((Bobby continued from: Smooth))
Somehow, something as simple as having a shave had improved Bobby's mood immensely. Perhaps it was feeling more... civilised, if there could ever be anything normal about the island he was on. As such, he wasn't feeling too terrible for the first time in quite a while, reaching something of a peace whilst walking alongside the babbling broke. This persisted of course, only up until he stumbled upon something which was depressingly familiar. More specifically, someone.
Urgh. Forgot about you.
Even with decay setting in with gusto, the corpse was still recognisable as that of Tyson Neills - the first person Bobby had met in all of this. If it wasn't for him attacking Bobby (and his own panicked reaction) six people wouldn't have died. Amongst the ninety or so who had already perished, that number was small, but it was an immeasurable number chalked against Bobby's conscience. He stared down at the corpse for a while, fists clenching and unclenching, going on to take his carbine out of his daypack and hold it in front of him as he kept on looking.
"If you hadn't been given this Tyson, seven more people, including yourself, wouldn't have been killed during this 'game'. But then, they wouldn't have died if I had the strength to keep my finger off the trigger, if I had the foresight not to panic. Danya said that I attacked you first - what of it? It wouldn't have been anything huge to let the people I met know that he was lying. But what did I do instead? I decided there was no going back, and further than that I can't blame you for a thing,"
Bobby sighed, closing his eyes and looking away from the body for a moment, though the disturbing image was still engraved in his memory (although admittedly it didn't quite top the eviscerated Jason Foley) then turned back to Tyson.
"All along I've been saying I don't have a choice, I was somehow forced into this, but that's ridiculous. I've been fully aware of what I was doing every step of the way, and saying anything other than that is just making excuses. ... And aren't I the philosopher? All I can do now is try not to give into fear and temptation another time and just attempt to avoid any more bloodshed,"
He took a step towards the brook, then gave Tyson a sidelong glance.
"That rot looks good on you, maybe you should market it. Might catch on,"
Bobby knelt on the bank of the brook, swinging his pack off his shoulder and trapping it under one knee beside him. He took a glance in each direction before leaning over and cupping his hands to splash water on his face in an attempt to clean some of the blood from his (mostly healed now) cuts off and in general trying to stop himself looking like crap as well as feeling like it.
A rabid animal claws for its life, it doesn't trim itself and groom its fur or get cleaned. I'm not a wild beast. Thinking of appearances at a time like this? It's my mind I'm taking care of, not my body.
Mano e Mano
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DetectiveArcher†
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((Continued from The Beginning is the End is the Beginning))
At first it had hurt, that was to be expected. Being shot was undoubtedly painful, but that was only the beginning. After leaving with Heath, the holes in her shoulder and arm began to grow more and more unbearable. As adrenaline slowly worked its way from her system, the girl began experience the throbbing wounds in all their glory. But, soon, even that began to fade.
Breathing harshly, Petra stumbled through the foliage of the jungle, supporting herself against her companion's body. Every step was getting harder. Why was it getting harder? This wasn't nearly as hard a run as she was used to. Matter of fact, they were practically walking. Actually, when you looked at the jungle, it was really pretty. It was a shame that it had the negative stigma of being a place where people got killed. It wouldn't be a bad place to vacation, if you were into hiking. Really, too bad with the whole terrorism thing.
The disoriented girl managed to pick the sound of the rushing brook out against the rain. "Is that water? Water would be good. I'm thirsty. Let's rest there, 'kay?" It was getting much harder to stand up. The edges of the world started to grow darker and more muddled. Shaking her head, Petra almost lost her balance, clawing at Heath's uninjured shoulder to keep her feet.
"Sorry. Must'a tripped over somethin'." Soldiering, on and pushing through the brush, the tired young woman was rewarded for her tenacity. Water. Clear, fresh, beautiful water. With a happy giggle, the brunette did her best to step forward, losing her balance and crashing to the ground in the process.
Landing on her ruined shoulder, she gave a sharp yelp before rolling onto her opposite side and cradling the wound arm. "So thirsty, so tired. Why is everything starting to get all spinny?" After a long pause, the girl realized that her arm didn't hurt quite so much anymore. Well, at least that's good. That was getting really annoying. Reevaluating the sensation, she found quite a bit of her body was starting to become numb. Her pale, clammy features slowly gave a concerned grimace.
"H-hey, Heath? I'm startin' t'lose a lil feelin', here."
At first it had hurt, that was to be expected. Being shot was undoubtedly painful, but that was only the beginning. After leaving with Heath, the holes in her shoulder and arm began to grow more and more unbearable. As adrenaline slowly worked its way from her system, the girl began experience the throbbing wounds in all their glory. But, soon, even that began to fade.
Breathing harshly, Petra stumbled through the foliage of the jungle, supporting herself against her companion's body. Every step was getting harder. Why was it getting harder? This wasn't nearly as hard a run as she was used to. Matter of fact, they were practically walking. Actually, when you looked at the jungle, it was really pretty. It was a shame that it had the negative stigma of being a place where people got killed. It wouldn't be a bad place to vacation, if you were into hiking. Really, too bad with the whole terrorism thing.
The disoriented girl managed to pick the sound of the rushing brook out against the rain. "Is that water? Water would be good. I'm thirsty. Let's rest there, 'kay?" It was getting much harder to stand up. The edges of the world started to grow darker and more muddled. Shaking her head, Petra almost lost her balance, clawing at Heath's uninjured shoulder to keep her feet.
"Sorry. Must'a tripped over somethin'." Soldiering, on and pushing through the brush, the tired young woman was rewarded for her tenacity. Water. Clear, fresh, beautiful water. With a happy giggle, the brunette did her best to step forward, losing her balance and crashing to the ground in the process.
Landing on her ruined shoulder, she gave a sharp yelp before rolling onto her opposite side and cradling the wound arm. "So thirsty, so tired. Why is everything starting to get all spinny?" After a long pause, the girl realized that her arm didn't hurt quite so much anymore. Well, at least that's good. That was getting really annoying. Reevaluating the sensation, she found quite a bit of her body was starting to become numb. Her pale, clammy features slowly gave a concerned grimace.
"H-hey, Heath? I'm startin' t'lose a lil feelin', here."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler DetectiveArcher.
(Heath Trennoby came along with Petra from The Beginning is the End is the Beginning)
The pain from Heath's right arm, which hung limp on his side, still spases through his body as he carried Petra along. He was trying his best to show no agony. It isn't good for anyone's morale. So he booked along with Petra, with whom he felt less nervous around. Heath wasn't able to pinpoint the reason. Guess getting shot at does wonders. His daydreaming, which constantly plagued his mind, was placed aside. His full awareness was focused on his partner, responding to her observations with concise answers.
Upon reaching the brooks, the notion of rest seemed possible to Heath, even in this terrible, terrible place.
Until Petra fell down. Heath looked on the whole event like this wasn't happening. The event felt so surreal. And the worst part of it was that it was his fault. He was suppose to keep her safe, keep her alive. And he couldn't even do that.
"H-hey, Heath? I'm startin' t'lose a lil feelin', here."
He rushed down to Petra, using his good hand to wrap around her and making sure to avoid her injuries. Now what, he thought with a twine of consternation. What can I do? I can't do this by myself. I know I can't.
He placed Petra underneath a nearby tree. He took off his jacket, which was a pain to do with a useless arm, and placed it over her. "I- s-some water, 'k-kay," he said reassuringly. He pulled out Petra's canteen from her bag and went over to brook.
