((Anna Chase continued from Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This))
Quite a bit of walking you did there, Chase.
She couldn't help but think that. Ever since leaving the willow tree behind she had been continuously walking, only occasionally taking breaks for bathroom, resting, drinking from the stream, or scavenging for food.
Really, what else was she supposed to do? She had no idea where to find Brendan. But the more ground she covered, the more places she'd have looked. And the more places she looked... the more likely she was to find him.
Her mind was still a bit out of it since the episode she had yesterday. Was she really freaking out so badly? Yeah, apparently she was. She could still remember being partially clothed, about to tear off her collar while yelling at the camera... Jesus Christ, self. She knew she could get emotional at times, but that?
In any case, she was now actually kind of glad she didn't go through with that suicide attempt. She was still here, sure, but she was still alive at least. And she had still not wavered from that decision. If she had to die, she was going to do it in style and honorably. Or at least, that was the plan.
Chase knew she had to rest again, though. But where?
Wait... was that a building in the distance?
She squinted at it. Yeah, apparently it was.
Worth a look...
Nope, nothing symbolic about this at all.
This looked an awful lot like a church. A church run by demons and serial killers, at least. There were pews, sure, but they looked like they had been torn apart in an explosion. The whole place looked like it had crumbled to pieces. Add in the dead bodies and the meaty dusty smell, and... yeah.
No, not symbolic of the fact that even the idea of a god or whatever deities were being killed by this place.
Chase loved the idea of religion. She was never particularly religious herself. But she went to church on Sunday at least two times, just out of curiosity, and found the ideas and concepts amazing. And not just Christianity, either. A lot of religions had beautiful things about them. It's just that people like Rachel Gettys made religion into something horrible.
And it was a sad sight to see a church in this state.
But, as much as she'd love to mourn the death of people just respecting a church, she knew that she was going to have to add to it, or at least she wanted to. It was probably a good idea to loot through, of course.
After placing the bag and shovel on the ground, she began inspecting the pews. But, she couldn't help but think of the previous announcement.
Örn Ayers, also known as Dutchy, was dead. So was Rashid Hassan.
She never knew either of them that well. But she knew one thing; Brendan knew them. She couldn't help but wonder how he was doing. Not too well, she bet.
She couldn't remember Rashid that well, but she could remember Dutchy a bit better. Dutchy was the kind of kid you always wanted to see make it out okay. The kind of person who with just one look made you want to protect him. The kind of person who always seemed to see the good side of people.
He was one of those people who deserved to live, overall.
Rashid, all she could remember of Rashid was that he was a /b/-tard or something like that. Chase wasn't too fond of /b/-tards, to be honest. But Rashid probably deserved to live, too.
Some world, huh? People die, that was true. In the movies she always watched, it was often the people who deserved to die who got slaughtered by the homicidal maniac. Not true in the real world. There was no reason to attack and shoot Dutchy. Dutchy wouldn't have hurt a fly, would he?
Chase stopped for a few seconds to cough into her hand, the dust and such getting to her.
How was Brendan doing? Presuming that he was still her friend. That he hadn't gone crazy. That he hadn't planned to kill any more-
No. Stop thinking like that. Maybe it was self defense. Ever think of that?
Well, that could be true, actually. She hadn't thought of that until now.
But in any case, she had to keep searching.
Maybe there was a left-behind bag, or some kind of food laying about.
Maybe.
Sacrifice Sheep To GOD!
Open! Come and play!
(Kitty Gittschall continued from Not Too Far Away)
Kitty did not feel in the least bit satisfied.
She had fooled herself into thinking otherwise. At first. Then she realized what she was feeling was different. She was angry. Dirty. Yet she did not feel regret, or remorse. So what if killing a total stranger didn't satisfy her? She didn't do it for enjoyment. It was more... of a pride thing. Yes. Satisfaction was more for who she was killing. But when she killed that boy, it didn't matter who he was. All that mattered was that she was strong enough to do it.
And after a time, she had looked up at a nearby security camera and smirked. A smirk that said a thousand words.
You see that? I hope you're looking. I'm not weak. I'm going to live. I'll do whatever it takes.
Kitty was serious now. She wasn't going to hide behind people like she had with Roland. Roland was probably shaking his head in hell. Crying too. What a baby. Maybe that was why she liked him. There was no way in hell someone could be so self-sacrificing. Maybe he just fed that little part of her that hoped for another way out of this game. Naive, yes, but understandable. Maybe she was being too hard on him.
Or maybe she wasn't being hard enough. Well, she would have to settle that once she sees him in hell, forty or fifty years from now.
She had not seen anyone else after the incident. That was until Chase walked in. Kitty had hid though, behind the table on the stage. She was sure Chase didn't see her.
The church was dark, a stunning contradiction compared to outside. The only shreds of light that manage to pierce through the small windows and into the darkness only served to the dim atmosphere. It was the kind of place Kitty liked, because she figured no one would ever want to go into a little shack like this unless they absolutely had to. Of course she was proven wrong, as with most of her assumptions. Despite that, she enjoyed her time alone. It gave her time to think. About the game. About mom and dad. About Roland. About her friends. About the boy with the black hair.
None of that was important now. The only thing that was important was what to do. She couldn't keep hiding, but she wasn't sure what to do with Anna. She certainly didn't want to kill her. Oh yes, killing her wouldn't be smart. Kitty had indulged herself once, and if she was to make it far she would have to stay in the shadows. The first time was to null the pain. The second time would only serve to scratch the itch, and while Kitty didn't have the itch, there was no telling what conclusions the contestants taking notes would draw. Killing the boy could be written off as being way too jumpy, perhaps even self-defense if Kitty did a good job at acting. Killing Anna would serve her no purpose.
Then again... Kitty's mind went back to the first day. It was hard to concentrate now. It was slowly slipping away from her. She could remember that she had met with Anna the first day. Kitty could remember faking a smile, like she always did when she wanted to fool people. Killing Anna would not benefit her... but keeping her around would.
Her judgement was waining. Perhaps it was the brandy that was making it hard to think. Yes, that must have been it. Kitty had not consumed much of the bottle in her hand but it was enough to cloud up her judgement. Someone had raided the alcohol that was hidden, but there were a few bottles left. Kitty had taken a gulp from it but stopped after the burn proved too much. Kitty was never a drinker.
She peeked her head out. She looked at Anna, who was busy... looking. Looting, probably. Kitty felt a sneer come on but she suppressed it. She got to her knees, hovering over the table.
"You're not going to find anything," she said plainly. She let her weight shift from one leg to the other. "Believe me, I checked. Only things that's here are bibles and bottles of alcohol... and I doubt that's what you're looking for."
Kitty did not feel in the least bit satisfied.
She had fooled herself into thinking otherwise. At first. Then she realized what she was feeling was different. She was angry. Dirty. Yet she did not feel regret, or remorse. So what if killing a total stranger didn't satisfy her? She didn't do it for enjoyment. It was more... of a pride thing. Yes. Satisfaction was more for who she was killing. But when she killed that boy, it didn't matter who he was. All that mattered was that she was strong enough to do it.
And after a time, she had looked up at a nearby security camera and smirked. A smirk that said a thousand words.
You see that? I hope you're looking. I'm not weak. I'm going to live. I'll do whatever it takes.
Kitty was serious now. She wasn't going to hide behind people like she had with Roland. Roland was probably shaking his head in hell. Crying too. What a baby. Maybe that was why she liked him. There was no way in hell someone could be so self-sacrificing. Maybe he just fed that little part of her that hoped for another way out of this game. Naive, yes, but understandable. Maybe she was being too hard on him.
Or maybe she wasn't being hard enough. Well, she would have to settle that once she sees him in hell, forty or fifty years from now.
She had not seen anyone else after the incident. That was until Chase walked in. Kitty had hid though, behind the table on the stage. She was sure Chase didn't see her.
The church was dark, a stunning contradiction compared to outside. The only shreds of light that manage to pierce through the small windows and into the darkness only served to the dim atmosphere. It was the kind of place Kitty liked, because she figured no one would ever want to go into a little shack like this unless they absolutely had to. Of course she was proven wrong, as with most of her assumptions. Despite that, she enjoyed her time alone. It gave her time to think. About the game. About mom and dad. About Roland. About her friends. About the boy with the black hair.
None of that was important now. The only thing that was important was what to do. She couldn't keep hiding, but she wasn't sure what to do with Anna. She certainly didn't want to kill her. Oh yes, killing her wouldn't be smart. Kitty had indulged herself once, and if she was to make it far she would have to stay in the shadows. The first time was to null the pain. The second time would only serve to scratch the itch, and while Kitty didn't have the itch, there was no telling what conclusions the contestants taking notes would draw. Killing the boy could be written off as being way too jumpy, perhaps even self-defense if Kitty did a good job at acting. Killing Anna would serve her no purpose.
