((Ashlynn Martinek continued from the best named thread in existence.))
Ashlynn and Stepney got on just fine.
Not massively so. It wasn't all of a sudden unbelievable that, in more auspicious circumstances, they had not struck a steady and everlasting friendship. It wasn't like there was an instant chemistry between the two, like all it took was a few quips and voila, they were both convinced that they were facing this disaster together. But circumstances seemed to have conspired to throw them together and force them to work on this problem together, and Ashlynn was okay with that.
And maybe they'd grow to get on more. After all, tragedy and hardship did breed camaraderie and solidarity among people far more at odds than her and Stepney. They were both being, for the most part, insular and introverted, largely processing the shocks and barbarity of the island in a withdrawn way. They were both beginning to come out of their shells, ever so slightly - trusting each other with slightly more unguarded thoughts, mentioning something paltry and trifling from back home in what was an approximation of small talk, occasionally asking the other how they were doing with one of the more slight inconveniences of island life.
That was what was making them get on. Little things like that. Things that were forgotten a few seconds later. What Ashlynn would have once dismissed as small talk earlier in life. That was doing more to build trust between the two of them, at least in Ashlynn's mind, than their professed sharing of the same broad goal and, for now at least, acting in accordance with the same moral code. They weren't really talking about those big issues - not even in the aftermath of the announcement, which they both largely coped with on their own terms - but instead focusing on getting through every second, every moment, as it came. So far, they had been fortuitous. Nothing else traumatic had occurred to jolt them out of this half-routine that they were shaping.
They were in this foxhole together, forced to create an alliance out of necessity more than anything, and thankfully, it wasn't forced or unpleasant. There was no holding of her nose, no swallowing her pride, no having to rationalise or justify her alliance. It turned out that Toby's ringing endorsement of Stepney earlier was not a reason to judge Stepney. Guilt by association did not apply in this case. It was still at the back of Ashlynn's mind - she was still dealing with what Toby had done, which, the more she thought about it, probably should have traumatised Ashlynn even more.
Rest in peace, Toby. Ashlynn supposed. She couldn't help but feel that at least it was he that died rather than Hel.
Though she was still a bit annoyed and frustrated, not to mention perplexed, at how the group had split. So much for safety in numbers. Specialisation and division of labour had merit in this context. That the others had allowed, whether by their own cockiness or sheer ineptitude, what could have been a promising group to break apart was frustrating.
They were sitting inside a half-destroyed house, one side of the building exposed to the elements while the other half was in the process of being reclaimed by foliage and flora.
Ashlynn was conducting another inventory of her bag, just in case there was some immediate logistical urgency that she needed to deal with, although it had sort of become a mnemonic shorthand for going after what she remembered from the announcements. With each supply that she sorted through, she tried remembering a name. Of the killers - for her own survival, for the purposes of securing some kind of punitive and restorative justice. Of the victims - in the hope that someone, back home, would be inspired by the stories of those that were too late to save yet had died with their innocence, working to create foundations or charities or scholarships of the like. Of the structure of the announcement and Danya's syntax - perhaps there would be clues, if the attack were under any strain, in how his voice changed and adapted throughout the days.
Assignment to Catastrophe
Pinging Pip; Open (Day 2; Late Morning)
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General Goose
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((Stepney Cruz continued from Survival of the Fittest? At this time of day, in this part of the country, localised entirely within your high school?))
Things got easier as they walked.
Mostly. Things could never be clear cut and simple on this godforsaken island it seemed, this included, but. All things in due course, and all that.
The most important thing was that his situation was nowhere near as dire and difficult to parse as he’d first thought. As expected, a night’s rest had let his brain settle some, and stopped him from trying to mesh his analytical self with his panicky, frantic one, thank God. It had been like trying to fit a square peg into a fucking hairline crack.
Panicky Stepney was pretty much gone, now, and so as he and Ashlynn walked in the direction of who-knows-where, he mostly kept quiet, and kept himself to himself, and thought things over once again. There were two opposing forces in his head that had been having what basically amounted to a slap fight the previous day, but now that they’d settled down, he could actually take a look at them a lil more closely.
No. 1 - The smartest thing to do as far as Stepney could see, if he wanted to survive this whole thing - which he obviously did - would be to cut the group loose and go it alone.
And;
No. 2 - There was still a whole bunch of people from school that Stepney cared about, that he wanted to stay safe, and that he wanted to look after if he could.
The big kicker had been that Hel had fallen into that second category. Sure, he’d grown a little closer to everybody when they’d all been operating on Hel, but they were definitely the person he was closest too. They had been the big sticking point, the big thorn in his side, the main reason he hadn’t been able to tear himself away, even with half the group already doing just that.
And now, thanks to their complete lack of any sorta sense of direction, Hel had vanished, and it was only Stepney and Ashlynn left, and that was pretty much the best case scenario for him.
Look. Ashlynn was cool enough. She was fine. Stepney didn’t have any problems with her. But he also didn’t really have any… anything with her. There wasn’t that same sorta spark that he had with Hel, or that he’d have with someone like Nia, or Ming if, god forbid, she was out here. He figured it wouldn’t make much sense, right now, to beat feet and split the party in two again; working together, especially in the early days, would probably be beneficial. But as soon as things started to get hairy, he was pretty confident he’d be able to hop onto Bichael (yeah, he guessed he really was going with that, huh) and pedal off without any long-lasting guilt.
So, everything had been looking clear skies and sunny days, as far as Stepney’s future was concerned.
And then the announcement had started playing.
Toby’s name, obviously, stuck out like a sore thumb. Stepney would have been lying if he said that Danya’s voice, reading out the name of his old friend, hadn’t been replaying over and over in his head. But it wasn’t so much the fact that Toby was dead. He’d lost almost all of his good graces after shooting Hel, and shooting up Ashlynn’s bag. It was just as he’d felt yesterday; he stopped caring about the dude as soon as he went all dumbass psycho with a teeny tiny gun.
He just kinda wished that his last thoughts about the guy whilst he’d been alive hadn’t been for him to break his neck, y’know? Nobody, unless they were totally batshit insane, actually wanted the most desperate of solutions to happen, after all.
And it was real hard to convince himself that he could just go it alone and leave all his friends behind after hearing Abel and Felix’s names listed among the dead. Abel, his baseball bro who couldn’t hold his alcohol for the life of him, and Felix, his Magic bro, in every sense of that word. Both of them… gone. Just like that. He wondered what the last thing he’d said to either of them had been, and couldn’t even begin to remember. Nothing remotely important, then. Nothing at all meaningful. He wished he had, now. Said something more than just “See ya” or “Good luck” or “Bet you 10 dollars you can’t eat that.”
But then how the fuck would he have known?
He was more than a smidge dour and downbeat, now, sitting in the ruins of this house with Ashlynn, announcement having scuppered his positive upswing. It was pretty unfair to label this place as a ‘house’, really. Generally, that required a place to have more than just two walls.
Bichael was resting against one of those walls, and Stepney was slouched on the floor next to it. There was a deck of cards in his hands, and he was idly cutting and shuffling them, looking up into space rather than at them. Thank God the terrorists hadn’t taken his actual bag. Meant he still had stuff like this on him. The deck felt… lucky, somehow. And not just because there was an unnatural amount of Kings in there.
At the very least, it gave his hands something to do, and a means of hopefully pushing his mind back on track.
“You ever play, Ashlynn?” Stepney suddenly asked, turning his gaze to her. “Cards, I mean. Poker, blackjack, that sorta stuff?”
He gave her a smile. Least he could rely on the fact he had a pretty damn solid mask.
Things got easier as they walked.
Mostly. Things could never be clear cut and simple on this godforsaken island it seemed, this included, but. All things in due course, and all that.
The most important thing was that his situation was nowhere near as dire and difficult to parse as he’d first thought. As expected, a night’s rest had let his brain settle some, and stopped him from trying to mesh his analytical self with his panicky, frantic one, thank God. It had been like trying to fit a square peg into a fucking hairline crack.
Panicky Stepney was pretty much gone, now, and so as he and Ashlynn walked in the direction of who-knows-where, he mostly kept quiet, and kept himself to himself, and thought things over once again. There were two opposing forces in his head that had been having what basically amounted to a slap fight the previous day, but now that they’d settled down, he could actually take a look at them a lil more closely.
No. 1 - The smartest thing to do as far as Stepney could see, if he wanted to survive this whole thing - which he obviously did - would be to cut the group loose and go it alone.
And;
No. 2 - There was still a whole bunch of people from school that Stepney cared about, that he wanted to stay safe, and that he wanted to look after if he could.
The big kicker had been that Hel had fallen into that second category. Sure, he’d grown a little closer to everybody when they’d all been operating on Hel, but they were definitely the person he was closest too. They had been the big sticking point, the big thorn in his side, the main reason he hadn’t been able to tear himself away, even with half the group already doing just that.
And now, thanks to their complete lack of any sorta sense of direction, Hel had vanished, and it was only Stepney and Ashlynn left, and that was pretty much the best case scenario for him.
