Breathe In, Breathe Out

[Hallucinojelly†]

((Violet Druce continued from Wants and Needs))

It'd been a whole day since she ran away from the murder. A whole day spent playing it over and over in her head, watching every second play out in mad detail as she made it quietly across the island - with Mike in tow. She'd been wary of his pursuit at first, thinking he was trying to get her while no-one else was around, but after a long and tense confrontation they'd avoided an unpleasant ending to their journeys.

And after a while, Violet was glad.

After all, she'd never read a map before, and having someone there to help out did her the world of good; she especially appreciated the distraction he offered from her thoughts.

That is, until they stopped to rest for the night. Upon reaching the outskirts of the swamp, the two had decided to set up camp inside a thick cluster of trees. They took it in turns to keep watch as the other slept, but as expected, neither of them did. She couldn't speak for Mike, but when it was her turn to sleep, it took over her mind like a song stuck on replay. Over and over, every second; Jonathan's frenzy, Maddy's counter, the guns, the noise, and then... silence. The way the air had frozen after the little girl's charge filled her with a shredding guilt. Did she make it back okay? Was she alright? Did Jonathan - no. Maddy had those eyes, she remembered. Jon may have shot first, but then he ran.

That had bugged her more than anything, once she'd realized. Why shoot like that and then run? Perhaps he wasn't even trying to kill them. The thoughts had occurred to her more than once, but it quickly sank beneath the weight of everything else she'd seen. Maddy... with a gun. The image didn't fit. It didn't click at all. How could that shy, meek girl do something like that? And more importantly, if someone like her could pull that off, then what was stopping Mike from doing the same thing while she slept?

Nothing, that was what. There was no real connection there, just a common sense of survival. Neither of them wanted to die, but they couldn't face being alone as it would make them all too vulnerable. If she'd ran into a group of students without him, she knew exactly how she'd end up. It was these thoughts alone that disturbed her sleep, and if she continued to have them throughout her "adventure", she was sure she'd die of exhaustion before she received a bullet to the heart.

Thus, the reason they'd stopped walking. Several hours had passed since they awoke, and now they sat within the fractured shade of a dense clutch of trees planning out their next move. Violet sat with her back laid back against the trunk of a tree - her eyelids drooping heavily as she struggled to stay awake - with her bags strewn across the floor behind her. She felt like a royal mess, having not washed or slept, but she knew there were more important things to consider than bad smells when their lives were on the line. As such, her hair had started to grease, but at least she could now tuck it behind her ears with a little less effort. The hoodie around her waist was now covered in dirt and mud as she used it to rest on, which also covered up the blood spatters, so that was a plus too, she thought.

Sitting across from Mike, she wondered how he must've been holding up so far with everything he'd seen. Of course she didn't trust him, but she still felt like she should do her best to give him reason not to distrust her. That said, her concern for him came from a very real place, as they'd already shared such a harrowing experience together. Deciding that she may as well eat while they rested (who knew when they'd get a chance to again?), she stretched around to her daypack and lazily pulled out the loaf of bread from inside. She'd nibbled at it the night before, but she hadn't much felt like eating; now, however, she was listening to her stomach's moody rumbles.

"Say, Mike, you gonna eat before we head out again?"

The loaf bobbed up in his direction as she offered him a piece.

"We've got bread, bread, aaand - yep - more bread."

[Ella†]

[[Michael Moretti, continued from Wants and Needs]]

It felt like years had passed since Mike last touched his guitar, but his fingers still lovingly caressed the strings as though they'd never parted... though technically, this made sense because it had really only been a couple days. Not that those couple of days had been insignificant. Mike didn't sing, out of consideration for the girl sitting only feet away, but he could still hear the words sounding in his head as he played.

When I get older, losing my hair; Many years from now; Will you still be sending me a Valentine...?

Mike wondered if Violet knew the song. Well, it was the Beatles, of course she'd at least heard it before. But did she recognize it as he played?