Then again... Kitty's mind went back to the first day. It was hard to concentrate now. It was slowly slipping away from her. She could remember that she had met with Anna the first day. Kitty could remember faking a smile, like she always did when she wanted to fool people. Killing Anna would not benefit her... but keeping her around would.
Her judgement was waining. Perhaps it was the brandy that was making it hard to think. Yes, that must have been it. Kitty had not consumed much of the bottle in her hand but it was enough to cloud up her judgement. Someone had raided the alcohol that was hidden, but there were a few bottles left. Kitty had taken a gulp from it but stopped after the burn proved too much. Kitty was never a drinker.
She peeked her head out. She looked at Anna, who was busy... looking. Looting, probably. Kitty felt a sneer come on but she suppressed it. She got to her knees, hovering over the table.
"You're not going to find anything," she said plainly. She let her weight shift from one leg to the other. "Believe me, I checked. Only things that's here are bibles and bottles of alcohol... and I doubt that's what you're looking for."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
As Chase pushed aside various pieces of shattered pew, she knew one thing;
Her search was getting fruitless.
There was nothing here, at least in this pile of what was left of a set of pews. No food, nothing. Maybe she could look at what was available to her elsewhere in the building, but after searching for several minutes she wasn't sure if anything could pop up here.
Pushing aside one more shattered piece of wood, she was about to stand up, only...
Chase's head snapped up as someone suddenly approached out of nowhere.
Something about her voice and to some extent her appearance seemed familiar... but Chase couldn't put her finger on it. But no matter who it was, there was a good chance it wasn't a good thing they were there. Probably not. It proved one thing; she wasn't alone. Someone was, of course, in here with her. She stood up, and started backing towards the bag and shovel. Quickly, she reached down and grabbed her shovel.
"Uh, thanks. I was just... ah... l-l-looking for food, is all-"
She stopped herself in mid-sentence, having realized who she was talking to.
She figured out where she'd heard that voice before. It was so long ago, it was like a dream. And like all memories she had, it was a blur. Not just in the metaphorical sense like most of her memories, but in the literal sense.
And needless to say, she wasn't very happy about it.
First day. Kitty or whatever her name was had tried to help her. Then Gracie approached. And she and that other fuckhead had left her to die. They only stood there and talked while she was being mugged and with possible threat to her life.
Chase gripped the shovel, feeling a little frustrated.
For most of her time on the island, she had blamed herself for various things that happened to her and other people. Get mugged? You're too weak. Ex and best friend die? Your fault for screwing things up in the most literal sense. Marty gets injured? Couldn't stop it. Rekka gets beaten to death? Still your fault. Ben abandons you and gets killed? Should have kept your promise to protect him. Marty and Josh die? You just stood there and watched.
Before, whenever bad things happened, Chase would try to continue life with a smile. She even once joked to herself that if the world were to end tomorrow, she's be serving tea and cakes and chatting jovially while everyone else was freaking out. It wasn't that she was naturally calm, it was that she didn't like people seeing her as weak. Well, the game had proven her to be weak, that was for certain, so there wasn't much use for that nowadays.
And another thing was certain; for the first time in a while, Chase wasn't automatically blaming herself for bad things, and allowing bad things to happen. Instead, she was feeling a little cross at someone else. Not like the freak-out she had over Nick Reid, but different.
But, instead, she tried to put on that tea-and-cake serving smile. Well, she had to deal with her, right? Even if she didn't want to. Maybe leave in a few seconds.
"Hey... you're Kitty, right? I think I kind of r-recognize you... first day..."
She had tried to smile and be friendly while saying that, but a touch of contempt had popped up in the tone. She was still a little irritated at being left behind, after all.
Stay calm, deep breath.
"Thank you. I... I think I'll search elsewhere, then. There's a village nearby, right? Probably plenty of food! Maybe they have ice cream and cakes and brownies and stuff. I'd like that, no?"
There. She even added a bit of joking in.
Hopefully this Kitty didn't turn into the skull-cup using kid while she wasn't looking. God, she didn't want to deal with another skull-cup. Russian Monk Guy, Nick, Rachel, and Quincy were bad enough. She'd just barely survived those, and some people she knew didn't.
But she wasn't going to let her guard down again.
She was weak before, but not anymore. At least, she hoped so.
Her search was getting fruitless.
There was nothing here, at least in this pile of what was left of a set of pews. No food, nothing. Maybe she could look at what was available to her elsewhere in the building, but after searching for several minutes she wasn't sure if anything could pop up here.
Pushing aside one more shattered piece of wood, she was about to stand up, only...
Chase's head snapped up as someone suddenly approached out of nowhere.
Something about her voice and to some extent her appearance seemed familiar... but Chase couldn't put her finger on it. But no matter who it was, there was a good chance it wasn't a good thing they were there. Probably not. It proved one thing; she wasn't alone. Someone was, of course, in here with her. She stood up, and started backing towards the bag and shovel. Quickly, she reached down and grabbed her shovel.
"Uh, thanks. I was just... ah... l-l-looking for food, is all-"
She stopped herself in mid-sentence, having realized who she was talking to.
She figured out where she'd heard that voice before. It was so long ago, it was like a dream. And like all memories she had, it was a blur. Not just in the metaphorical sense like most of her memories, but in the literal sense.
And needless to say, she wasn't very happy about it.
First day. Kitty or whatever her name was had tried to help her. Then Gracie approached. And she and that other fuckhead had left her to die. They only stood there and talked while she was being mugged and with possible threat to her life.
Chase gripped the shovel, feeling a little frustrated.
For most of her time on the island, she had blamed herself for various things that happened to her and other people. Get mugged? You're too weak. Ex and best friend die? Your fault for screwing things up in the most literal sense. Marty gets injured? Couldn't stop it. Rekka gets beaten to death? Still your fault. Ben abandons you and gets killed? Should have kept your promise to protect him. Marty and Josh die? You just stood there and watched.
Before, whenever bad things happened, Chase would try to continue life with a smile. She even once joked to herself that if the world were to end tomorrow, she's be serving tea and cakes and chatting jovially while everyone else was freaking out. It wasn't that she was naturally calm, it was that she didn't like people seeing her as weak. Well, the game had proven her to be weak, that was for certain, so there wasn't much use for that nowadays.
And another thing was certain; for the first time in a while, Chase wasn't automatically blaming herself for bad things, and allowing bad things to happen. Instead, she was feeling a little cross at someone else. Not like the freak-out she had over Nick Reid, but different.
But, instead, she tried to put on that tea-and-cake serving smile. Well, she had to deal with her, right? Even if she didn't want to. Maybe leave in a few seconds.
"Hey... you're Kitty, right? I think I kind of r-recognize you... first day..."
She had tried to smile and be friendly while saying that, but a touch of contempt had popped up in the tone. She was still a little irritated at being left behind, after all.
Stay calm, deep breath.
"Thank you. I... I think I'll search elsewhere, then. There's a village nearby, right? Probably plenty of food! Maybe they have ice cream and cakes and brownies and stuff. I'd like that, no?"
There. She even added a bit of joking in.
Hopefully this Kitty didn't turn into the skull-cup using kid while she wasn't looking. God, she didn't want to deal with another skull-cup. Russian Monk Guy, Nick, Rachel, and Quincy were bad enough. She'd just barely survived those, and some people she knew didn't.
But she wasn't going to let her guard down again.
She was weak before, but not anymore. At least, she hoped so.
Despite the obvious, foul smelling resentment that bellowed from Chase, Kitty never once thought there was any bad blood. She didn't even remember how she let Chase get carted away.
In her mind, it was all in the bag. Chase was fooled.
"Yeah," Kitty nodded. "That's what my parents call me."
An attempt at humor. Kitty didn't smile though. In fact, the smile she forced felt almost lob-sided, and nothing like a smile at all. However, the humor from Chase was completely lost with Kitty.
"I can guarantee that you won't find any of that down there." She almost scoffed.
Kitty ran a hand through aqua locks. The alcohol was kicking in now, and she felt sick. And slightly paranoid, as she tried to study Chase's gaze.
"If you're nervous about, y'know, my being here, there's nothing you have to worry about."
Kitty's bottle hit the wood with a tiny clank.
"My advice is to hide. You look in good condition. You might make it that way."
In her mind, it was all in the bag. Chase was fooled.
