((The air in the commissary was humid and still, dust gently flitting through the sunbeams from the windows.))
Marceline stared at the messy interior of the commissary from the entrance door, trying to keep her mind off the fact that Dolly's body was only a handful of minutes away from where she was now. She didn't want to be here, it had too many bad memories attached to it, events that still played in her mind's eye over and over and over again. Even now, she was consciously keeping her breathing as steady as possible as she focused on what was directly in front of her, trying to avoid another mental breakdown.
She would have been happy to never come back to this place again, but the village commissary was the biggest, most eye-catching place in this area, and would be likely to attract attention, which she currently wanted far more than to leave this place behind. The shirt she had taken off days ago but worn so often around school—her purple sweater with a stylized cat's severed head on it—was now hanging from the commissary's signpost out front, the entrance below it wide open. It was a signal to anyone who happened to know her and trust her to come inside, one that hopefully someone would notice at least.
A makeshift bracer made of a piece of wood and medical tape now sat attached to her left forearm, her pockets respectively full of some sand and a particularly large, smooth rock she had found, along with her list. Clutched in one blood-stained hand was a strip of charred meat, which she gingerly brought to her lips and ripped a chunk off of, painstakingly chewing the tough meat as she stood.
The last day had been quite eventful, after Marceline and Roxanne had set off. Marceline had made it a goal to be as prepared as possible in the event that they happened to encounter someone on her list. She didn't have a firearm of her own, and Roxanne was loathe to even let her briefly borrow her shotgun, so she needed to get more creative. Eventually, she managed to gather a few items she thought would be helpful: a pocket full of sand from the beach for throwing in eyes, a nice rock for chucking at heads, and a piece of broken wood from the village, secured to her arm with some tape, for stopping blades. Taken together, it wasn't much, but it would do, given the circumstances.
A more exciting find had been a random goat that the two had happened upon while they had been traveling. Marceline saw an opportunity to collect some much needed rations with their food supplies beginning to dwindle, and while It had taken some convincing to get Roxanne to lend her the shotgun, the goat went down in just one shot. If her father had been there with her, he almost certainly would have been proud of her marksmanship.
She closed her eyes at the thought of her father. He felt so distant now, just like everything back at Chattanooga. She had never gotten along very well with him, but he truly loved her in his own way. Now, she would never see him again. Since she had woken up, she had been blinded to that fact with her attention so laser-focused on Dolly. She could see clearly now, though, and the full scope of the tragedy before her was laid bare. Just how much would her parents cry when they find out that she had died here? What about her friends that were still back home?
She shook her head, doing her best to clear her mind, as now as not the time to focus on that. Swallowing her first bite of the goat meat, she brought it once again to her mouth, shoving the rest of it in and continuing to slowly chew it. Marceline had harvested the goat's flesh after it had bled to death, a task she had found much more difficult than she had been expecting, while Roxanne built a fire pit to cook with. The whole process had taken hours, much of which was spent just trying to get the fire started with how damp and humid it was.
Even though much of the goat's meat had been wasted in the process, they did eventually manage to cook it, charring it to a well done state just to be clear of any potential diseases the goat might have had, before the two of them ate as much as they could stomach. The meat was tough, stringy, and probably one of the worst cuts she had ever eaten, but it was still somehow better than the ration bars, and she felt better than she had in quite some time after eating it. Only a little was left by the time they had gotten done gorging themselves, not wanting to risk leaving the meat that Marceline had salvaged to spoil. Now only a little was left, wrapped in gauze and tucked away in her bag.
Marceline swallowed the fleshy, tasteless pulp in her mouth, yawning as she put her bag down against one of the walls. Fishing her list out of her pocket, she went over it once again, going over the names of exactly who she planned on taking down over and over to make sure she remembered them, ignoring the names that had been crossed out. The announcements in the morning had brought a few pleasant surprises on that front, at least, namely with the deaths of Quinn and Volker. Two old names now crossed out, with two new names added to another page of the survival guide. A new section titled "PEOPLE TO FIND", with Arizona's and Henry's names written underneath.
Putting the list away, Marceline turned once again to her companion, finally addressing her. "Well, we're here," she said, warily, still not wanting to dwell on how close she was to where Dolly had died. "Now we can rest for a while and see if anyone happens to come by."
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Now Day 9 Morning (Before Announcements), Still Open
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VoltTurtle
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((The goat should’ve been safe.))
It had probably lived its entire life without seeing a single human - same as its parents and grandparents before it, stretching back however long it’d been since the island’s original inhabitants had abandoned it however many decades ago.
Roxanne figured it was probably a good gig, being a goat on their island. It was pretty big. No predators. There were hills to climb and interesting rubble to chew on. There’d never been any reason for fear to taint its mind. It hadn’t known to be afraid of them. It’d only taken one clean shot. Survival of the fittest.
To be honest, that goat’s life had probably been happier than Roxanne’s ever was, but she still felt a certain guilty kinship with it, even as she gratefully devoured its flesh. Their ordinary lives had both been ended by a ridiculous threat they never could’ve seen coming - her hunter just hadn’t caught up to her yet.
It felt good to be back in a building, at least, their days of aimlessly meandering through forests and caves behind them. Roxanne had never been camping, never been hunting. She could appreciate nature through a camera’s lens, but she didn’t feel a strong enough kinship with it that she wished to spend the entirety of her final days in the dirt and muck, shunning the rest of humanity.
“Yeah,” she said, absently to Marcy, looking up from her meal to take another glance around the commissary. “Think we’ll meet whoever built the fort?”
The building showed many signs of having been lived in and rummaged through during the past week, but none were as jarring as the table with ‘FORT JEREMIAH’ written on it in what looked to be days-old blood. The childishness of it all was morbidly hilarious, but it made it hard to relax.
Curious, she walked over to investigate the area for any more clues - only to find a mound of blankets, stinking like death (a stench she’d mostly gotten used to, but not this close) with a note on the top. She picked it up and read its contents out loud to Marcy.
“This is the body of Jeremiah Anderson.
He was my best friend. Nick Ogilvie murdered him here.
Please leave him alone.
Thank you.
Nia Karahalios”
The silence after Roxanne finished hung heavy in the air. She soberly folded up and replaced the note, returning to sit next to her companion. She’d expected something whimsical, if disturbing - not a painfully sincere epitaph.
It was funny. She’d been so dismissive of Jeremiah’s murder, when Marcy had tried to confront Nick - she hadn’t cared about him, after all. Barely even knew him. Finding his body and a reminder that someone had loved him shouldn’t have stung like it did, shouldn’t make her regret how easily she’d walked away from Nick.
Nia. The mute girl with the pretty name - she’d been on her final announcement, that morning. It was said that a person didn’t die until the last person that mourned them was gone. Roxanne wondered if Nia’s death had sealed Jeremiah’s, as well. If there was no one left to swear revenge on a murderer, did that make them automatically absolved, at least in the context of the island?
She could never be a champion of Marcy’s cause, but she thought she could see where she was coming from a little better, now.
It had probably lived its entire life without seeing a single human - same as its parents and grandparents before it, stretching back however long it’d been since the island’s original inhabitants had abandoned it however many decades ago.
Roxanne figured it was probably a good gig, being a goat on their island. It was pretty big. No predators. There were hills to climb and interesting rubble to chew on. There’d never been any reason for fear to taint its mind. It hadn’t known to be afraid of them. It’d only taken one clean shot. Survival of the fittest.
To be honest, that goat’s life had probably been happier than Roxanne’s ever was, but she still felt a certain guilty kinship with it, even as she gratefully devoured its flesh. Their ordinary lives had both been ended by a ridiculous threat they never could’ve seen coming - her hunter just hadn’t caught up to her yet.
It felt good to be back in a building, at least, their days of aimlessly meandering through forests and caves behind them. Roxanne had never been camping, never been hunting. She could appreciate nature through a camera’s lens, but she didn’t feel a strong enough kinship with it that she wished to spend the entirety of her final days in the dirt and muck, shunning the rest of humanity.
“Yeah,” she said, absently to Marcy, looking up from her meal to take another glance around the commissary. “Think we’ll meet whoever built the fort?”
The building showed many signs of having been lived in and rummaged through during the past week, but none were as jarring as the table with ‘FORT JEREMIAH’ written on it in what looked to be days-old blood. The childishness of it all was morbidly hilarious, but it made it hard to relax.
Curious, she walked over to investigate the area for any more clues - only to find a mound of blankets, stinking like death (a stench she’d mostly gotten used to, but not this close) with a note on the top. She picked it up and read its contents out loud to Marcy.
“This is the body of Jeremiah Anderson.
He was my best friend. Nick Ogilvie murdered him here.
Please leave him alone.
Thank you.
Nia Karahalios”
The silence after Roxanne finished hung heavy in the air. She soberly folded up and replaced the note, returning to sit next to her companion. She’d expected something whimsical, if disturbing - not a painfully sincere epitaph.
It was funny. She’d been so dismissive of Jeremiah’s murder, when Marcy had tried to confront Nick - she hadn’t cared about him, after all. Barely even knew him. Finding his body and a reminder that someone had loved him shouldn’t have stung like it did, shouldn’t make her regret how easily she’d walked away from Nick.
Nia. The mute girl with the pretty name - she’d been on her final announcement, that morning. It was said that a person didn’t die until the last person that mourned them was gone. Roxanne wondered if Nia’s death had sealed Jeremiah’s, as well. If there was no one left to swear revenge on a murderer, did that make them automatically absolved, at least in the context of the island?
She could never be a champion of Marcy’s cause, but she thought she could see where she was coming from a little better, now.
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
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Marceline listened to Roxanne as she approached the "fort", examining the pile of blankets and finally catching the faintest whiff of a rotting corpse. She had failed to consider that there might be more than just Dolly's body nearby, and how thoroughly the locales were filled with the evidence of the island's savagery.
She clenched her jaw and scowled at the blanket pile when Roxanne finished. This was where Nick murdered Jeremiah, and the tragedy of the poor blue boy's death clearly reached those who were close to him. She had yet to properly internalize all the hurt that the murders here had caused even to those who were still alive. She had been deeply hurt herself, by Beryl, by Alex, most of all by Dolly, but she had thought only in passing about how others may have been hurting all the same as her.
If anything, that consideration just added more depth to the depravity of the killers' actions. They weren't just snuffing out innocent lives that could have lasted much longer at the behest of terrorists, they were mentally and emotionally destroying everyone left behind. Had she considered that aspect back at the waterfall, she might not have let Nick live so easily.
There was something else to consider, though. How much hurt would she cause by killing the killers? Certainly they had people that cared about them before all of this, but perhaps those people might nonetheless understand why it had to happen, and the hurt would therefore be minimized. Indeed, they might finally be able to mourn the people the killers were before, whom had died as soon as they decided to become monsters, rather than the figures they had become.
But... it didn't seem like Marco would have only been a little sad if she had killed Nick. The two of them had seemed very close just at cursory examination. However, Marco wasn't entirely innocent either, and they were arguably just as bad as Nick if they were willingly defending him. Nonetheless, there were almost certainly innocent people that still cared like Marco, and that was something she had to keep in mind.
She shook her head, clearing her thoughts and returning to the reality around her. That was all something to consider more at another time. Instead, her attention was drawn back to the note. The sincerity behind the request contained within showed that Nia had cared a lot about Jeremiah. The fact that he hadn't hurt anyone else prior to Nick murdering him called into question Nick's claim of self defense. Not only that, but she still didn't believe his story about Beryl, it was simply too contrived to make sense. She had let him live because she believed he wouldn't harm anyone else, but was she right about that? More importantly, did that mean that Nick didn't deserve some kind of comeuppance for what he's done and the hurt he's caused?
Thinking of those inquiries began to rile her up. Nick might have been telling the truth, but for all she knew, monsters like Blaise could be spinning those same kinds of lies to the people around them just to avoid conflicts. Saying they murdered Dolly in self-defense, saying they murdered Alex as a mercy kill.
"Maybe," she began to say, coldly, methodically. "Maybe I should have actually killed Nick, back there..."
She clenched her jaw and scowled at the blanket pile when Roxanne finished. This was where Nick murdered Jeremiah, and the tragedy of the poor blue boy's death clearly reached those who were close to him. She had yet to properly internalize all the hurt that the murders here had caused even to those who were still alive. She had been deeply hurt herself, by Beryl, by Alex, most of all by Dolly, but she had thought only in passing about how others may have been hurting all the same as her.
If anything, that consideration just added more depth to the depravity of the killers' actions. They weren't just snuffing out innocent lives that could have lasted much longer at the behest of terrorists, they were mentally and emotionally destroying everyone left behind. Had she considered that aspect back at the waterfall, she might not have let Nick live so easily.
There was something else to consider, though. How much hurt would she cause by killing the killers? Certainly they had people that cared about them before all of this, but perhaps those people might nonetheless understand why it had to happen, and the hurt would therefore be minimized. Indeed, they might finally be able to mourn the people the killers were before, whom had died as soon as they decided to become monsters, rather than the figures they had become.
But... it didn't seem like Marco would have only been a little sad if she had killed Nick. The two of them had seemed very close just at cursory examination. However, Marco wasn't entirely innocent either, and they were arguably just as bad as Nick if they were willingly defending him. Nonetheless, there were almost certainly innocent people that still cared like Marco, and that was something she had to keep in mind.
She shook her head, clearing her thoughts and returning to the reality around her. That was all something to consider more at another time. Instead, her attention was drawn back to the note. The sincerity behind the request contained within showed that Nia had cared a lot about Jeremiah. The fact that he hadn't hurt anyone else prior to Nick murdering him called into question Nick's claim of self defense. Not only that, but she still didn't believe his story about Beryl, it was simply too contrived to make sense. She had let him live because she believed he wouldn't harm anyone else, but was she right about that? More importantly, did that mean that Nick didn't deserve some kind of comeuppance for what he's done and the hurt he's caused?
Thinking of those inquiries began to rile her up. Nick might have been telling the truth, but for all she knew, monsters like Blaise could be spinning those same kinds of lies to the people around them just to avoid conflicts. Saying they murdered Dolly in self-defense, saying they murdered Alex as a mercy kill.
"Maybe," she began to say, coldly, methodically. "Maybe I should have actually killed Nick, back there..."
“No,” Roxanne said, surprising herself. “I don’t think you should’ve.” She’d never intended to try and steer Marcy’s ideology herself - as a girl with no purpose of her own, Roxanne’s only aim had been to see how the island would change her friend. Maybe the note had just put her off-balance, but the thought of killing Nick unsettled her.
Too late to take it back now. Time to figure out what her opinion actually was. At least she’d only sworn noninterference to herself - she had no reason not to break that promise, especially when it was no longer bringing her satisfaction. Perhaps being in flux would suit her more.
“You’re trying to stop the biggest killers, right? The ones who are obviously a threat to everyone around them? Nick isn’t one of them. Maybe he was lying about Beryl, maybe he wasn’t, but do you really wanna kill someone just in case? I’m pretty sure Marco would’ve gotten involved in any fight that broke out, too.”
If Marcy had actually leapt at Nick with her knife, back then… Roxanne wasn’t sure what she would’ve done. She’d had every intention of protecting her friend, but the only thing she’d ever shot before was the lighthouse wall. Even if she’d found enough cold iron in her heart to pull the trigger, being forced to shoot two people to save Marcy from a fight she’d picked would’ve made it impossible to ever look her in the eyes again.
“Do you want to protect as many people as possible? Or do you want to punish the guilty even if it means picking a fight you might not win, killing someone who might not deserve it?”
This time, it wasn’t a test. Roxanne genuinely needed to know.
Too late to take it back now. Time to figure out what her opinion actually was. At least she’d only sworn noninterference to herself - she had no reason not to break that promise, especially when it was no longer bringing her satisfaction. Perhaps being in flux would suit her more.
“You’re trying to stop the biggest killers, right? The ones who are obviously a threat to everyone around them? Nick isn’t one of them. Maybe he was lying about Beryl, maybe he wasn’t, but do you really wanna kill someone just in case? I’m pretty sure Marco would’ve gotten involved in any fight that broke out, too.”
If Marcy had actually leapt at Nick with her knife, back then… Roxanne wasn’t sure what she would’ve done. She’d had every intention of protecting her friend, but the only thing she’d ever shot before was the lighthouse wall. Even if she’d found enough cold iron in her heart to pull the trigger, being forced to shoot two people to save Marcy from a fight she’d picked would’ve made it impossible to ever look her in the eyes again.
“Do you want to protect as many people as possible? Or do you want to punish the guilty even if it means picking a fight you might not win, killing someone who might not deserve it?”
This time, it wasn’t a test. Roxanne genuinely needed to know.
She'd heard enough.
Children afraid of monsters, who called themselves judges and jurors and executioners and all that ever seemed to drip off the lips of the people she called peers. An eerie echo of the echo of gossip off high school tile. In a way it inspired her to miss those simpler times, for all the inanity, for all the lack of humanity. At least then people had been honestly petty.
Now schoolyard conversation was loaded with the language of 'the guilty', and 'the deserving', when not one of them understood, not one of them had perspective, insight into the uncanny balance of life and death. They didn't know, she'd repeat to herself. They didn't see things the way she saw them.
Admittedly, biased towards her own still-even heartbeat. A beautiful song, if she did say so herself. It dominated in her ears, muffling out the outside world which had for a long time now lacked a radio, a pop station, anything to drown out the fundamental fact of her own existence. She cherished it. She was exhilarated exhaustion, a top somehow turned blacker than black with the blood spill stains of her own sweat.
She'd leave them to it. She started to sneak away, scuff of her shoes supremely quiet with the lightness of her frame, which had been cultivated like vintage over the past few days of unwilling fasting. It was simple: anyone who thought in such a limited way about the act of murder deserved their own self-fulfilling prophecy. A fight they 'might' not win- just so short of accuracy, one word, just one, out of place.
A few seconds later, dry timber looking for a spark found the sole of her shoes and groaned. Loudly, as all of a small log imploded into and through its insect-chewed core.
She could have started running, she realized almost belatedly. Nobody had seen her yet. Knives and guns unknown that could have been drawn on her over hypocrisies pathetic as the rest of their teenage melodrama, those didn't exist yet, not until they were pointed at her. She had a chance to slip away, but. The loudest voice in her head was the proudest. No need to run. She'd stared down the barrel before and lived. Nobody liked her that wasn't a horny bastard, that much was increasingly obvious. But there was a certain pleasure in meeting the haters head on.
What was the worst they could do, when they knew her by name? She hoped she infected all their minds some day. It was the least they owed her.
"Is anyone in there?"
Children afraid of monsters, who called themselves judges and jurors and executioners and all that ever seemed to drip off the lips of the people she called peers. An eerie echo of the echo of gossip off high school tile. In a way it inspired her to miss those simpler times, for all the inanity, for all the lack of humanity. At least then people had been honestly petty.
Now schoolyard conversation was loaded with the language of 'the guilty', and 'the deserving', when not one of them understood, not one of them had perspective, insight into the uncanny balance of life and death. They didn't know, she'd repeat to herself. They didn't see things the way she saw them.
Admittedly, biased towards her own still-even heartbeat. A beautiful song, if she did say so herself. It dominated in her ears, muffling out the outside world which had for a long time now lacked a radio, a pop station, anything to drown out the fundamental fact of her own existence. She cherished it. She was exhilarated exhaustion, a top somehow turned blacker than black with the blood spill stains of her own sweat.
She'd leave them to it. She started to sneak away, scuff of her shoes supremely quiet with the lightness of her frame, which had been cultivated like vintage over the past few days of unwilling fasting. It was simple: anyone who thought in such a limited way about the act of murder deserved their own self-fulfilling prophecy. A fight they 'might' not win- just so short of accuracy, one word, just one, out of place.
A few seconds later, dry timber looking for a spark found the sole of her shoes and groaned. Loudly, as all of a small log imploded into and through its insect-chewed core.
She could have started running, she realized almost belatedly. Nobody had seen her yet. Knives and guns unknown that could have been drawn on her over hypocrisies pathetic as the rest of their teenage melodrama, those didn't exist yet, not until they were pointed at her. She had a chance to slip away, but. The loudest voice in her head was the proudest. No need to run. She'd stared down the barrel before and lived. Nobody liked her that wasn't a horny bastard, that much was increasingly obvious. But there was a certain pleasure in meeting the haters head on.
What was the worst they could do, when they knew her by name? She hoped she infected all their minds some day. It was the least they owed her.
"Is anyone in there?"
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Marceline let out a particular sigh, a sound Roxanne would no doubt be familiar with, as it was a sound that Marceline only ever let out when she realized that someone else was right, and that she was wrong. Even though Nick was a liar and a murderer, if he was really so far gone as to deserve to die to protect others, he would have been much more unapologetic than he was. More than anything, it had seemed like he only wanted to be left alone. He'd hurt people, he'd condemned many to suffering they didn't deserve, but try as she might, she couldn't truly make him out to be a monster. She had felt it in her heart back then, that he just wasn't interested in continuing to kill. Who was she, to doubt her past self's decision?
Plus, she needed to watch what she said. Roxanne's help was still a necessity for her continued success, after all, and she couldn't risk losing her friend as an ally.
"No, I guess you're right," she began to say. "It was better-"
She stopped, her blood running cold when she heard a snap, followed by a new voice ringing out. A voice coming from the entrance, behind them. While her shirt display had been put up to intentionally draw attention, she had no desire to have anyone sneak up on them. They had clearly let their guard down too much while investigating the surroundings, and allowed someone to arrive without being noticed well in advance. Perhaps the mistake hadn't yet cost them anything in this instance, but they would need to be more careful in the future.
Whipping around, Marceline immediately began to navigate around obstacles towards the entrance, before staring down the girl standing in the doorway, whose facial features were shadowed by the brightness outside. A brief look of confusion overcame Marceline as she wracked her brain trying to connect the girl to a name. The word "Kelly" quickly came to mind, one oft heard by Marceline during the roll calls at the start of class, always followed by the same voice that she had just heard echo throughout through the Commissary. That first name and that voice had always been attached to the last name of "Nyugen", and that full name, Kelly Nyugen, was one she had familiarized herself with.
After all, it was on her list.
One tally mark, and one murder to her name. Who was it that she had killed, again? That was harder to recall, Marceline had not written the names of the victims, only the killers, and she didn't have the luxury of the victim's face right in front of her to cross-reference in her memory. While she had remembered the names of Nick's victims relatively quickly, she had only done so that easily because he had caught her interest, and her ire. In this case, she simply had to remember the name that had come paired with Kelly's own, requiring her to think much more.
She thought back to the announcements, and how she had listened to them so intently. Kelly's name had come up during the second announcement, and had been paired with... one Mercy Ames, right? It sounded right to her. Cause of death? Something vague about tampering with food and drink, if she recalled correctly. Considering this supposed tampering resulted in death, and Kelly was implicated as the killer, something the terrorists had yet to lie about, that could only mean one thing: Kelly had to have used some kind of poison to kill Mercy.
"Kelly Nyugen, I take it?" She announced flatly to the new arrival, her face taking on an intentionally neutral look. Having finally snapped out of the spell of searching her memory, Marceline began to size the girl in front of her up, just in case the worst came to pass. Kelly was a killer, after all, and Marceline's new goal was to kill them in turn. A fight would be the expected outcome, not some distant possibility, and she needed to be prepared for that eventuality. Thankfully, Kelly looked to be much smaller than her in stature, and seemed to have no obvious weaponry on her person. Compared to just Marceline on her own, without considering Roxanne's presence, Kelly was basically defenseless.
Defenseless, not unlike a gazelle that had unknowingly wandered into a lion's den.
A hungry lion's den, at that. From the moment Dolly had died, Marceline had been itching to take her anger out on someone. Her rage had first been a fog of grief, and then a violent haze just waiting to lash out at anyone that dared to come near her. Now, she had focused it, honed it, but not diminished it. She was still anticipating the moment when she could finally tear Blaise apart, piece by piece, for everything they had done. And as Marceline pondered the circumstances behind Mercy's death, Kelly was beginning to look more and more like Blaise.
Because Kelly wasn't like Nick. There was no possible excuse that she could muster for what she had done. Poisoning someone required premeditation. It wasn't just one small mistake, like the panicked, errant pull of a trigger, or the reflexive swing of a blade. It was a series of deliberate choices, first spiking the victim's food or drink with the poison, then the repeated, conscious decision to not stop the victim from ingesting it.
Only a monster could do that.
"You murdered Mercy Ames," she continued, coldly, not allowing anyone else the space to speak. "The announcements insinuated that you poisoned her, and that's true, right?"
It didn't matter what Kelly said in response, because Marceline had already made up her mind.
The only impact any answer would have was on just how violently Kelly was about to die.
Plus, she needed to watch what she said. Roxanne's help was still a necessity for her continued success, after all, and she couldn't risk losing her friend as an ally.
"No, I guess you're right," she began to say. "It was better-"
She stopped, her blood running cold when she heard a snap, followed by a new voice ringing out. A voice coming from the entrance, behind them. While her shirt display had been put up to intentionally draw attention, she had no desire to have anyone sneak up on them. They had clearly let their guard down too much while investigating the surroundings, and allowed someone to arrive without being noticed well in advance. Perhaps the mistake hadn't yet cost them anything in this instance, but they would need to be more careful in the future.
Whipping around, Marceline immediately began to navigate around obstacles towards the entrance, before staring down the girl standing in the doorway, whose facial features were shadowed by the brightness outside. A brief look of confusion overcame Marceline as she wracked her brain trying to connect the girl to a name. The word "Kelly" quickly came to mind, one oft heard by Marceline during the roll calls at the start of class, always followed by the same voice that she had just heard echo throughout through the Commissary. That first name and that voice had always been attached to the last name of "Nyugen", and that full name, Kelly Nyugen, was one she had familiarized herself with.
After all, it was on her list.
One tally mark, and one murder to her name. Who was it that she had killed, again? That was harder to recall, Marceline had not written the names of the victims, only the killers, and she didn't have the luxury of the victim's face right in front of her to cross-reference in her memory. While she had remembered the names of Nick's victims relatively quickly, she had only done so that easily because he had caught her interest, and her ire. In this case, she simply had to remember the name that had come paired with Kelly's own, requiring her to think much more.
She thought back to the announcements, and how she had listened to them so intently. Kelly's name had come up during the second announcement, and had been paired with... one Mercy Ames, right? It sounded right to her. Cause of death? Something vague about tampering with food and drink, if she recalled correctly. Considering this supposed tampering resulted in death, and Kelly was implicated as the killer, something the terrorists had yet to lie about, that could only mean one thing: Kelly had to have used some kind of poison to kill Mercy.
"Kelly Nyugen, I take it?" She announced flatly to the new arrival, her face taking on an intentionally neutral look. Having finally snapped out of the spell of searching her memory, Marceline began to size the girl in front of her up, just in case the worst came to pass. Kelly was a killer, after all, and Marceline's new goal was to kill them in turn. A fight would be the expected outcome, not some distant possibility, and she needed to be prepared for that eventuality. Thankfully, Kelly looked to be much smaller than her in stature, and seemed to have no obvious weaponry on her person. Compared to just Marceline on her own, without considering Roxanne's presence, Kelly was basically defenseless.
Defenseless, not unlike a gazelle that had unknowingly wandered into a lion's den.
A hungry lion's den, at that. From the moment Dolly had died, Marceline had been itching to take her anger out on someone. Her rage had first been a fog of grief, and then a violent haze just waiting to lash out at anyone that dared to come near her. Now, she had focused it, honed it, but not diminished it. She was still anticipating the moment when she could finally tear Blaise apart, piece by piece, for everything they had done. And as Marceline pondered the circumstances behind Mercy's death, Kelly was beginning to look more and more like Blaise.
Because Kelly wasn't like Nick. There was no possible excuse that she could muster for what she had done. Poisoning someone required premeditation. It wasn't just one small mistake, like the panicked, errant pull of a trigger, or the reflexive swing of a blade. It was a series of deliberate choices, first spiking the victim's food or drink with the poison, then the repeated, conscious decision to not stop the victim from ingesting it.
Only a monster could do that.
"You murdered Mercy Ames," she continued, coldly, not allowing anyone else the space to speak. "The announcements insinuated that you poisoned her, and that's true, right?"
It didn't matter what Kelly said in response, because Marceline had already made up her mind.
The only impact any answer would have was on just how violently Kelly was about to die.
So soon. Roxanne had hoped that the first one to answer Marcy’s quiet signal flare wouldn’t be someone she’d have to hold at gunpoint, but that was just the world they lived in, wasn’t it? If only she’d come a few minutes later, let Marcy work on her priorities a little more, but she guessed there’d never be a convenient first time to test her ideals.
Kelly was tiny. Light. Unarmed. It made sense that someone like her would resort to putting arsenic in the tea. Physically, she obviously wasn’t a threat to either of them - unless she was hiding a gun somewhere, Kelly could only kill when presented with a defenseless back, a peaceful slumber. Would anyone on the island ever let their guard down around her, or would she wander around, a rejected pariah, until she found someone who didn’t rely on others’ willingness to let themselves be killed?
Was Kelly someone who needed to die, by Marcy’s standards? The now-familiar tone in her friend’s voice put her intentions in deadly clarity. Roxanne was conflicted - which meant she obviously had opinions she’d been suppressing up until the point she realized how likely it was someone in the room wouldn’t leave alive. Annoying.
She’d always pictured the targets of their little crusade as the Quinns and Erikas of the world. People who had obviously gone far beyond any plausible deniability of how they intended to make it off the island alive. Nick didn’t fit that definition, and neither did Kelly, not really. She’d killed one person. In a horrific and premeditated manner, obviously, but just one person, so many days ago. If Roxanne didn’t know better, she would’ve guessed that Marcy just wanted her first ‘righteous’ kill to be an easy one.
“No sudden movements, please. Marcy, that goes for you, too.” An order for one, a request for the other, but the direction she was pointing the gun made it obvious which was which.
Kelly was tiny. Light. Unarmed. It made sense that someone like her would resort to putting arsenic in the tea. Physically, she obviously wasn’t a threat to either of them - unless she was hiding a gun somewhere, Kelly could only kill when presented with a defenseless back, a peaceful slumber. Would anyone on the island ever let their guard down around her, or would she wander around, a rejected pariah, until she found someone who didn’t rely on others’ willingness to let themselves be killed?
Was Kelly someone who needed to die, by Marcy’s standards? The now-familiar tone in her friend’s voice put her intentions in deadly clarity. Roxanne was conflicted - which meant she obviously had opinions she’d been suppressing up until the point she realized how likely it was someone in the room wouldn’t leave alive. Annoying.
She’d always pictured the targets of their little crusade as the Quinns and Erikas of the world. People who had obviously gone far beyond any plausible deniability of how they intended to make it off the island alive. Nick didn’t fit that definition, and neither did Kelly, not really. She’d killed one person. In a horrific and premeditated manner, obviously, but just one person, so many days ago. If Roxanne didn’t know better, she would’ve guessed that Marcy just wanted her first ‘righteous’ kill to be an easy one.
“No sudden movements, please. Marcy, that goes for you, too.” An order for one, a request for the other, but the direction she was pointing the gun made it obvious which was which.
All too familiar a story. Repetitive. Kelly swore she'd seen this exact script play out before, the same Lifetime mid-afternoon melodrama, right down to the dopey extra with the gun that was supposed to play some sort of 'peacekeeper'.
"That's... true." Her throat gently bobbed as she drunk down the dry in her mouth. "Yes."
She evaluated the placid waters of Marceline's face, the straight line of her lips, the sweat slick pink plastered over the forehead. Kelly's half of the negotiations was her own nervous frown, each corner dragged down by gravity. Behind her face was her skull and her teeth, still upturned, smiling pretty. She could feel the opposition between the two directions, the truth versus her interpolation of it that radiated out for all to see. Kelly felt no shame when she'd done what she had to. All she was allowed to feel, to the contrary, was what people expected of her.
Petty concessions, play-along niceties.
"Don't do anything hasty. I- I can explain."
Always with the demands. Everyone had enough lips to speak and no ears to listen with. Kelly was always stepping onto the wrong side of the doorway, that bit closer, holding her hands up as the stench of something that had rotted flailed at her nose and as she ignored it, her stomach stoic and steady with apathy. Wrong, it was wrong. Still, was it? Now, of all times? She could have backed away. She'd chosen to approach. She'd made the right decision because that was all she knew how to do.
Trials with rigged juries, she was used to those. She was used to the feeling of winning, because it was a good feeling. Buoyant, yet not addictive. She was still clever as ever.
"I've already had to-" Prove herself. How many more times? She only barely held her tongue. Something wanted to explode out. Like puke, but she was more controlled than that by far. Her lips thinned. She continued to stare, almost feeling that she could have glared.
They never understood. Kelly, among all the children of a high school.
"Explain, I mean. She- I-... she wanted to go." Her voice cracked pathetically. Trauma relived, in the form of an edited memory. Mercy had wanted to die. Poor girl. Kelly had done her best to do her right. She felt a hotness spread like a rash from under her collar despite a roof overhead.
It never changes. They never change. She was the only one who had. Kelly had done what had to be done, and would keep doing it, and...
"I'm not. Not guilty. Not how you think." Not at all.
"That's... true." Her throat gently bobbed as she drunk down the dry in her mouth. "Yes."
She evaluated the placid waters of Marceline's face, the straight line of her lips, the sweat slick pink plastered over the forehead. Kelly's half of the negotiations was her own nervous frown, each corner dragged down by gravity. Behind her face was her skull and her teeth, still upturned, smiling pretty. She could feel the opposition between the two directions, the truth versus her interpolation of it that radiated out for all to see. Kelly felt no shame when she'd done what she had to. All she was allowed to feel, to the contrary, was what people expected of her.
Petty concessions, play-along niceties.
"Don't do anything hasty. I- I can explain."
Always with the demands. Everyone had enough lips to speak and no ears to listen with. Kelly was always stepping onto the wrong side of the doorway, that bit closer, holding her hands up as the stench of something that had rotted flailed at her nose and as she ignored it, her stomach stoic and steady with apathy. Wrong, it was wrong. Still, was it? Now, of all times? She could have backed away. She'd chosen to approach. She'd made the right decision because that was all she knew how to do.
Trials with rigged juries, she was used to those. She was used to the feeling of winning, because it was a good feeling. Buoyant, yet not addictive. She was still clever as ever.
"I've already had to-" Prove herself. How many more times? She only barely held her tongue. Something wanted to explode out. Like puke, but she was more controlled than that by far. Her lips thinned. She continued to stare, almost feeling that she could have glared.
They never understood. Kelly, among all the children of a high school.
"Explain, I mean. She- I-... she wanted to go." Her voice cracked pathetically. Trauma relived, in the form of an edited memory. Mercy had wanted to die. Poor girl. Kelly had done her best to do her right. She felt a hotness spread like a rash from under her collar despite a roof overhead.
It never changes. They never change. She was the only one who had. Kelly had done what had to be done, and would keep doing it, and...
"I'm not. Not guilty. Not how you think." Not at all.
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VoltTurtle
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Marceline could hear it in Roxanne's words, despite her not saying it out loud: she didn't want this to turn into a fight. However, if there was ever a time to get into a fight, it would be right here, right now. Maybe Kelly wasn't on the same level as Erika, or Blaise, or the now deceased Quinn, but she certainly held that same kind of darkness in her heart, Marceline could tell that much just from the manner she had murdered her one victim.
However, once she decided to go for the kill, she would still need Roxanne on her side. If she didn't manage to gain Roxanne's approval first, then the worst possible outcome could happen; Roxanne holding her at gunpoint, telling her to stop, and allowing Kelly to get away. With that in mind, it was a sensible decision to interrogate Kelly first, not unlike she had done with Nick. Only this time, her target was much, much less sympathetic, and significantly less well spoken. Kelly was already stumbling over her words, and lacking confidence in her own excuse for her actions.
The explanation that Kelly was faltering through was already starting to sound completely absurd, too. Mercy had wanted to go? What did that even mean? At least Nick's lies were convincing and could in theory be true, but Kelly's explanation had numerous problems that stretched it beyond the point of belief. Time to pick it apart, and let Kelly dig her own grave.
"Okay, say I believe you," she said, her speech flat and emotionless. "So she wanted to die, and you decided to fucking poison her because of that? Do you think anyone would have actually, willingly agreed to that? Do you really think that even if they did, they wouldn't have just done it on their own?"
Poisoning was a horrible, painful way to go. If someone well and truly wanted to die and had no other means to do it, there were still plenty of cliffs on this island to jump off of—Marceline had seen them herself, and strongly considered going to one of them after Dolly had died. Maybe Kelly was right in saying that Mercy might have wanted to die, but the circumstances could only lead Marceline to one conclusion.
"You know what I think? If I were to believe you, I think it's much more likely you made that choice for her, and therefore murdered her," she continued, not giving anyone else the verbal space to respond. "But I'm not even sure if I believe that. You know what I think is more likely? That you killed her for supplies, or did it to win that stupid murder prize that they give out for being creative."
She leveled the knife at Kelly, making her intent fatally clear. Now was time to stick the last verbal knife in, condemn Kelly's obviously bad character, and establish her as a threat that needed to be taken care of. "Or maybe you just really hated her. Who knows, but I bet you would kill again if only you got the chance. Nobody who can do what you did to Mercy is right in the head."
As she looked in Kelly's eyes, her rage continued to build as she imagined Blaise making the same excuses for why they murdered Dolly, and Alex. Kelly and Blaise were cut from the same cloth, and Marceline wasn't about to let Kelly go quietly, no matter what she or Roxanne said. Say Kelly got away and really did murder someone else, how could Marceline live with herself after that? Even if Kelly didn't kill anyone else, how could Marceline live with herself just letting Mercy go unavenged? No, she couldn't allow any of that to happen. If she had her way, Kelly wasn't going to leave this place alive, better safe than sorry with a monster like her.
"If you're really not guilty, then elaborate."
"And make it count," she hissed.
However, once she decided to go for the kill, she would still need Roxanne on her side. If she didn't manage to gain Roxanne's approval first, then the worst possible outcome could happen; Roxanne holding her at gunpoint, telling her to stop, and allowing Kelly to get away. With that in mind, it was a sensible decision to interrogate Kelly first, not unlike she had done with Nick. Only this time, her target was much, much less sympathetic, and significantly less well spoken. Kelly was already stumbling over her words, and lacking confidence in her own excuse for her actions.
The explanation that Kelly was faltering through was already starting to sound completely absurd, too. Mercy had wanted to go? What did that even mean? At least Nick's lies were convincing and could in theory be true, but Kelly's explanation had numerous problems that stretched it beyond the point of belief. Time to pick it apart, and let Kelly dig her own grave.
"Okay, say I believe you," she said, her speech flat and emotionless. "So she wanted to die, and you decided to fucking poison her because of that? Do you think anyone would have actually, willingly agreed to that? Do you really think that even if they did, they wouldn't have just done it on their own?"
Poisoning was a horrible, painful way to go. If someone well and truly wanted to die and had no other means to do it, there were still plenty of cliffs on this island to jump off of—Marceline had seen them herself, and strongly considered going to one of them after Dolly had died. Maybe Kelly was right in saying that Mercy might have wanted to die, but the circumstances could only lead Marceline to one conclusion.
"You know what I think? If I were to believe you, I think it's much more likely you made that choice for her, and therefore murdered her," she continued, not giving anyone else the verbal space to respond. "But I'm not even sure if I believe that. You know what I think is more likely? That you killed her for supplies, or did it to win that stupid murder prize that they give out for being creative."
She leveled the knife at Kelly, making her intent fatally clear. Now was time to stick the last verbal knife in, condemn Kelly's obviously bad character, and establish her as a threat that needed to be taken care of. "Or maybe you just really hated her. Who knows, but I bet you would kill again if only you got the chance. Nobody who can do what you did to Mercy is right in the head."
As she looked in Kelly's eyes, her rage continued to build as she imagined Blaise making the same excuses for why they murdered Dolly, and Alex. Kelly and Blaise were cut from the same cloth, and Marceline wasn't about to let Kelly go quietly, no matter what she or Roxanne said. Say Kelly got away and really did murder someone else, how could Marceline live with herself after that? Even if Kelly didn't kill anyone else, how could Marceline live with herself just letting Mercy go unavenged? No, she couldn't allow any of that to happen. If she had her way, Kelly wasn't going to leave this place alive, better safe than sorry with a monster like her.
"If you're really not guilty, then elaborate."
"And make it count," she hissed.
Speeches. Always with the speeches. Did Marcy want to lecture killers, or did she want to kill them? The performative preamble served no purpose, and Roxanne had never been a fan of spectacle. One's own work should speak for itself. The band wouldn’t have ever resorted to dazzling with a light show, even if they could afford one.
Kelly was already falling apart at the seams, no surprise there. Nick had been much more stoically at peace with his sins. Was her lack of poise the result of a guilty conscience? Or was she just a terrible liar? Roxanne wasn’t sure.
Either way, the accusations and guilt trips wouldn’t help. If Kelly regretted what she did, or the announcements had somehow misrepresented her deeds, then Marcy was wasting her precious breaths berating someone who was just as much a victim as them in the grand scheme of things.
If Kelly was planning to kill again, or even if she simply didn’t regret the one person she killed, all Marcy was doing was giving her desperation time to build. The more Marcy made it clear how much she wanted to strike down Kelly where she stood, the likelier it was that Kelly would decide it was time to pull out the switchblade she’d hidden in her pocket. That was Roxanne’s job to handle, sure, but she had no reason to believe she’d be any good at it. She had a shotgun. All Kelly had to do was close the distance and Marcy’d become an unwitting human shield.
Their role should be to ask questions, listen, and maybe pass judgement. That was all. No glory, no glamour.
“Maybe she’d do more talking if you gave her a chance to.”
Kelly was already falling apart at the seams, no surprise there. Nick had been much more stoically at peace with his sins. Was her lack of poise the result of a guilty conscience? Or was she just a terrible liar? Roxanne wasn’t sure.
Either way, the accusations and guilt trips wouldn’t help. If Kelly regretted what she did, or the announcements had somehow misrepresented her deeds, then Marcy was wasting her precious breaths berating someone who was just as much a victim as them in the grand scheme of things.
If Kelly was planning to kill again, or even if she simply didn’t regret the one person she killed, all Marcy was doing was giving her desperation time to build. The more Marcy made it clear how much she wanted to strike down Kelly where she stood, the likelier it was that Kelly would decide it was time to pull out the switchblade she’d hidden in her pocket. That was Roxanne’s job to handle, sure, but she had no reason to believe she’d be any good at it. She had a shotgun. All Kelly had to do was close the distance and Marcy’d become an unwitting human shield.
Their role should be to ask questions, listen, and maybe pass judgement. That was all. No glory, no glamour.
“Maybe she’d do more talking if you gave her a chance to.”
"Anna's right."
Kelly replied too suddenly. A quick hiss of seltzer accompanying a snapping open Coke bottle, a tight feeling ring in her throat only dislodged with difficulty. It had built up in her like phlegm in her lungs, all those things she hadn't been able to say because the pink-stained louse wouldn't find it in her to fucking stop talking.
What were the things she said, news? To anybody? The authority of all the alpha bitches of George Hunter, with their desperate cockroach skittering for clout and recognition and the oh-so-validating right to choke on the genitals of whatever person would deign to acknowledge them for a miserable moment out of their lives. Who was Kelly, to people like them? Someone who didn't matter. Whose casus belli amounted to being thrown overboard to drown, to being thrust before jurors who couldn't care in the least about her truth. The truth. Who killed who? Who hated who? None of those things mattered, they-
Her shirt stuck to her back. Itched, with the rot of sweat impossible to ignore.
The sensation was as much heavy on her mind as on her skin. She could remember little, all of a sudden. She existed in the moment. It was that girl she saw in the mirror sometimes, the one who forgot all the little photo cut outs she had of the plans of the future taped up onto one bedroom wall, the snips and edits and the visuals and the Kelly Nguyen in some godforsaken abandoned shack smelling too strongly of rust and iron, watching herself watching people desperately sniffing around for an excuse to shoot her-
The smell of blood had never bothered her, actually. From the very first time she'd ever choked it down over her own vomit, she'd honestly marveled that it had never been that bad. These walls smelled of the stuff. It had an almost homely draw to it.
"I am not going to stand here," and there was the fizzle of pop rocks on her tongue again, the verbiage she could only puke out so fast like she'd contracted a bug. "And defend myself when I know you have no intent to actually hear the truth."
Marceline and Mercy had that much in common. Weird creepy girls who'd always been on the outside looking in, who didn't know what was good for them.
"I don't think," Kelly didn't recognize her own voice, oddly. It sounded different when it came out of a skull full of teeth. She'd probably been this mad before in life? There were a lot of haters out there, idiots who made it so hard to live life her own way. One way or another they all became difficult to really remember. It was all the same, after a while. Maybe Marceline had a weapon? It probably didn't matter.
"You understand, Carlson." The wood of the floor hollowly grimaced and groaned as Kelly, not quite sure where she was going, thumped a few footsteps the length between the door and the blood-splattered table that dressed up the room in her bridal best. "Killing someone isn't easy. Whatever the reason."
Mercy's guts, liquefied, out on the wrong side of her body. It had been a tragic portrait of the frailty that came with circumstance. Kelly got close enough to accidentally kick a leg of the table. More purposefully, to slam her palm on top of it, glaring at her would-be executioner with an icy leer.
"I had my reasons. If you have yours, I'd love to see it."
There was only one girl in that room with divine right, and she wasn't the one that masturbated with hair dye.
Kelly replied too suddenly. A quick hiss of seltzer accompanying a snapping open Coke bottle, a tight feeling ring in her throat only dislodged with difficulty. It had built up in her like phlegm in her lungs, all those things she hadn't been able to say because the pink-stained louse wouldn't find it in her to fucking stop talking.
What were the things she said, news? To anybody? The authority of all the alpha bitches of George Hunter, with their desperate cockroach skittering for clout and recognition and the oh-so-validating right to choke on the genitals of whatever person would deign to acknowledge them for a miserable moment out of their lives. Who was Kelly, to people like them? Someone who didn't matter. Whose casus belli amounted to being thrown overboard to drown, to being thrust before jurors who couldn't care in the least about her truth. The truth. Who killed who? Who hated who? None of those things mattered, they-
Her shirt stuck to her back. Itched, with the rot of sweat impossible to ignore.
The sensation was as much heavy on her mind as on her skin. She could remember little, all of a sudden. She existed in the moment. It was that girl she saw in the mirror sometimes, the one who forgot all the little photo cut outs she had of the plans of the future taped up onto one bedroom wall, the snips and edits and the visuals and the Kelly Nguyen in some godforsaken abandoned shack smelling too strongly of rust and iron, watching herself watching people desperately sniffing around for an excuse to shoot her-
The smell of blood had never bothered her, actually. From the very first time she'd ever choked it down over her own vomit, she'd honestly marveled that it had never been that bad. These walls smelled of the stuff. It had an almost homely draw to it.
"I am not going to stand here," and there was the fizzle of pop rocks on her tongue again, the verbiage she could only puke out so fast like she'd contracted a bug. "And defend myself when I know you have no intent to actually hear the truth."
Marceline and Mercy had that much in common. Weird creepy girls who'd always been on the outside looking in, who didn't know what was good for them.
"I don't think," Kelly didn't recognize her own voice, oddly. It sounded different when it came out of a skull full of teeth. She'd probably been this mad before in life? There were a lot of haters out there, idiots who made it so hard to live life her own way. One way or another they all became difficult to really remember. It was all the same, after a while. Maybe Marceline had a weapon? It probably didn't matter.
"You understand, Carlson." The wood of the floor hollowly grimaced and groaned as Kelly, not quite sure where she was going, thumped a few footsteps the length between the door and the blood-splattered table that dressed up the room in her bridal best. "Killing someone isn't easy. Whatever the reason."
Mercy's guts, liquefied, out on the wrong side of her body. It had been a tragic portrait of the frailty that came with circumstance. Kelly got close enough to accidentally kick a leg of the table. More purposefully, to slam her palm on top of it, glaring at her would-be executioner with an icy leer.
"I had my reasons. If you have yours, I'd love to see it."
There was only one girl in that room with divine right, and she wasn't the one that masturbated with hair dye.
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VoltTurtle
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Marceline did her best to ignore Roxanne's jab at her talkativeness, as she needed to maintain her composure. She couldn't afford to display any weakness or uncertainty in front of an enemy, which Kelly had more than proven herself to be. There wasn't a hint of remorse in her voice, and the way she spoke and her body language made it abundantly clear that she was completely unhinged. She also seemed to be incredibly overconfident, as if there was no way she could possibly imagine getting hurt in this situation. The fact that she actively approached someone brandishing a knife at her was indication enough of that, and if Marceline had her way, she was going to prove Kelly wrong.
Marceline's anger only grew as Kelly dismissed her questions, and she began to wonder just how everything was going to proceed from here. She began resting her free hand on her hip, just above the pocket holding the rock she had procured, as she considered her options. Kelly was still too far away to go for a sudden surprise attack with the knife, and charging without warning might cause Roxanne to panic and fire, which could only end in disaster in a close quarters confrontation. Not only that, but it was still an unknown if Kelly had some sort of easily concealable weapon squirreled away on her person, but it would certainly make her defiance significantly more reasonable. With that in mind, she needed to anticipate potential retaliation on Kelly's part too.
As Kelly concluded her own speech, Marceline began to slowly lower her hand from her hip into her pocket, lowering the hand clutching her knife along with it, to disguise her intent. The first thing she would need to do would be to obtain the time needed to close the gap and avoid being retaliated against or accidentally shot in the process. To that end, she could start off by throwing the rock right into Kelly's face, both to disorient her and alert Roxanne. That should buy her enough time to close the gap and go for a wide angle swing. Inflicting a lethal stab wound would be better, but she would be left exposed in the process, ripe for a spiteful counterattack on Kelly's part. No, she would need to get every advantage she could get before she exposed herself like that, so perhaps taking out Kelly's eyes would be better. It would certainly make everything to follow go much more smoothly.
Still, exactly how to go about this was unfamiliar to her; her dad never taught her how to go on the offensive to try and kill someone with a knife, he had only ever taught her how to defend herself if she got attacked by someone else. Contemplatively, she curled her fingers around the rock in her pocket, feeling the pores in its surface and judging its weight, before gaining a firm hold of it. Despite her misgivings, she was confident she could figure it out. After all, as that goat had so unfortunately learned...
She tightened her grip on the rock, her knuckles turning white.
...her aim was pretty good.
Though, could she really do this? Was she really capable of murdering someone, even someone who so clearly deserved it? She had been psyching herself up for it all this time, but her heart was already racing at the thought, the sound of it pounding in her ears. Taking another person's life was wrong, she knew that much, but did she really have any other choice? The only justice that could be had in a place like this was the justice they could dole out to each other, she wouldn't find it anywhere else. Maybe it wasn't a choice she would normally want to make, but here, in this place, it was different. Still, as angry as she was, could she really direct that anger at Kelly enough to stab her to death? Could she really do that to anyone, let alone Kelly?
The thought of Blaise called up images unbidden, of their face, of Dolly's mangled corpse and that horrible little house she died in, of the nightmares Marceline had been having all this time. Those two dreadful gunshots echoed through her head, bouncing around and getting louder by the second. She felt it all over again, the crushing anguish, the torrential fury, the unfathomable hatred. With all those volatile emotions, all the adrenaline, all the moralizing, she knew she had her answer.
Yeah, she could, and she would make it hurt.
Marceline had far greater mountains to climb than the meager challenge Kelly would present, but she would serve as a good warm up for her, and a warning to everyone else. No need to continue this charade of an interrogation any further, either. She could have asked more questions, kept needling at Kelly until she finally broke, but Roxanne's words were clear enough, and she got the hint. Roxanne didn't want her to talk anymore? That was fine, they could cut directly to the killing. With that in mind, she would keep it brief.
"Yeah, I have my reasons," she said, an insincere smile creeping onto her face as her muscles began to tense up in preparation. "And I think I've heard enough."
Like a loaded spring uncoiling, Marceline suddenly whipped the rock directly at Kelly's face, the stone slamming into her head with a sickening crack. Not wasting any time, Marceline immediately rushed forward, closing the gap between them and swinging the knife directly at Kelly's eyes, just as she had planned. She felt it connect, and heard a screech, but there was no time to tell if she had made her mark. It was do or die, fight or flight, and now it was just pure instinct taking over.
Bringing the freshly bloodied blade back, Marceline's muscles tensed again, ready to go for Kelly's stomach.
Marceline's anger only grew as Kelly dismissed her questions, and she began to wonder just how everything was going to proceed from here. She began resting her free hand on her hip, just above the pocket holding the rock she had procured, as she considered her options. Kelly was still too far away to go for a sudden surprise attack with the knife, and charging without warning might cause Roxanne to panic and fire, which could only end in disaster in a close quarters confrontation. Not only that, but it was still an unknown if Kelly had some sort of easily concealable weapon squirreled away on her person, but it would certainly make her defiance significantly more reasonable. With that in mind, she needed to anticipate potential retaliation on Kelly's part too.
As Kelly concluded her own speech, Marceline began to slowly lower her hand from her hip into her pocket, lowering the hand clutching her knife along with it, to disguise her intent. The first thing she would need to do would be to obtain the time needed to close the gap and avoid being retaliated against or accidentally shot in the process. To that end, she could start off by throwing the rock right into Kelly's face, both to disorient her and alert Roxanne. That should buy her enough time to close the gap and go for a wide angle swing. Inflicting a lethal stab wound would be better, but she would be left exposed in the process, ripe for a spiteful counterattack on Kelly's part. No, she would need to get every advantage she could get before she exposed herself like that, so perhaps taking out Kelly's eyes would be better. It would certainly make everything to follow go much more smoothly.
Still, exactly how to go about this was unfamiliar to her; her dad never taught her how to go on the offensive to try and kill someone with a knife, he had only ever taught her how to defend herself if she got attacked by someone else. Contemplatively, she curled her fingers around the rock in her pocket, feeling the pores in its surface and judging its weight, before gaining a firm hold of it. Despite her misgivings, she was confident she could figure it out. After all, as that goat had so unfortunately learned...
She tightened her grip on the rock, her knuckles turning white.
...her aim was pretty good.
Though, could she really do this? Was she really capable of murdering someone, even someone who so clearly deserved it? She had been psyching herself up for it all this time, but her heart was already racing at the thought, the sound of it pounding in her ears. Taking another person's life was wrong, she knew that much, but did she really have any other choice? The only justice that could be had in a place like this was the justice they could dole out to each other, she wouldn't find it anywhere else. Maybe it wasn't a choice she would normally want to make, but here, in this place, it was different. Still, as angry as she was, could she really direct that anger at Kelly enough to stab her to death? Could she really do that to anyone, let alone Kelly?
The thought of Blaise called up images unbidden, of their face, of Dolly's mangled corpse and that horrible little house she died in, of the nightmares Marceline had been having all this time. Those two dreadful gunshots echoed through her head, bouncing around and getting louder by the second. She felt it all over again, the crushing anguish, the torrential fury, the unfathomable hatred. With all those volatile emotions, all the adrenaline, all the moralizing, she knew she had her answer.
Yeah, she could, and she would make it hurt.
Marceline had far greater mountains to climb than the meager challenge Kelly would present, but she would serve as a good warm up for her, and a warning to everyone else. No need to continue this charade of an interrogation any further, either. She could have asked more questions, kept needling at Kelly until she finally broke, but Roxanne's words were clear enough, and she got the hint. Roxanne didn't want her to talk anymore? That was fine, they could cut directly to the killing. With that in mind, she would keep it brief.
"Yeah, I have my reasons," she said, an insincere smile creeping onto her face as her muscles began to tense up in preparation. "And I think I've heard enough."
Like a loaded spring uncoiling, Marceline suddenly whipped the rock directly at Kelly's face, the stone slamming into her head with a sickening crack. Not wasting any time, Marceline immediately rushed forward, closing the gap between them and swinging the knife directly at Kelly's eyes, just as she had planned. She felt it connect, and heard a screech, but there was no time to tell if she had made her mark. It was do or die, fight or flight, and now it was just pure instinct taking over.
Bringing the freshly bloodied blade back, Marceline's muscles tensed again, ready to go for Kelly's stomach.
Kelly moved and talked in erratic bursts, like a puppet with only half its strings cut, helplessly dangling and twirling in the wind. Roxanne could relate, at least on a surface level - she’d felt her share of anguish in her life, but it felt ridiculous to compare it to what Kelly had been through, what she’d done.
No more excuses from her, just resignation and an invitation - one that Marcy was all too eager to take. Everything about Kelly screamed that she was already breaking - that all they’d accomplish by hurting her was grinding the remains of her shattered-glass personae beneath their heels. Was this what they were standing for?
That smile - was Marcy enjoying this theater, this display of violent control? Did it thrill her, to throw that rock, to truly harm someone for the first time in her life?
They were too close. Roxanne couldn’t shoot.
No more excuses from her, just resignation and an invitation - one that Marcy was all too eager to take. Everything about Kelly screamed that she was already breaking - that all they’d accomplish by hurting her was grinding the remains of her shattered-glass personae beneath their heels. Was this what they were standing for?
That smile - was Marcy enjoying this theater, this display of violent control? Did it thrill her, to throw that rock, to truly harm someone for the first time in her life?
They were too close. Roxanne couldn’t shoot.
Anna was a good girl. Anna was a kind girl. Look at the fear in her eyes.
Just like Mercy.
She deserved better than the sum total of her life on the island, more than the aggregate amount of sugar and cyanide she'd been feed a lifetime's worth by her no talent-
whatever the fuck instrument it even was Carlson played in their please-shut-the-garage-door band
Poor Anna. Fucking coward Anna. Look at the hesitation in her eyes. Unlike the eyes of the barreling train of bitch meat and poor assumptions. That was the setting, a photo negative snapshot, a picture of an evolving story. Blurring, running red at the edges because something was dripping out of the spot on Kelly's forehead that had become utter agony.
Kelly's grin got a little wider as she drunk in the adrenaline. Literal, when her cheek partially split around the knife point introduced so kindly to it. This close Kelly could smell all the stink of Carlson's sweat. No way she shaved with that much built up musk. Fuck. This hurt. This hurt. There was only anti-incentive to move her mouth. Negative reinforcement, Pavlovian shock as even a little bitty twist of her lips, her jaw, the things that were supposed to belong to her that had been ruined by this sub-human piece of-
Still Kelly was saying something. Screaming it. Could have been 'no', or maybe an oath to the gods to smite the wicked, or a prayer for the safety of the good girls in the world-
The ones named Kelly, anyhow
Logical part of her brain remainder was also about as apeshit as the rest. Moving forward backward and other directions not on the compass and getting nowhere because wherever she went, Carlson was there, she was everywhere and everything except Kelly's bag, wherein lay salvation as the strap twisted almost hangman around her neck, sheer momentum dragging it. Kelly grabbed the shell, threatened with it, screamed at it, kept screaming some more. It hit the table behind her, Kelly hit the table behind her and the table became under her, edge so gently ramming into her tailbone with all the subtlety of Lucas' stupid big dick.
Why wasn't it working?
Why was she hitting the table flat on with the back of her head, why wasn't it working? It was supposed to work. She continued to bash the shell into the table, over and over. It was supposed to work. It was supposed to work.
She kept screaming. Extra air entered the shortcut way through her Glasgow smile. She wasn't supposed to be here. The world was all this fucking shade of artifical, boring, bad-hair day pink. That wiped away all the red and white, the blinding hues of her rage, of her own spilling blood.
Just like Mercy.
She deserved better than the sum total of her life on the island, more than the aggregate amount of sugar and cyanide she'd been feed a lifetime's worth by her no talent-
whatever the fuck instrument it even was Carlson played in their please-shut-the-garage-door band
Poor Anna. Fucking coward Anna. Look at the hesitation in her eyes. Unlike the eyes of the barreling train of bitch meat and poor assumptions. That was the setting, a photo negative snapshot, a picture of an evolving story. Blurring, running red at the edges because something was dripping out of the spot on Kelly's forehead that had become utter agony.
Kelly's grin got a little wider as she drunk in the adrenaline. Literal, when her cheek partially split around the knife point introduced so kindly to it. This close Kelly could smell all the stink of Carlson's sweat. No way she shaved with that much built up musk. Fuck. This hurt. This hurt. There was only anti-incentive to move her mouth. Negative reinforcement, Pavlovian shock as even a little bitty twist of her lips, her jaw, the things that were supposed to belong to her that had been ruined by this sub-human piece of-
Still Kelly was saying something. Screaming it. Could have been 'no', or maybe an oath to the gods to smite the wicked, or a prayer for the safety of the good girls in the world-
The ones named Kelly, anyhow
Logical part of her brain remainder was also about as apeshit as the rest. Moving forward backward and other directions not on the compass and getting nowhere because wherever she went, Carlson was there, she was everywhere and everything except Kelly's bag, wherein lay salvation as the strap twisted almost hangman around her neck, sheer momentum dragging it. Kelly grabbed the shell, threatened with it, screamed at it, kept screaming some more. It hit the table behind her, Kelly hit the table behind her and the table became under her, edge so gently ramming into her tailbone with all the subtlety of Lucas' stupid big dick.
Why wasn't it working?
Why was she hitting the table flat on with the back of her head, why wasn't it working? It was supposed to work. She continued to bash the shell into the table, over and over. It was supposed to work. It was supposed to work.
She kept screaming. Extra air entered the shortcut way through her Glasgow smile. She wasn't supposed to be here. The world was all this fucking shade of artifical, boring, bad-hair day pink. That wiped away all the red and white, the blinding hues of her rage, of her own spilling blood.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Marceline had unfortunately missed Kelly's eyes, and Kelly was flailing around too much to allow for a clean stab while still maintaining defensive distance. Fortunately for her, however, it seemed that Kelly's ace in the hole was a single shotgun shell, only without a shotgun to go along with it. Apparently, she had been under the assumption that she could make it go off just by hitting the primer against whatever happened to be nearby, which was ridiculous; they were designed not to go off that easily specifically for the sake of safety, her dad had taught her that much during her visits to his gun store. Moreover, even if Kelly could manage to make it happen, her hand would likely be heavily burned, badly bruised, and bleeding at the end.
So because Kelly clearly had no real tricks up her sleeve, and no real way of harming Marceline, that meant she didn't need to maintain any kind of defense. Seizing on this opportunity, Marceline shoulder tackled the smaller girl onto the table behind her, slamming her head against the blood-spattered wood below. She struggled and squirmed underneath Marceline, still futilely trying to set off the shell, even as she was pinned her down by the neck and having the life choked out of her. Marceline brought the knife back, readying to gut Kelly like the pig she was, but she hesitated when Kelly's eyes met her own for the first time in their struggle.
She saw the anger in them, but more prominently, she saw the panic, and the fear. Even with all the adrenaline and hatred, she couldn't help but briefly empathize with her. Perhaps this was the way Dolly had looked at Blaise, when they had so cruelly executed her.
Maybe it was also the way that Mercy had looked at Kelly, when she had done the same.
Marceline tightened her grip on the knife's handle, clenched her jaw, and pressed harder on Kelly's neck. She had no need to rethink her actions, because what she was doing was just. Kelly deserved to spend her last moments afraid and in pain, because that was exactly what she had inflicted upon her victim. What was happening now was a fitting punishment, one that Marceline would be more than happy to deliver.
In the end, her hesitation had only lasted for a moment, no more than a single second.
So because Kelly clearly had no real tricks up her sleeve, and no real way of harming Marceline, that meant she didn't need to maintain any kind of defense. Seizing on this opportunity, Marceline shoulder tackled the smaller girl onto the table behind her, slamming her head against the blood-spattered wood below. She struggled and squirmed underneath Marceline, still futilely trying to set off the shell, even as she was pinned her down by the neck and having the life choked out of her. Marceline brought the knife back, readying to gut Kelly like the pig she was, but she hesitated when Kelly's eyes met her own for the first time in their struggle.
She saw the anger in them, but more prominently, she saw the panic, and the fear. Even with all the adrenaline and hatred, she couldn't help but briefly empathize with her. Perhaps this was the way Dolly had looked at Blaise, when they had so cruelly executed her.
Maybe it was also the way that Mercy had looked at Kelly, when she had done the same.
Marceline tightened her grip on the knife's handle, clenched her jaw, and pressed harder on Kelly's neck. She had no need to rethink her actions, because what she was doing was just. Kelly deserved to spend her last moments afraid and in pain, because that was exactly what she had inflicted upon her victim. What was happening now was a fitting punishment, one that Marceline would be more than happy to deliver.
In the end, her hesitation had only lasted for a moment, no more than a single second.