((Lizzie Lebowski continued from Sleet in June))
Hours passed as Lizzie’s wound was ineffectively tended to in a small bedroom found within the house. Her hair was sprayed out loosely behind her head, because lying on a ponytail was so uncomfortable. She kept blacking out, overwhelmed by the pain and loss of blood as the gauze wrapped around her stomach became discoloured. It was a slow process. A long, drawn out one.
Over time she was becoming accustomed to the pain, but that didn’t make it any better. All it did was take away the distraction that lead her to understand the situation. She needed to do something to take her mind off the inevitability of it all, so she looked around the room and read faces, when she wasn’t writhing in agony.
Henry seemed to be in charge of her care. She didn’t know if he had any first aid training, but she really couldn’t be picky in that situation. She would thank him, but she was having trouble finding the words or the motivation. Getting shot was doing a number on her good manners.
Aurelien was mostly just standing around, occasionally assisting Henry, but mostly seeming to just come over to talk to him. That’s fine, don’t mind her, she was just in the middle of bleeding out. You two have your little pow wow, really.
Michael was still there. That also stung.
Morgan was there, but he wasn’t. His face held a secret that she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. He wasn’t holding her every waking second, even though she could really have used a reassuring grip, only added fuel to the fire. But she didn’t know it for certain.
It didn’t matter that much. She was at the end of her rope. Last joke. Curtain call. No help coming for Lizzie Lebowski. She would’ve liked it if Henry could pull a surgical miracle. That would’ve been cool. But the bullet in her stomach was pulling apart her insides, laughing at her like a tiny little bastard imp with a stupid face. She was having trouble staying awake, but she didn’t want to fall asleep. She didn’t know if she’d wake back up again. She had to keep herself from slipping off.
“Hey doc,” she mumbled, turning to Henry. Her face was flushed and covered with sweat, and she was still panting heavily. Fever was settling in. “What’s the bill going to be for this? I didn’t buy-“ she winced, as another pang wracked her gut. She forced a grin on her face in response. “-any bullet insurance.”
You Give Love a Bad Name
Day 8 Post-Announcement; Private
Henry forced a smile.
“Don’t sweat it, I think this falls under what, travel insurance? I’ll let it slide.”
((Henry Sparks, Day 8 Start))
Through all of this, she seemed to be keeping up good spirits. At least, as good as they could be for anyone in a situation like hers. It took a lot to maintain any sort of optimism here, but Lizzie soldiering on made that just a bit easier. Henry had barely slept the night before, only taking an hour to rest his eyes at Aurelien’s insistence.
Morgan had kept through the night, and while Henry’s focus was elsewhere he occasionally heard sobbing. It stung, and yet it was better than total silence. As for Michael - Henry tried not to think about him, past reminding himself where the guy happened to be at any given moment. He’d been some help in getting Lizzie indoors, and had otherwise managed to stay out of the way. Hopefully it would stay that way.
He knew she wouldn’t abide an appraisal of her situation that was too soft, too indirect. Henry tried his best to be honest without taking their conversation in a morbid direction.
“You’re doing alright, given the circumstances. This isn’t my first time seeing this. If things stay stable, maybe I can do something about it, get you patched up properly. I can’t make any promises, so it’ll be your call. I’ve got your back as long as you need me.”
Her call. Henry assumed he didn’t have to elaborate.
“Try and rest. I’m gonna catch up with Aurelien, and see how Morgan’s doing.”
Wiping blood from his hands using torn pieces of an old shirt, Henry looked to Aurelien, himself seeming to keep an eye on Michael. Henry tugged at his arm, pulling him away from the others.
Henry spoke in a hushed tone, a mixture of anger and worry easily visible on his face.
“I don’t know what the fuck to do. The bleeding stops one minute then starts again. I could try and fish the bullet out but I don’t know if that wouldn’t just make things worse. Even if I left it in, I don’t know if there’s any way to close it up. We’ve got nothing to ease her pain, no antibiotics.”
His lip curled, and he exhaled through gritted teeth. It was easier to be angry than it was to be sad. Easier to feel frustration than to just give up. Depending on what they did, she either had days or hours. There wasn’t any clear indication what decision would lead to which outcome.
What did seem certain was that Morgan wasn’t going to be walking out of this the same person, either way. Henry looked towards him, noting that his friend seemed to barely pay mind to his movements or that of the others. He looked back to Aurelien, at a loss.
“What do you think?”
“Don’t sweat it, I think this falls under what, travel insurance? I’ll let it slide.”
((Henry Sparks, Day 8 Start))
Through all of this, she seemed to be keeping up good spirits. At least, as good as they could be for anyone in a situation like hers. It took a lot to maintain any sort of optimism here, but Lizzie soldiering on made that just a bit easier. Henry had barely slept the night before, only taking an hour to rest his eyes at Aurelien’s insistence.
Morgan had kept through the night, and while Henry’s focus was elsewhere he occasionally heard sobbing. It stung, and yet it was better than total silence. As for Michael - Henry tried not to think about him, past reminding himself where the guy happened to be at any given moment. He’d been some help in getting Lizzie indoors, and had otherwise managed to stay out of the way. Hopefully it would stay that way.
He knew she wouldn’t abide an appraisal of her situation that was too soft, too indirect. Henry tried his best to be honest without taking their conversation in a morbid direction.
“You’re doing alright, given the circumstances. This isn’t my first time seeing this. If things stay stable, maybe I can do something about it, get you patched up properly. I can’t make any promises, so it’ll be your call. I’ve got your back as long as you need me.”
Her call. Henry assumed he didn’t have to elaborate.
“Try and rest. I’m gonna catch up with Aurelien, and see how Morgan’s doing.”
Wiping blood from his hands using torn pieces of an old shirt, Henry looked to Aurelien, himself seeming to keep an eye on Michael. Henry tugged at his arm, pulling him away from the others.
Henry spoke in a hushed tone, a mixture of anger and worry easily visible on his face.
“I don’t know what the fuck to do. The bleeding stops one minute then starts again. I could try and fish the bullet out but I don’t know if that wouldn’t just make things worse. Even if I left it in, I don’t know if there’s any way to close it up. We’ve got nothing to ease her pain, no antibiotics.”
His lip curled, and he exhaled through gritted teeth. It was easier to be angry than it was to be sad. Easier to feel frustration than to just give up. Depending on what they did, she either had days or hours. There wasn’t any clear indication what decision would lead to which outcome.
What did seem certain was that Morgan wasn’t going to be walking out of this the same person, either way. Henry looked towards him, noting that his friend seemed to barely pay mind to his movements or that of the others. He looked back to Aurelien, at a loss.
“What do you think?”
He could feel the gun in his jacket pocket, weighing down his right-hand side.
