((Peter Siu, Tiffany Baker, Eiko Haraguchi, and William Hearst continued from March to Your Death))
Soft marshy soil gave way under his step. The boot sunk about a centimeter into the mud. It was mildly disorienting: every step that stuck itself in the mud was another step that disturbed the rhythm of his footfalls. There was also that gnawing concern that he might have hit a patch of thick mud that wouldn't relinquish its grasp. Quicksand sucked.
If Peter really had a say in things, he wouldn't be here. Sure he had wanted to explore the island, but the intermittent buzz of the swamp mosquito or shifting soil underfoot was something he'd have preferred to have left unexplored. Getting bitten or splashed with mud wasn't a huge problem, but it was annoying, and dealing with annoyances on top of fighting for your life seemed like unnecessary torture.
Not that it had been his idea to come here. Tiffany had the right idea when she had ditched about half her clothes in the swamp when she woke up, but she hadn't really the foggiest idea of packing effectively. Most of what few clothes she had kept was thoroughly dirtied, because she'd neglected to bring anything that could constitute warm clothing and was layering up instead.
Which explained why they were here instead of checking out the lighthouse, which is what Peter would've suggested. It had taken a few hours to traverse the island, and while the sun still hung in the sky, it wasn't early in the day by any stretch of the imagination. Eventually, they reached a spot that Tiffany had said was supposedly close to where she had hidden her bag. This wasn't exactly useful since it was flat marshland for quite a distance in any direction. A few sparse trees stuck out every so often, but they had left the wooded portion of the swamp not too long ago.
Peter didn't want to have to set up camp here. Too muddy and too many bugs. He'd rather not have split up to find her bag, but if they went looking around as a group, they might not actually find it before the sun set; at which point they'd be shit out of luck. So now he and Will were hopping over small puddles and looking around for a pink and yellow duffel bag. He had warned Tiffany and Eiko to not wander too far, and to call out if they found anything.
"This sucks, man," Peter complained half-heartedly to his partner as he pulled his foot out of a particular deep footprint he had left. There was that sick squelching sound again. "I'd rather be snowshoeing up by Mille Lacs or trying the Grand Portage." Peter had planned on trying the grueling 13km trail sometime after graduation; now all he had to hike was this island.
His hand drifted over to the flask tucked in his pocket. It had been a while since his last drink. Not that drinking now would help finding Tiffany's bag. He had to keep his priorities straight.
Three days later, Tiffany was back where she had started.
She hadn't really intended on coming back. It had just been one little complaint about how all her clothes were dirty which had spurred this whole trip. Maybe Peter had just been looking for an excuse to stop sitting around in a house and actually go somewhere; he never had much of a penchant for sticking around in one place unless his computer was there. The outdoors was the only reliable way of getting him out of the house. Well, that and any of those house parties.
Tiffany hadn't been amused when she saw him drinking from his flask; she hadn't even known that he had a flask or had brought alcohol on the trip. She'd have said something to him if she thought it would have any effect. Peter always just waved her off whenever she tried to confront him on his drinking habits. She let it pass sometimes because he was even more fun to be around when drunk, but sometimes he just took it too far. Like at prom.
Not that it was a big deal now. Tiffany had kept a close eye on Peter as they hiked along the island, and he hadn't stopped for any drinks at all during the walk. The last thing she'd want to do is make sure he didn't get too drunk and walk himself off a cliff or something.
Several hours of slow hiking brought them back to the area marked on their maps as the swamp. Some of the scenery looked vaguely familiar, but she wasn't sure if it was because she had seen it before or had just seen something similar. Trees gave way to open marshland, and Tiffany still wasn't sure if they were close to where her duffel was hidden.
Still, it looked kind of like where she remembered waking up. There hadn't been a lot of trees, but lots of mud and puddles, so it must be around here somewhere. Since it was late in the day, Peter suggested splitting up to look for the bag so they could find it before sundown. Tiffany had wanted to pair up with Peter, but he had told her to go with Eiko instead. He probably just wanted to avoid her questions about the announcements. Or her lecturing him about his drinking. Or hearing her complain about the island.
Tiffany and Eiko roamed the marshland, though taking care to not wander too far away from where Peter and William had gone. She could see them casually walking around the swamp puddles in the distance; they were far more used to the outdoors than she and Eiko were. "So," Tiffany drawled slowly, trying to find something to fill the silence between the two girls, "why were you with Peter? How long have you two been together?" That question sounded awkward. Sure it meant something different in this context, but Tiffany couldn't help but think of the implications.
There was a pool at Tiffany's feet, and something in it caught Tiffany's eye. She leaned over to look at it, but the puddle was too murky to make out any details. She hopped around the pool, trying to see if a different angle would help. It didn't. Gingerly, she rolled up a sleeve and poked her finger into the large puddle. The water was surprisingly warm, and not nearly as dirty as it looked. With a deep breath, she plunged her hand into the pool, and withdrew out a familiar looking object.
It looked like the gun she had thrown away several days ago.
It's Everything's Nature to Fall
Private Thread
It's Everything's Nature to Fall
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solomir. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
((Liam "Brook" Brooks, continued from Carpe Noctum))
That bitch was going to pay.
The fear was gone as the mud had long since been wiped from Brook's face. To think he had fallen for such a trick. Jason had said it best... she had played him and she had done it mercilessly. They went out of their way to help her, to travel with her in a group and protect her, and she had to go and do that. The thing was, what did Brook ever do to her? He didn't trust her, sure, but the lack of trust doesn't justify doing what she did! To intentionally use his weakness against him in a manner like that, well, it only served to reinforce why he didn't trust her in the first place!
That fear Leila had inspired in Brook had long since faded to anger as he and Jason searched for her. In a classic but cruel nod to Star Wars, it seemed like anger was leading to suffering as he progressively began to believe that they would never find Leila. There wasn't so much as a footstep of evidence for at least a mile or ten that they were even going in the right direction, and they were nearing the end of what looked like a fruitless journey to find the girl that had wronged them all, as well as stolen from the Flowerheads.
Brook hated that stupid gun, but it was the principal of thing. Whether it was a junkyard piece of trash or not, it was HIS junkyard piece of trash, and he was relying on it to be a deterrent, keeping people from attacking him. That, and everybody ELSE in the group had a gun, so he would really like his back.
Somewhere along the line, one of the two made the bright decision, a-la Fred from Scooby Doo, to 'split up, gang!' It was a stupid decision... so stupid, Brook had actually forgotten which one of them made it on the off-chance that it had been him, and not Jason. Jason had made some pretty stupid plans before (the incident at the mountain back in St. Paul came to mind, making Brook both smile and sniff in homesickness), but this was one of those cases that could be either-or.
His idea or Jason's, they had still split up. Brook hadn't really realized the separation until he found himself just barely within Jason's line of sight, the two seperated by a waist-high ridge of dry land dotted with trees. It would be best that the two of them not split up THAT far to lose eyesight of one another, just in case they ran into that damn girl. She did have Brook's gun before, had probably already used it once, and likely did not have any particular qualms about using it again.
... Well, that's certainly a pretentious way to think about it.
Then a girl came into vision. Brook crouched down at first, nearly even called to Jason, until he saw that it wasn't Leila that he was cowering from.
Tiffany... the girl he'd failed to impress or ask out at Bayview. The girl he always liked. The girl he really wanted to talk to and make sure she was safe on this island, and he finally got his chance!
"Tiffany!"
It was a quiet utterance at first, nearly choked down by Brook's surprise. He jogged, paced, then ran towards her, his arms up and moving just as he would if this was the most bizzarre cross country course ever invented. Not only could he make sure that Tiffany was safe, but... dare he say it, he could say the one thing to her that he failed to say at Bayview? In times like these, there wasn't much holding anybody back, so why hold this?
"Tiffany! It's me, Brook! You're okay!!!"
That bitch was going to pay.
The fear was gone as the mud had long since been wiped from Brook's face. To think he had fallen for such a trick. Jason had said it best... she had played him and she had done it mercilessly. They went out of their way to help her, to travel with her in a group and protect her, and she had to go and do that. The thing was, what did Brook ever do to her? He didn't trust her, sure, but the lack of trust doesn't justify doing what she did! To intentionally use his weakness against him in a manner like that, well, it only served to reinforce why he didn't trust her in the first place!
That fear Leila had inspired in Brook had long since faded to anger as he and Jason searched for her. In a classic but cruel nod to Star Wars, it seemed like anger was leading to suffering as he progressively began to believe that they would never find Leila. There wasn't so much as a footstep of evidence for at least a mile or ten that they were even going in the right direction, and they were nearing the end of what looked like a fruitless journey to find the girl that had wronged them all, as well as stolen from the Flowerheads.
Brook hated that stupid gun, but it was the principal of thing. Whether it was a junkyard piece of trash or not, it was HIS junkyard piece of trash, and he was relying on it to be a deterrent, keeping people from attacking him. That, and everybody ELSE in the group had a gun, so he would really like his back.
Somewhere along the line, one of the two made the bright decision, a-la Fred from Scooby Doo, to 'split up, gang!' It was a stupid decision... so stupid, Brook had actually forgotten which one of them made it on the off-chance that it had been him, and not Jason. Jason had made some pretty stupid plans before (the incident at the mountain back in St. Paul came to mind, making Brook both smile and sniff in homesickness), but this was one of those cases that could be either-or.
His idea or Jason's, they had still split up. Brook hadn't really realized the separation until he found himself just barely within Jason's line of sight, the two seperated by a waist-high ridge of dry land dotted with trees. It would be best that the two of them not split up THAT far to lose eyesight of one another, just in case they ran into that damn girl. She did have Brook's gun before, had probably already used it once, and likely did not have any particular qualms about using it again.
... Well, that's certainly a pretentious way to think about it.
Then a girl came into vision. Brook crouched down at first, nearly even called to Jason, until he saw that it wasn't Leila that he was cowering from.
Tiffany... the girl he'd failed to impress or ask out at Bayview. The girl he always liked. The girl he really wanted to talk to and make sure she was safe on this island, and he finally got his chance!
"Tiffany!"
It was a quiet utterance at first, nearly choked down by Brook's surprise. He jogged, paced, then ran towards her, his arms up and moving just as he would if this was the most bizzarre cross country course ever invented. Not only could he make sure that Tiffany was safe, but... dare he say it, he could say the one thing to her that he failed to say at Bayview? In times like these, there wasn't much holding anybody back, so why hold this?
"Tiffany! It's me, Brook! You're okay!!!"
((Jason Harris continued from Carpe Nocturn))
Jason had moved at a quick pace jogging alongside Brook, his demeanour furious for the first thirty or so minutes. As time went on however the adrenaline and anger did the opposite of Brook's, it faded in to a numb feeling of unease. A tiny part of him nagged at the back of his head, telling him he had made a stupid decision splitting up the group, running off with no idea which way Leila had gone. Even if they did find her he had no idea what they were going to do. He wasn't thinking. It was this game. Sure the tiredness, the tension, the short bursts of intensity followed by hours of nothing counted for some of it. But this island, the game, it got to you. Jason could feel it hammering on the outside of his mind, trying to get in, make him crack under the pressure. He grinned slightly. It probably already had a little. The ground had become progressively muddier and the pace of the two boys had slowed down considerably when they hit the edge of the swamp. Jason hadn't exactly suggested splitting up, more; to keep some distance between the two so as to cover more ground. It wasn't a stupid idea but he should have known it would be easy to lose sight of each other in the thick undergrowth of the swampy bog.
His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, the precipitation in the air doing nothing for the dryness of the air in his mouth. Jason stopped moving and lactic acid flooded through his legs, aching and tired. He was on a rise of some sort, the swamp stretching out as far as he could see. Unzipping his bag he pulled out his water bottle and unscrewed the cap, taking a swig. Wiping his mouth he turned to Brook. "Don't worry mate we'll find her." Looking back he rubbed his eyes. His friend wasn't there. Jason spun around trying to catch a glimpse of Brook. He couldn't have gone far.
He couldn't have gone far.
Jason put the cap back on his bottle, looking around, his brow furrowed in concentration. When did they lose sight of each other? It couldn't have been more than a few minutes ago could it? When he thought about it he didn't remember seeing Brook since they had entered the swamp proper.
Shit
Suddenly, the sound of voices echoed from down the gentle slope and Jason fumbled for his gun. He had read the instruction manual; it had been made for underwater use, so he wasn't too worried about it getting jammed up. Mind you, he hadn't actually fired it yet. He moved slowly across the boggy ground, testing each step with his heel before putting his full weight on it.
Another voice, this time one he recognised. Brooks. His heart began to beat faster. Brook. People. A great feeling of horror welled up in Jason's stomach. His friend was out there by himself, no weapon and quite frankly not in exactly the right frame of mind. He stopped, just outside a clearing. Well, not really a clearing, more like a patch of soggy ground where the scraggily trees had yet to invade, or had been beaten back. Jason's heart rose in to his throat as he took in the scene him. Brook was scrambling down a ridge, calling out a name. A name he recognised. Tiffany. Jason let his eyes swing to the clearing as Brook reached the ground and began running towards the girl, his tone hopeful. A brief thought flickered through Jason's mind. Brook was smiling. This was the first time he had seen his friend smile since being on the island, but still that nagging feeling of unease tugged at him. Tiffany was crouching down, her hand in the water and her eyes wide looking directly at Brook. Something was not right.
