((*note: thread is pm-private.*))
((Sarah Xu Continued from D-Day))
Sarah woke up wondering where her alarm clock was, where her pillow had gone, and why she felt so much less comfortable. Those thoughts passed quickly as the PA blared flatly from some treetop nearby. It didn't echo much in the forest, and the more distant speakers were muffled by the trees. In her waking daze she couldn't quite discern what the words were until she gave them her full, undivided attention.
Danya.
She sat up and groaned harshly, pulling at her hair as she buried her face in her knees, ignorance had been a temporary bliss.
"Fifth wasted was, uh... hold on, let me make sure I get this one right. Reika Ishida, you heard that kids? Reika, the one nobody really cared about.''
Bullshit. Fuck you.
She'd begun crying again, not the wracking sobs of the day before, but Reika's death hadn't exactly slipped her mind overnight.
"Then the other Ishida twin proved that incompetence doesn't run in the family and scored not one but two kills. First, Reiko wasted Sally Connelly with a little assistance... then she promptly rubbed out her helper, Cyrille LaBlanche too. It was all very emotional, I very nearly shed a tear. And by 'shed a tear', I mean 'fall asleep'."
What? Why, why would she do that? Reiko isn't a killer, that's impossible. She must have.. must have been defending herself, and maybe there was an accident and Cyrille got hurt and Danya was just saying that so people would want to hurt her girlfriend and she wasn't going to fall for it. Sally was a complete bitch, she'd made middle-school hell for Sarah and it wouldn't surprise her if she'd attacked Reiko. But Cyrille? She was such a nice girl and oh god, poor Violetta. Reiko had killed her girlfriend and what if it had been the other way around? How would she have felt...
No. Reiko wasn't a killer. She was sweet and warm and kind, if a little blunt sometimes, but she loved that about her, she loved every part of her and... and now she'd killed tw... No, she couldn't have...
***
"Sarah, are you okay?"
"Yeah I'm fine, just need to stop for a sec."
The weary girl leant her riot shield against a tree trunk, eased her bags off of her shoulders, and slumped into her backpack among a pair of the beech roots. She closed her eyes, listening as the breeze shuffled through the treetops. A dull pain seemed to ebb and flow all the way from her head to her legs. The sun was beginning to set and she'd spent a lot of time walking, carrying a lot of weight on her back, and they still hadn't seen one new person. Reaching the infirmary was taking a lot longer than expected.
"Maybe we should camp here for the night."
The suggestion felt like a good one, and she mumbled her approval. Swinging her bag in front of her, she pulled out a bunch books and clothes until she found her notepad. Kimberly seemed more concerned with what she was now packing back into the bag than the pad she left out, though. A copy of Hegemony or Survival, another of No Logo, then Ending Aging...
"You're seriously bringing all this stuff?"
Her face flushed in embarrassment, she always felt trapped when people called her out on her hoarding. She'd been better about it recently but... Books were a special case, she hated seeing them neglected. "I, I-It's important to me okay? I don't... I don't want to just throw this all away."
"Fine, suit yourself."
***
She woke up in much the same place that her dreams left off, no sudden shock at being on the island, just a dull disappointment that she was still there.
nngh, guess it's lucky. Need to get up. Get moving... Get up... Move?
She rolled over, fetching her phone from beside her and making sure the alarm wasn't going to go off. She let her second jacket slide into her lap as she sat and rubbed her eyes. Her glasses she retrieved from on top of the backpack beside her. Squinting in the dim quarter-light of early morning she could discern someone's silhouette sitting on a log not far away. After taking her notepad she got to her feet, holding a hand out to keep her balance as she stumbled upright.
Staggering groggily towards the figure, she soon recognised Bridget, as much from her hair as anything else. She lifted herself over the fallen tree-trunk and plonked down next to the redhead, blinking her eyes to try and wake herself up a bit better. It was only barely starting to get lighter, and morning still felt like a long way off.
"Hhey."
Dimer
Dimer
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Gwbiiii.
((Roland Hayes continued from D-Day))
As he walked through the woods on the first and second days, Roland wondered how much weight he would lose on the island before he died. He couldn't help chuckling to himself, thinking of the inadequate consolation to this grim scenario. "Sure, you and all of your friends will almost certainly die, but at least you'll get some decent exercise, fatty!" he could almost imagine Danya saying. It was sick and stupid, but then, so were all of the jokes he actually heard Danya hear during the announcements.
He'd lost count of the number of times that he'd gotten tired and let his bag slide off his shoulders, or dropped Dutchy's harpoon. He'd also dropped the tennis racket as he trudged through the woods at which point he shoved the damn thing into his bag. He didn't know why he bothered keeping it. Maybe he could make it into a shiv if he got really desperate.
He did manage to hear the announcements, though. Nobody on the list was someone he knew that well; he may have met them before, once or twice, but that was a long time ago. But Danya did say it was a new record for the game. Jesus Christ. Roland nearly killed himself right there. He stared at the shiny, sharp edge of the harpoon until he was called out for lagging behind. Danya was so omnipresent, so unstoppable that Roland didn't know what the point in fighting him was anymore. The game would just end up winning in the end, making him say he loved it before it killed him.
Finally, he couldn't take any more marching. His leg refused to stiffen beneath him as he took as step, causing him to topple to his left, thankfully away from the harpoon. Sleep took him there, and he still lied dreaming as Sarah woke up afterwards, several feet away.
((Roland will be out cold until Sarah and Bridget finish up their private thing. Don't mind him!))
As he walked through the woods on the first and second days, Roland wondered how much weight he would lose on the island before he died. He couldn't help chuckling to himself, thinking of the inadequate consolation to this grim scenario. "Sure, you and all of your friends will almost certainly die, but at least you'll get some decent exercise, fatty!" he could almost imagine Danya saying. It was sick and stupid, but then, so were all of the jokes he actually heard Danya hear during the announcements.
He'd lost count of the number of times that he'd gotten tired and let his bag slide off his shoulders, or dropped Dutchy's harpoon. He'd also dropped the tennis racket as he trudged through the woods at which point he shoved the damn thing into his bag. He didn't know why he bothered keeping it. Maybe he could make it into a shiv if he got really desperate.
He did manage to hear the announcements, though. Nobody on the list was someone he knew that well; he may have met them before, once or twice, but that was a long time ago. But Danya did say it was a new record for the game. Jesus Christ. Roland nearly killed himself right there. He stared at the shiny, sharp edge of the harpoon until he was called out for lagging behind. Danya was so omnipresent, so unstoppable that Roland didn't know what the point in fighting him was anymore. The game would just end up winning in the end, making him say he loved it before it killed him.
Finally, he couldn't take any more marching. His leg refused to stiffen beneath him as he took as step, causing him to topple to his left, thankfully away from the harpoon. Sleep took him there, and he still lied dreaming as Sarah woke up afterwards, several feet away.
((Roland will be out cold until Sarah and Bridget finish up their private thing. Don't mind him!))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solitair. 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.
((Bridget Connolly continued from D-Day))
Bridget was supposed to be keeping watch, making sure no one was able to sneak up on the group unnoticed. What she was actually doing was fading in and out of consciousness, fighting off the fatigue of the last couple of days. Consequently, she failed to notice when Kimberly had snuck off from their little encampment. The only thing keeping her awake at this point was her precarious perch on top of the log, every time she nearly slipped off startling her back awake.
Bridget was just in the process of closing her eyes again when she heard Sarah's groggy voice pipe up. Snapping her eyes open, the redhead looked at the Chinese girl, who still seemed half asleep. Bridget gave the girl a small smile, happy to have someone to talk to. She knew that the other girl was probably going through hell right now. Hearing a friend dying was bad enough, but hearing that someone you loved was killing must have been worse. Not to mention the massive pressure she must have been feeling as the de facto leader of their little band of misfits.
"Hey," Bridget said in response to Sarah's greeting. She sighed, not sure what else to say at that point. Sarah was a good person, the type that others looked to for guidance in difficult situations. Ones like what they were in right now. Bridget couldn't help but admire that about her. She wasn't the type to take the lead in a situation unless it was for the short term. She wasn't an idea person. Leaders needed to be able to come up with ideas. Sarah could do that. All Bridget knew was how to fight. Somehow, she knew that that skill was going to come in handy. As much as she didn't want to think about it, she knew it was going to happen. When it did, she had to be decisive this time. She didn't want to fail again. Not like on the beach.
"How you holding up?" Bridget finally said after a few minutes of silence.
Bridget was supposed to be keeping watch, making sure no one was able to sneak up on the group unnoticed. What she was actually doing was fading in and out of consciousness, fighting off the fatigue of the last couple of days. Consequently, she failed to notice when Kimberly had snuck off from their little encampment. The only thing keeping her awake at this point was her precarious perch on top of the log, every time she nearly slipped off startling her back awake.
Bridget was just in the process of closing her eyes again when she heard Sarah's groggy voice pipe up. Snapping her eyes open, the redhead looked at the Chinese girl, who still seemed half asleep. Bridget gave the girl a small smile, happy to have someone to talk to. She knew that the other girl was probably going through hell right now. Hearing a friend dying was bad enough, but hearing that someone you loved was killing must have been worse. Not to mention the massive pressure she must have been feeling as the de facto leader of their little band of misfits.
"Hey," Bridget said in response to Sarah's greeting. She sighed, not sure what else to say at that point. Sarah was a good person, the type that others looked to for guidance in difficult situations. Ones like what they were in right now. Bridget couldn't help but admire that about her. She wasn't the type to take the lead in a situation unless it was for the short term. She wasn't an idea person. Leaders needed to be able to come up with ideas. Sarah could do that. All Bridget knew was how to fight. Somehow, she knew that that skill was going to come in handy. As much as she didn't want to think about it, she knew it was going to happen. When it did, she had to be decisive this time. She didn't want to fail again. Not like on the beach.
"How you holding up?" Bridget finally said after a few minutes of silence.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.
It wasn't just that she was up at an ungodly hour of the morning that made Sarah's mind feel slow and unwieldy. She'd spent the better part of the day before just thinking, constantly, about just how they were going to survive this. She'd written a lot, but now she felt burnt out, like her thoughts had been practicing some kind of scorched earth policy as they passed through. She was having a lot of trouble picking up the pace again. But that was okay, the day was young; and for now she didn't have to think, she could just sit and wait for dawn to come.
"How you holding up?"
It seemed she still had to think just a little bit. "Huh? Uhh, okay I guess?" Her voice was thin, like it was most mornings. Sleeping rough hadn't helped, but the real problem was the lack of a nice, hot, milky, sugary mug of tea. That's all she really wanted. Come to think of it, caffeine withdrawal probably was probably responsible for at least some of her headache. Lacking such simple little comforts did more than inconvenience her though, they were a reminder of how far from home she was. That she might never again have mum knocking on the door to get her up in the morning, caffeinated beverage in hand.
"Except that's a lie. I- I'm tired. And... Homesick and I might not see my family again and I haven't seen Reiko in 3 days and people are dying and... I... I uhh..." She choked on the next words, not sure whether to admit how weak she felt, how she was having doubts about surviving. For the past few days the same couple of phrases kept cycling into her head every now and again. Now she mentally rehearsed them one more time before continuing.
"And I'm scared this isn't going to work. Really scared." She rubbed her eyes as she felt hot tears begin to seep into her sclera. She desperately didn't want another breakdown, she couldn't keep wasting time like that. All she had to do was blink, sniffle, and get over it. Which was easier said than done when the thought that she might have another breakdown made her feel like even more of a failure.
Just have to be so fucking ironic don't you? Come on, be a big girl Sarah.
She smirked. "S-sorry, I need to stop crying like this. It's just, I don't know... Sorry."
"How you holding up?"
It seemed she still had to think just a little bit. "Huh? Uhh, okay I guess?" Her voice was thin, like it was most mornings. Sleeping rough hadn't helped, but the real problem was the lack of a nice, hot, milky, sugary mug of tea. That's all she really wanted. Come to think of it, caffeine withdrawal probably was probably responsible for at least some of her headache. Lacking such simple little comforts did more than inconvenience her though, they were a reminder of how far from home she was. That she might never again have mum knocking on the door to get her up in the morning, caffeinated beverage in hand.
"Except that's a lie. I- I'm tired. And... Homesick and I might not see my family again and I haven't seen Reiko in 3 days and people are dying and... I... I uhh..." She choked on the next words, not sure whether to admit how weak she felt, how she was having doubts about surviving. For the past few days the same couple of phrases kept cycling into her head every now and again. Now she mentally rehearsed them one more time before continuing.
"And I'm scared this isn't going to work. Really scared." She rubbed her eyes as she felt hot tears begin to seep into her sclera. She desperately didn't want another breakdown, she couldn't keep wasting time like that. All she had to do was blink, sniffle, and get over it. Which was easier said than done when the thought that she might have another breakdown made her feel like even more of a failure.
Just have to be so fucking ironic don't you? Come on, be a big girl Sarah.
She smirked. "S-sorry, I need to stop crying like this. It's just, I don't know... Sorry."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Gwbiiii.
Bridget listened intently as Sarah poured her heart out to her. All her worries, not to mention the intense pressure that was on her. Things weren't going to get any easier either. The coming dawn would bring with it the next announcement, detailing the bloody results of this fucked up game as it continued. Hopefully the other's stopped the bloody rampage, but for some reason Bridget had a feeling that she was still being too optimistic.
If there was one thing that Bridget could be thankful for, it was that their little group was still in tact and, with the exception of Kimberly, uninjured. Glancing back, the redhead could see the outline of two sleeping forms, who judging by their sizes were Dutchy and Roland. Bridget frowned, wondering why she couldn't see Kimberly from her vantage point, but then turned back, deciding that she probably just went behind a tree for some privacy.
Of course, if they wanted to succeed in anything, then they had to stay strong. That went doubly so for Sarah. She was the idea girl, and everyone was looking to her to come up with a brilliant scheme to get them out of this situation. Despite not knowing Sarah as much as others, the redhead felt herself inexplicably drawn to the girl. She knew that wherever Sarah went, Bridget would be there to support her. If she said "jump", she would respond with "how high". Everything would be okay, as long as Sarah was able to pull through. Which meant that someone should probably try to cheer her up.
"Sarah... I know things are tough right now, but I know you. And you know you. If anyone on this island can come up with a good course of action, it's you." Bridget smiled for her friend, playfully punching her in the arm. "Now come on, let's see what you've got in your little notebook there."
If there was one thing that Bridget could be thankful for, it was that their little group was still in tact and, with the exception of Kimberly, uninjured. Glancing back, the redhead could see the outline of two sleeping forms, who judging by their sizes were Dutchy and Roland. Bridget frowned, wondering why she couldn't see Kimberly from her vantage point, but then turned back, deciding that she probably just went behind a tree for some privacy.
Of course, if they wanted to succeed in anything, then they had to stay strong. That went doubly so for Sarah. She was the idea girl, and everyone was looking to her to come up with a brilliant scheme to get them out of this situation. Despite not knowing Sarah as much as others, the redhead felt herself inexplicably drawn to the girl. She knew that wherever Sarah went, Bridget would be there to support her. If she said "jump", she would respond with "how high". Everything would be okay, as long as Sarah was able to pull through. Which meant that someone should probably try to cheer her up.
"Sarah... I know things are tough right now, but I know you. And you know you. If anyone on this island can come up with a good course of action, it's you." Bridget smiled for her friend, playfully punching her in the arm. "Now come on, let's see what you've got in your little notebook there."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
((Kimberly Nguyen continued from This Scene Is about a Hat))
Kimberly slowly picked her way through the forest. Slowly made her way back to camp. She was pissed off. What the fuck had Jeremy been thinking, chewing her out, trying to pin the blame on her? She hadn't asked to be mugged. She hadn't started the confrontation. She hadn't even hurt anyone. Yet.
But really, she was mad at herself. She'd lost control there, in a major way. It was damn lucky Jeremy hadn't wanted to kill her. She wasn't so sure she'd have been able to resist. Sure, she'd have made him pay dearly. She could have done some damage, of that she was positive. But that would have meant exactly jack shit to her if she was dead. Awful as it was, maybe he had a point. Maybe acting dangerous wasn't such a hot move. Maybe she was borrowing more trouble. Whatever. At least it was trouble as a result of her decisions, trouble she came by honestly. Not like a causal gunshot to the shoulder. No, nothing like that.
How did you sleep last night, Kris?
Anyways, it was time to focus on the present. Things were going to be tricky. Maybe a little bit ugly. Reintegration would not be a smooth process, if any of the others noticed. She had no intention of letting Bridget find out what had transpired overnight. The last thing she needed was to be given even less credit as a capable human being, to be watched even more closely, like she was gonna fucking set herself on fire while trying to light a cigarette or something.
But no, it looked like she'd gotten a lucky break. She couldn't tell if everyone was asleep, but the one closest to her, Roland, certainly was. Her sleeping bag was near his, a good ways away from Sarah and Bridget. She'd positioned it like that intentionally. Thinking about Bridget watching her sleep was damn creepy. Sure, it was unlikely Bridget would actually do that, but... No. Get rid of those thoughts right now. Bridget was being overprotective. Nothing more. Her stripping on the beach, her slavish devotion to keeping Kimberly safe, her comforting touch after the shooting, it meant nothing. Nothing. Because there was no fucking way Kimberly was being someone's island crush.
She reached her sleeping bag and lay down, staying quiet, as quiet as she could. Too bad she couldn't sleep. No, there was no way she could get rest after that little incident. She looked around, sat up, found her glasses sitting on top of her daypack. Leaving without them had been a mistake. She hadn't been too negatively impacted—while she was moderately nearsighted, there hadn't been a ton to see anyways, in the dark and shadows—but something could have happened to them while she was gone. She would be totally fucked without her glasses during the day. She had, luckily, not been wearing them either of the times she fell. On the beach, they'd been in her backpack, stuffed there when she started feeling sleepy on the bus. Funny, how the gas had actually given her that little break.
She put them on. The world came into better focus. Now it was just a matter of her seeing to her arm. She'd shifted the towel-cape back into position for the journey. Now, she brushed it aside. In the growing light, she could see the red. Yup. Blood. Fuck. At least there didn't seem to be much. Slowly—of course it was slowly, with just the one good hand, fuck you, Kris—she unwound the bandage, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. Where she was seated, there wasn't a line of sight to Sarah and Bridget. Good.
It wasn't as bad as she'd thought. It hurt like a bitch, but it looked like all that had happened was the lowest stitch tearing out, and that had scabbed over already. It probably wasn't worth tearing her arm up to resew it. Yeah. No reason to hassle the others. Just spray it with some disinfectant and wrap it back up with the rest of her gauze. She'd tear up her spare shirt in the morning, use that for bandages later. Bridget would never need to know.
The new bandage was less snug, less comfortable. Whatever. She'd live.
On to the next issue. The grappling hook. Fuck that little prick Jeremy. Fuck his sword cane. Fuck him for messing up her weapon. At least the rope was thin. Kimberly laid it out on her lap, matching the ends. This was not going to be fun, but dammit, she would give it her absolute best before asking for help. It had to be possible.
It was. It just wasn't easy. It took her nearly half an hour to tie a knot that satisfied her (a triple knot, stress tested by her tugs), and then adjust the ropes wrapping her to give her the same amount of slack she'd had before. Still, she did it. She'd patched herself up, fixed her weapon, and she'd done it without any help. Suck on that, "protectors".
With that done, she returned her towel to position and sat, waiting. After a bit, she grabbed a cigarette from her pack. She didn't want to smoke. Didn't need to. Just needed something to occupy her attention.
So she sat there in the dawn, taking drags from an unlit cigarette, waiting for true morning to bring renewed activity.
((Kimberly's just gonna chill until the other section's done, unless one of the uninvolved folks interacts with her. Feel free to ignore her for post order until it becomes relevant.))
Kimberly slowly picked her way through the forest. Slowly made her way back to camp. She was pissed off. What the fuck had Jeremy been thinking, chewing her out, trying to pin the blame on her? She hadn't asked to be mugged. She hadn't started the confrontation. She hadn't even hurt anyone. Yet.
But really, she was mad at herself. She'd lost control there, in a major way. It was damn lucky Jeremy hadn't wanted to kill her. She wasn't so sure she'd have been able to resist. Sure, she'd have made him pay dearly. She could have done some damage, of that she was positive. But that would have meant exactly jack shit to her if she was dead. Awful as it was, maybe he had a point. Maybe acting dangerous wasn't such a hot move. Maybe she was borrowing more trouble. Whatever. At least it was trouble as a result of her decisions, trouble she came by honestly. Not like a causal gunshot to the shoulder. No, nothing like that.
How did you sleep last night, Kris?
Anyways, it was time to focus on the present. Things were going to be tricky. Maybe a little bit ugly. Reintegration would not be a smooth process, if any of the others noticed. She had no intention of letting Bridget find out what had transpired overnight. The last thing she needed was to be given even less credit as a capable human being, to be watched even more closely, like she was gonna fucking set herself on fire while trying to light a cigarette or something.
But no, it looked like she'd gotten a lucky break. She couldn't tell if everyone was asleep, but the one closest to her, Roland, certainly was. Her sleeping bag was near his, a good ways away from Sarah and Bridget. She'd positioned it like that intentionally. Thinking about Bridget watching her sleep was damn creepy. Sure, it was unlikely Bridget would actually do that, but... No. Get rid of those thoughts right now. Bridget was being overprotective. Nothing more. Her stripping on the beach, her slavish devotion to keeping Kimberly safe, her comforting touch after the shooting, it meant nothing. Nothing. Because there was no fucking way Kimberly was being someone's island crush.
She reached her sleeping bag and lay down, staying quiet, as quiet as she could. Too bad she couldn't sleep. No, there was no way she could get rest after that little incident. She looked around, sat up, found her glasses sitting on top of her daypack. Leaving without them had been a mistake. She hadn't been too negatively impacted—while she was moderately nearsighted, there hadn't been a ton to see anyways, in the dark and shadows—but something could have happened to them while she was gone. She would be totally fucked without her glasses during the day. She had, luckily, not been wearing them either of the times she fell. On the beach, they'd been in her backpack, stuffed there when she started feeling sleepy on the bus. Funny, how the gas had actually given her that little break.
She put them on. The world came into better focus. Now it was just a matter of her seeing to her arm. She'd shifted the towel-cape back into position for the journey. Now, she brushed it aside. In the growing light, she could see the red. Yup. Blood. Fuck. At least there didn't seem to be much. Slowly—of course it was slowly, with just the one good hand, fuck you, Kris—she unwound the bandage, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. Where she was seated, there wasn't a line of sight to Sarah and Bridget. Good.
It wasn't as bad as she'd thought. It hurt like a bitch, but it looked like all that had happened was the lowest stitch tearing out, and that had scabbed over already. It probably wasn't worth tearing her arm up to resew it. Yeah. No reason to hassle the others. Just spray it with some disinfectant and wrap it back up with the rest of her gauze. She'd tear up her spare shirt in the morning, use that for bandages later. Bridget would never need to know.
The new bandage was less snug, less comfortable. Whatever. She'd live.
On to the next issue. The grappling hook. Fuck that little prick Jeremy. Fuck his sword cane. Fuck him for messing up her weapon. At least the rope was thin. Kimberly laid it out on her lap, matching the ends. This was not going to be fun, but dammit, she would give it her absolute best before asking for help. It had to be possible.
It was. It just wasn't easy. It took her nearly half an hour to tie a knot that satisfied her (a triple knot, stress tested by her tugs), and then adjust the ropes wrapping her to give her the same amount of slack she'd had before. Still, she did it. She'd patched herself up, fixed her weapon, and she'd done it without any help. Suck on that, "protectors".
With that done, she returned her towel to position and sat, waiting. After a bit, she grabbed a cigarette from her pack. She didn't want to smoke. Didn't need to. Just needed something to occupy her attention.
So she sat there in the dawn, taking drags from an unlit cigarette, waiting for true morning to bring renewed activity.
((Kimberly's just gonna chill until the other section's done, unless one of the uninvolved folks interacts with her. Feel free to ignore her for post order until it becomes relevant.))
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Örn "Dutchy" Ayers continued from D-Day
There is an island in the distance...
Dutchy wanted to sleep forever.
He'd always imagined camping in the woods to be a fun affair, filled with excitement and endless surprises... in a way, he guessed, he'd gotten exactly what he'd expected. Dutchy tried his best to stifle a sob, rolling over in his sleeping bag to face Roland.
Shutting eyes tight, for the third time that night Dutchy imagined his house. Filled with the sweet aroma of baked apple pie. Dutchy strained as he tried to imagine his Parents' voices, laughing and joking at the supper table. He desperately wanted to step out of this world, this reality, and join them. His Mom wasn't the best cook in the world, but that never stopped her from trying. And Dutchy was thankful for it. Dutchy loved his Mom.
Mommy...
The hike hadn't started well. Sarah had been crying when Dutchy and Roland had arrived back at the beach and he'd done all he could to comfort her. Despite her reassuring hug, Dutchy decided to stick close by on the walk trying hard to assure both Sarah and himself that they would beat Danya. He had sent out the signal, so a rescue attempt MUST be underway by now.
It wasn't enough... Sarah is still sad. She's tired, she's scared. Everyone is scared. I'm scared... I'm scared...
Dutchy buried his head underneath the covers, trying hard to avoid sobbing, lest the others realize he was still awake.
