((Roxanne didn’t go far after she left Marceline.))
Literally, metaphorically, either way. As she walked away from the gardens, she saw a familiar trail out of the corner of her eye, leading behind the temple, towards the cliffside. It'd been a lifetime since she'd woken up there. Maybe by retracing her steps she could recapture even a fraction of the euphoria she'd felt.
She focused on the path ahead of her, one foot in front of the other, instead of thinking about how hopeless that sounded, instead of thinking too hard about what she almost hadn’t walked away from. She could have died so easily, and while it was hard to think of a more fitting death, that couldn’t be the only thing left for her, could it?
Roxanne wanted to believe that she could still find something more meaningful than a bloodstained legacy, a stepping stone for someone else’s story. She needed to believe.
The problem was that she didn’t know what she wanted, maybe because it was everything, and ‘everything’ was beyond her reach now. It seemed like ‘anything’ was beyond her reach now. She was alone again, and what could she do alone?
Creation was an obvious answer, but even though Roxanne was an artist, none of the mediums she could work with were available to her. No instruments, no camera, no band, and she wasn’t about to embarrass herself by trying to compose and perform acapella just for the sake of it.
She hadn’t painted since middle school, and even if she had, what was she supposed to do? Find an empty notebook, fill it with inane sketches? Even if she had the skill and the materials, what would that mean? It seemed self-indulgent at best, completely pointless at worst. No one behind the cameras would possibly care about a stupid pretty picture she’d drawn, and when she died any creation would die with her. No, she did not exist to impress an invisible audience.
Once again, she circled back to the familiar answer - meaning was found from other people, but the theory became less convincing every time she tried to believe in it. There’d been an entire island of people whose stories she hadn’t heard, but she’d been too drunk on freedom to realize, and then she had been bound to Marceline, and now that she was free and wiser, who was left? A few dozen people? Most of them killers, or so scared and traumatized that they’d shoot anyone who intruded into their hidden corners.
It seemed more and more likely that Juliette had been her last hope, and even she had been false.
Consumed by thought, she reached the end of the path, the sheer drop just feet ahead of her. It was far enough away from the temple that she wasn’t worried about Marceline or Juliette stumbling on her again, and even if they did, she decisively had the gun. She stayed well away from the edge. She’d never be able to forgive herself if she slipped and died in the most pointless way imaginable, no matter how nice the view probably was.
So. There Roxanne was. Alone, with her shotgun and what meager supplies had been left in her bag. The sky was clear, and the waves were crashing against the shore below. After her days in the commissary, she was loath to return and hide inside stifling structures, painted with blood and drenched in death.
The wind was blowing and she felt the sun on her skin. She was so tired. This was a place that she could just exist, for a while. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.
The day passed uneventfully. She drank the last of her water, and only had half a rationed bar left. She was running out of time to ‘just exist’ before existing itself became miserable. That would be a problem for tomorrow, if it ever came.
The sun set, the stars blinked back into the sky. Roxanne laid down on the grass, shotgun set gently by her side, staring up at the night. She wondered how things could have been different, if the band had all found each other on the first day.
give me everything you have and more
Night 10, PM before entering.
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Emprexx Plush
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((Blaise And Carl D'Aramitz Continued From Rat Strats))
Teresa's robe had provided an option for costume change that they considered for only a moment; it was considerably less stained with blood and vomit, but impractical. When wrung out much of it would prove useful as material though, so they took it along with her boots to replace the horrifying monstrosities they had suffered enough for over a week. Their trek across the island was considerably improved now that a wardrobe change had lightened their load. In one pocket of the letterman jacket they kept a strange sort of pistol they had found among Teresa's belongings. With the robe as raw material they had expanded the jacket's interior pocket to accommodate Madison's larger pistol as well as sewn an interior pocket into the sleeve for Teresa's knife. Violet's knife hid in its sheath under Dolly's romper. The spear and the machete they discarded back at the lake, they had little use for either. Their rifle went into the bag they had chosen to carry with them on this outing, while Violet's crossbow and Parker's axe remained...safe, so to speak. They did not predict need of them.
Seems mighty risky, walkin' around without that big ol' rifle around y'all. It's a, what'd ya call it? Like what ya pour in the wash?
I do not know what addled part of my mind returns to this barren well of comic misunderstanding but I refuse indulge it. Your point stands regardless. The rifle is more threatening than appearing unarmed.
So why y'all got it packed up?
Anyone who wishes us harm will attack regardless. I would prefer they do so without caution. A good Samaritan sees a rifle and a blood-soaked dress, perhaps they trail us until we sleep. They see only a ridiculous jacket, perhaps they charge us instead.
And you been practicin' your quickdraw?
With suitably small arms the skillset cannot be so dissimilar from sleight of hand.
Whatever you say, cowboy.
I prefer to think of myself as a sort of ass-
There was a shape laying at the top of the path. Someone had made their way up the cliff before they had, though in an inattentive manner. The prone figure appeared lost in thought, which they could fault few who had survived this long for, or in resolve. They lit one of Julien's cigarettes and held it to their lips in their left hand. Their right found Teresa's pistol in their pocket. From the way they were positioned, they could easily rise and find their way over the edge before Blaise reached them. By the time they were close enough to be heard, however, their mystery classmate had not made a move one way or the other.
"Good evening."
Perhaps they could aid in persuasion.
Teresa's robe had provided an option for costume change that they considered for only a moment; it was considerably less stained with blood and vomit, but impractical. When wrung out much of it would prove useful as material though, so they took it along with her boots to replace the horrifying monstrosities they had suffered enough for over a week. Their trek across the island was considerably improved now that a wardrobe change had lightened their load. In one pocket of the letterman jacket they kept a strange sort of pistol they had found among Teresa's belongings. With the robe as raw material they had expanded the jacket's interior pocket to accommodate Madison's larger pistol as well as sewn an interior pocket into the sleeve for Teresa's knife. Violet's knife hid in its sheath under Dolly's romper. The spear and the machete they discarded back at the lake, they had little use for either. Their rifle went into the bag they had chosen to carry with them on this outing, while Violet's crossbow and Parker's axe remained...safe, so to speak. They did not predict need of them.
Seems mighty risky, walkin' around without that big ol' rifle around y'all. It's a, what'd ya call it? Like what ya pour in the wash?
I do not know what addled part of my mind returns to this barren well of comic misunderstanding but I refuse indulge it. Your point stands regardless. The rifle is more threatening than appearing unarmed.
So why y'all got it packed up?
Anyone who wishes us harm will attack regardless. I would prefer they do so without caution. A good Samaritan sees a rifle and a blood-soaked dress, perhaps they trail us until we sleep. They see only a ridiculous jacket, perhaps they charge us instead.
And you been practicin' your quickdraw?
With suitably small arms the skillset cannot be so dissimilar from sleight of hand.
Whatever you say, cowboy.
