The light faded to nothing before too long.
>> Ivy Langley continued temporally from and i know no one will save me
They'd been busy in the meantime. They was maybe an overstatement; it had been her ideas, but Ace's labor, considering her injury and its reaggravation after her fall. The reception area had become as comfortable a space as it was likely to ever be; Ace had braved the other room again to drag out a mattress from one of the unsullied beds along with thin blankets and pillows. A far cry from the comfort of the first night's bed, a luxury she had been unable to appreciate at the time, but infinitely better than slumming out in the rain under a tree reeking of old shoes with Connor Lorenzen for company.
They'd covered the windows best they could, so as not to provoke attention with their flashlights; after some consideration she'd decided it was best not to try to block the entrances, considering they didn't have anything heavy enough to form a proper barricade. If someone came in through the front they could run back and go out the back window, and vice versa. A plan full of holes, if the intruders had guns, if they were really trying to kill them, they still had nothing but bleach and smoke bombs, but it was enough. It had to be enough.
Ivy wanted so badly to feel safe, for one night. If she had to lie to herself to do it, she'd done worse things. It was fine.
She sat on her side of the mattress, a folded up sheet beneath her to prevent her from getting it muddy, crunching on flavorless crackers. It was odd, eating them, remembering what they had tasted like days before, the sensation of broken glass fresh on her tongue, as though it had passed only moments prior. They were only crackers, though. Broken glass would qualify as variety, at least. She tasted blood on the air when she thought about it, when she breathed too deep. The flavor was almost an improvement.
It was funny, what the body could get used to. She barely noticed the smell anymore.
She glanced at Ace. He looked familiar in the light, a flashlight pointed at the ceiling to illuminate the whole room, the same lighting they'd used back at the leadership house, when they'd sat at the kitchen table eating crackers and oranges. The light cast odd shadows on his face, gave it a gravitas it didn't have, most of the time. She watched him, silently, as he ate some of his bread, seemingly oblivious to her gaze. He seemed like... himself. The sort of phrase that was meaningless, anywhere else, any other time.
She watched his hands. Football player's hands, big and rough and callused and familiar, now, she'd been holding those hands for the better part of two days. His knuckles, she noticed, were still bruised, old healing scrapes still visible. She frowned a touch, remembering their second morning.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly before realizing how absolutely frivolous the question sounded. "Your hands, I mean. Do they still hurt?"
sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell
[night 3 -> day 4, still private, i apologize for not a single thing, cw for Sexual Content™]
sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
He was exhausted.
The walking, the horrible rest of the last two days, carrying both packs, it had all taken its toll on Ace. He looked and felt physically drained but he also felt very much ready to go to bed soonish. He had stripped his shirt and changed into his polyester basketball shorts. They were a little damp but very comfortable. Shirtless and in basketball shorts almost made the infirmary feel like home. Ignoring the smell of death and the blood everywhere.
He answered Ivy, quickly and somehow wearily all the same.
“Yeah, I mean, they don’t feel that bad--it’s like a two, three on the pain scale.”
He paused and looked at his hands. Football players hands, calloused and large. He thought of the training staff wrapping his fists before games. He thought of his bloody knuckles when his hands collided with helmets in stiff arms. Football was war. It was violent and merciless. For Running Backs it was the worst. Every play ended with Ace getting hit by some huge freak of nature. In practice that meant getting knocked around by Wyatt. It wasn’t easy or for the faint of heart.
“You seen me with worse stuff, right?”
His Junior year he always looked towards the cheerleaders after every touchdown. Eventually that shifted to Meilin, but for awhile he would always gauge the reaction of those girls ordered to show enthusiasm towards them win or lose. Perhaps that’s why it was easy to idealize and trust Ivy out here. She had been idealized long before the collars reached his neck.
“The door got it worse.”
The walking, the horrible rest of the last two days, carrying both packs, it had all taken its toll on Ace. He looked and felt physically drained but he also felt very much ready to go to bed soonish. He had stripped his shirt and changed into his polyester basketball shorts. They were a little damp but very comfortable. Shirtless and in basketball shorts almost made the infirmary feel like home. Ignoring the smell of death and the blood everywhere.
He answered Ivy, quickly and somehow wearily all the same.
“Yeah, I mean, they don’t feel that bad--it’s like a two, three on the pain scale.”
[[ Ace Beats Continued From: and i know no one will save me ]]
He paused and looked at his hands. Football players hands, calloused and large. He thought of the training staff wrapping his fists before games. He thought of his bloody knuckles when his hands collided with helmets in stiff arms. Football was war. It was violent and merciless. For Running Backs it was the worst. Every play ended with Ace getting hit by some huge freak of nature. In practice that meant getting knocked around by Wyatt. It wasn’t easy or for the faint of heart.
“You seen me with worse stuff, right?”
His Junior year he always looked towards the cheerleaders after every touchdown. Eventually that shifted to Meilin, but for awhile he would always gauge the reaction of those girls ordered to show enthusiasm towards them win or lose. Perhaps that’s why it was easy to idealize and trust Ivy out here. She had been idealized long before the collars reached his neck.
“The door got it worse.”
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
"True enough."
He wasn't wrong. Football came with its share of nasty injuries, to say nothing of the general toll being tackled by Wyatt day in and day out would take on anyone. Not all of the members of the cheer squad took much interest in football practice, but she watched every chance she got. Not for particularly altruistic reasons, but still. The downside was watching impacts and injuries that made her squirm, every time, the repetition never lessening the reaction.
Cheer was dangerous too, of course, but it was a danger she controlled at least to some extent, though she always had to bet on Madison and Lori's pride getting in the way of their desire to drop her on her head. For the most part that had worked out in her favor. She couldn't prove that the one time she'd been dropped too quickly and twisted her ankle on the landing was intentional on Madison's part, but it wasn't like she'd be surprised.
Madison was on this island, somewhere. Connor was probably looking for her. Lori was still here, too, unfortunately.
Mercy was dead. They had never gotten along, strong personalities always clashed, she wouldn't say she hated her, though. Never wanted her dead, at least. Never that.
She remembered the corpse in the other room.
"I was going to say I could wrap them up for you, but there wouldn't be much of a point."
It wasn't a physical wound she was concerned about, anyway, but from what she knew of boys she would have to be far more obvious with her angle of attack to get an answer to the question she was actually trying to ask. She chewed her crackers thoughtfully, their dryness coating her mouth in crumbs, conveniently giving her a few moments longer to think of the proper thing to say. She hadn't been drinking enough water, now that she thought of it. She was pretty sure Lori had only poisoned her Gatorade, but she couldn't know for certain.
"... Those first announcements."
Her voice was quieter, now. The subject had weight that still stuck to her bones. She knew he carried it, too. She put down the tin of crackers, twisting the ring she'd worn since that same morning.
"Who was it? For you."
She knew the names. That wasn't the question.
He wasn't wrong. Football came with its share of nasty injuries, to say nothing of the general toll being tackled by Wyatt day in and day out would take on anyone. Not all of the members of the cheer squad took much interest in football practice, but she watched every chance she got. Not for particularly altruistic reasons, but still. The downside was watching impacts and injuries that made her squirm, every time, the repetition never lessening the reaction.
Cheer was dangerous too, of course, but it was a danger she controlled at least to some extent, though she always had to bet on Madison and Lori's pride getting in the way of their desire to drop her on her head. For the most part that had worked out in her favor. She couldn't prove that the one time she'd been dropped too quickly and twisted her ankle on the landing was intentional on Madison's part, but it wasn't like she'd be surprised.
Madison was on this island, somewhere. Connor was probably looking for her. Lori was still here, too, unfortunately.
Mercy was dead. They had never gotten along, strong personalities always clashed, she wouldn't say she hated her, though. Never wanted her dead, at least. Never that.
She remembered the corpse in the other room.
"I was going to say I could wrap them up for you, but there wouldn't be much of a point."
It wasn't a physical wound she was concerned about, anyway, but from what she knew of boys she would have to be far more obvious with her angle of attack to get an answer to the question she was actually trying to ask. She chewed her crackers thoughtfully, their dryness coating her mouth in crumbs, conveniently giving her a few moments longer to think of the proper thing to say. She hadn't been drinking enough water, now that she thought of it. She was pretty sure Lori had only poisoned her Gatorade, but she couldn't know for certain.
"... Those first announcements."
