((Myles Roux continued from C'est La Vie))
It wasn't hard to catch up to Ivy, but even when Myles reached her, they just continued their mad dash away from Julien together until her stamina gave out. To be fair, Myles wasn't far behind in that regard either. He wasn't made for running.
The woods had come to life with noise around them as they ran away. It had taken a minute to parse that it was the announcement coming on. Myles had only absorbed that information in snatches.
Declyn had killed someone.
Declyn hadn't just killed someone. He'd killed Drew, another guy from the gardening club. They were pretty good friends, Myles thought. Declyn had shot him. That was all there was to say about it, apparently.
How was it that Declyn could shoot his friend, and Myles couldn't even bring himself to hurt someone that he hated and who deserved it when Julien was already on the ground?
He was almost glad when, shortly after they came to a stop at the weird tree that someone had apparently decorated with shoes, Ivy doubled over to throw up. Not for that occurrence specifically, but because it gave him something else to focus on.
Crime and Punishment
Tsumi to Batsu (Day 6, Post-Announcement)
Crime and Punishment
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
It was Ivy's second time puking on this island. It didn't get better.
>> Ivy Langley continued from C'est La Vie
The first time she'd had an excuse anyone would find reasonable; what teenage girl was expected to run into a days-old corpse and not feel ill? She'd still been ashamed, at the time, but she forgave herself in retrospect. She'd always been squeamish, anyway, she could barely look at her own bruises. So it followed that she couldn't stomach what she'd done, right, that she couldn't face it, that just thinking about holding the knife made her dizzy again? She wanted to forgive herself for that, too. But she couldn't.
She wanted to feel good, or proud of herself, or something. But there was nothing there.
The announcements had played. She'd barely heard them. She'd only really grasped a couple of names and she remembered the day before thinking how things would fall into place after one of them was dead and she'd been joking but now they were gone and she could throw up all over again if anything was left in her stomach. Wyatt would be heartbroken. She told herself that was the only reason she cared.
It was background noise, anyway, comparatively. She slumped against the stupid ugly smelly tree she'd spent the night with Ace and Connor at all those nights before because of course she'd end up back here. It still stunk of molding leather. She hugged her knees and looked up at Myles listlessly.
"Was that—I—"
More than anything she just didn't want to start crying again.
"I know I should've—I was afraid he'd—I don't know—"
She was close.
>> Ivy Langley continued from C'est La Vie
The first time she'd had an excuse anyone would find reasonable; what teenage girl was expected to run into a days-old corpse and not feel ill? She'd still been ashamed, at the time, but she forgave herself in retrospect. She'd always been squeamish, anyway, she could barely look at her own bruises. So it followed that she couldn't stomach what she'd done, right, that she couldn't face it, that just thinking about holding the knife made her dizzy again? She wanted to forgive herself for that, too. But she couldn't.
She wanted to feel good, or proud of herself, or something. But there was nothing there.
The announcements had played. She'd barely heard them. She'd only really grasped a couple of names and she remembered the day before thinking how things would fall into place after one of them was dead and she'd been joking but now they were gone and she could throw up all over again if anything was left in her stomach. Wyatt would be heartbroken. She told herself that was the only reason she cared.
It was background noise, anyway, comparatively. She slumped against the stupid ugly smelly tree she'd spent the night with Ace and Connor at all those nights before because of course she'd end up back here. It still stunk of molding leather. She hugged her knees and looked up at Myles listlessly.
"Was that—I—"
More than anything she just didn't want to start crying again.
"I know I should've—I was afraid he'd—I don't know—"
She was close.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"It's okay."
More than anything, Myles was surprised that his voice was only a little wobbly. He was still out of breath, but his voice didn't shake like he was about to cry. He wasn't sure if he wanted to cry, at least not as much as he had earlier. It just kind of felt like he would. If Ivy started, he probably wouldn't be able to help himself.
He stepped around the spot in the grass where she'd thrown up and sat next to her with his back against the tree. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and leaned his head against hers. Who cared if her breath smelled at this point? Everyone was greasy and messy and gross by now.
"It's okay," he murmured, smoothing over everything with that stupid, blatant lie.
Maybe Julien would die after all, there where they had left him, from a combination of getting bleach sprayed in his face and whatever other injuries he'd picked up. Maybe if he did manage to get back up, he'd take Myles's words to heart and save everyone the trouble by taking a trip over a cliff after all.
Anything, so that Myles wouldn't have to feel guilty about letting him live after what he'd done and what he'd threatened to do.
"If we see him again," he said, trying to put conviction in his voice, "I'll kill him."