She has something in her hand.
Time slowed. It seemed like every action suddenly took on the air of a dream. Each heartbeat thudding through Jason's consciousness, each action as if occurring underwater. Tiffany pulled her hand out of the water.
A Gun!
...Brook
Jason grasped at his pistol willing his arm to move faster. Everything seemed to move so slowly. Tiffany was going to shoot Brook. He needed to move faster. His arm was in position as Tiffany started to stand up. Brook had been his best friend for years now. Jason had promised him everything would be alright. That he wouldn't let him down.
Leila
But he had. He had let a girl trick him in to letting his guard down. He should have just shot her, and now she had Brooks weapon and his best friend was running headlong towards another girl. He hadn't seen the gun yet, he didn't know. Jason's voice was caught in his throat as he tried to call out. His voice hoarse from lack of use. His right hand slipped around his left, a finger on the trigger.
"Brook!"
You saved my life Brook. You never let me down, even in the face of your fears. I'm not going to let you down again
The gun hovered in front of Jason's head, the safety flicked off and the movement in such picture perfect clarity resonated through Jason's mind as time slowed to an imperceptible crawl. Brook was in danger, Tiffany had a gun, her arm was moving up, surely to shoot Brook. Brook didn't know. He was always blinded by that girl, never taking the chance that he should have. Jason had tried his hardest to push the boy, to get him to step up to the plate, but he hadn't pushed hard enough. But that was back in high school and this was now. Survival of the Fittest. She was going to shoot him down for real this time.
Jason had promised.
"Gun! Broooook!"
You'll always be my personal hero.
Tiffany was lined up perfectly. Less than twenty feet away.
Time Stopped.
Jason breathed in.
Love makes fools of us all.
He squeezed the trigger.
Jason had moved at a quick pace jogging alongside Brook, his demeanour furious for the first thirty or so minutes. As time went on however the adrenaline and anger did the opposite of Brook's, it faded in to a numb feeling of unease. A tiny part of him nagged at the back of his head, telling him he had made a stupid decision splitting up the group, running off with no idea which way Leila had gone. Even if they did find her he had no idea what they were going to do. He wasn't thinking. It was this game. Sure the tiredness, the tension, the short bursts of intensity followed by hours of nothing counted for some of it. But this island, the game, it got to you. Jason could feel it hammering on the outside of his mind, trying to get in, make him crack under the pressure. He grinned slightly. It probably already had a little. The ground had become progressively muddier and the pace of the two boys had slowed down considerably when they hit the edge of the swamp. Jason hadn't exactly suggested splitting up, more; to keep some distance between the two so as to cover more ground. It wasn't a stupid idea but he should have known it would be easy to lose sight of each other in the thick undergrowth of the swampy bog.
His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, the precipitation in the air doing nothing for the dryness of the air in his mouth. Jason stopped moving and lactic acid flooded through his legs, aching and tired. He was on a rise of some sort, the swamp stretching out as far as he could see. Unzipping his bag he pulled out his water bottle and unscrewed the cap, taking a swig. Wiping his mouth he turned to Brook. "Don't worry mate we'll find her." Looking back he rubbed his eyes. His friend wasn't there. Jason spun around trying to catch a glimpse of Brook. He couldn't have gone far.
He couldn't have gone far.
Jason put the cap back on his bottle, looking around, his brow furrowed in concentration. When did they lose sight of each other? It couldn't have been more than a few minutes ago could it? When he thought about it he didn't remember seeing Brook since they had entered the swamp proper.
Shit
Suddenly, the sound of voices echoed from down the gentle slope and Jason fumbled for his gun. He had read the instruction manual; it had been made for underwater use, so he wasn't too worried about it getting jammed up. Mind you, he hadn't actually fired it yet. He moved slowly across the boggy ground, testing each step with his heel before putting his full weight on it.
Another voice, this time one he recognised. Brooks. His heart began to beat faster. Brook. People. A great feeling of horror welled up in Jason's stomach. His friend was out there by himself, no weapon and quite frankly not in exactly the right frame of mind. He stopped, just outside a clearing. Well, not really a clearing, more like a patch of soggy ground where the scraggily trees had yet to invade, or had been beaten back. Jason's heart rose in to his throat as he took in the scene him. Brook was scrambling down a ridge, calling out a name. A name he recognised. Tiffany. Jason let his eyes swing to the clearing as Brook reached the ground and began running towards the girl, his tone hopeful. A brief thought flickered through Jason's mind. Brook was smiling. This was the first time he had seen his friend smile since being on the island, but still that nagging feeling of unease tugged at him. Tiffany was crouching down, her hand in the water and her eyes wide looking directly at Brook. Something was not right.
She has something in her hand.
Time slowed. It seemed like every action suddenly took on the air of a dream. Each heartbeat thudding through Jason's consciousness, each action as if occurring underwater. Tiffany pulled her hand out of the water.
A Gun!
...Brook
Jason grasped at his pistol willing his arm to move faster. Everything seemed to move so slowly. Tiffany was going to shoot Brook. He needed to move faster. His arm was in position as Tiffany started to stand up. Brook had been his best friend for years now. Jason had promised him everything would be alright. That he wouldn't let him down.
Leila
But he had. He had let a girl trick him in to letting his guard down. He should have just shot her, and now she had Brooks weapon and his best friend was running headlong towards another girl. He hadn't seen the gun yet, he didn't know. Jason's voice was caught in his throat as he tried to call out. His voice hoarse from lack of use. His right hand slipped around his left, a finger on the trigger.
"Brook!"
You saved my life Brook. You never let me down, even in the face of your fears. I'm not going to let you down again
The gun hovered in front of Jason's head, the safety flicked off and the movement in such picture perfect clarity resonated through Jason's mind as time slowed to an imperceptible crawl. Brook was in danger, Tiffany had a gun, her arm was moving up, surely to shoot Brook. Brook didn't know. He was always blinded by that girl, never taking the chance that he should have. Jason had tried his hardest to push the boy, to get him to step up to the plate, but he hadn't pushed hard enough. But that was back in high school and this was now. Survival of the Fittest. She was going to shoot him down for real this time.
Jason had promised.
"Gun! Broooook!"
You'll always be my personal hero.
Tiffany was lined up perfectly. Less than twenty feet away.
Time Stopped.
Jason breathed in.
Love makes fools of us all.
He squeezed the trigger.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fanatic. 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.
Whatever reservations Tiffany might have had about holding a gun, they were pushed away when she heard her name being called out. Not by Peter, but another familiar voice. She lifted head to look at Eiko, to make sure she hadn't imagined Liam's voice. Eiko had wandered off a few feet, but was now crouched down as if hiding from something. Tiffany's eyes swept around, and quickly found the source of the voice. Not that Liam was doing a good job of making it hard to spot him.
"Liam!" Tiffany stood up so she could be more easily seen. It had been a while since she had last seen Liam. The last time had been at prom: Peter had broken some rules, just like he had for the trip, and had gotten Liam drunk. Even under the influence, Liam was still very considerate and kind, but he had said a few things that weren't particularly nice about Andrew. She hadn't understood why at the time, but Peter had laid it out to her when she had gone to lecture him about sneaking alcohol into the prom.
A smile broke across her face. With her free hand, she waved at Liam, signaling that she had seen him too. "Thank God you're okay," she called out. "Are you with anybody? There are some others around he-"
Something whistled through the air for brief moment. Whatever Tiffany was going to say was rudely interrupted by something hitting her in the chest and knocking the breath out of her. She staggered back a step. There were words she wanted to say, but it was hard to summon up enough breath. Her free hand instinctively went to her chest to where she had been hit. She felt something wet.
More importantly, she felt pain.
Blood. Pain. Tiffany didn't want to believe it. She cried out to God. She prayed for Him to help her, to make the pain go away. She wanted some more time to be with her friends.
Crumpling to her knees, Tiffany caught sight of someone holding a gun behind Liam. He had shot her. Had he been aiming for Liam? Why were people so quick to shoot? "Liam..." her voice was low and laced with pain, "be...hind you...." It was so hard to breath, and there was just so much pain. Tiffany turned toward Eiko, but she couldn't keep herself from turning too far and falling on her side. The gun, wet and useless, bounced out of her hand. She tried to call for help, praying that what breath she could muster would be enough.
"Call... Peter...."
A scream cut through the afternoon sky, jolting Peter from his lazy search for Tiffany's duffel. He looked at Will, whose face told him that he hadn't imagined it. Peter turned to the direction that he remembered the girls heading off to. Maybe they had just been yelling for them because they found what they were looking for, which meant there was no-
"Siu-san!"
That was Eiko's voice. It lacked her normal air of aloofness; there was an edge of urgency and panic in her words. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
She'll be okay. Just gotta stay calm, and not charge in like a raging bull.
Peter swore under his breath and broke into a sprint. He hoped that they hadn't moved too far from where he had last seen them. The soft soil squelched under his feet, each step kicking up dirt and mud onto his jeans. He wasn't sure if he had passed his destination, or even headed in the wrong direction entirely. He just needed to run and hope that he got to where he needed to be. He was not going to fuck this up.
Why did we split up? This wouldn't have happened.
It felt like he had been running for hours when he finally found Eiko crouched over something. Brook was there too, and he looked somewhat ashen. Peter looked around; something was missing. Eiko had called for him, so she probably needed help. Was it because Brook had happened across her? He stepped up to Eiko, while keeping a wary eye on Brook. "Eiko, what's the matter? Are you-" He had gotten close enough to see what had been obscured by Eiko's body. Things fell into place.
Here's another murderer. Time to build up the habit, one murderer at a time.
"What the hell did you do, Brook?" Peter roared, whipping his eyes to the tall boy. There wasn't a weapon in sight, but that didn't mean much. Guns could be concealed, and Tiffany definitely looked like she had been shot. Peter dropped his pack from his shoulders, and pulled his sword from its makeshift harness on the backpack. He was going to make Brook pay for what he'd done.
Gotta play it safe. Brook's taller, and definitely stronger, so I need to find an opening somehow.
There was a weak cough from behind him, followed by a quiet gurgle. Peter threw a glance over his shoulder, and saw Tiffany struggling to prop herself up to look at him. Peter cursed under his breath; he might still be able to save her, but Brook was still standing there, and he could be a danger. He stared long and hard at Brook. Brook hadn't been a bad guy back at Bayview; he probably didn't have a single violent bone in his body. He hadn't been named on the announcements either. Maybe he hadn't been the one that had caused this.
Can't have doubts. Gotta keep moving forward, and not get stuck with the what-ifs.
Tiffany's voice croaked out from behind him, confirming his suspicions. He leveled one more glare at Brook. "Don't move. At all," he hissed before throwing the sword aside and turning to tend to Tiffany's injury. He knew his first aid training would have to come in handy someday, but he had never wanted to have to worry about Tiffany. He was going to protect her, just like he was going to protect Eiko.
Protect her? I caused this. She wouldn't be like this if we hadn't split up.
The front of Tiffany's shirt was already soaked with blood. Peter ripped apart the fabric to better see the wound. It was a clean puncture wound that had snuck between her ribs. Judging by the way she was breathing, and the way blood bubbled up from the little hole with every breath, she probably had a punctured lung. Peter wracked his brain for what he was supposed to do in this situation, but all he came up with boiled down to 'get professional help'.
In other words, she's screwed. May as well start praying.
But he was still going to save her.
Save people, one step at a time. If I can't save her, I can't save anyone.
He tore at the sleeve of his shirt, ripping off a small strip of cloth. Taking the cloth, he folded it several layers thick and pressed it to the wound. Apply pressure. Stop the bleeding. "Eiko. Will. First aid kit. Now!" He looked into Tiffany's eyes, and tried not to let the fear in his face show. He was going to save her.
I can't save her. I can't call down miracles. I don't have healing hands. There's nothing I can do.
"You're gonna be alright, okay Tiff?" Peter tried to calm his voice for her, to lull her own fears away. "Breathe deep. Take it slow. Calm down. You'll be good as new."
All I can do is lie to her; give her everything she needs to be at peace.
Peter lifted his head to look at his other travel companions. "Where's that fucking first aid kit? I need some gauze and bandages here." He looked back down at Tiffany and smiled. He moved a hand from the bloodsoaked cloth to the cross hanging around his neck, tracing its surface. Even if God wouldn't help him, at least He would help her get through this.
"Liam!" Tiffany stood up so she could be more easily seen. It had been a while since she had last seen Liam. The last time had been at prom: Peter had broken some rules, just like he had for the trip, and had gotten Liam drunk. Even under the influence, Liam was still very considerate and kind, but he had said a few things that weren't particularly nice about Andrew. She hadn't understood why at the time, but Peter had laid it out to her when she had gone to lecture him about sneaking alcohol into the prom.