Look. Ashlynn was cool enough. She was fine. Stepney didn’t have any problems with her. But he also didn’t really have any… anything with her. There wasn’t that same sorta spark that he had with Hel, or that he’d have with someone like Nia, or Ming if, god forbid, she was out here. He figured it wouldn’t make much sense, right now, to beat feet and split the party in two again; working together, especially in the early days, would probably be beneficial. But as soon as things started to get hairy, he was pretty confident he’d be able to hop onto Bichael (yeah, he guessed he really was going with that, huh) and pedal off without any long-lasting guilt.
So, everything had been looking clear skies and sunny days, as far as Stepney’s future was concerned.
And then the announcement had started playing.
Toby’s name, obviously, stuck out like a sore thumb. Stepney would have been lying if he said that Danya’s voice, reading out the name of his old friend, hadn’t been replaying over and over in his head. But it wasn’t so much the fact that Toby was dead. He’d lost almost all of his good graces after shooting Hel, and shooting up Ashlynn’s bag. It was just as he’d felt yesterday; he stopped caring about the dude as soon as he went all dumbass psycho with a teeny tiny gun.
He just kinda wished that his last thoughts about the guy whilst he’d been alive hadn’t been for him to break his neck, y’know? Nobody, unless they were totally batshit insane, actually wanted the most desperate of solutions to happen, after all.
And it was real hard to convince himself that he could just go it alone and leave all his friends behind after hearing Abel and Felix’s names listed among the dead. Abel, his baseball bro who couldn’t hold his alcohol for the life of him, and Felix, his Magic bro, in every sense of that word. Both of them… gone. Just like that. He wondered what the last thing he’d said to either of them had been, and couldn’t even begin to remember. Nothing remotely important, then. Nothing at all meaningful. He wished he had, now. Said something more than just “See ya” or “Good luck” or “Bet you 10 dollars you can’t eat that.”
But then how the fuck would he have known?
He was more than a smidge dour and downbeat, now, sitting in the ruins of this house with Ashlynn, announcement having scuppered his positive upswing. It was pretty unfair to label this place as a ‘house’, really. Generally, that required a place to have more than just two walls.
Bichael was resting against one of those walls, and Stepney was slouched on the floor next to it. There was a deck of cards in his hands, and he was idly cutting and shuffling them, looking up into space rather than at them. Thank God the terrorists hadn’t taken his actual bag. Meant he still had stuff like this on him. The deck felt… lucky, somehow. And not just because there was an unnatural amount of Kings in there.
At the very least, it gave his hands something to do, and a means of hopefully pushing his mind back on track.
“You ever play, Ashlynn?” Stepney suddenly asked, turning his gaze to her. “Cards, I mean. Poker, blackjack, that sorta stuff?”
He gave her a smile. Least he could rely on the fact he had a pretty damn solid mask.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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General Goose
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It wasn't like Stepney was a stranger. They were classmates. They had mutual friends, shared classes, the same reference points about the town they hail from, the same benchmarks and touchstones for sharing experiences about school and social life. She recognised his face. She knew that he had that condition that meant that he couldn't recognise hers.
Yet, every now and then, Ashlynn did look over to him and wonder how it was that this person that she barely knew - what was he thinking, what his political and ethical views were, his family history, his friendship circles, all that stuff - was now the person she, by default, was trusting the most. She had trusted him not to flee overnight, to do his bit in keeping watch and making sure the environment they shared was a safe and hospitable one. She had trusted him not to rob or attack her, though the opportunity and motive were there. She wondered why it was that he had afforded her the same trust. The bonding experience of patching Hel up - a person who they seemed to both like - was perhaps part of it, but surely that wasn't enough to ground the deep bond of trust that circumstances had forced them to forge.
He had a bike. Ashlynn liked cycling. Had Stepney cycled before, making his seemingly arbitrary "weapon" assignment coincidentally apropos, or was it just the innate capriciousness of the system of randomness on full display? Maybe he actually knew the significance of the strange key thing that Ashlynn had been given. It could have been that the tools they were given would be most appropriate in the hands of the other. But maybe he didn't, maybe they shouldn't. It was something they could have discussed. Perhaps something they could have discussed. But Ashlynn, normally so confident at starting conversations and unpicking the ethical frameworks others operated within, was uncharacteristically unsure of where to begin.
The pall of the announcements, still looming over them and substantiating the horror that was their current predicament, probably gave pause to whatever instincts Ashlynn had. She knew that being sensitive, being careful, keeping in mind triggers and sensitivities, was as important now as it had ever been. She didn't want to accidentally escalate how awkward and unpleasant this was for Stepney, didn't want to disrupt however he was handling this by unloading her own perspectives and her own concerns onto him.
Thankfully, Stepney broke the silence first.
Ashlynn smiled back at him. She really had no idea how his condition worked - could he perceive smiles? She guessed so, but she couldn't know for certain. "Nope, never." Wasn't spotting tells a big part of poker? Nope, not a good line of questioning. Terrible line of questioning. "Was always more of a chess person myself but...well, I can't think of a better way to pass the time."
Yet, every now and then, Ashlynn did look over to him and wonder how it was that this person that she barely knew - what was he thinking, what his political and ethical views were, his family history, his friendship circles, all that stuff - was now the person she, by default, was trusting the most. She had trusted him not to flee overnight, to do his bit in keeping watch and making sure the environment they shared was a safe and hospitable one. She had trusted him not to rob or attack her, though the opportunity and motive were there. She wondered why it was that he had afforded her the same trust. The bonding experience of patching Hel up - a person who they seemed to both like - was perhaps part of it, but surely that wasn't enough to ground the deep bond of trust that circumstances had forced them to forge.
He had a bike. Ashlynn liked cycling. Had Stepney cycled before, making his seemingly arbitrary "weapon" assignment coincidentally apropos, or was it just the innate capriciousness of the system of randomness on full display? Maybe he actually knew the significance of the strange key thing that Ashlynn had been given. It could have been that the tools they were given would be most appropriate in the hands of the other. But maybe he didn't, maybe they shouldn't. It was something they could have discussed. Perhaps something they could have discussed. But Ashlynn, normally so confident at starting conversations and unpicking the ethical frameworks others operated within, was uncharacteristically unsure of where to begin.
The pall of the announcements, still looming over them and substantiating the horror that was their current predicament, probably gave pause to whatever instincts Ashlynn had. She knew that being sensitive, being careful, keeping in mind triggers and sensitivities, was as important now as it had ever been. She didn't want to accidentally escalate how awkward and unpleasant this was for Stepney, didn't want to disrupt however he was handling this by unloading her own perspectives and her own concerns onto him.
Thankfully, Stepney broke the silence first.
Ashlynn smiled back at him. She really had no idea how his condition worked - could he perceive smiles? She guessed so, but she couldn't know for certain. "Nope, never." Wasn't spotting tells a big part of poker? Nope, not a good line of questioning. Terrible line of questioning. "Was always more of a chess person myself but...well, I can't think of a better way to pass the time."
((Bryan continued from Glass Shatters))
Bryan's eyes slid open. For a disoriented, sleepy moment he tried to piece together why he was camping in the middle of Washington, because that just made no sense at all.
Then everything came rushing back. Oh. Oh right.
His body had more or less thrown in the towel last night, after he'd fled from the brothers--something which still rankled deeply--and while he'd spotted them heading east, his pursuit had been slow, hampered by an energy crash and a resurgence of the pain seizing his body. Bryan wasn't necessarily confident in his ability to keep outrunning them, should they choose to charge at him, and much as he hated to let them off the hook for any significant length of time, it came back down to how he was no good to anyone else if he got himself hurt. Logic was sound, still tasted like garbage.
Especially when he started lagging behind them from exhaustion, pain, and the initial set of injuries really starting to remind him they were there. Go figure that Bryan wasn't a master tracker, and he just plain didn't have enough energy to up his pace to stay on their tail. The duo had wound up getting way ahead of him, eventually escaping even the narrow glimpses he'd been managing to sneak through the trees. Felt like a real kick in the head.
That'd been a realtalk moment. He needed to rest, he needed to get his bearings, he needed to just stop for a moment, and hope and pray nothing happened while he wasn't there. That kind of compromise wasn't usually his thing, but there were other folks on this island too, other people that Bryan couldn't believe in the decency of, which he hated himself a little for, hated this situation for even more. He wasn't dumb. He knew about this terorrist atrocity. He knew that without fail, people wound up killing. Would've been nice to think George Hunter was the exception but, y'know, the Carters were'nt the only bad eggs out there.
Bryan had wound up slumping into a little alcove of wood and rubble in one of the buildings, putting his head on his bag, and falling asleep. And slept he had for a long while, apparently. Seemed to be midmorning already. Voices were coming from somewhere very close by, and Bryan felt a surge of apprehension, then relief, then concern. His hearing was--it existed outside of ringing again, that was good. On the other hand, there was still a low and persistent buzz at the bottom of it, and his heart sank as he realised it wasn't anything he was picking up form undergrowth or nearby. He really must have done some damage.