((Aurelien Valter continued from Sleet in June))
It had been one of two things occupying his mind ever since they’d moved Lizzie on the makeshift stretcher inside the building. He’d tucked it away the moment Henry had barked out the order to sheathe their weapons, but he could still feel it. It was ever present. Jostling against his side when he moved in his restless vigil. Pressing into his body as he attempted a couple of hours of sleep. Shifting inside his clothing whenever he took a brief sip of water. If anybody had been watching him as he leaned against one wall of the room, they most likely would have seen his eyes glazed over, his attention miles and miles and miles away, only snapping back into focus when he looked at one specific thing.
That thing, of course, being Michael Froese.
It was so easy to blame the other boy. He’d been so obstinate in refusing to put down the gun, in refusing to follow the safety precautions that all the others had done. What had he expected to happen, claiming to be history’s greatest monster while waving a weapon around, everybody to just let that happen? It had been his gun that had fired the shot. His weapon that hadn’t been on the ground, or in his pocket. Michael’s gun. Michael’s bullet.
But it could have been his own.
He could have fired the shot that struck Lizzie. Or Henry, if he’d tried to play peacekeeper. Speaking of, who knew what might have happened if Henry had been AWOL? If Aurelien had been all by himself, and stumbled upon Michael slumped in Morgan’s arms? There was every chance he’d have just fired and forgotten, mowing down Morgan and Lizzie as well as his target.
And the elephant in the room, the fact that it was his charge, his attack on Michael, regardless of what he might have done with the gun still in his hand, that caused this was impossible to ignore. It was easier to wholeheartedly blame Michael for it. Even when he knew it wasn’t true.
Hands tugged at his arm, and Aurelien silently let himself be pulled along, barely aware of where they were going. He looked down at Henry when they stopped, words flowing into his head but remaining there, untouched, floating in a void. He kept staring when Henry stopped talking.
Then he blinked, and looked at the other boy as if he was seeing him for the very first time that day. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, trying to let the words in his head form and take meaning. It wasn’t easy. He’d missed yet another announcement with his mind floating elsewhere. He had Henry’s question in his mind, though. Aurelien opened his eyes again, locking his gaze with Henry’s.
He shrugged.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Aurelien’s shoulders sagged.
“Sorry.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry, dude, I… I don’t know what to do. This isn’t my area, I can barely put a fucking plaster on. I know you’re doing the best you can, you worked near miracles with my injuries, this just…”
‘Feels like Jackson all over again,’ he didn’t say.
“If we keep on trying, trying to stem the bleeding and wrap up the wound, and it still… isn’t enough… at least we’ll be here. At least she’ll have… people with her.”
((Aurelien Valter continued from Sleet in June))
It had been one of two things occupying his mind ever since they’d moved Lizzie on the makeshift stretcher inside the building. He’d tucked it away the moment Henry had barked out the order to sheathe their weapons, but he could still feel it. It was ever present. Jostling against his side when he moved in his restless vigil. Pressing into his body as he attempted a couple of hours of sleep. Shifting inside his clothing whenever he took a brief sip of water. If anybody had been watching him as he leaned against one wall of the room, they most likely would have seen his eyes glazed over, his attention miles and miles and miles away, only snapping back into focus when he looked at one specific thing.
That thing, of course, being Michael Froese.
It was so easy to blame the other boy. He’d been so obstinate in refusing to put down the gun, in refusing to follow the safety precautions that all the others had done. What had he expected to happen, claiming to be history’s greatest monster while waving a weapon around, everybody to just let that happen? It had been his gun that had fired the shot. His weapon that hadn’t been on the ground, or in his pocket. Michael’s gun. Michael’s bullet.
But it could have been his own.
He could have fired the shot that struck Lizzie. Or Henry, if he’d tried to play peacekeeper. Speaking of, who knew what might have happened if Henry had been AWOL? If Aurelien had been all by himself, and stumbled upon Michael slumped in Morgan’s arms? There was every chance he’d have just fired and forgotten, mowing down Morgan and Lizzie as well as his target.
And the elephant in the room, the fact that it was his charge, his attack on Michael, regardless of what he might have done with the gun still in his hand, that caused this was impossible to ignore. It was easier to wholeheartedly blame Michael for it. Even when he knew it wasn’t true.
Hands tugged at his arm, and Aurelien silently let himself be pulled along, barely aware of where they were going. He looked down at Henry when they stopped, words flowing into his head but remaining there, untouched, floating in a void. He kept staring when Henry stopped talking.
Then he blinked, and looked at the other boy as if he was seeing him for the very first time that day. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, trying to let the words in his head form and take meaning. It wasn’t easy. He’d missed yet another announcement with his mind floating elsewhere. He had Henry’s question in his mind, though. Aurelien opened his eyes again, locking his gaze with Henry’s.
He shrugged.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Aurelien’s shoulders sagged.
“Sorry.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry, dude, I… I don’t know what to do. This isn’t my area, I can barely put a fucking plaster on. I know you’re doing the best you can, you worked near miracles with my injuries, this just…”
‘Feels like Jackson all over again,’ he didn’t say.
“If we keep on trying, trying to stem the bleeding and wrap up the wound, and it still… isn’t enough… at least we’ll be here. At least she’ll have… people with her.”
"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
They'd called Catherine a 'quiet mood piece,' which gave him some solace, in that it meant she'd died relatively peacefully. They'd also said she hadn't been a 'quick or clean' kill. They weren't wrong.
Camila'd been 'simple and effective work'. Roxie'd been him and Yuka 'coming out of their shells'. Catherine was a slow, messy, painful, apparently thought-provoking death. Together, divorced from all other context, the three descriptions created a progression.
The narrative the announcements were building — they wanted people to believe he was a sadist.
He wasn't sure if he was a sadist. He hoped he wasn't.
Some other people had died too, as usual. Parker Green by Ace Ortega. Axel Fontaine by Lorenzo, posthumously. Adonis Cohen by Emmett Bunnell. Cecil Salazar-Loveless by Adonis. Megan Summers by Blaise. Jeff Greene by Max Rudolph. Max Rudolph by... himself? Amber Yates by Erika. Billy Trevino by Blaise. Declyn by Myles Roux. Arizona won BKA, even though she hadn't been on the day's announcement.
((Michael'd made sure to point that out to the cameras.))
He'd spent most of yesterday away from everyone else, sitting outside, defending Catherine from the bugs. He doubted Henry wanted his help with Lizzie, and he doubted Lizzie wanted his help with Lizzie, so he didn't help with Lizzie. He also left Morgan alone. He had so much he needed to say to him, but for some reason, he didn't really feel comfortable with speaking to anyone unless they spoke to him first, and Morgan didn't seem like he was feeling up to speaking first. Whenever he came inside, he'd see Aurelien's eyes go from an aimless fugue stare to hyperfocused on him and him alone. He understood.
