, why would he agree to meet up fucking MIRABELLE? He knew some shit had gone down the day before, as evidenced by his lack of an immediate need to beat the shit out of her as revenge for their last fight, but he was really having some major memory issues. The fact that she smiled at him, and seemed legitimately happy that he was here, only added to his disorientation.
He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.
"I found her. I found Liz Polanski.
We're going to get the hell out of here."
Garrett blinked.
Liz Polanski. She's...here?
Fucking...fucking Mirabelle's actually got her shit together. A real fucking escape plan...holy fuck, a real fucking escape plan! We could actually tear some shit up! She's been tearing shit up already, Liz Polanski, cameras and shit...should've thought of that. Fuckin' A, I should've thought of a goddamn escape plan. Pathetic, letting a girl figure all this shit out first...but still, this is some serious shit. Even if it's with fuckin'...fuckin' Mirabelle.
It was weird, the way those words sounded in his head. There was no venom in the words, no venom left towards Mirabelle. It had all disappeared over the last few days and he had no idea why and it was beginning to freak him out. Hatred of Mirabelle Nesa was one of those overwhelming constants in his life and the way it was fading was freaking him out a bit. He furrowed his brow and frowned.
"Well...fuckin'...good. But see, after you left I was passed the fuck out on the logging road for about 24 goddamn hours with midget-girl here, and I seriously do not remember shit from before that. I mean, I remember you showed up out of fuck-knows-where but if you wouldn't mind telling me what happened and why I don't feel like punching you in the head right now, that would be pretty damn great."
Yeah, he was still Garrett.
He paused, and added:
"...Can I get a cigarette?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hollyquin. 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.
((Brendan Wallace continues from Birdland))
Brendan had no idea how long he spent following this unrecognisable figure.
Only a few hours ago, he saw her. Jojo and Saul...they were gone, Jojo had run off somewhere while they were heading north and Saul soon followed. Brendan assumed that they didn't think he was watching. No, he was. He was watching all their decisions, and the moment his back was turned, they were gone.
Some allies they turned out to be. Who abandons their friends in the middle of a wa-
Oh, never mind.
So...wandering.
He didn't know where to go. There was a slim hope, a really slim hope hanging on that they could probably head to the Warehouses, but he never said anything about them. Would they have known to go there? Chances are, no, they wouldn't have.
So now he really was alone again. His plans were defunct. Just a wanderer.
Back at the bunker again, back at the greens. Just as silent, just as grave, and just as empty as he left it. Maybe if he just stuck around one place, they could run into him. They could go here, couldn't they? Well, he had time to think. He thought he was alone.
That was, until he saw the two girls travelling in the distance.
HIs curiosity was now heightened. There was every chance that one of them could have seen at least someone he'd been with, right? Or at the very least, someone he was looking for? Come on, there had to be something!
But part of him didn't want to get near them, there was just...something wrong with this image. They were stopping, starting again, starting again, stopping again. Wounded, right? It was the only explanation as to what they could be doing.
Brendan watched from the trees.
Hidden.
They were getting closer, and...
The smaller girl walked up to a camera, one from the same bunker he was sitting in not a few hours ago, and before he knew it, the camera was smashed.
His eyes lit up in alarm as he waited for whatever was going to happen to happen. Was she dead now? Was this the end for her?
...
...
...any time now...
...
...
...no?
Nothing?
There was an announcement only a day before, he remembered it, Danya explicitly stated that anyone who smashed a camera would die. But this girl wasn't dead, and neither was he, or the girl travelling with her.
...he had no freaking clue what to think right now.
But he knew that following her would be a really, really, REALLY valid option.
So he called back every single freaking thing he learnt. Keeping quiet. Keeping your breathing under control. Keeping a level head. Keeping your eyes on the gr-ARGH.
Brendan clasped his hand over his mouth to stifle a scream. A rock, hidden under foliage, made itself known by cracking his toe. Good thing that the only thing broken was the silence, even if only a whisper.
They didn't hear him, thank god.
So...they didn't go far, so Brendan didn't have to keep quiet for long. A Mansion crept into view, and the two ventured inside. And yes, she was STILL smashing cameras.
He didn't feel safe following them inside this place. There was just...something about it that made him feel like he'd be welcome there.
Brendan collapsed against the nearest tree. What the FUCK was he supposed to make of this situation? This girl, the familiar girl he'd been following, was SMASHING CAMERAS. And she was getting away with it! What the hell, did Danya have some sick, perverted crush on this girl, and was letting her do whatever she wanted? How?
For once in his life, Brendan Wallace was completely and utterly clueless as to one of the biggest things to hit the island.
So he waited, cause he wanted to know.
Only a few minutes after they entered, he saw some more people arriving. Unlike before, he was actually close enough to see who they were. The first one, a guy, Garrett. Brendan had seen Garrett around before, he wasn't the kind of person he would ever speak to, however, since he had brain cells and common sense. There was a girl with him, who-
-'s name was Madeleine Smith, who he knew by now as the killer of Jonathan Jarocki.
Brendan sat up. What he could have done: He could have rationalised that obviously this girl wasn't a player. He could have thought it through, and realised that no one was really in danger, cause the announcements didn't single out Madeleine as a vengeful player. He could have run, run away like he'd done so many times before.
But instead, he got up off his feet, tightening the grip on his bag's shoulder strap, and followed her.
No matter the intention, this girl killed someone. She killed his best friend's boyfriend. Brendan didn't give a crap about the circumstances behind it, this girl killed a guy who didn't deserve to die, prick as he was.
Only a few minutes after the large mansion doors closed behind them, Brendan was there, scanning the giant beauties up and down. This door had to have been bigger than all the doors in his house put together. Chances were there was no stealthy approach here. Going in noisy, and hoping that this girl wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
Brendan pushed open the doors. Loudly.
Brendan had no idea how long he spent following this unrecognisable figure.
Only a few hours ago, he saw her. Jojo and Saul...they were gone, Jojo had run off somewhere while they were heading north and Saul soon followed. Brendan assumed that they didn't think he was watching. No, he was. He was watching all their decisions, and the moment his back was turned, they were gone.
Some allies they turned out to be. Who abandons their friends in the middle of a wa-
Oh, never mind.