I prefer to think of myself as a sort of ass-
There was a shape laying at the top of the path. Someone had made their way up the cliff before they had, though in an inattentive manner. The prone figure appeared lost in thought, which they could fault few who had survived this long for, or in resolve. They lit one of Julien's cigarettes and held it to their lips in their left hand. Their right found Teresa's pistol in their pocket. From the way they were positioned, they could easily rise and find their way over the edge before Blaise reached them. By the time they were close enough to be heard, however, their mystery classmate had not made a move one way or the other.
"Good evening."
Perhaps they could aid in persuasion.
The first sign that Roxanne wasn’t alone was the flick of a cigarette lighter. Thankfully, what followed was a greeting and not a gunshot.
She carefully sat up and turned to face her visitor. No sudden movements. They had the drop on her, and if they really wanted her dead, speed wouldn’t save her. Better to avoid being blown away by a nervous trigger finger. When Roxanne was killed, she hoped it’d be a conscious decision, and there she was again, picking out a coffin for herself.
When she saw who was standing in front of her, Roxanne burst out in genuine laughter out of the sheer improbability of it all. It was impossible to guess what Blaise would look like on any given day, but it was simultaneously impossible to mistake them for anyone else.
“Hi, Blaise. If Marcy was here right now, one of you would be dead already. Lucky you,” she said after she had caught her breath again.
Roxanne stood up, carefully picking up her shotgun. Hand nowhere near the trigger, pointing nowhere near Blaise. Just present. They couldn’t see any guns on Blaise’s person, but maybe they were trying to make a statement with how obviously unarmed they were. All Roxanne was doing was mirroring that.
She was honestly shocked by how ambivalent she felt about the thought of shooting them, right then and there. Blaise had killed one of her closest friends (with no justifiable reason to shoot a blind man) and driven the other to complete despair - really, they were more at fault for Marceline’s betrayal than the girl herself.
Still. Right here, in this moment, killing them wouldn’t make Roxanne feel any better. For once she wouldn’t have objected to letting Marceline work out her bloodlust, but Marceline wasn’t here, and she wasn’t about to kill someone as a favor.
“Actually, knowing her, it’d definitely be both of you dying. Right over the edge, together. You here to kill me or just take in the view?”
She should be frightened to be facing one of the biggest killers on the island, but she had already faced death and walked away that day. Dying now would just be an anticlimax.
She carefully sat up and turned to face her visitor. No sudden movements. They had the drop on her, and if they really wanted her dead, speed wouldn’t save her. Better to avoid being blown away by a nervous trigger finger. When Roxanne was killed, she hoped it’d be a conscious decision, and there she was again, picking out a coffin for herself.
When she saw who was standing in front of her, Roxanne burst out in genuine laughter out of the sheer improbability of it all. It was impossible to guess what Blaise would look like on any given day, but it was simultaneously impossible to mistake them for anyone else.
“Hi, Blaise. If Marcy was here right now, one of you would be dead already. Lucky you,” she said after she had caught her breath again.
Roxanne stood up, carefully picking up her shotgun. Hand nowhere near the trigger, pointing nowhere near Blaise. Just present. They couldn’t see any guns on Blaise’s person, but maybe they were trying to make a statement with how obviously unarmed they were. All Roxanne was doing was mirroring that.
She was honestly shocked by how ambivalent she felt about the thought of shooting them, right then and there. Blaise had killed one of her closest friends (with no justifiable reason to shoot a blind man) and driven the other to complete despair - really, they were more at fault for Marceline’s betrayal than the girl herself.
Still. Right here, in this moment, killing them wouldn’t make Roxanne feel any better. For once she wouldn’t have objected to letting Marceline work out her bloodlust, but Marceline wasn’t here, and she wasn’t about to kill someone as a favor.
“Actually, knowing her, it’d definitely be both of you dying. Right over the edge, together. You here to kill me or just take in the view?”
She should be frightened to be facing one of the biggest killers on the island, but she had already faced death and walked away that day. Dying now would just be an anticlimax.
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Emprexx Plush
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"Ah. Anna."
Rude. Y'know she's been goin' with Roxanne for a spell.
What is this bullshit? You can recall some flight of fantasy performative cis nonsense but not the word deterrent?
Heyo, there it is, thank ya kindly!
Fuck off, Carl.
It was becoming something like sitcom patter between them. To what effect, who could say? In their mind they envisioned him lounging behind her on the cliffside, hat tipped as he teetered perilous on the edge. They snorted both at his imagined antics and at the implication that Marceline would prove threat to them. "I have killed better than Marceline. To be honest, I doubt I have killed worse." The cigarette rolled back and forth between their fingers, mimicking the see-saw between options. On the one hand there was the matter of the invalid; they had a band together, hadn't they? On the other...
If y'all ain't careful you's gonna add another name to the list.
We added many already. She has to die before we return home for the others. It is of no consequence.
The tip flared as they took a long draw. "Of course," they breathed out, "you should not trust my recommendation. You should trust Dolly's. Marceline's name did not come up when she begged me to do her killing."
They tapped ash to the ground.
"Before she begged me for death."
Rude. Y'know she's been goin' with Roxanne for a spell.
What is this bullshit? You can recall some flight of fantasy performative cis nonsense but not the word deterrent?
Heyo, there it is, thank ya kindly!
Fuck off, Carl.
It was becoming something like sitcom patter between them. To what effect, who could say? In their mind they envisioned him lounging behind her on the cliffside, hat tipped as he teetered perilous on the edge. They snorted both at his imagined antics and at the implication that Marceline would prove threat to them. "I have killed better than Marceline. To be honest, I doubt I have killed worse." The cigarette rolled back and forth between their fingers, mimicking the see-saw between options. On the one hand there was the matter of the invalid; they had a band together, hadn't they? On the other...
If y'all ain't careful you's gonna add another name to the list.
We added many already. She has to die before we return home for the others. It is of no consequence.
The tip flared as they took a long draw. "Of course," they breathed out, "you should not trust my recommendation. You should trust Dolly's. Marceline's name did not come up when she begged me to do her killing."
They tapped ash to the ground.
"Before she begged me for death."
Anna. Roxanne hadn’t heard that name in days. It was annoying, but it didn’t hurt, and she wouldn’t bother to correct Blaise. They couldn’t even call them wrong.
She frowned as the smoke from their cigarette reached her. None of her friends or family were smokers, but she passed by them sometimes, loitering in the school parking lot. She’d always tried to give them a wide berth. She couldn’t deny the theoretical aesthetic appeal, but nothing about the practice seemed worth it.
She especially didn’t want to spend her last days alive smelling like an ashtray, even if it’d help cover up some of the sweat and grime, or maybe it’d all just mix together into one more petty misery. Whatever. She shrugged. Looking at Blaise, cool and collected even dressed in a ridiculously oversized jacket, it was hard to imagine Marceline being any threat to them.
“I barely knew Dolores. But what, you’re saying she asked you to kill her? Or…”
She paused. Mercy kills seemed to be everyone’s favorite excuse, but. ‘Do her killing.’ Maybe Blaise was just being their dramatic self, but the way they phrased that seemed too deliberate to be simple pretentiousness.
“Or was it someone else’s death she was talking about?”
It was ironic - there was only one person on the island who would have truly cared about the distinction, but she would have never talked with Blaise for long enough to get an answer in the first place. Regardless, indulging her curiosity was one of the few small joys left for Roxanne.