Heath heard once about some Japanese religion that believed that everything in nature had a spirit. He always thought it was bull. Though looking at the brook, he all he could see a simple indifference. To Petra's pain, to his pain and to all the pain that was striking through this island. It kept on flowing, just has it had since it was created. He stared at the brook while filling the canteen, thinking off all those dead or dying scattered through the island, and yet the earth keeps on rolling with not so much as a glance. It wasn't a happy thought by any measure and Heath wanted it to git.
Then Heath heard splashing to his right, and turned his head to look. He saw Bobby Jacks, wiping his face with the water. Only, he doesn't know that's Bobby Jacks. Heath didn't know that the young man over there caused the death of Serenity and nearly did the same for him and Petra. The person, who everyone on the island is aiming to take down for the last week, was the same one that he was waving to get his attention.
"Yo," he shouted, trying his best to get rid the break of emotion that was hitting his voice. "I-I need so-some help. I d-d-d-don't," Heath stares back to Petra, then his hanging right arm. Heath gulped, hoping to make more sense this bout. "Please, she needs help and I...I can't-"
He gets it, Heath. If he wants to help, he'll help. Get back to Petra.
Heath rushed over back to Petra's side, not waiting for Bobby's response. She wasn't getting any better, though he didn't expect that would be the case. He got down on his knees pushed the canteen, now filled with the brook's water, Petra's lips. He did this at a slight angle, to ensure that the water doesn't overcome her. His instinct wanted to brush her hair, considering the situation, but that wasn't physically possible. Heath smiled at Petra, trying his best to pull back the tears that were forming. "Y-you're goin' be okay, ya know?"
The pain from Heath's right arm, which hung limp on his side, still spases through his body as he carried Petra along. He was trying his best to show no agony. It isn't good for anyone's morale. So he booked along with Petra, with whom he felt less nervous around. Heath wasn't able to pinpoint the reason. Guess getting shot at does wonders. His daydreaming, which constantly plagued his mind, was placed aside. His full awareness was focused on his partner, responding to her observations with concise answers.
Upon reaching the brooks, the notion of rest seemed possible to Heath, even in this terrible, terrible place.
Until Petra fell down. Heath looked on the whole event like this wasn't happening. The event felt so surreal. And the worst part of it was that it was his fault. He was suppose to keep her safe, keep her alive. And he couldn't even do that.
"H-hey, Heath? I'm startin' t'lose a lil feelin', here."
He rushed down to Petra, using his good hand to wrap around her and making sure to avoid her injuries. Now what, he thought with a twine of consternation. What can I do? I can't do this by myself. I know I can't.
He placed Petra underneath a nearby tree. He took off his jacket, which was a pain to do with a useless arm, and placed it over her. "I- s-some water, 'k-kay," he said reassuringly. He pulled out Petra's canteen from her bag and went over to brook.
Heath heard once about some Japanese religion that believed that everything in nature had a spirit. He always thought it was bull. Though looking at the brook, he all he could see a simple indifference. To Petra's pain, to his pain and to all the pain that was striking through this island. It kept on flowing, just has it had since it was created. He stared at the brook while filling the canteen, thinking off all those dead or dying scattered through the island, and yet the earth keeps on rolling with not so much as a glance. It wasn't a happy thought by any measure and Heath wanted it to git.
Then Heath heard splashing to his right, and turned his head to look. He saw Bobby Jacks, wiping his face with the water. Only, he doesn't know that's Bobby Jacks. Heath didn't know that the young man over there caused the death of Serenity and nearly did the same for him and Petra. The person, who everyone on the island is aiming to take down for the last week, was the same one that he was waving to get his attention.
"Yo," he shouted, trying his best to get rid the break of emotion that was hitting his voice. "I-I need so-some help. I d-d-d-don't," Heath stares back to Petra, then his hanging right arm. Heath gulped, hoping to make more sense this bout. "Please, she needs help and I...I can't-"
He gets it, Heath. If he wants to help, he'll help. Get back to Petra.
Heath rushed over back to Petra's side, not waiting for Bobby's response. She wasn't getting any better, though he didn't expect that would be the case. He got down on his knees pushed the canteen, now filled with the brook's water, Petra's lips. He did this at a slight angle, to ensure that the water doesn't overcome her. His instinct wanted to brush her hair, considering the situation, but that wasn't physically possible. Heath smiled at Petra, trying his best to pull back the tears that were forming. "Y-you're goin' be okay, ya know?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Neuphim. 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.
Bobby's head snapped up, and he listened intently for a moment to voices coming from nearby. One sounded strangely familiar, as if he'd heard it recently, but who had he spoke to a little while ago asides from himself and whoever that had been back at the cottage? Regardless of which, it wasn't that person, since this voice was most certainly that of a girl.
Oh... wait, fuck.
He remembered.
It was the girl who had snapped him out of his original revery and caused him to look at things that little bit differently. Shit. He'd shot at her hadn't he? Bobby hoped like fuck she wasn't seriously hurt, or wouldn't run away screaming the first time she saw him anyway. Then again... it had been dark at the airfield, and besides which, he'd shaved and actually cleaned up since then, although that would do nothing if his face was recogniseable. She sounded... faint, fuck, Bobby must have hit her, who knew what kind of state she would be in?
Then somebody called out, Bobby instantly assumed he was in for another fight and tensed himself to spring, but then, the words caught up to him.
... I'm being asked for help!?
What kind of a guy just casually asks a person like me for a hand?
I-I... should I just...?
No. No more. Haven't enough people been killed?
Let's rephrase that: haven't I killed enough people?
Bobby looked over at Heath and smoothly stood, picking up his daypack and opening it up as he dashed to where Petra was lying on the ground. He didn't say a word - not trusting that they wouldn't remember his voice from earlier (although in all fairness he'd been yelling himself hoarse, so it was unlikely), and knelt beside the girl, pulling his first aid kit from his pack, in the process dislodging the SIG Sauer, which fell to the ground alongside him. As Bobby looked at the girl's wounds (which he reminded himself, had been inflicted by him) the seeming impossibility of the task struck him.
What the hell am I doing? All I know about treating wounds is the random bits and pieces I've picked up from my cutman. I don't know how to manage a gunshot wound for fuck's sake! But... I have to try! I did this! I'm not having somebody else on my conscience!
He rooted through the kit and extracted which looked like it could be used for cleaning the wounds (incidentally right, but Bobby could have just as easily been hugely off the mark) and poured a little onto Petra's arm hopefully before getting out a pad and using that to rub away the blood and dirt where he could.
Except she's still bleeding like fuck, so... you're not really helping.
"I have no fucking clue what to do..." Bobby muttered, taking care to affect a slightly different intonation than his normal voice. Shit, what was it they always did in the war movies? "I guess we need to ... uh, put pressure on that then wrap it tight, maybe that will constrict the thing and stop it from bleeding." Bobby called to Heath.
Maybe.
Oh... wait, fuck.
He remembered.
It was the girl who had snapped him out of his original revery and caused him to look at things that little bit differently. Shit. He'd shot at her hadn't he? Bobby hoped like fuck she wasn't seriously hurt, or wouldn't run away screaming the first time she saw him anyway. Then again... it had been dark at the airfield, and besides which, he'd shaved and actually cleaned up since then, although that would do nothing if his face was recogniseable. She sounded... faint, fuck, Bobby must have hit her, who knew what kind of state she would be in?
Then somebody called out, Bobby instantly assumed he was in for another fight and tensed himself to spring, but then, the words caught up to him.
... I'm being asked for help!?
What kind of a guy just casually asks a person like me for a hand?
I-I... should I just...?
No. No more. Haven't enough people been killed?