So...wandering.
He didn't know where to go. There was a slim hope, a really slim hope hanging on that they could probably head to the Warehouses, but he never said anything about them. Would they have known to go there? Chances are, no, they wouldn't have.
So now he really was alone again. His plans were defunct. Just a wanderer.
Back at the bunker again, back at the greens. Just as silent, just as grave, and just as empty as he left it. Maybe if he just stuck around one place, they could run into him. They could go here, couldn't they? Well, he had time to think. He thought he was alone.
That was, until he saw the two girls travelling in the distance.
HIs curiosity was now heightened. There was every chance that one of them could have seen at least someone he'd been with, right? Or at the very least, someone he was looking for? Come on, there had to be something!
But part of him didn't want to get near them, there was just...something wrong with this image. They were stopping, starting again, starting again, stopping again. Wounded, right? It was the only explanation as to what they could be doing.
Brendan watched from the trees.
Hidden.
They were getting closer, and...
The smaller girl walked up to a camera, one from the same bunker he was sitting in not a few hours ago, and before he knew it, the camera was smashed.
His eyes lit up in alarm as he waited for whatever was going to happen to happen. Was she dead now? Was this the end for her?
...
...
...any time now...
...
...
...no?
Nothing?
There was an announcement only a day before, he remembered it, Danya explicitly stated that anyone who smashed a camera would die. But this girl wasn't dead, and neither was he, or the girl travelling with her.
...he had no freaking clue what to think right now.
But he knew that following her would be a really, really, REALLY valid option.
So he called back every single freaking thing he learnt. Keeping quiet. Keeping your breathing under control. Keeping a level head. Keeping your eyes on the gr-ARGH.
Brendan clasped his hand over his mouth to stifle a scream. A rock, hidden under foliage, made itself known by cracking his toe. Good thing that the only thing broken was the silence, even if only a whisper.
They didn't hear him, thank god.
So...they didn't go far, so Brendan didn't have to keep quiet for long. A Mansion crept into view, and the two ventured inside. And yes, she was STILL smashing cameras.
He didn't feel safe following them inside this place. There was just...something about it that made him feel like he'd be welcome there.
Brendan collapsed against the nearest tree. What the FUCK was he supposed to make of this situation? This girl, the familiar girl he'd been following, was SMASHING CAMERAS. And she was getting away with it! What the hell, did Danya have some sick, perverted crush on this girl, and was letting her do whatever she wanted? How?
For once in his life, Brendan Wallace was completely and utterly clueless as to one of the biggest things to hit the island.
So he waited, cause he wanted to know.
Only a few minutes after they entered, he saw some more people arriving. Unlike before, he was actually close enough to see who they were. The first one, a guy, Garrett. Brendan had seen Garrett around before, he wasn't the kind of person he would ever speak to, however, since he had brain cells and common sense. There was a girl with him, who-
-'s name was Madeleine Smith, who he knew by now as the killer of Jonathan Jarocki.
Brendan sat up. What he could have done: He could have rationalised that obviously this girl wasn't a player. He could have thought it through, and realised that no one was really in danger, cause the announcements didn't single out Madeleine as a vengeful player. He could have run, run away like he'd done so many times before.
But instead, he got up off his feet, tightening the grip on his bag's shoulder strap, and followed her.
No matter the intention, this girl killed someone. She killed his best friend's boyfriend. Brendan didn't give a crap about the circumstances behind it, this girl killed a guy who didn't deserve to die, prick as he was.
Only a few minutes after the large mansion doors closed behind them, Brendan was there, scanning the giant beauties up and down. This door had to have been bigger than all the doors in his house put together. Chances were there was no stealthy approach here. Going in noisy, and hoping that this girl wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
Brendan pushed open the doors. Loudly.
When Mirabelle came out into the mansion's foyer to meet the two of them, saying that she had apparently met Liz Polanski, Maddy perked up almost instantly. While it was hard to believe that she was finally going to meet her, after searching the island for what had to be the longest few days she'd ever had, Maddy was tense. On edge, as it were. She was psyching herself up for the hardest decision of her life, and anything sudden was likely to make her jump out of her skin.
Which is why, when the front doors slammed open right behind them, she jumped and squealed loudly. While her skin and her bones remained connected, Maddy still whipped around, gun at the ready. However, when the man walking through the door didn't appear to have any visible weapons readied, she lowered the gun and let out a breath of relief. She'd become a little bit more cynical about people as of lately, but she still wasn't going to light someone up just for startling her, else she'd have an impressive kill record indeed.
"Wh-wh-who..." she stammered, her hands still shaking from the surprise. She considered putting away the gun, as it was jittering everywhere in her hands, and the last thing she needed was to accidentally discharge it into her foot. But at the same time, she had a feeling that she'd need it at the ready, so she'd just have to leave it up to chance.
Which is why, when the front doors slammed open right behind them, she jumped and squealed loudly. While her skin and her bones remained connected, Maddy still whipped around, gun at the ready. However, when the man walking through the door didn't appear to have any visible weapons readied, she lowered the gun and let out a breath of relief. She'd become a little bit more cynical about people as of lately, but she still wasn't going to light someone up just for startling her, else she'd have an impressive kill record indeed.
"Wh-wh-who..." she stammered, her hands still shaking from the surprise. She considered putting away the gun, as it was jittering everywhere in her hands, and the last thing she needed was to accidentally discharge it into her foot. But at the same time, she had a feeling that she'd need it at the ready, so she'd just have to leave it up to chance.
He spoke. The peculiar joy Belle had felt upon seeing him melted away almost as quickly as it had come, to be replaced with a feeling she recognized; the urge to hit him if only to shut him up. It was an all-too-familiar feeling; since their fight years ago, she'd had this urge during every fleeting conversation they'd had.
It was comforting, actually. She felt a continuity with the world outside this island--a sense she hadn't had since coming here.
Put on a martial arts gi. Beat up my enemies. Help lead a minor revolution.
Been too long since I slept, I think.