She frowned as the smoke from their cigarette reached her. None of her friends or family were smokers, but she passed by them sometimes, loitering in the school parking lot. She’d always tried to give them a wide berth. She couldn’t deny the theoretical aesthetic appeal, but nothing about the practice seemed worth it.
She especially didn’t want to spend her last days alive smelling like an ashtray, even if it’d help cover up some of the sweat and grime, or maybe it’d all just mix together into one more petty misery. Whatever. She shrugged. Looking at Blaise, cool and collected even dressed in a ridiculously oversized jacket, it was hard to imagine Marceline being any threat to them.
“I barely knew Dolores. But what, you’re saying she asked you to kill her? Or…”
She paused. Mercy kills seemed to be everyone’s favorite excuse, but. ‘Do her killing.’ Maybe Blaise was just being their dramatic self, but the way they phrased that seemed too deliberate to be simple pretentiousness.
“Or was it someone else’s death she was talking about?”
It was ironic - there was only one person on the island who would have truly cared about the distinction, but she would have never talked with Blaise for long enough to get an answer in the first place. Regardless, indulging her curiosity was one of the few small joys left for Roxanne.
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Emprexx Plush
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The shotgun's presence was not lost on them, nor was Anna's hand resting atop it. Justin's wide eyed caution to avoid leveling his gun came to mind immediately. The angry boy leveling his shotgun when they had already drawn on him followed soon after. Other moments of escalation spider webbed outward with the uniting question of who made the first move. Were Parker still alive he could lecture them with observations about actors and rationality, sums, payoffs, allocation and coalition, decidability, determinacy, equilibriums, dummys, so the glossary went on. Too many words for their taste. Far too much math. Given enough variables there were models to predict ideal behavior and they were certain that all worked very well in its bubble. However, Blaise was only concerned with two equations.
Would Anna shoot them, or would she not?
Would Blaise shoot her, or would they not?
It could be assumed the second question was at least somewhat dependent on the first, so they focused on its answer. Their consideration did not include probabilities, acronyms, any such nonsense. It built off the premise that Anna held a deadly weapon at her fingertips and did not draw on an unarmed murderer she should have nothing but contempt for; discount the knowledge of a gun in their pocket, in this light at this distance with its odd shape she could not possibly predict it. At its simplest this led them to two probable solutions: either she had no investment in seeing them dead, or she feared them too much to brazenly act against them.
Both suggested more intelligence than they expected. In a sense they were impressed.
Might as well give her points for keepin' up with your double talkin' ominous hogwash.
I'm sorry, would you prefer to explain? G-g-gwarsh m-ma'am, beggin' y'alls pardon, that is if y'all reckon not to mind, well here now three, four week past there was some unsavorylike business down 'tween two cowpokes that ain't worth repeatin' in the company of a lady, and well, y'see-
Now I know y'all's tryin' to play me, but I'd be like a firefly with his keister caught in Kentucky wire if I had the shot.
...
Cuz I'd be de-lighted.
I get it.
On account a' my hindparts-
I get it!
They did not get it.
Knew it.
Fuck.
Blaise exhaled deeply in response to Anna. Only Anna. "How is it you say? Six of one, half a dozen of another? Dolly had this…" They waved their cigarette in front of their face. "Mission, yes? Someone hurt a friend very badly. Home, not here. She did not know until the trip. In searching for this person she...startled me, shall we say? I shot her. It was possible she might have lived, but revenge?"
They wrinkled their nose. "Out of the question. So she gave me names of those involved. Then she told me to fuck off and let her die."
Smoke drifted across their face. "He is dead now. The perpetrator, not the…" Blaise paused and tilted their head. "Well. I suppose when his shame was exposed her friend may have…" They shrugged. "It is not as if there is a future left for him. It would be for the best."
Teresa's pistol stayed pointed towards Anna's chest in their pocket. They could say with relative certainty Anna was not going to shoot them, but they had not answered their side of the equation. Did they require a threat? Anna lay on a cliffside alone and vulnerable, waiting for nothing in particular. Exposed with no future left to her.
It would be for the best, no?
Would Anna shoot them, or would she not?
Would Blaise shoot her, or would they not?
It could be assumed the second question was at least somewhat dependent on the first, so they focused on its answer. Their consideration did not include probabilities, acronyms, any such nonsense. It built off the premise that Anna held a deadly weapon at her fingertips and did not draw on an unarmed murderer she should have nothing but contempt for; discount the knowledge of a gun in their pocket, in this light at this distance with its odd shape she could not possibly predict it. At its simplest this led them to two probable solutions: either she had no investment in seeing them dead, or she feared them too much to brazenly act against them.
Both suggested more intelligence than they expected. In a sense they were impressed.
Might as well give her points for keepin' up with your double talkin' ominous hogwash.
I'm sorry, would you prefer to explain? G-g-gwarsh m-ma'am, beggin' y'alls pardon, that is if y'all reckon not to mind, well here now three, four week past there was some unsavorylike business down 'tween two cowpokes that ain't worth repeatin' in the company of a lady, and well, y'see-
Now I know y'all's tryin' to play me, but I'd be like a firefly with his keister caught in Kentucky wire if I had the shot.
...
Cuz I'd be de-lighted.
I get it.
On account a' my hindparts-
I get it!
They did not get it.
Knew it.
Fuck.
Blaise exhaled deeply in response to Anna. Only Anna. "How is it you say? Six of one, half a dozen of another? Dolly had this…" They waved their cigarette in front of their face. "Mission, yes? Someone hurt a friend very badly. Home, not here. She did not know until the trip. In searching for this person she...startled me, shall we say? I shot her. It was possible she might have lived, but revenge?"
They wrinkled their nose. "Out of the question. So she gave me names of those involved. Then she told me to fuck off and let her die."
Smoke drifted across their face. "He is dead now. The perpetrator, not the…" Blaise paused and tilted their head. "Well. I suppose when his shame was exposed her friend may have…" They shrugged. "It is not as if there is a future left for him. It would be for the best."
Teresa's pistol stayed pointed towards Anna's chest in their pocket. They could say with relative certainty Anna was not going to shoot them, but they had not answered their side of the equation. Did they require a threat? Anna lay on a cliffside alone and vulnerable, waiting for nothing in particular. Exposed with no future left to her.
It would be for the best, no?
Roxanne listened intently. Even though it ultimately meant nothing to her, it felt somehow important to bear witness. The cameras would remember forever, but they could never change what actually happened on the island. She still had that power, feeble as it was.
Even with her full attention, it wasn’t easy to follow. Blaise seemed allergic to giving a straight answer - they hadn’t even acknowledged her first question. They alluded instead of naming. If it involved someone who still had a life ahead of him, she guessed that made sense, even if Blaise clearly thought he was better off dead.
Why? Was that simple spite? Envy towards their classmates that skipped out on the trip? Or something somehow even more twisted? She’d never know, but she hoped the nameless victim would survive regardless of what Blaise thought was best for him. There were already so few of them left.