He picked himself up and circled around the house. Nearby, behind a second damaged building, was a pair of people. He recognised both. Stepney was an okay guy, maybe stepped over the line with some of his comments sometimes in a way that raised Bryan's hackles, but mostly people seemed to take it in good humour and you couldn't fight every little bit of dialogue that seemed possibly barbed. Ashlynn, it was difficult to place his feelings on. Bryan wanted to say that her heart was in the right place, but sometimes she really did seem more about the points scoring than like she cared about some of the causes she spoke about. Maybe that was a bit judgey, though? Nobody was forcing her to join the GSA, say, or anti-bullying, activism, so on.
Bryan raised a hand to wave across at them both.
"Howdy. G'morning."
Bryan's eyes slid open. For a disoriented, sleepy moment he tried to piece together why he was camping in the middle of Washington, because that just made no sense at all.
Then everything came rushing back. Oh. Oh right.
His body had more or less thrown in the towel last night, after he'd fled from the brothers--something which still rankled deeply--and while he'd spotted them heading east, his pursuit had been slow, hampered by an energy crash and a resurgence of the pain seizing his body. Bryan wasn't necessarily confident in his ability to keep outrunning them, should they choose to charge at him, and much as he hated to let them off the hook for any significant length of time, it came back down to how he was no good to anyone else if he got himself hurt. Logic was sound, still tasted like garbage.
Especially when he started lagging behind them from exhaustion, pain, and the initial set of injuries really starting to remind him they were there. Go figure that Bryan wasn't a master tracker, and he just plain didn't have enough energy to up his pace to stay on their tail. The duo had wound up getting way ahead of him, eventually escaping even the narrow glimpses he'd been managing to sneak through the trees. Felt like a real kick in the head.
That'd been a realtalk moment. He needed to rest, he needed to get his bearings, he needed to just stop for a moment, and hope and pray nothing happened while he wasn't there. That kind of compromise wasn't usually his thing, but there were other folks on this island too, other people that Bryan couldn't believe in the decency of, which he hated himself a little for, hated this situation for even more. He wasn't dumb. He knew about this terorrist atrocity. He knew that without fail, people wound up killing. Would've been nice to think George Hunter was the exception but, y'know, the Carters were'nt the only bad eggs out there.
Bryan had wound up slumping into a little alcove of wood and rubble in one of the buildings, putting his head on his bag, and falling asleep. And slept he had for a long while, apparently. Seemed to be midmorning already. Voices were coming from somewhere very close by, and Bryan felt a surge of apprehension, then relief, then concern. His hearing was--it existed outside of ringing again, that was good. On the other hand, there was still a low and persistent buzz at the bottom of it, and his heart sank as he realised it wasn't anything he was picking up form undergrowth or nearby. He really must have done some damage.
He picked himself up and circled around the house. Nearby, behind a second damaged building, was a pair of people. He recognised both. Stepney was an okay guy, maybe stepped over the line with some of his comments sometimes in a way that raised Bryan's hackles, but mostly people seemed to take it in good humour and you couldn't fight every little bit of dialogue that seemed possibly barbed. Ashlynn, it was difficult to place his feelings on. Bryan wanted to say that her heart was in the right place, but sometimes she really did seem more about the points scoring than like she cared about some of the causes she spoke about. Maybe that was a bit judgey, though? Nobody was forcing her to join the GSA, say, or anti-bullying, activism, so on.
Bryan raised a hand to wave across at them both.
"Howdy. G'morning."
Hmm. How did you tell somebody “Yeah, I figured as much. You never really struck me as the sorta person to be into poker and the like. Which is kinda odd, y’know, considering that deceit and misleading people and lying directly to their faces are all part of being a politician, but hey, so it goes. Wanna play Go Fish?” without coming off as a smidge rude?
Answer was that, uh, you couldn’t, not really. Back home, that wouldn’t have bothered Stepney and he’d have gone full steam ahead with the comment. But, again, it didn’t make sense to intentionally antagonise Ashlynn right now. They’d already gotten themselves into a mostly-at-ease alliance. No point splitting it up before they’d even gotten to do anything. Or before Stepney had gotten anything out of it.
Still, he’d considered saying it, heavily, and that either meant he was getting back into that upswing from before and back into the sorta person he’d wanted to live and die as, or that his mask was airtight and easy to slip into. Either outcome was a good thing, and, being real for a sec, the difference between the two could be pretty damn vague anyway.
“Never really played chess myself,” Stepney said, pulling a card out of the deck and holding it between his middle and index fingers. “I think I’d be pretty good at it. You need patience and logic comparable to poker, right? It’s just, I dunno…”
He shrugged, turning the card over to look at its face. Nine of Diamonds. The Curse of Scotland. Hopefully that wouldn’t an ill portent.
“... It’s not as sexy as cards, is it? And the terrorists gave me a bike, rather than a chess board. But, hey, if you wanna-”
A third voice, a new voice, intruded upon their little hollow sanctuary, and Stepney frowned, craning his neck to look at the new arrival. He wouldn’t be able to tell who it was, obviously, but it was just polite, y’know? If you were gonna introduce somebody into your home, whether you wanted to or not, it was generally considered rude not to look at ‘em when addressing them.
So he faced the figure, and his disgruntled look swiftly morphed into one of shock, because, good God, the person standing in front of him looked like they’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. That was a deduction he could make even without being able to read faces. Their clothes looked bedraggled, and more pertinently there was blood coating one side of their head.
Man, having a back coated in sweat suddenly didn’t seem all that bad now, huh?
“Yeah, uh, hey, mornin’,” Stepney said, placing the cards onto the ground before scrambling to his feet. “Probably not a good morning, though, Jesus. What happened to you?”
Answer was that, uh, you couldn’t, not really. Back home, that wouldn’t have bothered Stepney and he’d have gone full steam ahead with the comment. But, again, it didn’t make sense to intentionally antagonise Ashlynn right now. They’d already gotten themselves into a mostly-at-ease alliance. No point splitting it up before they’d even gotten to do anything. Or before Stepney had gotten anything out of it.
Still, he’d considered saying it, heavily, and that either meant he was getting back into that upswing from before and back into the sorta person he’d wanted to live and die as, or that his mask was airtight and easy to slip into. Either outcome was a good thing, and, being real for a sec, the difference between the two could be pretty damn vague anyway.
“Never really played chess myself,” Stepney said, pulling a card out of the deck and holding it between his middle and index fingers. “I think I’d be pretty good at it. You need patience and logic comparable to poker, right? It’s just, I dunno…”
He shrugged, turning the card over to look at its face. Nine of Diamonds. The Curse of Scotland. Hopefully that wouldn’t an ill portent.
“... It’s not as sexy as cards, is it? And the terrorists gave me a bike, rather than a chess board. But, hey, if you wanna-”
A third voice, a new voice, intruded upon their little hollow sanctuary, and Stepney frowned, craning his neck to look at the new arrival. He wouldn’t be able to tell who it was, obviously, but it was just polite, y’know? If you were gonna introduce somebody into your home, whether you wanted to or not, it was generally considered rude not to look at ‘em when addressing them.
So he faced the figure, and his disgruntled look swiftly morphed into one of shock, because, good God, the person standing in front of him looked like they’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. That was a deduction he could make even without being able to read faces. Their clothes looked bedraggled, and more pertinently there was blood coating one side of their head.
Man, having a back coated in sweat suddenly didn’t seem all that bad now, huh?
“Yeah, uh, hey, mornin’,” Stepney said, placing the cards onto the ground before scrambling to his feet. “Probably not a good morning, though, Jesus. What happened to you?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
Ashlynn was willing to try out poker. She was good at reading people, good at that sort of macropolitics that it seemed to entail, good at the tactical thinking and memory retention that it seemed to require. She was about to say this, to express her quiet confidence and willingness to learn, just as a way to clear her head and sharpen her senses before her mind returned to the challenges of their predicament, when Bryan arrived. It seemed that any conversation had some kind of magnetic allure to others, that it paved the way for others to join them.
Bryan was a good person. Kind, charitable, ethical, had a laudable interventionist streak. Much like Ashlynn. However, he seemed to have incurred his own punishment for that. One more directly painful than what Ashlynn had already endured.
After a couple of seconds of pause to process how he looked and allowing Stepney to address the elephant in the room, Ashlynn finally spoke. "Hi Bryan," Ashlynn said. Saying his name was, she imagined, a relatively non-intrusive way of making sure Stepney knew who it was they were addressing. Bryan had not been on the announcements - of course he hadn't, his genial and peace-loving nature so well-ingrained that even SOTF couldn't dislodge it quite so rapidly - but it would be useful to communicate, quickly and rapidly, that they were neither faced with an unknown quantity or someone who had some explaining to do.