More than anything, Myles was surprised that his voice was only a little wobbly. He was still out of breath, but his voice didn't shake like he was about to cry. He wasn't sure if he wanted to cry, at least not as much as he had earlier. It just kind of felt like he would. If Ivy started, he probably wouldn't be able to help himself.
He stepped around the spot in the grass where she'd thrown up and sat next to her with his back against the tree. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and leaned his head against hers. Who cared if her breath smelled at this point? Everyone was greasy and messy and gross by now.
"It's okay," he murmured, smoothing over everything with that stupid, blatant lie.
Maybe Julien would die after all, there where they had left him, from a combination of getting bleach sprayed in his face and whatever other injuries he'd picked up. Maybe if he did manage to get back up, he'd take Myles's words to heart and save everyone the trouble by taking a trip over a cliff after all.
Anything, so that Myles wouldn't have to feel guilty about letting him live after what he'd done and what he'd threatened to do.
"If we see him again," he said, trying to put conviction in his voice, "I'll kill him."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Thanks, Ivy almost said before stopping herself, because despite everything thanking her best friend for a sincere threat of murder felt slightly inappropriate. She managed a nod, instead, one small and serious enough that she hoped he believed it. She wanted to believe it. She knew Myles, though, had seen the way she'd cringed away from her when she'd drove the knife in, she didn't blame him. She hadn't wanted to be there, either.
He was trying, though. That meant enough. She laid her head on his shoulder, still trembling more than she'd like.
"I..."
Her voice was so small. She remembered whispering across a pitch-black room to Ace, praying she hadn't done more wrong than she'd known. She missed him.
"I was asleep. Before Julien—he woke me up. You know?"
"I just—before I did, he could've..."
She shuddered. It kept getting smaller.
"I can't stop thinking about it. I can't—I can't know and I guess it doesn't—doesn't really matter with everything else happening—"
But she couldn't stop thinking about it, but she hadn't stopped thinking about it since the words had come out of his mouth. Who said things like that, even trying to be antagonistic? Even sure as he clearly was that she was hiding, likely trying to lure her out with whatever ugly sounds he could? Even knowing that, even knowing he was baiting her, even knowing he succeeded, there were a million other things he could have said, and he still would have been a psychotic asshole and she still would have hated him but she wouldn't be so fucking stuck, right, here.
Was that what he wanted? For her to think about him for the rest of her life? That thought, somehow, was what repulsed her the most.
He was trying, though. That meant enough. She laid her head on his shoulder, still trembling more than she'd like.
"I..."
Her voice was so small. She remembered whispering across a pitch-black room to Ace, praying she hadn't done more wrong than she'd known. She missed him.
"I was asleep. Before Julien—he woke me up. You know?"
"I just—before I did, he could've..."
She shuddered. It kept getting smaller.
"I can't stop thinking about it. I can't—I can't know and I guess it doesn't—doesn't really matter with everything else happening—"
But she couldn't stop thinking about it, but she hadn't stopped thinking about it since the words had come out of his mouth. Who said things like that, even trying to be antagonistic? Even sure as he clearly was that she was hiding, likely trying to lure her out with whatever ugly sounds he could? Even knowing that, even knowing he was baiting her, even knowing he succeeded, there were a million other things he could have said, and he still would have been a psychotic asshole and she still would have hated him but she wouldn't be so fucking stuck, right, here.
Was that what he wanted? For her to think about him for the rest of her life? That thought, somehow, was what repulsed her the most.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Oh, come the fuck on, the universe really wasn’t gonna throw him a bone, was it?
((Garren Mortimer continued from The match is struck. A blazing star is born.))
He watched, nestled in the midst of a tight cluster of bushes, as Myles and Ivy, Myles and fucking Ivy, sat and rested next to each other, and his face twisted into a scowl. He’d traipsed all the way from the waterfall to here - not a long trek, but the treacherous terrain in combination with the shitty weather had made it take double the time it would have normally - and his feet were fucking killing him. He’d had to listen to the announcement on the way over, re-live the moment Aoi had collapsed in a heap, learn that Quinn hadn’t stopped or even slowed down.
And for what? To run smack-bang into two people who hated his guts. Well, vice-fucking-versa on that point, cotton candy nightmare duo.
Sure, they weren’t the worst people he could have encountered. Obviously that title went to one of the multi-time killers like Erika or Lorenzo. Or, of course, Quinn, because that encounter was only ever going to end one way. And it wasn’t Wyatt sitting in the clearing under the shoe tree at least; not that Garren had ever been stupid enough to try and chat shit to Wyatt, but, c’mon, who would willingly wanna spend time with the walking talking slab of meat?