"Yeah," Kitty nodded. "That's what my parents call me."
An attempt at humor. Kitty didn't smile though. In fact, the smile she forced felt almost lob-sided, and nothing like a smile at all. However, the humor from Chase was completely lost with Kitty.
"I can guarantee that you won't find any of that down there." She almost scoffed.
Kitty ran a hand through aqua locks. The alcohol was kicking in now, and she felt sick. And slightly paranoid, as she tried to study Chase's gaze.
"If you're nervous about, y'know, my being here, there's nothing you have to worry about."
Kitty's bottle hit the wood with a tiny clank.
"My advice is to hide. You look in good condition. You might make it that way."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Well, her name was indeed Kitty.
And she was sure that blur from the first day had a portion of blue near the top. She was sure of it. The blue was fading here and barely visible in the light, but there. And she looked familiar, as well. Like Chase had known her from before, in a class or something along those lines.
She didn't seem to realize her joke about the brownies and ice cream was... well, a joke, either. Did she seriously think that she was expecting to find melted ice cream in a fridge or something? It wouldn't last that long. It would become ice milk and then warm sugary chocolate flavored yogurt. At best. She didn't know how exactly milky things rotted in cases like this. Nor did she wish to find out. Well, she had a basic idea of how rotted milk tasted, based on that time she had grabbed a small carton past its expiration date in the cafeteria when she was younger (the last time she had eaten cafeteria food, actually). But the point remained.
What was this about hiding? Chase wasn't sure if hiding would work if she was off looking for Brendan. She wanted to see him again, damn it. He was probably the only person she had left in the world, and she wasn't sure if he would still be the same guy if she saw him. Hiding wasn't going to help her find him. Actually looking would. She didn't want to lose him as well, like she lost everyone else.
"Uh.... thanks? I c-can't really hide though. Looking for someone."
And then an explanation for the girl's behavior in the past few seconds. A bottle had been in her hands this entire time. Well, now she knew why she was acting like that.
And to be honest, she wasn't sure if it was a curse or a blessing. On one hand, it meant that she would be uncoordinated and confused if she attacked. On the other, it could increase her chances of getting attacked, if she made the wrong decision. Kitty had said that she had nothing to worry about, but you know. Drunk chick who could react in any way? Yeah. Usually not a good thing.
Chase continued to force that smile, despite her heart once more beating rapidly. Well, she should try to stay calm.
Another deep breath.
"Look. I think you're drunk."
Well, one didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out.
"And... uh... I guess I'll be heading-ing out soon. D-don't want to d-deal with p-people who not only couldn't h-help me, but are d-drunk-" she said hastily, but stopped herself.
Not only did her frustrated tone seep out just a little bit more, but she pretty much almost made it clear she was upset about earlier. Of course she would be upset about earlier. She had left her to die, and at the hands of Nancy Wainright, at that. She had just talked to that guy while she was being dragged away. Oh don't worry, the little blind girl could fight her off. It was a miracle she made it out okay, to be honest.
And it was kind of a miracle she wasn't screaming at Kitty on the spot, too.
Her hand was gripping the handle of the shovel a bit tighter. Nervous? Yeah, she was. Drunk people were unpredictable and... well, drunk. Add in personal experience of dealing with psychos in the past, and... well, you know. Plus the fact that, as noted, the drunk girl had left her to die.
That'd make anyone a little frustrated and nervous. A little, actually?
And she was sure that blur from the first day had a portion of blue near the top. She was sure of it. The blue was fading here and barely visible in the light, but there. And she looked familiar, as well. Like Chase had known her from before, in a class or something along those lines.
She didn't seem to realize her joke about the brownies and ice cream was... well, a joke, either. Did she seriously think that she was expecting to find melted ice cream in a fridge or something? It wouldn't last that long. It would become ice milk and then warm sugary chocolate flavored yogurt. At best. She didn't know how exactly milky things rotted in cases like this. Nor did she wish to find out. Well, she had a basic idea of how rotted milk tasted, based on that time she had grabbed a small carton past its expiration date in the cafeteria when she was younger (the last time she had eaten cafeteria food, actually). But the point remained.
What was this about hiding? Chase wasn't sure if hiding would work if she was off looking for Brendan. She wanted to see him again, damn it. He was probably the only person she had left in the world, and she wasn't sure if he would still be the same guy if she saw him. Hiding wasn't going to help her find him. Actually looking would. She didn't want to lose him as well, like she lost everyone else.
"Uh.... thanks? I c-can't really hide though. Looking for someone."
And then an explanation for the girl's behavior in the past few seconds. A bottle had been in her hands this entire time. Well, now she knew why she was acting like that.
And to be honest, she wasn't sure if it was a curse or a blessing. On one hand, it meant that she would be uncoordinated and confused if she attacked. On the other, it could increase her chances of getting attacked, if she made the wrong decision. Kitty had said that she had nothing to worry about, but you know. Drunk chick who could react in any way? Yeah. Usually not a good thing.
Chase continued to force that smile, despite her heart once more beating rapidly. Well, she should try to stay calm.
Another deep breath.
"Look. I think you're drunk."
Well, one didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out.
"And... uh... I guess I'll be heading-ing out soon. D-don't want to d-deal with p-people who not only couldn't h-help me, but are d-drunk-" she said hastily, but stopped herself.
Not only did her frustrated tone seep out just a little bit more, but she pretty much almost made it clear she was upset about earlier. Of course she would be upset about earlier. She had left her to die, and at the hands of Nancy Wainright, at that. She had just talked to that guy while she was being dragged away. Oh don't worry, the little blind girl could fight her off. It was a miracle she made it out okay, to be honest.
And it was kind of a miracle she wasn't screaming at Kitty on the spot, too.
Her hand was gripping the handle of the shovel a bit tighter. Nervous? Yeah, she was. Drunk people were unpredictable and... well, drunk. Add in personal experience of dealing with psychos in the past, and... well, you know. Plus the fact that, as noted, the drunk girl had left her to die.
That'd make anyone a little frustrated and nervous. A little, actually?
((Brendan Wallace and Peter Siu continue from The Strength to Stand Again))
Mirabelle was dead.
Điều gì đã xảy ra?
Rashid was dead.
Tại sao nó lại xảy ra?
Jackie was dead.
Tại sao anh lại cứu tôi?
Dutchy, of everyone left, was dead.
Tại sao tôi cho bạn đi?
This was one of the most gut-wrenching days of Brendan's life.
There was no question that over the last nine days, he'd experienced death. There was no question that he'd experienced so much death over the course of his entire life. His grandparents, a family friend or two, and once upon a time a close friend he failed in his time of need. Brendan was no stranger to the shadow of death, but it didn't stop the death of a friend, an ally he once knew, or even a general acquaintance, from hurting.
After the Announcements, they had to stop. Brendan was this close to some sort of nervous breakdown. Peter wanted to keep going, go...somewhere, just anywhere, but he couldn't keep going like he was. Soldiering on, just...tagging along with Peter's cause. And what was going to happen to him in the end? Would Peter turn on him, just like he suspected at the Docks? Was he going to drag him along for all this time and then just leave him to die, revealing his whole goal to be a stack of lies? What if, what if, what if?
What if's waited for nobody. Brendan composed himself. Ate silently. Moved on.
So...here they were. After a day of complete wandering, they ended up in a house of God. Brendan had become so lost by it all, he barely even cared about the pair of bodies ornamenting the outside walls. Two dead girls. Missing throats were noticeable, even from the distance at which they stood. His eyes strained.
Peter had told him about what happened with his three. Lucas, and Jessie, and Jackie as well. The girl who saved his life was now dead, killed by the same guy who was about to kill him. Talk about sacrifice right there. Jessie, according to him, was in this very house of God, standing right by him apparently.
But Brendan had pressed on, determined to check this place out anyway. What were the chances that someone he knew could be here? There were only so many buildings on this rock, and everyone he ever knew was slowly turning into one he knew, so there had to be someone here, right? Sarah? Roland? Harun? Sarah? Chase? C'mon, the luck had to be in his favour, right? Those metaphorical leprechauns couldn't stop shovelling it out of his pockets for a few minutes?
"You probably don't wanna be here, but...uh, we should check it out, at least."
His eyes shifted to the ground, avoiding Peter's gaze. Instead of waiting for some sort of permission to do what he was about to do, he did what he was about to do without telling him what he was about to do.
"I'll be fine, I just wanna check the place out."
Peter remained right where he was, outside. Brendan walked towards the towering doors. His fingers wavered. They pressed against the metal knobs embedded in the door. Pushed forward, and opened the door only a crack.