Let's rephrase that: haven't I killed enough people?
Bobby looked over at Heath and smoothly stood, picking up his daypack and opening it up as he dashed to where Petra was lying on the ground. He didn't say a word - not trusting that they wouldn't remember his voice from earlier (although in all fairness he'd been yelling himself hoarse, so it was unlikely), and knelt beside the girl, pulling his first aid kit from his pack, in the process dislodging the SIG Sauer, which fell to the ground alongside him. As Bobby looked at the girl's wounds (which he reminded himself, had been inflicted by him) the seeming impossibility of the task struck him.
What the hell am I doing? All I know about treating wounds is the random bits and pieces I've picked up from my cutman. I don't know how to manage a gunshot wound for fuck's sake! But... I have to try! I did this! I'm not having somebody else on my conscience!
He rooted through the kit and extracted which looked like it could be used for cleaning the wounds (incidentally right, but Bobby could have just as easily been hugely off the mark) and poured a little onto Petra's arm hopefully before getting out a pad and using that to rub away the blood and dirt where he could.
Except she's still bleeding like fuck, so... you're not really helping.
"I have no fucking clue what to do..." Bobby muttered, taking care to affect a slightly different intonation than his normal voice. Shit, what was it they always did in the war movies? "I guess we need to ... uh, put pressure on that then wrap it tight, maybe that will constrict the thing and stop it from bleeding." Bobby called to Heath.
Maybe.
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DetectiveArcher†
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- Joined: Mon Sep 10, 2018 7:45 pm
The world took turns sliding in and out of focus, like a poorly shot home movie. Her head swimming, Petra tried to find something to keep her mind occupied, but couldn't think about anything that didn't scare her. Heath was immediately at her side. That was nice. He was a nice guy. It was too bad she hadn't got the chance to know him at school. The boy sputtered about getting her water and then disappeared.
Petra felt sad. It was a nice gesture, but she didn't really want water. She just wanted someone to be next to her. She might have been getting loopy, but she had no illusions about what was happening to her. She'd seen her share of movies. The amount of blood she'd shed while just lying on the ground was enough to tell her that she didn't have much of a chance.
She was dying. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath. Everyone on the island was dying; it was just to a matter of degree. She wondered how long Heath had left. Kind of philosophic, yeah? Heh. Maybe impending death does that to you.
I feel bad for Heath; if I didn't keep him outside he wouldn't have gotten shot. I should apologize for that. I wonder where Ianto went. Eh, just as well. I probably would have gotten him hurt too. It doesn't really hurt anymore. That's good. I guess, all things considered, this isn't such a bad way to go. At least I didn't have to hurt anyone. That would have made me sad. I wonder if Jacks felt the same way. Maybe I shouldn't have yelled at him. It's not really his fault. He was probably a nice guy before all this happened.
Her mind slowly drifting away, Petra was snapped back to reality as Heath appeared at her side again. Water. It was cool and crisp, soothing her burning throat. Eventually sipping down half of the canteen's contents, she was surprised at how much she could drink. Maybe losing blood makes you thirsty.
"Y-you're goin' be okay, ya know?" Heath's voice sounded like he'd swallowed sand. A stab of guilt struck the bleeding girl as she realized he was trying not to cry. "That's..." Petra started to tell him how untrue that was. She was going to point out how hard it was getting to keep her eyes open. She was going to tell him that she wasn't going to get any better. But she didn't.
"...I know. You'll patch m'arm up and I'll be back on m'feet in no time. Then we can find a way off the island and g'home. Oh, and in case I f'rget and don't tell you later, m'really sorry for getting you hurt."
Forcing a smile, Petra almost missed the second person kneeling down next to her. She barely felt the twinge of pain from the boy's contact with the wound or the cool press of the soaked pad. The boy muttered that he didn't know what to do. Petra didn't blame him. Not many people were equipped to deal with her situation. At least he was trying.
"Thank you. You really din't hafta help me. You're a real nice person."
Petra felt sad. It was a nice gesture, but she didn't really want water. She just wanted someone to be next to her. She might have been getting loopy, but she had no illusions about what was happening to her. She'd seen her share of movies. The amount of blood she'd shed while just lying on the ground was enough to tell her that she didn't have much of a chance.
She was dying. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath. Everyone on the island was dying; it was just to a matter of degree. She wondered how long Heath had left. Kind of philosophic, yeah? Heh. Maybe impending death does that to you.
I feel bad for Heath; if I didn't keep him outside he wouldn't have gotten shot. I should apologize for that. I wonder where Ianto went. Eh, just as well. I probably would have gotten him hurt too. It doesn't really hurt anymore. That's good. I guess, all things considered, this isn't such a bad way to go. At least I didn't have to hurt anyone. That would have made me sad. I wonder if Jacks felt the same way. Maybe I shouldn't have yelled at him. It's not really his fault. He was probably a nice guy before all this happened.
Her mind slowly drifting away, Petra was snapped back to reality as Heath appeared at her side again. Water. It was cool and crisp, soothing her burning throat. Eventually sipping down half of the canteen's contents, she was surprised at how much she could drink. Maybe losing blood makes you thirsty.
"Y-you're goin' be okay, ya know?" Heath's voice sounded like he'd swallowed sand. A stab of guilt struck the bleeding girl as she realized he was trying not to cry. "That's..." Petra started to tell him how untrue that was. She was going to point out how hard it was getting to keep her eyes open. She was going to tell him that she wasn't going to get any better. But she didn't.
"...I know. You'll patch m'arm up and I'll be back on m'feet in no time. Then we can find a way off the island and g'home. Oh, and in case I f'rget and don't tell you later, m'really sorry for getting you hurt."
Forcing a smile, Petra almost missed the second person kneeling down next to her. She barely felt the twinge of pain from the boy's contact with the wound or the cool press of the soaked pad. The boy muttered that he didn't know what to do. Petra didn't blame him. Not many people were equipped to deal with her situation. At least he was trying.
"Thank you. You really din't hafta help me. You're a real nice person."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler DetectiveArcher.
((Shameeca continued on from Seeking Sanctuary))
Soaking wet, but the fire of determination still burning in her, Shameeca was running through the rain, determined to do what she could to beat Lenny's twisted game. She couldn't win by herself and all the time, the chance of Jame's being kept alive was smaller and smaller. Yet she wouldn't give in to that nagging voice in the back of her head, the one that told her that Jame's death gave her a better chance of winning this game. No, she wouldn't give in to that, not if she could fight it.
Blinking through the water pouring down her face, looking at the map in her hands, she saw that she had arrived at her destination, the brook. It wasn't a dnager zone and the chance of being caught by the players here wasn't as big than as if she decided to head straight for one of the larger places, yet Shameeca knew that she had to get some help, she couldn't win the game by herself. In the distance she saw two figures over someone on the ground. Peering her eyes, she tried to see what they were doing, that was until she saw the other figure on the ground. Oh my god, were they...... no, she decided, no judgment till she could get closer to tell.
Slowly making her way across the way as to avoid making any noise that could alert them to her presence if they were doing what she had feared they were, Shameeca made it a few more metre's till she could get a grasp on the situation. Little did she know that they were involved in the carnage that she had seen the aftermath of, nor that the body of Serenity was of their doing. Yet, Shameeca could hear the words that were being said and as she made her way closer she could see it clearly.
"Oh god" she said outloud her voice slightly cracked. The girl on the floor, she looked so pale, so ill, the blood soaked clothing on her obviously a wound from a weapon. Had she been stabbed, shot, impaled? All these thought ran through her head as she looked at the trio on the floor, before rummaging in her bag for something to help. She had in it a small jumper, bright green, that she folded up in her hands as she moved closer to them.