Her voice was quieter, now. The subject had weight that still stuck to her bones. She knew he carried it, too. She put down the tin of crackers, twisting the ring she'd worn since that same morning.
"Who was it? For you."
She knew the names. That wasn't the question.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
He was exhausted.
He was hungry even after the half loaf of bread and bottle and a half of water.
He was comfortable but he was cold (in more ways than one). He looked at Ivy with a studious expression and then he seemed to snort and shake his head in exasperation. This had been the dance he had been doing since day one, from wanting to be a hero to thinking he was stupid for wanting that. From admiring Ivy for defiantly always being Ivy and being frustrated about it all the same. From trusting her to trusting his ability to see her for what she truly was. From wanting to protect her to wanting to protect himself from her while protecting her.
Still, she knew what had triggered him in the first announcement, she had to have. What was she playing at? What was she really asking? He cursed himself for being obsessed with subtext but even as self aware as he was he couldn’t stop his mind from moving.
He should’ve bit his tongue a bit, but the circumstances provoked a rawness and honesty absent from the halls of GHHS.
“Why can’t you just, y’know, not be subtle and say what you mean?”, he began firmly but calmly, he wasn’t attacking, he was genuinely asking, “Like, I get havin’ to protect yourself in school anyway you can and girls are mean so sometimes you gotta be meaner—but out here, with me, you can just say what’s on your mind, y'know? I don't like playin' games,ya feel me? That's why I wasn't involved in any of that Prom drama.”
He let that marinate in the air for a second and felt guilty the next.
“I’m sorry, that was, not nice—I’m wound up somethin’ fierce, I’d probably snap on my own mother after I’d hug her.”
As good an apology he could manage.
“Tirzah," he said finally answering her question, "I keep goin’ back to Tirzah.”
As fucked up an answer as he could to.
He was hungry even after the half loaf of bread and bottle and a half of water.
He was comfortable but he was cold (in more ways than one). He looked at Ivy with a studious expression and then he seemed to snort and shake his head in exasperation. This had been the dance he had been doing since day one, from wanting to be a hero to thinking he was stupid for wanting that. From admiring Ivy for defiantly always being Ivy and being frustrated about it all the same. From trusting her to trusting his ability to see her for what she truly was. From wanting to protect her to wanting to protect himself from her while protecting her.
Still, she knew what had triggered him in the first announcement, she had to have. What was she playing at? What was she really asking? He cursed himself for being obsessed with subtext but even as self aware as he was he couldn’t stop his mind from moving.
He should’ve bit his tongue a bit, but the circumstances provoked a rawness and honesty absent from the halls of GHHS.
“Why can’t you just, y’know, not be subtle and say what you mean?”, he began firmly but calmly, he wasn’t attacking, he was genuinely asking, “Like, I get havin’ to protect yourself in school anyway you can and girls are mean so sometimes you gotta be meaner—but out here, with me, you can just say what’s on your mind, y'know? I don't like playin' games,ya feel me? That's why I wasn't involved in any of that Prom drama.”
He let that marinate in the air for a second and felt guilty the next.
“I’m sorry, that was, not nice—I’m wound up somethin’ fierce, I’d probably snap on my own mother after I’d hug her.”
As good an apology he could manage.
“Tirzah," he said finally answering her question, "I keep goin’ back to Tirzah.”
As fucked up an answer as he could to.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
His tongue was sharp, suddenly, and she flinched away from him. It was funny, almost. It was a mild rebuke, the sort of thing that would provoke an eyeroll at most back home, maybe an annoyed "what's your issue?", maybe a bad word spoken behind backs, "oh, Wyatt, Ace was being so rude earlier." Probably not the last one, Wyatt's retribution would likely be overkill against a person she generally liked, but the option was always on the table. That option had been her shield for a long time, now. She hadn't quite felt the effects of not having it, yet. She imagined she would.
Still, though. He'd treated her with kid gloves until now and maybe she should have resented that, but it left her unprepared for his honesty. She nodded faintly at his apology, but couldn't bring herself to look at him again, not yet. Was it not enough that the words were hard to say? She thought it hardly counted as high school delicacy, tiptoeing around the subject of friends killed and friend-killers. The words caught in her throat, so she used new ones.
He'd apologized. She had to move on.
Tirzah, then.
She knew Tirzah well enough. Well enough to not be all that surprised when her name came over the loudspeaker, not that she'd been a monster, just that she'd been wholly consumed by herself, odd and eccentric and dwelling entirely in her own head with little regard for anything around her. Admirable wasn't the word, but Ivy found herself jealous of her sometimes for her apparent disdain for social graces despite her own place in the greater social echelons outside of George Hunter. Much like Beryl, except Beryl was kind and good in all the ways Tirzah never was, and that seemed quite fine with both of them.
She twisted the ring on her finger again, remembered the body again. Beryl, somewhere. She didn't remember how the announcement had said she died.
"Tirzah," she said, slowly. Her voice sounded smaller than before. "How did you know her? Besides that time at the country club." A thousand years ago and a million miles away.
She shrugged. "Not that anyone really knew her, I suppose."
Still, though. He'd treated her with kid gloves until now and maybe she should have resented that, but it left her unprepared for his honesty. She nodded faintly at his apology, but couldn't bring herself to look at him again, not yet. Was it not enough that the words were hard to say? She thought it hardly counted as high school delicacy, tiptoeing around the subject of friends killed and friend-killers. The words caught in her throat, so she used new ones.
He'd apologized. She had to move on.
Tirzah, then.
She knew Tirzah well enough. Well enough to not be all that surprised when her name came over the loudspeaker, not that she'd been a monster, just that she'd been wholly consumed by herself, odd and eccentric and dwelling entirely in her own head with little regard for anything around her. Admirable wasn't the word, but Ivy found herself jealous of her sometimes for her apparent disdain for social graces despite her own place in the greater social echelons outside of George Hunter. Much like Beryl, except Beryl was kind and good in all the ways Tirzah never was, and that seemed quite fine with both of them.
She twisted the ring on her finger again, remembered the body again. Beryl, somewhere. She didn't remember how the announcement had said she died.
"Tirzah," she said, slowly. Her voice sounded smaller than before. "How did you know her? Besides that time at the country club." A thousand years ago and a million miles away.
She shrugged. "Not that anyone really knew her, I suppose."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
“I dunno,” he said with some unease and too much honesty, “A lotta times I feel folks don’t really know me either.”
She couldn’t look at him but that was fine, he couldn’t really handle talking and looking at her. He rested his head in hands and continued all the same. There was really no benefit to being mean. It was easier and felt better to be honest. He thought. He hoped.
“I don’t really got a lotta friends and I guess that was kinda on purpose,” he lifted his head up, “I go to school, I go to practice, I go home. I stay in my room and record. I don’t date, I don’t really party. I got a dream and work hard for it.”
He sighed.
“Because I’m meant for bigger things and fuck Chattanooga and George Hunter and that small city. I got bigger dreams. I didn’t have time to chase girls like Wyatt, I didn’t have Connor's safety net. I have the hopes of my family on my back, y’know? There was more for me. This wasn’t s’posed to be it.”
He shook his head.
“I have had a crush on Meilin since like Sophomore year but like, I keep that shit to myself, I mean, I like girls, I like girls a lot, but like, I don’t need distractions, I gotta focus,” he felt himself get choked up, “Tirzah is a chaos demon but she’s always nice to me. She was with Toby at prom and she helped me ask Meilin out without her even knowin’ and like, I was only with Mei for a week, but like, it was nice y'know? I can at least say I died havin' a girlfriend. It felt good likin' someone who likes you back. I thought I was bigger than that and I got Tirzah to thank for showin' me I'm not.”
He paused.
“And then she...”
He couldn’t finish.
“Yeah, well, y’know…she did what she did. And then she did it again.”
He felt the tears come now, he choked it out…
“I dunno what to do when I find her,” his voice quivered, “I’m angry and I’m scared.”
The tears continued.
“Toby and Dante didn’t deserve this, but I dunno Blaise,” he continued, “I thought I knew Tirzah. That makes it worse. She makes me the most scared of me. But that's what they want, huh? For me to harden my heart and hate someone I thought was my friend.”
He shook his head.
"What's fucked up is that I know that's what they want," he said finally, "And I still find myself doin' it anyway."