"-good condition. You might make it that way."
Someone was already here. Their voice scraped across the floor and into his eardrums as he held the door slightly open, agap at the seam. Their voice didn't seem too lifeless, to threatening. But the person they were speaking to, mystery person. Brendan held the door, trying to catch a whisper of who they must have been speaking to. Could have been a group. Could have been a solitary, lonely person. But whoever it was, it remained a mystery.
Until right then.
"D-don't want to d-deal with p-people who not only couldn't h-help me, but are d-drunk-"
"Chase..."
He couldn't take it. Every little bit of energy he had left barrelled up his arms and pushed the door open with reckless abandon. Because there was a small, scared little girl he had not seen for over 10 days in that Parish, and all pretence of remaining a silent observer fell out the window like a careless little bird. They flew open, not majestically like some sort of witch's tale or a fairystory happy ending, but rather slowly. Very slowly.
And once they were well and truly open, he got to have his look at that very scene. Two girls. One with ocean hair. Standing there talking to the other girl, the girl he'd been searching far and wide for ever since he'd woken up. His aims swayed all across that time, but that one focus remained clear. Find Chase.
Here she was. Standing in the same room as he was, for the first time in so long, and all he could do was stand there and not say anything, except for the occasional utterance of one word.
"Chase..."
Mirabelle was dead.
Điều gì đã xảy ra?
Rashid was dead.
Tại sao nó lại xảy ra?
Jackie was dead.
Tại sao anh lại cứu tôi?
Dutchy, of everyone left, was dead.
Tại sao tôi cho bạn đi?
This was one of the most gut-wrenching days of Brendan's life.
There was no question that over the last nine days, he'd experienced death. There was no question that he'd experienced so much death over the course of his entire life. His grandparents, a family friend or two, and once upon a time a close friend he failed in his time of need. Brendan was no stranger to the shadow of death, but it didn't stop the death of a friend, an ally he once knew, or even a general acquaintance, from hurting.
After the Announcements, they had to stop. Brendan was this close to some sort of nervous breakdown. Peter wanted to keep going, go...somewhere, just anywhere, but he couldn't keep going like he was. Soldiering on, just...tagging along with Peter's cause. And what was going to happen to him in the end? Would Peter turn on him, just like he suspected at the Docks? Was he going to drag him along for all this time and then just leave him to die, revealing his whole goal to be a stack of lies? What if, what if, what if?
What if's waited for nobody. Brendan composed himself. Ate silently. Moved on.
So...here they were. After a day of complete wandering, they ended up in a house of God. Brendan had become so lost by it all, he barely even cared about the pair of bodies ornamenting the outside walls. Two dead girls. Missing throats were noticeable, even from the distance at which they stood. His eyes strained.
Peter had told him about what happened with his three. Lucas, and Jessie, and Jackie as well. The girl who saved his life was now dead, killed by the same guy who was about to kill him. Talk about sacrifice right there. Jessie, according to him, was in this very house of God, standing right by him apparently.
But Brendan had pressed on, determined to check this place out anyway. What were the chances that someone he knew could be here? There were only so many buildings on this rock, and everyone he ever knew was slowly turning into one he knew, so there had to be someone here, right? Sarah? Roland? Harun? Sarah? Chase? C'mon, the luck had to be in his favour, right? Those metaphorical leprechauns couldn't stop shovelling it out of his pockets for a few minutes?
"You probably don't wanna be here, but...uh, we should check it out, at least."
His eyes shifted to the ground, avoiding Peter's gaze. Instead of waiting for some sort of permission to do what he was about to do, he did what he was about to do without telling him what he was about to do.
"I'll be fine, I just wanna check the place out."
Peter remained right where he was, outside. Brendan walked towards the towering doors. His fingers wavered. They pressed against the metal knobs embedded in the door. Pushed forward, and opened the door only a crack.
"-good condition. You might make it that way."
Someone was already here. Their voice scraped across the floor and into his eardrums as he held the door slightly open, agap at the seam. Their voice didn't seem too lifeless, to threatening. But the person they were speaking to, mystery person. Brendan held the door, trying to catch a whisper of who they must have been speaking to. Could have been a group. Could have been a solitary, lonely person. But whoever it was, it remained a mystery.
Until right then.
"D-don't want to d-deal with p-people who not only couldn't h-help me, but are d-drunk-"
"Chase..."
He couldn't take it. Every little bit of energy he had left barrelled up his arms and pushed the door open with reckless abandon. Because there was a small, scared little girl he had not seen for over 10 days in that Parish, and all pretence of remaining a silent observer fell out the window like a careless little bird. They flew open, not majestically like some sort of witch's tale or a fairystory happy ending, but rather slowly. Very slowly.
And once they were well and truly open, he got to have his look at that very scene. Two girls. One with ocean hair. Standing there talking to the other girl, the girl he'd been searching far and wide for ever since he'd woken up. His aims swayed all across that time, but that one focus remained clear. Find Chase.
Here she was. Standing in the same room as he was, for the first time in so long, and all he could do was stand there and not say anything, except for the occasional utterance of one word.
"Chase..."
(Any gming of Anna has been approved by Kami.)
Chase had noticed that Kitty was drunk. It was the damn truth, but the mere suggestion was enough to piss her off. She sneered.
"I am not drunk," she growled. "I am just fine."
Kitty shifted her weight back to her other foot. It wasn't that she was having difficulty standing. Moreover, the alcohol in her system was making her restless. Standing was killing her from the inside. She needed to do something. Kitty could think of a number of things, a few included Chase. They certainly wouldn't be satisfying in the least, but at least they were something. She realized her hands were twitching. She closed her eyes.
"I just need - " she sighed. "I need someone to talk to, alright? I need a friend..."
Well. It sounded convincing to Kitty. And it was true, technically, if you don't think too hard on it. She would totally buy that little speech in a heartbeat if she were in Chase's shoes.
Kitty came from behind the table, not so much stumbling forward but perhaps coming in at an angle. She had her bag on her shoulder, with her bat and those sharp knuckles she got from the boy she killed. She didn't even know his name. Knowing that would make it harder for her to forget. She had transferred everything to her bag. She wanted what Chase had too. It would make the bag even heavier, but Kitty didn't care. If this girl had something useful, well, it was worth the risk. Kitty needed an edge. So she poured every ounce of emotion into her head, an convincing look on her face and thought for a moment. She had to get this girl on her side. She hadn't even noticed the doors.
"Listen, I-"
"Chase..."
Kitty looked up. Chase had turned away from Kitty completely. There was a boy at the door. Kitty didn't recognize him.
Kitty's expression dissolved. Kitty had been pouring her heart (hypothetically) to this goth chick, and here she was ignoring her. Her reaction wasn't that of compassion. She could have easily faked compassion, it wasn't entirely out of her reach.
At that point, Kitty was only feeling one thing.
An exaggerated, unbridled feeling of rage.
Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?
Who the fuck does she think she is?!
WHO. THE FUCK. DOES THIS BITCH. THINK SHE IS TO JUST IGNORE HER?
"HEY!"
The scream was loud, much louder than Kitty had planned. Kitty snarled, hitting her bottle against the pew.
"I'm fucking talking to you, you fucking slut! Don't ignore me! I'm-"
She stopped and winced. She had made the mistake of swinging her hand again. The bottle hit the pew a little too hard. Shards of glass flew to the floor, alcohol staining the woodwork. Kitty staggered a step back, half in shocked as she realized what had happened. Some of the brandy stained her pantleg, and she felt a faint sting that made her growl. Shit. There was a faint cut on her palm. She looked up at the boy. She dropped the broken bottle, pressed her closed fist down on her cut to stop the bleeding.
"Don't worry, I'm fine," she growled. "Just fine, perfect, peachy."
Chase had noticed that Kitty was drunk. It was the damn truth, but the mere suggestion was enough to piss her off. She sneered.
"I am not drunk," she growled. "I am just fine."
Kitty shifted her weight back to her other foot. It wasn't that she was having difficulty standing. Moreover, the alcohol in her system was making her restless. Standing was killing her from the inside. She needed to do something. Kitty could think of a number of things, a few included Chase. They certainly wouldn't be satisfying in the least, but at least they were something. She realized her hands were twitching. She closed her eyes.
"I just need - " she sighed. "I need someone to talk to, alright? I need a friend..."
Well. It sounded convincing to Kitty. And it was true, technically, if you don't think too hard on it. She would totally buy that little speech in a heartbeat if she were in Chase's shoes.