Especially not now that he was the only Carter left.
The issue with Myvy was that, unlike the majority of Garren’s old targets, he actually did dislike them both. That queen bee, hyper-privileged, spoiled-sweet, holier-than-thou attitude seeped into everything they did. Every person at George Hunter had at least one nasty story to tell about Ivy and Myles, and all of those stories far outstripped the nice ones. Garren had always compared Ivy, in both looks and appearance, to one of those smug anime profile pictures that enlightened centrists on the internet liked to jack off over. Myles was always joined at the hip to her, so he was bundled into the exact same sphere, and he’d had just as many dicks inside of him as her, too.
… God, but they both looked fucking awful right now, though.
He had to wonder. He had to wonder exactly what sort of wars they’d both been through to get to this point. He thought about who they’d run into, who they’d been through, to come out alive, without having killed anybody, and yet looking like they’d survived the trials of three times as many days. Maybe, maybe they’d be sympathetic to his plight. Letting them know he’d lend them a bandage or a bottle of alcohol was just empty words at this point, but it was all he really had to offer. They’d never, personally, hurt him without cause at school. He had no reason to hate them.
Unfortunately, that was not a two-way street. They both had plenty of reason to despise him, and it’d be perfectly valid for them to keep that hatred through to the island. As soon as he poked his head out of the bushes, anything could happen; they could chase him away, with words, or thrown objects. Or maybe this was the breaking point that made them do worse to him.
So Garren let out a silent sigh, resolving to wait a little longer and see how things played out.
Then his stomach growled, and after a moment’s pause, he sighed again.
Fuckin’ peachy.
((Garren Mortimer continued from The match is struck. A blazing star is born.))
He watched, nestled in the midst of a tight cluster of bushes, as Myles and Ivy, Myles and fucking Ivy, sat and rested next to each other, and his face twisted into a scowl. He’d traipsed all the way from the waterfall to here - not a long trek, but the treacherous terrain in combination with the shitty weather had made it take double the time it would have normally - and his feet were fucking killing him. He’d had to listen to the announcement on the way over, re-live the moment Aoi had collapsed in a heap, learn that Quinn hadn’t stopped or even slowed down.
And for what? To run smack-bang into two people who hated his guts. Well, vice-fucking-versa on that point, cotton candy nightmare duo.
Sure, they weren’t the worst people he could have encountered. Obviously that title went to one of the multi-time killers like Erika or Lorenzo. Or, of course, Quinn, because that encounter was only ever going to end one way. And it wasn’t Wyatt sitting in the clearing under the shoe tree at least; not that Garren had ever been stupid enough to try and chat shit to Wyatt, but, c’mon, who would willingly wanna spend time with the walking talking slab of meat?
Especially not now that he was the only Carter left.
The issue with Myvy was that, unlike the majority of Garren’s old targets, he actually did dislike them both. That queen bee, hyper-privileged, spoiled-sweet, holier-than-thou attitude seeped into everything they did. Every person at George Hunter had at least one nasty story to tell about Ivy and Myles, and all of those stories far outstripped the nice ones. Garren had always compared Ivy, in both looks and appearance, to one of those smug anime profile pictures that enlightened centrists on the internet liked to jack off over. Myles was always joined at the hip to her, so he was bundled into the exact same sphere, and he’d had just as many dicks inside of him as her, too.
… God, but they both looked fucking awful right now, though.
He had to wonder. He had to wonder exactly what sort of wars they’d both been through to get to this point. He thought about who they’d run into, who they’d been through, to come out alive, without having killed anybody, and yet looking like they’d survived the trials of three times as many days. Maybe, maybe they’d be sympathetic to his plight. Letting them know he’d lend them a bandage or a bottle of alcohol was just empty words at this point, but it was all he really had to offer. They’d never, personally, hurt him without cause at school. He had no reason to hate them.
Unfortunately, that was not a two-way street. They both had plenty of reason to despise him, and it’d be perfectly valid for them to keep that hatred through to the island. As soon as he poked his head out of the bushes, anything could happen; they could chase him away, with words, or thrown objects. Or maybe this was the breaking point that made them do worse to him.
So Garren let out a silent sigh, resolving to wait a little longer and see how things played out.
Then his stomach growled, and after a moment’s pause, he sighed again.
Fuckin’ peachy.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Myles turned and hugged Ivy fully, squeezing her as tight as he thought was safe with her injuries. "If he did anything to you, he'd have said so." That, he believed. The way Julien was talking, showboating what a cool bad guy he thought he was, there was no way he'd have shied away from it. If he'd done anything... worse, somehow, than just beating Ivy when she came around, he wouldn't have teased that he just had the opportunity to do it.