The last thing they need is me dragging them down. Sarah and Roland are smart, and Bridget is speedy. What can I do? I can barely keep myself smiling, I can't keep dragging them down. I can't leave... I can't leave, I can't hear their n-names...
Dutchy shut his eyes, shivering despite the heat from his blanket. The names of the deceased students had been read off earlier on the first day, with another looming close. Dutchy was ashamed to admit he had forgotten most of them by now. He had cried for quite a long time, barely able to control himself he'd shoved his face in his duffel bag to muffle his voice lest anyone unfriendly hear him.
I can't let them die because of me. But what can I do? We need to get out of here. Rescue is on its' way. It HAS to be. It just HAS TO. I just need to hang on, I just need- I need to stay positive. I need to help them, I- I was going to save everyone...
Somewhere, deep down inside, Dutchy had had a terrible suspicion he couldn't save everyone, that for all his talk he would come up short. Now with that suspicion proven true, he felt numb inside.
He'd tried hard to remember the faces of those students listed, despite the fact it brought tears to his eyes. The first announcement hadn't just broken Dutchy, it had completed obliterated him. With the news of countless innocent people, friends and classmates, murdered indiscriminately... Dutchy hadn't talked much for the last day. He couldn't trust himself to talk.
I can't let them know what's happening. I can't let them know, they can't worry about me, I'm useless enough, I gotta' keep morale up, I gotta' stay strong. My Dad always wanted me to be strong, and now- now I'm strong, see? See Dad? I'm gonna save them, I'm gonna- I'll save them...
Dutchy stuffed blankets in his mouth, tears streamed down his face dampening his pillow. Opening his eyes he looked up through the trees to see the stars above them.
Billions of stars, and here we are. Everyone on this Island. Everyone on this planet. All alone, surrounded by nothing. Or are we even significant enough to count as an exception? How many of my friends died alone, wishing they had said what they wanted while they could? I wasn't there for them, how can I call myself their friend? How can I call anyone in the world my friend?
Clio, she was so sweet. I loved Clio. I still love her. She's pretty. She's hurting people. How could she do that? Clio was nice, and I liked to make her laugh, now she's killed Chris and all he ever wanted was for people to like him, and he had a Dad who loved him an- an-
How am I supposed to help people when we're not even people anymore?
A rustle suddenly sounded in the bushes nearby. Dutchy felt his pulse quicken as his eyes darted around towards the noise. He blinked tears away as he strained to look, watching as a figure emerged from the foliage.
Oh God. Oh God, is this it? Is- is this how I'm going to die..? Is this how my friends are going to die..?
The figure walked over towards the sleeping bag near Dutchy, farthest from where Sarah and Bridget sat, even now talking. Dutchy squirmed in his sleeping bag, a yelp dead in his throat.
I need to say something, I can't let them die like this! I don't want to die! I don't want anyone to die anymore!
The figure sat down, from what Dutchy could hear. He craned his neck in the darkness, and saw the figure, a girl, sitting down on a sleeping bag.
Kimberly..? Kimmy!
Dutchy eyed the figure, his heart still pounding despite his recognition.
Kimmy came back. Don't worry. Kimmy won't hurt you. She isn't like Kris.... she isn't... Then why is my heart still pounding?
Dutchy jammed his eyes shut, pretending to sleep. He tried to regulate his breathing, he tried counting sheep but he knew that sleep wouldn't take him, not for awhile yet.
"Kimmy...? You're back. Are you okay?"
His throat felt raspy and foreign. He sat up slightly, rubbing his eyes clear of tears. He sniffled, looking at the girl.
I want to be someone. I need to HELP someone. I can't be nothing... But what if I am?
Dutchy opened his mouth to speak again, but only a whimper emerged.
There is an island in the distance...
Dutchy wanted to sleep forever.
He'd always imagined camping in the woods to be a fun affair, filled with excitement and endless surprises... in a way, he guessed, he'd gotten exactly what he'd expected. Dutchy tried his best to stifle a sob, rolling over in his sleeping bag to face Roland.
Shutting eyes tight, for the third time that night Dutchy imagined his house. Filled with the sweet aroma of baked apple pie. Dutchy strained as he tried to imagine his Parents' voices, laughing and joking at the supper table. He desperately wanted to step out of this world, this reality, and join them. His Mom wasn't the best cook in the world, but that never stopped her from trying. And Dutchy was thankful for it. Dutchy loved his Mom.
Mommy...
The hike hadn't started well. Sarah had been crying when Dutchy and Roland had arrived back at the beach and he'd done all he could to comfort her. Despite her reassuring hug, Dutchy decided to stick close by on the walk trying hard to assure both Sarah and himself that they would beat Danya. He had sent out the signal, so a rescue attempt MUST be underway by now.
It wasn't enough... Sarah is still sad. She's tired, she's scared. Everyone is scared. I'm scared... I'm scared...
Dutchy buried his head underneath the covers, trying hard to avoid sobbing, lest the others realize he was still awake.
The last thing they need is me dragging them down. Sarah and Roland are smart, and Bridget is speedy. What can I do? I can barely keep myself smiling, I can't keep dragging them down. I can't leave... I can't leave, I can't hear their n-names...
Dutchy shut his eyes, shivering despite the heat from his blanket. The names of the deceased students had been read off earlier on the first day, with another looming close. Dutchy was ashamed to admit he had forgotten most of them by now. He had cried for quite a long time, barely able to control himself he'd shoved his face in his duffel bag to muffle his voice lest anyone unfriendly hear him.
I can't let them die because of me. But what can I do? We need to get out of here. Rescue is on its' way. It HAS to be. It just HAS TO. I just need to hang on, I just need- I need to stay positive. I need to help them, I- I was going to save everyone...
Somewhere, deep down inside, Dutchy had had a terrible suspicion he couldn't save everyone, that for all his talk he would come up short. Now with that suspicion proven true, he felt numb inside.
He'd tried hard to remember the faces of those students listed, despite the fact it brought tears to his eyes. The first announcement hadn't just broken Dutchy, it had completed obliterated him. With the news of countless innocent people, friends and classmates, murdered indiscriminately... Dutchy hadn't talked much for the last day. He couldn't trust himself to talk.
I can't let them know what's happening. I can't let them know, they can't worry about me, I'm useless enough, I gotta' keep morale up, I gotta' stay strong. My Dad always wanted me to be strong, and now- now I'm strong, see? See Dad? I'm gonna save them, I'm gonna- I'll save them...
Dutchy stuffed blankets in his mouth, tears streamed down his face dampening his pillow. Opening his eyes he looked up through the trees to see the stars above them.
Billions of stars, and here we are. Everyone on this Island. Everyone on this planet. All alone, surrounded by nothing. Or are we even significant enough to count as an exception? How many of my friends died alone, wishing they had said what they wanted while they could? I wasn't there for them, how can I call myself their friend? How can I call anyone in the world my friend?
Clio, she was so sweet. I loved Clio. I still love her. She's pretty. She's hurting people. How could she do that? Clio was nice, and I liked to make her laugh, now she's killed Chris and all he ever wanted was for people to like him, and he had a Dad who loved him an- an-
How am I supposed to help people when we're not even people anymore?
A rustle suddenly sounded in the bushes nearby. Dutchy felt his pulse quicken as his eyes darted around towards the noise. He blinked tears away as he strained to look, watching as a figure emerged from the foliage.
Oh God. Oh God, is this it? Is- is this how I'm going to die..? Is this how my friends are going to die..?
The figure walked over towards the sleeping bag near Dutchy, farthest from where Sarah and Bridget sat, even now talking. Dutchy squirmed in his sleeping bag, a yelp dead in his throat.
I need to say something, I can't let them die like this! I don't want to die! I don't want anyone to die anymore!
The figure sat down, from what Dutchy could hear. He craned his neck in the darkness, and saw the figure, a girl, sitting down on a sleeping bag.
Kimberly..? Kimmy!
Dutchy eyed the figure, his heart still pounding despite his recognition.
Kimmy came back. Don't worry. Kimmy won't hurt you. She isn't like Kris.... she isn't... Then why is my heart still pounding?
Dutchy jammed his eyes shut, pretending to sleep. He tried to regulate his breathing, he tried counting sheep but he knew that sleep wouldn't take him, not for awhile yet.
"Kimmy...? You're back. Are you okay?"
His throat felt raspy and foreign. He sat up slightly, rubbing his eyes clear of tears. He sniffled, looking at the girl.
I want to be someone. I need to HELP someone. I can't be nothing... But what if I am?
Dutchy opened his mouth to speak again, but only a whimper emerged.
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The silence made her anxious. Bridget was probably sick of her crying and tantrums and uncertainty. And that was okay, she was sick of it too, but what if it was enough to make her leave? What if the group broke up because she couldn't hold it together? She didn't want to think about it, trying to tell herself it was stupid. She didn't know Bridget as well as she would have liked, but she wasn't just going to abandon them. She might be disappointed, might resent her, and that in itself would be awful, but she wouldn't leave. Right?
Luckily Bridget's words dragged her away from those thoughts. She didn't know how the girl was managing to be so patient. There were only a few people she knew who would treat her with that kind of compassionate tolerance, just a handful of family and friends. She hadn't known Bridget nearly as long, and yet she was providing a shoulder for her to cry on. Perhaps they all had to be more supportive of each other if they were going to get through this in one piece.
She found it hard to accept the compliment, but she appreciated her newfound friend's sentiment. Bridget's smile was infectious, and she couldn't help but find herself mirroring it as she was punched in the arm.
"Now come on, let's see what you've got in your little notebook there."
She felt like she could trust Bridget with her life, and maybe just trust her to handle her notepad. Her sketchbook cum diary stayed safely in her bag, though maybe she'd let her see that too before all of this was over. She flipped through the first few pages of maths and chemistry equations, before coming to a few pages of the mind-maps she'd drawn over the past few days, trying to find an idea that would get them to safety. They were a tangle of titled bubbles, crossed out thoughts and scribbled exploratory sketches; some of them completely irrelevant, drawn when she'd hit a blank and just idly doodled across the page.
Smiling meekly, she left the book open at the first of those pages, a few leaves before the actual "plans" she'd written out, and handed it to the enthusiastic redhead beside her. She thought it might be good if she, and the others, could follow the thought processes she'd gone through as well as their results. Hopefully it'd make it easier for them to add to it.
They'd have to add to it too. There were some really, really good ideas for maybe hastening their rescue, and those were the first she'd written up. Those would work, she was sure of it... but she'd hit a roadblock on the collars. They needed to come off, or be nullified or something, but the only solutions she'd come up for that were risky to say the least, and if they got that wrong, they were dead. So dead.
Her hand felt at her neck and the collar that bound it. Just the thought of having her throat severed like that made her stomach churn.
These explosives had better be stable...
She fiddled around in her pocket to distract her fingers from the disturbing reality of having highly volatile chemicals strapped to her larynx. Fishing her phone out, little tassley mobile accesories flying everywhere, she idly flipped it open and looked at the screen.
She closed it again and almost put it in her pocket before realising she hadn't actually registered what the time was.
22:50, apparently... night night Joel.
Luckily Bridget's words dragged her away from those thoughts. She didn't know how the girl was managing to be so patient. There were only a few people she knew who would treat her with that kind of compassionate tolerance, just a handful of family and friends. She hadn't known Bridget nearly as long, and yet she was providing a shoulder for her to cry on. Perhaps they all had to be more supportive of each other if they were going to get through this in one piece.
She found it hard to accept the compliment, but she appreciated her newfound friend's sentiment. Bridget's smile was infectious, and she couldn't help but find herself mirroring it as she was punched in the arm.
"Now come on, let's see what you've got in your little notebook there."
She felt like she could trust Bridget with her life, and maybe just trust her to handle her notepad. Her sketchbook cum diary stayed safely in her bag, though maybe she'd let her see that too before all of this was over. She flipped through the first few pages of maths and chemistry equations, before coming to a few pages of the mind-maps she'd drawn over the past few days, trying to find an idea that would get them to safety. They were a tangle of titled bubbles, crossed out thoughts and scribbled exploratory sketches; some of them completely irrelevant, drawn when she'd hit a blank and just idly doodled across the page.
Smiling meekly, she left the book open at the first of those pages, a few leaves before the actual "plans" she'd written out, and handed it to the enthusiastic redhead beside her. She thought it might be good if she, and the others, could follow the thought processes she'd gone through as well as their results. Hopefully it'd make it easier for them to add to it.
They'd have to add to it too. There were some really, really good ideas for maybe hastening their rescue, and those were the first she'd written up. Those would work, she was sure of it... but she'd hit a roadblock on the collars. They needed to come off, or be nullified or something, but the only solutions she'd come up for that were risky to say the least, and if they got that wrong, they were dead. So dead.
Her hand felt at her neck and the collar that bound it. Just the thought of having her throat severed like that made her stomach churn.
These explosives had better be stable...
She fiddled around in her pocket to distract her fingers from the disturbing reality of having highly volatile chemicals strapped to her larynx. Fishing her phone out, little tassley mobile accesories flying everywhere, she idly flipped it open and looked at the screen.
She closed it again and almost put it in her pocket before realising she hadn't actually registered what the time was.
22:50, apparently... night night Joel.
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Bridget took the notebook from Sarah when she passed it over, looking at the scrawling on the paper. The girl had put a lot of thought into this, there was no doubt about that. Unfortunately, as with most people when they brainstorm, only Sarah would know what the hell was going on in the maps that Bridget was looking at. She could pick out a few words here and there, such as "collar","SCIENCE" and " trachea!Larynx!", but for the most part the lines connecting the bubbles connecting to other bubbles back to older bubbles just confused the hell out of the redhead.
Turning the page, Bridget found another, slightly smaller mess of mind maps. This one was just as incomprehensible at the first one, only in this one she noticed things like "CHINA!", "-6", and other less sciencey things. It didn't take much for the Irish girl to extrapolate that the first map had to do with the collars, whereas this one was about... something else. Location maybe? Perhaps escape? Bridget didn't know, not that it would have mattered seeing as she didn't understand the damn things anyways.
Bridget spent a good ten or so minutes looking at the two maps, trying to figure out what was happening in Sarah's mind. If she was going to be helping the girl with her crazy schemes, it'd be nice to understand what she was helping in. Well, with any luck, Sarah would explain it better to her later. And it would have to wait for later, because a familiar crackle of speakers coming to life filled the air...
Turning the page, Bridget found another, slightly smaller mess of mind maps. This one was just as incomprehensible at the first one, only in this one she noticed things like "CHINA!", "-6", and other less sciencey things. It didn't take much for the Irish girl to extrapolate that the first map had to do with the collars, whereas this one was about... something else. Location maybe? Perhaps escape? Bridget didn't know, not that it would have mattered seeing as she didn't understand the damn things anyways.
Bridget spent a good ten or so minutes looking at the two maps, trying to figure out what was happening in Sarah's mind. If she was going to be helping the girl with her crazy schemes, it'd be nice to understand what she was helping in. Well, with any luck, Sarah would explain it better to her later. And it would have to wait for later, because a familiar crackle of speakers coming to life filled the air...
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-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
The voice was surprising, though it should not have been. After all, Kimberly would have been incredibly surprised had she been the only one awake. To sleep well in a situation like this required a special kind of arrogance or stupidity, a special kind of trust in fate. After all, it was impossible to guarantee another sunrise. How could people be so cavalier about sleep?
Whatever. Point was, Dutchy had fucking noticed her return, which implied he had also noticed her absence. He was expressing happiness at her being back. Asking if she was alright. Fuck him. Fuck them all, wanting to know if she was fine. What did they want her to say? She wasn't fine, not in any real sense, not with her arm fucked up and her hat stolen and her actions thwarted at every turn, but, given all that, she was as fine as could be, and being asked didn't do jack shit to change her circumstances. No, it was how they subtly solidified their misconceptions. Look at poor Kimberly, trying to be brave, saying she's fine even when her life is shit. Isn't she precious?
Heat washed over Kimberly, anger warming her body. It was unfair, completely unfair, to freak out now, to blame Dutchy for her problems. After all, he was one of the better ones. He had done relatively little to patronize her, had seemed to genuinely care, had been so excited about his plan. But he'd just said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and dammit, nothing on this island was fair. So Kimberly raised her index finger to her lips, ssshhhhh, and crawled over to him, a once-simple process made a nuisance (like everything else) by her left arm. Oh, Kris, how much you have coming to you.
Thinking of Kris did not calm Kimberly down very well. Had her opponents been here, she would have been reacting differently, would have been keeping her cool, keeping in control, not letting things get to her. But, on her own, with only allies, any loss of composure was a choice, a willing release of tension. She stopped at the foot of Dutchy's makeshift bed, smiling at him.
"Back? What do you mean, 'back'?"
This was wrong. She knew that. It did nothing to stop her.
"Oh, so you noticed me sneaking off? I was kinda hoping no one would. It'd be pretty fucking inconvenient if the others heard. I trust we won't have any problems there, right?
"I mean, I'd be really, really upset if they were to find out. And I get... well, I don't like getting mad, and you've been such a good friend. It'd be an awful shame for anything to threaten that. So, I guess maybe we should start this again:"
It took a little effort, but Kimberly blanked her face for a moment.
"Back? What do you mean, 'back'? Oh, I see. You were dreaming, Dutchy. I never left at all.
"Go back to sleep."
Yes. Go back to sleep. Don't escalate this. Let vague menace serve as sufficient warning, because it'd be a pity to wake the others up with yells, a pity to get into more trouble so soon, but if it had to be, it had to be. Because no way in fuck was Kimberly giving him any slack. No. Strength is what it takes to get what you want here. So true, so sensible. Strength, physical or emotional. The drive, the ability to do what it took, any threat, implicit or otherwise. Yes.
Whatever it took.
Then the crackling of speakers shook the stillness of the camp.
Whatever. Point was, Dutchy had fucking noticed her return, which implied he had also noticed her absence. He was expressing happiness at her being back. Asking if she was alright. Fuck him. Fuck them all, wanting to know if she was fine. What did they want her to say? She wasn't fine, not in any real sense, not with her arm fucked up and her hat stolen and her actions thwarted at every turn, but, given all that, she was as fine as could be, and being asked didn't do jack shit to change her circumstances. No, it was how they subtly solidified their misconceptions. Look at poor Kimberly, trying to be brave, saying she's fine even when her life is shit. Isn't she precious?
Heat washed over Kimberly, anger warming her body. It was unfair, completely unfair, to freak out now, to blame Dutchy for her problems. After all, he was one of the better ones. He had done relatively little to patronize her, had seemed to genuinely care, had been so excited about his plan. But he'd just said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and dammit, nothing on this island was fair. So Kimberly raised her index finger to her lips, ssshhhhh, and crawled over to him, a once-simple process made a nuisance (like everything else) by her left arm. Oh, Kris, how much you have coming to you.
Thinking of Kris did not calm Kimberly down very well. Had her opponents been here, she would have been reacting differently, would have been keeping her cool, keeping in control, not letting things get to her. But, on her own, with only allies, any loss of composure was a choice, a willing release of tension. She stopped at the foot of Dutchy's makeshift bed, smiling at him.
"Back? What do you mean, 'back'?"
This was wrong. She knew that. It did nothing to stop her.
"Oh, so you noticed me sneaking off? I was kinda hoping no one would. It'd be pretty fucking inconvenient if the others heard. I trust we won't have any problems there, right?
"I mean, I'd be really, really upset if they were to find out. And I get... well, I don't like getting mad, and you've been such a good friend. It'd be an awful shame for anything to threaten that. So, I guess maybe we should start this again:"
It took a little effort, but Kimberly blanked her face for a moment.
"Back? What do you mean, 'back'? Oh, I see. You were dreaming, Dutchy. I never left at all.
"Go back to sleep."
Yes. Go back to sleep. Don't escalate this. Let vague menace serve as sufficient warning, because it'd be a pity to wake the others up with yells, a pity to get into more trouble so soon, but if it had to be, it had to be. Because no way in fuck was Kimberly giving him any slack. No. Strength is what it takes to get what you want here. So true, so sensible. Strength, physical or emotional. The drive, the ability to do what it took, any threat, implicit or otherwise. Yes.
Whatever it took.
Then the crackling of speakers shook the stillness of the camp.
Roland was the only one of the five still asleep. He tossed and turned in his sleep, moving himself over to where Dutchy used to sleep, and tried to sort everything out.
It wasn't easy. That voice was an omnipresent figure in his dreams, his Jigsaw, making him do terrible things to all of his friends. Dutchy's head exploded into confetti, Lily unravelled like a sweater, Sarah's heart was torn out of her chest, and the voice on the announcements said it was all Roland's fault.
allrolandsfaultallrolandsfaultallrolandsfaultallrolandsfaultallrolandsfaultallrolandsfault...
He sat on a rainy street with his arms on his knees and his feet in a pool of mud. He turned his head to his left and saw Sarah and himself and Sarah and himself and Sarah and himself all in a line.
what can i do
watch and listen
opportunity comes
Roland blinked his eyes open and looked up at the leafy canopy above him. He didn't want to get up for school. Just wanted to sleep in, maybe go to a dream where his political repertoire came in handy. He turned back over to his original spot and saw Dutchy and Kimberly talking about something. He couldn't hear them at all.
Wait, was Kimberly always there? He tilted his head up and watched the two of them more closely.
It wasn't easy. That voice was an omnipresent figure in his dreams, his Jigsaw, making him do terrible things to all of his friends. Dutchy's head exploded into confetti, Lily unravelled like a sweater, Sarah's heart was torn out of her chest, and the voice on the announcements said it was all Roland's fault.
allrolandsfaultallrolandsfaultallrolandsfaultallrolandsfaultallrolandsfaultallrolandsfault...
He sat on a rainy street with his arms on his knees and his feet in a pool of mud. He turned his head to his left and saw Sarah and himself and Sarah and himself and Sarah and himself all in a line.
what can i do
watch and listen
opportunity comes
Roland blinked his eyes open and looked up at the leafy canopy above him. He didn't want to get up for school. Just wanted to sleep in, maybe go to a dream where his political repertoire came in handy. He turned back over to his original spot and saw Dutchy and Kimberly talking about something. He couldn't hear them at all.
Wait, was Kimberly always there? He tilted his head up and watched the two of them more closely.
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She didn't like Danya happy. A happy Danya meant everything was going to plan. A happy Danya meant things were going wrong.
Things like 21 more of her classmates being dead.
FUCK.
What the fuck was wrong with people? Didn't they realise their best chance of survival rested on them not fucking killing people? On a logical level, the longer they drew this out, the longer whoever was looking for them would have to find them. On a "normal person" level, WHO THE FUCK MURDERS PEOPLE?
Killing in self defence made sense, like Reiko must have, though that meant someone else was trying to kill everyone else. In which case the situation was still STUPID.
Stupid stupid stupid STUPID
The mathematics was so straight forward, how were people seriously that dumb? What's more likely, you being able to outfight 250 other students, or what was left of the group being rescued in 250 days? It was almost as if these people didn't want to sur-
"Reiko Ishida managed to score with another double kill. That's right kids, that puts her on four."
What.
"First up was Tobias Elwin, who took a knife to the throat and then right afterwards, Raina Morales"
"nonononono."
"discovered that Reiko's boot was a lot harder than her head. Must've been a real kicker for her..."
For the past day she'd managed to rationalise Reiko's kills. They were just self defense, or a horrible accident. If it had just been Tobias then she could have maintained that pretense... But Raina? There was no chance in hell she would have attacked someone. She was too sweet and friendly and...
She looked up at the girl beside her, struggling to maintain her composure. Raina was friends with Bridget right? Right. Part of the reason she sort of knew about Bridget already was that she'd had a distant crush on her best friend. Of course she was fucking friends with her. She felt stupid for even having to ask herself the question.
What she really felt though, was panic. She stared wide-eyed at Bridget, her mouth hanging slightly agape. What could she say? "Sorry my girlfriend killed your best friend"? Everything she could think of sounded insincere.
She started tearing up, between knowing her girlfriend was a killer, knowing more of her friends were dead, knowing that survival was going to be an uphill battle against sheer stupidity and watching Bridget start breaking down, she didn't have much reason not to.
She couldn't break down again though, she had to at least try to help her helper for once.
"I... Bridget I'm sorry."
She slid across the crumbling bark and sat closer to the girl, carefully venturing to put her hand on her shoulder.
"This, it shouldn't have happened and, and it's stupid and senseless and i'm sorry."
She couldn't think of anything else to say in that moment, there didn't seem to be anything else. She couldn't, wasn't going to defend Reiko on this. Her heart felt like it was lodging in her throat as she tried to blink back the tears which insisted on flowing again. It was a horrible thing to have to realise, but she couldn't stand by her anymore. Reiko wasn't there, couldn't defend herself, but as much as she wanted to defend her she just couldn't...
Did that mean she didn't love her?
It could have been another accident...
Statistically unlikely. Fucking hell Reiko...
Things like 21 more of her classmates being dead.
FUCK.
What the fuck was wrong with people? Didn't they realise their best chance of survival rested on them not fucking killing people? On a logical level, the longer they drew this out, the longer whoever was looking for them would have to find them. On a "normal person" level, WHO THE FUCK MURDERS PEOPLE?
Killing in self defence made sense, like Reiko must have, though that meant someone else was trying to kill everyone else. In which case the situation was still STUPID.
Stupid stupid stupid STUPID
The mathematics was so straight forward, how were people seriously that dumb? What's more likely, you being able to outfight 250 other students, or what was left of the group being rescued in 250 days? It was almost as if these people didn't want to sur-
"Reiko Ishida managed to score with another double kill. That's right kids, that puts her on four."
What.
"First up was Tobias Elwin, who took a knife to the throat and then right afterwards, Raina Morales"
"nonononono."
"discovered that Reiko's boot was a lot harder than her head. Must've been a real kicker for her..."
For the past day she'd managed to rationalise Reiko's kills. They were just self defense, or a horrible accident. If it had just been Tobias then she could have maintained that pretense... But Raina? There was no chance in hell she would have attacked someone. She was too sweet and friendly and...
She looked up at the girl beside her, struggling to maintain her composure. Raina was friends with Bridget right? Right. Part of the reason she sort of knew about Bridget already was that she'd had a distant crush on her best friend. Of course she was fucking friends with her. She felt stupid for even having to ask herself the question.
What she really felt though, was panic. She stared wide-eyed at Bridget, her mouth hanging slightly agape. What could she say? "Sorry my girlfriend killed your best friend"? Everything she could think of sounded insincere.
She started tearing up, between knowing her girlfriend was a killer, knowing more of her friends were dead, knowing that survival was going to be an uphill battle against sheer stupidity and watching Bridget start breaking down, she didn't have much reason not to.
She couldn't break down again though, she had to at least try to help her helper for once.
"I... Bridget I'm sorry."
She slid across the crumbling bark and sat closer to the girl, carefully venturing to put her hand on her shoulder.
"This, it shouldn't have happened and, and it's stupid and senseless and i'm sorry."
She couldn't think of anything else to say in that moment, there didn't seem to be anything else. She couldn't, wasn't going to defend Reiko on this. Her heart felt like it was lodging in her throat as she tried to blink back the tears which insisted on flowing again. It was a horrible thing to have to realise, but she couldn't stand by her anymore. Reiko wasn't there, couldn't defend herself, but as much as she wanted to defend her she just couldn't...
Did that mean she didn't love her?
It could have been another accident...
Statistically unlikely. Fucking hell Reiko...
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Bridget had planned on sitting through the announcements in much the same way she had the last time. While some might see it as cold or heartless, Bridget needed to keep her head in the game. Someone had to do it. Sarah broke down a lot, and the others didn't seem fit to lead... and then she heard Raina's name.
That... couldn't be right. Not Raina. She was too kind to be attacked. Sure, she was big, but she wouldn't hurt a fly. On top of that, she was killed by Reiko Ishida. The girl who was the girlfriend of the one sitting beside her now, who Bridget glanced at for a moment. There was something about Sarah's apologetic look that made the redhead ball up her fists.
Turning her back slightly on Sarah, Bridget did everything in her power to not cry. She had spent the last two days telling Sarah not to do it, so doing it herself would make her seem like a huge hypocrite. Despite her attempts, the Irish girl couldn't stop a few silents tears from slipping out of her eyelids and down her dirt streaked face. Raina had been her friend almost since she had moved to the US. They were as thick as thieves, nigh insuperable. Bridget hadn't been thinking about her large friend up to this point, thinking she could take care of herself, that she would be okay. And now, now she was dead. Taken from this world by the very girl the group she was in was trying to find.
Bridget felt the comforting hand of Sarah on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. She didn't want to be comforted, least of all by Reiko's girlfriend. Then again, if anyone of this group could understand her pain, it was her. Sure, Bridget had lost her best friend, but how must it feel knowing that your girlfriend was killing people? Who even knew if Reiko was the same girl that Sarah remembered? What if Sarah was next? Bridget had failed to protect someone she cared for again. She would not let it happen a third time.
Bridget brought the bag at her feet up, unzipping the top and rummaging through it's contents. She found her half used first aid kit, and opened it up. Inside she managed to find the small surgical scissors she remembered seeing in there before. If she wasn't going to fail again, then she needed to make sure nothing could hold her back. Reaching back with one hand, Bridget undid the messy knot holding her hair in place, letting the crimson locks flow out. Grabbing a handful nearest to her hands, she began to cut at the strands, until before long she was holding a fistful of red hair in her hands. It was the first time in a long time scissors had touched her hair. She felt like each cut with the instrument was removing what little she had of home remaining.
The tears flowed freely as she let the last strands of her old life escape her hands.
That... couldn't be right. Not Raina. She was too kind to be attacked. Sure, she was big, but she wouldn't hurt a fly. On top of that, she was killed by Reiko Ishida. The girl who was the girlfriend of the one sitting beside her now, who Bridget glanced at for a moment. There was something about Sarah's apologetic look that made the redhead ball up her fists.
Turning her back slightly on Sarah, Bridget did everything in her power to not cry. She had spent the last two days telling Sarah not to do it, so doing it herself would make her seem like a huge hypocrite. Despite her attempts, the Irish girl couldn't stop a few silents tears from slipping out of her eyelids and down her dirt streaked face. Raina had been her friend almost since she had moved to the US. They were as thick as thieves, nigh insuperable. Bridget hadn't been thinking about her large friend up to this point, thinking she could take care of herself, that she would be okay. And now, now she was dead. Taken from this world by the very girl the group she was in was trying to find.
Bridget felt the comforting hand of Sarah on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. She didn't want to be comforted, least of all by Reiko's girlfriend. Then again, if anyone of this group could understand her pain, it was her. Sure, Bridget had lost her best friend, but how must it feel knowing that your girlfriend was killing people? Who even knew if Reiko was the same girl that Sarah remembered? What if Sarah was next? Bridget had failed to protect someone she cared for again. She would not let it happen a third time.
Bridget brought the bag at her feet up, unzipping the top and rummaging through it's contents. She found her half used first aid kit, and opened it up. Inside she managed to find the small surgical scissors she remembered seeing in there before. If she wasn't going to fail again, then she needed to make sure nothing could hold her back. Reaching back with one hand, Bridget undid the messy knot holding her hair in place, letting the crimson locks flow out. Grabbing a handful nearest to her hands, she began to cut at the strands, until before long she was holding a fistful of red hair in her hands. It was the first time in a long time scissors had touched her hair. She felt like each cut with the instrument was removing what little she had of home remaining.
The tears flowed freely as she let the last strands of her old life escape her hands.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.
Sarah's hand hovered near where it had been shrugged off, she should have known it'd be innapropriate. She'd never been great at comforting people, maybe a little better with apologies, but this wasn't one of these situations you could just hug, make up and move on from. She withdrew the hand back into her lap.
Idiot.
She took a quick glance away to her left, subconsciously hoping someone else could come and deal with her problem. No-one caught her sight, everyone was either hidden from view or not stirring enough to catch her attention; so it came back to Bridget, before finally joining her hands in her lap.
She fidgeted, dug her stubby nails into the back of her hand and just stared at the ground. She blinked and wiped her eyes as she tried to stem her crying. Her mind felt like it had fallen blank, as if it had kind of given up on thinking for the moment and was taking a little rest. She was okay with that, somehow it was helping her avoid breaking down. Again.
She looked up as Bridget let her hair flow down her back, feeling a fleeting kind of admirational jealousy for the length and iron oxidiness of it. She'd kept her own shortish for a long time; her straight, black hair was kind of boring and there never seemed any point growing it longer than it needed to be since she wouldn't even like it any more if she did. She hadn't cut it since prom, on Reiko's suggestion, and it was slowly gaining a bit of length and she was thinking of maybe colouring it for the first time but...
But this really, really wasn't the time to be thinking about her hair.
Her mesmerisation with the back of Bridget's head slowly faded as she realised the ginger girl had a pair scissors in her hand, and not only that but she was using them to cut her hair.
And she was cutting it kind of really badly. Sarah might have been hopeless at providing comforting words, but she could at least help cut her friend's hair properly. She held her palm out, beginning to cry almost as much as she now realised bridget was.
"Here." She waited a moment as Bridget turned the scissors around and pressed them handle-first into her outstretched fingers.
It was obviously important to Bridget, even if it was just a ritual she could understand why Bridget wanted to do it. Besides, it seemed a bit late to be asking if she was sure; so she wanted to do it right.
Leave it a bit long, tidy it up later when you're not so upset...
She shuffled a little closer to Bridget and pulled her leg under her body for a little extra height, dragging moldy bark grains up with the fabric of her cargo pants. She steadied herself with the other foot, planting it firmly on the ground.
Now...