There was still a lot Mike didn't know about the partner fate seemed to have chosen for him in what he figured were the last days of his life. After she'd ran from the shooting the day before, Mike had followed Violet Druce... at first he'd wanted to make sure she found safety, but by this point he simply appreciated the company. Not that they'd taken to one another right away (or at all, arguably), of course. She never did seem keen on having company, but the more they trekked the island, the more both students realized they were better off together than alone.

"Say, Mike, you gonna eat before we head out again? We've got bread, bread, aaand - yep - more bread."

Mike was a little annoyed that she'd interrupted his playing, but the sight of food was more than enough to outweigh that.

"Thanks." He grinned and broke off a piece after setting aside the bright blue acoustic guitar. The taste of the bread, though bland, almost overwhelmed his mouth- how long had it been since he last ate? The rest of the piece went by in seconds, but Mike resisted temptation to grab more. He didn't know how long the rations would last.

"I wonder what happened to the others..." He said it absentmindedly, almost subconsciously. Violet knew exactly who he meant- they'd seen all the same people on this "camping trip" so far. He didn't really expect an answer, so he picked up the guitar and began playing again.

If I'd been out til quarter of three, would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?

Mike chuckled at the irony. If I actually make it to sixty-four after this, I am throwing a fucking party. Though thoroughly empty, the vow comforted him. Mike let his mind wander, thinking about who would come to his sixty-fourth birthday party. Mom and Tanner probably wouldn't still be alive, but Leah might. Hell, he'd invite all of Bayview- it was his imaginary party, right? Mike looked over at Violet. He almost considered inviting her before he realized how ludicrous that would be. He had to wonder though. He'd never seen Violet at a party before. He didn't know anything about what she liked or didn't like. It wasn't really relevant considering the situation, but he might as well try to get to know her, right?

"Hey, weird question, but... when- well, if. If we get out here, do you want to hang out or something?" It sounded pretty stupid now that it was out of his mouth, but not as stupid as a party in fifty years.

[Hallucinojelly†]

"Thanks."

Violet smiled a little; she could tell he was starving too. It was good to see him eat, even if it was just a tiny piece of bread. It meant he was trying to keep himself going, which also meant he hadn't given up yet. Although it may have been early days for the pair, it was reassuring to know she didn't have to carry him throughout the game.

Tearing off a piece for herself, she then wrapped up the rest of the loaf and stuffed it into her daypack before chucking it back with the rest of her things.

Then Mike said something that washed away the fleeting moment of contention she'd fallen into.

"I wonder what happened to the others..."

Her throat tightened. So he'd been thinking about them too, huh? She bit down on her lip as her legs drew themselves in towards her chest. In truth, it was hard for her to imagine any of them getting away from the firefight alive, and it ripped at her conscience. Selfishly, she'd abandoned them all, even this guy. How could she do that to them? Even if she didn't have a gun, she should've helped somehow. She could've been a distraction, or a decoy, or better yet she could've taken the others with her. But no. Instead, she'd left everyone behind so she could survive. It had only been a day and a half, and already she could feel herself growing claws and fangs.

But it was necessary.

She needed to make it out of here alive, no matter what. She had someone waiting for her to get home. She had someone who she couldn't ever let down, someone she could never hurt.

And then she heard Mike play his guitar again.

It sounded familiar, but she wasn't in the mood for guessing games, so she sat back and listened to him strum for a while. It was nice, having music at a time like this. Some might have called it inappropriate, but there was another layer to the song that she could just about make out if she listened hard enough. The sadness of it, and the tone it took whenever he breathed a little harder, made her think about home again, but then he said something which knocked her for six.

"Hey, weird question, but... when- well, if. If we get out here, do you want to hang out or something?"

The question made her choke a little, her fingers tightening around the bread in her hand. He was asking the impossible, she thought. The idea of them both living through this and making it out of here together was beyond reason, but... she loved it. For a second he'd made her weak, as she began to wonder if there really could be a way for the two of them to survive. Not only that, but she started to branch off from that thought, thinking about everyone else who could come with them. If she could round up the others... if she could find Trent, and Hilary, and Leila... if she could change Maddy back to how she was before...