She couldn’t look at him but that was fine, he couldn’t really handle talking and looking at her. He rested his head in hands and continued all the same. There was really no benefit to being mean. It was easier and felt better to be honest. He thought. He hoped.
“I don’t really got a lotta friends and I guess that was kinda on purpose,” he lifted his head up, “I go to school, I go to practice, I go home. I stay in my room and record. I don’t date, I don’t really party. I got a dream and work hard for it.”
He sighed.
“Because I’m meant for bigger things and fuck Chattanooga and George Hunter and that small city. I got bigger dreams. I didn’t have time to chase girls like Wyatt, I didn’t have Connor's safety net. I have the hopes of my family on my back, y’know? There was more for me. This wasn’t s’posed to be it.”
He shook his head.
“I have had a crush on Meilin since like Sophomore year but like, I keep that shit to myself, I mean, I like girls, I like girls a lot, but like, I don’t need distractions, I gotta focus,” he felt himself get choked up, “Tirzah is a chaos demon but she’s always nice to me. She was with Toby at prom and she helped me ask Meilin out without her even knowin’ and like, I was only with Mei for a week, but like, it was nice y'know? I can at least say I died havin' a girlfriend. It felt good likin' someone who likes you back. I thought I was bigger than that and I got Tirzah to thank for showin' me I'm not.”
He paused.
“And then she...”
He couldn’t finish.
“Yeah, well, y’know…she did what she did. And then she did it again.”
He felt the tears come now, he choked it out…
“I dunno what to do when I find her,” his voice quivered, “I’m angry and I’m scared.”
The tears continued.
“Toby and Dante didn’t deserve this, but I dunno Blaise,” he continued, “I thought I knew Tirzah. That makes it worse. She makes me the most scared of me. But that's what they want, huh? For me to harden my heart and hate someone I thought was my friend.”
He shook his head.
"What's fucked up is that I know that's what they want," he said finally, "And I still find myself doin' it anyway."
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
"Blaise is a monster," Ivy said, instinctively, because it was the easiest thing to respond to, the thing that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. "They were long before they got here, anyway."
The rest was harder.
There was plenty she could say, theoretically, though it was difficult to formulate words to respond to one's life story spoken all at once. Most of it, she couldn't say, but she knew, it was pointless. George Hunter didn't matter, Chattanooga didn't matter, future plans, past dreams, prom, crushes, his girlfriend, that one stung in all the ways it shouldn't, but it didn't matter. Unless he planned on throwing his life away so the girl he'd been with for a week could live, it didn't matter. Not at all.
She was lucky, in ways, wasn't she? He had joked hours earlier about how he wished he'd shot his shot the way she had, even if it had ended badly, and it was a joke but it wasn't, was it? Her life had been loud and chaotic and full of wine and sex and late-night phone calls and beachside vacations, and she had regrets, everyone had regrets. But the regrets she had were not the ways she let loose, let herself be herself, let her voice and her heart and her body take what it wanted. She regretted where she let herself be guided, where she took the future's existence for granted, where she sacrificed the now for the later-on, and that seemed like it was all Ace had ever done.
She wondered, idly, if Tirzah had regrets.
Ivy glanced sidelong at Ace and wondered if she shouldn't, if this wasn't something that she should look away from, but he'd chosen to open up to her, hadn't he? She had been invited in and still found herself pausing at the threshold. He'd reminded her of Wyatt all along, too pure and too soft but strong, tall, honest, heart on his sleeve, but the tears on his face reminded her of someone else entirely. Of wine and late-night conversations, sleepovers, promises of retribution that gave way to laughter and music and joy before too long, every time, she felt her eyes fill with tears, sympathetic but selfish.
God, she missed Myles so much.
She shook her head as if to shake the thought out of it before scooting toward Ace, not quite close enough for their bodies to touch, but close enough she could reach out to his hands, warm and strong and rough and familiar, and he didn't pull away. Words were difficult to find. What words meant anything, here, anymore?
She thought of things to say. She thought to explain why they shouldn't look for Tirzah, that she was too dangerous, that they didn't have real weapons to speak of, that they needed to protect themselves. She thought about asking about Toby and Dante, how he knew them, she thought about asking who else he wanted to find. She thought about asking about Meilin, but she didn't want an answer to that. Not really.
She thought about saying what she was afraid of but there were ways she wasn't ready to be open just yet.
"... Did you know Beryl?" The slightest hint of a smile played on her face. It was odd, how her name could still provoke that response. "I suppose everyone did, at least a little, she was hard to miss. Her ex-boyfriend killed her. You know? I always hated him, he threw coffee at me this one time, Bret—" she frowned, let that one slip away, "—he was a temperamental asshole but Beryl loved him. Not that she had the greatest eye for people, you know? She could hardly take care of herself, but she was just... magnetic, in that way that makes people love you no matter what you do or say, does that make sense?"
She noticed she was twisting her ring again, so she slipped it off her finger to show to him. "She gave me this, way back at the beginning of the semester. Had a hangover that day, I think? I don't remember what it's made of, some mineral that's supposed to... I don't know, align your chakras or whatever it was she believed in. It was... I don't know. It was sweet. I figured I'd give it back to her but I never remembered. It sat at the bottom of my purse for months and now it's here with me."
"I don't know. I don't know what my point is. Just—people make their choices, here, and they can't take them back. Beryl's dead and I'd kill Nick if I could. I think I mean that. It's kind of hard to say, though. Maybe I'd chicken out if the time came. I just—I don't want the time to come, you know? I don't want to have to make that choice."
"I just want to stay like this."
The rest was harder.
There was plenty she could say, theoretically, though it was difficult to formulate words to respond to one's life story spoken all at once. Most of it, she couldn't say, but she knew, it was pointless. George Hunter didn't matter, Chattanooga didn't matter, future plans, past dreams, prom, crushes, his girlfriend, that one stung in all the ways it shouldn't, but it didn't matter. Unless he planned on throwing his life away so the girl he'd been with for a week could live, it didn't matter. Not at all.
She was lucky, in ways, wasn't she? He had joked hours earlier about how he wished he'd shot his shot the way she had, even if it had ended badly, and it was a joke but it wasn't, was it? Her life had been loud and chaotic and full of wine and sex and late-night phone calls and beachside vacations, and she had regrets, everyone had regrets. But the regrets she had were not the ways she let loose, let herself be herself, let her voice and her heart and her body take what it wanted. She regretted where she let herself be guided, where she took the future's existence for granted, where she sacrificed the now for the later-on, and that seemed like it was all Ace had ever done.
She wondered, idly, if Tirzah had regrets.
Ivy glanced sidelong at Ace and wondered if she shouldn't, if this wasn't something that she should look away from, but he'd chosen to open up to her, hadn't he? She had been invited in and still found herself pausing at the threshold. He'd reminded her of Wyatt all along, too pure and too soft but strong, tall, honest, heart on his sleeve, but the tears on his face reminded her of someone else entirely. Of wine and late-night conversations, sleepovers, promises of retribution that gave way to laughter and music and joy before too long, every time, she felt her eyes fill with tears, sympathetic but selfish.
God, she missed Myles so much.
She shook her head as if to shake the thought out of it before scooting toward Ace, not quite close enough for their bodies to touch, but close enough she could reach out to his hands, warm and strong and rough and familiar, and he didn't pull away. Words were difficult to find. What words meant anything, here, anymore?
She thought of things to say. She thought to explain why they shouldn't look for Tirzah, that she was too dangerous, that they didn't have real weapons to speak of, that they needed to protect themselves. She thought about asking about Toby and Dante, how he knew them, she thought about asking who else he wanted to find. She thought about asking about Meilin, but she didn't want an answer to that. Not really.
She thought about saying what she was afraid of but there were ways she wasn't ready to be open just yet.
"... Did you know Beryl?" The slightest hint of a smile played on her face. It was odd, how her name could still provoke that response. "I suppose everyone did, at least a little, she was hard to miss. Her ex-boyfriend killed her. You know? I always hated him, he threw coffee at me this one time, Bret—" she frowned, let that one slip away, "—he was a temperamental asshole but Beryl loved him. Not that she had the greatest eye for people, you know? She could hardly take care of herself, but she was just... magnetic, in that way that makes people love you no matter what you do or say, does that make sense?"