Kitty came from behind the table, not so much stumbling forward but perhaps coming in at an angle. She had her bag on her shoulder, with her bat and those sharp knuckles she got from the boy she killed. She didn't even know his name. Knowing that would make it harder for her to forget. She had transferred everything to her bag. She wanted what Chase had too. It would make the bag even heavier, but Kitty didn't care. If this girl had something useful, well, it was worth the risk. Kitty needed an edge. So she poured every ounce of emotion into her head, an convincing look on her face and thought for a moment. She had to get this girl on her side. She hadn't even noticed the doors.
"Listen, I-"
"Chase..."
Kitty looked up. Chase had turned away from Kitty completely. There was a boy at the door. Kitty didn't recognize him.
Kitty's expression dissolved. Kitty had been pouring her heart (hypothetically) to this goth chick, and here she was ignoring her. Her reaction wasn't that of compassion. She could have easily faked compassion, it wasn't entirely out of her reach.
At that point, Kitty was only feeling one thing.
An exaggerated, unbridled feeling of rage.
Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?
Who the fuck does she think she is?!
WHO. THE FUCK. DOES THIS BITCH. THINK SHE IS TO JUST IGNORE HER?
"HEY!"
The scream was loud, much louder than Kitty had planned. Kitty snarled, hitting her bottle against the pew.
"I'm fucking talking to you, you fucking slut! Don't ignore me! I'm-"
She stopped and winced. She had made the mistake of swinging her hand again. The bottle hit the pew a little too hard. Shards of glass flew to the floor, alcohol staining the woodwork. Kitty staggered a step back, half in shocked as she realized what had happened. Some of the brandy stained her pantleg, and she felt a faint sting that made her growl. Shit. There was a faint cut on her palm. She looked up at the boy. She dropped the broken bottle, pressed her closed fist down on her cut to stop the bleeding.
"Don't worry, I'm fine," she growled. "Just fine, perfect, peachy."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Kitty had given her the "no, I'm not drunk I'm perfectly fine" spiel, only it was... rather angry.
Oh boy. Kitty just might be a violent drunk after all. Which was, of course, not a good thing. It only increased her chances of getting attacked, obviously. So yeah, great. There was a girl who was drunk, potentially violent, and pissed off at her.
Joy.
She insisted she needed someone to talk to. Was she that lonely? Chase knew she was lonely herself, but talking to a violent drunk wasn't going to make her... un-lonely? No, that wasn't a word. Of course it wasn't a word. But that was besides the point. The point was that this girl was potentially violent, with alcohol only making it much worse.
But right at that moment, the doors opened, and upon turning to look, Chase dropped her shovel.
She wasn't seeing things, right?
She knew that if you spend a lot of time by yourself in a traumatic situation, sometimes your mind will make things up. A lot of movies she had seen had told her that. Sometimes people would see their dead wives, or their dead children. Sometimes people will see monsters, or they will see all sorts of crazy stuff.
So maybe that was it. Maybe she finally cracked.
Because fate didn't love her enough to say that she would find Brendan so easily, despite her past attempts.
Right?
"Bren?" she murmured quietly.
Head tilt to the left.
Yup. She'd lost it. There was no way that he could be standing here, right now, looking at her.
Even if she did, who was to say that he'd be the same? A number of things could have happened, and he could have gone crazy. The real Brendan, for all she knew, could have been hacking bodies left right and center. She must have been hallucinating or something, right? Just in an attempt to deal with all this? She'd heard somewhere that you weren't crazy if you acknowledged the possibility of being such, but you never know.
But at least her mind was kind enough to let her see him once last time.
Should she actually check to see if he was real? Maybe just run up and see if he was physical by hugging him? Would he like that, though? Would he react well? She had no idea what he'd been through-
Kitty snapped Chase out of her thoughts, with a loud clatter and scream. She whipped her head to her, to see that she had banged the bottle against the side of a pew, spilling booze everywhere.
Oh jesus. She was even more pissed.
"Look. Just... stop talking for the moment. You're... y-you're digging yourself deeper", she found herself snapping.
Oh boy. Kitty just might be a violent drunk after all. Which was, of course, not a good thing. It only increased her chances of getting attacked, obviously. So yeah, great. There was a girl who was drunk, potentially violent, and pissed off at her.
Joy.
She insisted she needed someone to talk to. Was she that lonely? Chase knew she was lonely herself, but talking to a violent drunk wasn't going to make her... un-lonely? No, that wasn't a word. Of course it wasn't a word. But that was besides the point. The point was that this girl was potentially violent, with alcohol only making it much worse.
But right at that moment, the doors opened, and upon turning to look, Chase dropped her shovel.
She wasn't seeing things, right?
She knew that if you spend a lot of time by yourself in a traumatic situation, sometimes your mind will make things up. A lot of movies she had seen had told her that. Sometimes people would see their dead wives, or their dead children. Sometimes people will see monsters, or they will see all sorts of crazy stuff.
So maybe that was it. Maybe she finally cracked.
Because fate didn't love her enough to say that she would find Brendan so easily, despite her past attempts.
Right?
"Bren?" she murmured quietly.
Head tilt to the left.
Yup. She'd lost it. There was no way that he could be standing here, right now, looking at her.
Even if she did, who was to say that he'd be the same? A number of things could have happened, and he could have gone crazy. The real Brendan, for all she knew, could have been hacking bodies left right and center. She must have been hallucinating or something, right? Just in an attempt to deal with all this? She'd heard somewhere that you weren't crazy if you acknowledged the possibility of being such, but you never know.
But at least her mind was kind enough to let her see him once last time.
Should she actually check to see if he was real? Maybe just run up and see if he was physical by hugging him? Would he like that, though? Would he react well? She had no idea what he'd been through-
Kitty snapped Chase out of her thoughts, with a loud clatter and scream. She whipped her head to her, to see that she had banged the bottle against the side of a pew, spilling booze everywhere.
Oh jesus. She was even more pissed.
"Look. Just... stop talking for the moment. You're... y-you're digging yourself deeper", she found herself snapping.
So this was it. The one place he'd find Chase, and it was the last place he'd ever thought he'd look. Like some inhumane edition of hide and seek.
But that's how it was in life, you look everywhere, and you earn some bleak reminder of what you missed. Chase was the only real thing missing from his life that he had left, and he'd found it, filled the gaping gap. Chase was that metaphorical puzzle piece, and no matter how much of the bigger picture was missing, the gap was filled. It'd be alright.
Nope.
The girl behind her, the girl, drunk girl, with the bottle, was screaming her head off, waving around the bottle before it exploded inwards and covered her legs in brandy. She was still snarling at him, the tone of her voice cutting through the air like a knife. Disturbed, crazy little bitch. That's all the words that rushed up to that block of space in his head called "memory". Disturbed crazy bitch.
Chase called out to her. Digging herself deeper. What did that mean, anyway?
...killer?
...probably? It wasn't fine to jump to irrational conclusions, but he didn't get this far, he didn't survive all his friends, just to be naive.
Brendan's instinctual habit of not speaking to the crazy kicked out, and he spoke his mind.
"Chase...get away from her."
Something does not feel right about her.
He cocked his head towards the girl drenched in booze.
"You don't look fine."
At all.
But that's how it was in life, you look everywhere, and you earn some bleak reminder of what you missed. Chase was the only real thing missing from his life that he had left, and he'd found it, filled the gaping gap. Chase was that metaphorical puzzle piece, and no matter how much of the bigger picture was missing, the gap was filled. It'd be alright.
Nope.
The girl behind her, the girl, drunk girl, with the bottle, was screaming her head off, waving around the bottle before it exploded inwards and covered her legs in brandy. She was still snarling at him, the tone of her voice cutting through the air like a knife. Disturbed, crazy little bitch. That's all the words that rushed up to that block of space in his head called "memory". Disturbed crazy bitch.
Chase called out to her. Digging herself deeper. What did that mean, anyway?
...killer?
...probably? It wasn't fine to jump to irrational conclusions, but he didn't get this far, he didn't survive all his friends, just to be naive.
Brendan's instinctual habit of not speaking to the crazy kicked out, and he spoke his mind.
"Chase...get away from her."
Something does not feel right about her.
He cocked his head towards the girl drenched in booze.
"You don't look fine."
At all.
"You don't look fine."
"I'm fine." Kitty repeated. Half her wanted to believe it. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine."
Kitty hugged her arms close to her chest. She looked like a fool, a damned fool. Why the hell didn't Chase just believe her? Why did it have to come to this? She was cursing herself in the back of her mind with every expletive in the book. Things were going south. The twitching got worse. She repeated "I'm fine" under her breath. Ironic. She wasn't getting better. She couldn't attack them. Two against one. She had to get them on her side. Play the pity card.