"Here, use this for the presure thing" Shameeca said as she passed it to the guy who had said about the way to stop the bleeding. Suddenly the black girl froze, her hand holding the green jumper out, a look of shock on her face. It was him, from the announcements, Bobby Jacks, a killer. Shameeca knew him, from the few years when she had first moved there, she had developed a small crush on him. She had never approached him, nor did she even think that he knew who she was. Yet, she remembered the announcement. Murderer. Was the girl on the floor another victim of his? Was the other boy his co-worker in the killings? Had the three been a team and they were reaping the karma by the girl slowly dying on the floor. Maybe theyr were all innocent. She didn't know, but Shameeca realised that she may of landed herself in another mess. Behind the boy was a gun. Oh god, he had a gun, just like Lenny. Shameeca hang in the air for a brief second, thoughts processing through her head. Please let them be good people, she thought.
Soaking wet, but the fire of determination still burning in her, Shameeca was running through the rain, determined to do what she could to beat Lenny's twisted game. She couldn't win by herself and all the time, the chance of Jame's being kept alive was smaller and smaller. Yet she wouldn't give in to that nagging voice in the back of her head, the one that told her that Jame's death gave her a better chance of winning this game. No, she wouldn't give in to that, not if she could fight it.
Blinking through the water pouring down her face, looking at the map in her hands, she saw that she had arrived at her destination, the brook. It wasn't a dnager zone and the chance of being caught by the players here wasn't as big than as if she decided to head straight for one of the larger places, yet Shameeca knew that she had to get some help, she couldn't win the game by herself. In the distance she saw two figures over someone on the ground. Peering her eyes, she tried to see what they were doing, that was until she saw the other figure on the ground. Oh my god, were they...... no, she decided, no judgment till she could get closer to tell.
Slowly making her way across the way as to avoid making any noise that could alert them to her presence if they were doing what she had feared they were, Shameeca made it a few more metre's till she could get a grasp on the situation. Little did she know that they were involved in the carnage that she had seen the aftermath of, nor that the body of Serenity was of their doing. Yet, Shameeca could hear the words that were being said and as she made her way closer she could see it clearly.
"Oh god" she said outloud her voice slightly cracked. The girl on the floor, she looked so pale, so ill, the blood soaked clothing on her obviously a wound from a weapon. Had she been stabbed, shot, impaled? All these thought ran through her head as she looked at the trio on the floor, before rummaging in her bag for something to help. She had in it a small jumper, bright green, that she folded up in her hands as she moved closer to them.
"Here, use this for the presure thing" Shameeca said as she passed it to the guy who had said about the way to stop the bleeding. Suddenly the black girl froze, her hand holding the green jumper out, a look of shock on her face. It was him, from the announcements, Bobby Jacks, a killer. Shameeca knew him, from the few years when she had first moved there, she had developed a small crush on him. She had never approached him, nor did she even think that he knew who she was. Yet, she remembered the announcement. Murderer. Was the girl on the floor another victim of his? Was the other boy his co-worker in the killings? Had the three been a team and they were reaping the karma by the girl slowly dying on the floor. Maybe theyr were all innocent. She didn't know, but Shameeca realised that she may of landed herself in another mess. Behind the boy was a gun. Oh god, he had a gun, just like Lenny. Shameeca hang in the air for a brief second, thoughts processing through her head. Please let them be good people, she thought.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Lexi. 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.
"That's...I know. You'll patch m'arm up and I'll be back on m'feet in no time. Then we can find a way off the island and g'home. Oh, and in case I f'rget and don't tell you later, m'really sorry for getting you hurt." Heath felt so glad that she responded the way she did. Yet a little dab of pity. The smile he saw was obviously forced, just as his was. The fatality of the situation, she understood that completely. She was hiding it for his sake, just he was for her. Just so they can cope, Heath guessed.
His response was cut short by Bobby's diving into working on Petra. The fact that Bobby actually came was somewhat of a shock to Heath. By this point in the game, he assumed that he would've ran off... Or worse, killed us both. What a retard I am...
"I have no fucking clue what to do...I guess we need to ... uh, put pressure on that then wrap it tight, maybe that will constrict the thing and stop it from bleeding." The uneasiness of Bobby's voice wasn't reassuring, but at least something is being done. Heath knew that was anything was better than nothing. A weird thought poured through Heath's head, like déjà vu, he heard Bobby talking. But he wasn't sure why that was the case and shrugged it off as nothing.
Heath nodded his head to the command. Applying pressure on the wound with his one good hand, he turned his attention back to Petra. Apparently, just talking to those injured keeps them stabilized. At least, that's what Heath heard. Nonetheless, he started talking to her, noting a weird calming taking place in his speech.
"No, no, don't blame yourself. I-it wasn't your fault. Hell, it wasn't even that Robert guy's fault." This is lie, of course that rat-bastard was at fault. " It was just circumstance. It is jus' otvour control, y' know? There is a lot I wished would've happen but didn't. I wished we actually had that trip or that I...I-"
That I wasn't such a major fuckup. He wanted to quiver from his mouth. That my parents were still alive. That my brother wasn't going to lose me. That I had an actual backbone and find those bastards Bobby and Robert. That my classmates weren't all dying around me. That you won't die. They were all valid, true, but they weren't the things he wanted her to listen to while she was dying. That is just cruel and heartless, he reckoned. But he needed something more- well, suitable.
Rebounding, he continued, "that I meet up with a sweet girl like you earlier. Still, there isn't anything we can do but keep on going, ya know?" He felt flustered. Sure, it sounded nice to say, but the flow was awkward and he felt like idiot. Still, to be redundant, he was glad he said it anyway and hopes it lifts her spirits up.
Heath was surpised by a new arrival. And yet again, Heath had no idea who she was. The amazement was increased by the fact that she was helping them, right away. "Wow," he said to her. "Thank you!"
His response was cut short by Bobby's diving into working on Petra. The fact that Bobby actually came was somewhat of a shock to Heath. By this point in the game, he assumed that he would've ran off... Or worse, killed us both. What a retard I am...
"I have no fucking clue what to do...I guess we need to ... uh, put pressure on that then wrap it tight, maybe that will constrict the thing and stop it from bleeding." The uneasiness of Bobby's voice wasn't reassuring, but at least something is being done. Heath knew that was anything was better than nothing. A weird thought poured through Heath's head, like déjà vu, he heard Bobby talking. But he wasn't sure why that was the case and shrugged it off as nothing.
Heath nodded his head to the command. Applying pressure on the wound with his one good hand, he turned his attention back to Petra. Apparently, just talking to those injured keeps them stabilized. At least, that's what Heath heard. Nonetheless, he started talking to her, noting a weird calming taking place in his speech.
"No, no, don't blame yourself. I-it wasn't your fault. Hell, it wasn't even that Robert guy's fault." This is lie, of course that rat-bastard was at fault. " It was just circumstance. It is jus' otvour control, y' know? There is a lot I wished would've happen but didn't. I wished we actually had that trip or that I...I-"
That I wasn't such a major fuckup. He wanted to quiver from his mouth. That my parents were still alive. That my brother wasn't going to lose me. That I had an actual backbone and find those bastards Bobby and Robert. That my classmates weren't all dying around me. That you won't die. They were all valid, true, but they weren't the things he wanted her to listen to while she was dying. That is just cruel and heartless, he reckoned. But he needed something more- well, suitable.