She smiled weakly. "A cigarette?" Belle said, laughing a little. "Of course." She started to fish around in her bag and frowned on not finding the pack at once. She remembered, vaguely, grabbing the bottle and some of the other food to offer to Liz. "Hold on, I moved some stuff, I can't find-"
The doors next to them slammed open. And Belle, reacting without thinking, burst forwards, leaving her bag behind her. She grabbed the person who'd come through, catching his next between her forearms and shoved him up against the nearest wall.
Saw he wasn't armed. Backed off before there could be any additional violence.
"Hi," she said slowly, blinking. She didn't recognize this person, whoever they might be, but she was thinking very quickly now. She didn't have time to waste on hurting these people, not now; in fact, she had to get as many people as she could together, right now.
Larger group meant more weak links, more potential betrayals. But she'd hate herself forever if she left people behind because of her own vanity and selfishness. Besides, she'd probably die anyways. Go big or go home, right?
So. This kid.
"Sorry," she apologized. "For, um...for manhandling you like that." Jesus, why was she wasting time on being polite? Calm down, stay focused, if she was going to try and be less of a selfish bitch she actually had to be less of a selfish bitch. "I'm a bit jumpy, obviously."
He was ignoring her. He was glaring quite fixedly at Madeleine.
Uh-oh.
Belle swallowed, her fists working at her side. There was no doubt about the fact that this guy was bigger than she was, but she was reasonably confident she could take him: he looked a bit on the skinny side.
On the other hand...
Go big or go home.
"Hey," she said shortly, before he could react. "I, um..." She trailed off. What was she saying? "Look," she started, lifting her hands. "I...I understand about wanting to work out your grudges. It's...it's really tempting." She glanced back to Garrett, who was standing with a livid bruise on his face. She still felt a lurid flash of pleasure at the thought that she'd done that, but it was tempered now by a bit of guilt.
She should have known better. She should have controlled herself.
"There was a girl," Belle said, and the faster she spoke the more strongly a faint French accent came through. "She killed someone, because he wanted to die, but still. And then she had the gall to kill the person I was with, and if...if I get the chance I want to hurt her for that but..."
Oh God why was she talking so quickly why was she revealing all this in front of these strangers but no, she needed to talk, she hadn't been able to talk and she needed to.
"...but my friend asked her, because I hadn't been paying attention, because I didn't notice how sad she was and...and...!" She trailed off and shook her head. "Look," she said simply. "Don't...we have a chance to get out of here!" she yelled, taking a step forwards. "I'm here with Liz Polanski, she's got a plan, she knows what she's doing, we can break these collars and we can break the game and we can get the hell out of here, and the only reason anyone is playing is because of these damn things and because we could die at anytime and we all just want to go home so we can do the damn things we wanted to do-!"
Cut herself off. Took a step back, drew in a deep breath. Calmed down. "People made the wrong choices," she said simply. "But these aren't exactly easy times, and I think...I think some people we're just trying to do what was right. But if we don't take this chance--if we fight and kill each other instead of breaking out when we've got the chance--then we've lost."
She took a deep breath. "Hi," she repeated, extending a hand. "I'm Mirabelle Nesa. I'm helping Liz Polanksi beat their damn game, and we can use all the help we can get."
It was comforting, actually. She felt a continuity with the world outside this island--a sense she hadn't had since coming here.
Put on a martial arts gi. Beat up my enemies. Help lead a minor revolution.
Been too long since I slept, I think.
She smiled weakly. "A cigarette?" Belle said, laughing a little. "Of course." She started to fish around in her bag and frowned on not finding the pack at once. She remembered, vaguely, grabbing the bottle and some of the other food to offer to Liz. "Hold on, I moved some stuff, I can't find-"
The doors next to them slammed open. And Belle, reacting without thinking, burst forwards, leaving her bag behind her. She grabbed the person who'd come through, catching his next between her forearms and shoved him up against the nearest wall.
Saw he wasn't armed. Backed off before there could be any additional violence.
"Hi," she said slowly, blinking. She didn't recognize this person, whoever they might be, but she was thinking very quickly now. She didn't have time to waste on hurting these people, not now; in fact, she had to get as many people as she could together, right now.
Larger group meant more weak links, more potential betrayals. But she'd hate herself forever if she left people behind because of her own vanity and selfishness. Besides, she'd probably die anyways. Go big or go home, right?
So. This kid.
"Sorry," she apologized. "For, um...for manhandling you like that." Jesus, why was she wasting time on being polite? Calm down, stay focused, if she was going to try and be less of a selfish bitch she actually had to be less of a selfish bitch. "I'm a bit jumpy, obviously."
He was ignoring her. He was glaring quite fixedly at Madeleine.
Uh-oh.
Belle swallowed, her fists working at her side. There was no doubt about the fact that this guy was bigger than she was, but she was reasonably confident she could take him: he looked a bit on the skinny side.
On the other hand...
Go big or go home.
"Hey," she said shortly, before he could react. "I, um..." She trailed off. What was she saying? "Look," she started, lifting her hands. "I...I understand about wanting to work out your grudges. It's...it's really tempting." She glanced back to Garrett, who was standing with a livid bruise on his face. She still felt a lurid flash of pleasure at the thought that she'd done that, but it was tempered now by a bit of guilt.
She should have known better. She should have controlled herself.
"There was a girl," Belle said, and the faster she spoke the more strongly a faint French accent came through. "She killed someone, because he wanted to die, but still. And then she had the gall to kill the person I was with, and if...if I get the chance I want to hurt her for that but..."
Oh God why was she talking so quickly why was she revealing all this in front of these strangers but no, she needed to talk, she hadn't been able to talk and she needed to.
"...but my friend asked her, because I hadn't been paying attention, because I didn't notice how sad she was and...and...!" She trailed off and shook her head. "Look," she said simply. "Don't...we have a chance to get out of here!" she yelled, taking a step forwards. "I'm here with Liz Polanski, she's got a plan, she knows what she's doing, we can break these collars and we can break the game and we can get the hell out of here, and the only reason anyone is playing is because of these damn things and because we could die at anytime and we all just want to go home so we can do the damn things we wanted to do-!"
Cut herself off. Took a step back, drew in a deep breath. Calmed down. "People made the wrong choices," she said simply. "But these aren't exactly easy times, and I think...I think some people we're just trying to do what was right. But if we don't take this chance--if we fight and kill each other instead of breaking out when we've got the chance--then we've lost."