A smile broke across her face. With her free hand, she waved at Liam, signaling that she had seen him too. "Thank God you're okay," she called out. "Are you with anybody? There are some others around he-"
Something whistled through the air for brief moment. Whatever Tiffany was going to say was rudely interrupted by something hitting her in the chest and knocking the breath out of her. She staggered back a step. There were words she wanted to say, but it was hard to summon up enough breath. Her free hand instinctively went to her chest to where she had been hit. She felt something wet.
More importantly, she felt pain.
Blood. Pain. Tiffany didn't want to believe it. She cried out to God. She prayed for Him to help her, to make the pain go away. She wanted some more time to be with her friends.
Crumpling to her knees, Tiffany caught sight of someone holding a gun behind Liam. He had shot her. Had he been aiming for Liam? Why were people so quick to shoot? "Liam..." her voice was low and laced with pain, "be...hind you...." It was so hard to breath, and there was just so much pain. Tiffany turned toward Eiko, but she couldn't keep herself from turning too far and falling on her side. The gun, wet and useless, bounced out of her hand. She tried to call for help, praying that what breath she could muster would be enough.
"Call... Peter...."
A scream cut through the afternoon sky, jolting Peter from his lazy search for Tiffany's duffel. He looked at Will, whose face told him that he hadn't imagined it. Peter turned to the direction that he remembered the girls heading off to. Maybe they had just been yelling for them because they found what they were looking for, which meant there was no-
"Siu-san!"
That was Eiko's voice. It lacked her normal air of aloofness; there was an edge of urgency and panic in her words. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
She'll be okay. Just gotta stay calm, and not charge in like a raging bull.
Peter swore under his breath and broke into a sprint. He hoped that they hadn't moved too far from where he had last seen them. The soft soil squelched under his feet, each step kicking up dirt and mud onto his jeans. He wasn't sure if he had passed his destination, or even headed in the wrong direction entirely. He just needed to run and hope that he got to where he needed to be. He was not going to fuck this up.
Why did we split up? This wouldn't have happened.
It felt like he had been running for hours when he finally found Eiko crouched over something. Brook was there too, and he looked somewhat ashen. Peter looked around; something was missing. Eiko had called for him, so she probably needed help. Was it because Brook had happened across her? He stepped up to Eiko, while keeping a wary eye on Brook. "Eiko, what's the matter? Are you-" He had gotten close enough to see what had been obscured by Eiko's body. Things fell into place.
Here's another murderer. Time to build up the habit, one murderer at a time.
"What the hell did you do, Brook?" Peter roared, whipping his eyes to the tall boy. There wasn't a weapon in sight, but that didn't mean much. Guns could be concealed, and Tiffany definitely looked like she had been shot. Peter dropped his pack from his shoulders, and pulled his sword from its makeshift harness on the backpack. He was going to make Brook pay for what he'd done.
Gotta play it safe. Brook's taller, and definitely stronger, so I need to find an opening somehow.
There was a weak cough from behind him, followed by a quiet gurgle. Peter threw a glance over his shoulder, and saw Tiffany struggling to prop herself up to look at him. Peter cursed under his breath; he might still be able to save her, but Brook was still standing there, and he could be a danger. He stared long and hard at Brook. Brook hadn't been a bad guy back at Bayview; he probably didn't have a single violent bone in his body. He hadn't been named on the announcements either. Maybe he hadn't been the one that had caused this.
Can't have doubts. Gotta keep moving forward, and not get stuck with the what-ifs.
Tiffany's voice croaked out from behind him, confirming his suspicions. He leveled one more glare at Brook. "Don't move. At all," he hissed before throwing the sword aside and turning to tend to Tiffany's injury. He knew his first aid training would have to come in handy someday, but he had never wanted to have to worry about Tiffany. He was going to protect her, just like he was going to protect Eiko.
Protect her? I caused this. She wouldn't be like this if we hadn't split up.
The front of Tiffany's shirt was already soaked with blood. Peter ripped apart the fabric to better see the wound. It was a clean puncture wound that had snuck between her ribs. Judging by the way she was breathing, and the way blood bubbled up from the little hole with every breath, she probably had a punctured lung. Peter wracked his brain for what he was supposed to do in this situation, but all he came up with boiled down to 'get professional help'.
In other words, she's screwed. May as well start praying.
But he was still going to save her.
Save people, one step at a time. If I can't save her, I can't save anyone.
He tore at the sleeve of his shirt, ripping off a small strip of cloth. Taking the cloth, he folded it several layers thick and pressed it to the wound. Apply pressure. Stop the bleeding. "Eiko. Will. First aid kit. Now!" He looked into Tiffany's eyes, and tried not to let the fear in his face show. He was going to save her.
I can't save her. I can't call down miracles. I don't have healing hands. There's nothing I can do.
"You're gonna be alright, okay Tiff?" Peter tried to calm his voice for her, to lull her own fears away. "Breathe deep. Take it slow. Calm down. You'll be good as new."
All I can do is lie to her; give her everything she needs to be at peace.
Peter lifted his head to look at his other travel companions. "Where's that fucking first aid kit? I need some gauze and bandages here." He looked back down at Tiffany and smiled. He moved a hand from the bloodsoaked cloth to the cross hanging around his neck, tracing its surface. Even if God wouldn't help him, at least He would help her get through this.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solomir. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
[Boy #61 - William Hearst. Continued from March to Your Death.]
Sure, it had been fairly uneventful, wandering around the swamp and avoiding slipping into the occasional pool of murky stagnant water, but it had been the closest thing to a normal time he'd spent with Peter in the couple hours they'd managed to spend together. Thing had been somber when they first hooked up again, back in the city, but now? Now it all seemed to be getting better. They had been talking about all the things they used to do and the places they'd like to go, trails they'd like to hike and the Minnesota winters that made for some interesting times. Despite their current task and despite the place they were in, they were actually having fun wandering around in the mud and the muck sharing stories.
Well, all good things have to end, as they say.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Right now, I kind of wish we could be out fishing. Just sitting by the lake and doing nothing? That's a far sight more enjoyable than wading through mud."
White suckers and northern pike, musky and bigmouth bass... Yeah, fishing back home was really fun. The perfect way to relax after a long hike out to the campground was to sit back with your line in the water and just watch the water. Great time to sneak a few drinks too, if you were so inclined. Who knows, you might even get lucky and catch something good enough to cook for dinner. Yeah, fishing was fun.
"...I want to go home."
William muttered idly as they walked and searched, choking up for a moment when he did speak. Thinking about home now was hard, thinking about all the places he might not be able to visit or the things he might not be able to do again. It was depressing and frankly, it was upsetting to think about it that way. He didn't want to think about it that way of course, but really, how else was he supposed to think about home? Who knew how far away it was and who knew if they would ever make it off this fucking island. They didn't know if it was even possible to survive this damn game together and go home. After all, there was only supposed to be one survivor when all was said and done, right? You never know when you might die so you should always live every day as if it could be your last... that was no truer than it was now when they really could die at any time.
So, do what you can while you have the ability to do so. Is that right?
"Hey, Peter?"
He might not get another chance.
"Can I tell you something?"
They might never get a moment alone like this again.
"Well, it's kind of silly to bring it up now, but I might not get another chance, y'know?"
Do what you can while you still have the chance. Say what you can.
"Well, I--"
He never did get to finish his sentence.
No.
No no no no no no.
Not now.
Not after all this.
This can't be happening.
Why now?
Why here?
Why her?
"No no no no no no no no. God no!"
The tears were the first to come after the panic and they came hard. The feeling of his heart climbing into his throat and his stomach tying itself up in a cold knot? That came a few seconds later.
"Oh god no, please no."
Not her!
Please not her!
"Where is it, where is it?!"
He dug frantically through his bags, kneeling in the dirt and the muck next to Peter, not caring about Brook nor Jason a little further away, just trying to find that GOD DAMN FIRST AID KIT NOW WHERE WAS IT?!
"Here!"
Tearing open the container and leaving most of the contents strewn about on the backpack, he began tearing open packages of gauze and bandages, handing them over to Peter as fast as he possibly could. Nothing else mattered now besides Peter and Tiffany, trying to save her life.
Well, almost nothing.
That silver little object sitting in his backpack mattered.
Revenge mattered.
If anything happened to Tiffany...
If William failed to keep his promise to her...
Well, he didn't know what he would do.
But Tiffany wasn't going to die alone.
Sure, it had been fairly uneventful, wandering around the swamp and avoiding slipping into the occasional pool of murky stagnant water, but it had been the closest thing to a normal time he'd spent with Peter in the couple hours they'd managed to spend together. Thing had been somber when they first hooked up again, back in the city, but now? Now it all seemed to be getting better. They had been talking about all the things they used to do and the places they'd like to go, trails they'd like to hike and the Minnesota winters that made for some interesting times. Despite their current task and despite the place they were in, they were actually having fun wandering around in the mud and the muck sharing stories.
Well, all good things have to end, as they say.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Right now, I kind of wish we could be out fishing. Just sitting by the lake and doing nothing? That's a far sight more enjoyable than wading through mud."
White suckers and northern pike, musky and bigmouth bass... Yeah, fishing back home was really fun. The perfect way to relax after a long hike out to the campground was to sit back with your line in the water and just watch the water. Great time to sneak a few drinks too, if you were so inclined. Who knows, you might even get lucky and catch something good enough to cook for dinner. Yeah, fishing was fun.
"...I want to go home."
William muttered idly as they walked and searched, choking up for a moment when he did speak. Thinking about home now was hard, thinking about all the places he might not be able to visit or the things he might not be able to do again. It was depressing and frankly, it was upsetting to think about it that way. He didn't want to think about it that way of course, but really, how else was he supposed to think about home? Who knew how far away it was and who knew if they would ever make it off this fucking island. They didn't know if it was even possible to survive this damn game together and go home. After all, there was only supposed to be one survivor when all was said and done, right? You never know when you might die so you should always live every day as if it could be your last... that was no truer than it was now when they really could die at any time.
So, do what you can while you have the ability to do so. Is that right?
"Hey, Peter?"
He might not get another chance.
"Can I tell you something?"
They might never get a moment alone like this again.
"Well, it's kind of silly to bring it up now, but I might not get another chance, y'know?"
Do what you can while you still have the chance. Say what you can.
"Well, I--"
He never did get to finish his sentence.
No.
No no no no no no.
Not now.
Not after all this.
This can't be happening.
Why now?
Why here?
Why her?
"No no no no no no no no. God no!"
The tears were the first to come after the panic and they came hard. The feeling of his heart climbing into his throat and his stomach tying itself up in a cold knot? That came a few seconds later.
"Oh god no, please no."
Not her!
Please not her!
"Where is it, where is it?!"
He dug frantically through his bags, kneeling in the dirt and the muck next to Peter, not caring about Brook nor Jason a little further away, just trying to find that GOD DAMN FIRST AID KIT NOW WHERE WAS IT?!
"Here!"
Tearing open the container and leaving most of the contents strewn about on the backpack, he began tearing open packages of gauze and bandages, handing them over to Peter as fast as he possibly could. Nothing else mattered now besides Peter and Tiffany, trying to save her life.
Well, almost nothing.
That silver little object sitting in his backpack mattered.
Revenge mattered.
If anything happened to Tiffany...
If William failed to keep his promise to her...
Well, he didn't know what he would do.
But Tiffany wasn't going to die alone.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Dr. Nic. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
There was something on Tiffany's shirt, and before there was any concious thought of what it was, Brook innocently thought to remove it. The suddenness of it just being there, though, had struck his nerves to cause them to delay just enough for his brain to register what was now sticking out of Tiffany's chest. Tiffany, the girl that Brook shyly harbored all of his love for, the person he felt strongest towards besides his best friend, was hurt, and there was no telling just how bad she was.
"Tiffany, what..." Brook whimpered, still completely unable to comprehend what exactly had happened to this point. There was no reason for somebody like her to be hurt... none whatsoever. So what was he looking at? Why was there that dart sticking out of her, how did it get there? No... things just weren't adding up, obvious facts to be missed, things couldn't be going the way he was seeing or hearing or...
She fell to her knees right in front of him. Tiffany had fallen, then looked to Brook with those striking, pure eyes. Brook stammered, an unemoted tear of frustration dripping from his eye. He wanted to call out to her, but his lungs only pushed out air, his voice box clenched up tight.
"Liam, be...hind you...."
The amount of pain her words held wrenched at Brook's heart, made it bleed just as bad as the terrible and foul blood that had begun to seep from her chest. Such pain wanted to drag Brook down to Tiffany and send him to his knees, but the words themselves kept him standing. There was somebody behind him... somebody who had harmed Tiffany?
If there was a muscle capable of clenching up in Brook's body, then it had done so. The innocent girl that he loved had been injured just when he had found her, sent her down to her side. The tears streaming down his face, Brook turned his head over his shoulder to see who had to die, to pay for the blood that had been spilt. The blood... all the blood that even now threatened to pull Brook in, to send it all gushing out in a fountain of nonsense...
But all he saw was Jason, with gun still pointed.
No. No. NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!