“Huh. Wonder if she didn’t trust Marceline to do it, or if she just didn’t want her to start killing people.” She shrugged again. She wasn’t here to talk about Marceline, even if she hadn’t been far from her mind since the likely last time she’d see her.
She did wonder how different things would have been if Dolores had passed the mission along with her dying gasps. Would being given a purpose beyond ‘stay alive’ have held her together for longer? Just one specific name to cross off a list? Or would she have immediately crumbled into dust the moment the deed was done?
There was a brief, awkward silence. Roxanne doubted there would be any easy conversation between them. They weren’t going to stargaze and talk about their hopes and dreams. Had Blaise taken their hand out of their pocket since she’d first seen them? She couldn’t remember, and it made her uneasy.
“So. What happened with Alexander? I’m not gonna shoot you if I don’t like your answer or anything.”
Days ago, she’d stopped Marceline from asking Nick a similar thing. Begged her, even, but that was then. Words couldn’t hurt her anymore, even if they wound up living in her brain. This would probably be her one chance to get any closure.
Even with her full attention, it wasn’t easy to follow. Blaise seemed allergic to giving a straight answer - they hadn’t even acknowledged her first question. They alluded instead of naming. If it involved someone who still had a life ahead of him, she guessed that made sense, even if Blaise clearly thought he was better off dead.
Why? Was that simple spite? Envy towards their classmates that skipped out on the trip? Or something somehow even more twisted? She’d never know, but she hoped the nameless victim would survive regardless of what Blaise thought was best for him. There were already so few of them left.
“Huh. Wonder if she didn’t trust Marceline to do it, or if she just didn’t want her to start killing people.” She shrugged again. She wasn’t here to talk about Marceline, even if she hadn’t been far from her mind since the likely last time she’d see her.
She did wonder how different things would have been if Dolores had passed the mission along with her dying gasps. Would being given a purpose beyond ‘stay alive’ have held her together for longer? Just one specific name to cross off a list? Or would she have immediately crumbled into dust the moment the deed was done?
There was a brief, awkward silence. Roxanne doubted there would be any easy conversation between them. They weren’t going to stargaze and talk about their hopes and dreams. Had Blaise taken their hand out of their pocket since she’d first seen them? She couldn’t remember, and it made her uneasy.
“So. What happened with Alexander? I’m not gonna shoot you if I don’t like your answer or anything.”
Days ago, she’d stopped Marceline from asking Nick a similar thing. Begged her, even, but that was then. Words couldn’t hurt her anymore, even if they wound up living in her brain. This would probably be her one chance to get any closure.
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Emprexx Plush
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"Alexander...?"
Tap. Tap. Blink. Squint. They took their time, as if the name struck no chord within them. One of many that they struggled to recall. They imagined the ease at which they flicked through a rolodex of victims projected a sort of confidence. It made them look comfortable in their role. As they presented themself in leisure Anna would naturally gravitate to one of two poles. Cowardice if she believed them and it drove her nerves too high to act. Impulsiveness if it spiked her temper to lash out. Both were in Blaise's favor.
Their tongue clicked. "Ah! The blind boy. If it makes some difference, I suspect I only robbed him of minutes. Hours at most. I saw him with a partner and judged them vulnerable. He could not see me coming, she could not cry out for help when he dropped. I did not anticipate she would respond with gunfire."
Again the shrugged. "Or that she would kill so many after. NIa, that was her name when they declared her prize, wasn't it? The little mute. I can only assume she was taking him into the gardens to die."
You hungry for lead?
Quiet.
I just reckon it's irresponsible to be outta our way for drive-thru lead like this...
Not now.
When we got plenty bullets at home.
She will not shoot us. Observe.
Tap. Tap. Blink. Squint. They took their time, as if the name struck no chord within them. One of many that they struggled to recall. They imagined the ease at which they flicked through a rolodex of victims projected a sort of confidence. It made them look comfortable in their role. As they presented themself in leisure Anna would naturally gravitate to one of two poles. Cowardice if she believed them and it drove her nerves too high to act. Impulsiveness if it spiked her temper to lash out. Both were in Blaise's favor.
Their tongue clicked. "Ah! The blind boy. If it makes some difference, I suspect I only robbed him of minutes. Hours at most. I saw him with a partner and judged them vulnerable. He could not see me coming, she could not cry out for help when he dropped. I did not anticipate she would respond with gunfire."
Again the shrugged. "Or that she would kill so many after. NIa, that was her name when they declared her prize, wasn't it? The little mute. I can only assume she was taking him into the gardens to die."
You hungry for lead?
Quiet.
I just reckon it's irresponsible to be outta our way for drive-thru lead like this...
Not now.
When we got plenty bullets at home.
She will not shoot us. Observe.
She did not shoot them.
Was Blaise so desensitized that they genuinely had difficulty remembering the name of someone they had murdered (and Alexander was a very distinguishable man even if he wasn’t the only blind student at school), or was this just another performance? If they were performing, what were they hoping to accomplish if they made her angry? Did they want to get shot? Something was wrong.
“It doesn’t make a difference, thank you,” Roxanne said, keeping her tone level. If they wanted a reaction, she wouldn’t give it to them. Blaise wasn’t wrong that if they hadn’t killed Alexander, someone else would have; but just like Nathan, that didn’t absolve the person who pulled the trigger.
Regardless if Nia was planning on killing Alexander or not, the mention of her name was more disconcerting than Blaise’s callousness. Anyone who knew what had so improbably brought those two together was probably dead, but she felt like she could finally piece something together, because
Nick killed Beryl Nick killed Jeremiah Nia left a note near Fort Jeremiah Roxanne met Nick Roxanne read Nia’s note Nia was with Alexander Blaise killed Dolores Blaise killed Alexander Marceline betrayed Roxanne Blaise stood in front of Roxanne
She saw a dizzying spiderweb of connections stretching out across the horizon, and this was just from the bits and pieces she’d learned about nine people, and they’d begun with well over a hundred in their class. Every minute of every day, people were meeting, separating, killing, dying. Roxanne and Blaise were just two dots on the map, entries in a spreadsheet of numbers and weapon assignments and kills, and what did it mean?
This should be a revelation, a moment of transformation, but nothing was different, she was still standing in the dark under the stars by the cliff holding a shotgun with both her hands and talking to the person who was maybe single-handedly responsible for every terrible thing on her island, but she didn’t want to shoot them, so she stood there and asked questions that did not make her feel better and did not make her any more likely to shoot them and did not bring them any closer to understanding each other, and where would it end, and would it matter how it ended, if they left and she lived another day, because what would the next day even bring except another chance for her to add her name to someone else’s neat chart of people and events, over and over forever until she died, because she was standing there under the stars in the wind by the waves but that’s all they were, no matter how hard she tried to be lost in their beauty, they just were, and it didn’t matter if she looked at the sky for an hour or a day or a minute because she could not change the sky and the sky could not change her, and she was overwhelmed by the sheer pointlessness of everything she had ever tried to accomplish.
“Shot him and didn’t even get his stuff, huh,” she said as absently as she’d console a friend who’d missed their bus.