"You don't understand." She spat.
Her eyes narrowed. Her face registered pain, her lips curved.
"I'm just tired. This fucking island is getting to me. I just..."
This was the part where there were supposed to be tears. She couldn't get them to fall.
"Why the fuck won't either of you understand that?" She mumbled. "Eight days and I feel so lost..."
"I'm fine." Kitty repeated. Half her wanted to believe it. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine."
Kitty hugged her arms close to her chest. She looked like a fool, a damned fool. Why the hell didn't Chase just believe her? Why did it have to come to this? She was cursing herself in the back of her mind with every expletive in the book. Things were going south. The twitching got worse. She repeated "I'm fine" under her breath. Ironic. She wasn't getting better. She couldn't attack them. Two against one. She had to get them on her side. Play the pity card.
"You don't understand." She spat.
Her eyes narrowed. Her face registered pain, her lips curved.
"I'm just tired. This fucking island is getting to me. I just..."
This was the part where there were supposed to be tears. She couldn't get them to fall.
"Why the fuck won't either of you understand that?" She mumbled. "Eight days and I feel so lost..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Brendan- or at least his visage- started talking again.
He was telling her to step away? Why did she? Wait, did Kitty kill someone and she didn't know? What? Did he see her before? Apparently he picked up on something before she did. Or maybe herself. She wasn't sure which was which anymore, really.
But Chase followed his instructions, and stepped back. Not much needed to follow them, anyways. After all, there was a crazy drunk girl throwing glass bottles around. That would cause anyone to back off.
Brendan started talking to her. Okay, one point against hallucination. There was still hope. Because afterwards, Kitty replied back.
Only with the "not drunk" argument, of course.
And then she attempted to tell them how much it sucked. How she'd felt lost these past... eight days. Had it really been that long? Felt like longer, really. Like a few years had passed by since she had first woken up at the fairground. It was quite a long time ago, really. Or maybe not, based on that eight days comment. So, just over a week.
But she understood what it was like to be here. She knew very well.
"Kitty, you're... you're n-not the only one suffering. I got robbed first thing, r-remember? I had to deal with a bunch-unch of people dying. I had to deal with many other things. I almost died like..."
She counted in her head. Nancy pointing a gun at her and robbing her. Running into Rasputin- twice. The argument on the beach. Running into Rachel Gettys. Being stuck in a dangerzone afterwards. Having Michelle point a crossbow at you. Having just barely avoided seeing Quincey Jones. She could have been killed by Nick Reid, as well. Add in the suicide attempt, and...
"Ten times."
That was too much for eight days. And that wasn't counting things she forgot to add in simply because she forgot.
"Look. You're not the only one s-suffering here. Are you seriously g-going to be pissed off simply because you're probably g-going through some-something everyone else here has?"
Turning to the Brendan visage, she felt the need to say something.
"Uh... I'll shut my mouth, now."
Awkward smile this time.
He was telling her to step away? Why did she? Wait, did Kitty kill someone and she didn't know? What? Did he see her before? Apparently he picked up on something before she did. Or maybe herself. She wasn't sure which was which anymore, really.
But Chase followed his instructions, and stepped back. Not much needed to follow them, anyways. After all, there was a crazy drunk girl throwing glass bottles around. That would cause anyone to back off.
Brendan started talking to her. Okay, one point against hallucination. There was still hope. Because afterwards, Kitty replied back.
Only with the "not drunk" argument, of course.
And then she attempted to tell them how much it sucked. How she'd felt lost these past... eight days. Had it really been that long? Felt like longer, really. Like a few years had passed by since she had first woken up at the fairground. It was quite a long time ago, really. Or maybe not, based on that eight days comment. So, just over a week.
But she understood what it was like to be here. She knew very well.
"Kitty, you're... you're n-not the only one suffering. I got robbed first thing, r-remember? I had to deal with a bunch-unch of people dying. I had to deal with many other things. I almost died like..."
She counted in her head. Nancy pointing a gun at her and robbing her. Running into Rasputin- twice. The argument on the beach. Running into Rachel Gettys. Being stuck in a dangerzone afterwards. Having Michelle point a crossbow at you. Having just barely avoided seeing Quincey Jones. She could have been killed by Nick Reid, as well. Add in the suicide attempt, and...
"Ten times."
That was too much for eight days. And that wasn't counting things she forgot to add in simply because she forgot.
"Look. You're not the only one s-suffering here. Are you seriously g-going to be pissed off simply because you're probably g-going through some-something everyone else here has?"
Turning to the Brendan visage, she felt the need to say something.
"Uh... I'll shut my mouth, now."
Awkward smile this time.
Ten times.
While he was dicking around with his friends, and going on some stupid, shallow minded quest to help another goth girl that wasn't the one he was looking for, Chase had scraped with death ten times.
This was ten times too many.
Brendan could count the times he'd been close to death on a single hand. Clio, that mystery girl from the golfing green, the death squad, and Peter. Three out of four of those were his fault. Meanwhile, Chase had been at the mercy of other people, other forces of nature, that could have just as easily wiped her off the face of the earth, and out of his life forever, ten times.
Ten times.
There was no proper time to be thinking about this, however, since this girl was obviously not all quite there in the brain. And this wasn't the time to be acting just suspicious, this was the time to be letting her know that she was giving off vibes of crazy. Massive crazy.
At least that's what Brendan's annoying internal monologue would be telling him.
"It's gotten to all of us, but we're not acting like you are. Hey, I've almost died as well, I was this close to getting shot by Danya's death squad. I accidentally shot someone," Brendan's voice cracked a bit, strained, pained, and really not wanting to finish this conversation, but he kept going "I accidentally shot someone, she's almost died all these times, like she just said, and we're not acting as crazy as you."
Wrong word at the wrong time. That was all it took.
While he was dicking around with his friends, and going on some stupid, shallow minded quest to help another goth girl that wasn't the one he was looking for, Chase had scraped with death ten times.
This was ten times too many.
Brendan could count the times he'd been close to death on a single hand. Clio, that mystery girl from the golfing green, the death squad, and Peter. Three out of four of those were his fault. Meanwhile, Chase had been at the mercy of other people, other forces of nature, that could have just as easily wiped her off the face of the earth, and out of his life forever, ten times.
Ten times.
There was no proper time to be thinking about this, however, since this girl was obviously not all quite there in the brain. And this wasn't the time to be acting just suspicious, this was the time to be letting her know that she was giving off vibes of crazy. Massive crazy.
At least that's what Brendan's annoying internal monologue would be telling him.
"It's gotten to all of us, but we're not acting like you are. Hey, I've almost died as well, I was this close to getting shot by Danya's death squad. I accidentally shot someone," Brendan's voice cracked a bit, strained, pained, and really not wanting to finish this conversation, but he kept going "I accidentally shot someone, she's almost died all these times, like she just said, and we're not acting as crazy as you."
Wrong word at the wrong time. That was all it took.
(... yeah, totally got permission.)
"I had to deal with a bunch-unch of people dying. I had to deal with many other things. I almost died like..."
Boo. Fucking. Hoo. I'm sure you've had the worst out of everyone else on this island. Those dead kids sure are lucky. Oh, no, please, do go on, talk about your problems.
Of course, Kitty didn't say that. She couldn't have. It would be rude, after all. She smiled a very disarming smile though. She gave an understanding nod. Yes, everything was back on track. She turned to the boy.
Kitty frowned.
Did... he just call her crazy?
Well.
Her memory came in small pieces. She remembered him pulling out the gun. He didn't fire. He could have shot her. She was lucky.
Lunging at him too. She could remember that. The bat came out, she held it in her hands. She held it tight.
The rain of teeth and speckle of blood.
The pain in her arm as she struck him.
There was blood splattered across the floor. Each hit was slow but vicious.
That was all she could recall.
Perhaps it was for the best. If she were fully consciously, she might have stopped herself. Kitty had done the right thing. She was regretful, not for harming the boy that was crumpled up on the floor, but regretful for not acting on impulse sooner. It had been so easy too, just like last time. Her bat was bent out of shape now. Such a shame. Maybe the dents came when she was hitting him in the chest. Probably broke a rib, though she was sure that was a loss he could handle compared to what she could have done.
Kitty looked away from the bat, and stared down at the less imposing figure. He was missing his front teeth. He was clutching his chest. Oh, and was he about to cry? Was baby going to cry? Oh, please don't kill me. Waahwahh. Mommy. The girl is beating on me.
Serves you the fuck right.
"I. AM not. Crazy." A sharp kick to his chest.