Brook stared at him for a few moments, then looked back to Tiffany. A loud voice had sounded, a female one... that's right, Eiko was here, but she no longer mattered. It was Jason... Tiffany... blood, those three things spinning over and over, enough to make Brook cry and scream. Yet the boy was silent, he needed to help, and to deny what couldn't have transpired, since it was the only way any of this would ever make sense, damn it! "No, he... he didn't... please, God, no..." He was about to step closer, defy the blood's call when...
"What the hell did you do, Brook?"
His eyes widened. Him.... do this?
But...
"No... I didn't..." Brook said, defeated, looking at Peter. "Please..." He dry-heaved on the spot, ending his sentence and forcing his head down to stare at the injured girl. Peter had begun to treat her, to cover his hands in the salty red substance that seemed to get everywhere, running like the rivers found only in hell. The only way away from the currents was to run, but Peter had clearly ordered him to stay in place, something Brook did. He had to do it, to stare at the crimson tears leaking out...
And there was more of it. More and more and more from a girl who couldn't contain what kept her alive. So much blood... so much.
Brook pushed his chin upward, staring at the sky until his eyes felt dry, then jerkily turned to look at Jason once again. The only person that he had cared for more than Tiffany herself, and he had done this... he had to have done this, there was no more denying it.
"Jason..... JASON.... GET DOWN HERE!!!!"
Half of it was screaming, half of it was crying, all of it was convulsing.
What is happening to her... what is happening to us!?
...
What is happening to me?
"Tiffany, what..." Brook whimpered, still completely unable to comprehend what exactly had happened to this point. There was no reason for somebody like her to be hurt... none whatsoever. So what was he looking at? Why was there that dart sticking out of her, how did it get there? No... things just weren't adding up, obvious facts to be missed, things couldn't be going the way he was seeing or hearing or...
She fell to her knees right in front of him. Tiffany had fallen, then looked to Brook with those striking, pure eyes. Brook stammered, an unemoted tear of frustration dripping from his eye. He wanted to call out to her, but his lungs only pushed out air, his voice box clenched up tight.
"Liam, be...hind you...."
The amount of pain her words held wrenched at Brook's heart, made it bleed just as bad as the terrible and foul blood that had begun to seep from her chest. Such pain wanted to drag Brook down to Tiffany and send him to his knees, but the words themselves kept him standing. There was somebody behind him... somebody who had harmed Tiffany?
If there was a muscle capable of clenching up in Brook's body, then it had done so. The innocent girl that he loved had been injured just when he had found her, sent her down to her side. The tears streaming down his face, Brook turned his head over his shoulder to see who had to die, to pay for the blood that had been spilt. The blood... all the blood that even now threatened to pull Brook in, to send it all gushing out in a fountain of nonsense...
But all he saw was Jason, with gun still pointed.
No. No. NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!
Brook stared at him for a few moments, then looked back to Tiffany. A loud voice had sounded, a female one... that's right, Eiko was here, but she no longer mattered. It was Jason... Tiffany... blood, those three things spinning over and over, enough to make Brook cry and scream. Yet the boy was silent, he needed to help, and to deny what couldn't have transpired, since it was the only way any of this would ever make sense, damn it! "No, he... he didn't... please, God, no..." He was about to step closer, defy the blood's call when...
"What the hell did you do, Brook?"
His eyes widened. Him.... do this?
But...
"No... I didn't..." Brook said, defeated, looking at Peter. "Please..." He dry-heaved on the spot, ending his sentence and forcing his head down to stare at the injured girl. Peter had begun to treat her, to cover his hands in the salty red substance that seemed to get everywhere, running like the rivers found only in hell. The only way away from the currents was to run, but Peter had clearly ordered him to stay in place, something Brook did. He had to do it, to stare at the crimson tears leaking out...
And there was more of it. More and more and more from a girl who couldn't contain what kept her alive. So much blood... so much.
Brook pushed his chin upward, staring at the sky until his eyes felt dry, then jerkily turned to look at Jason once again. The only person that he had cared for more than Tiffany herself, and he had done this... he had to have done this, there was no more denying it.
"Jason..... JASON.... GET DOWN HERE!!!!"
Half of it was screaming, half of it was crying, all of it was convulsing.
What is happening to her... what is happening to us!?
...
What is happening to me?
Jason paused.
He had done the right thing. Hadn't he? Tiffany was going to shoot Brook. He had seen her pull up the gun. That was the only reason why she would do that wasn't it? Couldn't any of them see that? Couldn't Brook see that? One look at the distraught boy gave Jason all the answers he needed. Brook, his fun, friendly mate who would tentatively remove insects from his beloved flowers and place them safely away rather than crushing them had a look in his eyes unlike anything Jason had ever seen before. Something he had seen in others, but never in Brooks. It looked like...
Rage
Still Jason had to protect Brook. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins and although he lowered his gun he kept a watchful eye out on the others in the scene. It seemed like everyone was frantically trying to help Tiffany. Desperately pulling bandages from the first aid kid or pressing hard on the wound in her chest. Jason opened his mouth to speak.
"Brook I..."
What's wrong with you? Speak. SPEAK DAMN YOU
His mouth was dry, his voice hoarse. The look Brook gave him was so venomous, so full of murderous intent he was stopped in his tracks. Jason willed himself. He willed himself to tell Brook he had done it for him. To tell him that Tiffany was going to shoot him, that Brook was blinded by his love for the girl, that he couldn't let his best mate die in the mud of this god forsaken bog. Yet try as he might nothing came out. He stood stock still as thin icy tendrils seemed to freeze his legs in place. Gazing over the last breaths of Tiffany as she struggled for words as the others frantically tried to save her life.
He had done the right thing. It was survival of the fittest. Tiffany was going to shoot Brook.
What if she wasn't?
Doubt began to creep in to Jason's mind as he stared at the scene before him. If he was wrong then he had shot an innocent person – Tiffany hadn't killed anyone from what he had heard, and more to the point he might have done the only thing that could ruin his friendship with his best mate. He couldn't apologise, not now, not like this. He felt sick to his core, the blood rushing away from his face. He needed to sit or to run.
Jason did neither. He simply stood and watched as Tiffany began to gurgle, staring at Brook his face twisted in an expression of horror mixed with soul destroying guilt. Jason's face fell.
"Brook,
I...
Liam."
He had done the right thing. Hadn't he? Tiffany was going to shoot Brook. He had seen her pull up the gun. That was the only reason why she would do that wasn't it? Couldn't any of them see that? Couldn't Brook see that? One look at the distraught boy gave Jason all the answers he needed. Brook, his fun, friendly mate who would tentatively remove insects from his beloved flowers and place them safely away rather than crushing them had a look in his eyes unlike anything Jason had ever seen before. Something he had seen in others, but never in Brooks. It looked like...
Rage
Still Jason had to protect Brook. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins and although he lowered his gun he kept a watchful eye out on the others in the scene. It seemed like everyone was frantically trying to help Tiffany. Desperately pulling bandages from the first aid kid or pressing hard on the wound in her chest. Jason opened his mouth to speak.
"Brook I..."
What's wrong with you? Speak. SPEAK DAMN YOU
His mouth was dry, his voice hoarse. The look Brook gave him was so venomous, so full of murderous intent he was stopped in his tracks. Jason willed himself. He willed himself to tell Brook he had done it for him. To tell him that Tiffany was going to shoot him, that Brook was blinded by his love for the girl, that he couldn't let his best mate die in the mud of this god forsaken bog. Yet try as he might nothing came out. He stood stock still as thin icy tendrils seemed to freeze his legs in place. Gazing over the last breaths of Tiffany as she struggled for words as the others frantically tried to save her life.
He had done the right thing. It was survival of the fittest. Tiffany was going to shoot Brook.
What if she wasn't?
Doubt began to creep in to Jason's mind as he stared at the scene before him. If he was wrong then he had shot an innocent person – Tiffany hadn't killed anyone from what he had heard, and more to the point he might have done the only thing that could ruin his friendship with his best mate. He couldn't apologise, not now, not like this. He felt sick to his core, the blood rushing away from his face. He needed to sit or to run.
Jason did neither. He simply stood and watched as Tiffany began to gurgle, staring at Brook his face twisted in an expression of horror mixed with soul destroying guilt. Jason's face fell.
"Brook,
I...
Liam."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fanatic. 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.
((Eiko Haraguchi continued from March to Your Death))
Sooner than Eiko would have liked, she found herself marching across the island yet again. And yet, with this new trip, there was good news, and there was more bad news.
The good news was that she had more than Peter to talk to for once. She found herself getting along pretty well with Tiffany, having eagerly jumped at the chance to talk to her again as soon as their walk began. Eiko liked Tiffany. She was a harmless, well-meaning friend of Peter's, and hopefully once she and Eiko got to know each other better she could tell Eiko some embarrassing stories about Peter. Judging by the way they acted around each other, Peter and Tiffany seemed pretty close.
Then there was the bad news: their destination was buried deep in the swamp. Even with all the foresight Eiko had shown in dressing for the outdoors, she had no possible way of knowing that she would be needing hip waders on the trip. As hard as she willed her boots to stay sealed with her pant legs, she soon felt a trickle of water down her socks. Then it became a drizzle. Then a flow. Then a deluge. By the time Peter announced that they'd come within the general range of their destination, Eiko's socks were akin to sponges, weighing down each of her steps and making her feet cold and clammy. Thoughts of foot disease swam through Eiko's head, thoughts of hypothermia and malaria and yellow fever. At times she had to use her odd polearm as a walking stick.
Were she not distracted by idle chatter with Tiffany and the gang she would have nearly killed herself. Having someone else to suffer with, as Tiffany made it clear she was, actually made the burden of swamp-walking much easier on Eiko. When Peter announced that the four of them were to split up, and paired her off with Tiffany, she mouthed a silent prayer in thanks. Thus began their search for Tiffany's discarded belongings, including her gun, which Eiko wanted to say shouldn't be working. She'd heard something about guns before, something about moisture or water fouling up the mechanisms or the bullets or something? She didn't say anything about it, since she couldn't be sure about it, and if they found they gun, they'd know if she was right.
As Tiffany and Eiko walked, Eiko prepared to switch the subject of the conversation back to Peter, when Tiffany beat her to it. Specifically, she asked Eiko where she and Peter met up.
The question silenced Eiko for a moment. It seemed such an obvious bit of information to share that she was stunned she hadn't thought of doing it yet. Here she was prying into Tiffany's time on the island and she didn't volunteer any like information herself?
"Well, Peter and I met on the first day," she said, looking around for anything that might be part of Tiffany's equipment. "We were just outside the mansion and I guess... I don't know why, he just decided to help me out."
Her thoughts were interrupted by two things happening at once. First, Tiffany stopped and bent down. Second, an excited-looking boy sloshed his way up to the two of them, looking excited to see Tiffany in particular. "Tiffany! It's me, Brook! You're okay!!!" he yelled, happy to see her. Nobody had thus far been ecstatic to see Eiko. The realization hit her very suddenly, and it troubled her.
But it wasn't as sudden or troubling as seeing another boy point a gun at her and pull the trigger.
Eiko's first reflex was to drop her weapon and hunch down into a ball, covering her head with both arms and shutting her eyes tightly until the danger went away. A useless strategy, but in the heat of the moment, Eiko had nothing better in mind. Several heartbeats later, she opened her eyes, heard Tiffany's labored breathing. It wasn't Eiko the boy was aiming at. Tiffany asked her to call for Peter, so that's exactly what she did.
"SIU-SAN!"
She immediately set to work... looking over the wound and doing nothing much at all. All the miscellaneous bits of first aid knowledge in her brain flew away, leaving her with a bullet hole in Tiffany's chest. Should she strip away the clothing around the wound? Put pressure on it? Disinfect it? What? The mental paralysis left her withered and useless when Peter arrived, only springing into action when Peter demanded a first aid kit. She took one from her pack and thrust it into Peter's hands, getting a good look at the other boys.
Will was fuming. Brooks was devastated. And Peter had blamed him for it. She glared at the other boy, the one who just stood there while everyone else fell apart.
"It wasn't him, Siu-san! It was this one! This one! Why did you shoot her, kisama? WHY DID YOU SHOOT HER?"
Sooner than Eiko would have liked, she found herself marching across the island yet again. And yet, with this new trip, there was good news, and there was more bad news.
The good news was that she had more than Peter to talk to for once. She found herself getting along pretty well with Tiffany, having eagerly jumped at the chance to talk to her again as soon as their walk began. Eiko liked Tiffany. She was a harmless, well-meaning friend of Peter's, and hopefully once she and Eiko got to know each other better she could tell Eiko some embarrassing stories about Peter. Judging by the way they acted around each other, Peter and Tiffany seemed pretty close.
Then there was the bad news: their destination was buried deep in the swamp. Even with all the foresight Eiko had shown in dressing for the outdoors, she had no possible way of knowing that she would be needing hip waders on the trip. As hard as she willed her boots to stay sealed with her pant legs, she soon felt a trickle of water down her socks. Then it became a drizzle. Then a flow. Then a deluge. By the time Peter announced that they'd come within the general range of their destination, Eiko's socks were akin to sponges, weighing down each of her steps and making her feet cold and clammy. Thoughts of foot disease swam through Eiko's head, thoughts of hypothermia and malaria and yellow fever. At times she had to use her odd polearm as a walking stick.