"What...what happened?" Ashlynn repeated, unable to suppress her curious desire to know what had befallen him, if there was any useful intel that could be gleaned from that, if he had a story or a tale worth sharing. "And do you need any help?" Those that she had been with, when they were all helping Hel, who had demonstrated the most medical aptitude were all far and away, plus her supplies had received some damage courtesy of the late Toby's temper tantrum, but she was sure they could perform some basic first aid and that Stepney would make modest contributions to pooling their resources. She was exasperated that her plans to never learn first aid - skills even her parents, as flawed and laughably unethical as they were, had picked up - had never actually come to fruition. Ashlynn wondered, as a split second thought, if teaching first aid skills in school was somehow a good policy response to this mess.
But Ashlynn couldn't ponder the bigger picture stuff for too long. She stood up, too, her own movements slower and more considered, to convey that she did not view Bryan as a threat, that she was coming from a place of concern rather than anxiety. "It's not comfortable, but...sit down if you need to. Join us if you want to." She'd be offended if Bryan didn't, of course, but to offer was the right thing to do. "We were...about to play cards."
Bryan was a good person. Kind, charitable, ethical, had a laudable interventionist streak. Much like Ashlynn. However, he seemed to have incurred his own punishment for that. One more directly painful than what Ashlynn had already endured.
After a couple of seconds of pause to process how he looked and allowing Stepney to address the elephant in the room, Ashlynn finally spoke. "Hi Bryan," Ashlynn said. Saying his name was, she imagined, a relatively non-intrusive way of making sure Stepney knew who it was they were addressing. Bryan had not been on the announcements - of course he hadn't, his genial and peace-loving nature so well-ingrained that even SOTF couldn't dislodge it quite so rapidly - but it would be useful to communicate, quickly and rapidly, that they were neither faced with an unknown quantity or someone who had some explaining to do.
"What...what happened?" Ashlynn repeated, unable to suppress her curious desire to know what had befallen him, if there was any useful intel that could be gleaned from that, if he had a story or a tale worth sharing. "And do you need any help?" Those that she had been with, when they were all helping Hel, who had demonstrated the most medical aptitude were all far and away, plus her supplies had received some damage courtesy of the late Toby's temper tantrum, but she was sure they could perform some basic first aid and that Stepney would make modest contributions to pooling their resources. She was exasperated that her plans to never learn first aid - skills even her parents, as flawed and laughably unethical as they were, had picked up - had never actually come to fruition. Ashlynn wondered, as a split second thought, if teaching first aid skills in school was somehow a good policy response to this mess.
But Ashlynn couldn't ponder the bigger picture stuff for too long. She stood up, too, her own movements slower and more considered, to convey that she did not view Bryan as a threat, that she was coming from a place of concern rather than anxiety. "It's not comfortable, but...sit down if you need to. Join us if you want to." She'd be offended if Bryan didn't, of course, but to offer was the right thing to do. "We were...about to play cards."
Stepney and Ashlynn both reacted strongly to the sight of him, demonstrating their concern. Bryan blinked and touched a hand to his ear, flinching as the touch crackled with dried blood and sent a tetchy little jolt down the back of it. Ow. He'd slept resting on the opposite side of his head, since the discomfort was sticking around and he didn't much want to put pressure on something that'd been stomped on, but he didn't realise that it'd been, what was that, cut up? Maybe he'd been distracted by the couldn't-hear-right thing.
Speaking of, now that they were both talking, he still had a kind of like, he had a weird filter over what they were saying. It was like they were talking from the other side of a phone receiver but with something covering their mouths. Darn. Darn it.
"I got tangled up with those Carter boys." He smiled ruefully, then remembered he wasn't sure if Stepney could see smiles. Bryan didn't know as much about Stepney's disability as he could and he felt a pang of regret for that. Couldn't be a wikipedia on absolutely everything but y'know, it was important. "Saw them beating up on Morgan. I tried to get them to stop." He held up his arm, showing the starting-to-heal cuts from the bottle Wyatt'd thrown at him. "We tussled. They grabbed a gun off me. I went after them, had to back up when they got aggressive, lost track of them both on the way, now I'm here."
He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "You don't need to trouble yourselves none, I'm okay. I'll gladly pull up a pew, though."
Bryan walked up closer to the two of them and set himself down, trying not to touch at the ear again. He felt a trickle down the back of it. Heck.
Speaking of, now that they were both talking, he still had a kind of like, he had a weird filter over what they were saying. It was like they were talking from the other side of a phone receiver but with something covering their mouths. Darn. Darn it.
"I got tangled up with those Carter boys." He smiled ruefully, then remembered he wasn't sure if Stepney could see smiles. Bryan didn't know as much about Stepney's disability as he could and he felt a pang of regret for that. Couldn't be a wikipedia on absolutely everything but y'know, it was important. "Saw them beating up on Morgan. I tried to get them to stop." He held up his arm, showing the starting-to-heal cuts from the bottle Wyatt'd thrown at him. "We tussled. They grabbed a gun off me. I went after them, had to back up when they got aggressive, lost track of them both on the way, now I'm here."
He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "You don't need to trouble yourselves none, I'm okay. I'll gladly pull up a pew, though."
Bryan walked up closer to the two of them and set himself down, trying not to touch at the ear again. He felt a trickle down the back of it. Heck.
They didn't make it far.
>> Apollonia "Nia" Karahalios continued from At the End of Days, at the End of Time
That wasn't particularly surprising. "Walk as far as we can" was a meaningless aim when your exhaustion was as bone-deep as Nia's was. A secondary shot of adrenaline was enough to get her out the door, get her legs moving albeit slowly with the added weight of a second bag and extra supplies, and was enough to foolishly convince her that they could at least make it beyond the treeline before they'd need to stop and rest. She'd had vague designs on a temporary shelter in the woods previously; they likely wouldn't have time to erect one before the rain started, but, but.
But nothing. She was being stupid and overconfident. The adrenaline drained quickly and she was dragging her feet pointlessly and if she didn't find a place to stop immediately she would collapse on the path and that would likely be the end of everything. Alexander had less to carry, he followed steadfastly behind her, but she didn't imagine he was in much better shape. All she could hear was footsteps, the tapping of his cane, and her heavy breathing in her ears.
They needed to rest, at least for a few hours. The houses in this part of the village, at least, were not well-suited to protect from the elements; most didn't have four solid walls, let alone uncollapsed roofs. But it had not yet begun to rain. All she needed was—
Stepney?
It was hard to miss him, even from a distance. His companions were less distinct, but there he was, taking shelter in a mostly destroyed building. They had not seen her, though she was clearly visible on her approach; they might have seen her first, if she was unlucky, but she had the advantage here.
An advantage she could take no advantage of, because she stumbled toward him and she could feel the dam start to break again.
"STEPNEY."
She came up with his name the day they'd met, the first meeting of ASL Club. It translated literally as "no face", which he had found very funny, which was one of the many things she liked about him.
"STEPNEY--STEPNEY"
She should have held the gun.
"HELLO--PLEASE--HELP"
She could have killed all three of them, if she had wanted to, before they noticed she was there. She should warn them, how exposed they were.
"BLU-J"
She had just regained control, too. She would regain it again. She had given herself permission to feel, when it was necessary, and perhaps it would be for a little while longer yet.
"BLU-J--DEAD. PLEASE--WE--STAY?"
His blood was still on her hands.
>> Apollonia "Nia" Karahalios continued from At the End of Days, at the End of Time
That wasn't particularly surprising. "Walk as far as we can" was a meaningless aim when your exhaustion was as bone-deep as Nia's was. A secondary shot of adrenaline was enough to get her out the door, get her legs moving albeit slowly with the added weight of a second bag and extra supplies, and was enough to foolishly convince her that they could at least make it beyond the treeline before they'd need to stop and rest. She'd had vague designs on a temporary shelter in the woods previously; they likely wouldn't have time to erect one before the rain started, but, but.
But nothing. She was being stupid and overconfident. The adrenaline drained quickly and she was dragging her feet pointlessly and if she didn't find a place to stop immediately she would collapse on the path and that would likely be the end of everything. Alexander had less to carry, he followed steadfastly behind her, but she didn't imagine he was in much better shape. All she could hear was footsteps, the tapping of his cane, and her heavy breathing in her ears.
They needed to rest, at least for a few hours. The houses in this part of the village, at least, were not well-suited to protect from the elements; most didn't have four solid walls, let alone uncollapsed roofs. But it had not yet begun to rain. All she needed was—
Stepney?
It was hard to miss him, even from a distance. His companions were less distinct, but there he was, taking shelter in a mostly destroyed building. They had not seen her, though she was clearly visible on her approach; they might have seen her first, if she was unlucky, but she had the advantage here.
An advantage she could take no advantage of, because she stumbled toward him and she could feel the dam start to break again.
"STEPNEY."
She came up with his name the day they'd met, the first meeting of ASL Club. It translated literally as "no face", which he had found very funny, which was one of the many things she liked about him.
"STEPNEY--STEPNEY"
She should have held the gun.
"HELLO--PLEASE--HELP"
She could have killed all three of them, if she had wanted to, before they noticed she was there. She should warn them, how exposed they were.
"BLU-J"
She had just regained control, too. She would regain it again. She had given herself permission to feel, when it was necessary, and perhaps it would be for a little while longer yet.