If I could work miracles...

Her head bowed behind her knees, she quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before looking across at the boy with the music.

"You... think we'll be able to get outta here?"

She wondered.

She shook her head.

"Stop asking stupid questions, Mike. Let's just figure out where we should go next."

[Ella†]

Violet was right- they really shouldn't be talking about that right now. But was that a smile he'd caught for a split second? Good enough for me. He thought, playing a conclusive D major before setting down the guitar.

Violet had asked where to go from here. Christ, you tell me. All he knew was that they'd have to turn back from here- like hell was he going in that swamp. But before that, there was one other issue- the bags. They were going to have to lighten their loads some before they kept going.

"Well," he began, "I think we both already know we're toting too much stuff. So we should probably... sort out some priorities. Before we keep going."

Mike already knew which "priority" would be the hardest to sort out- and it was lying innocently on the ground right in front of them. Without the guitar, they'd have plenty more room to keep stuff... but... it was the guitar. His music. That was his freaking life. Maybe he didn't have to let it go right now. He had plenty of other unnecessary stuff. Books, extra clothes, shampoo... he could let that stuff go first. Those were way less important. And besides, surely Violet would have to get rid of stuff too. There was plenty of room.

But next time it'll have to go. But... that was just going to be another one of those things they didn't think about right now.

[Hallucinojelly†]

"Well, I think we both already know we're toting too much stuff. So we should probably... sort out some priorities. Before we keep going."

He was right. Violet was already sore from the amount of stuff she had to lug around the island, so his suggestion to filter their belongings was met with a sense of relief. Still, what could she afford to leave behind? Pulling her bags out from behind the tree without getting up, she tossed the daypack to the side while lifting her duffel bag onto her lap. It was nowhere near as heavy as what they'd been issued, but being this tired tends to make even the simplest task feel like a chore.

Her fingers struggled with the zipper, but they eventually found their way inside. Leaning forward, she blew her bangs away as she peered inside the bag with eager eyes. A bathing suit. Hm. Would she honestly need that in the upcoming days? She didn't think so, but she felt herself hesitating as she stared down at the black material. It was like a part of her was connected to it, as though if she threw it away she'd be letting a part of herself go with it. Then she looked up to see what Mike was doing. He was staring at his guitar, contemplating the exact same thing. Her brow furrowed. A bathing suit was one thing, but a guitar? Something that probably had a long and colourful history behind it; real sentiment.

The costume made a quiet patter as it hit the wet ground below.

Alright, what else?

Her clothes. Her spare clothes. It may have been smart to throw out the bathing suit, but clothes? No, she was sure she'd need to hold on to those. If the ones she was wearing got torn, or wet, or... burnt. A quiet pause, then she moved on. Paracetamol. Oh yeah, keeping those. Empty bottle of coke? Gone. Bag of Doritos. She smiled. Cool Ranch - her favourite. She looked over at her daypack. If she managed to stay alive as long as she intended to, it'd be a safe bet to say those rations wouldn't last. A pen. Wait, didn't she have - ah, there it was. Inquisitively, she flipped open the little notebook she found tucked underneath her jeans. It was filled with notes on story ideas for her next film: Phantom Rain. The weather on the way to the campsite had given her a few ideas, but she'd forgotten them now, after the gassing and the briefing and the general hell she'd found herself in. Quietly, in defeat, she chucked them aside and felt the bottom of her bag for something she dreaded to find.

Her camera. It shone in the tiny trickles of light that seeped in through the canopy above. This was one thing she'd promised she'd never get rid of, no matter how hard things got. It could run out of batteries; it could break in two; it could record someone's butt-crack for all she cared. She would never let this thing go. Deeper down, she found the cable to charge it with, but she had a feeling she wouldn't be able to use it here. It didn't matter. The camera was important, not the charger. And with a quick fling it had left her possession for good.