She noticed she was twisting her ring again, so she slipped it off her finger to show to him. "She gave me this, way back at the beginning of the semester. Had a hangover that day, I think? I don't remember what it's made of, some mineral that's supposed to... I don't know, align your chakras or whatever it was she believed in. It was... I don't know. It was sweet. I figured I'd give it back to her but I never remembered. It sat at the bottom of my purse for months and now it's here with me."
"I don't know. I don't know what my point is. Just—people make their choices, here, and they can't take them back. Beryl's dead and I'd kill Nick if I could. I think I mean that. It's kind of hard to say, though. Maybe I'd chicken out if the time came. I just—I don't want the time to come, you know? I don't want to have to make that choice."
"I just want to stay like this."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
All things considered, this here, wasn’t so bad and neither was she.
He didn’t dislike the humanity she seemed to have kept on reserve for him. This was Ivy Langley, he kept on reminding himself and every rumor about her was likely true. She was the girl mothers warned about, a five foot Regina George with a vindictive streak. Regina, there was one of those dead too, wasn’t there? Was he a bad person because he wasn’t committing Danya’s announcements to memory? Or was he just a stupid person? He didn’t think he was stupid in a real way but he was for sure stupid in a stupid way.
Non-committal, cowardly and inconsistent, the Ace Beats story.
“Yeah, for sure,” he said with a weak, tired smile, “I wanna be happy and good for as long as I can be. Life’s too short.”
He hadn’t known Beryl, he hadn’t really known anybody outside the football and track teams. Even Meilin he hadn’t really seen that much outside of class. She had had boyfriends before him, hadn't she? He hadn’t cared about them before but wondered about them now. Was he naïve enough to think his connection with her meant more than theirs out here because it was new? This was life and death shit.
Ivy’s hands in his for a moment, he felt a shiver down his spine and a flashback to the first night. She had been electric then, in a world where nothing made sense, she had. She had been there all night. They were connected by more than circumstances. He understood Ivy’s aura. He understood her core. He had seen it. Felt it. Tasted it.
She showed him the ring, spoke her honest truth and he couldn’t help himself like always. He slipped his hands out of hers and then found himself wrapping her in his arms. He kissed her on the forehead and held her for a few seconds.
“I really am sorry I was sharp earlier.”
He let go and found himself laying his back down on the mattress, his knees bent and feet off the edge and on the floor. It was a small mattress. She was close. He was grateful for that, in this moment. He didn't know how long that good feeling would last, he didn't want them to end. He didn't want this to end. He didn't want his life to end.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad I’ve had you with me during this whole thing,” he smiled, “Nobody really knows you either.”
He stared at the shadows on the ceiling, Ivy made him think of being on drugs again but the stillness of the night reminded him of his sobriety. But he wasn't sober, was he? He was high off catharsis and honesty--there were worse vices.
“You ain’t as bad as they say.”
He didn’t dislike the humanity she seemed to have kept on reserve for him. This was Ivy Langley, he kept on reminding himself and every rumor about her was likely true. She was the girl mothers warned about, a five foot Regina George with a vindictive streak. Regina, there was one of those dead too, wasn’t there? Was he a bad person because he wasn’t committing Danya’s announcements to memory? Or was he just a stupid person? He didn’t think he was stupid in a real way but he was for sure stupid in a stupid way.
Non-committal, cowardly and inconsistent, the Ace Beats story.
“Yeah, for sure,” he said with a weak, tired smile, “I wanna be happy and good for as long as I can be. Life’s too short.”
He hadn’t known Beryl, he hadn’t really known anybody outside the football and track teams. Even Meilin he hadn’t really seen that much outside of class. She had had boyfriends before him, hadn't she? He hadn’t cared about them before but wondered about them now. Was he naïve enough to think his connection with her meant more than theirs out here because it was new? This was life and death shit.
Ivy’s hands in his for a moment, he felt a shiver down his spine and a flashback to the first night. She had been electric then, in a world where nothing made sense, she had. She had been there all night. They were connected by more than circumstances. He understood Ivy’s aura. He understood her core. He had seen it. Felt it. Tasted it.
She showed him the ring, spoke her honest truth and he couldn’t help himself like always. He slipped his hands out of hers and then found himself wrapping her in his arms. He kissed her on the forehead and held her for a few seconds.
“I really am sorry I was sharp earlier.”
He let go and found himself laying his back down on the mattress, his knees bent and feet off the edge and on the floor. It was a small mattress. She was close. He was grateful for that, in this moment. He didn't know how long that good feeling would last, he didn't want them to end. He didn't want this to end. He didn't want his life to end.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad I’ve had you with me during this whole thing,” he smiled, “Nobody really knows you either.”
He stared at the shadows on the ceiling, Ivy made him think of being on drugs again but the stillness of the night reminded him of his sobriety. But he wasn't sober, was he? He was high off catharsis and honesty--there were worse vices.
“You ain’t as bad as they say.”
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Nobody really knows you either.
He wasn't wrong in a way she could object to. The one real exception was too pedantic to counter with, and getting into whether Myles truly knew her, bone- to heart-deep, was too difficult a conversation to try to grasp right now or most likely ever. She didn't think of herself as a fake person, necessarily, she didn't flatter or feign sincerity because she didn't have to. Her position was cemented. Her relationships were honest. The people she didn't like sure as fuck knew she didn't like them, even if circumstance required civility, as it unfortunately often did at parties or cheer practice, and the people she cared for knew that too. That wasn't the same as knowing her, but the parts they knew were real.
Ace knew her better than most people, by now, in some ways Ivy couldn't describe, in the same ways she'd known him when she'd looked into his eyes the first night. There were still sparks of it now, when she looked at him, still remembering what she knew logically had never been there at all. Eyes glowing, lighting the room, piercing through her. His eyes were dark, now, but somehow some part of her still wanted to flinch away when he looked at her. It was hard to accept being seen, really, truly seen. If nothing else she was suddenly hyper-conscious of how dirty her clothes still were.
Her forehead burned with the imprint of his lips. I just want to stay like this. It had been a strange thing to say from the moment she said it, what did this mean? Together, alone, in a dark building flush with the stench of death? Quiet, maybe. Sitting, talking. Safe in some arbitrary way. Safe emotionally. Safe in that if she started crying someone would hold her.
"I should hope not," she said to his last remark, and she found the energy to say it with a joking pout. "If I was as bad as they said I'd be the devil himself."
He wasn't wrong in a way she could object to. The one real exception was too pedantic to counter with, and getting into whether Myles truly knew her, bone- to heart-deep, was too difficult a conversation to try to grasp right now or most likely ever. She didn't think of herself as a fake person, necessarily, she didn't flatter or feign sincerity because she didn't have to. Her position was cemented. Her relationships were honest. The people she didn't like sure as fuck knew she didn't like them, even if circumstance required civility, as it unfortunately often did at parties or cheer practice, and the people she cared for knew that too. That wasn't the same as knowing her, but the parts they knew were real.
Ace knew her better than most people, by now, in some ways Ivy couldn't describe, in the same ways she'd known him when she'd looked into his eyes the first night. There were still sparks of it now, when she looked at him, still remembering what she knew logically had never been there at all. Eyes glowing, lighting the room, piercing through her. His eyes were dark, now, but somehow some part of her still wanted to flinch away when he looked at her. It was hard to accept being seen, really, truly seen. If nothing else she was suddenly hyper-conscious of how dirty her clothes still were.
Her forehead burned with the imprint of his lips. I just want to stay like this. It had been a strange thing to say from the moment she said it, what did this mean? Together, alone, in a dark building flush with the stench of death? Quiet, maybe. Sitting, talking. Safe in some arbitrary way. Safe emotionally. Safe in that if she started crying someone would hold her.
"I should hope not," she said to his last remark, and she found the energy to say it with a joking pout. "If I was as bad as they said I'd be the devil himself."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
He laughed at her joke and he felt a little silly for doing so. What a rollercoaster this whole thing was.
He would cry and then he would laugh, he would hate his circumstances and then be somewhat resigned with them. One moment he would be content with martyring himself and the next he’d be contemplating how and when he would have to fight for his life.
But now, in these moments of quiet, he felt somewhat at ease. As at ease as he could be considering the macabre nature of their surroundings and the assuredness of their mortality.
“You about as much devil as I am boy scout,” he said finally, eyes still on the ceiling though his hands seemed to have moved away from her and towards himself, he wiped his tears and folded his arms, “I try to be positive, but y’know, it’s hard.”