Were she not distracted by idle chatter with Tiffany and the gang she would have nearly killed herself. Having someone else to suffer with, as Tiffany made it clear she was, actually made the burden of swamp-walking much easier on Eiko. When Peter announced that the four of them were to split up, and paired her off with Tiffany, she mouthed a silent prayer in thanks. Thus began their search for Tiffany's discarded belongings, including her gun, which Eiko wanted to say shouldn't be working. She'd heard something about guns before, something about moisture or water fouling up the mechanisms or the bullets or something? She didn't say anything about it, since she couldn't be sure about it, and if they found they gun, they'd know if she was right.
As Tiffany and Eiko walked, Eiko prepared to switch the subject of the conversation back to Peter, when Tiffany beat her to it. Specifically, she asked Eiko where she and Peter met up.
The question silenced Eiko for a moment. It seemed such an obvious bit of information to share that she was stunned she hadn't thought of doing it yet. Here she was prying into Tiffany's time on the island and she didn't volunteer any like information herself?
"Well, Peter and I met on the first day," she said, looking around for anything that might be part of Tiffany's equipment. "We were just outside the mansion and I guess... I don't know why, he just decided to help me out."
Her thoughts were interrupted by two things happening at once. First, Tiffany stopped and bent down. Second, an excited-looking boy sloshed his way up to the two of them, looking excited to see Tiffany in particular. "Tiffany! It's me, Brook! You're okay!!!" he yelled, happy to see her. Nobody had thus far been ecstatic to see Eiko. The realization hit her very suddenly, and it troubled her.
But it wasn't as sudden or troubling as seeing another boy point a gun at her and pull the trigger.
Eiko's first reflex was to drop her weapon and hunch down into a ball, covering her head with both arms and shutting her eyes tightly until the danger went away. A useless strategy, but in the heat of the moment, Eiko had nothing better in mind. Several heartbeats later, she opened her eyes, heard Tiffany's labored breathing. It wasn't Eiko the boy was aiming at. Tiffany asked her to call for Peter, so that's exactly what she did.
"SIU-SAN!"
She immediately set to work... looking over the wound and doing nothing much at all. All the miscellaneous bits of first aid knowledge in her brain flew away, leaving her with a bullet hole in Tiffany's chest. Should she strip away the clothing around the wound? Put pressure on it? Disinfect it? What? The mental paralysis left her withered and useless when Peter arrived, only springing into action when Peter demanded a first aid kit. She took one from her pack and thrust it into Peter's hands, getting a good look at the other boys.
Will was fuming. Brooks was devastated. And Peter had blamed him for it. She glared at the other boy, the one who just stood there while everyone else fell apart.
"It wasn't him, Siu-san! It was this one! This one! Why did you shoot her, kisama? WHY DID YOU SHOOT HER?"
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It might have been an eternity, but it felt like it only took an instant for her knight in shining armor to arrive. There were so many emotions reflected in his eyes: worry, concern, fear, hope. He could never hide anything with his eyes. She watched that fear turn into fuel for rage, and the pain that hid behind it. In another time, he might've taken time to sort out those emotions, and to think things through. This wasn't one of those times.
Peter made his judgment and turned his fury onto Liam. That wasn't right. Liam wasn't responsible for this. It had been some stupid fluke, some bad circumstances, that had resulted in this. Nobody was to blame, especially not Liam. Peter didn't know that. Tiffany needed to do something, or more people would be hurt.
She pushed herself up from the ground. Pain flared in her chest, an unimaginable piercing spike that conspired to keep her down. She had to ignore the pain, at least for now. If she didn't... she didn't want to think about that possibility. She sucked in a shallow breath; it felt strange and there was the sensation of a knife being slowly inserted into her wound. As long as she could say something, do something, to stop Peter, that was more important than the pain.
"It... wasn't.... Liam." The words felt just as strange coming out as the breath going in, and just as hard to say as well. But there was more; there was still that boy that had shot, that might be shooting again. "Shooter... from... be-" A fit of coughing interrupted what words she had wanted to say; each cough sent another twist down that knife in her chest. She could taste something distinctly not saliva in her mouth. She tried to take another breath to continue, but Peter was already there.
His hands worked deftly, and it seemed that he had already figured out what to do in seconds of exposing the wound. Tiffany tried to crane her head to get a better look at the thing that was causing the strange breathing problems and the pain, but Peter gently pushed her down. Just like in those movies, he had procured some makeshift bandage from his shirt. What a waste; Tiffany loved that shirt.
More pain. Peter was pressing that piece of shirt onto the wound, doing that first aid stuff that he'd probably learned before he had moved to Minnesota. Tears welled up in her eyes: it hurt so much. She wanted to cry out, but Peter was telling her that she'd be okay. Was she going to die? The fear reflected in Peter's eyes were at odds with his words.
Peter was shouting. Everyone was shouting. Why were they all shouting? It was so loud. Were William and Eiko and Liam okay? She wanted to get up, so she could see them, but Peter was still pushing her down. "Is everybody... okay?" Breathing and talking seemed to be a bit easier now. Her friend looked back down at her, his comforting smile still betrayed by his eyes. He reassured her, as he always did.
Tiffany had never seen Peter cry before. She didn't like to see people cry. She'd had enough of crying long ago. She had made it her personal goal to make sure people around her didn't cry, and she wasn't going to stop that now. "Don't cry," she whispered, "you know how much... I hate crying." She reached up with one hand, and wiped at the tears like in those movies. A red line followed in the wake of her finger.
He looked so different now. Gone were the walls he usually put up. Tiffany had found many things about Peter that were good: his intellect, his maturity, his charisma. What she had found most intriguing though was that there was so much hidden under that, which he rarely ever showed. Seeing him like this now, vulnerable and primal, Tiffany could confirm what she had always believed. He had so much potential to do good. Peter had the strength to do the right thing no matter how much people would hate him for it, and always thinking about others in everything he did.
The two of them were so very similar. She always found her own happiness in the happiness of others. He always put others' happiness before his own. Maybe that was why they had become as close as they had in these past two years. Maybe that was why she had fallen in love.
She'd never told him. She wanted to tell him now. She had been content with their friendship, but now things had changed. The past few days, filled with death and suffering, had turned her world upside down. She just wanted something to hold onto, something she knew would stand strong through it all.
Tiffany's hand found his, clasped around the wooden cross he always wore. His hand was so warm, full of life and strength. She wanted to be held by those hands, one last time, before God came to take her. "I never got to tell you... how I really feel...." Her body heaved under her with each gasping breath, but Tiffany hardly noticed anything beyond some minor difficulty in breathing.
He looked down at her hand for a moment, then shook his head and smiled at her. It wasn't the smile that lit up the world, but the smile that said that he had things under control. He told her he already knew, that she didn't have to say anything more. He said four words that she'd never forget. And he was telling her that they could talk later when she was all better. But Tiffany only really heard the four words.
"I love you too."
There were many things Tiffany had wanted to do with her life. She had wanted to be a teacher, or a singer, or a social worker, or a chef, or a nurse. She wished she could live her life five times over, and do all five of those things. She could live in New York, or Los Angeles, or Tokyo, or Paris, or London, and see five times more of the world. She'd make five times as man friends, and pray five times as much. And she knew each of those five times, she'd fall in love with the same man.
Now she knew it wouldn't have been in vain.
Tears streaked down Peter's face; his composure had been shattered. He was trying so hard to save her, but Tiffany knew it would be for naught. Her body felt cold, and her back felt wet despite the mostly dry ground she lay on. He probably knew it too. All he could do was to keep her calm, to make her think that everything would be okay. He didn't want to hear her last words, or see her sink into despair. All he wanted was to see her happy for a few last moments.
So why couldn't she give him what he wanted? It was the least she could do.
"I'm gonna... be okay?" Tiffany twisted her mouth into a smile for him. "Just need... some band-aids... and I'll be... good as new...." She coughed, though her brain barely registered the action. She couldn't hear shouting anymore, and the clouds were a lot fuzzier than they had been a little while ago. "Maybe... give me five... minutes to catch... my breath." Peter shook his head, telling her to stay with him and not to close her eyes. She'd have loved to follow that, but she was starting to actually feel a little tired. She looked up at the boy she loved, who she'd have given everything for.
Lord Jesus, please protect him. Guide him along Your will, and give him the strength to live on. I thank you for having given me this chance to have known You through him. May you continue to do make Yourself known to others through his actions. For this, I pray: Our Father....
She hadn't even noticed that her eyes were closed until she thought to open them again. There was no more pain, but there were still the tears. She looked up at her dear friend. "Peter," she whispered, "will you stay with me... until I wake up?" Her vision was blurry; she could barely make out his nod and could barely hear his yes.
Just five minutes to catch her breath.
G006: Tiffany Baker - DECEASED
Peter made his judgment and turned his fury onto Liam. That wasn't right. Liam wasn't responsible for this. It had been some stupid fluke, some bad circumstances, that had resulted in this. Nobody was to blame, especially not Liam. Peter didn't know that. Tiffany needed to do something, or more people would be hurt.
She pushed herself up from the ground. Pain flared in her chest, an unimaginable piercing spike that conspired to keep her down. She had to ignore the pain, at least for now. If she didn't... she didn't want to think about that possibility. She sucked in a shallow breath; it felt strange and there was the sensation of a knife being slowly inserted into her wound. As long as she could say something, do something, to stop Peter, that was more important than the pain.
"It... wasn't.... Liam." The words felt just as strange coming out as the breath going in, and just as hard to say as well. But there was more; there was still that boy that had shot, that might be shooting again. "Shooter... from... be-" A fit of coughing interrupted what words she had wanted to say; each cough sent another twist down that knife in her chest. She could taste something distinctly not saliva in her mouth. She tried to take another breath to continue, but Peter was already there.
His hands worked deftly, and it seemed that he had already figured out what to do in seconds of exposing the wound. Tiffany tried to crane her head to get a better look at the thing that was causing the strange breathing problems and the pain, but Peter gently pushed her down. Just like in those movies, he had procured some makeshift bandage from his shirt. What a waste; Tiffany loved that shirt.
More pain. Peter was pressing that piece of shirt onto the wound, doing that first aid stuff that he'd probably learned before he had moved to Minnesota. Tears welled up in her eyes: it hurt so much. She wanted to cry out, but Peter was telling her that she'd be okay. Was she going to die? The fear reflected in Peter's eyes were at odds with his words.
Peter was shouting. Everyone was shouting. Why were they all shouting? It was so loud. Were William and Eiko and Liam okay? She wanted to get up, so she could see them, but Peter was still pushing her down. "Is everybody... okay?" Breathing and talking seemed to be a bit easier now. Her friend looked back down at her, his comforting smile still betrayed by his eyes. He reassured her, as he always did.
Tiffany had never seen Peter cry before. She didn't like to see people cry. She'd had enough of crying long ago. She had made it her personal goal to make sure people around her didn't cry, and she wasn't going to stop that now. "Don't cry," she whispered, "you know how much... I hate crying." She reached up with one hand, and wiped at the tears like in those movies. A red line followed in the wake of her finger.
He looked so different now. Gone were the walls he usually put up. Tiffany had found many things about Peter that were good: his intellect, his maturity, his charisma. What she had found most intriguing though was that there was so much hidden under that, which he rarely ever showed. Seeing him like this now, vulnerable and primal, Tiffany could confirm what she had always believed. He had so much potential to do good. Peter had the strength to do the right thing no matter how much people would hate him for it, and always thinking about others in everything he did.
The two of them were so very similar. She always found her own happiness in the happiness of others. He always put others' happiness before his own. Maybe that was why they had become as close as they had in these past two years. Maybe that was why she had fallen in love.
She'd never told him. She wanted to tell him now. She had been content with their friendship, but now things had changed. The past few days, filled with death and suffering, had turned her world upside down. She just wanted something to hold onto, something she knew would stand strong through it all.
Tiffany's hand found his, clasped around the wooden cross he always wore. His hand was so warm, full of life and strength. She wanted to be held by those hands, one last time, before God came to take her. "I never got to tell you... how I really feel...." Her body heaved under her with each gasping breath, but Tiffany hardly noticed anything beyond some minor difficulty in breathing.
He looked down at her hand for a moment, then shook his head and smiled at her. It wasn't the smile that lit up the world, but the smile that said that he had things under control. He told her he already knew, that she didn't have to say anything more. He said four words that she'd never forget. And he was telling her that they could talk later when she was all better. But Tiffany only really heard the four words.
"I love you too."
There were many things Tiffany had wanted to do with her life. She had wanted to be a teacher, or a singer, or a social worker, or a chef, or a nurse. She wished she could live her life five times over, and do all five of those things. She could live in New York, or Los Angeles, or Tokyo, or Paris, or London, and see five times more of the world. She'd make five times as man friends, and pray five times as much. And she knew each of those five times, she'd fall in love with the same man.
Now she knew it wouldn't have been in vain.
Tears streaked down Peter's face; his composure had been shattered. He was trying so hard to save her, but Tiffany knew it would be for naught. Her body felt cold, and her back felt wet despite the mostly dry ground she lay on. He probably knew it too. All he could do was to keep her calm, to make her think that everything would be okay. He didn't want to hear her last words, or see her sink into despair. All he wanted was to see her happy for a few last moments.