She grasped a ribbon of hair between her fingers, they'd been on the island for two days already, but Bridget's hair was still soft and nice in her hands, it really was a shame she had to cut it. She stopped biting her bottom lip and took a deep breath. Each strand of hair offered just the smallest amount of resistance as she began to slice her way through, just enough that she could feel it's texture through the handle. She cut once, gathered some more hair up, and cut again.
And so a small heap of beautiful, rusty hair began to pile up in her lap.
Idiot.
She took a quick glance away to her left, subconsciously hoping someone else could come and deal with her problem. No-one caught her sight, everyone was either hidden from view or not stirring enough to catch her attention; so it came back to Bridget, before finally joining her hands in her lap.
She fidgeted, dug her stubby nails into the back of her hand and just stared at the ground. She blinked and wiped her eyes as she tried to stem her crying. Her mind felt like it had fallen blank, as if it had kind of given up on thinking for the moment and was taking a little rest. She was okay with that, somehow it was helping her avoid breaking down. Again.
She looked up as Bridget let her hair flow down her back, feeling a fleeting kind of admirational jealousy for the length and iron oxidiness of it. She'd kept her own shortish for a long time; her straight, black hair was kind of boring and there never seemed any point growing it longer than it needed to be since she wouldn't even like it any more if she did. She hadn't cut it since prom, on Reiko's suggestion, and it was slowly gaining a bit of length and she was thinking of maybe colouring it for the first time but...
But this really, really wasn't the time to be thinking about her hair.
Her mesmerisation with the back of Bridget's head slowly faded as she realised the ginger girl had a pair scissors in her hand, and not only that but she was using them to cut her hair.
And she was cutting it kind of really badly. Sarah might have been hopeless at providing comforting words, but she could at least help cut her friend's hair properly. She held her palm out, beginning to cry almost as much as she now realised bridget was.
"Here." She waited a moment as Bridget turned the scissors around and pressed them handle-first into her outstretched fingers.
It was obviously important to Bridget, even if it was just a ritual she could understand why Bridget wanted to do it. Besides, it seemed a bit late to be asking if she was sure; so she wanted to do it right.
Leave it a bit long, tidy it up later when you're not so upset...
She shuffled a little closer to Bridget and pulled her leg under her body for a little extra height, dragging moldy bark grains up with the fabric of her cargo pants. She steadied herself with the other foot, planting it firmly on the ground.
Now...
She grasped a ribbon of hair between her fingers, they'd been on the island for two days already, but Bridget's hair was still soft and nice in her hands, it really was a shame she had to cut it. She stopped biting her bottom lip and took a deep breath. Each strand of hair offered just the smallest amount of resistance as she began to slice her way through, just enough that she could feel it's texture through the handle. She cut once, gathered some more hair up, and cut again.
And so a small heap of beautiful, rusty hair began to pile up in her lap.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Gwbiiii.
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Dutchy knew something was wrong, but it wasn't... quite... clicking. He blinked several times at Kimberly, rubbing his palms against his eyes until he could see a blinding white light. He sniffled a few times too as the girl talked, explaining to Dutchy that she... wasn't actually back? Dutchy didn't get it. And he had a terrifying suspicion he didn't WANT to get it. Kim was most certainly up to something, but if she was saying she wasn't... in that way... Dutchy began to shift nervously, looking behind towards the others. Roland was still sleeping. Sarah and Bridget sat farther away, out of earshot. They didn't even appear to know Kim was back, if she had ever left.
Did she leave? Maybe I'm just... imagining. Maybe I'm dreaming.
Dutchy wanted to believe. But he couldn't. He could never go back to that sleepy state of the first day, back when he thought this was a mere camping trip gone wrong. Kim had taught him that. He could feel his stomach bubbling about, and he knew it wasn't from lack of food. The image of Kimberly wounded on the beach haunted him, and he found himself momentarily unable to lock eyes with the girl again.
I couldn't do anything then. I can tell myself I did, but it's not the same. It's just not the same. She's probably still mad at me for- for... something. But why? Why the secret?
"I'm sorry." He eventually found himself whispering, barely audible. "I'm really sorry. I'm scared, I'm really, really scared and I- I won't- " He paused, taking a deep breath. "O-okay. Yes."
Kimberly was up to something. Or worse, had done something. But what? His curiosity only increased as he looked towards the girl.
""Back? What do you mean, 'back'? Oh, I see. You were dreaming, Dutchy. I never left at all."
"R-right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to wake you up..."
For all he knew, it could was bad. Not just for him, but for everyone. Roland, Sarah and Bridget. Fear slammed into his mind, images of his friends laying dead with slit throats. The gears within his head started churning. He was 'dreaming' like Kimberly wanted, but he always did have a knack for remembering his dreams. As much as he wanted to respect Kim's privacy and avoid hurting her... it was just too strange. If the Island had taught him anything, it was to remember.
Remember I'm being watched.
Remember they're going to kill me.
Remember I can't escape...
Dutchy lay back down in his sleeping bag, contemplating what had just occurred. It was painfully obvious he wouldn't be doing much sleeping, as much as his body demanded it. Passing out from exhaustion seemed like a likely alternative. In the meantime he could pick apart what he'd witnessed... figure out what he was missing.
Why? Why did she leave? Why does she want it to be a secret? Why tonight? Why the warnings, why..?
A crackle echoed through the clearing and Dutchy felt his blood turn cold. A high pitched whine escaped his throat as he buried himself within his blankets, curling into a ball in panic. It was him. It was Danya. The Bad Guys.
Oh please. Oh please no, oh please oh please, no no no more...
If there was a God, he was a cruel one. Danya spoke in the same sickeningly jolly tone as before. His face appeared before Dutchy, no matter how hard he shut his eyes. A jolly fat man, coated with blood. Rosey red cheeks and a bright white smile. Sadistic, cruel. The first person he had ever seen as less than human. His Nemesis.
"Stop it! Stop it!" He cried out, barely intelligible. He shoved his face in his pillow and pulled at his long blonde hair, seeking a distraction in the pain.
Danya listed the names. Dutchy heard every last one.
Did she leave? Maybe I'm just... imagining. Maybe I'm dreaming.
Dutchy wanted to believe. But he couldn't. He could never go back to that sleepy state of the first day, back when he thought this was a mere camping trip gone wrong. Kim had taught him that. He could feel his stomach bubbling about, and he knew it wasn't from lack of food. The image of Kimberly wounded on the beach haunted him, and he found himself momentarily unable to lock eyes with the girl again.
I couldn't do anything then. I can tell myself I did, but it's not the same. It's just not the same. She's probably still mad at me for- for... something. But why? Why the secret?
"I'm sorry." He eventually found himself whispering, barely audible. "I'm really sorry. I'm scared, I'm really, really scared and I- I won't- " He paused, taking a deep breath. "O-okay. Yes."
Kimberly was up to something. Or worse, had done something. But what? His curiosity only increased as he looked towards the girl.
""Back? What do you mean, 'back'? Oh, I see. You were dreaming, Dutchy. I never left at all."
"R-right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to wake you up..."
For all he knew, it could was bad. Not just for him, but for everyone. Roland, Sarah and Bridget. Fear slammed into his mind, images of his friends laying dead with slit throats. The gears within his head started churning. He was 'dreaming' like Kimberly wanted, but he always did have a knack for remembering his dreams. As much as he wanted to respect Kim's privacy and avoid hurting her... it was just too strange. If the Island had taught him anything, it was to remember.
Remember I'm being watched.
Remember they're going to kill me.
Remember I can't escape...
Dutchy lay back down in his sleeping bag, contemplating what had just occurred. It was painfully obvious he wouldn't be doing much sleeping, as much as his body demanded it. Passing out from exhaustion seemed like a likely alternative. In the meantime he could pick apart what he'd witnessed... figure out what he was missing.
Why? Why did she leave? Why does she want it to be a secret? Why tonight? Why the warnings, why..?
A crackle echoed through the clearing and Dutchy felt his blood turn cold. A high pitched whine escaped his throat as he buried himself within his blankets, curling into a ball in panic. It was him. It was Danya. The Bad Guys.
Oh please. Oh please no, oh please oh please, no no no more...
If there was a God, he was a cruel one. Danya spoke in the same sickeningly jolly tone as before. His face appeared before Dutchy, no matter how hard he shut his eyes. A jolly fat man, coated with blood. Rosey red cheeks and a bright white smile. Sadistic, cruel. The first person he had ever seen as less than human. His Nemesis.
"Stop it! Stop it!" He cried out, barely intelligible. He shoved his face in his pillow and pulled at his long blonde hair, seeking a distraction in the pain.
Danya listed the names. Dutchy heard every last one.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Little Boy. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.