He thought for a moment, should he even share this with Ivy? Well fuck it, why not? They were all gonna die anyway and being honest had felt pretty good thus far.
“S’why I guess I really miss Mei right now, like, she’s just good and like sees the good in any person or situation,” he sighed, “I was really scared to get a girlfriend for a long time, like, I didn’t wanna be some lovesick idiot when I knew I was goin’ to Memphis and any relationship I got had an expiration date built in. Seems stupid, huh? Considerin’ I was born to die on murder island. The regret is what is kickin’ my ass, really, but that’s the breaks huh? Can’t change the past.”
He shook his head and chuckled to himself.
“I’m such an idiot, I took her to Waffle House after prom—I was whippin’ a goddamn beamer, I shoulda took her to a hotel. One night for the rest of our lives rah-rah-rah!”
Channeling Wyatt a little there, huh? Whatever, even Wyatt had some sorta idiot philosopher genius in some areas.
It didn’t matter now anyway, him and Meilin, but it made him happy to think about it. Dancing with her at Prom, stealing kisses in DC. Did he really know her though? They had been friends for a long time before he had asked her out—what if he found out she was dead tomorrow? What if she was a murderer? What if she had murdered a friend of his? Ramsey? Connor who he had left to fend for himself? Those days in DC were gone and so was she and so was he.
Meilin wouldn't do that.
But had he thought Tirzah would? To Toby of all people?
There it was, the rollercoaster again.
“Imma try to rest my eyes a bit Ivy, I don’t really wanna talk anymore,” he said finally, “It feels good and then it doesn’t. I just need to rest a lil', y'know? I won't go to sleep, just some rest.”
He would cry and then he would laugh, he would hate his circumstances and then be somewhat resigned with them. One moment he would be content with martyring himself and the next he’d be contemplating how and when he would have to fight for his life.
But now, in these moments of quiet, he felt somewhat at ease. As at ease as he could be considering the macabre nature of their surroundings and the assuredness of their mortality.
“You about as much devil as I am boy scout,” he said finally, eyes still on the ceiling though his hands seemed to have moved away from her and towards himself, he wiped his tears and folded his arms, “I try to be positive, but y’know, it’s hard.”
He thought for a moment, should he even share this with Ivy? Well fuck it, why not? They were all gonna die anyway and being honest had felt pretty good thus far.
“S’why I guess I really miss Mei right now, like, she’s just good and like sees the good in any person or situation,” he sighed, “I was really scared to get a girlfriend for a long time, like, I didn’t wanna be some lovesick idiot when I knew I was goin’ to Memphis and any relationship I got had an expiration date built in. Seems stupid, huh? Considerin’ I was born to die on murder island. The regret is what is kickin’ my ass, really, but that’s the breaks huh? Can’t change the past.”
He shook his head and chuckled to himself.
“I’m such an idiot, I took her to Waffle House after prom—I was whippin’ a goddamn beamer, I shoulda took her to a hotel. One night for the rest of our lives rah-rah-rah!”
Channeling Wyatt a little there, huh? Whatever, even Wyatt had some sorta idiot philosopher genius in some areas.
It didn’t matter now anyway, him and Meilin, but it made him happy to think about it. Dancing with her at Prom, stealing kisses in DC. Did he really know her though? They had been friends for a long time before he had asked her out—what if he found out she was dead tomorrow? What if she was a murderer? What if she had murdered a friend of his? Ramsey? Connor who he had left to fend for himself? Those days in DC were gone and so was she and so was he.
Meilin wouldn't do that.
But had he thought Tirzah would? To Toby of all people?
There it was, the rollercoaster again.
“Imma try to rest my eyes a bit Ivy, I don’t really wanna talk anymore,” he said finally, “It feels good and then it doesn’t. I just need to rest a lil', y'know? I won't go to sleep, just some rest.”
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
"Right."
Rest his eyes. Right.
Did he realize, she wondered, how much life he'd put back into her, and subsequently how much air he'd just managed to suck out of the room? She didn't want to hear any of this and yes, that was selfish, yes, it didn't matter, yes, she shouldn't care. She knew. She wasn't stupid. Social graces would have closed his mouth back home and she had just finished lamenting how much attention she had paid to those and now she was mentally chastizing Ace for not adhering to niceties? As though it was the implied crudeness she was bothered by, anyway. As though it was anything normal, anything that had an application to the real world, that she was feeling.
He might have called it jealousy if he was aware enough to notice anything at all. He'd be wrong, but at least he'd be calling it something.
Part of her wanted to join him. Lay down, shut her eyes. There was always the risk they'd both fall asleep, but she couldn't bring herself to worry that much about that right now. She could use a minute to recover, to breathe, but there wasn't much room and she wasn't sure she could bear to be that close to him right now. She sat still for the moment as he laid down, eyes cast on nothing, a blank wall, remembering shadows that couldn't hurt her and maybe never could.
"I'm going to go change," she said, stiffly, almost formally, as she stood. She'd taken painkillers about an hour ago; the stabbing in her side when she stood was duller than before, but still bad enough her hand instinctively grabbed at the spot for a moment. "You, um..."
She almost asked him to turn around, or keep his eyes closed, or whatever, but an idea came to her mid-thought.
"I'll be in the other room. You'll hear me if anything happens, okay?"
Not relishing another opportunity to breathe that air, still she stood, quickly gathering some things from her bag before carefully stepping around the blood puddle and making her way into the darkness of the infirmary's main room.
Ivy was surprised the stench didn't hit her too hard when she opened the door, but she supposed the smell had basically permeated the entire building at this point anyway. The lack of light was a relief, with only the dim illumination of the night sky, where it peeked through the clouds, casting shadows through the window. The bodies on the beds were vague shapes, amorphous nothings swallowed by the dark, so much less frightening when she didn't have to know them. Still, she didn't relish their presence. She wasn't in this room for privacy's sake, anyway.
Her target was the window, surprisingly easy to pry open. She piled her clothing carefully despite knowing this side of the room was free of anything worse than dust and stripped off her shoes, her skirt, her shirt, before biting her lip in anticipation of pain and hauling herself through it. It hurt, unsurprisingly, the way nearly everything did, reminding her swiftly of that first night, with the open window of the leadership house leading to the outhouse. It had been worse, then; reaggravated or not nothing could compare to the pain she'd suffered on that first day, and the painkillers were carrying a lot of the weight. As was adrenaline, if she could admit to herself for a moment that she was afraid.
She was afraid. She'd gone out the back window because the front door was still more vulnerable, but she was still standing in the open, pale skin cast in an unmissable glow even in the dim moonlight. She could be spotted, she could be shot. Any moment. Some things were more important than that, though. Having control over something, anything, was worth it.
The rain was still coming down hard, and between the humid air and the heat it felt like a lukewarm shower. Ivy was lacking in soap, shampoo or towels, but she would use the water while she had it. Dirt caked on her lower legs and arms in places; she used her nails to scrape off what she could, and let the rain rinse off the worst of it. She didn't feel clean. In all likelihood she would never feel clean again, but she felt better, at least, refreshed, a little, though she frowned as she moved her hands over her legs and felt the start of hair regrowing. Barely noticeable, probably not noticeable at all to anyone but her. Normal human ugliness. Almost more than the dirt and the blood, it reminded her where she was.
Impossible to miss, though, were the bruises.
They took up a disturbing amount of space on her torso, spreading far beyond where the worst of the pain was centered. They were yellowing, now, in places, but still mostly blue and black and purple, traveling in streaks and patches from hip to collarbone. She glanced around, searching for a camera she couldn't see but still assumed was present, and pulled her arm free of her bra strap on that side anyway. The bruising curved around the swell of her chest as though avoiding it, white skin sickly against mottled blue. She pulled her bra back into place in silence.
She needed Ace. She was always going to need Ace. Six weeks, wasn't it? Six weeks that none of them had. Crawling through the window on her own had hurt enough, she was powered by something she needed, wanted, but if she'd had to carry her bag through the window she couldn't have done it. She couldn't run for further than a few dozen yards at best, she couldn't carry her things on her own even that far. She couldn't defend herself from further than a foot away with the shitty makeshift Mace she'd put together and even then getting away from an incapacitated enemy was unlikely.
She was smart, she knew, she could make plans, she could improvise, but she had always been able to run, jump, climb, her athleticism was an advantage not everyone had and it had been ripped away from her moments after she'd woken up. She had other advantages, perhaps, but they weren't enough to not make her a burden. She was smart. So she knew.