Was Blaise so desensitized that they genuinely had difficulty remembering the name of someone they had murdered (and Alexander was a very distinguishable man even if he wasn’t the only blind student at school), or was this just another performance? If they were performing, what were they hoping to accomplish if they made her angry? Did they want to get shot? Something was wrong.
“It doesn’t make a difference, thank you,” Roxanne said, keeping her tone level. If they wanted a reaction, she wouldn’t give it to them. Blaise wasn’t wrong that if they hadn’t killed Alexander, someone else would have; but just like Nathan, that didn’t absolve the person who pulled the trigger.
Regardless if Nia was planning on killing Alexander or not, the mention of her name was more disconcerting than Blaise’s callousness. Anyone who knew what had so improbably brought those two together was probably dead, but she felt like she could finally piece something together, because
Nick killed Beryl Nick killed Jeremiah Nia left a note near Fort Jeremiah Roxanne met Nick Roxanne read Nia’s note Nia was with Alexander Blaise killed Dolores Blaise killed Alexander Marceline betrayed Roxanne Blaise stood in front of Roxanne
She saw a dizzying spiderweb of connections stretching out across the horizon, and this was just from the bits and pieces she’d learned about nine people, and they’d begun with well over a hundred in their class. Every minute of every day, people were meeting, separating, killing, dying. Roxanne and Blaise were just two dots on the map, entries in a spreadsheet of numbers and weapon assignments and kills, and what did it mean?
This should be a revelation, a moment of transformation, but nothing was different, she was still standing in the dark under the stars by the cliff holding a shotgun with both her hands and talking to the person who was maybe single-handedly responsible for every terrible thing on her island, but she didn’t want to shoot them, so she stood there and asked questions that did not make her feel better and did not make her any more likely to shoot them and did not bring them any closer to understanding each other, and where would it end, and would it matter how it ended, if they left and she lived another day, because what would the next day even bring except another chance for her to add her name to someone else’s neat chart of people and events, over and over forever until she died, because she was standing there under the stars in the wind by the waves but that’s all they were, no matter how hard she tried to be lost in their beauty, they just were, and it didn’t matter if she looked at the sky for an hour or a day or a minute because she could not change the sky and the sky could not change her, and she was overwhelmed by the sheer pointlessness of everything she had ever tried to accomplish.
“Shot him and didn’t even get his stuff, huh,” she said as absently as she’d console a friend who’d missed their bus.
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Emprexx Plush
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The right side of their mouth twitched in imitation of a smile. Despite their best efforts they laughed. "Yes. She took those as well. I wasted my time."
And she did not shoot them.
Their left hand gestured with their cigarette between extended index and middle fingers towards her shotgun. "Do you want that?" The motion inverted palm down, all fingers tight together as if to push her and her weapon away. It was not an agreeable adjustment for the nub of their pinky; pain shot up their arm, and they chose to use it as enhancement to their disgusted grimace. "I am not offering to take it, I have too many. But if you will not use it..."
It was fascinating, the little connections that tied them together. They thought of the angry boy and his shotgun limping away. Johnny, Parker had told them sometime later. They had no worry that he would return for revenge. They suspected he never had the strength to point his weapon anywhere it would do real harm; the only time they ever heard his name over loudspeaker was next to Nia’s.
Under Justin’s, for that matter. So they came full circle to the last time someone refused to pull a gun on them.
Blaise suspected Anna did not hold her trigger out of prudence. Her motivations inevitably came down to fear. Fear of reprisal, perhaps, that Blaise was ready to act if she moved against them? Fear of failure because she had never seriously leveled her shotgun? Fear of consequence if she actually succeeded in killing them? The root of the fear did not matter so much. Its results, at least for Anna, would be the same. “It will only get you in trouble,” they concluded. “You should be rid of it. Over the cliffs, or into the ocean. Somewhere another will not find it.”
And she did not shoot them.
Their left hand gestured with their cigarette between extended index and middle fingers towards her shotgun. "Do you want that?" The motion inverted palm down, all fingers tight together as if to push her and her weapon away. It was not an agreeable adjustment for the nub of their pinky; pain shot up their arm, and they chose to use it as enhancement to their disgusted grimace. "I am not offering to take it, I have too many. But if you will not use it..."
It was fascinating, the little connections that tied them together. They thought of the angry boy and his shotgun limping away. Johnny, Parker had told them sometime later. They had no worry that he would return for revenge. They suspected he never had the strength to point his weapon anywhere it would do real harm; the only time they ever heard his name over loudspeaker was next to Nia’s.
Under Justin’s, for that matter. So they came full circle to the last time someone refused to pull a gun on them.
Blaise suspected Anna did not hold her trigger out of prudence. Her motivations inevitably came down to fear. Fear of reprisal, perhaps, that Blaise was ready to act if she moved against them? Fear of failure because she had never seriously leveled her shotgun? Fear of consequence if she actually succeeded in killing them? The root of the fear did not matter so much. Its results, at least for Anna, would be the same. “It will only get you in trouble,” they concluded. “You should be rid of it. Over the cliffs, or into the ocean. Somewhere another will not find it.”
Alexander had died for no reason, to no one’s benefit, almost forgotten even by his murderer, and Blaise laughed, briefly but genuinely, and Roxanne followed suit, overwhelmed by the absurdity of it all. It barely passed for a snort, a quick exhalation through the nose like she’d seen something almost funny on Twitter she’d completely forget about in a minute.
What was she doing here? Was this the life she wanted? What did she want? What did she want?
There was a simple narrative thread to follow, a logical emotional response she should be having right then. She was supposed to want to shoot Blaise repeatedly with her shotgun, to bludgeon their head with its stock and send them reeling to the dark water below, to ask them to admit fault, guilt, show any sign of human remorse, ask them to beg for forgiveness. Those were the moments power dreamed of, but she didn’t have the will to use it. Not like that. Was there anything new to say about revenge?
So when Blaise suggested that they cast her weapon to the waves, she almost followed through. If she didn’t shoot now, when would she ever? If she wasn’t willing to kill Blaise, if she wasn’t willing to stand for anything besides herself, what was her own life even worth? Could she look at someone trying to kill her and decide in that moment that her aimless, pointless life was worth more than theirs? Why not free herself from power itself, dust to dust, futility to futility?
But no. It would be sacrilege. She had to explain.
“Marceline stole this from me. I looked her in the eyes and told her to shoot me or give it back. She blinked first. I bet my life on a finger wrapped around this gun’s trigger, so it carries my life with it, now.” Roxanne spoke slowly, clearly.
The clarity of her voice was as important as the message. She was not ranting in the midst of a breakdown. She was explaining. Theatrics. Why was she talking like this? Was this just what she thought meaning sounded like? Blaise was a bad influence, but Blaise was their audience.
“So if I dropped it down into the sea now I’d have to follow it. Right over the edge, together. But I don’t want to die. I don’t have a reason, but I don’t want to die. So I will stay here on this cliff, and it will stay here in my arms.”
What was she doing here? Was this the life she wanted? What did she want? What did she want?