He'd managed to snatch his gun away from Morgan before anyone else had a chance to. The safety was on again. It was in his pocket. He'd slept outside. He doubted anyone would be comfortable sleeping in the same building as him. He couldn't remember anything about what his dreams had been, which was unusual for him, but he was pretty sure he'd been crying when he woke up.
It had been a while since then. A while since the announcements, too; right after them, he'd popped four dexedrine spansule pills, his normal dose, and then gone inside. Sat not really next to, but at least adjacent to Morgan. Slumped over. Didn't look at anything except the insides of his own eyelids. Listened to everything. He admired Lizzie's ability to find humour in the fact that she was dying. It took strength to laugh while you slowly bled to death. Catherine had been strong in the same way, he remembered; she'd laughed while drowning in her own blood.
Henry and Aurelien were talking about Lizzie, very quietly. He heard their words, but decided not to process anything they were saying. He hoped Morgan couldn't hear them.
His finger started tapping against the ground. Over and over and over and over, really really really fast. He wasn't sure why it was doing that. It was kind of like he was shivering, but only in his finger.
He let it tap away.
Camila'd been 'simple and effective work'. Roxie'd been him and Yuka 'coming out of their shells'. Catherine was a slow, messy, painful, apparently thought-provoking death. Together, divorced from all other context, the three descriptions created a progression.
The narrative the announcements were building — they wanted people to believe he was a sadist.
He wasn't sure if he was a sadist. He hoped he wasn't.
Some other people had died too, as usual. Parker Green by Ace Ortega. Axel Fontaine by Lorenzo, posthumously. Adonis Cohen by Emmett Bunnell. Cecil Salazar-Loveless by Adonis. Megan Summers by Blaise. Jeff Greene by Max Rudolph. Max Rudolph by... himself? Amber Yates by Erika. Billy Trevino by Blaise. Declyn by Myles Roux. Arizona won BKA, even though she hadn't been on the day's announcement.
((Michael'd made sure to point that out to the cameras.))
He'd spent most of yesterday away from everyone else, sitting outside, defending Catherine from the bugs. He doubted Henry wanted his help with Lizzie, and he doubted Lizzie wanted his help with Lizzie, so he didn't help with Lizzie. He also left Morgan alone. He had so much he needed to say to him, but for some reason, he didn't really feel comfortable with speaking to anyone unless they spoke to him first, and Morgan didn't seem like he was feeling up to speaking first. Whenever he came inside, he'd see Aurelien's eyes go from an aimless fugue stare to hyperfocused on him and him alone. He understood.
He'd managed to snatch his gun away from Morgan before anyone else had a chance to. The safety was on again. It was in his pocket. He'd slept outside. He doubted anyone would be comfortable sleeping in the same building as him. He couldn't remember anything about what his dreams had been, which was unusual for him, but he was pretty sure he'd been crying when he woke up.
It had been a while since then. A while since the announcements, too; right after them, he'd popped four dexedrine spansule pills, his normal dose, and then gone inside. Sat not really next to, but at least adjacent to Morgan. Slumped over. Didn't look at anything except the insides of his own eyelids. Listened to everything. He admired Lizzie's ability to find humour in the fact that she was dying. It took strength to laugh while you slowly bled to death. Catherine had been strong in the same way, he remembered; she'd laughed while drowning in her own blood.
Henry and Aurelien were talking about Lizzie, very quietly. He heard their words, but decided not to process anything they were saying. He hoped Morgan couldn't hear them.
His finger started tapping against the ground. Over and over and over and over, really really really fast. He wasn't sure why it was doing that. It was kind of like he was shivering, but only in his finger.
He let it tap away.
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Everyone was thinking it, but no one was saying it.
This is your fault, would have been simple. It would have been easy, and it likely would have put the beleaguered boy into the ground, right next to his girlfriend. That, of course, was the rational and logical outcome of this whole thing. Lizzie was going to die, and when the terrorists came over the loudspeakers and made their cracks and their awful jokes about the people that they'd all grown up with dying in various ways, there was little doubt in his mind that they'd have a doozie for him.
Morgan Dragosavich, murderer? It didn't have a ring to it at all.
Morgan Dragosavich, bumbling fucking idiot.
That was more like it.
((Morgan Dragosavich continued from Sleet in June))
What else was he going to do? He didn't have to jump into the fray, he could have just sat and watched everything happen. Michael wasn't going to shoot anyone — not any of these guys. His emotional vulnerability had been on full display, and the whole thing had been totally unnecessary. That hadn't stopped it from happening, of course. Morgan being the fuckup that he was, he'd interjected himself in the situation, and Lizzie had paid the price.
Andy had been right, chewing him out all of those days ago. He was an annoyance, someone who was bound to get himself killed rather than be any help to anyone. Perhaps it was a cosmic joke, then.
A cosmic joke that pretty much every single person that he'd come across, all of whom likely looked at Morgan as a victim, someone who would be easy pickings — to a person, he'd outlasted them all.
The Carters had attacked him first; they were both gone now. Bryan Merryweather had come to his aid; he'd had his ticket punched by Claudeson, of all people. Axel and Andy had been kind enough to let him chum around with them and had verbally kept Lorenzo away from him. All three of them? Gone. Axel was the latest casualty of the bunch; Andy had been murdered by Lucas Brady days earlier, perhaps in retaliation for Morgan's own attack on him. There was another person now a memory — unable to face it all, he'd taken his own life.
Michael was still around, of course — physically, if not mentally. His friend had been changed by what he'd seen and done, and Morgan found himself finally starting to catch up.
And Lizzie.
Sweet, dear Lizzie. She would be the next to depart, the next who didn't deserve to be outlasted by Morgan fucking Dragosavich. Didn't deserve to be killed by him, either.
The tears came back, as they'd freely done since they'd entered the house. He'd barely spoken to anyone but Lizzie, the shame in his eyes barely able to meet hers. He wasn't sure if she knew who'd been the one to fire the bullet that had killed her, but if she did, she hadn't shown it.
It was the elephant in the room, and it felt like it was sitting on Morgan's chest.
Barely able to keep track of his own movements, he at some point had floated over close to the bed, where Lizzie lay, obviously in agony. She had kept her humour about her, which was something. Henry was trying his best, but his expression betrayed his words. He was on the other side of the room, speaking in hushed tones to Aurelien, but Morgan knew.
It was only a matter of time.
Michael was close by as well, though he hadn't said much. His friend had been in and out of the house, and Morgan was surprised that he'd remained. No matter what had happened, perhaps there was truly still a piece of the Michael Froese that he'd always known buried deep inside of the shambling husk of a teenager that wore his face.
Grasping her hand in his, Morgan breathed in and tried to wear a smile for his dying girlfriend. He was only half-successful, but his voice was a bit stronger. He was almost convincing.
"Hey," he was able to muster. Good start. "It's just — think of it like it's your street cred. It'll make a great scar."
Lizzie had tried to keep her levity about her. She was a lot better at it than he was; the glassy, red eyes a dead giveaway for him. "It's just more material, right? You can — it'll, there's a whole set just waiting to be," he cleared his throat to stop himself from bursting into a sob, "written."
She had to know. They all did. This was his fucking fault, and after she was gone, they would leave him behind, probably in disgust. It was what he would have done.
He deserved it.
This is your fault, would have been simple. It would have been easy, and it likely would have put the beleaguered boy into the ground, right next to his girlfriend. That, of course, was the rational and logical outcome of this whole thing. Lizzie was going to die, and when the terrorists came over the loudspeakers and made their cracks and their awful jokes about the people that they'd all grown up with dying in various ways, there was little doubt in his mind that they'd have a doozie for him.
Morgan Dragosavich, murderer? It didn't have a ring to it at all.
Morgan Dragosavich, bumbling fucking idiot.
That was more like it.
((Morgan Dragosavich continued from Sleet in June))
What else was he going to do? He didn't have to jump into the fray, he could have just sat and watched everything happen. Michael wasn't going to shoot anyone — not any of these guys. His emotional vulnerability had been on full display, and the whole thing had been totally unnecessary. That hadn't stopped it from happening, of course. Morgan being the fuckup that he was, he'd interjected himself in the situation, and Lizzie had paid the price.
Andy had been right, chewing him out all of those days ago. He was an annoyance, someone who was bound to get himself killed rather than be any help to anyone. Perhaps it was a cosmic joke, then.
A cosmic joke that pretty much every single person that he'd come across, all of whom likely looked at Morgan as a victim, someone who would be easy pickings — to a person, he'd outlasted them all.
The Carters had attacked him first; they were both gone now. Bryan Merryweather had come to his aid; he'd had his ticket punched by Claudeson, of all people. Axel and Andy had been kind enough to let him chum around with them and had verbally kept Lorenzo away from him. All three of them? Gone. Axel was the latest casualty of the bunch; Andy had been murdered by Lucas Brady days earlier, perhaps in retaliation for Morgan's own attack on him. There was another person now a memory — unable to face it all, he'd taken his own life.
Michael was still around, of course — physically, if not mentally. His friend had been changed by what he'd seen and done, and Morgan found himself finally starting to catch up.
And Lizzie.
Sweet, dear Lizzie. She would be the next to depart, the next who didn't deserve to be outlasted by Morgan fucking Dragosavich. Didn't deserve to be killed by him, either.
The tears came back, as they'd freely done since they'd entered the house. He'd barely spoken to anyone but Lizzie, the shame in his eyes barely able to meet hers. He wasn't sure if she knew who'd been the one to fire the bullet that had killed her, but if she did, she hadn't shown it.
It was the elephant in the room, and it felt like it was sitting on Morgan's chest.
Barely able to keep track of his own movements, he at some point had floated over close to the bed, where Lizzie lay, obviously in agony. She had kept her humour about her, which was something. Henry was trying his best, but his expression betrayed his words. He was on the other side of the room, speaking in hushed tones to Aurelien, but Morgan knew.
It was only a matter of time.
Michael was close by as well, though he hadn't said much. His friend had been in and out of the house, and Morgan was surprised that he'd remained. No matter what had happened, perhaps there was truly still a piece of the Michael Froese that he'd always known buried deep inside of the shambling husk of a teenager that wore his face.
Grasping her hand in his, Morgan breathed in and tried to wear a smile for his dying girlfriend. He was only half-successful, but his voice was a bit stronger. He was almost convincing.
"Hey," he was able to muster. Good start. "It's just — think of it like it's your street cred. It'll make a great scar."
Lizzie had tried to keep her levity about her. She was a lot better at it than he was; the glassy, red eyes a dead giveaway for him. "It's just more material, right? You can — it'll, there's a whole set just waiting to be," he cleared his throat to stop himself from bursting into a sob, "written."
She had to know. They all did. This was his fucking fault, and after she was gone, they would leave him behind, probably in disgust. It was what he would have done.
He deserved it.
Lizzie found Morgan’s hand at last, as he tried to put on a brave face and make small talk with her. She smiled back at him, as much as she could. She really wished he’d shut up.
It was hard enough staring down the grim reaper without having to keep on a smile for Morgan. She wanted to just scream and cry and rage about how it wasn’t fair. She was eighteen, she wasn’t supposed to be going through this. She was supposed to be going on a trip with her parents up to New York to scope out the dorm and see the town. She and him were supposed to be dating over the summer before college, having fun and doing everything they could before the distance became long distance. They were supposed to be fucking like horny teenagers.
These weren’t new thoughts; she’d been wanting to scream it all the second she’d woken up on Murder Island with nothing but a pair of hedge clippers for comfort. Where were they now, anyway? She kind of missed them, when it was all said and done. Like a teddy bear that you held up blind people with. Mr Bobo. She’d had a stuffed giraffe when she was little but who knew where it was now. It certainly wasn’t there.
So she kept squeezing Morgan’s hand with the little strength she had, because he was the best teddy bear she’d have in her relatively short life. “Guess I’ll call it...my Ace in the Hole. If I start - start dying up there, I’ll tell them all about the time I – “ she stopped, still trying to smile. It was hard to find the punchline. It still hurt to talk. “Hey, I always wanted a belly ring.”
She squeezed his hand again, looking into his sad, scared eyes. She had them too, but she didn’t want him to see her like that. Even if it was horribly unfair, it was what it was. It was weird how zen blood loss and intense pain could make you. Don’t let the Xanax company hear it, they’ll want to stop all that going on. Big Pharma, man.
As if on cue, she felt another pang in her gut as a little more blood seeped out. She gritted her teeth, but she couldn’t keep the whimper from escaping.
It was hard enough staring down the grim reaper without having to keep on a smile for Morgan. She wanted to just scream and cry and rage about how it wasn’t fair. She was eighteen, she wasn’t supposed to be going through this. She was supposed to be going on a trip with her parents up to New York to scope out the dorm and see the town. She and him were supposed to be dating over the summer before college, having fun and doing everything they could before the distance became long distance. They were supposed to be fucking like horny teenagers.
These weren’t new thoughts; she’d been wanting to scream it all the second she’d woken up on Murder Island with nothing but a pair of hedge clippers for comfort. Where were they now, anyway? She kind of missed them, when it was all said and done. Like a teddy bear that you held up blind people with. Mr Bobo. She’d had a stuffed giraffe when she was little but who knew where it was now. It certainly wasn’t there.
So she kept squeezing Morgan’s hand with the little strength she had, because he was the best teddy bear she’d have in her relatively short life. “Guess I’ll call it...my Ace in the Hole. If I start - start dying up there, I’ll tell them all about the time I – “ she stopped, still trying to smile. It was hard to find the punchline. It still hurt to talk. “Hey, I always wanted a belly ring.”
She squeezed his hand again, looking into his sad, scared eyes. She had them too, but she didn’t want him to see her like that. Even if it was horribly unfair, it was what it was. It was weird how zen blood loss and intense pain could make you. Don’t let the Xanax company hear it, they’ll want to stop all that going on. Big Pharma, man.
As if on cue, she felt another pang in her gut as a little more blood seeped out. She gritted her teeth, but she couldn’t keep the whimper from escaping.
She was being so damn strong, it was just so unfair. None of this was fair, none of them deserved any of this — not the best of them, not the worst of them. It was cruel and unusual, and the monsters who did this would never stop. They would always be there, to inflict pain and punishment on a random group of high schoolers, to send a message that no one received. Whatever their manifesto, it ensured that people like Lizzie and Morgan would never have a normal life — even if they were to have escaped or survived, things would have been different. Their paths were irrevocably altered, and right now, from the pale hue of her face and the weak strength of her grip, it seemed like Lizzie Lebowski's path was taking her down into the grave.
Nice one, Morgan.
"I," he opened his mouth to try and continue the joke, but his chest was too tight; the sadness too strong. "I don't— I want— oh, God."
This was destroying him, as much as it was her. One bullet was taking two lives.
"I'm so sorry, Lizzie. I shouldn't have— we should have just stayed in the house, we should have just, oh God, I'm so fucking sorry."
He was, genuinely so. Sorry for the fool's errand to find Michael, sorry for the neglect in a tense situation, and sorry for the bullet that sat in her gut, sapping the life from her. He was sorry for all of it, and more. She was hurting, and all of the blame for that was solely upon his weak, scrawny shoulders. Morgan took her hand in his and kissed it. There was nothing he could do to apologize, and he wasn't even sure she knew what for. No words would be good enough to take back what he'd done.
Nice one, Morgan.
"I," he opened his mouth to try and continue the joke, but his chest was too tight; the sadness too strong. "I don't— I want— oh, God."
This was destroying him, as much as it was her. One bullet was taking two lives.
"I'm so sorry, Lizzie. I shouldn't have— we should have just stayed in the house, we should have just, oh God, I'm so fucking sorry."
He was, genuinely so. Sorry for the fool's errand to find Michael, sorry for the neglect in a tense situation, and sorry for the bullet that sat in her gut, sapping the life from her. He was sorry for all of it, and more. She was hurting, and all of the blame for that was solely upon his weak, scrawny shoulders. Morgan took her hand in his and kissed it. There was nothing he could do to apologize, and he wasn't even sure she knew what for. No words would be good enough to take back what he'd done.
“Shhh, don’t cry, Morgan. My man… he’s got to be strong.” She chuckled again, but she was staring up at the ceiling. She couldn’t make eye contact with him after what he’d just said.
She knew that they should’ve just stayed at the house. She wanted to just lie in bed and wait for someone to blow both their heads off at the same time, or maybe even a rescue to come save them. Maybe a rescue could still come. But that seemed doubtful, and she was in a lot of pain.
But there was no point throwing any of that back at Morgan now; she didn’t feel like saying ‘I told you so’. Sure, she might’ve said it if they’d just gotten lost, or someone had stolen their supplies, but that would’ve just been some steam blowing off. This was a bit worse than either of those. Even if she had her suspicions about what had happened, she didn’t feel like calling him out on it. It was hard to make a crack about your boyfriend maybe shooting you. She didn’t really want to dwell on it, anyway. It didn’t matter anymore.
This was it. End of the road. No going home, no surviving, just pain until the inevitable death. It was horrible to think about, but she was resigned. She wasn’t going to see her family again, and the last person she’d be with, as she died as an unfulfilled young woman, was Morgan.
She looked back at him.
“Hey. Right up until the whole… getting shot part, this wasn’t so bad. I’m glad-“ More pain. She gritted through it. “I’m glad we ran into each other… back at the mall.”
She knew that they should’ve just stayed at the house. She wanted to just lie in bed and wait for someone to blow both their heads off at the same time, or maybe even a rescue to come save them. Maybe a rescue could still come. But that seemed doubtful, and she was in a lot of pain.
But there was no point throwing any of that back at Morgan now; she didn’t feel like saying ‘I told you so’. Sure, she might’ve said it if they’d just gotten lost, or someone had stolen their supplies, but that would’ve just been some steam blowing off. This was a bit worse than either of those. Even if she had her suspicions about what had happened, she didn’t feel like calling him out on it. It was hard to make a crack about your boyfriend maybe shooting you. She didn’t really want to dwell on it, anyway. It didn’t matter anymore.
This was it. End of the road. No going home, no surviving, just pain until the inevitable death. It was horrible to think about, but she was resigned. She wasn’t going to see her family again, and the last person she’d be with, as she died as an unfulfilled young woman, was Morgan.
She looked back at him.
“Hey. Right up until the whole… getting shot part, this wasn’t so bad. I’m glad-“ More pain. She gritted through it. “I’m glad we ran into each other… back at the mall.”
Goddamn — it all sounded so final. She was speaking in finalities, as though there was a foregone conclusion to her story. Morgan wasn't finished yet, he didn't want to put the book down; he didn't want it to end. Yet, as he couldn't restrain the silent tears any longer, he somehow found a smile in the depths of his heart and pulled it out for her.
If not for her, then for no one else.
"Me too," he gave her hand a squeeze. "I didn't think when I went to the mall that I was going to win the lottery that day."
It was the truth; Morgan had barely thought about Lizzie throughout high school; while they'd been close as children, her subsequent metamorphosis into essentially a mean girl had been swift, and lead him not wanting much to do with her. He'd looked sadly from afar when she'd had her breakdown, but reconnecting with her had allowed him this strangely magical connection that he barely knew what to do with.
He'd asked her to prom basically on a lark, almost as a joke more than anything.
Morgan had enjoyed her company, and the trip itself — those last, fleeting moments of normalcy and optimism that he knew he would likely ever have in his entire life — was a whole other beast. He'd kissed her, they'd fallen into the fountain, and then from there, the entire world seemed full of possibility. It was the one eventuality that he hadn't planned for; falling for an old childhood friend on the eve of graduation, before they were all set to head out into the world and make their collective mark.
He looked at the wound in her stomach, and it made him grimace.
They would make their mark, all right. Their names would be remembered forever; in infamy. He knew the names of the survivors, of course. Some of the unfortunate, too. He remembered hearing about a kid named Augustus MacDougal, who had died in Survival of the Fittest. Morgan knew literally nothing about him aside from the name, which he'd once claimed out loud was the most Scottish-sounding name he'd ever heard. Soon, all of them would be just another name for some nondescript student to talk to their friends about.
Remember Michael Froese, that murderous psychopath? I'm glad I didn't go to school with him.
That Henry kid really seems like he knows what he's doing, but he didn't have a damn clue, did he. What a loser.
At least you're better than that Dragosev—Dragonsav—whatever that kid's name was who shot his own girlfriend by mistake.
"If I could do it all over again," he started, pausing to wipe some of the tears away, "I would. Every minute of it."
Perhaps not every moment.
"I didn't— I didn't think we'd get the time we had. I didn't expect it. I didn't think," the words were flowing, his emotions almost overpowering, "that when I ran into you in the mall that we would—"
He looked down. Closed his eyes. Squeezed them shut, trying as hard as he could to imagine that she'd be okay when he opened them. Morgan was disappointed to find that the world didn't work that way.
"I didn't think that I would fall in love with you, but surprise," he whispered, "I did."
Putting her hand up to his forehead, Morgan could barely see her pretty face through the blurred vision of his tears. He couldn't say any more. Did he truly love her? Before this, he hadn't been sure. If he were being truly honest, he didn't know what qualified as love or what didn't. But considering that he was very likely to only live eighteen years on this Earth, Morgan Dragosavich knew that this was as close as he would get to falling in love.
So he did. He did love her.
The understanding of that fact only made his heart ache more.
If not for her, then for no one else.
"Me too," he gave her hand a squeeze. "I didn't think when I went to the mall that I was going to win the lottery that day."
It was the truth; Morgan had barely thought about Lizzie throughout high school; while they'd been close as children, her subsequent metamorphosis into essentially a mean girl had been swift, and lead him not wanting much to do with her. He'd looked sadly from afar when she'd had her breakdown, but reconnecting with her had allowed him this strangely magical connection that he barely knew what to do with.
He'd asked her to prom basically on a lark, almost as a joke more than anything.
Morgan had enjoyed her company, and the trip itself — those last, fleeting moments of normalcy and optimism that he knew he would likely ever have in his entire life — was a whole other beast. He'd kissed her, they'd fallen into the fountain, and then from there, the entire world seemed full of possibility. It was the one eventuality that he hadn't planned for; falling for an old childhood friend on the eve of graduation, before they were all set to head out into the world and make their collective mark.
He looked at the wound in her stomach, and it made him grimace.
They would make their mark, all right. Their names would be remembered forever; in infamy. He knew the names of the survivors, of course. Some of the unfortunate, too. He remembered hearing about a kid named Augustus MacDougal, who had died in Survival of the Fittest. Morgan knew literally nothing about him aside from the name, which he'd once claimed out loud was the most Scottish-sounding name he'd ever heard. Soon, all of them would be just another name for some nondescript student to talk to their friends about.
Remember Michael Froese, that murderous psychopath? I'm glad I didn't go to school with him.
That Henry kid really seems like he knows what he's doing, but he didn't have a damn clue, did he. What a loser.
At least you're better than that Dragosev—Dragonsav—whatever that kid's name was who shot his own girlfriend by mistake.
"If I could do it all over again," he started, pausing to wipe some of the tears away, "I would. Every minute of it."
Perhaps not every moment.
"I didn't— I didn't think we'd get the time we had. I didn't expect it. I didn't think," the words were flowing, his emotions almost overpowering, "that when I ran into you in the mall that we would—"
He looked down. Closed his eyes. Squeezed them shut, trying as hard as he could to imagine that she'd be okay when he opened them. Morgan was disappointed to find that the world didn't work that way.
"I didn't think that I would fall in love with you, but surprise," he whispered, "I did."
Putting her hand up to his forehead, Morgan could barely see her pretty face through the blurred vision of his tears. He couldn't say any more. Did he truly love her? Before this, he hadn't been sure. If he were being truly honest, he didn't know what qualified as love or what didn't. But considering that he was very likely to only live eighteen years on this Earth, Morgan Dragosavich knew that this was as close as he would get to falling in love.
So he did. He did love her.
The understanding of that fact only made his heart ache more.
Lizzie found herself smiling at Morgan’s confession, as happy tears softly flowed down her face. It had been corny, but she’d never had someone confess their love to her before. At least she got to experience that. It made the last few hours almost irrelevant.
She supposed, after a moment, that she loved him back. There wasn’t much point in fighting it at the end. No worries about a long-distance relationship, or whether she was too young for love. She might as well have been the love freaking guru at that point, because no-one was going to tell her she couldn’t decide it for herself anymore.
But she was tired, and it was hard to feel much at that point. Her heart could only beat so fast when it was exhausted from hours of strain, trying to compensate for her dwindling life. Still, she was glad he was there with her in the end.
Yeah, she was content. She was at peace.
“Hey… could you get Henry? I just want to talk to him…alone for a moment.” she slowly asked, loosening her hold on his hand but still keeping touch. She’d thought about what she’d do, in those hours of agony and misery, but she couldn’t do it alone. and she couldn’t do it with Morgan there, either.
She supposed, after a moment, that she loved him back. There wasn’t much point in fighting it at the end. No worries about a long-distance relationship, or whether she was too young for love. She might as well have been the love freaking guru at that point, because no-one was going to tell her she couldn’t decide it for herself anymore.
But she was tired, and it was hard to feel much at that point. Her heart could only beat so fast when it was exhausted from hours of strain, trying to compensate for her dwindling life. Still, she was glad he was there with her in the end.
Yeah, she was content. She was at peace.
“Hey… could you get Henry? I just want to talk to him…alone for a moment.” she slowly asked, loosening her hold on his hand but still keeping touch. She’d thought about what she’d do, in those hours of agony and misery, but she couldn’t do it alone. and she couldn’t do it with Morgan there, either.
Just like Jackson.
And a hundred-fifty others. All lost to any kind of help.
“She has the one she needs.” Henry muttered in reply to Aurelien, his mind already elsewhere.
The things they were bearing witness to now, everyone else in the world was going to have to see. They’d watch the video feeds or read the news trickling in day by day, praying the ones they cared about wouldn’t have to die in front of their eyes. Passive observers, entirely helpless to change an outcome that had already been decided.
What then, are we? Passive observers?
Close enough, Henry figured. He didn’t know what he should’ve been doing, but standing idly by certainly wasn’t it. So he tried his best, did everything that was within his power, and spent the time when his hands weren’t busy contemplating, planning, and listening.
He only caught bits and pieces, but he heard enough from the two of them. Morgan blamed himself. Lizzie didn’t want him to. She was seeing the two of them from afar, trying to frame it for herself and for him. He got it. What they had was real. They at least got to have that, before it all ended.