So why couldn't she give him what he wanted? It was the least she could do.
"I'm gonna... be okay?" Tiffany twisted her mouth into a smile for him. "Just need... some band-aids... and I'll be... good as new...." She coughed, though her brain barely registered the action. She couldn't hear shouting anymore, and the clouds were a lot fuzzier than they had been a little while ago. "Maybe... give me five... minutes to catch... my breath." Peter shook his head, telling her to stay with him and not to close her eyes. She'd have loved to follow that, but she was starting to actually feel a little tired. She looked up at the boy she loved, who she'd have given everything for.
Lord Jesus, please protect him. Guide him along Your will, and give him the strength to live on. I thank you for having given me this chance to have known You through him. May you continue to do make Yourself known to others through his actions. For this, I pray: Our Father....
She hadn't even noticed that her eyes were closed until she thought to open them again. There was no more pain, but there were still the tears. She looked up at her dear friend. "Peter," she whispered, "will you stay with me... until I wake up?" Her vision was blurry; she could barely make out his nod and could barely hear his yes.
Just five minutes to catch her breath.
G006: Tiffany Baker - DECEASED
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-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
For what very little it was worth, Jason had come to the beckon of Brook's furious call. His approach was too slow, too useless. Jason... he made this entire damn mess, all of it! He should be the one to help, the one to fix everything, if there were any way to. Of course not... he didn't have the power to fix it at all, he only had the power to have broken Brook's world - the very same world that Brook had let him into with open arms, accepting him as a multi-year, steadfast friendship.
What Brook wouldn't give just to push and strain to force back the hand of the clock, just a little bit, to keep everything from crashing down around him. There wasn't a flower he wouldn't cut, a shrub he wouldn't dig, a garden he wouldn't burn... just to have Tiffany standing up again, smiling and not leaking so much of her blood all over herself. Her blood... it had to be held in, away from everybody else and Brook's sight.
So pretty... oh god, so pretty, somebody as pretty as her didn't deserve to be marred by such a substance.
Brook dropped to his knees, letting them soak in the wet, mucky land at Tiffany's side, staring at the wound in her chest. Peter was doing so much for her, and he was desperate to help... anything to keep her amongst them. Even as hopes faded to where light could no longer reach, the trauma guided Brook's hand past his own immovable phobia to touch the crimson-cloaked girl, press whatever Peter needed to press, trying to keep the area clean.
Hands trembled until their outline was an undiscernable blur. Brook's skin went pale and his breath grew raspy, usual symptoms as he prepared to faint at the sight of blood across the many, many times he was forced into encounters with it along his life. Something kept pushing, though, pushing him and pushing him to stay with Tiffany. To do something, wade through the tides of blood and save her life. His hands were, by now, just as stained as Peter's... but not as stained as Jason's.
"Brook... I.... Liam...
Brook climbed back to his feet and stared down at the girl. He had done everything for her he could, but she still seemed to be fading fast... and the cause was right behind him. "Don't talk like you can help..." Brook choked, turning around to look at his 'friend'. "... Because you can't. Don't try and... and... say things to try and make it all better, because you can't, Jason!" His voice began to crack with both emotion and strain, the combination of force and pitch making his words sound more like a shriek. "Look at her! See these!?"
Brook raised his hands, palm inward and fingers clutching at air. "This... this is Tiffany's blood? Look at what you did, and why? She wasn't a threat, she wasn't going to hurt me! Augh... she hasn't... never would hurt anybody! I didn't think you would either, man? So what the fuck!?"
He had been coming closer and closer to Jason, feeling weaker and weaker, but only filled with more anger and hatred for him. Only when he had stood within less than an arm's reach of the Australian did Brook's legs feel like they were going to wobble out from under him. He fell towards Jason, hands reaching out to hold himself up.
Not to mention try and choke all the air from Jason's body.
"And don't! CALL! ME! LIIIIIAAAAAAAAM!!!!!"
She didn't even love me back...
What Brook wouldn't give just to push and strain to force back the hand of the clock, just a little bit, to keep everything from crashing down around him. There wasn't a flower he wouldn't cut, a shrub he wouldn't dig, a garden he wouldn't burn... just to have Tiffany standing up again, smiling and not leaking so much of her blood all over herself. Her blood... it had to be held in, away from everybody else and Brook's sight.
So pretty... oh god, so pretty, somebody as pretty as her didn't deserve to be marred by such a substance.
Brook dropped to his knees, letting them soak in the wet, mucky land at Tiffany's side, staring at the wound in her chest. Peter was doing so much for her, and he was desperate to help... anything to keep her amongst them. Even as hopes faded to where light could no longer reach, the trauma guided Brook's hand past his own immovable phobia to touch the crimson-cloaked girl, press whatever Peter needed to press, trying to keep the area clean.
Hands trembled until their outline was an undiscernable blur. Brook's skin went pale and his breath grew raspy, usual symptoms as he prepared to faint at the sight of blood across the many, many times he was forced into encounters with it along his life. Something kept pushing, though, pushing him and pushing him to stay with Tiffany. To do something, wade through the tides of blood and save her life. His hands were, by now, just as stained as Peter's... but not as stained as Jason's.
"Brook... I.... Liam...
Brook climbed back to his feet and stared down at the girl. He had done everything for her he could, but she still seemed to be fading fast... and the cause was right behind him. "Don't talk like you can help..." Brook choked, turning around to look at his 'friend'. "... Because you can't. Don't try and... and... say things to try and make it all better, because you can't, Jason!" His voice began to crack with both emotion and strain, the combination of force and pitch making his words sound more like a shriek. "Look at her! See these!?"
Brook raised his hands, palm inward and fingers clutching at air. "This... this is Tiffany's blood? Look at what you did, and why? She wasn't a threat, she wasn't going to hurt me! Augh... she hasn't... never would hurt anybody! I didn't think you would either, man? So what the fuck!?"
He had been coming closer and closer to Jason, feeling weaker and weaker, but only filled with more anger and hatred for him. Only when he had stood within less than an arm's reach of the Australian did Brook's legs feel like they were going to wobble out from under him. He fell towards Jason, hands reaching out to hold himself up.
Not to mention try and choke all the air from Jason's body.
"And don't! CALL! ME! LIIIIIAAAAAAAAM!!!!!"
She didn't even love me back...
Jason stumbled back, but Brooks hands were upon him gripping his throat with an unnatural strength even for the tall gardener. Despite the humid weather the boy's fingers felt cold around his neck as if it was Brook who was the one who just died. Jason clasps his hands around Brook's wrists, struggling to pull them away from his windpipe in an effort to someone defend himself.
"She." Jason spluttered, gasping for breath as he managed to tug away Brooks hands from his throat momentarily. "She had a gun. She was going to shoot you!" Brook didn't stop, his eyes were wild. Jason felt lightheaded, his vision was going.
Everything began narrowing to a point, All he could see was Brook's face, his eyes condemning, like some sort of angel of judgement.
The swamp around him disappeared.
He let out a gasping breath.
It caught in his throat, clutched in Brooks deathly grip.
He tried to speak
It was all fading away.
Jason's eyes closed.
B046: Jason Harris - DETERMINED
not to go out this way.
His eyes fluttered open, a surge of adrenaline passing through his body. With a grunt he kicked off with his left foot, pushing Brook away, giving Jason a chance to pull away, stumbling to one side. He grasped his throat, raw from the pressure and slick with Tiffany's blood. Jason wasn't apologetic now, he was furious. Couldn't Brook see, he did it for him. He saved Brook's life. He was sure of it. Breathing heavily he pointed his hand out, yelling at Brook, his voice hoarse, his left hand clutching the pistol.
"Brook! Can't you see! She was going to shoot you! She had a fucking gun! I was... I was..." Jason trailed off, looking at the accusing stares of the others, Brook's venomous glare. "I did it to save you. You know I wouldn't just kill someone. Can't you see that?!" He was frustrated. Jason desperately wanted to believe he was right. He was so sure he was right. Tiffany was going to shoot. He had saved Brooks life. He began his next sentence. "Brook she.."
Brook had already sprung in motion pushing off his heels and sending a haymaker Jason's way. The Australian wasn't even expecting it and the force of the blow sent him sprawling, landing him next to the quickly cooling body of Tiffany.
"Get away from her!" Brook yelled, charging once more. Jason barely had enough time to stand up narrowly avoiding another furious swing from his best friend. Swaying back he bumped in to Peter. Jason's mind reeled. He was panicking now. Panicking bad.
The gun. Don't let them get the gun.
He spun around and stepped away from the group, now between him and Brook who, for the moment, had turned his attention to Tiffany. The other's however focused their attention on him. His gun went up, one handed waving about wildly.
"Stay the fuck back. Stay. The. Fuck. BACK."
He pointed the gun in turn at the three onlookers, his hand shaky. He needed to go. He should just turn and run. That was the right thing to do. The only course of action.
But Brook
He couldn't leave Brook there. He was his best friend. He needed a chance to explain. He shouldn't just leave him here. His jaw hurt. His heart thumped away at a million miles per hour. Jason didn't know what to do. He needed to move. Leave Brook and save himself, or fight for a friend who might not ever speak to him again.
This can't be happening. Not like this.
Not like this.
"She." Jason spluttered, gasping for breath as he managed to tug away Brooks hands from his throat momentarily. "She had a gun. She was going to shoot you!" Brook didn't stop, his eyes were wild. Jason felt lightheaded, his vision was going.
Everything began narrowing to a point, All he could see was Brook's face, his eyes condemning, like some sort of angel of judgement.
The swamp around him disappeared.
He let out a gasping breath.
It caught in his throat, clutched in Brooks deathly grip.
He tried to speak
It was all fading away.
Jason's eyes closed.
B046: Jason Harris - DETERMINED
not to go out this way.
His eyes fluttered open, a surge of adrenaline passing through his body. With a grunt he kicked off with his left foot, pushing Brook away, giving Jason a chance to pull away, stumbling to one side. He grasped his throat, raw from the pressure and slick with Tiffany's blood. Jason wasn't apologetic now, he was furious. Couldn't Brook see, he did it for him. He saved Brook's life. He was sure of it. Breathing heavily he pointed his hand out, yelling at Brook, his voice hoarse, his left hand clutching the pistol.
"Brook! Can't you see! She was going to shoot you! She had a fucking gun! I was... I was..." Jason trailed off, looking at the accusing stares of the others, Brook's venomous glare. "I did it to save you. You know I wouldn't just kill someone. Can't you see that?!" He was frustrated. Jason desperately wanted to believe he was right. He was so sure he was right. Tiffany was going to shoot. He had saved Brooks life. He began his next sentence. "Brook she.."
Brook had already sprung in motion pushing off his heels and sending a haymaker Jason's way. The Australian wasn't even expecting it and the force of the blow sent him sprawling, landing him next to the quickly cooling body of Tiffany.
"Get away from her!" Brook yelled, charging once more. Jason barely had enough time to stand up narrowly avoiding another furious swing from his best friend. Swaying back he bumped in to Peter. Jason's mind reeled. He was panicking now. Panicking bad.
The gun. Don't let them get the gun.
He spun around and stepped away from the group, now between him and Brook who, for the moment, had turned his attention to Tiffany. The other's however focused their attention on him. His gun went up, one handed waving about wildly.
"Stay the fuck back. Stay. The. Fuck. BACK."
He pointed the gun in turn at the three onlookers, his hand shaky. He needed to go. He should just turn and run. That was the right thing to do. The only course of action.
But Brook
He couldn't leave Brook there. He was his best friend. He needed a chance to explain. He shouldn't just leave him here. His jaw hurt. His heart thumped away at a million miles per hour. Jason didn't know what to do. He needed to move. Leave Brook and save himself, or fight for a friend who might not ever speak to him again.
This can't be happening. Not like this.
Not like this.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fanatic. 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.
She was... gone?
She couldn't just be gone...
She couldn't!
NO!
SHE WASN'T DEAD!
She...
She couldn't be.
She just couldn't. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. She was supposed to stay safe...
Will was supposed to protect her. He was supposed to keep her safe. They were supposed to find Peter and find a way out of this place. Everything... everything was supposed to be alright. Everything was supposed to be alright! None of this was supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to die... Not like this. Not here. Not now. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. She was supposed to make it out of this and go on with her life, they all were, they were supposed to survive and everything was supposed to be alright...
But not anymore.
Everything was moving so fast around him and all he could do was stare at Tiffany as she lay there on the ground as everything was stained red. Peter's hands, Brook's hands... Jason's hands. His were stained the most. He was the cause of all of this. He was the one responsible. He killed her. He killed her and he had to pay for it. He did this! Even from behind tear filled eyes and with blurred vision, Will could do nothing but glare at Jason. An accusatory stare... He did this.
It was...
It was all his fault.
His fault!
HE DID THIS!
MAKE HIM PAY!
"You killed her."