"BLU-J--DEAD. PLEASE--WE--STAY?"
His blood was still on her hands.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
((Before they left the commissary, Nia had handed Alexander a hammer.))
The handle was bloody. He wondered how desperately Nia had clutched at Jeremiah's lifeless body, for her to be coated in so much of his blood. Her bloodied skin polluting his own as she traced letters in his hand, transferring just a little bit of her friend to everything she touched.
He'd given up on trying to prevent spreading the blood even further. Even more than the discomforting feeling on his hands, he hated that thought. Nia, grasping her dying friend - listening for his breath? A heartbeat? Any sign of the dwindling life that remained in his body? Sobbing, piteously quiet, all the while? It hurt. The memory hurt, the imagination hurt, more viscerally than even Beryl's demise.
Beryl had been his dear friend, and every time he remembered that she was gone his gut twisted a little, but it wasn't as real for him as the sounds of Nick beating Jeremiah to death while he stood helpless, mere feet away.
Briefly, Alexander had made an attempt to sever all emotional ties he held towards Nia. Obviously, the attempt had failed hideously, and he couldn't bring himself to try again, to bludgeon his heart with rationality until it grew cold.
So. She was his one. The one person he'd allow himself to care about, to trust without reservation. That was all the weakness he could afford. He had finally admitted that Roxanne and Marceline were illusory oases. A miracle wouldn't happen, and he could never meet either again.
If they did, it wouldn't be a matter of picking sides. Alexander had already made his choice. He couldn't allow himself to spread his emotions too thin. That would tear him apart worse than a cold betrayal would.
As he followed behind Nia, he held his cane in his right hand, the hammer in his left. Two tools, he mused - one for navigating the island. And one for navigating the island's challenges.
The faults of his makeshift curtain-rod cane were becoming readily apparent, now that they had left the now-familiar commissary behind for unpaved, uneven walkways. He would make due. In the face of everything he had experienced, discomfort was no longer something worth worrying about.
While he walked, he idly fidgeted with the hammer. He still would have preferred a knife, but a weapon was a weapon, and it would more than suffice for its purpose of making him not completely helpless if someone attacked him. If he had to flail, it was better to flail with something blunt and heavy.
He wondered where Nia had gotten it. Perhaps there had been a toolbox in the storage room. It didn't really matter.
As they walked through the village, Alexander began to hear voices ahead of them. He briefly considered warning Nia, but the group sounded like they were out in the open, and she could likely see them already. How would they handle this? Trying to sneak away before they noticed them? Turning and running outright? Menacing them with the gun?
Hurting anyone who didn't deserve it was still something Alexander preferred to avoid, but, well. He had already made his choice. Everyone who wasn't the girl by his side was an obstacle at best, and an enemy at worst.
Nia kept walking at a steady pace, making no obvious attempts to quiet her footsteps or creep into the brush. Alexander followed. He wished he understood what her plan was, here. Were there people she knew in the group? He couldn't imagine her deliberately approaching anyone else, unless she was planning a bit of revenge for the previous day with a surprise mugging of her own. The thought was almost funny. It wasn't, but. Almost.
They stopped a short distance away from the voices. Nia was likely signing, or writing a note, but Alexander figured he should preemptively try to set the tone of their little encounter. He was naturally mannerly, but decorum was also a wonderfully disarming mask to wear. "Hello," he said simply, because 'good morning' would have been stupidly ill-fitting to their current state of being, and it may have compelled Nia to rightfully shoot him dead on the spot.
"Would you terribly mind briefly introducing yourselves? Just names will do."
The handle was bloody. He wondered how desperately Nia had clutched at Jeremiah's lifeless body, for her to be coated in so much of his blood. Her bloodied skin polluting his own as she traced letters in his hand, transferring just a little bit of her friend to everything she touched.
He'd given up on trying to prevent spreading the blood even further. Even more than the discomforting feeling on his hands, he hated that thought. Nia, grasping her dying friend - listening for his breath? A heartbeat? Any sign of the dwindling life that remained in his body? Sobbing, piteously quiet, all the while? It hurt. The memory hurt, the imagination hurt, more viscerally than even Beryl's demise.
Beryl had been his dear friend, and every time he remembered that she was gone his gut twisted a little, but it wasn't as real for him as the sounds of Nick beating Jeremiah to death while he stood helpless, mere feet away.
Briefly, Alexander had made an attempt to sever all emotional ties he held towards Nia. Obviously, the attempt had failed hideously, and he couldn't bring himself to try again, to bludgeon his heart with rationality until it grew cold.
So. She was his one. The one person he'd allow himself to care about, to trust without reservation. That was all the weakness he could afford. He had finally admitted that Roxanne and Marceline were illusory oases. A miracle wouldn't happen, and he could never meet either again.
If they did, it wouldn't be a matter of picking sides. Alexander had already made his choice. He couldn't allow himself to spread his emotions too thin. That would tear him apart worse than a cold betrayal would.
As he followed behind Nia, he held his cane in his right hand, the hammer in his left. Two tools, he mused - one for navigating the island. And one for navigating the island's challenges.
The faults of his makeshift curtain-rod cane were becoming readily apparent, now that they had left the now-familiar commissary behind for unpaved, uneven walkways. He would make due. In the face of everything he had experienced, discomfort was no longer something worth worrying about.
While he walked, he idly fidgeted with the hammer. He still would have preferred a knife, but a weapon was a weapon, and it would more than suffice for its purpose of making him not completely helpless if someone attacked him. If he had to flail, it was better to flail with something blunt and heavy.
He wondered where Nia had gotten it. Perhaps there had been a toolbox in the storage room. It didn't really matter.
As they walked through the village, Alexander began to hear voices ahead of them. He briefly considered warning Nia, but the group sounded like they were out in the open, and she could likely see them already. How would they handle this? Trying to sneak away before they noticed them? Turning and running outright? Menacing them with the gun?
Hurting anyone who didn't deserve it was still something Alexander preferred to avoid, but, well. He had already made his choice. Everyone who wasn't the girl by his side was an obstacle at best, and an enemy at worst.
Nia kept walking at a steady pace, making no obvious attempts to quiet her footsteps or creep into the brush. Alexander followed. He wished he understood what her plan was, here. Were there people she knew in the group? He couldn't imagine her deliberately approaching anyone else, unless she was planning a bit of revenge for the previous day with a surprise mugging of her own. The thought was almost funny. It wasn't, but. Almost.
They stopped a short distance away from the voices. Nia was likely signing, or writing a note, but Alexander figured he should preemptively try to set the tone of their little encounter. He was naturally mannerly, but decorum was also a wonderfully disarming mask to wear. "Hello," he said simply, because 'good morning' would have been stupidly ill-fitting to their current state of being, and it may have compelled Nia to rightfully shoot him dead on the spot.
"Would you terribly mind briefly introducing yourselves? Just names will do."
Brian, Brian, Brian. Did he know a Brian? There was a kid about three years younger than him that turned up to Magic club every now and then. He was kinda a clinger-on, kinda garbage at Magic, and definitely an annoying brat, always complaining about how he had to introduce himself all over again to Stepney. But he was also a whole head shorter than the Brian in front of him right now, way less muscular, and most importantly, not on the trip.
So which Brian was this? Which - Oh. Right. With a ‘y’. Yeah, suddenly, the height and the build and the ‘being covered in injuries’ made a whole lot more sense.
Stepney liked Bryan OK. That was pretty much as far as he would go in terms of association between the two. He was totally fine, most of the time, and the friendliest dude on the goddamned face of the Earth on his good day. But he also considered schadenfreude and deceit as equal to arson, and would come down like a sack of bricks on such if he caught wind of it. So, yeah, a friendly face, but not someone Stepney would’ve called a friend.
Perfect for his current situation, in other words.
He couldn’t help but shake his head and give a wry smile when he thought Bryan wasn’t looking. Yeah, running into the Carters, that’d do all… that to somebody. Literally everybody but Bryan would’ve seen that one coming. It was honestly a surprise that neither Wyatt nor Bret’s name had cropped up on the announcements, and even more of a surprise that Bryan had survived his encounter with them both.
“Yeah, sure thing. Good to have another friendly face around. You sure we can’t do anything for that, uh… everything?”
It was the logical thing for any altruistic person to say in this situation, albeit sprinkled with little white lies and half-truths. If Bryan changed his tune, then sure, Stepney would go ahead and patch him up. Or, rather, delegate Ashlynn to that task, she seemed to have a better grasp of medicine than he did. But if he still insisted he didn’t need it, then hey, Stepney wasn’t gonna force him. The injuries didn’t look life-threatening, but they definitely looked like they were hindering Bryan.
Bottom line was, a disadvantage for someone else was an advantage for him.
And, y’know, he was starting to put everything that had happened with Toby and Hel to the back of his mind again. He was getting back into the swing of things, back into the headspace that would help him survive, back to believing that he could cut everybody loose and do what he needed to do to live.
And then perhaps his closest living friend had to turn up, and everything was thrown up into the air again.
He heard the footsteps coming towards him, and his brow furrowed and his heart sank as he turned to face the newcomers. It sank even further when he saw one of them signing at him, signing the words ‘No Face’, the name that only Nia used for him, and he knew it had to be her.
It sank without a trace when he noticed how frantically she was gesticulating, and how badly she was shaking.
He quickly nodded at Bryan before walking past him towards Nia and her companion. They wore dark glasses, but that didn’t narrow the pool of who it could be down any, and he was barely of importance right now anyway.
“NIA.”
He didn’t need to sign her name, but he did anyway. He was pretty decent at ASL, good enough to hold a basic conversation, but nowhere near as experienced as Nia was. He wanted to sign for her as much as he could, but there was only so much he’d been taught, only so much that would be applicable to the island. Like the fact that Jeremiah had been killed. How the fuck was he supposed to talk about that? He could barely formulate his own thoughts about that, let alone speak about it. The dude was big, distinctive, quiet. He’d been through so much shit already in his life. He was friendly to everybody in the ASL club, and he was friendly to Stepney because Stepney could recognise him on sight. And now he was dead.
“Yeah, you can stay, of course you can stay, both of you. Stay as long as you want. You’re safe here.”
His words poured out of his mouth, and he realised how shaky they were, as shaky as the rest of him suddenly was. He glanced at the other person as they asked a question to the group at large, a similar question to one he’d ask around school. That narrowed down who it might be way more.
“It’s… Stepney. You’re Alexander, yeah? There’s two other people here, I’ll let them introduce themselves.”
He turned again to Nia, stepping closer to them.
“YOU--NEED--HUG?”
So which Brian was this? Which - Oh. Right. With a ‘y’. Yeah, suddenly, the height and the build and the ‘being covered in injuries’ made a whole lot more sense.
Stepney liked Bryan OK. That was pretty much as far as he would go in terms of association between the two. He was totally fine, most of the time, and the friendliest dude on the goddamned face of the Earth on his good day. But he also considered schadenfreude and deceit as equal to arson, and would come down like a sack of bricks on such if he caught wind of it. So, yeah, a friendly face, but not someone Stepney would’ve called a friend.
Perfect for his current situation, in other words.
He couldn’t help but shake his head and give a wry smile when he thought Bryan wasn’t looking. Yeah, running into the Carters, that’d do all… that to somebody. Literally everybody but Bryan would’ve seen that one coming. It was honestly a surprise that neither Wyatt nor Bret’s name had cropped up on the announcements, and even more of a surprise that Bryan had survived his encounter with them both.
“Yeah, sure thing. Good to have another friendly face around. You sure we can’t do anything for that, uh… everything?”
It was the logical thing for any altruistic person to say in this situation, albeit sprinkled with little white lies and half-truths. If Bryan changed his tune, then sure, Stepney would go ahead and patch him up. Or, rather, delegate Ashlynn to that task, she seemed to have a better grasp of medicine than he did. But if he still insisted he didn’t need it, then hey, Stepney wasn’t gonna force him. The injuries didn’t look life-threatening, but they definitely looked like they were hindering Bryan.
Bottom line was, a disadvantage for someone else was an advantage for him.
And, y’know, he was starting to put everything that had happened with Toby and Hel to the back of his mind again. He was getting back into the swing of things, back into the headspace that would help him survive, back to believing that he could cut everybody loose and do what he needed to do to live.
And then perhaps his closest living friend had to turn up, and everything was thrown up into the air again.
He heard the footsteps coming towards him, and his brow furrowed and his heart sank as he turned to face the newcomers. It sank even further when he saw one of them signing at him, signing the words ‘No Face’, the name that only Nia used for him, and he knew it had to be her.
It sank without a trace when he noticed how frantically she was gesticulating, and how badly she was shaking.
He quickly nodded at Bryan before walking past him towards Nia and her companion. They wore dark glasses, but that didn’t narrow the pool of who it could be down any, and he was barely of importance right now anyway.
“NIA.”
He didn’t need to sign her name, but he did anyway. He was pretty decent at ASL, good enough to hold a basic conversation, but nowhere near as experienced as Nia was. He wanted to sign for her as much as he could, but there was only so much he’d been taught, only so much that would be applicable to the island. Like the fact that Jeremiah had been killed. How the fuck was he supposed to talk about that? He could barely formulate his own thoughts about that, let alone speak about it. The dude was big, distinctive, quiet. He’d been through so much shit already in his life. He was friendly to everybody in the ASL club, and he was friendly to Stepney because Stepney could recognise him on sight. And now he was dead.
“Yeah, you can stay, of course you can stay, both of you. Stay as long as you want. You’re safe here.”
His words poured out of his mouth, and he realised how shaky they were, as shaky as the rest of him suddenly was. He glanced at the other person as they asked a question to the group at large, a similar question to one he’d ask around school. That narrowed down who it might be way more.
“It’s… Stepney. You’re Alexander, yeah? There’s two other people here, I’ll let them introduce themselves.”
He turned again to Nia, stepping closer to them.
“YOU--NEED--HUG?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
Ashlynn scowled at the mention of the Carters. Even back home - when the stakes were less transparently high and the excesses of their behaviour curbed somewhat by social expectations - they were the worst of the worst. Bryan was too kind a soul, that was clear. He had the right to - arguably the obligation to - be speaking of his assailants in furious and unforgiving terms, rather than couching it in this Flanders-style insult-free language.
If Ashlynn had to think of a physical personification if everything that was wrong with the student bodies of America's schools, the Carters, especially Wyatt, would be strong candidates. Such a personification would inherently be a generalisation, but they embodied so much that was wrong. Toxic masculinity, unearned privilege, bullying, a mocking and exploitative attitude to institutions such as Anti-Bullying Clubs that should hold them back...urgh. She hated them. They rarely messed with Ashlynn directly, but she despised them. It was, in its own way, good to know that that was one preconception that she could cling to.
It made her angry! They hadn't killed yet, but they were probably stealing and attacking and beating up everyone and only weren't killing because that would entail accountability, and they hated that. Urgh. They were George Hunter High's very own Koch brothers. Maybe not the most accurate analogy - certainly different in style and methods and motivation - but at its core it worked. Ashlynn hated them. Oh, if she was Class President, she could have had words. Could have had influence. Maybe she would have gotten more privileged meetings in DC. Done something important. Dammit. Her mind was wandering, getting lost in fantasies of having the power to dispense justice. But it was just that. A fantasy.
"The Carters are awful people, Bryan," Ashlynn replied, finally. "Kudos to you for standing up to them." She supposed that was more important than having an appropriately indignant demeanour after the fact. "Take a seat and, really, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." Bryan seemed to have enough of his wits about him to be trusted with his own medical decisions, and Ashlynn was not going to take that dignity away from him by labouring the subject or pressuring him into accepting her help. Still, she kept an eye on his features regardless - for twitches, for signs of trauma, for open wounds that he might not have noticed.
So much for learning how to play cards.
Then Nia - who was mute - and Alexander - who was blind - entered the scene, and Ashlynn realised that, adding in Stepney's face blindness and the recent traumas that had befallen Bryan, there would likely be a need to facilitate some easy conversation among the group. The chance of miscommunication leading to hurt feelings or worse - and looking at Nia, had the worse already happened? - was high. There was much to discuss. Alexander had asked them all to say their names. There were stories that needed to be exchanged. Truths that needed to be deduced. Threats that need to be assessed.
So she spoke clearly. Authoritatively. Each syllable well enunciated. "Are you okay, Nia?" She stood up. Nia had blood on her hands. "Does anyone know sign language? Or have anything to write with? And you, Alexander, are you okay too?" She bent down, beginning to rifle through her bag, eager to offer what help she could.
If Ashlynn had to think of a physical personification if everything that was wrong with the student bodies of America's schools, the Carters, especially Wyatt, would be strong candidates. Such a personification would inherently be a generalisation, but they embodied so much that was wrong. Toxic masculinity, unearned privilege, bullying, a mocking and exploitative attitude to institutions such as Anti-Bullying Clubs that should hold them back...urgh. She hated them. They rarely messed with Ashlynn directly, but she despised them. It was, in its own way, good to know that that was one preconception that she could cling to.
It made her angry! They hadn't killed yet, but they were probably stealing and attacking and beating up everyone and only weren't killing because that would entail accountability, and they hated that. Urgh. They were George Hunter High's very own Koch brothers. Maybe not the most accurate analogy - certainly different in style and methods and motivation - but at its core it worked. Ashlynn hated them. Oh, if she was Class President, she could have had words. Could have had influence. Maybe she would have gotten more privileged meetings in DC. Done something important. Dammit. Her mind was wandering, getting lost in fantasies of having the power to dispense justice. But it was just that. A fantasy.
"The Carters are awful people, Bryan," Ashlynn replied, finally. "Kudos to you for standing up to them." She supposed that was more important than having an appropriately indignant demeanour after the fact. "Take a seat and, really, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." Bryan seemed to have enough of his wits about him to be trusted with his own medical decisions, and Ashlynn was not going to take that dignity away from him by labouring the subject or pressuring him into accepting her help. Still, she kept an eye on his features regardless - for twitches, for signs of trauma, for open wounds that he might not have noticed.
So much for learning how to play cards.
Then Nia - who was mute - and Alexander - who was blind - entered the scene, and Ashlynn realised that, adding in Stepney's face blindness and the recent traumas that had befallen Bryan, there would likely be a need to facilitate some easy conversation among the group. The chance of miscommunication leading to hurt feelings or worse - and looking at Nia, had the worse already happened? - was high. There was much to discuss. Alexander had asked them all to say their names. There were stories that needed to be exchanged. Truths that needed to be deduced. Threats that need to be assessed.
So she spoke clearly. Authoritatively. Each syllable well enunciated. "Are you okay, Nia?" She stood up. Nia had blood on her hands. "Does anyone know sign language? Or have anything to write with? And you, Alexander, are you okay too?" She bent down, beginning to rifle through her bag, eager to offer what help she could.
"Ah, yeah, sure. I'll let y'all know if I need anything." He smiled at the both of them, warm and open, then set his eyes on the wall, trying to piece through some thoughts.
Bryan quietly worked his shoulder, rolling the joint carefully, trying to keep any sign of discomfort from his face. No need to worry those two any more than they already were, not on his account. He felt guilty, not for any concern that he may have caused, actually near enough the opposite. He felt guilty that he wasn't sparing enough of his own concern for Ashlynn and Stepney. They both seemed in decent enough shape, and while he was certainly pleased about that, it meant his focus slid back in the other direction. Not just to the Carters, to, well, everything, all of this. What he was doing here.
Heavy thinking for when he just got up, but he didn't have the luxury of a nice long walk to unwind, nor his sketchbook, nor a gym. Had to unpick this the old fashioned way, and not drag his feet about it, neither. Brian had a responsibility to chase that gun he'd lost back down, sure, but there were a hundred other people out here. He had to be sensible and practical, had to think this through properly. What was his goal? Okay, so, he didn't want anybody else to get hurt, but what was the practical side of that? How did he flip that around from being a vague goal without any path leading up to it, to a clear and distinct set of tasks? Gather folks together, that was something, sure. Stop others from attacking people? Bryan didn't know that he had enough powers of diplomacy to pull that off, not in this situation. Maybe with enough people all in one spot, that'd be the kind of thing to convince the ones buying into the situation that there was another way. Fear made this whole thing go round. Take away that fear with community, with spirit, with guts, could be that they had a chance to right the ship and remind folks that they were all in this together. They weren't against each other, they were against these terrorists, and the bad guys didn't have an endless amount of time to get this done. Sooner or later the cavalry would arrive.
He was just considering how to put that into words when there was a commotion. Nia and Alex, two people he recognised but didn't know super well, looking messed up and frantic and unfortunately not understandable. Bryan hadn't had enough hours in his day to try and learn ASL, but from the teary eyes, the blood, Stepney's reaction, well, he knew that Nia couldn't have been saying anything good. Alexander had a band, Bryan remembered that about him. It was something he'd tried to learn, fix in his head, have as the number one fact above and beyond 'he's blind' because that just wasn't right, tagging someone as their disability above all else.
"Bryan. Hey." He started to wave, then stopped, awkwardly, then smiled, extra awkwardly. Ashlynn was going through her things, already focused on how they'd all manage to talk, which made sense seenas it seemed like only Stepney could speak to Nia.
Give 'em a second, then he'd try and talk about what he was thinking. The plan. Sounded so formal like that, but it was, right? It was a plan. Bits and pieces were coming together. Maybe improbably, maybe impossible, but surely you had to at least try.
Bryan quietly worked his shoulder, rolling the joint carefully, trying to keep any sign of discomfort from his face. No need to worry those two any more than they already were, not on his account. He felt guilty, not for any concern that he may have caused, actually near enough the opposite. He felt guilty that he wasn't sparing enough of his own concern for Ashlynn and Stepney. They both seemed in decent enough shape, and while he was certainly pleased about that, it meant his focus slid back in the other direction. Not just to the Carters, to, well, everything, all of this. What he was doing here.
Heavy thinking for when he just got up, but he didn't have the luxury of a nice long walk to unwind, nor his sketchbook, nor a gym. Had to unpick this the old fashioned way, and not drag his feet about it, neither. Brian had a responsibility to chase that gun he'd lost back down, sure, but there were a hundred other people out here. He had to be sensible and practical, had to think this through properly. What was his goal? Okay, so, he didn't want anybody else to get hurt, but what was the practical side of that? How did he flip that around from being a vague goal without any path leading up to it, to a clear and distinct set of tasks? Gather folks together, that was something, sure. Stop others from attacking people? Bryan didn't know that he had enough powers of diplomacy to pull that off, not in this situation. Maybe with enough people all in one spot, that'd be the kind of thing to convince the ones buying into the situation that there was another way. Fear made this whole thing go round. Take away that fear with community, with spirit, with guts, could be that they had a chance to right the ship and remind folks that they were all in this together. They weren't against each other, they were against these terrorists, and the bad guys didn't have an endless amount of time to get this done. Sooner or later the cavalry would arrive.
He was just considering how to put that into words when there was a commotion. Nia and Alex, two people he recognised but didn't know super well, looking messed up and frantic and unfortunately not understandable. Bryan hadn't had enough hours in his day to try and learn ASL, but from the teary eyes, the blood, Stepney's reaction, well, he knew that Nia couldn't have been saying anything good. Alexander had a band, Bryan remembered that about him. It was something he'd tried to learn, fix in his head, have as the number one fact above and beyond 'he's blind' because that just wasn't right, tagging someone as their disability above all else.
"Bryan. Hey." He started to wave, then stopped, awkwardly, then smiled, extra awkwardly. Ashlynn was going through her things, already focused on how they'd all manage to talk, which made sense seenas it seemed like only Stepney could speak to Nia.
Give 'em a second, then he'd try and talk about what he was thinking. The plan. Sounded so formal like that, but it was, right? It was a plan. Bits and pieces were coming together. Maybe improbably, maybe impossible, but surely you had to at least try.
She knew.
Even as her fingers were moving, twisting into words, she knew.
This was a terrible error in judgment.
At the very least, logistically speaking, they all needed to pack up, immediately. This wasn't a place they could stay. Had she not pondered for a moment, how she could have killed one of them before they noticed she was there, how she could have killed the others before they could run? Nia certainly wasn't under the impression that she was the most dangerous entity on the island, and the more nebulous aspects of that statement aside, she was armed only with a pistol. Someone with a rifle could pick them off from a distance, someone with a machine gun could spray down their whole group before any of them had the chance to scream.
She had needed to stop, yes, she swayed on unsteady limbs, still, but she was being stupid. She could outthink her body. She had to. They needed to rest, but somewhere else. Anywhere else.
At the very least, they all needed to pack up, but her eyes flitted, uncertain, between the other two. Ashlynn, Bryan, they introduced themselves. Ashlynn was more familiar, the failed presidential candidate, and her voice was the same she'd used in what could be charitably described as "conversations" they'd had in the past. The voice of an ignorant girl attempting to speak to the deaf. Perhaps technically well-meaning but so incorrect on so many counts that her only response had ever been the most baleful expression she could produce. It had never done much good. Bryan was unfamiliar, but he was injured, bloodied. She could hardly make assumptions on that account, but he was large enough that even without a visible weapon his presence set her on edge.
Stepney.
Stepney Cruz, the only person to show up to her and Jeremiah's inaugural ASL club meeting. He'd had some trouble picking up the language, naturally, facial expressions were paramount to one's understanding of the language, he was essentially processing her words with a monotone, but they made due. She felt silly, sometimes, having to tack on explanations of her emotions to her words to facilitate his understanding, but he was trying. There were things he couldn't do. She understood.
Those feelings sent her stumbling forward, toward him. He loved Jeremiah, too. He would want to know. She'd forgotten to tell him how she felt. She thought she probably didn't need to.
The worst error was not running in the opposite direction.
Perhaps the second worst was nodding. She had only ever let one person hug her. She shuffled forward, anyway, making little attempt to hug him herself, just pressing her head awkwardly against his shoulder.
It wasn't the same. Jeremiah was so tall.
Her stomach clenched, again, and she realized she was crying, again, those airy sobs she thought she'd escaped pressed out of her throat.
They couldn't stay long.
Even as her fingers were moving, twisting into words, she knew.
This was a terrible error in judgment.
At the very least, logistically speaking, they all needed to pack up, immediately. This wasn't a place they could stay. Had she not pondered for a moment, how she could have killed one of them before they noticed she was there, how she could have killed the others before they could run? Nia certainly wasn't under the impression that she was the most dangerous entity on the island, and the more nebulous aspects of that statement aside, she was armed only with a pistol. Someone with a rifle could pick them off from a distance, someone with a machine gun could spray down their whole group before any of them had the chance to scream.