Henry felt a lot of things hearing that. None of them he particularly wanted to hold onto. Hearing his name broke him out of his stupor, staring at the wall of the house and appearing to fixate on the few remnants of paint chipping off of the wall. He strode over to Lizzie, giving Morgan a passing glance but trying his best to not look too directly into his friend’s eyes. Doing so might’ve taken him somewhere he didn’t want to go.
“Yeah, Lizzie?”
And a hundred-fifty others. All lost to any kind of help.
“She has the one she needs.” Henry muttered in reply to Aurelien, his mind already elsewhere.
The things they were bearing witness to now, everyone else in the world was going to have to see. They’d watch the video feeds or read the news trickling in day by day, praying the ones they cared about wouldn’t have to die in front of their eyes. Passive observers, entirely helpless to change an outcome that had already been decided.
What then, are we? Passive observers?
Close enough, Henry figured. He didn’t know what he should’ve been doing, but standing idly by certainly wasn’t it. So he tried his best, did everything that was within his power, and spent the time when his hands weren’t busy contemplating, planning, and listening.
He only caught bits and pieces, but he heard enough from the two of them. Morgan blamed himself. Lizzie didn’t want him to. She was seeing the two of them from afar, trying to frame it for herself and for him. He got it. What they had was real. They at least got to have that, before it all ended.
Henry felt a lot of things hearing that. None of them he particularly wanted to hold onto. Hearing his name broke him out of his stupor, staring at the wall of the house and appearing to fixate on the few remnants of paint chipping off of the wall. He strode over to Lizzie, giving Morgan a passing glance but trying his best to not look too directly into his friend’s eyes. Doing so might’ve taken him somewhere he didn’t want to go.
“Yeah, Lizzie?”
Lizzie waved him in closer with her other hand. Closer still, so that she could whisper in his ear. She bent her head closer ever so slightly. The pain was immense, but she bit it back as best she could.
“Could you take Morgan out? Just for...a few minutes. Ask Michael... to come in.”
She moved her head back to her pillow. It hurt just as much.
“Morgan, I just need a few minutes. Give me...some sugar, just before you go, yeah? I love you...too, you know.”
She didn’t want it to sound so final, but maybe she couldn’t stop herself. She knew what this was, she just hoped he didn’t. Not until it was done.
“Could you take Morgan out? Just for...a few minutes. Ask Michael... to come in.”
She moved her head back to her pillow. It hurt just as much.
“Morgan, I just need a few minutes. Give me...some sugar, just before you go, yeah? I love you...too, you know.”
She didn’t want it to sound so final, but maybe she couldn’t stop herself. She knew what this was, she just hoped he didn’t. Not until it was done.
Leaning in close, he could smell the blood. The bile, the sweat, sickness. Death. Henry promised himself he’d do what she asked, go as far as she needed him to. Do whatever she or Morgan needed, penance for what role he’d had in bringing this situation upon them. Anything but standing by, just letting it all get worse.
Then she asked him to take Morgan outside, away from her. To call Michael over. For a moment, the strength on his face fell away. He caught it, though Lizzie must have seen. This was what she needed, what she wanted of him. The kiss she asked from Morgan, and the killer she called after - they were both last requests.
He couldn’t figure out what to say back to her, so he nodded. Hoped that she saw in his eyes, he understood. This was what he had to do, for her. For Morgan.
Henry turned to his friend, putting an arm on his shoulder.
“Come on, we should go check the Infirmary and see if there’s anything in there that might help. She should rest.”
He knew this was not the case. Henry wouldn’t let Morgan foot in that Infirmary, given what was inside. They just needed to be away from here. It was clear as day that the last thing Morgan wanted to do was leave her here with the others. With Michael.
“Morgan, it’s alright. Aurelien’s a good guy, he’ll watch over her. Come on.”
As they walked away from Lizzie, Henry shot Michael a look. A tilt of the head, in Lizzie’s direction. A clear enough signal he was needed.
He then looked to Aurelien, hoping the words he didn’t say were enough that they understood one another.
“We’ll be at the Infirmary. Watch over them both. And... remember what our mission is here, yeah?”
Be careful.
A reassuring hand over his shoulder, Henry led Morgan away from the house, and away from Lizzie.
It was his job.
It was all he could do.
He hated how much sense it made.
((Henry Sparks continued in When the Walls Fell))
Then she asked him to take Morgan outside, away from her. To call Michael over. For a moment, the strength on his face fell away. He caught it, though Lizzie must have seen. This was what she needed, what she wanted of him. The kiss she asked from Morgan, and the killer she called after - they were both last requests.
He couldn’t figure out what to say back to her, so he nodded. Hoped that she saw in his eyes, he understood. This was what he had to do, for her. For Morgan.
Henry turned to his friend, putting an arm on his shoulder.
“Come on, we should go check the Infirmary and see if there’s anything in there that might help. She should rest.”
He knew this was not the case. Henry wouldn’t let Morgan foot in that Infirmary, given what was inside. They just needed to be away from here. It was clear as day that the last thing Morgan wanted to do was leave her here with the others. With Michael.
“Morgan, it’s alright. Aurelien’s a good guy, he’ll watch over her. Come on.”
As they walked away from Lizzie, Henry shot Michael a look. A tilt of the head, in Lizzie’s direction. A clear enough signal he was needed.
He then looked to Aurelien, hoping the words he didn’t say were enough that they understood one another.
“We’ll be at the Infirmary. Watch over them both. And... remember what our mission is here, yeah?”
Be careful.
A reassuring hand over his shoulder, Henry led Morgan away from the house, and away from Lizzie.
It was his job.
It was all he could do.
He hated how much sense it made.
((Henry Sparks continued in When the Walls Fell))
Looking up at Henry and sniffling, he wore a look of confusion and uncertainty. Leave her? Right now, of all times? It seemed counterproductive and to him, it didn't make sense. Looking back to Lizzie, she simply smiled at him, almost encouraging. She looked like hell — her face pallid and her body obviously as weak as ever. To just up and go on what amounted to a fishing expedition seemed ridiculous; yet her smile, it just lifted him up that small little bit.
"I, uh, I mean, shouldn't I just stay here and—"
She said it out loud, interrupting him.
He'd basically alluded to it, but yeah, Morgan had figured that part out himself. To hear her say it back made everything feel that much better, and simultaneously that much worse. This was, after all, his damn fault. But on the flip side, there was something magical about knowing that there was another person in the world who felt the same way about him that he did about them.
It was the only reason, in the end, that he made the decision to go.
"Yeah, I — I know. I love you; you're ridiculous. I'll, we — Henry's got his big gun, we'll be back soon. Don't worry. We'll be back and we'll get you all fixed up."
His smile was a bit more genuine now; his chest still felt heavy. Stepping towards her, he kissed her, deeply; meaningfully. This was the person that he loved. They had shared so much. Laughter, tears, their bodies. Hopes, dreams — all of it that one would only give to the person that completed their puzzle.