She took a deep breath. "Hi," she repeated, extending a hand. "I'm Mirabelle Nesa. I'm helping Liz Polanksi beat their damn game, and we can use all the help we can get."
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
"...Hi. I'm Mirabelle Nesa. I'm helping Liz Polanksi beat their damn game, and we can use all the help we can get."
Garrett listened to, and watched, the entire exchange with...bated breath was definitely the wrong phrase, since he didn't give a crap about this new boy and he didn't really care much for Madeline, either. His feelings were more slanted towards immense irritation at everyone involved, particularly given that this turn of events was delaying the cigarette he wanted rather badly. Weird that he was suddenly craving one so badly, but hell, Survival of the Fittest. Not like it was gonna do any harm, right?
The new boy wasn't actually hurting anyone, Mirabelle was getting annoyingly apologetic, and Madeline was just being useless as fuck. When Mirabelle finished, Garrett spoke.
"Anyone ever tell you you're dramatic as fuck?" Garrett asked Mirabelle with an eyebrow raised and absolutely no acknowledgment of the hypocrisy in that statement. He turned and acknowledged the boy directly. "Yeah, kid, we're the fuckin' rebellion. Join up or get the fuck out." And then he turned to Madeline. "And you, I hope the goddamn safety's on that gun, cause shaking like that you're gonna end up shooting someone by mistake and that would be beyond retarded, not that I'm expecting shit from you."
He yawned dramatically. The motion hurt his face, but he didn't betray any signs of pain.
"Still waiting on that cigarette...Belle," he managed to say without using the requisite bitch or whore to address her. Not that he'd gone so soft so quickly, but insulting her seemed like a good way to not get that smoke in his lungs. Besides...on some level he really didn't want to. Sure he still hated her...maybe. He wasn't even sure anymore. He scratched his head almost sheepishly.
What the fuck happened? Jesus fucking Christ, if we're just gonna have a festival of retards parading on in here I'm never gonna know shit. Fucking hell I did NOT come here for this, I just wanted...like...a pool and shit. I should've just stayed-
He stopped, dead. Mid-head-scratch, even.
HOLY SHIT. HOW DID I FORGET?!
"Fuck, Belle, fuck all of that, get Liz now, I totally forgot." An edge of panic was creeping into his voice now, though he tried to keep it to a minimum. "Out on the logging road. There were helicopters. I sure as fuck know no good shit's gonna come out of that, I figure they're sick of waiting for some kid to assassinate her or whatever. It's probably, like...a fuckin' hit squad or some shit."
"We've gotta get somewhere safe. A mansion, sure as shit not. They could probably burn the whole fuckin' place down without blinking an eye if they knew she was here."
Garrett listened to, and watched, the entire exchange with...bated breath was definitely the wrong phrase, since he didn't give a crap about this new boy and he didn't really care much for Madeline, either. His feelings were more slanted towards immense irritation at everyone involved, particularly given that this turn of events was delaying the cigarette he wanted rather badly. Weird that he was suddenly craving one so badly, but hell, Survival of the Fittest. Not like it was gonna do any harm, right?
The new boy wasn't actually hurting anyone, Mirabelle was getting annoyingly apologetic, and Madeline was just being useless as fuck. When Mirabelle finished, Garrett spoke.
"Anyone ever tell you you're dramatic as fuck?" Garrett asked Mirabelle with an eyebrow raised and absolutely no acknowledgment of the hypocrisy in that statement. He turned and acknowledged the boy directly. "Yeah, kid, we're the fuckin' rebellion. Join up or get the fuck out." And then he turned to Madeline. "And you, I hope the goddamn safety's on that gun, cause shaking like that you're gonna end up shooting someone by mistake and that would be beyond retarded, not that I'm expecting shit from you."
He yawned dramatically. The motion hurt his face, but he didn't betray any signs of pain.
"Still waiting on that cigarette...Belle," he managed to say without using the requisite bitch or whore to address her. Not that he'd gone so soft so quickly, but insulting her seemed like a good way to not get that smoke in his lungs. Besides...on some level he really didn't want to. Sure he still hated her...maybe. He wasn't even sure anymore. He scratched his head almost sheepishly.
What the fuck happened? Jesus fucking Christ, if we're just gonna have a festival of retards parading on in here I'm never gonna know shit. Fucking hell I did NOT come here for this, I just wanted...like...a pool and shit. I should've just stayed-
He stopped, dead. Mid-head-scratch, even.
HOLY SHIT. HOW DID I FORGET?!
"Fuck, Belle, fuck all of that, get Liz now, I totally forgot." An edge of panic was creeping into his voice now, though he tried to keep it to a minimum. "Out on the logging road. There were helicopters. I sure as fuck know no good shit's gonna come out of that, I figure they're sick of waiting for some kid to assassinate her or whatever. It's probably, like...a fuckin' hit squad or some shit."
"We've gotta get somewhere safe. A mansion, sure as shit not. They could probably burn the whole fuckin' place down without blinking an eye if they knew she was here."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hollyquin. 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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storyspoiler†
- Posts: 152
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
There were people downstairs. More people than she'd expected.
Garrett Hunter, the boy who'd almost hit her when she'd tried to splice the telephone lines. Dumb whore. Think you're something special. He had a bad leg. A girl was with him, even tinier than her. Madeleine Smith. Quiet, sketchpad. And Brendan Wallace, who'd been in a few of her math classes. They'd worked together, on a project once, and though Liz had kept her distance, he had seemed competent. Well, that's something.
Too many people. And Jeremy, on the stairs behind her, with his moist breath.
The beginnings of panic were itching at her mind. Too many people. Everything could go wrong now.
Standing at the top of the stairs.
Because everyone's looking up at you. They all want to escape, and they're expecting you to be some kind of miracle worker, and what happens when they see your neck?
Liz didn't want to be some kid's hero.
Kids, I believe in--
Liz, I believe in you.
But they still had Mr. Kwong. And there was emotion there, finally, tearing off the hands of panic. They had Mr. Kwong, keeping him hostage never give you a problem you can't solve here its just that the variables are people, the variables are people including you, so don't think about the people.