What benefit did Ace get from staying with her, really? A less-incompetent navigator, someone to remind him not to let his guard down? Someone to keep watch at night? Company, really, and that was all. She was here, and she hadn't killed anyone, and she was afraid, and she spoke to him. Company. A distraction. That was all. She remembered how he let Connor walk away, how he'd stayed with her, how surprised she'd been, but that didn't mean anything, either. Connor was a threat. Ivy knew she wasn't. She could dump her bottle of bleach on him in his sleep, yes. They both knew she never would.
She wasn't jealous of Meilin. Not in that way, at least. But she was all the things Ace got from her and more. Company. A distraction. Someone to protect who he already loved.
She couldn't lose him. She'd be dead in an hour. Something had to give.
Company, a distraction. What else did she have to offer?
Ivy slipped back through the window, dripping water, wringing it out of her hair. She'd brought a sweater from her bag she didn't imagine she'd ever have another use for in this humidity; it did a good enough job of absorbing the water dripping down her skin. She'd brought both her hairbrush and the toothbrush and toothpaste Ace had lent her the night before; she used the latter, leaning out the window to spit, the taste of old vomit thankfully rinsing out of her mouth, and made a fair attempt to use the former. Her long hair took better to being untangled with her fingers than with her brush. She'd need to sit down for probably a solid half-hour to completely sort it out. As it were, she detangled the worst of it and let it be for now.
She glanced at the change of clothing she'd brought, a pastel-purple dress with a button-up front. It seemed almost too cute, too pristine for the island, compared to the mud-stained clothing she'd arrived in. She looked at it for a moment and then left it sitting on a shelf on a wall near the window. Her discarded clothes lay in a pile on the floor; she left them there.
Shaking hands unclipped her bra, letting it join the pile. The last of her clothing, peeled away from skin, kicked away from her feet. A camera winked from the corner of the room. Too late to worry about it, now.
Ace still laying there, when she opened the door, eyes closed.
She could still back out.
"Ace?"
Rest his eyes. Right.
Did he realize, she wondered, how much life he'd put back into her, and subsequently how much air he'd just managed to suck out of the room? She didn't want to hear any of this and yes, that was selfish, yes, it didn't matter, yes, she shouldn't care. She knew. She wasn't stupid. Social graces would have closed his mouth back home and she had just finished lamenting how much attention she had paid to those and now she was mentally chastizing Ace for not adhering to niceties? As though it was the implied crudeness she was bothered by, anyway. As though it was anything normal, anything that had an application to the real world, that she was feeling.
He might have called it jealousy if he was aware enough to notice anything at all. He'd be wrong, but at least he'd be calling it something.
Part of her wanted to join him. Lay down, shut her eyes. There was always the risk they'd both fall asleep, but she couldn't bring herself to worry that much about that right now. She could use a minute to recover, to breathe, but there wasn't much room and she wasn't sure she could bear to be that close to him right now. She sat still for the moment as he laid down, eyes cast on nothing, a blank wall, remembering shadows that couldn't hurt her and maybe never could.
"I'm going to go change," she said, stiffly, almost formally, as she stood. She'd taken painkillers about an hour ago; the stabbing in her side when she stood was duller than before, but still bad enough her hand instinctively grabbed at the spot for a moment. "You, um..."
She almost asked him to turn around, or keep his eyes closed, or whatever, but an idea came to her mid-thought.
"I'll be in the other room. You'll hear me if anything happens, okay?"
Not relishing another opportunity to breathe that air, still she stood, quickly gathering some things from her bag before carefully stepping around the blood puddle and making her way into the darkness of the infirmary's main room.
Ivy was surprised the stench didn't hit her too hard when she opened the door, but she supposed the smell had basically permeated the entire building at this point anyway. The lack of light was a relief, with only the dim illumination of the night sky, where it peeked through the clouds, casting shadows through the window. The bodies on the beds were vague shapes, amorphous nothings swallowed by the dark, so much less frightening when she didn't have to know them. Still, she didn't relish their presence. She wasn't in this room for privacy's sake, anyway.
Her target was the window, surprisingly easy to pry open. She piled her clothing carefully despite knowing this side of the room was free of anything worse than dust and stripped off her shoes, her skirt, her shirt, before biting her lip in anticipation of pain and hauling herself through it. It hurt, unsurprisingly, the way nearly everything did, reminding her swiftly of that first night, with the open window of the leadership house leading to the outhouse. It had been worse, then; reaggravated or not nothing could compare to the pain she'd suffered on that first day, and the painkillers were carrying a lot of the weight. As was adrenaline, if she could admit to herself for a moment that she was afraid.
She was afraid. She'd gone out the back window because the front door was still more vulnerable, but she was still standing in the open, pale skin cast in an unmissable glow even in the dim moonlight. She could be spotted, she could be shot. Any moment. Some things were more important than that, though. Having control over something, anything, was worth it.
The rain was still coming down hard, and between the humid air and the heat it felt like a lukewarm shower. Ivy was lacking in soap, shampoo or towels, but she would use the water while she had it. Dirt caked on her lower legs and arms in places; she used her nails to scrape off what she could, and let the rain rinse off the worst of it. She didn't feel clean. In all likelihood she would never feel clean again, but she felt better, at least, refreshed, a little, though she frowned as she moved her hands over her legs and felt the start of hair regrowing. Barely noticeable, probably not noticeable at all to anyone but her. Normal human ugliness. Almost more than the dirt and the blood, it reminded her where she was.
Impossible to miss, though, were the bruises.
They took up a disturbing amount of space on her torso, spreading far beyond where the worst of the pain was centered. They were yellowing, now, in places, but still mostly blue and black and purple, traveling in streaks and patches from hip to collarbone. She glanced around, searching for a camera she couldn't see but still assumed was present, and pulled her arm free of her bra strap on that side anyway. The bruising curved around the swell of her chest as though avoiding it, white skin sickly against mottled blue. She pulled her bra back into place in silence.
She needed Ace. She was always going to need Ace. Six weeks, wasn't it? Six weeks that none of them had. Crawling through the window on her own had hurt enough, she was powered by something she needed, wanted, but if she'd had to carry her bag through the window she couldn't have done it. She couldn't run for further than a few dozen yards at best, she couldn't carry her things on her own even that far. She couldn't defend herself from further than a foot away with the shitty makeshift Mace she'd put together and even then getting away from an incapacitated enemy was unlikely.
She was smart, she knew, she could make plans, she could improvise, but she had always been able to run, jump, climb, her athleticism was an advantage not everyone had and it had been ripped away from her moments after she'd woken up. She had other advantages, perhaps, but they weren't enough to not make her a burden. She was smart. So she knew.
What benefit did Ace get from staying with her, really? A less-incompetent navigator, someone to remind him not to let his guard down? Someone to keep watch at night? Company, really, and that was all. She was here, and she hadn't killed anyone, and she was afraid, and she spoke to him. Company. A distraction. That was all. She remembered how he let Connor walk away, how he'd stayed with her, how surprised she'd been, but that didn't mean anything, either. Connor was a threat. Ivy knew she wasn't. She could dump her bottle of bleach on him in his sleep, yes. They both knew she never would.
She wasn't jealous of Meilin. Not in that way, at least. But she was all the things Ace got from her and more. Company. A distraction. Someone to protect who he already loved.
She couldn't lose him. She'd be dead in an hour. Something had to give.
Company, a distraction. What else did she have to offer?
Ivy slipped back through the window, dripping water, wringing it out of her hair. She'd brought a sweater from her bag she didn't imagine she'd ever have another use for in this humidity; it did a good enough job of absorbing the water dripping down her skin. She'd brought both her hairbrush and the toothbrush and toothpaste Ace had lent her the night before; she used the latter, leaning out the window to spit, the taste of old vomit thankfully rinsing out of her mouth, and made a fair attempt to use the former. Her long hair took better to being untangled with her fingers than with her brush. She'd need to sit down for probably a solid half-hour to completely sort it out. As it were, she detangled the worst of it and let it be for now.
She glanced at the change of clothing she'd brought, a pastel-purple dress with a button-up front. It seemed almost too cute, too pristine for the island, compared to the mud-stained clothing she'd arrived in. She looked at it for a moment and then left it sitting on a shelf on a wall near the window. Her discarded clothes lay in a pile on the floor; she left them there.