There was a simple narrative thread to follow, a logical emotional response she should be having right then. She was supposed to want to shoot Blaise repeatedly with her shotgun, to bludgeon their head with its stock and send them reeling to the dark water below, to ask them to admit fault, guilt, show any sign of human remorse, ask them to beg for forgiveness. Those were the moments power dreamed of, but she didn’t have the will to use it. Not like that. Was there anything new to say about revenge?
So when Blaise suggested that they cast her weapon to the waves, she almost followed through. If she didn’t shoot now, when would she ever? If she wasn’t willing to kill Blaise, if she wasn’t willing to stand for anything besides herself, what was her own life even worth? Could she look at someone trying to kill her and decide in that moment that her aimless, pointless life was worth more than theirs? Why not free herself from power itself, dust to dust, futility to futility?
But no. It would be sacrilege. She had to explain.
“Marceline stole this from me. I looked her in the eyes and told her to shoot me or give it back. She blinked first. I bet my life on a finger wrapped around this gun’s trigger, so it carries my life with it, now.” Roxanne spoke slowly, clearly.
The clarity of her voice was as important as the message. She was not ranting in the midst of a breakdown. She was explaining. Theatrics. Why was she talking like this? Was this just what she thought meaning sounded like? Blaise was a bad influence, but Blaise was their audience.
“So if I dropped it down into the sea now I’d have to follow it. Right over the edge, together. But I don’t want to die. I don’t have a reason, but I don’t want to die. So I will stay here on this cliff, and it will stay here in my arms.”
"Everyone has a reason."
It, some artifact of human evolution where limbs were apparently now superfluous, trudged up the path quietly enough that it had been difficult to notice until it had made a speaking noise without visibly moving its lips.
"It'd be a good use of your time to find yours."
((Kelly Nguyen continued from Methanol and Nails))
A throwaway comment she hadn't put much thought into.
"Before its too late, anyway."
Anna was still contemptible and contemptible more so for her open admission that her cowardice was chosen. She wasn't an enemy, thus she was irrelevant. Mealiest bird in the pecking order, the one that stood aside and waited for the fights to die down. It was a dynamic Kelly had internalized after her decades of living a life beset by the anti-Kelly biases of society, one had to stand for something, one had to actually be something, because being ignored was more a death sentence than infamy. Kelly had fought, raged against the light dying when the door was constantly threatened closed shut on her ass. Anna had done no such thing, perhaps once in her history of existing on the thin strip of purgatory between heaven and earth.
Nobody listened and nobody understood, so throwaway comments were about all Kelly had left. She contemplated the vista of the sea sprawling below the cliff as she trudged through the clearing, past both girl and... gendered thing, Kelly still nominally respecting the rules of politically pleasant society however much of an anemic echo they'd been reduced to.
It was a beautiful view. She recalled how she'd swum for hours, after Juliette had cast her into the sea. Not the first injustice- those had come early in life and had never stopped coming. But the one that had led her down the path she was down now. Her struggle to prove herself, her victory in that war. Everyone who watched her, everyone who counted her out to this very moment, they were increasingly quiet voices in Kelly's mind. She had proven herself capable of feats they all deserved to pay attention to. To be humbled by, as she had humbled herself once.
Her gun, her walking stick, rested by her flank as she sat, legs dangling over the precipice. She couldn't care less what Blaise or Anna would do, her back to them like this. Their interests were only as relevant to her as gossip had ever been, back in the halls of a faraway high school. Likely irrelevant, but it never hurt to be sure.
"Don't mind me. Just listening in." It was nostalgic, in a way. A familiar iteration of Kelly, the one that had smiled and politely stood to one side, and waited for others to impose themselves onto her. An existential burden she'd shed, but #throwbackthursdays were always a thing, she supposed.
Kelly begun to unwind the gauze that wrapped her one useless arm. A tiresomely slow process, especially when the bleeding started up again, her treacherous innards lazily stampeding their escape opportunity. Pain was to be tolerated. Blood was to be staunched. Mortal weakness was just that. Mortal. Kelly's mind was something more, she had earned her enlightenment with her own rotting flesh.
Blaise, she noted briefly, had been the sort she might have feared once upon a time. The smoke and mirrors robbed of their illusory depth, once Kelly had evolved her mindset.
It, some artifact of human evolution where limbs were apparently now superfluous, trudged up the path quietly enough that it had been difficult to notice until it had made a speaking noise without visibly moving its lips.
"It'd be a good use of your time to find yours."
((Kelly Nguyen continued from Methanol and Nails))
A throwaway comment she hadn't put much thought into.
"Before its too late, anyway."
Anna was still contemptible and contemptible more so for her open admission that her cowardice was chosen. She wasn't an enemy, thus she was irrelevant. Mealiest bird in the pecking order, the one that stood aside and waited for the fights to die down. It was a dynamic Kelly had internalized after her decades of living a life beset by the anti-Kelly biases of society, one had to stand for something, one had to actually be something, because being ignored was more a death sentence than infamy. Kelly had fought, raged against the light dying when the door was constantly threatened closed shut on her ass. Anna had done no such thing, perhaps once in her history of existing on the thin strip of purgatory between heaven and earth.
Nobody listened and nobody understood, so throwaway comments were about all Kelly had left. She contemplated the vista of the sea sprawling below the cliff as she trudged through the clearing, past both girl and... gendered thing, Kelly still nominally respecting the rules of politically pleasant society however much of an anemic echo they'd been reduced to.
It was a beautiful view. She recalled how she'd swum for hours, after Juliette had cast her into the sea. Not the first injustice- those had come early in life and had never stopped coming. But the one that had led her down the path she was down now. Her struggle to prove herself, her victory in that war. Everyone who watched her, everyone who counted her out to this very moment, they were increasingly quiet voices in Kelly's mind. She had proven herself capable of feats they all deserved to pay attention to. To be humbled by, as she had humbled herself once.
Her gun, her walking stick, rested by her flank as she sat, legs dangling over the precipice. She couldn't care less what Blaise or Anna would do, her back to them like this. Their interests were only as relevant to her as gossip had ever been, back in the halls of a faraway high school. Likely irrelevant, but it never hurt to be sure.
"Don't mind me. Just listening in." It was nostalgic, in a way. A familiar iteration of Kelly, the one that had smiled and politely stood to one side, and waited for others to impose themselves onto her. An existential burden she'd shed, but #throwbackthursdays were always a thing, she supposed.
Kelly begun to unwind the gauze that wrapped her one useless arm. A tiresomely slow process, especially when the bleeding started up again, her treacherous innards lazily stampeding their escape opportunity. Pain was to be tolerated. Blood was to be staunched. Mortal weakness was just that. Mortal. Kelly's mind was something more, she had earned her enlightenment with her own rotting flesh.
Blaise, she noted briefly, had been the sort she might have feared once upon a time. The smoke and mirrors robbed of their illusory depth, once Kelly had evolved her mindset.
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Emprexx Plush
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There were a number of avenues Blaise could follow in response.