William broke his silence as he stared at Jason, glared at him as he backed away and pointed the gun at all of them. Will's hand was still on his backpack, on the empty packets of gauze and the contents of the first aid kit that had been strewn all over the ground around them. All in vain because Jason shot and killed Tiffany. Because he did the wrong thing. Because it was his fault. Because he was to blame...
Will wrapped his fingers around that cold metal.
"You killed her..."
What do you pray for?
Health.
Help.
Happiness.
Forgiveness...
Prayer and faith had a lot to do with forgiveness, didn't it? Tiffany and Peter prayed a lot. They forgave a lot. But Will... he couldn't do that. Even after spending so much time with Tiffany, even after praying with her and begging her God for the forgiveness he so desperately wanted for having a hand in Trevor's death... Even after all of that, Will just couldn't forgive this.
He could... it was always possible to forgive someone for anything...
But he wouldn't.
Not for this.
"You killed her!"
Will pulled the backpack closer.
It's contents hidden from sight just for a moment longer. Wait for the right moment... Don't do anything without planning. Wait for the right moment... make him pay. It didn't matter what happened to him, as long as Jason would pay. He had to. He had to. He was responsible and this was the consequence. He had to pay for her death. She didn't need to die, not here, not now. It was his fault. But as long as Will was still breathing, he wasn't going to let him get away with it. Tiffany didn't need to die alone... and Will would make sure of that. As long as he was still breathing...
Tiffany wouldn't die alone.
"Burn in hell."
She couldn't just be gone...
She couldn't!
NO!
SHE WASN'T DEAD!
She...
She couldn't be.
She just couldn't. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. She was supposed to stay safe...
Will was supposed to protect her. He was supposed to keep her safe. They were supposed to find Peter and find a way out of this place. Everything... everything was supposed to be alright. Everything was supposed to be alright! None of this was supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to die... Not like this. Not here. Not now. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. She was supposed to make it out of this and go on with her life, they all were, they were supposed to survive and everything was supposed to be alright...
But not anymore.
Everything was moving so fast around him and all he could do was stare at Tiffany as she lay there on the ground as everything was stained red. Peter's hands, Brook's hands... Jason's hands. His were stained the most. He was the cause of all of this. He was the one responsible. He killed her. He killed her and he had to pay for it. He did this! Even from behind tear filled eyes and with blurred vision, Will could do nothing but glare at Jason. An accusatory stare... He did this.
It was...
It was all his fault.
His fault!
HE DID THIS!
MAKE HIM PAY!
"You killed her."
William broke his silence as he stared at Jason, glared at him as he backed away and pointed the gun at all of them. Will's hand was still on his backpack, on the empty packets of gauze and the contents of the first aid kit that had been strewn all over the ground around them. All in vain because Jason shot and killed Tiffany. Because he did the wrong thing. Because it was his fault. Because he was to blame...
Will wrapped his fingers around that cold metal.
"You killed her..."
What do you pray for?
Health.
Help.
Happiness.
Forgiveness...
Prayer and faith had a lot to do with forgiveness, didn't it? Tiffany and Peter prayed a lot. They forgave a lot. But Will... he couldn't do that. Even after spending so much time with Tiffany, even after praying with her and begging her God for the forgiveness he so desperately wanted for having a hand in Trevor's death... Even after all of that, Will just couldn't forgive this.
He could... it was always possible to forgive someone for anything...
But he wouldn't.
Not for this.
"You killed her!"
Will pulled the backpack closer.
It's contents hidden from sight just for a moment longer. Wait for the right moment... Don't do anything without planning. Wait for the right moment... make him pay. It didn't matter what happened to him, as long as Jason would pay. He had to. He had to. He was responsible and this was the consequence. He had to pay for her death. She didn't need to die, not here, not now. It was his fault. But as long as Will was still breathing, he wasn't going to let him get away with it. Tiffany didn't need to die alone... and Will would make sure of that. As long as he was still breathing...
Tiffany wouldn't die alone.
"Burn in hell."
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Eiko felt wretched, felt dirty. She didn't belong here. She didn't have a place here. She was a voyeur, privy to the last, tragic moments of intimacy Peter and Tiffany would ever have. Nobody noticed that she could hear and see it all; nobody cared. They wouldn't make shoo her away just so Peter could part with his beloved. Only she could do that, and in the end, she did.
The practical self-preserver in her wanted her to stay. Wanted her to see death firsthand. Because no matter what the circumstances, no matter who she met or what happened, she would have to see others die if she wanted to live the rest of her life.
Even if the death she saw was Peter's.
Tiffany's body finally leaked its last, shuddering and coming to a complete stop. When that happened, Eiko was feet away, crouched with her fingers in her ears. She saw the odious little boy who pulled the trigger, and then she saw his gardener friend charge him, wrap his fingers around his throat like a necktie.
He sputtered an excuse. He claimed to be acting in Brooks's defense, that Tiffany was a killer waiting to pounce. The words caused Eiko's temper to flare; she sprung into action, grabbing her discarded sleeve-catcher and pointing it squarely at Harris's head.
"Liar!" she shrieked. "She wasn't going to shoot anyone! How could she? Her gun was in the water, and guns don't work wet!" She'd heard stories of wet powder making bullets useless, and assumed it was true of this gun as well. "You couldn't have just pointed the gun at her? You couldn't have talked to her? No, you had to shoot her first, BAKAYARO!"
She vented at Harris for too many seconds, when she should have just been beating him over the head with her weapon. But her hesitation let him break free of Brook's grip, pointing his gun at all the people who wanted him dead.
Eiko wasn't about to oblige him. Her anger wasn't enough to make her risk her life like that. Especially not when Will had a much better solution in his backpack.
She could always stomp his face into the dirt after he was killed.
The practical self-preserver in her wanted her to stay. Wanted her to see death firsthand. Because no matter what the circumstances, no matter who she met or what happened, she would have to see others die if she wanted to live the rest of her life.
Even if the death she saw was Peter's.
Tiffany's body finally leaked its last, shuddering and coming to a complete stop. When that happened, Eiko was feet away, crouched with her fingers in her ears. She saw the odious little boy who pulled the trigger, and then she saw his gardener friend charge him, wrap his fingers around his throat like a necktie.
He sputtered an excuse. He claimed to be acting in Brooks's defense, that Tiffany was a killer waiting to pounce. The words caused Eiko's temper to flare; she sprung into action, grabbing her discarded sleeve-catcher and pointing it squarely at Harris's head.
"Liar!" she shrieked. "She wasn't going to shoot anyone! How could she? Her gun was in the water, and guns don't work wet!" She'd heard stories of wet powder making bullets useless, and assumed it was true of this gun as well. "You couldn't have just pointed the gun at her? You couldn't have talked to her? No, you had to shoot her first, BAKAYARO!"
She vented at Harris for too many seconds, when she should have just been beating him over the head with her weapon. But her hesitation let him break free of Brook's grip, pointing his gun at all the people who wanted him dead.
Eiko wasn't about to oblige him. Her anger wasn't enough to make her risk her life like that. Especially not when Will had a much better solution in his backpack.
She could always stomp his face into the dirt after he was killed.
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She can't be dead.
Peter couldn't feel anything. No pulse. No heaving breaths. No life in the body that lay before him. Tiffany was dead. He couldn't feel anything. No sadness. No anger. No relief that she had died happy. But he should be feeling something. He should be crying that someone he cared about was dead. He should be angry that someone had murdered her. He should be glad that she had died with a smile on her face. But he felt nothing.
No, that was wrong. Peter felt guilty. Guilty that he couldn't protect her. Guilty that his decisions had led to her death. He felt weak and powerless. He couldn't save one person; he couldn't do anything right. All he had done was fail at what he'd said he would do. Failure compounded on top of failures. He wasn't able to protect her. How could he protect Will or Eiko? The only thing he could do was screw up and hurt people.
So hurt them. Win this game. At least then I'll have succeeded at something.
Brook and Jason and Eiko and Will were all yelling. Their words didn't even register to Peter. He just reached over and traced a cross on Tiffany's forehead, mouthing a prayer as he did so. The Last Rites were a set of prayers that Peter wasn't familiar with; probably the only prayers in the Catechism he didn't know off the top of his head. He had never needed to learn it after all. His life had been idyllic, absent of the pains of illness and death. That had been days ago, before he'd found corpses littered around the island. Before he'd cut open another student's throat.
Something bumped into him, wrenching Peter's thoughts back to reality, and almost knocking him to the ground. He turned and narrowed his eyes at the source of the interruption. Jason Harris wasn't somebody Peter knew well. What he did know was that he was a soccer player, which wasn't a particularly useful piece of information at this time and place. Peter hadn't even noticed when Jason had showed up, but that was probably because he'd been too focused on something important, like saving lives.
Great job with that, by the way. I should try something more likely to succeed next time.
Peter had a size advantage, but Jason was holding what someone could call a gun. It didn't look like a lot of other guns, but had the same approximate size and shape of one. Of course, Jason was also freaking out and pointing the damn thing at everyone in sight.
It looks like there's a shot missing from that gun.
Wait a minute. Brook hadn't shot Tiffany, but here was this newcomer, toting what may as well be a gun. Logic dictated that gunshot wounds did not magically appear from nowhere, so somebody must've shot her.
What did I say I would do to murderers again?
Now that Peter wasn't drowning himself with his depression, he could figure out just what all that shouting was about. Everyone was basically just shouting things that corroborated Peter's own suspicions. Now Jason seemed as if he couldn't decide who he should be shooting next; he kept pointing the gun at someone different every time Peter blinked. He could see Eiko and Will out the corner of his eye, and Will looked to tensed up and was reaching into his backpack.
What is Will doing? He's going to get himself hurt.
Peter couldn't let Will do anything. If anybody was going to take Jason down, he was going to do it himself. He'd told Lucas that he'd personally make sure that no murderer got off the island, and he wasn't going to back down from that claim now. All he'd need was a weapon and an opening to close the distance.
Sword's at 2 o'clock, two or so meters. Don't bother with the gun, the sword's easier to use.
Plus, there was a good chance now that Jason would shoot somebody from being twitchy, and Will pulling out a gun would be just what was needed to set that off. Peter wasn't going to let Will get shot. Eiko was close to him too, and she could get hurt in the crossfire. If Peter moved first, that'd distract Jason from the others.
He waited until Jason pointed the gun away from him before springing into action. His sword, cast aside earlier, had landed just a few steps away. He tried to keep himself low to the ground, to make himself a smaller target as he moved. One step, two steps, and his hand closed around the sword's hilt. Peter felt strong with the weapon in his hand; there was no way he could lose with it.
Right when he pivoted around to face the smaller Australian boy, there was a loud bang and Peter felt something zip past his left arm. This was quickly followed by a burning sensation in his upper arm. It didn't matter much, as long as he could still use it; he could just take care of it later. He just needed to cover the few meters before Jason could shoot again. Peter wouldn't be as lucky if Jason got a chance to aim properly.
Would a gun like that actually sound like a real gun?
Peter couldn't feel anything. No pulse. No heaving breaths. No life in the body that lay before him. Tiffany was dead. He couldn't feel anything. No sadness. No anger. No relief that she had died happy. But he should be feeling something. He should be crying that someone he cared about was dead. He should be angry that someone had murdered her. He should be glad that she had died with a smile on her face. But he felt nothing.
No, that was wrong. Peter felt guilty. Guilty that he couldn't protect her. Guilty that his decisions had led to her death. He felt weak and powerless. He couldn't save one person; he couldn't do anything right. All he had done was fail at what he'd said he would do. Failure compounded on top of failures. He wasn't able to protect her. How could he protect Will or Eiko? The only thing he could do was screw up and hurt people.
So hurt them. Win this game. At least then I'll have succeeded at something.
Brook and Jason and Eiko and Will were all yelling. Their words didn't even register to Peter. He just reached over and traced a cross on Tiffany's forehead, mouthing a prayer as he did so. The Last Rites were a set of prayers that Peter wasn't familiar with; probably the only prayers in the Catechism he didn't know off the top of his head. He had never needed to learn it after all. His life had been idyllic, absent of the pains of illness and death. That had been days ago, before he'd found corpses littered around the island. Before he'd cut open another student's throat.
Something bumped into him, wrenching Peter's thoughts back to reality, and almost knocking him to the ground. He turned and narrowed his eyes at the source of the interruption. Jason Harris wasn't somebody Peter knew well. What he did know was that he was a soccer player, which wasn't a particularly useful piece of information at this time and place. Peter hadn't even noticed when Jason had showed up, but that was probably because he'd been too focused on something important, like saving lives.
Great job with that, by the way. I should try something more likely to succeed next time.
Peter had a size advantage, but Jason was holding what someone could call a gun. It didn't look like a lot of other guns, but had the same approximate size and shape of one. Of course, Jason was also freaking out and pointing the damn thing at everyone in sight.
It looks like there's a shot missing from that gun.
Wait a minute. Brook hadn't shot Tiffany, but here was this newcomer, toting what may as well be a gun. Logic dictated that gunshot wounds did not magically appear from nowhere, so somebody must've shot her.
What did I say I would do to murderers again?