A sigh. The kick made him start crying. How annoying. Now she's going to have a headache.
She gave a side-ward glance at Chase. The girl was curled up on the floor, staring at her with scared eyes. Kitty did not feel a shred of sympathy for her. She turned away, and looked down at the floor. Her eyes lingered to the gun. Yes... that was what she was looking for. She got down to her feet and reached for the gun. His hand tightened around it. He was still fighting. The rat didn't know when to give up, that was for sure. She took the edge of her bat and pressed it against the edge of his cheek.
"Let go. Now. Please."
She pulled the bat back. The edge of her bat hit his nose. She heard a crack. He let go of the gun.
"Thank you."
Her voice was filled with malice. His sobbing was causing the hate in her voice. Overreacting, probably. Whatever. He had it coming.
She studied the gun. It was small... but it was a gun. A step up from the bat. Was it a pea shooter or a rhino killer? That she wasn't sure of. Could be in between. Even if it was a pea shooter, well, at least it was a gun. It was a start. Her hand ran through her hair, flicking the safety off. She reached for his bag. She would have to experiment. Later.
Then a thought occurred. Yes. An experiment. The floor could be the control group, his head could be the variable. She felt like she was back in school.
Kitty did not smile. She pointed the gun at the boy's head.
She held it with both hands. She had to make sure it hit her target.
She never got a chance. A sharp pain hit her square in her back. The gun went off.
It was a sharp pain. She stumbled and reached for her neck. She fell to her knees with a loud thump. The world spun. She turned back and held the gun loosely at her side.
"You -"
Chase looked angry, with her shovel raised and her eyes glaring. Kitty found herself short of breath.
She could have shot her. But Anna took another swing at her and Kitty's first reaction was to run. She ducked out of the way. She heard the wind blow past her. Kitty lunged for the nearest pew and fell behind it. The hit to her back had knocked her off-balance. She growled.
Fuck.
"I had to deal with a bunch-unch of people dying. I had to deal with many other things. I almost died like..."
Boo. Fucking. Hoo. I'm sure you've had the worst out of everyone else on this island. Those dead kids sure are lucky. Oh, no, please, do go on, talk about your problems.
Of course, Kitty didn't say that. She couldn't have. It would be rude, after all. She smiled a very disarming smile though. She gave an understanding nod. Yes, everything was back on track. She turned to the boy.
Kitty frowned.
Did... he just call her crazy?
Well.
Her memory came in small pieces. She remembered him pulling out the gun. He didn't fire. He could have shot her. She was lucky.
Lunging at him too. She could remember that. The bat came out, she held it in her hands. She held it tight.
The rain of teeth and speckle of blood.
The pain in her arm as she struck him.
There was blood splattered across the floor. Each hit was slow but vicious.
That was all she could recall.
Perhaps it was for the best. If she were fully consciously, she might have stopped herself. Kitty had done the right thing. She was regretful, not for harming the boy that was crumpled up on the floor, but regretful for not acting on impulse sooner. It had been so easy too, just like last time. Her bat was bent out of shape now. Such a shame. Maybe the dents came when she was hitting him in the chest. Probably broke a rib, though she was sure that was a loss he could handle compared to what she could have done.
Kitty looked away from the bat, and stared down at the less imposing figure. He was missing his front teeth. He was clutching his chest. Oh, and was he about to cry? Was baby going to cry? Oh, please don't kill me. Waahwahh. Mommy. The girl is beating on me.
Serves you the fuck right.
"I. AM not. Crazy." A sharp kick to his chest.
A sigh. The kick made him start crying. How annoying. Now she's going to have a headache.
She gave a side-ward glance at Chase. The girl was curled up on the floor, staring at her with scared eyes. Kitty did not feel a shred of sympathy for her. She turned away, and looked down at the floor. Her eyes lingered to the gun. Yes... that was what she was looking for. She got down to her feet and reached for the gun. His hand tightened around it. He was still fighting. The rat didn't know when to give up, that was for sure. She took the edge of her bat and pressed it against the edge of his cheek.
"Let go. Now. Please."
She pulled the bat back. The edge of her bat hit his nose. She heard a crack. He let go of the gun.
"Thank you."
Her voice was filled with malice. His sobbing was causing the hate in her voice. Overreacting, probably. Whatever. He had it coming.
She studied the gun. It was small... but it was a gun. A step up from the bat. Was it a pea shooter or a rhino killer? That she wasn't sure of. Could be in between. Even if it was a pea shooter, well, at least it was a gun. It was a start. Her hand ran through her hair, flicking the safety off. She reached for his bag. She would have to experiment. Later.
Then a thought occurred. Yes. An experiment. The floor could be the control group, his head could be the variable. She felt like she was back in school.
Kitty did not smile. She pointed the gun at the boy's head.
She held it with both hands. She had to make sure it hit her target.
She never got a chance. A sharp pain hit her square in her back. The gun went off.
It was a sharp pain. She stumbled and reached for her neck. She fell to her knees with a loud thump. The world spun. She turned back and held the gun loosely at her side.
"You -"
Chase looked angry, with her shovel raised and her eyes glaring. Kitty found herself short of breath.
She could have shot her. But Anna took another swing at her and Kitty's first reaction was to run. She ducked out of the way. She heard the wind blow past her. Kitty lunged for the nearest pew and fell behind it. The hit to her back had knocked her off-balance. She growled.
Fuck.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
It was accidental.
That gunshot... that guy... that... thing.
He didn't mean to, apparently. Somehow the gun went off and killed someone.
And apparently Danya had a death squad. That wasn't a good sign.
Was he lying? Was this still a hallucination? Or was this the truth? Chase didn't know. All she knew was what was happening. Brendan was here, and they were getting pissed off at Kitty. That was what was happening, apparently. If it was happening at all.
But... Kitty didn't seem to like being called crazy.
Not at all.
And everything went to shit once more.
She lunged herself at Brendan, and Chase felt herself collapsing. There seemed to be five seconds of blackness, until she opened her eyes again.
Oh god, no.
That dreamlike sensation popped in again, as she watched the bat swing down and down repeatedly. Chase could only watch as Brendan was hit with it repeatedly, and the gun was torn out of his hands.
She couldn't do anything.
Even as she told herself that she'd defend herself and find Brendan, when it came to practice she couldn't do it. She couldn't defend her or Brendan.
A weakling. That was what she was, deep down.
There was nothing she could do.
They were going to die. She didn't want to lose Brendan too. She'd already lost everything else. She had no living friends, no one who cared about her, nothing.
Brendan wasn't a hallucination, she had realized. He was the real deal. And now he was getting hurt. And it was her fault. Everything was her fault.
She had to do something. But what? She couldn't figure it out-
Chase moved her hand slightly, only to come across a long, thin object.
The shovel! It still lay where she dropped it!
Slowly lifting herself off the ground, she picked the object up with shaking hands, her teeth gritting tightly. As she approached Kitty, she could tell she wasn't paying that much attention to her.
That dreamlike sensation continued even more, as Chase felt like she was doing things on automatic. She wasn't really even thinking, but she knew what she was feeling.
Fear. Anger.
Just like when Marty died.
THWACK!
Before she even knew it, the shovel had connected with Kitty. She barely registered a cracking sound, like fireworks. Kitty stared up at her, glaring at her.
Chase went for another swing, but Kitty started running behind a pew, only to fall over.
And her first reaction? Stomp towards her with shovel still on hand.
"You beat him up. You... you... you left me to die at the hands of Nancy FUCKING Wainright! That means you're crazy! Crazy people do that shit! I mean, how DARE YOU! HE. WAS. MY ONLY. LIVING. FRIEND!"
She didn't care what was coming out of her mouth. Occasionally she could notice herself panting heavily.
"Fuck, you know what? Leave. Just... g-get out of here. Or else you'll... you'll... get hit more! Okay? I DON'T WANT YOU TO BEAT HIM UP ANYMORE YOU BITCH! JUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"
That gunshot... that guy... that... thing.
He didn't mean to, apparently. Somehow the gun went off and killed someone.
And apparently Danya had a death squad. That wasn't a good sign.
Was he lying? Was this still a hallucination? Or was this the truth? Chase didn't know. All she knew was what was happening. Brendan was here, and they were getting pissed off at Kitty. That was what was happening, apparently. If it was happening at all.
But... Kitty didn't seem to like being called crazy.
Not at all.
And everything went to shit once more.
She lunged herself at Brendan, and Chase felt herself collapsing. There seemed to be five seconds of blackness, until she opened her eyes again.
Oh god, no.