She had needed to stop, yes, she swayed on unsteady limbs, still, but she was being stupid. She could outthink her body. She had to. They needed to rest, but somewhere else. Anywhere else.
At the very least, they all needed to pack up, but her eyes flitted, uncertain, between the other two. Ashlynn, Bryan, they introduced themselves. Ashlynn was more familiar, the failed presidential candidate, and her voice was the same she'd used in what could be charitably described as "conversations" they'd had in the past. The voice of an ignorant girl attempting to speak to the deaf. Perhaps technically well-meaning but so incorrect on so many counts that her only response had ever been the most baleful expression she could produce. It had never done much good. Bryan was unfamiliar, but he was injured, bloodied. She could hardly make assumptions on that account, but he was large enough that even without a visible weapon his presence set her on edge.
Stepney.
Stepney Cruz, the only person to show up to her and Jeremiah's inaugural ASL club meeting. He'd had some trouble picking up the language, naturally, facial expressions were paramount to one's understanding of the language, he was essentially processing her words with a monotone, but they made due. She felt silly, sometimes, having to tack on explanations of her emotions to her words to facilitate his understanding, but he was trying. There were things he couldn't do. She understood.
Those feelings sent her stumbling forward, toward him. He loved Jeremiah, too. He would want to know. She'd forgotten to tell him how she felt. She thought she probably didn't need to.
The worst error was not running in the opposite direction.
Perhaps the second worst was nodding. She had only ever let one person hug her. She shuffled forward, anyway, making little attempt to hug him herself, just pressing her head awkwardly against his shoulder.
It wasn't the same. Jeremiah was so tall.
Her stomach clenched, again, and she realized she was crying, again, those airy sobs she thought she'd escaped pressed out of her throat.
They couldn't stay long.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Alexander quickly decided that he did not like this new girl, who had blatantly ignored his clear request to identify herself. Instead, she had elected to speak in a condescendingly slow manner, asking questions to which the answer should be stupidly obvious. At least, he hoped she was making a conscious choice with her voice, otherwise he pitied anyone who had to spend any time around her. She did know that neither him nor Nia were deaf or hard of hearing, right?
The other two names didn't mean much to him, but at least they'd done the bare minimum and listened to him. He had no memory of any meaningful interactions with a 'Brian', and no knowledge of any notable traits he possessed. He knew a little more about Stepney - Prosopagnosia was an unwieldy enough word that it stuck in your brain, and an interesting concept to try and wrap his head around. Some may have found it crass to associate him so purely with his disability, but it's not as if Alexander'd ever had a reason to get to know him on a personal level. Nothing against the boy, of course, it'd just never come up. The same went for Nathan, Clayton, and even Nia.
Hm. There he was, so easily falling into old patterns of thought, as if any of that mattered anymore. The three in front of him weren't people he'd regret never getting the chance to know, and he could already tell that they hadn't yet faced true hardship. They were too soft, too trusting of two bloodied strangers wielding weapons. Inexperience became decreasingly less of an excuse for such weakness as time passed.
At least Stepney had an excuse for his laxness. Brian was too terse, the girl too condescending; and thus by process of elimination, he was the one that had compelled Nia to seek out the group. While they didn't seem to be in any danger, aside from the inherent risks that came with standing in the open and talking, Alexander still felt somewhat uneasy. Thankfully, there was a very clear target to distract himself with. He turned to face the girl.
"I'm sorry, whoever you are, was there something about our appearance or demeanor that gave you the impression that we could be 'okay'?" He tightened his grip on his hammer's bloodied handle. His mask of politeness was slipping fast, likely because he wasn't used to it being a mask. Oh well. If anyone had the right to be irritated, it was him.
"Because I'd be absolutely delighted to be told that things aren't as bad as I presumed-"
Nia was crying again, and his petty anger instantly ceased to matter.
The other two names didn't mean much to him, but at least they'd done the bare minimum and listened to him. He had no memory of any meaningful interactions with a 'Brian', and no knowledge of any notable traits he possessed. He knew a little more about Stepney - Prosopagnosia was an unwieldy enough word that it stuck in your brain, and an interesting concept to try and wrap his head around. Some may have found it crass to associate him so purely with his disability, but it's not as if Alexander'd ever had a reason to get to know him on a personal level. Nothing against the boy, of course, it'd just never come up. The same went for Nathan, Clayton, and even Nia.
Hm. There he was, so easily falling into old patterns of thought, as if any of that mattered anymore. The three in front of him weren't people he'd regret never getting the chance to know, and he could already tell that they hadn't yet faced true hardship. They were too soft, too trusting of two bloodied strangers wielding weapons. Inexperience became decreasingly less of an excuse for such weakness as time passed.
At least Stepney had an excuse for his laxness. Brian was too terse, the girl too condescending; and thus by process of elimination, he was the one that had compelled Nia to seek out the group. While they didn't seem to be in any danger, aside from the inherent risks that came with standing in the open and talking, Alexander still felt somewhat uneasy. Thankfully, there was a very clear target to distract himself with. He turned to face the girl.
"I'm sorry, whoever you are, was there something about our appearance or demeanor that gave you the impression that we could be 'okay'?" He tightened his grip on his hammer's bloodied handle. His mask of politeness was slipping fast, likely because he wasn't used to it being a mask. Oh well. If anyone had the right to be irritated, it was him.
"Because I'd be absolutely delighted to be told that things aren't as bad as I presumed-"
Nia was crying again, and his petty anger instantly ceased to matter.
Stepney wrapped his arms around Nia, gently pulling her into the hug, softly rubbing her back and stroking her hair, as she gently nestled her face between his shoulder and neck. It wasn’t too dissimilar to the hugs that she so rarely gave back at school, all things considered. She really wasn’t a hugger, or the type of person who went for any sort of physical contact, really.
Hence why he’d signed out his question, rather than spoken it out loud. Nia was distraught, the reasons for which had become abundantly clear, and doing something like this, to give her any sort of comfort, was the very least he could do.
God. God, fucking hell, Jeremiah was dead. He could repeat that sentence, that fact over and over and over again in his head as much as he liked, and it would still never feel real. The two had been close thanks to the ASL Club and the instinctive connection that Stepney’s recognition of him gave them. But he’d never been as close to the big guy as Nia was.
He’d never seen her like this before, and he instinctively hugged her closer, feeling her tears soak into the fabric of his shirt.
The voices around him were terse, tension starting to crackle. And here he was, holding Nia close and safe and trying to block out everything else around him. A few hours ago, he’d been thinking about cutting everybody off and letting himself forget about them. Right now, that seemed even more impossible than it had yesterday. Would it be worth it, staying with his friends, keeping them in his mind, staying loyal and hoping they kept safe? He couldn’t help himself from comforting Nia, even with emotions becoming heightened amongst the others. This sorta compassion would be the death of him, as far as he could see, and dying sounded like an awful drag. Plus, Nia would get even more upset. Andy and Adele and Ming, too. He couldn’t say he was a fan of that either.
Man, he hated games with no winner.
“I’m sorry, Nia…”
He kept his voice quiet, barely above a whisper.
“I’m so sorry. Do…”
The question hung in the air, unspoken. He chose not to finish it. Not now, at least. Not whilst she was still grieving.
“If you need anything, lemme know what I can do to help.”
He gave her a gentle squeeze, then raised his head and his voice slightly.
“Alex. Ashlynn. Keep it civil, yeah?”
Hence why he’d signed out his question, rather than spoken it out loud. Nia was distraught, the reasons for which had become abundantly clear, and doing something like this, to give her any sort of comfort, was the very least he could do.
God. God, fucking hell, Jeremiah was dead. He could repeat that sentence, that fact over and over and over again in his head as much as he liked, and it would still never feel real. The two had been close thanks to the ASL Club and the instinctive connection that Stepney’s recognition of him gave them. But he’d never been as close to the big guy as Nia was.
He’d never seen her like this before, and he instinctively hugged her closer, feeling her tears soak into the fabric of his shirt.
The voices around him were terse, tension starting to crackle. And here he was, holding Nia close and safe and trying to block out everything else around him. A few hours ago, he’d been thinking about cutting everybody off and letting himself forget about them. Right now, that seemed even more impossible than it had yesterday. Would it be worth it, staying with his friends, keeping them in his mind, staying loyal and hoping they kept safe? He couldn’t help himself from comforting Nia, even with emotions becoming heightened amongst the others. This sorta compassion would be the death of him, as far as he could see, and dying sounded like an awful drag. Plus, Nia would get even more upset. Andy and Adele and Ming, too. He couldn’t say he was a fan of that either.
Man, he hated games with no winner.
“I’m sorry, Nia…”
He kept his voice quiet, barely above a whisper.
“I’m so sorry. Do…”
The question hung in the air, unspoken. He chose not to finish it. Not now, at least. Not whilst she was still grieving.
“If you need anything, lemme know what I can do to help.”
He gave her a gentle squeeze, then raised his head and his voice slightly.
“Alex. Ashlynn. Keep it civil, yeah?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017