Most obviously was Anna's paradoxical assertion that she did not want to die but she was unwilling to do anything required to live. A vivid demonstration of consequence had done nothing to educate her. When she refused to pull her weapon and also refused to be rid of it she only invited scrutiny. Fear in many cases. Envy in fewer. Another dozen or so motivations if they pressed the idea but they were irrelevant. All led to the same conclusion: a figure whose shape could be any still shambling on the island setting upon Anna and her doing nothing at all to stop them. At best she would limp away with no bag, no gun. At worst...well the worst outcome was a debatable subject, but in any she would either be dead or wish she was, so was it so terrible a thing to imagine herself plunging into the waves after her gun? Drowning was not so pleasant a way to go, they were told, but at this height and this angle the impact would probably relieve her of consciousness before her lungs began to fill, no? Perhaps they would even take pity as she hesitated over the edge, take the decision out of her hands while giving her the illustration of how to use the tools you were given that she had been denied.
They were interrupted. First by a voice, then on closer examination by another possible line of inquiry. Kelly Nguyen did not register brightly on Blaise’s social radar. On the surface she was a sycophant to the compulsory degree one might assume there must be something horrifically wrong with her home life, such was the only explanation for the gaping void of validation she sought to fill. Blaise would not go so far. Kelly struck them more as a hoarder, building up piles of scraps and secrets for the day they might one day be of use to her but unwilling to let them go in any significant capacity. Had life progressed in its natural fashion most if not all of Kelly’s high school efforts would have been a waste. Catching her mangled silhouette in the moonlight did little to suggest she had used her time on the island more wisely.
Y’all should ask if she wants it back.
Wants what back?
Her hand!
That seems needlessly cruel even by our-I mean my-standards.. And stupid. Of course she would want it back, should such a thing be possible.
Well now first of all through God all things are possible-
I will dab before I proselytize-
And second we got it.
What the fuck are you talking about?
We got her hand! It’s in the bag! Y’all ain’t been payin’ attention. She killed what’s his name, what Violet was doin’ her spooky-woogy last rites on to give his soul to Cthulhu and what not, yeah? He weren’t missin’ no hand. Violet weren’t missin’ no hands. Teresa and Madison weren’t missin’ no hands, and there weren’t nobody else up in the stew was there? Bingo bango, that’s her hand, on account she’s missin’ one and all.
Blaise stifled a fuller laugh.
Reckon it weren’t that funny.
Not at the mile a minute flight of fantasy that crossed their minds under Kelly’s words.
Oh.
But because in process of considering her advice, they looped back to what prompted her to start. In turn what prompted Anna to declare she may well turn to suicide if she lost her weapon again. Again. The circumstances in which she lost and regained her gun. They could not keep hold of the cigarette. It dropped to the ground as they clutched their stomach before gasping out, “Marceline?”
There was a degree of effort in keeping the pistol aimed somewhere close to Anna. They did not doubt they could recover if she made a move, but it was the first honest spot of entertainment they had enjoyed since...mm, likely Joanne, no? It took a deep breath but they tried to compose themself. “To clarify your story, the same Marceline you swear would drag me body and soul over this cliff with her,” there was a snort, “stole your gun,” a snicker, “refused to use it,” they bit their lip to maintain control, “and then simply...gave it back?”
And they could no longer hold their derision inside. It exploded outward as a sort of undignified bray that sent ripples of pain through their wounds, and it was worth it. Anna had no idea, not even the faintest concept, of what it was to live and die on this island, and Kelly with Son of Sam wisdom pulled from the deepest confines of her bowels somehow managed to understand even less with more experience.
As ever Blaise was surrounded by dullards.
When their breath returned all they could think to do was shake their head. “It is a cruel thing that you have both lived so long.”
Not for the pair themselves, but for everyone more competent who passed before them. Blaise felt that needed no verbal clarification.
Most obviously was Anna's paradoxical assertion that she did not want to die but she was unwilling to do anything required to live. A vivid demonstration of consequence had done nothing to educate her. When she refused to pull her weapon and also refused to be rid of it she only invited scrutiny. Fear in many cases. Envy in fewer. Another dozen or so motivations if they pressed the idea but they were irrelevant. All led to the same conclusion: a figure whose shape could be any still shambling on the island setting upon Anna and her doing nothing at all to stop them. At best she would limp away with no bag, no gun. At worst...well the worst outcome was a debatable subject, but in any she would either be dead or wish she was, so was it so terrible a thing to imagine herself plunging into the waves after her gun? Drowning was not so pleasant a way to go, they were told, but at this height and this angle the impact would probably relieve her of consciousness before her lungs began to fill, no? Perhaps they would even take pity as she hesitated over the edge, take the decision out of her hands while giving her the illustration of how to use the tools you were given that she had been denied.
They were interrupted. First by a voice, then on closer examination by another possible line of inquiry. Kelly Nguyen did not register brightly on Blaise’s social radar. On the surface she was a sycophant to the compulsory degree one might assume there must be something horrifically wrong with her home life, such was the only explanation for the gaping void of validation she sought to fill. Blaise would not go so far. Kelly struck them more as a hoarder, building up piles of scraps and secrets for the day they might one day be of use to her but unwilling to let them go in any significant capacity. Had life progressed in its natural fashion most if not all of Kelly’s high school efforts would have been a waste. Catching her mangled silhouette in the moonlight did little to suggest she had used her time on the island more wisely.
Y’all should ask if she wants it back.
Wants what back?
Her hand!
That seems needlessly cruel even by our-I mean my-standards.. And stupid. Of course she would want it back, should such a thing be possible.
Well now first of all through God all things are possible-
I will dab before I proselytize-
And second we got it.
What the fuck are you talking about?
We got her hand! It’s in the bag! Y’all ain’t been payin’ attention. She killed what’s his name, what Violet was doin’ her spooky-woogy last rites on to give his soul to Cthulhu and what not, yeah? He weren’t missin’ no hand. Violet weren’t missin’ no hands. Teresa and Madison weren’t missin’ no hands, and there weren’t nobody else up in the stew was there? Bingo bango, that’s her hand, on account she’s missin’ one and all.
Blaise stifled a fuller laugh.
Reckon it weren’t that funny.
Not at the mile a minute flight of fantasy that crossed their minds under Kelly’s words.
Oh.
But because in process of considering her advice, they looped back to what prompted her to start. In turn what prompted Anna to declare she may well turn to suicide if she lost her weapon again. Again. The circumstances in which she lost and regained her gun. They could not keep hold of the cigarette. It dropped to the ground as they clutched their stomach before gasping out, “Marceline?”
There was a degree of effort in keeping the pistol aimed somewhere close to Anna. They did not doubt they could recover if she made a move, but it was the first honest spot of entertainment they had enjoyed since...mm, likely Joanne, no? It took a deep breath but they tried to compose themself. “To clarify your story, the same Marceline you swear would drag me body and soul over this cliff with her,” there was a snort, “stole your gun,” a snicker, “refused to use it,” they bit their lip to maintain control, “and then simply...gave it back?”
And they could no longer hold their derision inside. It exploded outward as a sort of undignified bray that sent ripples of pain through their wounds, and it was worth it. Anna had no idea, not even the faintest concept, of what it was to live and die on this island, and Kelly with Son of Sam wisdom pulled from the deepest confines of her bowels somehow managed to understand even less with more experience.