When he pulled away, he smiled at her, squeezed Lizzie's hand, and stepped back.
"Love you."
Henry's hand fell reassuringly onto his shoulder, giving him a pat and a squeeze to boot. He was amongst friends, and he nodded at the boy's words. While Michael was a loose cannon and a wild-card now, he understood how Morgan felt — he'd been the one urging him to find her and enjoy the time they had left. It had been downright depressing to hear that before, but his friend had done him a favour. He'd been right. Nodding, Morgan looked to Aurelien, who he didn't really know, and Michael, who he thought he did, and searched for any malice in their faces.
He couldn't find any, and he found only kindness in Henry's. They were all looking at him with some sort of... he couldn't put his finger on it. There was something in the way they stared at him. Perhaps he'd just been out of his mind crying for so long that nothing felt real anymore. A knot tugged in his gut, but he ignored it. Leaving was the wrong decision, but even still, he allowed himself to be led out of the house.
He trusted Henry, and if Henry trusted Aurelien, then he was fine, too.
Michael wouldn't hurt her. He was Morgan's friend. He'd never forgotten that.
They would look after Lizzie.
Everything was going to be okay.
She would be fine.
They could go look, and come back.
Everything was fine.
Absolutely.
Totally.
Fine.
((Morgan Dragosavich continued in Shaka, When the Walls Fell))
"I, uh, I mean, shouldn't I just stay here and—"
She said it out loud, interrupting him.
He'd basically alluded to it, but yeah, Morgan had figured that part out himself. To hear her say it back made everything feel that much better, and simultaneously that much worse. This was, after all, his damn fault. But on the flip side, there was something magical about knowing that there was another person in the world who felt the same way about him that he did about them.
It was the only reason, in the end, that he made the decision to go.
"Yeah, I — I know. I love you; you're ridiculous. I'll, we — Henry's got his big gun, we'll be back soon. Don't worry. We'll be back and we'll get you all fixed up."
His smile was a bit more genuine now; his chest still felt heavy. Stepping towards her, he kissed her, deeply; meaningfully. This was the person that he loved. They had shared so much. Laughter, tears, their bodies. Hopes, dreams — all of it that one would only give to the person that completed their puzzle.
When he pulled away, he smiled at her, squeezed Lizzie's hand, and stepped back.
"Love you."
Henry's hand fell reassuringly onto his shoulder, giving him a pat and a squeeze to boot. He was amongst friends, and he nodded at the boy's words. While Michael was a loose cannon and a wild-card now, he understood how Morgan felt — he'd been the one urging him to find her and enjoy the time they had left. It had been downright depressing to hear that before, but his friend had done him a favour. He'd been right. Nodding, Morgan looked to Aurelien, who he didn't really know, and Michael, who he thought he did, and searched for any malice in their faces.
He couldn't find any, and he found only kindness in Henry's. They were all looking at him with some sort of... he couldn't put his finger on it. There was something in the way they stared at him. Perhaps he'd just been out of his mind crying for so long that nothing felt real anymore. A knot tugged in his gut, but he ignored it. Leaving was the wrong decision, but even still, he allowed himself to be led out of the house.
He trusted Henry, and if Henry trusted Aurelien, then he was fine, too.
Michael wouldn't hurt her. He was Morgan's friend. He'd never forgotten that.
They would look after Lizzie.
Everything was going to be okay.
She would be fine.
They could go look, and come back.
Everything was fine.
Absolutely.
Totally.
Fine.
((Morgan Dragosavich continued in Shaka, When the Walls Fell))
His finger was still tapping, though it was more of a twitch now. It worried him, kind of. Probably some neurological thing. Morgan was talking with Lizzie. Michael listened, and when Lizzie asked to see him, he felt a deep dread start to bubble in his chest. It was kind of like the feeling he'd get while he was waiting at the doctor's to get a flu shot.
He slowly opened his eyes. Whatever Lizzie wanted from him, he didn't want to do it. He knew there were only a few reasons why she'd be asking for him, of all people. Henry was talking to Morgan like he was talking to a toddler whose dog was being sent to a farm. He looked at Michael and motioned at Lizzie with his head. Michael'd already gotten one of the messages sent by Henry's gesture. The other message, which he now understood, was that Henry had, in his mind, dehumanized him to such a point where he didn't think he even deserved to be fucking spoken to. Then, he ordered Aurelien to 'watch over them both,' like he didn't trust that Michael wasn't gonna eat Lizzie's liver while she was still alive or some shit like that, and then he said some bullshit about a mission, which reminded Michael of something he'd said right after the first announcements. Then he left, with Morgan.
He propped himself up against the wall, and pushed his body into a standing position. Wearily, he looked Aurelien in the eyes, opened his mouth slightly, then looked down at his own shoelaces. Crossed his arms, hugging himself tight. "The person you and Henry think I am — he would have - during the night - if I was that person, I would have tried to kill all of you already," he muttered, quickly and quietly. Brought his voice into a whisper. "Listen through the door, if it makes you feel better."
He kept staring at the ground as he shuffled into the room where Lizzie lay dying, the gun in his pocket pressing against his leg. He briefly fumbled with the door, awkwardly closing it behind him. Looked away from his shoes and up at her. Hugged himself even tighter. Closed his eyes to hold in the tears that had only just now started.
"I'm... I'm here."
He slowly opened his eyes. Whatever Lizzie wanted from him, he didn't want to do it. He knew there were only a few reasons why she'd be asking for him, of all people. Henry was talking to Morgan like he was talking to a toddler whose dog was being sent to a farm. He looked at Michael and motioned at Lizzie with his head. Michael'd already gotten one of the messages sent by Henry's gesture. The other message, which he now understood, was that Henry had, in his mind, dehumanized him to such a point where he didn't think he even deserved to be fucking spoken to. Then, he ordered Aurelien to 'watch over them both,' like he didn't trust that Michael wasn't gonna eat Lizzie's liver while she was still alive or some shit like that, and then he said some bullshit about a mission, which reminded Michael of something he'd said right after the first announcements. Then he left, with Morgan.
He propped himself up against the wall, and pushed his body into a standing position. Wearily, he looked Aurelien in the eyes, opened his mouth slightly, then looked down at his own shoelaces. Crossed his arms, hugging himself tight. "The person you and Henry think I am — he would have - during the night - if I was that person, I would have tried to kill all of you already," he muttered, quickly and quietly. Brought his voice into a whisper. "Listen through the door, if it makes you feel better."
He kept staring at the ground as he shuffled into the room where Lizzie lay dying, the gun in his pocket pressing against his leg. He briefly fumbled with the door, awkwardly closing it behind him. Looked away from his shoes and up at her. Hugged himself even tighter. Closed his eyes to hold in the tears that had only just now started.
"I'm... I'm here."
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.