That dreamlike sensation popped in again, as she watched the bat swing down and down repeatedly. Chase could only watch as Brendan was hit with it repeatedly, and the gun was torn out of his hands.
She couldn't do anything.
Even as she told herself that she'd defend herself and find Brendan, when it came to practice she couldn't do it. She couldn't defend her or Brendan.
A weakling. That was what she was, deep down.
There was nothing she could do.
They were going to die. She didn't want to lose Brendan too. She'd already lost everything else. She had no living friends, no one who cared about her, nothing.
Brendan wasn't a hallucination, she had realized. He was the real deal. And now he was getting hurt. And it was her fault. Everything was her fault.
She had to do something. But what? She couldn't figure it out-
Chase moved her hand slightly, only to come across a long, thin object.
The shovel! It still lay where she dropped it!
Slowly lifting herself off the ground, she picked the object up with shaking hands, her teeth gritting tightly. As she approached Kitty, she could tell she wasn't paying that much attention to her.
That dreamlike sensation continued even more, as Chase felt like she was doing things on automatic. She wasn't really even thinking, but she knew what she was feeling.
Fear. Anger.
Just like when Marty died.
THWACK!
Before she even knew it, the shovel had connected with Kitty. She barely registered a cracking sound, like fireworks. Kitty stared up at her, glaring at her.
Chase went for another swing, but Kitty started running behind a pew, only to fall over.
And her first reaction? Stomp towards her with shovel still on hand.
"You beat him up. You... you... you left me to die at the hands of Nancy FUCKING Wainright! That means you're crazy! Crazy people do that shit! I mean, how DARE YOU! HE. WAS. MY ONLY. LIVING. FRIEND!"
She didn't care what was coming out of her mouth. Occasionally she could notice herself panting heavily.
"Fuck, you know what? Leave. Just... g-get out of here. Or else you'll... you'll... get hit more! Okay? I DON'T WANT YOU TO BEAT HIM UP ANYMORE YOU BITCH! JUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"
((And all GMing done with permission once more. Just trying to get this over and done with once and for all))
Am I dead...
All Brendan knew was pain. He could barely see, only smudges light beckoning through strained eyelids, and every twitch sent cascades of pain beckoning across his face. The world sprawled sideways. He could feel his mouth opening and closing wordlessly, each stop recalling the pain.
Muffled sounds swirled through his head. Voices. But they were distant voices, so close yet so far away...what had he done? He remembered right there, he said something wrong. Did he do something wrong again? He'd screwed it up for everyone, hadn't he? Brendan was so sure this was where it ended for him. Vision blurred, obscured from reality. Twitching and crying on the ground. A curtain of crimson was fading over his eyes, a throbbing pain which combined with his fragile face to hammer in pain with rusty nails every time his heart beat.
But he could still hear voices. What did that mean?
"Hello..."
"...ple do that...how DARE YOU...HE...WAS...MY...FRIEND!"
'Was'? So he was dead. He was really gone. Dead. No life, he was just a floating soul, somehow able to hear all of this going on...
...but that didn't make any sense. That wasn't how it worked, you couldn't hear anything after you died, it was just impossible. Nothing after death. No soul, you just stopped, he'd realised that after weeks of finding answers that there really was nothing after death. So he couldn't be. There was no way that he was dead, he was still twitching and crying in pain, although he couldn't even hear what was coming out of his mouth, or even hear anything in general.
"...here with a group of people who can get your collars off-"
"I DON'T WANT YOU TO BEAT HIM UP ANYMORE YOU BITCH! JUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"
That was Chase. Her voice held a fire he'd never heard in such a small, fragile little girl, especially the small fragile girl he'd met only a few months ago and quickly become best friends with. This girl...the girl he knew he had to protect, find, take care of, find a way out...she was doing the same to him.
He tried to lift his eyelids, but the light was painful, he could barely keep them open. But he persevered. Through the pain and the impossibility, his eyes creaked to the light and brought in some new sights.
Those doors were blocked by another figure. It was hard to make out, but he was silent, wielding something familiar. A gun. A large gun, he'd only just relinquished a day ago to someone he could see in any other day, any other night, as antagonistic. But here he was a saviour.
There were muffled yells, word after word exchanged, and the other girl wasn't there any more. Seconds of silence, seconds of staring and awkward glances. The gun-weilder silently made his way over to him, and suddenly, his world was upright. He was leaning against one of the stable and together pews, blood pouring out of his mouth. He wanted to spit out the vile plume of copper that had twisted ahold of his mouth, but he was afraid he's empty another tooth. He could see the yellowish specks dot the stone floor around where he lay. He hand covered what was once his top right incisor. Sentiment told him to never let it go.
"Jesus, she fucked you up real bad. Sit still for a minute. I'm gonna try to do, well, something. God, you're really helpless some-"
"...the beach."
"What?"
Brendan wasn't sure if his voice was becoming incomprehensible by his lack of teeth, or Peter didn't hear what everyone in this chapel clearly could have heard. He was outside, but it was possible the former, so he tried to speak again. The ups and downs of his jaw each twanged the nerves in his jaw.
"...some guy, he was...collars off, he's-he's at the beach, we've gotta go there, we can get off of here!"
It was about saying as much as possible with as little words as possible. He knew Chase had to back him up, she was here, in the same place, listening to the exact same sounds.
"Chase, you...heard it, please?"
Am I dead...
All Brendan knew was pain. He could barely see, only smudges light beckoning through strained eyelids, and every twitch sent cascades of pain beckoning across his face. The world sprawled sideways. He could feel his mouth opening and closing wordlessly, each stop recalling the pain.
Muffled sounds swirled through his head. Voices. But they were distant voices, so close yet so far away...what had he done? He remembered right there, he said something wrong. Did he do something wrong again? He'd screwed it up for everyone, hadn't he? Brendan was so sure this was where it ended for him. Vision blurred, obscured from reality. Twitching and crying on the ground. A curtain of crimson was fading over his eyes, a throbbing pain which combined with his fragile face to hammer in pain with rusty nails every time his heart beat.
But he could still hear voices. What did that mean?
"Hello..."
"...ple do that...how DARE YOU...HE...WAS...MY...FRIEND!"
'Was'? So he was dead. He was really gone. Dead. No life, he was just a floating soul, somehow able to hear all of this going on...
...but that didn't make any sense. That wasn't how it worked, you couldn't hear anything after you died, it was just impossible. Nothing after death. No soul, you just stopped, he'd realised that after weeks of finding answers that there really was nothing after death. So he couldn't be. There was no way that he was dead, he was still twitching and crying in pain, although he couldn't even hear what was coming out of his mouth, or even hear anything in general.
"...here with a group of people who can get your collars off-"
"I DON'T WANT YOU TO BEAT HIM UP ANYMORE YOU BITCH! JUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"
That was Chase. Her voice held a fire he'd never heard in such a small, fragile little girl, especially the small fragile girl he'd met only a few months ago and quickly become best friends with. This girl...the girl he knew he had to protect, find, take care of, find a way out...she was doing the same to him.
He tried to lift his eyelids, but the light was painful, he could barely keep them open. But he persevered. Through the pain and the impossibility, his eyes creaked to the light and brought in some new sights.
Those doors were blocked by another figure. It was hard to make out, but he was silent, wielding something familiar. A gun. A large gun, he'd only just relinquished a day ago to someone he could see in any other day, any other night, as antagonistic. But here he was a saviour.
There were muffled yells, word after word exchanged, and the other girl wasn't there any more. Seconds of silence, seconds of staring and awkward glances. The gun-weilder silently made his way over to him, and suddenly, his world was upright. He was leaning against one of the stable and together pews, blood pouring out of his mouth. He wanted to spit out the vile plume of copper that had twisted ahold of his mouth, but he was afraid he's empty another tooth. He could see the yellowish specks dot the stone floor around where he lay. He hand covered what was once his top right incisor. Sentiment told him to never let it go.
"Jesus, she fucked you up real bad. Sit still for a minute. I'm gonna try to do, well, something. God, you're really helpless some-"
"...the beach."
"What?"
Brendan wasn't sure if his voice was becoming incomprehensible by his lack of teeth, or Peter didn't hear what everyone in this chapel clearly could have heard. He was outside, but it was possible the former, so he tried to speak again. The ups and downs of his jaw each twanged the nerves in his jaw.
"...some guy, he was...collars off, he's-he's at the beach, we've gotta go there, we can get off of here!"
It was about saying as much as possible with as little words as possible. He knew Chase had to back him up, she was here, in the same place, listening to the exact same sounds.
"Chase, you...heard it, please?"