She could slow her mind. She could count by threes. She could listen to words, Belle being what she supposed was inspiring, what she wanted to be, able to move people with her words, that's a power, and Garrett's voice, harsh, and she still had to swallow, because she could still feel the people below her, who hadn't looked up to see her. Her neck was bandaged. And they were below her, so much activity I have a team.
It was impossible not to think about the people. It was impossible to ignore them. They were below her. They were looking to her.
I've never had this before.
Got to have more faith in other people.
And Garrett was speaking, and his words snapped.
"Fuck, Belle, fuck all of that, get Liz now, I totally forgot." An edge of panic was creeping into his voice now, though he tried to keep it to a minimum. "Out on the logging road. There were helicopters. I sure as fuck know no good shit's gonna come out of that, I figure they're sick of waiting for some kid to assassinate her or whatever. It's probably, like...a fuckin' hit squad or some shit."
"We've gotta get somewhere safe. A mansion, sure as shit not. They could probably burn the whole fuckin' place down without blinking an eye if they knew she was here."
Well. That was blunt.
For a moment, everyone was silent. Liz could let Garrett's words wash over her, stay still. She was at the top of the stairs. Jeremy was right behind her. Everyone else was a warm mass below.
Silence.
But the plan was obvious.
She coughed. It cleared her throat, and got everyone's attention. Great.
"We need to go back to the tunnels. Or at least I need to go back to the tunnels." The mansion had mics, collars had mics, but it didn't matter anymore. "If they're going to kill me, I should be in the tunnels. There are radio relays there--I can break them without getting blown. If enough relays go, the entire tunnel becomes a blackout zone."
She hoped that was clear enough.
"I can't--I can't go fast. I'm injured. If someone could carry me to the tunnels--" This wasn't a favor, she shouldn't be asking this as a favor, but she needed it as a favor. "--I'd appreciate it."
Belle. Jeremy. Garrett. Madeleine. Brendan. Garrett had a bum leg. Jeremy was a wuss. Belle and Madeleine were tiny. Brendan had to be the one to do it, if she was to make it to the tunnels before--
You dumb fuck, you said it out loud. Now the terrorists will be going towards the tunnels, even if they weren't before.
Nothing to it. She'd just have to get there faster.
And Belle's face had snapped into something resembling command. "Brendan, you're carrying her. If I find you offed her, I will hunt you personally." She turned to Liz. "What are you using to break the relays?"
Liz held up her left hand and Daisuke's gun. There was a current of relief in her, that someone else was taking charge. Get her out. Danya's guys would go after Belle, once Liz was dead. Watching her. Keep her safe. There was the other note in Liz's pocket, the one that could buy time. She should give it to someone else, but she wanted to give to Belle.
They'll be watching Belle.
Pragmatism versus emotion. Count by threes.
"Your gun only has twelve rounds in it. Does anyone have a gun with more than twelve rounds? If so, you're going to trade with Liz." Belle was giving orders.
And people were shifting, moving again, the warm mass, Jeremy breathing beside her, and the silence in her brain was gone.
It didn't matter, though.
I"m going to die now.
I'm going to die.
Hunh.
Garrett Hunter, the boy who'd almost hit her when she'd tried to splice the telephone lines. Dumb whore. Think you're something special. He had a bad leg. A girl was with him, even tinier than her. Madeleine Smith. Quiet, sketchpad. And Brendan Wallace, who'd been in a few of her math classes. They'd worked together, on a project once, and though Liz had kept her distance, he had seemed competent. Well, that's something.
Too many people. And Jeremy, on the stairs behind her, with his moist breath.
The beginnings of panic were itching at her mind. Too many people. Everything could go wrong now.
Standing at the top of the stairs.
Because everyone's looking up at you. They all want to escape, and they're expecting you to be some kind of miracle worker, and what happens when they see your neck?
Liz didn't want to be some kid's hero.
Kids, I believe in--
Liz, I believe in you.
But they still had Mr. Kwong. And there was emotion there, finally, tearing off the hands of panic. They had Mr. Kwong, keeping him hostage never give you a problem you can't solve here its just that the variables are people, the variables are people including you, so don't think about the people.
She could slow her mind. She could count by threes. She could listen to words, Belle being what she supposed was inspiring, what she wanted to be, able to move people with her words, that's a power, and Garrett's voice, harsh, and she still had to swallow, because she could still feel the people below her, who hadn't looked up to see her. Her neck was bandaged. And they were below her, so much activity I have a team.
It was impossible not to think about the people. It was impossible to ignore them. They were below her. They were looking to her.
I've never had this before.
Got to have more faith in other people.
And Garrett was speaking, and his words snapped.
"Fuck, Belle, fuck all of that, get Liz now, I totally forgot." An edge of panic was creeping into his voice now, though he tried to keep it to a minimum. "Out on the logging road. There were helicopters. I sure as fuck know no good shit's gonna come out of that, I figure they're sick of waiting for some kid to assassinate her or whatever. It's probably, like...a fuckin' hit squad or some shit."
"We've gotta get somewhere safe. A mansion, sure as shit not. They could probably burn the whole fuckin' place down without blinking an eye if they knew she was here."
Well. That was blunt.
For a moment, everyone was silent. Liz could let Garrett's words wash over her, stay still. She was at the top of the stairs. Jeremy was right behind her. Everyone else was a warm mass below.
Silence.
But the plan was obvious.
She coughed. It cleared her throat, and got everyone's attention. Great.
"We need to go back to the tunnels. Or at least I need to go back to the tunnels." The mansion had mics, collars had mics, but it didn't matter anymore. "If they're going to kill me, I should be in the tunnels. There are radio relays there--I can break them without getting blown. If enough relays go, the entire tunnel becomes a blackout zone."
She hoped that was clear enough.
"I can't--I can't go fast. I'm injured. If someone could carry me to the tunnels--" This wasn't a favor, she shouldn't be asking this as a favor, but she needed it as a favor. "--I'd appreciate it."
Belle. Jeremy. Garrett. Madeleine. Brendan. Garrett had a bum leg. Jeremy was a wuss. Belle and Madeleine were tiny. Brendan had to be the one to do it, if she was to make it to the tunnels before--
You dumb fuck, you said it out loud. Now the terrorists will be going towards the tunnels, even if they weren't before.
Nothing to it. She'd just have to get there faster.
And Belle's face had snapped into something resembling command. "Brendan, you're carrying her. If I find you offed her, I will hunt you personally." She turned to Liz. "What are you using to break the relays?"
Liz held up her left hand and Daisuke's gun. There was a current of relief in her, that someone else was taking charge. Get her out. Danya's guys would go after Belle, once Liz was dead. Watching her. Keep her safe. There was the other note in Liz's pocket, the one that could buy time. She should give it to someone else, but she wanted to give to Belle.
They'll be watching Belle.
Pragmatism versus emotion. Count by threes.
"Your gun only has twelve rounds in it. Does anyone have a gun with more than twelve rounds? If so, you're going to trade with Liz." Belle was giving orders.
And people were shifting, moving again, the warm mass, Jeremy breathing beside her, and the silence in her brain was gone.
It didn't matter, though.
I"m going to die now.
I'm going to die.
Hunh.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler storyspoiler. 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.
Throw him into deep waters, he always copes well with that.
The moment Brendan stepped into the mansion, he realised that this was what he'd been missing, every day. He'd never watched SOTF more than once, who the hell would even think of watching a show like that? But...a real scene unfurled. Hell, it looked like he'd missed most of it, but he was getting caught up anyway.
He didn't expect to get shoved against the wall, though.
Mirabelle Nesa. She seemed intent on analysing him, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. Well...he didn't care about her, even though he had no idea how deadly Mirabelle's hands were, he was more focused on the girl who was pointing the gun at him, the same girl he wanted to talk to.
But you know, it doesn't always work out the way you want it, that's just life. By walking through those doors, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. So when Mirabelle started talking, he had to listen, just to find out what extraneous crap he had to work past in order to get a glimpse of the real picture here.
"I...I understand about wanting to work out your grudges. It's...it's really tempting."
You don't know what you're talking about, okay? I'm not trying to kill anyone, I just want to talk to her...
But she kept on speaking, going on about a girl she knew who was a killer, and another one who was dead. Brendan really didn't have time to get sucked into people's drama right now. He should've just left.
Wait, what's that, divine intervention? You don't want Brendan to be sucked into any more drama?
Well, here you go then!
"Don't...we have a chance to get out of here! I'm here with Liz Polanski, she's got a plan, she knows what she's doing, we can break these collars and we can break the game and we can get the hell out of here, and the only reason anyone is playing is because of these damn things and because we could die at anytime and we all just want to go home so we can do the damn things we wanted to do-!"
Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait.
Wait.
What?
Escape?
Escaping from here?
WHAT?
...no way. There was no way this was happening. Not to him, of all people. He'd found people who knew how to escape? No. Way. This wasn't happening. This only happened to interesting people, to smart people, to people who have something to give, to people who deserve to live. He wasn't any of these things, this wasn't just happening to Brendan, of all people.
...no, he should just leave now, get out. They don't need him, they'd never need someone like him, he'd probably run off when things got too hectic.
Just get out. Now. They can handle themselves. They don't need you.
But Mirabelle extended her hand, and her name. With this, came a little bit of trust encapsulated in a social construct, something that he couldn't just refuse like that. He wasn't that kind of person.
So instead of leaving, running away, he extended his own hand, and clasped it together with Mirabelle's.
"H-"
And then, before he could even get a full word out, contestant number 3 of the "Overload Brendan with Responsibility Show" piped up. Garrett. Nothing less than he'd expect from him, but it was really that final line that sunk him into a need, a responsibility to these people.
"Out on the logging road. There were helicopters. I sure as fuck know no good shit's gonna come out of that, I figure they're sick of waiting for some kid to assassinate her or whatever. It's probably, like...a fuckin' hit squad or some shit."
Oh.
...
...well, looks like I'm dead now, right? They've just told me everything, so...this is just like the movies. I know way too much, they always kill the people who know way too much.
What.
The hell.
Do I do now?
Fate answers questions quite quickly, it seems.
A cough.
The Australian boy turned his head to the stairway, and there she was.
Mystery figure.
Didn't take a genius to figure out that this was the girl they'd been talking about.
Liz Polanski.
Polanski...like the movie maker. That guy, who made...what the hell did Polanski make anyway? FOCUS.
So...suddenly, that missing day in his life started to make a bit more sense. The day he slept through, the day he only heard the next days announcement, the day in which he heard her name on the announcements, cringed in fear as yet another person he knew succumbed to SOTF, and let it wallow in the depths of his mind. So if this was the same girl who was planning a public escape attempt...then it made a whole lot more sense, now didn't it?
Oh, right, there was that whole strange comment about killing her, so that had to have clicked him into place too. Idiot.
So...Liz started speaking. The same Liz who she saw sitting right behind their favourite math teacher almost a week ago. The same Liz who helped him on that project even longer ago. The same Liz who he mistook for the girl he loved-
-wait.
...no.
No admitting that now, no way.
...so...helping her seemed like the way to go. If this really was a way to get out of here...then, he might as well put his effort in.
Okay.
Oh hey, she could tell that, couldn't she? That must have been exactly why Mirabelle decided to grant him a very special honour. Wasn't until that very moment that he could see how bunged up Liz was. He didn't even know what she'd done, or how this helped them, but she was bunged up to the extreme.
...oh, and what else? Whatever she was doing, something about relays, she needed a gun.
Well.
Look at that.
Something else he could help with.
Brendan swallowed. Great. All eyes on him. Danya. The terrorists. The audience at home. Not to mention Liz, Garrett, Madeleine, Jeremy, Mirabelle.
He tried to say something, but...nervous. Way too nervous to try.
There was always just the silent approach.
Still hanging on the wall, he stepped foward, footsteps echoing vibrantly. Steeeeep. Steeeeeeep. Steeeeeeep.
Zip. A long extended zipping sound.
And Brendan stood there, in front of the dark-skinned French girl, holding two things. Over his shoulder slung an open bag. Me Love You Long Time doll gazing out to the nearest camera, still a perpetual o-face. In his hands, a gun. The Beretta he robbed from the dead girl. Two clips in the other.
He shoved them into her hands.
And met her eyes.
"Please know what you're doing..."
So...the brain started spinning. You're part of an escape group. You're rebelling against a man who can see your every move. He knows. They know. You need to move fast. Don't waste time. Do everything you need to. Everything you're asked. And don't. Screw. up.
As for Liz...at least he knew a way to help.
Brendan's mum, even though she'd never been in the line of action, was taught every essential to a corpsman of the ADF. How to fire a rifle. How to disarm an opponent. How to program the extensive army computers. Most importantly, she was taught the basics of evacuation and carrying wounded.
"Okay Bren, say you're in a burning building, but someone with you is trapped, or can't walk on their own. Like if their leg was hurt. How do you carry them out?"
"Uh..."
"No, not that way. When you carry someone like that, they become vulnerable. All their weight is put in front of you, and you have to struggle to walk. Try again.
"Hmm..."
"See, most people think that's the way, but what if the person's unconscious? They can't hang on, and worse yet, what if they fall off? They'll hinder you as well. Do you want to know what you should do?"
"Sure."
Brendan made his way slowly up the stairs. Everyone was watching him. He didn't care. For once, he knew what to do.
At the top of the stairs, Liz stood there. She looked shorter than she did from afar, and this was painful to consider. Too reminiscent. She handed him her gun. 12 rounds? He hoped he wouldn't have to use it. Chances were he would. Fuck.
He nodded. They both made their way down the staircase. Everyone was watching him. Still not caring.
As they landed at the bottom, Jeremy still hanging behind them, he knew what to do. Fucking finally.
"It's called the Firemans Carry. And here's how you do it. I'll carry you how it should be done."
He got down on his knee, and brought her close. Her stomach was right against his shoulder.
"Then you scoop them up. Stand up like this."
Brendan grasped her legs, made sure not to let her slip. He stood up.
"There's barely any weight on you, cause your shoulders can take it. You can go as fast as you can when you're carrying someone like this, cause I can barely feel your weight."
Liz was slung over his shoulder now, like she was being carried out of a fiery Mansion. Her stomach was wheezing, he could feel it. If she was really this badly hit, then they really didn't have too much time. Pressure. So much pressure, huh?
Time to roll.
"Let's go."
For once, he lead the way.
The moment Brendan stepped into the mansion, he realised that this was what he'd been missing, every day. He'd never watched SOTF more than once, who the hell would even think of watching a show like that? But...a real scene unfurled. Hell, it looked like he'd missed most of it, but he was getting caught up anyway.
He didn't expect to get shoved against the wall, though.
Mirabelle Nesa. She seemed intent on analysing him, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. Well...he didn't care about her, even though he had no idea how deadly Mirabelle's hands were, he was more focused on the girl who was pointing the gun at him, the same girl he wanted to talk to.
But you know, it doesn't always work out the way you want it, that's just life. By walking through those doors, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. So when Mirabelle started talking, he had to listen, just to find out what extraneous crap he had to work past in order to get a glimpse of the real picture here.
"I...I understand about wanting to work out your grudges. It's...it's really tempting."
You don't know what you're talking about, okay? I'm not trying to kill anyone, I just want to talk to her...
But she kept on speaking, going on about a girl she knew who was a killer, and another one who was dead. Brendan really didn't have time to get sucked into people's drama right now. He should've just left.
Wait, what's that, divine intervention? You don't want Brendan to be sucked into any more drama?
Well, here you go then!
"Don't...we have a chance to get out of here! I'm here with Liz Polanski, she's got a plan, she knows what she's doing, we can break these collars and we can break the game and we can get the hell out of here, and the only reason anyone is playing is because of these damn things and because we could die at anytime and we all just want to go home so we can do the damn things we wanted to do-!"
Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait.
Wait.
What?
Escape?
Escaping from here?
WHAT?
...no way. There was no way this was happening. Not to him, of all people. He'd found people who knew how to escape? No. Way. This wasn't happening. This only happened to interesting people, to smart people, to people who have something to give, to people who deserve to live. He wasn't any of these things, this wasn't just happening to Brendan, of all people.
...no, he should just leave now, get out. They don't need him, they'd never need someone like him, he'd probably run off when things got too hectic.
Just get out. Now. They can handle themselves. They don't need you.
But Mirabelle extended her hand, and her name. With this, came a little bit of trust encapsulated in a social construct, something that he couldn't just refuse like that. He wasn't that kind of person.
So instead of leaving, running away, he extended his own hand, and clasped it together with Mirabelle's.
"H-"
And then, before he could even get a full word out, contestant number 3 of the "Overload Brendan with Responsibility Show" piped up. Garrett. Nothing less than he'd expect from him, but it was really that final line that sunk him into a need, a responsibility to these people.
"Out on the logging road. There were helicopters. I sure as fuck know no good shit's gonna come out of that, I figure they're sick of waiting for some kid to assassinate her or whatever. It's probably, like...a fuckin' hit squad or some shit."
Oh.
...
...well, looks like I'm dead now, right? They've just told me everything, so...this is just like the movies. I know way too much, they always kill the people who know way too much.
What.
The hell.
Do I do now?
Fate answers questions quite quickly, it seems.
A cough.
The Australian boy turned his head to the stairway, and there she was.
Mystery figure.
Didn't take a genius to figure out that this was the girl they'd been talking about.
Liz Polanski.
Polanski...like the movie maker. That guy, who made...what the hell did Polanski make anyway? FOCUS.
So...suddenly, that missing day in his life started to make a bit more sense. The day he slept through, the day he only heard the next days announcement, the day in which he heard her name on the announcements, cringed in fear as yet another person he knew succumbed to SOTF, and let it wallow in the depths of his mind. So if this was the same girl who was planning a public escape attempt...then it made a whole lot more sense, now didn't it?
Oh, right, there was that whole strange comment about killing her, so that had to have clicked him into place too. Idiot.
So...Liz started speaking. The same Liz who she saw sitting right behind their favourite math teacher almost a week ago. The same Liz who helped him on that project even longer ago. The same Liz who he mistook for the girl he loved-
-wait.
...no.
No admitting that now, no way.
...so...helping her seemed like the way to go. If this really was a way to get out of here...then, he might as well put his effort in.
Okay.