Now that Peter wasn't drowning himself with his depression, he could figure out just what all that shouting was about. Everyone was basically just shouting things that corroborated Peter's own suspicions. Now Jason seemed as if he couldn't decide who he should be shooting next; he kept pointing the gun at someone different every time Peter blinked. He could see Eiko and Will out the corner of his eye, and Will looked to tensed up and was reaching into his backpack.
What is Will doing? He's going to get himself hurt.
Peter couldn't let Will do anything. If anybody was going to take Jason down, he was going to do it himself. He'd told Lucas that he'd personally make sure that no murderer got off the island, and he wasn't going to back down from that claim now. All he'd need was a weapon and an opening to close the distance.
Sword's at 2 o'clock, two or so meters. Don't bother with the gun, the sword's easier to use.
Plus, there was a good chance now that Jason would shoot somebody from being twitchy, and Will pulling out a gun would be just what was needed to set that off. Peter wasn't going to let Will get shot. Eiko was close to him too, and she could get hurt in the crossfire. If Peter moved first, that'd distract Jason from the others.
He waited until Jason pointed the gun away from him before springing into action. His sword, cast aside earlier, had landed just a few steps away. He tried to keep himself low to the ground, to make himself a smaller target as he moved. One step, two steps, and his hand closed around the sword's hilt. Peter felt strong with the weapon in his hand; there was no way he could lose with it.
Right when he pivoted around to face the smaller Australian boy, there was a loud bang and Peter felt something zip past his left arm. This was quickly followed by a burning sensation in his upper arm. It didn't matter much, as long as he could still use it; he could just take care of it later. He just needed to cover the few meters before Jason could shoot again. Peter wouldn't be as lucky if Jason got a chance to aim properly.
Would a gun like that actually sound like a real gun?
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Three people targets people. Ten metres maybe?
Jason wasn't very good with distances. He swung the pistol towards Will; the boy had something in his bag. Plus there was a look of fury in his eyes that Jason had seen before. However this ended, it would not be well.
"Don't even think about it."
Keep em away, gotta think. Think. Brook's still down there, too close. You can't let him die. You can not let him die. Did Eiko just move closer?
His gun jerked towards the girl
No, no she didn't. Will's got a gun, play smart, be smart.
The pistol swung back to Will. "Brook. We gotta go man. Get up. We gotta go." Jason half turned back to the group. "Look I don't wa..." A flicker of movement. Peter was up, moving going for something on the ground. Jason reacted by instinct, his arm swinging across his body to point at Peter and his finger pressing the trigger in a single moment. In the gaming community they'd call it a flick shot. Luckily Jason was never the best shot of the bat and the dart whizzed past the taller boy clipping Peter's arm. Jason's eyes widened as he realised 120 pounds of angry boy and sword was seconds away from colliding with him.
Oh shit.
Jason barely managed to dive to one side as the blade whooshed past him, the steel blade making a keening sound as it ripped through the air where Jason was standing. Putting his hand out he scrambled to find something to block the metal weapon, anything. Sure enough his hand clasped around a small branch just before Peter turned to swing again, this time with an overhead strike. Jason brought the branch up to parry the blow. The branch exploded upon impact, sending splinters and wood chips flying.
No shit Jason, what were you expecting? Get up, getup getupgetup!
He stumbled to his feet again, pulling away, out of reach from the deadly blade once more. Peter moved forward again, a look of irritation spliced with burning hatred. He tried a slash but Jason jerked back, just out of reach, and the silver blade cut only air. Jason circled to his right. Peter turned to follow, keeping the blade between them.
He might not be good with that thing, but he's smart about it.
There wasn't any way that Jason could close the distance without risking being stabbed. Peter pressed forward, placing each foot carefully on the uneven ground. The Australian gave way, breathing heavily, watching with focused eyes every step the taller boy took. Peter attacked, slashing, but Jason pulled back again, almost tripping over a low moss covered stone. Stumbling to the left he regained his footing, circling left towards Peter's off hand. Peter swung again, trying to hack at Jason's legs, but he didn't have the reach.
"Stand still and fight you murderer!" Peter roared as Jason pulled away again. Jason shook his head, almost imperceptibly. He'd seen enough movies and read enough books to know that a sword was deadly, even in unskilled hands, even the smallest misstep on his part would mean his death. Every instinct screamed at him to make a move, to turn and run, but Brook was still there, at least Jason thought he was, all his attention was focused on Peter at the moment. The heavy sound of footsteps jarred Jason back from his thoughts. Peter was coming hard at him, driving him back with his sword. The smaller boy scrambled backwards, ducking or jerking away from each blow. He couldn't get in to that killzone to disarm Peter, but he would have to do something eventually. His eyes narrowed, never leaving his foe.
He was quicker, he was sure of that, and in his rage Peter was making mistakes. A step too many here, an unbalanced swing there. More than once Jason had got to close and only luck and Peter's anger had saved him. Peter's sword came close, once, twice, a nick on his forearm, another across the chest, cutting the thin fabric of Jason's shirt and ripping through the upper layer of skin. He grimaced in pain as Peter continued to hammer him with blows.
The brief flurry of fighting ended as swiftly as it had begun when Jason sidestepped and slid behind a rotted tree. Peter lunged at where he had been, striking a spark off the dried wood of long dead trunk. Jason came out from behind the statue, hard and fast, still moving left, his arm swinging out as if to punch Peter's right side and disorientate him. Peter swung his sword down, but clumsily, and Jason's hand flashed upwards at his head. Peter jerked back at the last second, the blow sending him off balance for a moment but nothing more. He took a step back to brace himself and raised his blade again.
Shit, not going to get a chance like that again
Peter's rage was running its course, and with every move his actions seemed to be more cautious, smarter. Jason stepped to Peter's left again, away from the blade and feigned moving in. Peter drove forward off his back foot, his sword descending in a savage arc but Jason moved back once more taking a deep breath. He was hurt, but Peter was tired, swinging a sword takes effort. A bright finger of blood trickled down his green shirt as Jason went back in to a balanced stance. For the onlookers it must have been the strangest sight. Almost no words had passed between the two, rather singular grunts of effort and heavy breaths. As Peter lunged forth again Jason took stock, every swing was a little lower than the one before; Peter was drenched in sweat.
Don't get cocky.
He thought to himself as Peter's blade once again cut in to him, a deep shiny gash on his left leg. Still, Jason could hear Peter's laboured breath. Peter paused for a second and Jason relaxed. He shouldn't of. Peter's bullrush took caught him off balance. Peter crashed in to him and slammed the sword towards the boy. Almost, almost, Jason lost his feet... he staggered back, tripped over a rock and caught hold of the dead tree to keep his balance. Peter lurched after him, using both hands now to raise his sword. This blow surely would rend Jason from shoulder to stomach... if Jason hadn't been waiting for it.
But Jason jerked away. Peter's sword dug in to the dry bark of the tree, embedding itself deep within the wood. Jason was on him in a heartbeat, thrusting his knee forward to knock Peter back. Jason made a grab for the sword, his hand clasping over the handle for the briefest of moments
It's stuck in good.
He let it go and swung again at Peter. The taller boy blocked the first punch but not the second. He stumbled backwards and Jason pushed forward swinging wildly. Peter was clearly tired from the swordplay before but he managed hit with a haymaker sending Jason tumbling away. Jason recovered quickly and clambered to his feet, but not before Peter had moved back to the tree and begun pulling the blade from it's wooded grasp. His watch ticked over. Less than a minute had passed since they had started.
Jason to a risk and glanced beyond Peter towards the others. His eyes opened in shock.
"Brook, wait! No!"
Jason wasn't very good with distances. He swung the pistol towards Will; the boy had something in his bag. Plus there was a look of fury in his eyes that Jason had seen before. However this ended, it would not be well.
"Don't even think about it."
Keep em away, gotta think. Think. Brook's still down there, too close. You can't let him die. You can not let him die. Did Eiko just move closer?
His gun jerked towards the girl
No, no she didn't. Will's got a gun, play smart, be smart.
The pistol swung back to Will. "Brook. We gotta go man. Get up. We gotta go." Jason half turned back to the group. "Look I don't wa..." A flicker of movement. Peter was up, moving going for something on the ground. Jason reacted by instinct, his arm swinging across his body to point at Peter and his finger pressing the trigger in a single moment. In the gaming community they'd call it a flick shot. Luckily Jason was never the best shot of the bat and the dart whizzed past the taller boy clipping Peter's arm. Jason's eyes widened as he realised 120 pounds of angry boy and sword was seconds away from colliding with him.
Oh shit.
Jason barely managed to dive to one side as the blade whooshed past him, the steel blade making a keening sound as it ripped through the air where Jason was standing. Putting his hand out he scrambled to find something to block the metal weapon, anything. Sure enough his hand clasped around a small branch just before Peter turned to swing again, this time with an overhead strike. Jason brought the branch up to parry the blow. The branch exploded upon impact, sending splinters and wood chips flying.
No shit Jason, what were you expecting? Get up, getup getupgetup!
He stumbled to his feet again, pulling away, out of reach from the deadly blade once more. Peter moved forward again, a look of irritation spliced with burning hatred. He tried a slash but Jason jerked back, just out of reach, and the silver blade cut only air. Jason circled to his right. Peter turned to follow, keeping the blade between them.
He might not be good with that thing, but he's smart about it.
There wasn't any way that Jason could close the distance without risking being stabbed. Peter pressed forward, placing each foot carefully on the uneven ground. The Australian gave way, breathing heavily, watching with focused eyes every step the taller boy took. Peter attacked, slashing, but Jason pulled back again, almost tripping over a low moss covered stone. Stumbling to the left he regained his footing, circling left towards Peter's off hand. Peter swung again, trying to hack at Jason's legs, but he didn't have the reach.
"Stand still and fight you murderer!" Peter roared as Jason pulled away again. Jason shook his head, almost imperceptibly. He'd seen enough movies and read enough books to know that a sword was deadly, even in unskilled hands, even the smallest misstep on his part would mean his death. Every instinct screamed at him to make a move, to turn and run, but Brook was still there, at least Jason thought he was, all his attention was focused on Peter at the moment. The heavy sound of footsteps jarred Jason back from his thoughts. Peter was coming hard at him, driving him back with his sword. The smaller boy scrambled backwards, ducking or jerking away from each blow. He couldn't get in to that killzone to disarm Peter, but he would have to do something eventually. His eyes narrowed, never leaving his foe.
He was quicker, he was sure of that, and in his rage Peter was making mistakes. A step too many here, an unbalanced swing there. More than once Jason had got to close and only luck and Peter's anger had saved him. Peter's sword came close, once, twice, a nick on his forearm, another across the chest, cutting the thin fabric of Jason's shirt and ripping through the upper layer of skin. He grimaced in pain as Peter continued to hammer him with blows.
The brief flurry of fighting ended as swiftly as it had begun when Jason sidestepped and slid behind a rotted tree. Peter lunged at where he had been, striking a spark off the dried wood of long dead trunk. Jason came out from behind the statue, hard and fast, still moving left, his arm swinging out as if to punch Peter's right side and disorientate him. Peter swung his sword down, but clumsily, and Jason's hand flashed upwards at his head. Peter jerked back at the last second, the blow sending him off balance for a moment but nothing more. He took a step back to brace himself and raised his blade again.
Shit, not going to get a chance like that again
Peter's rage was running its course, and with every move his actions seemed to be more cautious, smarter. Jason stepped to Peter's left again, away from the blade and feigned moving in. Peter drove forward off his back foot, his sword descending in a savage arc but Jason moved back once more taking a deep breath. He was hurt, but Peter was tired, swinging a sword takes effort. A bright finger of blood trickled down his green shirt as Jason went back in to a balanced stance. For the onlookers it must have been the strangest sight. Almost no words had passed between the two, rather singular grunts of effort and heavy breaths. As Peter lunged forth again Jason took stock, every swing was a little lower than the one before; Peter was drenched in sweat.
Don't get cocky.
He thought to himself as Peter's blade once again cut in to him, a deep shiny gash on his left leg. Still, Jason could hear Peter's laboured breath. Peter paused for a second and Jason relaxed. He shouldn't of. Peter's bullrush took caught him off balance. Peter crashed in to him and slammed the sword towards the boy. Almost, almost, Jason lost his feet... he staggered back, tripped over a rock and caught hold of the dead tree to keep his balance. Peter lurched after him, using both hands now to raise his sword. This blow surely would rend Jason from shoulder to stomach... if Jason hadn't been waiting for it.
But Jason jerked away. Peter's sword dug in to the dry bark of the tree, embedding itself deep within the wood. Jason was on him in a heartbeat, thrusting his knee forward to knock Peter back. Jason made a grab for the sword, his hand clasping over the handle for the briefest of moments
It's stuck in good.
He let it go and swung again at Peter. The taller boy blocked the first punch but not the second. He stumbled backwards and Jason pushed forward swinging wildly. Peter was clearly tired from the swordplay before but he managed hit with a haymaker sending Jason tumbling away. Jason recovered quickly and clambered to his feet, but not before Peter had moved back to the tree and begun pulling the blade from it's wooded grasp. His watch ticked over. Less than a minute had passed since they had started.
Jason to a risk and glanced beyond Peter towards the others. His eyes opened in shock.
"Brook, wait! No!"
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