Shaking hands unclipped her bra, letting it join the pile. The last of her clothing, peeled away from skin, kicked away from her feet. A camera winked from the corner of the room. Too late to worry about it, now.
Ace still laying there, when she opened the door, eyes closed.
She could still back out.
"Ace?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
With her gone he was left with himself. With his eyes closed and his breath slowed it almost felt like meditation. He couldn’t tell you how much time passed but he could tell you that he found himself both hyper content and hyper aware. He used to do this before games—everybody had their rituals. Big Laz, the 300lb Junior Offensive Linemen would throw up before every game. Ace would zone out. He usually had music to help but silence was music in and of itself. He was lost in just the blackness of his thoughts.
He felt at peace. He felt focused and calm.
He heard his name, Ivy, so much for silence. He opened his eyes and found himself looking at the ceiling. He exhaled, she sounded…different. Like she was begging but not quite. She didn’t sound scared but she sounded needy, desperate. It was just one word but it got his attention immediately. He sat himself up and turned his eyes towards her voice.
“Yeah, that’s what they ca—coño! Goddamn!”
He couldn’t help himself, not usually and face to face with a naked Prom Queen much less. He found himself sputtering and confused. For a second he thought he was dreaming or he had drank drugged water again--he knew he hadn't. He felt his legs shake and his once still heart begin to race. He wanted to look away but he couldn’t. Not from her lips. Not from her stomach. Her thighs. Her chest. Her--
Fuck! Shut the fuck up!
A million thoughts hit his brain—about the island, the danger, the strange feeling that anyone could walk in at any moment. None of the thoughts lasted long in his mind or reached his mouth. It was karmic retribution, right? He had been wanting to be a being of instinct and not think for three days and now at this very moment his instincts were waging war against his sense. He was confused and curious and disbelieving and tantalized.
He didn’t know what the fuck to do or say. So he stayed still. His eyes didn't leave hers--actually fuck, who was he kidding? He wasn't looking at her eyes.
“Wuh-wuh-what are you doing?”
It wasn’t that hard to figure out.
He just was. That was the problem.
He felt at peace. He felt focused and calm.
He heard his name, Ivy, so much for silence. He opened his eyes and found himself looking at the ceiling. He exhaled, she sounded…different. Like she was begging but not quite. She didn’t sound scared but she sounded needy, desperate. It was just one word but it got his attention immediately. He sat himself up and turned his eyes towards her voice.
“Yeah, that’s what they ca—coño! Goddamn!”
He couldn’t help himself, not usually and face to face with a naked Prom Queen much less. He found himself sputtering and confused. For a second he thought he was dreaming or he had drank drugged water again--he knew he hadn't. He felt his legs shake and his once still heart begin to race. He wanted to look away but he couldn’t. Not from her lips. Not from her stomach. Her thighs. Her chest. Her--
Fuck! Shut the fuck up!
A million thoughts hit his brain—about the island, the danger, the strange feeling that anyone could walk in at any moment. None of the thoughts lasted long in his mind or reached his mouth. It was karmic retribution, right? He had been wanting to be a being of instinct and not think for three days and now at this very moment his instincts were waging war against his sense. He was confused and curious and disbelieving and tantalized.
He didn’t know what the fuck to do or say. So he stayed still. His eyes didn't leave hers--actually fuck, who was he kidding? He wasn't looking at her eyes.
“Wuh-wuh-what are you doing?”
It wasn’t that hard to figure out.
He just was. That was the problem.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
What on earth do you think I'm doing?
She stopped herself before she opened her mouth.
There hadn't been much time to think, mostly because Ivy knew she could easily talk herself out of this given the opportunity. There was one very solid reason to go for it, yes, and a hundred reasons why it was a terrible idea. They were on camera, first of all, and she'd given the solid beginnings of a fuck you to that concept by having stripped in the first place, but if she did die here how comfortable was she with her legacy winding up on Pornhub? And did that matter, if she was dead? It would hardly be her problem. If there was an afterlife she'd be judged for she'd committed enough sins already. What was another for the pile?
They hadn't barricaded the door. She'd closed the back window, but it would be easy enough to open from the outside. The mattress was barely sanitary, and neither were they, for that matter, her makeshift shower be damned. There were probably antiseptic wipes or something in medical kit and she was possessed momentarily by the urge to start sanitizing everything. Was there rubbing alcohol in there? She hadn't checked. God, the things she would do for a bottle of wine.
She had to make a conscious effort not to turn, to cross her arms over her chest, to project a mask of confidence because lord knew Ace wouldn't be capable of taking charge. No one had needed to tell her he was a virgin. One conversation would have told her enough. His immediate panic was—charming, maybe, generously, pathetic, less so. She could settle reasonably on "cute". It was cute. She could appreciate that, maybe, anywhere else, anytime else. Right now, it was a distraction. A feeling.
She wanted to feel as little as possible. Or else she wanted to feel so much she couldn't think.
Either would be enough.
The distance between them felt far longer than it was. She was looking at him, but not really. At the space over his shoulder, maybe, until she was close enough to lower herself to the mattress. Surreal, in the dim light. Close enough to touch him, if her arms weren't suddenly leaden. Lucky that she was more than practiced in the fine art of controlling her expression, puppet strings pulling her face into a smile, somewhere between shy and seductive. Her heartbeat would give her away, if he got closer. When he got closer.
Her hair was a mess, she had no makeup on, her chest was mottled in bruises, she felt as ugly as she ever had in her life. He couldn't know that.
"Hey."
The line between "breathy" and "breathless" was pretty thin. She didn't have the fake the latter to imply the former.
She watched his eyes and wondered if he'd dare to move.
She stopped herself before she opened her mouth.
There hadn't been much time to think, mostly because Ivy knew she could easily talk herself out of this given the opportunity. There was one very solid reason to go for it, yes, and a hundred reasons why it was a terrible idea. They were on camera, first of all, and she'd given the solid beginnings of a fuck you to that concept by having stripped in the first place, but if she did die here how comfortable was she with her legacy winding up on Pornhub? And did that matter, if she was dead? It would hardly be her problem. If there was an afterlife she'd be judged for she'd committed enough sins already. What was another for the pile?
They hadn't barricaded the door. She'd closed the back window, but it would be easy enough to open from the outside. The mattress was barely sanitary, and neither were they, for that matter, her makeshift shower be damned. There were probably antiseptic wipes or something in medical kit and she was possessed momentarily by the urge to start sanitizing everything. Was there rubbing alcohol in there? She hadn't checked. God, the things she would do for a bottle of wine.
She had to make a conscious effort not to turn, to cross her arms over her chest, to project a mask of confidence because lord knew Ace wouldn't be capable of taking charge. No one had needed to tell her he was a virgin. One conversation would have told her enough. His immediate panic was—charming, maybe, generously, pathetic, less so. She could settle reasonably on "cute". It was cute. She could appreciate that, maybe, anywhere else, anytime else. Right now, it was a distraction. A feeling.
She wanted to feel as little as possible. Or else she wanted to feel so much she couldn't think.
Either would be enough.
The distance between them felt far longer than it was. She was looking at him, but not really. At the space over his shoulder, maybe, until she was close enough to lower herself to the mattress. Surreal, in the dim light. Close enough to touch him, if her arms weren't suddenly leaden. Lucky that she was more than practiced in the fine art of controlling her expression, puppet strings pulling her face into a smile, somewhere between shy and seductive. Her heartbeat would give her away, if he got closer. When he got closer.
Her hair was a mess, she had no makeup on, her chest was mottled in bruises, she felt as ugly as she ever had in her life. He couldn't know that.
"Hey."
The line between "breathy" and "breathless" was pretty thin. She didn't have the fake the latter to imply the former.
She watched his eyes and wondered if he'd dare to move.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Was this really happening? She was very very close and very very naked and very very Ivy. What the fuck else could be happening? She didn't look like she wanted to play checkers.
There were certain stereotypes with jocks: that they were all meatheads obsessed with equal parts themselves and the fairer sex. People didn’t come to football players for nuance. Ace had tried his best to avoid that stereotype and for the most part—he did. He lived vicariously through the hedonistic exploits of his teammates and placed himself above all that. He wasn’t a prude (the music and culture he prescribed too was to overtly sexual for that) but he wasn’t some sex crazed teenager either. Right?