As ever Blaise was surrounded by dullards.
When their breath returned all they could think to do was shake their head. “It is a cruel thing that you have both lived so long.”
Not for the pair themselves, but for everyone more competent who passed before them. Blaise felt that needed no verbal clarification.
Roxanne’s explanation was interrupted by a new interloper, the sudden cessation of her momentum making her feel almost dizzy. It was surreal, how casually Kelly strolled between her and Blaise, settling down at the cliffside without any obvious concern for her life.
She looked significantly more beat up than the last time Roxanne had seen her, pinned on the floor of the Commissary, failing to wrestle Marceline’s knife away from her. Her arm, especially, though it was difficult to tell the extent of the damage given the gauze wrapped around it.
Roxanne had been too concerned with her own (superficial, barely significant) injuries to spare any thought for the girl who’d given them to her, but Kelly had held her desperate last resort in her own hand even as it exploded, hadn’t she? Even if it hadn’t been a conscious decision, she had made a permanent sacrifice, fighting for the right to live for just one more day. Would Marceline be happier, knowing that the girl she’d tried to murder had been viciously maimed?
Whatever the case, when Kelly spoke, it was nothing but truth.
Roxanne was blessed to be alive when so, so many others had died already, and she was still asking herself the same questions she had over a week ago. The biggest danger she’d faced was one she’d invited upon herself, a gamble whose odds she had correctly guessed to be in her favor. Her biggest struggles had been against inertia and ennui.
Could she ever be as viscerally strong as Kelly? Could she take a hacksaw to her wrist and saw it clean off, if it meant she got to live for one more day? Living just for the sake of living wasn’t enough, in the end. She’d tried living for each sunrise, but they were starting to blur together, losing all significance. The sun would not change for her. If there was nothing to hope for, no cause to work towards, how could she ever fight for her life when it was finally demanded of her?
She wanted to thank her, or something along those lines, give her any assurance that she wasn’t about to kick her off the cliff, but Blaise was doubled over laughing, and Roxanne didn’t get the joke.
“...Yes?”
In the moment, Roxanne’s confrontation with Marceline had been the most exhilarating, terrifying moment of her life. Now, with her only audience either indifferent or breathless, it was feeling like more of a farce, and maybe they were right, maybe the whole thing had been stupid to the point of being suicidal, but why was Marceline refusing to fire the detail they cared about?
“You killed her girlfriend. I’m her best friend. Was. Whatever. You really don’t see the difference?”
She looked significantly more beat up than the last time Roxanne had seen her, pinned on the floor of the Commissary, failing to wrestle Marceline’s knife away from her. Her arm, especially, though it was difficult to tell the extent of the damage given the gauze wrapped around it.
Roxanne had been too concerned with her own (superficial, barely significant) injuries to spare any thought for the girl who’d given them to her, but Kelly had held her desperate last resort in her own hand even as it exploded, hadn’t she? Even if it hadn’t been a conscious decision, she had made a permanent sacrifice, fighting for the right to live for just one more day. Would Marceline be happier, knowing that the girl she’d tried to murder had been viciously maimed?
Whatever the case, when Kelly spoke, it was nothing but truth.
Roxanne was blessed to be alive when so, so many others had died already, and she was still asking herself the same questions she had over a week ago. The biggest danger she’d faced was one she’d invited upon herself, a gamble whose odds she had correctly guessed to be in her favor. Her biggest struggles had been against inertia and ennui.
Could she ever be as viscerally strong as Kelly? Could she take a hacksaw to her wrist and saw it clean off, if it meant she got to live for one more day? Living just for the sake of living wasn’t enough, in the end. She’d tried living for each sunrise, but they were starting to blur together, losing all significance. The sun would not change for her. If there was nothing to hope for, no cause to work towards, how could she ever fight for her life when it was finally demanded of her?
She wanted to thank her, or something along those lines, give her any assurance that she wasn’t about to kick her off the cliff, but Blaise was doubled over laughing, and Roxanne didn’t get the joke.
“...Yes?”
In the moment, Roxanne’s confrontation with Marceline had been the most exhilarating, terrifying moment of her life. Now, with her only audience either indifferent or breathless, it was feeling like more of a farce, and maybe they were right, maybe the whole thing had been stupid to the point of being suicidal, but why was Marceline refusing to fire the detail they cared about?
“You killed her girlfriend. I’m her best friend. Was. Whatever. You really don’t see the difference?”
The blood was flowing slower this time, at least. The gauze was thoroughly off, the jagged bits, scabs and scars and beefy pink flesh mottled with shards of bone were all exposed. All burning in a singular screaming mass, as disinfectant was not spared, forming clear thin streams down her arm, dripping to some unknown fate however many feet below. Kelly was pleased. Enough, for now. Her calmness through the tempest of her own justified rage (the sweat, all the damn sweat, as her scrounging for good clothes turned up less and less results by the day) was mastering the impulses of her own body.
There was a tremble in the destroyed arm. Maybe the pain, or maybe the crushing of her own nerve from the tourniquet. She focused for a moment. Ugly grimace on her lips, that the world wouldn't be allowed to see. Cruel thoughts, of self-righteousness. The most self-righteous. Kelly was calm, the motion stilled.
Blaise had an ugly laugh.
Marceline, she had no doubt, was at once too stupid to kill Anna and too stupid to not be killed by d'Aramitz. It was a simple enough compromise- she had a mind built for such nonsense, still, after all this time. Good to know it still worked, even when Kelly knew how to point a gun nowadays, instead of any more quiet form of self-expression.
"I don't think they're the type to see things, actually. More the 'feel them out' type. They've probably not yet met a problem that actually required the use of their brain."
Kelly didn't know what that was an indictment of moreso: the problem child, or the rest of the class surrounding it. She idled, for a moment, then went back to re-wrapping her bandages, dousing herself and drowning her sorrows in fresh linen. A strip laid nice and tight over a particularly gnarly chunk of gristly bone. She ignored the thrill of pain that accompanied it in a rush.
There was a tremble in the destroyed arm. Maybe the pain, or maybe the crushing of her own nerve from the tourniquet. She focused for a moment. Ugly grimace on her lips, that the world wouldn't be allowed to see. Cruel thoughts, of self-righteousness. The most self-righteous. Kelly was calm, the motion stilled.
Blaise had an ugly laugh.
Marceline, she had no doubt, was at once too stupid to kill Anna and too stupid to not be killed by d'Aramitz. It was a simple enough compromise- she had a mind built for such nonsense, still, after all this time. Good to know it still worked, even when Kelly knew how to point a gun nowadays, instead of any more quiet form of self-expression.
"I don't think they're the type to see things, actually. More the 'feel them out' type. They've probably not yet met a problem that actually required the use of their brain."
Kelly didn't know what that was an indictment of moreso: the problem child, or the rest of the class surrounding it. She idled, for a moment, then went back to re-wrapping her bandages, dousing herself and drowning her sorrows in fresh linen. A strip laid nice and tight over a particularly gnarly chunk of gristly bone. She ignored the thrill of pain that accompanied it in a rush.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes: