The village had, evidently, been the correct choice.
>> Apollonia "Nia" Karahalios continued from Lachesism
Of course it was easy to call it the correct choice with the benefit of hindsight, as none of Nia's fears about taking the obvious road to a likely-populated destination had come to pass. There were no marauders attempting to steal their supplies from roadside, no snipers hidden in the trees. There was every possibility of those events taking place, but it became clear fairly quickly as they began their trek southward that she had been all too correct about her own shortcomings. Traversing any terrain more difficult than a straight dirt path would be practically impossible with the weight she was carrying and with one arm occupied with tending to Alexander. As it were, she still found herself forced to take multiple breaks on the road, and had finished a bottle of water in the process besides. Alexander himself seemed grateful for the breaks; he was hardly in peak condition himself, though he likely could have pushed through a bit longer than her. He was out of shape, certainly, but her less obvious disabilities were all her own.
There were options when they finally reached the village, and the urge to limp into the nearest hovel was high, but she was intrigued by the largest building on the map. A commissary implied a few facts. First, that there had likely been food at one point, though most had probably been stolen by the animal population or removed by the terrorists. The possibility of some nonperishables surviving was not to be discounted, however. Secondly, there would be supplies used to prepare said food; again, the terrorists had likely removed the most interesting possibilities (she imagined it unlikely that they had left knives behind, or else what was the point in arming some students so poorly?), but a sturdy pan would do as a bludgeon in a pinch. And thirdly, thought it was not necessarily the case, the size of the building implied that it was likely used for storage to some degree. It was quite possible that any number of items useful to someone intelligent and crafty has been left behind due to their non-obvious viability. At the very least the building would likely contain more of use than the small homes scattered about, though it might be worth checking if one of them could be secured well enough to use as a shelter come nightfall.
The doors were open when they arrived. Nia was cautious, her map returned to her pocket, her free hand on her gun, but she heard nothing, and slowly slipped inside, closing the door behind them. There were tables. Benches. She had come here to check for supplies and to quickly find somewhere more defensible to rest, but there was something suddenly overwhelming about the feeling of having four walls around her and a roof over her head.
She took the few steps necessary to reach the nearest table, dropped her bags, squeezed Alexander's arm, and collapsed onto a bench.
Rigor Samsa
A kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties, but always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time—and will keep growing back again and again, until you develop a more sophisticated emotional structure, held up by a strong and flexible spine, built less like a fortress than a cluster of treehouses.
Rigor Samsa
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
“Wh-Who’s there!?” Came the shrill scream from behind a different bench to the one Nia had collapsed behind, further into the room. “I’ve got hedge clippers, and I’m not afraid to use them!”
A pair of blades, meeting at the tip, poked out from behind the bench. They waved side to side in an uncoordinated manner, before coming to a sharp stop. There was a moment, before they were followed by the tip of a dark brown ponytail, then a forehead, then finally a pair of brown eyes behind a pair of large red glasses.
((Lizzie Lebowski begins her routine))
Lizzie didn’t like to wear her glasses. Many people at George Hunter High might’ve been surprised to find out that she even needed a pair. It was only due to a mild astigmatism, but it did give her a headache from time to time, and at times like that she’d sucked it up and put them on when she’d got home. It was hard to really explain why she didn’t like to wear them, considering that she was someone who’d go the opposite way to trying to look cooler, but it was the truth. Perhaps it was the idea that she had to would have to rely on them that put her off.
But this was a life or death situation, and all she had was a pair of hedge clippers. Just being able to see that little bit better had been the first thing she’d made happen. Just so that she had done something.
As she stood up straight, due to not having her head blown off immediately, she got a good look at the other two in the room. Alex and…she wasn’t sure? It was hard to miss Alex, being The Blind Kid with an adorable dog and all, but the other one kept to herself a lot. Neither seemed outwardly dangerous, and neither appeared to have a gun or anything else that beat her botanical blades. She could breathe, just a little.
There was an awkward moment. She wanted to apologise, but for what? She hadn’t been trying to hurt anyone, she had just been making her position clear. She was allowed to not throw herself on the mercy of anyone who came in the room, right? This wasn’t exactly high school; this was Survival of the Fittest.
Ok, bad analogy.
“Sorry.” She finally said. She’d rather get along with these people than not, she decided, and again, they didn’t seem to be an immediate threat to her. No reason to spook them. “Are you guys ok?”
She looked at Nia, then at Alex. Wait, they seriously put the blind kid in this thing too? And she thought things couldn’t get any more fucked up.
A pair of blades, meeting at the tip, poked out from behind the bench. They waved side to side in an uncoordinated manner, before coming to a sharp stop. There was a moment, before they were followed by the tip of a dark brown ponytail, then a forehead, then finally a pair of brown eyes behind a pair of large red glasses.
((Lizzie Lebowski begins her routine))
Lizzie didn’t like to wear her glasses. Many people at George Hunter High might’ve been surprised to find out that she even needed a pair. It was only due to a mild astigmatism, but it did give her a headache from time to time, and at times like that she’d sucked it up and put them on when she’d got home. It was hard to really explain why she didn’t like to wear them, considering that she was someone who’d go the opposite way to trying to look cooler, but it was the truth. Perhaps it was the idea that she had to would have to rely on them that put her off.
But this was a life or death situation, and all she had was a pair of hedge clippers. Just being able to see that little bit better had been the first thing she’d made happen. Just so that she had done something.
As she stood up straight, due to not having her head blown off immediately, she got a good look at the other two in the room. Alex and…she wasn’t sure? It was hard to miss Alex, being The Blind Kid with an adorable dog and all, but the other one kept to herself a lot. Neither seemed outwardly dangerous, and neither appeared to have a gun or anything else that beat her botanical blades. She could breathe, just a little.
There was an awkward moment. She wanted to apologise, but for what? She hadn’t been trying to hurt anyone, she had just been making her position clear. She was allowed to not throw herself on the mercy of anyone who came in the room, right? This wasn’t exactly high school; this was Survival of the Fittest.
Ok, bad analogy.
“Sorry.” She finally said. She’d rather get along with these people than not, she decided, and again, they didn’t seem to be an immediate threat to her. No reason to spook them. “Are you guys ok?”
She looked at Nia, then at Alex. Wait, they seriously put the blind kid in this thing too? And she thought things couldn’t get any more fucked up.
((At last, structure.))
The trek off the beach had been straightforward enough. Nia was a perfectly fine guide, even without the ability to warn Alexander about upcoming obstacles. It was, as always, slightly awkward at first to be in such close proximity as a stranger; but they had settled into a comfortable pace as they traveled down the road and his reservations - entirely obsolete for the drastic occasion - had faded. There was no such thing as a good day to die, but at least it was nice weather for a walk. Overheating a bit, he had unbuttoned his shirt.
Once they had reached their destination, Nia had palm-written "T-O-W-N" and lead them into a building. Alexander gingerly sat next to her on the bench. It was refreshing to be sitting on something other than sand, and If worst came to worst and they parted ways here, at least he'd have some possibility of navigating around the village by himself. Walls would have to be his friend until he could find a replacement for his cane.
Alexander flinched at the sudden scream, instinctively bracing himself for impact. "We're peaceful!" He'd shouted, though he couldn't speak for Nia and her gun. Thankfully, the newcomer soon apologized, and all was relatively well. He couldn't place her voice, but that honestly applied to the majority of the student body he didn't have a personal connection to.
"We're doing about as well as can be expected. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?" He didn't want to be speaking for Nia, but at least she still had ways of making her displeasure known if he'd said something she disagreed with.
A third person. This complicated things, somewhat. Alexander had instinctively reverted back to 'we' - he and Nia versus this stranger. Would Nia see it the same way, though? Would she leap at the chance to partner with someone who could actually see? He wouldn't blame her if she did - she certainly didn't have much reason to be loyal to him. Still, though, Alexander hoped she'd stay, at least for a while longer. They'd worked well together so far, however one-sided their partnership had been.
The trek off the beach had been straightforward enough. Nia was a perfectly fine guide, even without the ability to warn Alexander about upcoming obstacles. It was, as always, slightly awkward at first to be in such close proximity as a stranger; but they had settled into a comfortable pace as they traveled down the road and his reservations - entirely obsolete for the drastic occasion - had faded. There was no such thing as a good day to die, but at least it was nice weather for a walk. Overheating a bit, he had unbuttoned his shirt.
Once they had reached their destination, Nia had palm-written "T-O-W-N" and lead them into a building. Alexander gingerly sat next to her on the bench. It was refreshing to be sitting on something other than sand, and If worst came to worst and they parted ways here, at least he'd have some possibility of navigating around the village by himself. Walls would have to be his friend until he could find a replacement for his cane.
Alexander flinched at the sudden scream, instinctively bracing himself for impact. "We're peaceful!" He'd shouted, though he couldn't speak for Nia and her gun. Thankfully, the newcomer soon apologized, and all was relatively well. He couldn't place her voice, but that honestly applied to the majority of the student body he didn't have a personal connection to.
"We're doing about as well as can be expected. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?" He didn't want to be speaking for Nia, but at least she still had ways of making her displeasure known if he'd said something she disagreed with.
A third person. This complicated things, somewhat. Alexander had instinctively reverted back to 'we' - he and Nia versus this stranger. Would Nia see it the same way, though? Would she leap at the chance to partner with someone who could actually see? He wouldn't blame her if she did - she certainly didn't have much reason to be loyal to him. Still, though, Alexander hoped she'd stay, at least for a while longer. They'd worked well together so far, however one-sided their partnership had been.
The other girl noticed Nia first. An inexcusable oversight. Hardly a point in chastising herself for it after the fact, and perhaps inevitable in the wake of her own exhaustion, but she should have at least searched the room, if not the building, before allowing herself rest. Alexander was able to act more quickly with words than she was with action. Her reflexes weren't a strong suit of hers at the best of times, and this was clearly the worst of them, in more than the existential sense of the phrase. Her muscles seemed to pulse with the beat of her heart. By the time she thought to actually put her hand on her gun, she had already gotten a good enough look at the interloper to know doing so was likely unnecessary.
This girl. Nia thought she knew her name, knew she had introduced herself, but had not considered that information pertinent. This was because she had introduced herself in the context of what could loosely be referred to as a "comedic performance" that had been the final straw in convincing Nia that perhaps the computer lab was the best place to spend her lunch hour. This girl was a clown, and an incompetent one at that. Or perhaps that was unfair; Nia's sense of humor, such as it was, was unusual, so her perception of competency in that field was likely biased. Not necessarily incompetent, then. But certainly a clown.
The hedge clippers she carried were not unduly frightening, at least not in her hands. Nia was reasonably certain if she wished to attack the two of them seriously, she would have already done so. They looked dangerous regardless, and the likelihood was that at some point someone more willing to use them would take them, probably from her corpse. She wondered idly if the more pacifistic residents of the island could be convinced to pitch their weapons into the sea. As the island's body count racked up, inevitably the arsenals of the most dangerous students would become vast. The simplest way to avoid that was to prevent the students most likely to become cannon fodder from carrying weapons in the first place.
This was all both speculative and highly unlikely to come to anything, but she frankly had no interest in talking to this girl. She had helpfully announced her weapon aloud, such that Nia didn't feel compelled to warn Alexander about it. He, for his part, was perfectly charming and sociable, which was an advantage to having him as an ally that she had not properly considered. He wasn't particularly popular or extroverted, as far as she was aware, but he was capable of graces that she was not by dint of both his working vocal cords and his apparent capacity for patience that she had always lacked. "We," again, too—notable, though she felt at this point she would need to wait for a clearer pattern to emerge before she made a definitive statement, considering how his wording had changed several times already.
She squeezed his hand and wrote another set of letters into his palm—"L-O-O-K-S-U-P-P-L-I-E-S." A pause. "S-T-A-Y." And with that, and a withering glance cast at the girl as she stood, she moved into the next room, with her hand firmly set on her pistol. It occurred to her a moment later that if her instincts were entirely wrong, if she did intend to attack him, she was leaving him entirely defenseless. That would be unfortunate. She was starting to like him.
She didn't break stride.
This girl. Nia thought she knew her name, knew she had introduced herself, but had not considered that information pertinent. This was because she had introduced herself in the context of what could loosely be referred to as a "comedic performance" that had been the final straw in convincing Nia that perhaps the computer lab was the best place to spend her lunch hour. This girl was a clown, and an incompetent one at that. Or perhaps that was unfair; Nia's sense of humor, such as it was, was unusual, so her perception of competency in that field was likely biased. Not necessarily incompetent, then. But certainly a clown.
The hedge clippers she carried were not unduly frightening, at least not in her hands. Nia was reasonably certain if she wished to attack the two of them seriously, she would have already done so. They looked dangerous regardless, and the likelihood was that at some point someone more willing to use them would take them, probably from her corpse. She wondered idly if the more pacifistic residents of the island could be convinced to pitch their weapons into the sea. As the island's body count racked up, inevitably the arsenals of the most dangerous students would become vast. The simplest way to avoid that was to prevent the students most likely to become cannon fodder from carrying weapons in the first place.