He had more self-control than that. Had. What good was self-control now?
He couldn’t help himself. Not when the chips were down. He never could. He knew that about himself, he wasn’t this strong personality. He was far too often prisoner of the moment and a slave to the mood. The only reason he wasn't some party animal was because he knew he couldn't be trusted at the party.
His mind disagreed with him—a thousand reasons that this was wrong. He was a virgin for fucks sake and always imagined his first time being with someone he cared about. He needed to be smart, it was stupid to be trusting Ivy let alone sleeping with her. This was Survival of the Fittest, classmates were killing classmates--he couldn't be thinking with his dick! He couldn't even give his dick a vote! This could be a trick, it likely was, right? It had to be! Ivy had never seriously given him her attention. They were too different, right? He was the boy scout and she was the devil.
That was the thing about the devil though, they wouldn’t be very effective if they weren’t tempting to look at. There was another thing about devils: better the one you know.
He knew Ivy, her aura, her core—he could taste it. They had been together in a space where there was no time. A plane where matter didn't matter, you couldn't fake a connection like that. It would be foolish to say that was just drugs.
The air in the room was thick and time was slow—she was very very close, his leg was shaking. What a loser he was. This was on camera. They could see him, scared and shaking…not over being murdered, over a naked girl. What kind of man was he? It was stupid, he knew, but he felt frustrated all the same. It was just sex, right? And he was about to die. How many people joked about that? Going out with a bang? What did he have to lose? The collar felt tight around his neck.
Nothing.
He had always imagined his first time being with someone he cared about. He had also always imagined playing in the NFL. Funny how life works, huh?
His hand found her knee and then crept upward. She was a lovely distraction, but his mind didn’t want it—his mind wanted to be the rational, gentlemanly, responsible person he pretended to be.
"Hey."
His body disagreed vehemently with his mind and didn't bother playing pretend. His fingers inched up, daring himself and seemingly testing her.
Rah-rah-rah, one night for the rest of his life.
There were certain stereotypes with jocks: that they were all meatheads obsessed with equal parts themselves and the fairer sex. People didn’t come to football players for nuance. Ace had tried his best to avoid that stereotype and for the most part—he did. He lived vicariously through the hedonistic exploits of his teammates and placed himself above all that. He wasn’t a prude (the music and culture he prescribed too was to overtly sexual for that) but he wasn’t some sex crazed teenager either. Right?
He had more self-control than that. Had. What good was self-control now?
He couldn’t help himself. Not when the chips were down. He never could. He knew that about himself, he wasn’t this strong personality. He was far too often prisoner of the moment and a slave to the mood. The only reason he wasn't some party animal was because he knew he couldn't be trusted at the party.
His mind disagreed with him—a thousand reasons that this was wrong. He was a virgin for fucks sake and always imagined his first time being with someone he cared about. He needed to be smart, it was stupid to be trusting Ivy let alone sleeping with her. This was Survival of the Fittest, classmates were killing classmates--he couldn't be thinking with his dick! He couldn't even give his dick a vote! This could be a trick, it likely was, right? It had to be! Ivy had never seriously given him her attention. They were too different, right? He was the boy scout and she was the devil.
That was the thing about the devil though, they wouldn’t be very effective if they weren’t tempting to look at. There was another thing about devils: better the one you know.
He knew Ivy, her aura, her core—he could taste it. They had been together in a space where there was no time. A plane where matter didn't matter, you couldn't fake a connection like that. It would be foolish to say that was just drugs.
The air in the room was thick and time was slow—she was very very close, his leg was shaking. What a loser he was. This was on camera. They could see him, scared and shaking…not over being murdered, over a naked girl. What kind of man was he? It was stupid, he knew, but he felt frustrated all the same. It was just sex, right? And he was about to die. How many people joked about that? Going out with a bang? What did he have to lose? The collar felt tight around his neck.
Nothing.
He had always imagined his first time being with someone he cared about. He had also always imagined playing in the NFL. Funny how life works, huh?
His hand found her knee and then crept upward. She was a lovely distraction, but his mind didn’t want it—his mind wanted to be the rational, gentlemanly, responsible person he pretended to be.
"Hey."
His body disagreed vehemently with his mind and didn't bother playing pretend. His fingers inched up, daring himself and seemingly testing her.
Rah-rah-rah, one night for the rest of his life.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Too late to worry about her heartbeat now. Ivy was certain he could feel it in his fingertips, pulsing through her skin. Honestly, she was surprised that she had touched her at all, half-resigned as she was to letting him stare blankly at her for a mental eternity before she gave up on him entirely and took matters into her own hands. She supposed she might have had more faith in him. It wasn't like it mattered, much, the result would be the same so long as he didn't push her away, and if he did at that point the rest was irrelevant because she might well die of embarrassment on the spot.
It could have happened. He seemed so noble, so pure, so good, if anyone on the island would be too interested in protecting the sanctity of a relationship with no future it might well be him. The I have a girlfriend wave-off would have been the final nail in her coffin, a cementation of her fears, she hadn't thought that far ahead, she was confident, she was nervous, yes, but she was at least confident that he wouldn't stop her.
Because she had heard his regrets. Because she knew what he wanted and had never had. Because she offered a sick sort of salvation, and that was enough. It had to be enough.
Because she knew him in a bone-deep way she couldn't explain with words. Since that first night, since she memorized the taste of his lips, and it was all so stupid, wasn't it? Fake emotions dredged up by chemicals she hadn't known she was taking still wrapped up her heart, it was an argument she had to have with herself when she knew it was fake but it felt so, so real, so viscerally real that she could still see the glow in his eyes now, when she looked hard enough, when she wanted it to be there, like a reminder that this was safe, that he was safe.
Lies on lies.
But she shivered as his hand dragged up her skin, still.
She didn't want to think about this. She didn't want to think about him. He could have been anyone. She tried to convince herself, staring into his eyes, a dim light flickering behind them, that she would feel the same way no matter what. That it was purely transactional. That no part of her wanted this. That she didn't need, as much as she needed reassurance, as much as she needed safety, to forget, for one moment. That she didn't want her mind wiped clean, but it didn't matter, what she wanted, she needed him, she needed to live—
She was breathing too hard. She felt it echoing her ears and he had to hear it, too. She muffled her breath against his lips, pushing suddenly against him, thought suppressed by sensation, her hands found fabric and wandered under. Basketball shorts were terribly convenient in their elasticity.
She felt his heartbeat, his breath. They were alive. They were so alive.
Thoughts poking in at the edges, blood and bone. She pushed them away and kissed him harder.
It could have happened. He seemed so noble, so pure, so good, if anyone on the island would be too interested in protecting the sanctity of a relationship with no future it might well be him. The I have a girlfriend wave-off would have been the final nail in her coffin, a cementation of her fears, she hadn't thought that far ahead, she was confident, she was nervous, yes, but she was at least confident that he wouldn't stop her.
Because she had heard his regrets. Because she knew what he wanted and had never had. Because she offered a sick sort of salvation, and that was enough. It had to be enough.
Because she knew him in a bone-deep way she couldn't explain with words. Since that first night, since she memorized the taste of his lips, and it was all so stupid, wasn't it? Fake emotions dredged up by chemicals she hadn't known she was taking still wrapped up her heart, it was an argument she had to have with herself when she knew it was fake but it felt so, so real, so viscerally real that she could still see the glow in his eyes now, when she looked hard enough, when she wanted it to be there, like a reminder that this was safe, that he was safe.
Lies on lies.
But she shivered as his hand dragged up her skin, still.
She didn't want to think about this. She didn't want to think about him. He could have been anyone. She tried to convince herself, staring into his eyes, a dim light flickering behind them, that she would feel the same way no matter what. That it was purely transactional. That no part of her wanted this. That she didn't need, as much as she needed reassurance, as much as she needed safety, to forget, for one moment. That she didn't want her mind wiped clean, but it didn't matter, what she wanted, she needed him, she needed to live—
She was breathing too hard. She felt it echoing her ears and he had to hear it, too. She muffled her breath against his lips, pushing suddenly against him, thought suppressed by sensation, her hands found fabric and wandered under. Basketball shorts were terribly convenient in their elasticity.
She felt his heartbeat, his breath. They were alive. They were so alive.
Thoughts poking in at the edges, blood and bone. She pushed them away and kissed him harder.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."