Rebounding, he continued, "that I meet up with a sweet girl like you earlier. Still, there isn't anything we can do but keep on going, ya know?" He felt flustered. Sure, it sounded nice to say, but the flow was awkward and he felt like idiot. Still, to be redundant, he was glad he said it anyway and hopes it lifts her spirits up.
Heath was surpised by a new arrival. And yet again, Heath had no idea who she was. The amazement was increased by the fact that she was helping them, right away. "Wow," he said to her. "Thank you!"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Neuphim. 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.
((Sorry for holding this up, birthday and all that))
Even as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from the wounds he had inflicted, Bobby's heart was being wrenched again and again. Whilst the cruelly logical part of him was telling him that he could simply leave the girl to bleed out and kill the others - three less between him and safety, Bobby's conscience was taking a savage glee in pointing out to him that 'This was you,' 'You caused this'. He had shot this girl, and now she was bleeding to death, whilst thanking him for helping her! She had no idea that Bobby wasn't a philanthropist - he was trying to prevent another person's blood being on his hands!
Struggling to stop Petra bleeding (with the assistance of Heath - Bobby had shot him too, God...), Bobby didn't notice Shameeca until she was right on top of them, but instead of reaping the deserved rewards of not keeping a look out - an attack, or even a bullet to the head, Bobby simply found another helping hand to lend aid. Bobby didn't miss the sudden freeze as the light of recognition - and was that a little fear? Entered Shameeca's eyes. She knew who he was, unlike, it seemed, Heath and Petra. Bobby was vaguely familiar with Shameeca, though not on first name basis, certainly not somebody he'd talk to around school, but sometimes, just very occasionally, he'd catch her looking at him, just watching... Odd, but hardly the sort of thing he should be dwelling on while somebody was bleeding to death.
"Thanks," Bobby said curtly, taking the jumper and passing it to Heath - not really looking and hoping the other wouldn't just let it drop to the floor in surprise, before meeting the newcomer's eyes and silently willing her to keep quiet about who he was. "Okay..." Bobby breathed, then shook his head. "To tell you the truth that probably needs stitches," he motioned to the wound his free hand was currently compressing. "But needle and thread? I don't have the hands for that. Unless, um..." Bobby gestured at Shameeca. "You know your way around a needle, best thing would just be to wrap it as tightly as we can and hope that the bleeding stops,"
Stitches? Hell if he knew that's what the gunshot wound needed - he was probably barking up the wrong tree, but Heath was hurt, Petra was barely concious and Shameeca didn't seem to have any medical knowledge forthcoming, so it looked as though Bobby's own panicked determination to avoid having this girl die was putting him at the sharp end of decision making.
Just trying to stop this girl being number eight. I'm not a nice guy, I'm doing this for myself, when it comes down to it. Best thing would be to go before they twig it was me...
Even as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from the wounds he had inflicted, Bobby's heart was being wrenched again and again. Whilst the cruelly logical part of him was telling him that he could simply leave the girl to bleed out and kill the others - three less between him and safety, Bobby's conscience was taking a savage glee in pointing out to him that 'This was you,' 'You caused this'. He had shot this girl, and now she was bleeding to death, whilst thanking him for helping her! She had no idea that Bobby wasn't a philanthropist - he was trying to prevent another person's blood being on his hands!
Struggling to stop Petra bleeding (with the assistance of Heath - Bobby had shot him too, God...), Bobby didn't notice Shameeca until she was right on top of them, but instead of reaping the deserved rewards of not keeping a look out - an attack, or even a bullet to the head, Bobby simply found another helping hand to lend aid. Bobby didn't miss the sudden freeze as the light of recognition - and was that a little fear? Entered Shameeca's eyes. She knew who he was, unlike, it seemed, Heath and Petra. Bobby was vaguely familiar with Shameeca, though not on first name basis, certainly not somebody he'd talk to around school, but sometimes, just very occasionally, he'd catch her looking at him, just watching... Odd, but hardly the sort of thing he should be dwelling on while somebody was bleeding to death.
"Thanks," Bobby said curtly, taking the jumper and passing it to Heath - not really looking and hoping the other wouldn't just let it drop to the floor in surprise, before meeting the newcomer's eyes and silently willing her to keep quiet about who he was. "Okay..." Bobby breathed, then shook his head. "To tell you the truth that probably needs stitches," he motioned to the wound his free hand was currently compressing. "But needle and thread? I don't have the hands for that. Unless, um..." Bobby gestured at Shameeca. "You know your way around a needle, best thing would just be to wrap it as tightly as we can and hope that the bleeding stops,"
Stitches? Hell if he knew that's what the gunshot wound needed - he was probably barking up the wrong tree, but Heath was hurt, Petra was barely concious and Shameeca didn't seem to have any medical knowledge forthcoming, so it looked as though Bobby's own panicked determination to avoid having this girl die was putting him at the sharp end of decision making.
Just trying to stop this girl being number eight. I'm not a nice guy, I'm doing this for myself, when it comes down to it. Best thing would be to go before they twig it was me...
-
DetectiveArcher†
- Posts: 163
- Joined: Mon Sep 10, 2018 7:45 pm
The ground beneath Petra's back was hard, despite the copious amount of rain it had absorbed over the last few days. Looking past her would-be saviors, she stared at the grey skies, blinking as small droplets of water splashed on her face. At least it wasn't pouring like before.
I wonder if this is it. Am I really dying? Swallowing hard, she did her best to come to terms with the prospect. As an 18 year old girl about to graduate high school, death wasn't something she'd given much thought to. Sure, everyone died, but that was later in life, once you'd accomplished all your goals and made your peace with your loved ones. The thought stung. As the world took turns sliding in and out of focus, the bleeding girl wondered if she was content with her familial relationships.
----------
It was a bright day, sometime in late spring. She was wearing her yellow sundress. She liked the dress, it was very pretty. A young Petra Elizabeth Andrews was doing her best to entertain herself, playing in the front yard. She'd been sent out to amuse herself while her parents quarreled, not for the first time, in the relative sanctity of their bedroom. They may have grown to despise each other, but they could still agree that it was best not to let their daughter hear the squabbles.
With no one to play with and a very inactive imagination, the child quickly grew bored. Faced with nothing to do, it was a small leap for the girl to decide that she wanted to know what it was that her parents spoke about when they thought she was out of earshot.
Slowly creeping towards the house, the impish child grasped and gingerly turned the brass handle. Carefully opening the polished wooden door, mindful of the gently squeaking hinges, she stealthily slipped down the hall towards the sound of raised voices.
Pressing against the whitewashed walls of the hallway, the curious girl crouched down and perked up her ears. Her mother and father carried clearly, even through the securely shut and locked door. Barbs were flung back and forth, insults and regrets. The girl didn't quite understand many of the cutting remarks, but managed to pick out the idea that they were meant to be hurtful. Petra couldn't quite remember everything that was said, but did manage to pick out one of the few agreements her parent's came to.
"If it weren't for Petra I wouldn't even be here anymore!" Her father normally wasn't a man quick to anger, but his now his voice was filled with barely checked rage. The saddened girl pictured her usually kind father breathing smoke.
"And wouldn't I be glad?" Her mother shot back. If Father was breathing smoke, Mother's words were chipped out of ice. "You're right about that, though. If it weren't for our daughter you would be long gone. I'd see to that."
Not wanting to be around the razor edged words any longer, Petra strode back down the hall, not bothering to hide her steps. Her parents never seemed to notice she was there.
----------
I guess not. She decided, her heart sinking in her chest. Every important interaction with her parents held a small piece of that same moment. The divorce had been especially hard. No matter how many times they'd assured her she wasn't, the nervous girl couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been at the heart of the issue. Dwelling on the matter, Petra realized that she couldn't remember the last time she'd told her parents she loved them. Or the last time they'd told her the same. I guess it can't be helped now. Besides, I don't really have anyone to blame but myself. Mom, Dad...I'm sorry.
Her head swam. The shadows of the jungle seemed to grow longer and deeper, darkness slithered on the outskirts of her vision. Dead. What did that really mean? What was waiting for her? Weren't you supposed to see a tunnel with a light? The bleeding girl didn't see anything. At least there were people next to her. At least she wouldn't go alone. The small comfort made the athletic girl smile.
Even in the face of death, when helping her ran contrary to their best interests, the three hurriedly moving figures were doing their best to save her life. The game suddenly didn't seem as all consuming as she'd once imagined.
Straining her eyes into focus, Petra took a better look at the people around her. She didn't recognize the two good Samaritans, but was more than grateful for their efforts. Nice people, they would have made good friends. And Heath...she wasn't sure about Heath. What he was saying to her sounded sort of romantic, if poorly delivered. Just bad timing.
Sounds began to loose their edge, softened as if they'd been wrapped in thick cotton. Sleepy. A nap would be good. She told Heath so, her slurring words the only sound that seemed to have any weight. "I'm gettin' sleepy. I'm jus' gonna...jus' gonna rest my eyes, k?"
I wonder if this is it. Am I really dying? Swallowing hard, she did her best to come to terms with the prospect. As an 18 year old girl about to graduate high school, death wasn't something she'd given much thought to. Sure, everyone died, but that was later in life, once you'd accomplished all your goals and made your peace with your loved ones. The thought stung. As the world took turns sliding in and out of focus, the bleeding girl wondered if she was content with her familial relationships.
----------
It was a bright day, sometime in late spring. She was wearing her yellow sundress. She liked the dress, it was very pretty. A young Petra Elizabeth Andrews was doing her best to entertain herself, playing in the front yard. She'd been sent out to amuse herself while her parents quarreled, not for the first time, in the relative sanctity of their bedroom. They may have grown to despise each other, but they could still agree that it was best not to let their daughter hear the squabbles.
With no one to play with and a very inactive imagination, the child quickly grew bored. Faced with nothing to do, it was a small leap for the girl to decide that she wanted to know what it was that her parents spoke about when they thought she was out of earshot.
Slowly creeping towards the house, the impish child grasped and gingerly turned the brass handle. Carefully opening the polished wooden door, mindful of the gently squeaking hinges, she stealthily slipped down the hall towards the sound of raised voices.
Pressing against the whitewashed walls of the hallway, the curious girl crouched down and perked up her ears. Her mother and father carried clearly, even through the securely shut and locked door. Barbs were flung back and forth, insults and regrets. The girl didn't quite understand many of the cutting remarks, but managed to pick out the idea that they were meant to be hurtful. Petra couldn't quite remember everything that was said, but did manage to pick out one of the few agreements her parent's came to.
"If it weren't for Petra I wouldn't even be here anymore!" Her father normally wasn't a man quick to anger, but his now his voice was filled with barely checked rage. The saddened girl pictured her usually kind father breathing smoke.
"And wouldn't I be glad?" Her mother shot back. If Father was breathing smoke, Mother's words were chipped out of ice. "You're right about that, though. If it weren't for our daughter you would be long gone. I'd see to that."
Not wanting to be around the razor edged words any longer, Petra strode back down the hall, not bothering to hide her steps. Her parents never seemed to notice she was there.
----------
I guess not. She decided, her heart sinking in her chest. Every important interaction with her parents held a small piece of that same moment. The divorce had been especially hard. No matter how many times they'd assured her she wasn't, the nervous girl couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been at the heart of the issue. Dwelling on the matter, Petra realized that she couldn't remember the last time she'd told her parents she loved them. Or the last time they'd told her the same. I guess it can't be helped now. Besides, I don't really have anyone to blame but myself. Mom, Dad...I'm sorry.
Her head swam. The shadows of the jungle seemed to grow longer and deeper, darkness slithered on the outskirts of her vision. Dead. What did that really mean? What was waiting for her? Weren't you supposed to see a tunnel with a light? The bleeding girl didn't see anything. At least there were people next to her. At least she wouldn't go alone. The small comfort made the athletic girl smile.
Even in the face of death, when helping her ran contrary to their best interests, the three hurriedly moving figures were doing their best to save her life. The game suddenly didn't seem as all consuming as she'd once imagined.
Straining her eyes into focus, Petra took a better look at the people around her. She didn't recognize the two good Samaritans, but was more than grateful for their efforts. Nice people, they would have made good friends. And Heath...she wasn't sure about Heath. What he was saying to her sounded sort of romantic, if poorly delivered. Just bad timing.
Sounds began to loose their edge, softened as if they'd been wrapped in thick cotton. Sleepy. A nap would be good. She told Heath so, her slurring words the only sound that seemed to have any weight. "I'm gettin' sleepy. I'm jus' gonna...jus' gonna rest my eyes, k?"
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Recovering fast as she heard Heath talking, Shameeca unfroze as she had the jumper taken from her hands. Maybe he was trying to help and not kill or maybe it was all self defence, well she wouldn't judge for now. But the gun made her uneasy, even though she had seen plenty before, its proximity was worrying to her. But focus girl! Help save the girl bleeding to death on the floor! Stop thinking about who you are going to save in the future and help save the girl.
"S'ok pal, not everybody's turned into pyscho killers" she said, glancing at Bobby, letting him know that she knew. How the other guy didn't know, she had no clue. Suddenly she realised that she just heard him ask her to stitch the girl up. Did she look like Mary Seacole? And she wasn't even sure that it would work, even Shameeca knew that, the blood was pouring out too fast. Yet, she would try, just in that insane hope that it would work. Opening her bag to fetch out the medical supplies that she had got from the bottom, she picked out the thin needle and thread. It looked cleanish, but wasn't she supposed to sterilise it? Damn, she should of watched Grey's Anatomy better.
Trying to thread it, she realised that her hands were shaking so much. Her mind was focused but her body was nervous, cold hungry and scared. It was the shakes and they weren't a good thing. A few deep breaths and she managed to slide the thin thread through the hole and she squinted, trying to see the wound through the blood around the wound.
"Hold still girl, this is gonna hurt" she said as she got ready to plunge the needle into the flesh. Petra mumbled something and Shameeca looked at her face, only to see the eyes starting to wane off. She stopped, needle in hand, a sad look on her face. It was obvious what was going to happen. The girl on the floor was bleeding away and no stitches were going to help her. A pang of guilt shot up in Shameeca's stomach. Yet she plunged the needle into the flesh, trying to sew the wound shut. But it was too wide and it refused to close, the only thing being achieved was the wound getting smaller yet not small enough to do any good. Looking at Heath's eyes, Shameeca shook her head, acknowldging that Petra didn't have long left in the game and in life. There was just too much blood everywhere.
"S'ok pal, not everybody's turned into pyscho killers" she said, glancing at Bobby, letting him know that she knew. How the other guy didn't know, she had no clue. Suddenly she realised that she just heard him ask her to stitch the girl up. Did she look like Mary Seacole? And she wasn't even sure that it would work, even Shameeca knew that, the blood was pouring out too fast. Yet, she would try, just in that insane hope that it would work. Opening her bag to fetch out the medical supplies that she had got from the bottom, she picked out the thin needle and thread. It looked cleanish, but wasn't she supposed to sterilise it? Damn, she should of watched Grey's Anatomy better.
Trying to thread it, she realised that her hands were shaking so much. Her mind was focused but her body was nervous, cold hungry and scared. It was the shakes and they weren't a good thing. A few deep breaths and she managed to slide the thin thread through the hole and she squinted, trying to see the wound through the blood around the wound.
"Hold still girl, this is gonna hurt" she said as she got ready to plunge the needle into the flesh. Petra mumbled something and Shameeca looked at her face, only to see the eyes starting to wane off. She stopped, needle in hand, a sad look on her face. It was obvious what was going to happen. The girl on the floor was bleeding away and no stitches were going to help her. A pang of guilt shot up in Shameeca's stomach. Yet she plunged the needle into the flesh, trying to sew the wound shut. But it was too wide and it refused to close, the only thing being achieved was the wound getting smaller yet not small enough to do any good. Looking at Heath's eyes, Shameeca shook her head, acknowldging that Petra didn't have long left in the game and in life. There was just too much blood everywhere.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Lexi. 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.
Heath barely noticed the jumper that was passed to him, and almost dropped it. He turned it over in his hands, trying to understand what to do with it. At this endeavor, he failed miserably and tossed it back to Shamecca when she came to work on Petra.
This girl looked nice enough, Heath noted while watching her work, plus she is helping us. That must mean something- Shameeca looked up to Heath. With a look that Heath had no choice but grimaced, though he tried his best to hide it from Petra. Though he lacked many, many social skills, Heath knew very well what those cues meant.
No...I don't want you to die...I can't let you. I carried so that you can live, not so you can just give up. I-I-
...But I have no choice in this matter, do I? This is naturalism 101, Heath. Might as well make it peaceful and halcyon, she deserves that much.
Heath gently held Petra's hand. When he responded, he felt surpisingly calm, empty even. "Yeah...rest. That may do you just fine, Petra. Yeah."
This girl looked nice enough, Heath noted while watching her work, plus she is helping us. That must mean something- Shameeca looked up to Heath. With a look that Heath had no choice but grimaced, though he tried his best to hide it from Petra. Though he lacked many, many social skills, Heath knew very well what those cues meant.
No...I don't want you to die...I can't let you. I carried so that you can live, not so you can just give up. I-I-
...But I have no choice in this matter, do I? This is naturalism 101, Heath. Might as well make it peaceful and halcyon, she deserves that much.
Heath gently held Petra's hand. When he responded, he felt surpisingly calm, empty even. "Yeah...rest. That may do you just fine, Petra. Yeah."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Neuphim. 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.
Bobby didn't miss the significant undertones to Shameeca's words, how could he? Psychotic though, he felt was giving himself too much credit, he wasn't deranged, simply murderous. But it wasn't important right now, she could point the finger after they saved Petra, although at this time it wasn't looking like they would be able to accomplish even that...
"Shit," Bobby muttered to himself, then spoke up more loudly. "Petra," - He was glad Heath had said her name, so he could actually speak to her with first name address. "I know you want to go to sleep, but you have to keep your eyes open, you drop off now and..." he hesitated. "You might not wake up again. There's three of us here giving everything we've got, you're in safe hands, we just need you to fight it,"
At least half of that was lies, but Bobby felt it needed to be said. Petra must have known the score, but with how she seemed to be getting drowsier and drowiser Bobby decided it would be best to remind her. He was deadly serious all the same. If she went to sleep, she wasn't going to wake up, and hell, even she didn't fall asleep she'd probably be a goner anyway. But they had to keep fighting for her life. Bobby couldn't leave somebody to die of wounds he had inflicted.
Bobby realised a few moments later he'd contradicted Heath flatly, but what with how Petra was fading, he didn't suppose it would make very much difference. Bobby returned to her, trying to pinch the edges of the wound together to help Shameeca in stitching it up, getting blood on his hands in the process, but it was swiftly becoming clear that it was too little, too late.
Eight. Then.
"Shit," Bobby muttered to himself, then spoke up more loudly. "Petra," - He was glad Heath had said her name, so he could actually speak to her with first name address. "I know you want to go to sleep, but you have to keep your eyes open, you drop off now and..." he hesitated. "You might not wake up again. There's three of us here giving everything we've got, you're in safe hands, we just need you to fight it,"
At least half of that was lies, but Bobby felt it needed to be said. Petra must have known the score, but with how she seemed to be getting drowsier and drowiser Bobby decided it would be best to remind her. He was deadly serious all the same. If she went to sleep, she wasn't going to wake up, and hell, even she didn't fall asleep she'd probably be a goner anyway. But they had to keep fighting for her life. Bobby couldn't leave somebody to die of wounds he had inflicted.
Bobby realised a few moments later he'd contradicted Heath flatly, but what with how Petra was fading, he didn't suppose it would make very much difference. Bobby returned to her, trying to pinch the edges of the wound together to help Shameeca in stitching it up, getting blood on his hands in the process, but it was swiftly becoming clear that it was too little, too late.
Eight. Then.
-
DetectiveArcher†
- Posts: 163
- Joined: Mon Sep 10, 2018 7:45 pm
Everything was slowing fading. Edges blurred into one another and lines faded into perplexing ambiguity. It was growing harder to determine where one object ended and another began. Through Petra's half-closed eyelids, colors appeared muted and dulled. Sounds warped, originiating from seemingly impossible directions and never coming through as clearly as they should have. Time became flexible. Had it been a few seconds or several hours since falling? The blood soaked girl couldn't tell. The world slowly became less and less real.
Amidst the slowly darkening world, one thing remained constant. A deep, steadily slowing drumbeat played cadence in her ears. A distant brush against her arm brought Petra's senses back into a vague semblance of focus. Lowering her gaze to the needle being stuck through her flesh, the girl's first thought wasn't that she didn't feel any real discomfort, but rather that the needle was out of place. Metal needle in my arm. That's not right. Metal doesn't belong in skin. Well, piercings, but even that's only in moderation; it definitely shouldn't be in my arm.
Warmth in her hand. It was nice. Heath told her rest would be ok. Slowly closing her hand over his, she smiled her woozy smile. "S'ok. I'll jus' be a minute. Jus' a quick res' and then I'll be back on m'feet." The other boy spoke up, telling her what she'd already known deep in her bones. Swallowing hard, her smile faltered for a moment before returning. "But, if...if you're right, n' I don' wake up, promise...promise you'll all be ok."
The deep thudding inexorably came to its end as the girl's eyes gently slid shut. What little strength she'd still had went out of her fingers, and the warmth of Heath's hand was lost on her. A final beat of the heart and she was gone. No last death rattles or convulsions, no dramatics. Just one young girl going quietly into the long night.
Girl No. 69: Petra Andrews, Eliminated
Amidst the slowly darkening world, one thing remained constant. A deep, steadily slowing drumbeat played cadence in her ears. A distant brush against her arm brought Petra's senses back into a vague semblance of focus. Lowering her gaze to the needle being stuck through her flesh, the girl's first thought wasn't that she didn't feel any real discomfort, but rather that the needle was out of place. Metal needle in my arm. That's not right. Metal doesn't belong in skin. Well, piercings, but even that's only in moderation; it definitely shouldn't be in my arm.
Warmth in her hand. It was nice. Heath told her rest would be ok. Slowly closing her hand over his, she smiled her woozy smile. "S'ok. I'll jus' be a minute. Jus' a quick res' and then I'll be back on m'feet." The other boy spoke up, telling her what she'd already known deep in her bones. Swallowing hard, her smile faltered for a moment before returning. "But, if...if you're right, n' I don' wake up, promise...promise you'll all be ok."
The deep thudding inexorably came to its end as the girl's eyes gently slid shut. What little strength she'd still had went out of her fingers, and the warmth of Heath's hand was lost on her. A final beat of the heart and she was gone. No last death rattles or convulsions, no dramatics. Just one young girl going quietly into the long night.
Girl No. 69: Petra Andrews, Eliminated
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"Oh god" whispered the dark skinned girl, as Petra's life ended right before her eyes. She had known it would happen, had expected it, but the gut wrenching feeling of seeing someone die while you can do nothing to prevent it still hit her hard, a cold fist clenching her stomach and shaking it about. Seeing death in front of you, seeing it first hand, was a bad experience for Shameeca. The life just seemed to drain out of the girl in front of them and when her eyes closed, it was pretty obvious that she was dead. Everyone on the movies who dies slowly closes their eyes. The fact that in real life it seemed to be the same didn't comfort Shameeca in the slightest.
Rising to her feet, she looked at her hands, the needle still in her fingers, all soaked crimson with Petras blood. There was so much of it, everywhere all over her hands, under her nails. Too much, no wonder she had died, all the blood was on her hands, Petra's blood, on her....
"I need to go!" Shameeca cried, rushing to behind a tree, vomit rising in her throat, bile tasting in her mouth. She heaved hard, the sick splattering on the floor, the measly rations at her feet. Asecond wave came, and again she threw up. This repeated for another few seconds, till she felt calm again, a long strand of sickly spittle hanging from her mouth. Wiping it with her sleeve, she wiped her teary eyes and turned back to the others, keeping her eyes firmly on Bobby and not on Petra, her body on the floor.
"Sorry, I'm so sorry Heath" she said finally remembering his name. It was too late to remember Petra's, pointless now as she couldn't talk to the dead. Picking up her bag from the floor, she slung it over her shoulder and looked at her number 1 suspect.
"Bobby, I think Heath needs a few moments. Can you come over here for a second?" she asked, sounding honest. She did have an ulterior motive, but she also thought that Heath could use the time to say a final goodbye. She was shocked about how after the initial shock at the death, how cold she felt. Like clinically cold, it was an odd feeling. Plus she would get a minute to get Bobby alone so she could quiz him and possibly get his assistance. Even if it would be a deal with the devil.
Rising to her feet, she looked at her hands, the needle still in her fingers, all soaked crimson with Petras blood. There was so much of it, everywhere all over her hands, under her nails. Too much, no wonder she had died, all the blood was on her hands, Petra's blood, on her....
"I need to go!" Shameeca cried, rushing to behind a tree, vomit rising in her throat, bile tasting in her mouth. She heaved hard, the sick splattering on the floor, the measly rations at her feet. Asecond wave came, and again she threw up. This repeated for another few seconds, till she felt calm again, a long strand of sickly spittle hanging from her mouth. Wiping it with her sleeve, she wiped her teary eyes and turned back to the others, keeping her eyes firmly on Bobby and not on Petra, her body on the floor.
"Sorry, I'm so sorry Heath" she said finally remembering his name. It was too late to remember Petra's, pointless now as she couldn't talk to the dead. Picking up her bag from the floor, she slung it over her shoulder and looked at her number 1 suspect.
"Bobby, I think Heath needs a few moments. Can you come over here for a second?" she asked, sounding honest. She did have an ulterior motive, but she also thought that Heath could use the time to say a final goodbye. She was shocked about how after the initial shock at the death, how cold she felt. Like clinically cold, it was an odd feeling. Plus she would get a minute to get Bobby alone so she could quiz him and possibly get his assistance. Even if it would be a deal with the devil.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Lexi. 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.
Heath could've punched the the other boy then and there. You asshole. Don't you know that she probably knows that already? Do you need to remind her? We lost her. There is nothing we can. Who do you- He stared up at him, with a soon look laced in shock.
No...how can that be? That made no sense. Why would he be helping Petra and me? That...that...that...
What little warmth that Petra had suddenly evaporated completely. Heath knew. Petra was gone. She lost in this game, and that was all that could be said.
In retrospect, Heath was disappointed with the reaction he had. It wasn't anger, though a faint dab was present. It wasn't melancholy. It wasn't loss. It wasn't pity. What it was, for lack of a better word, was halcyon. Though empty may be better. As he rose, all he could do that seemed to make sense was stare blankly at Petra, her body that'd never move, her mouth that'd never speak, her eyes that'd never open. He continued doing so, even when the other girl was saying nice, polite nothings and as she walked away with the Rob.
Why? as the youth began, looking self-consciously. Why am I not reacting? Why? Sure, I barely knew her, but I didn't know Serenity at all, yet a least I emote. I knew her and helped her, so why am I not crying now?
Is it because before this I never knew her? And I wouldn't have if we were still on that trip? Is that it?
Heh, that's a weird thought. This game is the first time I truly spent time with my classmates. Go figure-
The fact that Heath was so bent on saving Petra, he didn't even realize that he lost quite a bit of blood, though not enough to be in any way fatal. So this is the reason why for a second time that day he crash down to the ground landing on his good arm. It wasn't as bad as when he was shot. It still stinged though.
Well, I'm glad she didn't go alone, I guess. At least I offered her that. Yeah, instead of saving her life, I watched her die. That's just fan-fucking-tanstic.
He turned up to look at the girl, who Heath regrettable didn't know her name, using the tree to support his second rising attempt. A smile, a weakened one, was across his face. "Miss," he began, mustering abit to shout, "do you know how to make an arm sling?" He turned over to look at the other, though his smile slightly failed at his face. "How about you, Robert? Do you know?"
(I'll most likely not be here until Friday, so assume that Heath falling is when you guys are done talking.)
No...how can that be? That made no sense. Why would he be helping Petra and me? That...that...that...
What little warmth that Petra had suddenly evaporated completely. Heath knew. Petra was gone. She lost in this game, and that was all that could be said.
In retrospect, Heath was disappointed with the reaction he had. It wasn't anger, though a faint dab was present. It wasn't melancholy. It wasn't loss. It wasn't pity. What it was, for lack of a better word, was halcyon. Though empty may be better. As he rose, all he could do that seemed to make sense was stare blankly at Petra, her body that'd never move, her mouth that'd never speak, her eyes that'd never open. He continued doing so, even when the other girl was saying nice, polite nothings and as she walked away with the Rob.
Why? as the youth began, looking self-consciously. Why am I not reacting? Why? Sure, I barely knew her, but I didn't know Serenity at all, yet a least I emote. I knew her and helped her, so why am I not crying now?
Is it because before this I never knew her? And I wouldn't have if we were still on that trip? Is that it?
Heh, that's a weird thought. This game is the first time I truly spent time with my classmates. Go figure-
The fact that Heath was so bent on saving Petra, he didn't even realize that he lost quite a bit of blood, though not enough to be in any way fatal. So this is the reason why for a second time that day he crash down to the ground landing on his good arm. It wasn't as bad as when he was shot. It still stinged though.
Well, I'm glad she didn't go alone, I guess. At least I offered her that. Yeah, instead of saving her life, I watched her die. That's just fan-fucking-tanstic.
He turned up to look at the girl, who Heath regrettable didn't know her name, using the tree to support his second rising attempt. A smile, a weakened one, was across his face. "Miss," he began, mustering abit to shout, "do you know how to make an arm sling?" He turned over to look at the other, though his smile slightly failed at his face. "How about you, Robert? Do you know?"
(I'll most likely not be here until Friday, so assume that Heath falling is when you guys are done talking.)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Neuphim. 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.