This was all both speculative and highly unlikely to come to anything, but she frankly had no interest in talking to this girl. She had helpfully announced her weapon aloud, such that Nia didn't feel compelled to warn Alexander about it. He, for his part, was perfectly charming and sociable, which was an advantage to having him as an ally that she had not properly considered. He wasn't particularly popular or extroverted, as far as she was aware, but he was capable of graces that she was not by dint of both his working vocal cords and his apparent capacity for patience that she had always lacked. "We," again, too—notable, though she felt at this point she would need to wait for a clearer pattern to emerge before she made a definitive statement, considering how his wording had changed several times already.
She squeezed his hand and wrote another set of letters into his palm—"L-O-O-K-S-U-P-P-L-I-E-S." A pause. "S-T-A-Y." And with that, and a withering glance cast at the girl as she stood, she moved into the next room, with her hand firmly set on her pistol. It occurred to her a moment later that if her instincts were entirely wrong, if she did intend to attack him, she was leaving him entirely defenseless. That would be unfortunate. She was starting to like him.
She didn't break stride.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
-
General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
At least the knife was pretty cool. There was that.
And honestly, that was the best thing to have happened to Nick in quite a few days. Not that the competition was exactly great. The status of a social pariah - half self-imposed as a defensive mechanism, half the result of seemingly everyone he knew siding with Ivy and Myles or Tristan and Beryl - did not suit him. Nor did the school trip to a stuffy and pretentious cesspit of inequality and corruption, a trip that he was sure his siblings would have gotten far more mileage out of. And of course, getting abducted and sentenced to a perverse death game by a crowd of sanctimonious terrorists was, perhaps, the shit icing on the turd cake.
Okay, no, that was definitely the worst thing. But Nick didn't even have the luxury of knowing that his freshest memories of life before all this were...well, worth remembering. It was a shitty period in his life and the sole consolation was the prospect that maybe, just maybe, he'd end up being a completely different person once he matured with less destructive foibles and enough separation from this whole saga to not feel personally accountable for every vexatious detail. But nope. He wasn't going to get that either.
He was going to die.
What had the Chief Cunt said? Some shit about grudges? Because a lot of people had grudges against Nick. They were shitty grudges, sure, but given the context, quantity over quality.
He hadn't even had the energy to strop and mope and vent and scream at the heavens. He'd already done all that. He'd already gone through every single option he had for healthily - and unhealthily - getting to grips with extreme emotional stresses, every single way that he could release some steam and expunge his anger, every single method of expiation or coping mechanism that he was a big enough man to commit to. Nick had wasted all of that energy on dealing with problems that now - he had to admit - seemed inexplicably petty in comparison.
Which was a sense of perspective that just made him feel worse.
The knife, at least, was cool.
((Nick Ogilvie's journey begins))
He had been wandering around the village. Nick had developed quite a talent for avoiding any and all social interaction in the past few days, before getting kidnapped, so hey. That's a survival skill. Something he had going for him.
His mind had been ruminating upon how this had happened. He didn't bother with the why - he had learnt time and time again that understanding his own motivations was a task well beyond his skill-set, let alone the motivations of others. But he had some thoughts on the how. Bullshit thoughts, probably, but it was a good mental exercise for Nick. A chance for him to flex his mind muscles, stay sharp, not let himself sink too low into the tempting depths of depression and apathy that were rather seductive and enticing at this point.
But he wanted to sit down. He saw Nia and Alexander enter a place. A big building. They seemed like a safeish pair to stumble into. At the very least he could take Alex in a fight.
Awful thought, but true. He wasn't Daredevil or Kenshi or that guy from the WWZ book, after all. Probably.
Nick, holding the dagger in an ice pick grip because fiction had taught him that was a cool-looking way to hold a stabbing implement, picked up his bag, waited a few minutes, and followed them in.
"Hello?" he announced, as he stepped past the threshold.
If it was a trap, at least it'd be quick.
And honestly, that was the best thing to have happened to Nick in quite a few days. Not that the competition was exactly great. The status of a social pariah - half self-imposed as a defensive mechanism, half the result of seemingly everyone he knew siding with Ivy and Myles or Tristan and Beryl - did not suit him. Nor did the school trip to a stuffy and pretentious cesspit of inequality and corruption, a trip that he was sure his siblings would have gotten far more mileage out of. And of course, getting abducted and sentenced to a perverse death game by a crowd of sanctimonious terrorists was, perhaps, the shit icing on the turd cake.
Okay, no, that was definitely the worst thing. But Nick didn't even have the luxury of knowing that his freshest memories of life before all this were...well, worth remembering. It was a shitty period in his life and the sole consolation was the prospect that maybe, just maybe, he'd end up being a completely different person once he matured with less destructive foibles and enough separation from this whole saga to not feel personally accountable for every vexatious detail. But nope. He wasn't going to get that either.
He was going to die.
What had the Chief Cunt said? Some shit about grudges? Because a lot of people had grudges against Nick. They were shitty grudges, sure, but given the context, quantity over quality.
He hadn't even had the energy to strop and mope and vent and scream at the heavens. He'd already done all that. He'd already gone through every single option he had for healthily - and unhealthily - getting to grips with extreme emotional stresses, every single way that he could release some steam and expunge his anger, every single method of expiation or coping mechanism that he was a big enough man to commit to. Nick had wasted all of that energy on dealing with problems that now - he had to admit - seemed inexplicably petty in comparison.
Which was a sense of perspective that just made him feel worse.
The knife, at least, was cool.
((Nick Ogilvie's journey begins))
He had been wandering around the village. Nick had developed quite a talent for avoiding any and all social interaction in the past few days, before getting kidnapped, so hey. That's a survival skill. Something he had going for him.
His mind had been ruminating upon how this had happened. He didn't bother with the why - he had learnt time and time again that understanding his own motivations was a task well beyond his skill-set, let alone the motivations of others. But he had some thoughts on the how. Bullshit thoughts, probably, but it was a good mental exercise for Nick. A chance for him to flex his mind muscles, stay sharp, not let himself sink too low into the tempting depths of depression and apathy that were rather seductive and enticing at this point.
But he wanted to sit down. He saw Nia and Alexander enter a place. A big building. They seemed like a safeish pair to stumble into. At the very least he could take Alex in a fight.
Awful thought, but true. He wasn't Daredevil or Kenshi or that guy from the WWZ book, after all. Probably.
Nick, holding the dagger in an ice pick grip because fiction had taught him that was a cool-looking way to hold a stabbing implement, picked up his bag, waited a few minutes, and followed them in.
"Hello?" he announced, as he stepped past the threshold.
If it was a trap, at least it'd be quick.
“It’s Lizzie. Lizzie Lebowski.” Lizzie said, making sure to speak loud and clear as if Alex’s ears didn’t work too. She smiled at him, for whatever it was worth, and at Nia too as she passed him by. Not that she got much in response, but she still wanted to make friends if they weren’t the murdering type.
She would’ve made another effort at breaking the ice with Nia, had she not oh so politely indicated her fuck-off firearm. That shot Lizzie’s hands into a ‘Don’t shoot!’ upright position, giving her plenty of space as she left and for a good few seconds after. She had not seen a gun before, and the sight of the grip that Nia was doing her best to make obvious had done its job of sending her into a defensive pose.
She had a feeling they weren’t going to get along after all.
Disheartened, but not down and out. She turned back to Alex, and would’ve had a chat with him if Nick hadn’t shown up.
“Hello?” she asked back, lifting up her garden shears, just to shoulder height, in a newly gained reflex. “Nick? It's me, Lizzie."
Another boy she recognised. She had a habit of remembering anyone with a sense of humour, and Nick had seemed nice enough from when they’d exchanged words over the years. Not the worst person to walk through the door, by any stretch.
Or he wouldn’t have been, if he hadn’t been holding his knife in plain view and seemed a heck of a lot larger than she remembered. Rather than gulp, as her comedic antics had long taught her to do, she found her throat clenching up as the non-comedic nature of the situation reared its head. She gripped the handles of her shears tighter.
“I, uh, I think yours looks sharper than mine.”
She would’ve made another effort at breaking the ice with Nia, had she not oh so politely indicated her fuck-off firearm. That shot Lizzie’s hands into a ‘Don’t shoot!’ upright position, giving her plenty of space as she left and for a good few seconds after. She had not seen a gun before, and the sight of the grip that Nia was doing her best to make obvious had done its job of sending her into a defensive pose.
She had a feeling they weren’t going to get along after all.
Disheartened, but not down and out. She turned back to Alex, and would’ve had a chat with him if Nick hadn’t shown up.
“Hello?” she asked back, lifting up her garden shears, just to shoulder height, in a newly gained reflex. “Nick? It's me, Lizzie."
Another boy she recognised. She had a habit of remembering anyone with a sense of humour, and Nick had seemed nice enough from when they’d exchanged words over the years. Not the worst person to walk through the door, by any stretch.
Or he wouldn’t have been, if he hadn’t been holding his knife in plain view and seemed a heck of a lot larger than she remembered. Rather than gulp, as her comedic antics had long taught her to do, she found her throat clenching up as the non-comedic nature of the situation reared its head. She gripped the handles of her shears tighter.
“I, uh, I think yours looks sharper than mine.”
Tch. 'Stay.' What was Alexander, a small child, liable to wander off the moment he was unsupervised? It was petty of him, especially since Nia was taking the initiative to scavenge their surroundings, but after being left alone with Lizzie he felt he had the right to a certain amount of private irritation. Lord, did she always speak that loud? At least she had the decency to introduce herself; as little as her name meant to him.
While he was mentally preparing himself for further diplomacy with the girl, a second unfamiliar voice made himself known. Alexander didn't mind meeting new people, but the island wasn't exactly the time to be expanding his social network. Would it have killed the terrorists to have, say, placed Alexander next to one of his bandmates?
At least Lizzie saved him the trouble of asking Nick's name. Was she the sociable type? That could be useful; especially as it sounded like their visitor was carrying something more worrisome than a pair of shears. He hoped Nia and her gun weren't too far away.
Alexander clasped his hands together, resting them in his lap. "Welcome, Nick. Would you terribly mind telling me what you're carrying, just so we're all on the same level?" The boy had made his presence known; so hopefully he wasn't particularly inclined to answer that question in a pointed fashion by, say, introducing its point into Alexander's chest. He cracked a small smile at his own pun, which was preferable to thinking about its implications.
While he was mentally preparing himself for further diplomacy with the girl, a second unfamiliar voice made himself known. Alexander didn't mind meeting new people, but the island wasn't exactly the time to be expanding his social network. Would it have killed the terrorists to have, say, placed Alexander next to one of his bandmates?
At least Lizzie saved him the trouble of asking Nick's name. Was she the sociable type? That could be useful; especially as it sounded like their visitor was carrying something more worrisome than a pair of shears. He hoped Nia and her gun weren't too far away.
Alexander clasped his hands together, resting them in his lap. "Welcome, Nick. Would you terribly mind telling me what you're carrying, just so we're all on the same level?" The boy had made his presence known; so hopefully he wasn't particularly inclined to answer that question in a pointed fashion by, say, introducing its point into Alexander's chest. He cracked a small smile at his own pun, which was preferable to thinking about its implications.
The door from the dining hall-esque area lead directly to the kitchen. It had been open, which Nia didn't put too much stock into; it very well could have meant there had been others here previously, but it was fairly obvious from a quick look that no one was present now, though she kept one hand on her pistol regardless. It was just as possible that it had been left open for years by the island's prior occupants, or even by the terrorists themselves. She closed the door behind her so she'd have a bit more warning if the girl and her garden shears chose to make trouble for her.
At any rate, the kitchen was an absolute disaster, its contents strewn about wildly. There were in fact a number of sturdy-looking kitchen utensils that might be useful as weapons; Nia picked up a heavy-bottomed saucepan and swung it to test its weight. Perhaps worth saving. She had wanted to do some more thorough searching, but so long as she and Alexander were not the only pair present she didn't feel safe enough to spend too much time here. Once a proper line of dialogue was established and Nia was more certain the girl didn't mean them harm—leaving her alone with a boy perhaps as defenseless as anyone could be was an excellent test case for that—she could return.
There was another door here, also ajar, meriting another moment of caution before Nia stepped inside. It appeared her hunch as to the secondary usage of this building was correct. A satisfied smirk flitted over her features for a fraction of a second before they returned to neutral.
The storeroom was, if anything, even more of a disaster than the kitchen. It appeared to her like the end result of the proverbial bull in a china shop, or perhaps an overgrown toddler throwing a full-tilt tantrum. If there had once been a measure of order to the storage system here it was no longer evident. Irritating, obviously, but possible to overcome with patience and time, two things she did not possess at the moment. Ideally she would want someone guarding the door while she searched, but that would require a measure of trust she did not expect to possess for the rest of her life. Alternatively she could guard the door herself, but it wasn't as if she could have Alexander search the storeroom, and it wasn't as if she wanted to be around the other girl for longer than was absolutely necessary.