Oh hey, she could tell that, couldn't she? That must have been exactly why Mirabelle decided to grant him a very special honour. Wasn't until that very moment that he could see how bunged up Liz was. He didn't even know what she'd done, or how this helped them, but she was bunged up to the extreme.
...oh, and what else? Whatever she was doing, something about relays, she needed a gun.
Well.
Look at that.
Something else he could help with.
Brendan swallowed. Great. All eyes on him. Danya. The terrorists. The audience at home. Not to mention Liz, Garrett, Madeleine, Jeremy, Mirabelle.
He tried to say something, but...nervous. Way too nervous to try.
There was always just the silent approach.
Still hanging on the wall, he stepped foward, footsteps echoing vibrantly. Steeeeep. Steeeeeeep. Steeeeeeep.
Zip. A long extended zipping sound.
And Brendan stood there, in front of the dark-skinned French girl, holding two things. Over his shoulder slung an open bag. Me Love You Long Time doll gazing out to the nearest camera, still a perpetual o-face. In his hands, a gun. The Beretta he robbed from the dead girl. Two clips in the other.
He shoved them into her hands.
And met her eyes.
"Please know what you're doing..."
So...the brain started spinning. You're part of an escape group. You're rebelling against a man who can see your every move. He knows. They know. You need to move fast. Don't waste time. Do everything you need to. Everything you're asked. And don't. Screw. up.
As for Liz...at least he knew a way to help.
Brendan's mum, even though she'd never been in the line of action, was taught every essential to a corpsman of the ADF. How to fire a rifle. How to disarm an opponent. How to program the extensive army computers. Most importantly, she was taught the basics of evacuation and carrying wounded.
"Okay Bren, say you're in a burning building, but someone with you is trapped, or can't walk on their own. Like if their leg was hurt. How do you carry them out?"
"Uh..."
"No, not that way. When you carry someone like that, they become vulnerable. All their weight is put in front of you, and you have to struggle to walk. Try again.
"Hmm..."
"See, most people think that's the way, but what if the person's unconscious? They can't hang on, and worse yet, what if they fall off? They'll hinder you as well. Do you want to know what you should do?"
"Sure."
Brendan made his way slowly up the stairs. Everyone was watching him. He didn't care. For once, he knew what to do.
At the top of the stairs, Liz stood there. She looked shorter than she did from afar, and this was painful to consider. Too reminiscent. She handed him her gun. 12 rounds? He hoped he wouldn't have to use it. Chances were he would. Fuck.
He nodded. They both made their way down the staircase. Everyone was watching him. Still not caring.
As they landed at the bottom, Jeremy still hanging behind them, he knew what to do. Fucking finally.
"It's called the Firemans Carry. And here's how you do it. I'll carry you how it should be done."
He got down on his knee, and brought her close. Her stomach was right against his shoulder.
"Then you scoop them up. Stand up like this."
Brendan grasped her legs, made sure not to let her slip. He stood up.
"There's barely any weight on you, cause your shoulders can take it. You can go as fast as you can when you're carrying someone like this, cause I can barely feel your weight."
Liz was slung over his shoulder now, like she was being carried out of a fiery Mansion. Her stomach was wheezing, he could feel it. If she was really this badly hit, then they really didn't have too much time. Pressure. So much pressure, huh?
Time to roll.
"Let's go."
For once, he lead the way.
This was insanity. No sooner had Madeleine reacted to Brendan's presence when everyone suddenly began talking at once. First, there was Garrett lecturing her, and then Mirabelle, and then...
It was difficult to say what first went through Maddy's mind when Liz had first appeared at the top of the stairs. She wanted to shoot her, but at the same time, she noticed that the girl was clearly weakened from the exertion of the game. She wanted to curse her out for her actions, that was certain, but with everyone else talking and taking charge, she was too nervous to speak up. In less time than it took for all those thoughts to run through her head, the group was making plans to go elsewhere, and Mirabelle was demanding that people fork over their guns. It was fortunate that Brendan volunteered his, as Maddy would never have surrendered hers.
And then the kicker: apparently Liz was being chased by the terrorists, and she was making plans to retreat to the caves and destroy more things. This was where Maddy drew the line. To actually think that she and a bunch of other scared kids could seriously fight against armed and trained terrorists was utter insanity, and the fact that everyone else was helping Liz and making plans made them insane too.
But before Maddy could express her complaints, Liz was already out the door, towed around by Brendan. Running in front of the door as if possessed, Maddy tried to block Mirabelle and Garrett from leaving. "Please...please don't g-go with her!" she pleaded. "Sh-she's going to get you killed. Can't you see it?" Maddy wasn't sure if she would make a difference in this. After all, they could just walk right past her. But she needed to say this. She needed to try to make them see the truth of the matter. This was a fight that they couldn't possibly win, no matter how hard they tried, and she wasn't going to just let people walk to their deaths.
It was difficult to say what first went through Maddy's mind when Liz had first appeared at the top of the stairs. She wanted to shoot her, but at the same time, she noticed that the girl was clearly weakened from the exertion of the game. She wanted to curse her out for her actions, that was certain, but with everyone else talking and taking charge, she was too nervous to speak up. In less time than it took for all those thoughts to run through her head, the group was making plans to go elsewhere, and Mirabelle was demanding that people fork over their guns. It was fortunate that Brendan volunteered his, as Maddy would never have surrendered hers.
And then the kicker: apparently Liz was being chased by the terrorists, and she was making plans to retreat to the caves and destroy more things. This was where Maddy drew the line. To actually think that she and a bunch of other scared kids could seriously fight against armed and trained terrorists was utter insanity, and the fact that everyone else was helping Liz and making plans made them insane too.
But before Maddy could express her complaints, Liz was already out the door, towed around by Brendan. Running in front of the door as if possessed, Maddy tried to block Mirabelle and Garrett from leaving. "Please...please don't g-go with her!" she pleaded. "Sh-she's going to get you killed. Can't you see it?" Maddy wasn't sure if she would make a difference in this. After all, they could just walk right past her. But she needed to say this. She needed to try to make them see the truth of the matter. This was a fight that they couldn't possibly win, no matter how hard they tried, and she wasn't going to just let people walk to their deaths.