She looked back at Mike, who was now going through his own things with the same hushed movements. For a moment she tried to imagine the kinds of objects he had of his own, but admittedly, she didn't know him well enough to guess correctly. That made her a little worried, actually - the fact that she knew nothing about the guy she'd let watch over her whenever she closed her eyes. Her eyelids still drooped heavily, hanging down like curtains waiting to close out the sun and tuck her in for a good night's sleep. But she was still doubtful of his intentions, and until she knew she could really trust him, rest would have to wait. Sighing wearily, she placed the camera back into her duffel bag and closed it up tight. There was no need to go through her daypack; everything in there was important and her "weapon" was still kept snug inside her pocket.

Hopefully, it wouldn't need to leave.

[Ella†]

Without a word, Violet had gone straight for the bags and began sorting. He'd already decided to keep his guitar, so he figured it might as well not be wasting space. He looked inside the guitar. Well, he thought, Since you're coming along, you might as well make yourself useful. He already knew it was possible to store stuff in here- the tiny, secret bag of green peered up at him from the bottom, innocent and unaware of the chaos and tragedy surrounding it. Definitely keeping that. I've never needed a smoke more in my life, he thought with a smirk. What else could he stick in there? There was his clothes. Inside the bag were one spare pair of boxers, extra socks, a turquoise t-shirt from when he'd seen Brand New in concert, and his favorite navy blue sweatshirt. He immediately tied the sweatshirt around his waist- great, that's more room already. He rolled the shirt, socks, and boxers each into tiny balls, and carefully pushed them into the chamber inside his guitar.

He looked at his bag again. The spiral notebook with all the songs he'd ever written, a pen and a mechanical pencil, his iPod and headphones, swim trunks, and the giant song book that held the capacity to teach him every song the Beatles had ever written. He checked the iPod- still some juice left. Well, music's kept me sane in every other part of my life. He stuck the player in his pocket- when it ran out of batteries he'd discard it as well. Swim trunks were easy- or were they? If something happened to these shorts, those would be his only change of pants. Unless he decided to run around in his underwear. That'll be a maybe for now. The books. He knew plenty of those songs by memory, but... jeez, this was hard. The Beatles book he chucked first, throwing it as far as he could into the swamp to ensure he wouldn't go after it. Forgive me, John- if you were here you'd understand. Next... his own music. He knew he had to toss it... but he just had to look through it all first. He could see Violet standing impatiently nearby- Shit, when did she finish?

"Wait a sec. I'll be finished soon." He turned back to the worn spiral notebook. He'd bought this for two dollars years ago, when he first started writing music. As he flipped through the pages, he could see how his handwriting had matured over time- smaller letters, less pressure on the paper, smaller dots over the i's. He shuddered at some of the typos in the older parts of the book that he'd never caught before. So many different songs were in here- some unfinished, some combined with different parts to make a different song, some finished with recordings saved on the now long gone laptop. At the end of the notebook, right before the few blank pages before the end, he found one more unfinished project- he'd started it a couple days before leaving. He tore out that and the rest of the blank pages, folding them and stuffing them in his pocket before chucking the rest of the book into the swamp as well. If I get out of here, he vowed, I'm finishing that song. He dropped the pencil and pen into the other bag with the weapon and rations- he'd write notes on the blank papers if he needed them. Names and descriptions of known killers, directions to locations, letters to home- there was still plenty of use for them. What else-? Right. The trunks. Other than those, the bag was now empty. Oh, hell. He rolled the trunks into as small a ball as he could make and stuffed them in the survival bag as well. Finally, everything was sorted.

"Well, that's everything." He set the now empty and soon to be abandoned backpack against a tree. "Ready?" Violet nodded in response. It was time.

The two set back out towards the island, with fear and doubt following them as they went- demons that would only leave them with the cold, inevitable drop of the scythe.

[[Violet Druce and Michael Morretti continued in Act I: General Anesthetic]]