Her search here, then, was preliminary, as she made notes to herself as to what might be worth returning to. There were some cans of food that may or may not still be consumable, a number of household goods that may or may not be of any use. The most salient purpose of her initial lookaround was to find something Alexander might use as a cane, such that he wouldn't be so obviously reliant on her; holding his arm for so long had been frankly an uncomfortably intimate experience that she would prefer not to repeat. Of course, despite everything in the storeroom, she couldn't find anything that quite fit the bill. There were a number of long, thin objects of various uses, but they were too thick, too heavy, too long, too short.
Nia exhaled sharply in frustration after a few minutes of searching. She had, in her efforts, come up with a stack of construction paper and some fine-tipped markers; arts and crafts supplies, she imagined, but communicating with others outside of Alexander would require pen and paper, and extras would always come in handy. She tucked them under her left arm, leaving the right still free for her gun. But she had nothing to give Alexander, not that he had any reason to be disappointed, as she hadn't alerted him of her plan in the first place. She left the storeroom, leaving the door open behind her, and immediately realized the very obvious as soon as she stepped into the kitchen and glanced at the lone window on the far wall.
The curtain rod. Obviously. About five feet long, thin, apparently wooden, though she couldn't tell for certain if it wasn't a design on a metal bar without actually touching it. A touch thicker than a cane ought to be, and perhaps a touch too short, but obviously a huge improvement over most anything else Alexander could have hoped to improvise.
She glanced around, looking for something she could use to knock it down as it was about a foot out of reach, when she heard something unfamiliar from the dining room.
No real use in attempting to reach something to help Alexander if he might be dead, was there? There was a moment of temptation, of weighing the odds, of considering whether it might be better to leave through the window rather than returning to a potentially dangerous situation, but there was not enough evidence to support her mounting paranoia versus the obvious disadvantages of leaving her supplies behind. She hadn't heard a gunshot or screaming. Worse case scenario someone pointed a gun at her. She would be happy to point hers back.
She opened the door, assessing the situation with an unblinking eye. She knew Nick Ogilive. Vaguely. That was irrelevant. What was relevant was that he was far larger than any of them and currently equipped with a knife far more lethal than the girl's garden shears.
She didn't feel particularly sorry for leveling the gun at him. She hoped the way she tilted her head was a clear enough invitation to explain himself, as she certainly didn't plan to drop her weapon long enough to write an explanation.
At any rate, the kitchen was an absolute disaster, its contents strewn about wildly. There were in fact a number of sturdy-looking kitchen utensils that might be useful as weapons; Nia picked up a heavy-bottomed saucepan and swung it to test its weight. Perhaps worth saving. She had wanted to do some more thorough searching, but so long as she and Alexander were not the only pair present she didn't feel safe enough to spend too much time here. Once a proper line of dialogue was established and Nia was more certain the girl didn't mean them harm—leaving her alone with a boy perhaps as defenseless as anyone could be was an excellent test case for that—she could return.
There was another door here, also ajar, meriting another moment of caution before Nia stepped inside. It appeared her hunch as to the secondary usage of this building was correct. A satisfied smirk flitted over her features for a fraction of a second before they returned to neutral.
The storeroom was, if anything, even more of a disaster than the kitchen. It appeared to her like the end result of the proverbial bull in a china shop, or perhaps an overgrown toddler throwing a full-tilt tantrum. If there had once been a measure of order to the storage system here it was no longer evident. Irritating, obviously, but possible to overcome with patience and time, two things she did not possess at the moment. Ideally she would want someone guarding the door while she searched, but that would require a measure of trust she did not expect to possess for the rest of her life. Alternatively she could guard the door herself, but it wasn't as if she could have Alexander search the storeroom, and it wasn't as if she wanted to be around the other girl for longer than was absolutely necessary.
Her search here, then, was preliminary, as she made notes to herself as to what might be worth returning to. There were some cans of food that may or may not still be consumable, a number of household goods that may or may not be of any use. The most salient purpose of her initial lookaround was to find something Alexander might use as a cane, such that he wouldn't be so obviously reliant on her; holding his arm for so long had been frankly an uncomfortably intimate experience that she would prefer not to repeat. Of course, despite everything in the storeroom, she couldn't find anything that quite fit the bill. There were a number of long, thin objects of various uses, but they were too thick, too heavy, too long, too short.
Nia exhaled sharply in frustration after a few minutes of searching. She had, in her efforts, come up with a stack of construction paper and some fine-tipped markers; arts and crafts supplies, she imagined, but communicating with others outside of Alexander would require pen and paper, and extras would always come in handy. She tucked them under her left arm, leaving the right still free for her gun. But she had nothing to give Alexander, not that he had any reason to be disappointed, as she hadn't alerted him of her plan in the first place. She left the storeroom, leaving the door open behind her, and immediately realized the very obvious as soon as she stepped into the kitchen and glanced at the lone window on the far wall.
The curtain rod. Obviously. About five feet long, thin, apparently wooden, though she couldn't tell for certain if it wasn't a design on a metal bar without actually touching it. A touch thicker than a cane ought to be, and perhaps a touch too short, but obviously a huge improvement over most anything else Alexander could have hoped to improvise.
She glanced around, looking for something she could use to knock it down as it was about a foot out of reach, when she heard something unfamiliar from the dining room.
No real use in attempting to reach something to help Alexander if he might be dead, was there? There was a moment of temptation, of weighing the odds, of considering whether it might be better to leave through the window rather than returning to a potentially dangerous situation, but there was not enough evidence to support her mounting paranoia versus the obvious disadvantages of leaving her supplies behind. She hadn't heard a gunshot or screaming. Worse case scenario someone pointed a gun at her. She would be happy to point hers back.
She opened the door, assessing the situation with an unblinking eye. She knew Nick Ogilive. Vaguely. That was irrelevant. What was relevant was that he was far larger than any of them and currently equipped with a knife far more lethal than the girl's garden shears.
She didn't feel particularly sorry for leveling the gun at him. She hoped the way she tilted her head was a clear enough invitation to explain himself, as she certainly didn't plan to drop her weapon long enough to write an explanation.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
Before Nick could do the polite and reasoned explanation, Nia - who had apparently been elsewhere in the building, likely doing some foraging for supplies or improvised tools, as made sense in a commissary - returned and pointed the gun at him. Nick froze. His lips had already parted, in the process of explaining himself and beginning a more reasoned conversation, but staring down a gun made his mind temporarily blank.
When his wits returned to him, his survival instinct told him that talking was probably what was expected of him. There were still extant questions, questions that he had been too bedraggled and disoriented to answer in good time, questions that, if he answered with his own characteristic brand of charm and good humour, would hopefully go some way towards moderating the situation.
The thought came to his mind that the potential for misdirection here was immense. They were all preoccupied with the knife; he was preoccupied with the gun. It was an interesting thought, made the more interesting by how the blind man in the room would not have his other senses distracted in the slightest, but it was academic. Still, it was enough of a diversion from the paralysing peril of imminent death to allow Nick to think with some clarity and try and be reasonable in the situation.
"I...uh. Am gonna raise my hands?" Nick's Scottish accent was thick. He was putting it on even thicker than usual, the rather muted Edinburgh dialect transmogrifying into something harsher, every word pinched and curtly articulated to muffle the fear and despair that otherwise might have slipped out. Thankfully it allowed him to keep his voice fairly steady on the whole, even if it was likely a little bit harder to discern. "I mean, I think that's the done thing when a gun's pointed at ya. Not that I'd know. This is a first for me." He'd always imagined his first time would be in rehearsing that whole 'catch a bullet with your teeth' trick. More recently, he'd suspected that his first time on the business end of a firearm would be because of a scorned lover because Nick was racking them up with some efficiency.
Letting the proposal sit in the room for a bit before he acted upon it, just in case there was an objection, he raised his hands. The dagger remained in that grip, but his bag slumped onto the floor. Nick kissed his teeth, trying to keep a cool head. His beard, too, was being immensely helpful right now. It concealed his quivering lower lip and his occasional move to grind his teeth as flashes of the severity of this situation - and all the regrets about his life and mourning for opportunities missed - passed through his mind.
He understood the fear of him. His weapon looked scary. It looked scarier than a gun, even though they all surely knew that wasn't the case. He was bigger than any of them. That, too, was scary. Plus, Nick had a reputation. Even if they didn't know him well - which would make pointing a gun at him even more justifiable - they might well have caught wind of that.
"I am...to answer Alex's question, holding a sort of twisted looking dagger thing. I am sure there is a technical name for it. I do not know it. I'm not sure how I would go about finding that out." He looked at Alex as he answered the question, unsure if instincts such as eye contact applied in this case, but following them anyway. Plus, looking away from the gun helped reduce the shit-scared factor for just a moment.
"And to answer the implied question of what I'm doing here. I don't know. I have been spending this time wandering around meeting up with no-one and uh...I guess I'm lonely. And bored. So, though I'd rather you not, if you are gonna shoot me, please aim for the heart."
He wanted an open casket funeral. Vanity.
When his wits returned to him, his survival instinct told him that talking was probably what was expected of him. There were still extant questions, questions that he had been too bedraggled and disoriented to answer in good time, questions that, if he answered with his own characteristic brand of charm and good humour, would hopefully go some way towards moderating the situation.
The thought came to his mind that the potential for misdirection here was immense. They were all preoccupied with the knife; he was preoccupied with the gun. It was an interesting thought, made the more interesting by how the blind man in the room would not have his other senses distracted in the slightest, but it was academic. Still, it was enough of a diversion from the paralysing peril of imminent death to allow Nick to think with some clarity and try and be reasonable in the situation.
"I...uh. Am gonna raise my hands?" Nick's Scottish accent was thick. He was putting it on even thicker than usual, the rather muted Edinburgh dialect transmogrifying into something harsher, every word pinched and curtly articulated to muffle the fear and despair that otherwise might have slipped out. Thankfully it allowed him to keep his voice fairly steady on the whole, even if it was likely a little bit harder to discern. "I mean, I think that's the done thing when a gun's pointed at ya. Not that I'd know. This is a first for me." He'd always imagined his first time would be in rehearsing that whole 'catch a bullet with your teeth' trick. More recently, he'd suspected that his first time on the business end of a firearm would be because of a scorned lover because Nick was racking them up with some efficiency.
Letting the proposal sit in the room for a bit before he acted upon it, just in case there was an objection, he raised his hands. The dagger remained in that grip, but his bag slumped onto the floor. Nick kissed his teeth, trying to keep a cool head. His beard, too, was being immensely helpful right now. It concealed his quivering lower lip and his occasional move to grind his teeth as flashes of the severity of this situation - and all the regrets about his life and mourning for opportunities missed - passed through his mind.
He understood the fear of him. His weapon looked scary. It looked scarier than a gun, even though they all surely knew that wasn't the case. He was bigger than any of them. That, too, was scary. Plus, Nick had a reputation. Even if they didn't know him well - which would make pointing a gun at him even more justifiable - they might well have caught wind of that.
"I am...to answer Alex's question, holding a sort of twisted looking dagger thing. I am sure there is a technical name for it. I do not know it. I'm not sure how I would go about finding that out." He looked at Alex as he answered the question, unsure if instincts such as eye contact applied in this case, but following them anyway. Plus, looking away from the gun helped reduce the shit-scared factor for just a moment.
"And to answer the implied question of what I'm doing here. I don't know. I have been spending this time wandering around meeting up with no-one and uh...I guess I'm lonely. And bored. So, though I'd rather you not, if you are gonna shoot me, please aim for the heart."
He wanted an open casket funeral. Vanity.
Upon seeing the gun, Lizzie’s hands shot up again. It mattered not that it wasn’t pointed in her direction. She yelped as she did so, but that was the only noise she could make; she found her words had escaped her as Nick surrendered himself to Nia’s mercy. All she could do was watch, trembling, while a bead of sweat dripped down from her brow and hitting the floor.
“H-hey..” she finally gathered up the courage to say. “No-one needs to get shot here, right? Let’s just all calm down, and put the gun down, yeah?”
She looked at Nia, lowering her own hands as an indicator for her to follow suit. Slowly, carefully, no need to do anything hasty. She wanted to remind her that pointing a gun at people wasn’t cool, that it was in fact something of A Dick Move, but common sense told her not to push her luck. Getting on the bad side of people who could murder you in the middle of a game about murdering other people would not be super smart.
"Nick's not going to try anything, right NicK? We're all friends here, yeah?"
She glanced for the door. She could make a break for it, if Nick wasn’t still standing right by it. The last thing she needed was to wind up in an awkward moment of trying to get past each other when bullets started flying because she spooked Nia. Plus, something seemed distasteful about it. She couldn't quite put her finger on why.
No, she’d just have to hold her ground and hope really really hard that things would be ok. At least for a little bit longer.
“H-hey..” she finally gathered up the courage to say. “No-one needs to get shot here, right? Let’s just all calm down, and put the gun down, yeah?”
She looked at Nia, lowering her own hands as an indicator for her to follow suit. Slowly, carefully, no need to do anything hasty. She wanted to remind her that pointing a gun at people wasn’t cool, that it was in fact something of A Dick Move, but common sense told her not to push her luck. Getting on the bad side of people who could murder you in the middle of a game about murdering other people would not be super smart.
"Nick's not going to try anything, right NicK? We're all friends here, yeah?"
She glanced for the door. She could make a break for it, if Nick wasn’t still standing right by it. The last thing she needed was to wind up in an awkward moment of trying to get past each other when bullets started flying because she spooked Nia. Plus, something seemed distasteful about it. She couldn't quite put her finger on why.
No, she’d just have to hold her ground and hope really really hard that things would be ok. At least for a little bit longer.
The creaking door signaled Nia's return, but Alexander's relief was short-lived. He certainly couldn't fault Nia for her response time; but she'd rather abruptly escalated the situation. Gunpoint negotiation was effective but oh so inelegant, and he wasn't the sort of Machiavellian man who wanted to get his way through fear. At least, not ideally. But this wasn't an ideal situation, was it?
Alexander might not have known Nick personally, but he could've easily picked the man's accent out of any crowd. He'd always had a fondness for people with distinct voices, and couldn't say he had a strong desire to hear Nick beg for his life; especially after he'd had the decency to describe his weapon.
Still. He had a weapon, something Alexander was sorely lacking. He didn't have a strong desire to be stabbed, either. It was all rather unfair, wasn't it? The terrorists didn't even have the decency to replace his cane with something useful, and he probably wouldn't be able to rely on the Nia-cavalry forever. Maybe it was time he tried to correct that.
He ignored Lizzie's panicked attempts to keep the peace. Her stammering may have persuaded some on emotional grounds, but her arguments were lacking. 'We're all friends here?' Really? Evidently not true.
"No one needs to get hurt, yes. Still... Nick. I'm sure we'd all feel much better if you slowly walked over here and handed me your knife. Isn't that right, Nia?" Alexander said, with the slight smirk of a man who doubted that the gun would be pointed in his direction, no matter what transpired. This was one hell of a gamble after having known Nia for approximately an hour; but he already felt like he had a read on her personality, and now wasn't the time to be showing weakness.
Alexander might not have known Nick personally, but he could've easily picked the man's accent out of any crowd. He'd always had a fondness for people with distinct voices, and couldn't say he had a strong desire to hear Nick beg for his life; especially after he'd had the decency to describe his weapon.
Still. He had a weapon, something Alexander was sorely lacking. He didn't have a strong desire to be stabbed, either. It was all rather unfair, wasn't it? The terrorists didn't even have the decency to replace his cane with something useful, and he probably wouldn't be able to rely on the Nia-cavalry forever. Maybe it was time he tried to correct that.
He ignored Lizzie's panicked attempts to keep the peace. Her stammering may have persuaded some on emotional grounds, but her arguments were lacking. 'We're all friends here?' Really? Evidently not true.
"No one needs to get hurt, yes. Still... Nick. I'm sure we'd all feel much better if you slowly walked over here and handed me your knife. Isn't that right, Nia?" Alexander said, with the slight smirk of a man who doubted that the gun would be pointed in his direction, no matter what transpired. This was one hell of a gamble after having known Nia for approximately an hour; but he already felt like he had a read on her personality, and now wasn't the time to be showing weakness.
There came occasions where Nia was grateful for her particular form of disability. This moment in time, poignant and strange, was one of them, as she exhaled sharply and a small wheeze escaped her. It was an inappropriate time, after all, for laughter, and perhaps no one but her would find this situation particularly amusing, but it was difficult for her to resist.
When she glanced at Alexander the slightest hint of a smile was playing on her face. The sheer unmitigated gall of his actions was almost charming. Some part of her wanted to shoot him on principle, for having made such wild assumptions, or for having taken such a major risk with both of their lives. But that wouldn't serve any of their interests.
Unfortunately the situation was a bit too time-sensitive for a full evalutation, but her eyes darted between the participants regardless. Alexander had clearly evaluated the girl as no threat, considering the audacity of his words and her proximity to him; if he was afraid of her in the slightest he would have continued to play quiet and kindly until she was disarmed or incapacitated. She agreed with the assessment, considering the weakness of her words. Nick seemed to call her bluff, though had Alexander not made his play she likely would have lowered the gun anyhow, as he didn't appear to be an immediate threat now that more than her gut instincts were at play.
She had not yet had the time to check the manual for her pistol, but she had certainly had occasion to examine her gun. The safety hadn't been difficult to locate.
She ticked it off, raising an eyebrow at Nick. She had no particular desire to shoot him, but she wouldn't abide not being taken seriously.
When she glanced at Alexander the slightest hint of a smile was playing on her face. The sheer unmitigated gall of his actions was almost charming. Some part of her wanted to shoot him on principle, for having made such wild assumptions, or for having taken such a major risk with both of their lives. But that wouldn't serve any of their interests.
Unfortunately the situation was a bit too time-sensitive for a full evalutation, but her eyes darted between the participants regardless. Alexander had clearly evaluated the girl as no threat, considering the audacity of his words and her proximity to him; if he was afraid of her in the slightest he would have continued to play quiet and kindly until she was disarmed or incapacitated. She agreed with the assessment, considering the weakness of her words. Nick seemed to call her bluff, though had Alexander not made his play she likely would have lowered the gun anyhow, as he didn't appear to be an immediate threat now that more than her gut instincts were at play.
She had not yet had the time to check the manual for her pistol, but she had certainly had occasion to examine her gun. The safety hadn't been difficult to locate.
She ticked it off, raising an eyebrow at Nick. She had no particular desire to shoot him, but she wouldn't abide not being taken seriously.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
At first, at least, Nick thought that Lizzie was the biggest bullshitter in the room. The 'we're all friends here' line was intrinsically bullshit. Harmless and innocuous bullshit, sure, delivered with the purest of intentions and the best of motives, but so divorced from anything even approaching reality that it seemed like an insult to everyone's intelligence even just to put it out there. Nick wouldn't judge Lizzie for it - it was, fundamentally, harmless and benign - but he couldn't deny a little pang of irritation at the attempt to spin a situation where a gun was pointed at him as secretly just a situation where everyone was figuring out the best way to be friendly.
Maybe he was reading too much into it. That thought occurred to Nick. Ultimately, though, overanalysing the more trivial facets of this scene and a hefty dose of introspection was far more bearable than contemplating his impending mortality. Nick had accepted he would die, but only in a kind of overarching 'grand scheme of things' sort of way. Having to confront that in the here and now was significantly more offputting.
But then Alex decided to out-bullshit her and there certainly was no way that comment could be construed as benign or harmless. Before he could stop himself, he was replying, though thankfully it was the sarcasm on the tip of his tongue that left his lips rather than the string of incendiary profanities he was otherwise tempted to utter. "Uh, I won't be a lot happier. So, yeah, that's bullshit. If you're gonna try robbing me and leaving me for dead, at least have the decency to be honest about it."
Nia clicked off the safety. That really didn't change a thing. He scowled. If they wanted to play the villains, he wouldn't give them the luxury of being all coy about it.
Maybe he was reading too much into it. That thought occurred to Nick. Ultimately, though, overanalysing the more trivial facets of this scene and a hefty dose of introspection was far more bearable than contemplating his impending mortality. Nick had accepted he would die, but only in a kind of overarching 'grand scheme of things' sort of way. Having to confront that in the here and now was significantly more offputting.
But then Alex decided to out-bullshit her and there certainly was no way that comment could be construed as benign or harmless. Before he could stop himself, he was replying, though thankfully it was the sarcasm on the tip of his tongue that left his lips rather than the string of incendiary profanities he was otherwise tempted to utter. "Uh, I won't be a lot happier. So, yeah, that's bullshit. If you're gonna try robbing me and leaving me for dead, at least have the decency to be honest about it."
Nia clicked off the safety. That really didn't change a thing. He scowled. If they wanted to play the villains, he wouldn't give them the luxury of being all coy about it.
Lizzie’s hands had returned to an upright and locked position when the safety had clicked off. She was looking between the members of the standoff she had very much not wanted to be a part of. No-one was threatening her or even really acknowledging her, but Jesus Christ this was not the scene she would have expected to see a day before.
And you know what? It was high time to get the fuck outta here.
Stage left was blocked by Nick, and stage right by Nia. An exit was not forthcoming, but she really needed one. She felt the shears in her raised hand, heart beating in her chest as the danger in the room refused to abet. She felt a very uncomfortable shortness in her breath, one she was quite familiar with from her more high strung days. It had been so long since she'd felt it.
She looked to her side, saw Alex still sat there.
Shit, she was going to Hell.
“Nobody move!” was the corniest thing she could have yelled, in the situation that was far from it. Of all the options available to her, she might muse in hindsight, grabbing Alex by the shoulder and pointing the shears at his throat was kind of a horrible, terrible thing to be doing. But she was doing it.
“Sorry Alex. I don’t want to hurt you but I would like to leave now! If Nia doesn’t want to shoot you, which I’m sure she doesn’t, and Nick doesn’t want to stab you, which I don’t think he does, you’ll both kindly let me walk over to the door with him and let me let myself out. Agreed?”
The dialogue sounded very nefarious as it left her lips, lacking in a moustache as it was. Where were the words coming from? Some detached part of her brain that was trying to paint the situation as a cornball joke that she could laugh off, no doubt. You know, instead of acknowledging the situation that was her threatening a blind kid’s life to save her own skin, because the room was making it painfully clear that it would kill her and it would not care if she let it.
Get out first, repent later.
And you know what? It was high time to get the fuck outta here.
Stage left was blocked by Nick, and stage right by Nia. An exit was not forthcoming, but she really needed one. She felt the shears in her raised hand, heart beating in her chest as the danger in the room refused to abet. She felt a very uncomfortable shortness in her breath, one she was quite familiar with from her more high strung days. It had been so long since she'd felt it.
She looked to her side, saw Alex still sat there.
Shit, she was going to Hell.
“Nobody move!” was the corniest thing she could have yelled, in the situation that was far from it. Of all the options available to her, she might muse in hindsight, grabbing Alex by the shoulder and pointing the shears at his throat was kind of a horrible, terrible thing to be doing. But she was doing it.
“Sorry Alex. I don’t want to hurt you but I would like to leave now! If Nia doesn’t want to shoot you, which I’m sure she doesn’t, and Nick doesn’t want to stab you, which I don’t think he does, you’ll both kindly let me walk over to the door with him and let me let myself out. Agreed?”
The dialogue sounded very nefarious as it left her lips, lacking in a moustache as it was. Where were the words coming from? Some detached part of her brain that was trying to paint the situation as a cornball joke that she could laugh off, no doubt. You know, instead of acknowledging the situation that was her threatening a blind kid’s life to save her own skin, because the room was making it painfully clear that it would kill her and it would not care if she let it.
Get out first, repent later.
The click of the safety was a signal from Nia that she was playing along - Alexander would have to profusely thank her later - but Nick refused to be cowed. Irritating. If he doubled down now, he'd lose any remaining plausible deniability he had left; and would also probably get someone shot or stabbed. Maybe him, maybe someone else. He wasn't willing to hurt Nick, however much he wanted the man's knife; and he certainly wasn't willing to risk his own life.
He had planned to shrug his shoulders and say something pithy like 'Can't blame me for trying,' but Lizzie's new, pointed shouting had suddenly derailed his train of thought; and he could only stammer as she roughly grabbed his shoulder.
"Well, I-I don't want you to hurt me either, so we're, um, in agreement. Ready whenever you are?" He said, completely still, only allowing his voice to shake. He didn't know where Lizzie had her shears pointed, and he didn't want to squirm around and find out the hard way. What was she going to do, prune him? Snip, snip.
The fact that his read on Lizzie was completely wrong rattled his composure almost as much as the threats. Erratic, panicked people hardly ever acted with their own best interests in mind, and he honestly had no idea what she'd do next. Snip. All he could do was hope she'd let him go once they reached the door, hope that Nick didn't make things worse. At least Nia wasn't stupid enough to try and shoot - and he doubted she cared strongly enough to try and save him, regardless.
He had planned to shrug his shoulders and say something pithy like 'Can't blame me for trying,' but Lizzie's new, pointed shouting had suddenly derailed his train of thought; and he could only stammer as she roughly grabbed his shoulder.
"Well, I-I don't want you to hurt me either, so we're, um, in agreement. Ready whenever you are?" He said, completely still, only allowing his voice to shake. He didn't know where Lizzie had her shears pointed, and he didn't want to squirm around and find out the hard way. What was she going to do, prune him? Snip, snip.
The fact that his read on Lizzie was completely wrong rattled his composure almost as much as the threats. Erratic, panicked people hardly ever acted with their own best interests in mind, and he honestly had no idea what she'd do next. Snip. All he could do was hope she'd let him go once they reached the door, hope that Nick didn't make things worse. At least Nia wasn't stupid enough to try and shoot - and he doubted she cared strongly enough to try and save him, regardless.