Why could Myles feel angry enough to do something about it now? Why hadn't he been able to just take the knife out and use it when it mattered?
"Forget about him. He doesn't matter. He's trash, and someone's going to kill him if he doesn't hurry up and die on his own." It wasn't the kind of reassurance Myles had ever imagined giving himself or anybody else. He liked horror and all that stuff, but anybody who actually fantasized about violence and death was sick. But right now, Myles didn't think he'd be happier to hear anything other than Julien's name on the announcement the next morning.
Why could Myles feel angry enough to do something about it now? Why hadn't he been able to just take the knife out and use it when it mattered?
"Forget about him. He doesn't matter. He's trash, and someone's going to kill him if he doesn't hurry up and die on his own." It wasn't the kind of reassurance Myles had ever imagined giving himself or anybody else. He liked horror and all that stuff, but anybody who actually fantasized about violence and death was sick. But right now, Myles didn't think he'd be happier to hear anything other than Julien's name on the announcement the next morning.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"I know."
She did know. Myles was right, because he usually was. Julien was the exact kind of fucking freak to get off on telling her what he'd done to her to her face, if he'd had anything of substance to say. Something was going to kill him, because something was going to kill basically all of them, and because he was already hurt and no one cared about him enough to go out of their way to take care of him. And probably she shouldn't take any joy in that. She did anyway, but maybe not as much as she'd like.
She knew. But that didn't stop the what ifs from taking root in the back of her mind, the what if Julien had barely maintained the presence of mind to not confess the worst of his sins, or the more likely what if he'd realized not giving her every detail only made it more inevitable that she'd obsess over every possibility, or the most likely what if of all, that they just couldn't understand what the fuck he was doing or trying to do because he was a fucking psycho and trying to get into his head was just going to make them both feel worse. She knew it didn't make sense. That didn't have to matter.
Myles was right, and Ivy squeezed him back, as hard as she could, but when she closed her eyes she still saw Julien smirking back at her. And maybe that was just how it was going to be, for however long "the rest of her life" amounted to. At least until something pressing came up. And with the current definition of pressing, maybe this was the best she could hope for, for now.
She still felt like she was going to cry, but she didn't. That was almost a victory.
She peeked over Myles's shoulder, into the bushes across the clearing, remembering eyes peering out from the distance, a million years ago. When Ace was still holding her hand. When they'd ran into Connor, when he'd practically laughed in her face when she told him what Julien had done to her, the prick. It made her uncomfortable, being back here, like she'd barely escaped death from some shadow in the woods the first time around and was tempting fate by coming back.
She wanted to leave, but her body barely worked, but she was still shaking in Myles's arms, but she was trapped. And maybe that was okay. Just for a moment longer.
She did know. Myles was right, because he usually was. Julien was the exact kind of fucking freak to get off on telling her what he'd done to her to her face, if he'd had anything of substance to say. Something was going to kill him, because something was going to kill basically all of them, and because he was already hurt and no one cared about him enough to go out of their way to take care of him. And probably she shouldn't take any joy in that. She did anyway, but maybe not as much as she'd like.
She knew. But that didn't stop the what ifs from taking root in the back of her mind, the what if Julien had barely maintained the presence of mind to not confess the worst of his sins, or the more likely what if he'd realized not giving her every detail only made it more inevitable that she'd obsess over every possibility, or the most likely what if of all, that they just couldn't understand what the fuck he was doing or trying to do because he was a fucking psycho and trying to get into his head was just going to make them both feel worse. She knew it didn't make sense. That didn't have to matter.
Myles was right, and Ivy squeezed him back, as hard as she could, but when she closed her eyes she still saw Julien smirking back at her. And maybe that was just how it was going to be, for however long "the rest of her life" amounted to. At least until something pressing came up. And with the current definition of pressing, maybe this was the best she could hope for, for now.
She still felt like she was going to cry, but she didn't. That was almost a victory.
She peeked over Myles's shoulder, into the bushes across the clearing, remembering eyes peering out from the distance, a million years ago. When Ace was still holding her hand. When they'd ran into Connor, when he'd practically laughed in her face when she told him what Julien had done to her, the prick. It made her uncomfortable, being back here, like she'd barely escaped death from some shadow in the woods the first time around and was tempting fate by coming back.
She wanted to leave, but her body barely worked, but she was still shaking in Myles's arms, but she was trapped. And maybe that was okay. Just for a moment longer.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Myles wished that Ivy would say more. Almost anything would do, as long as it made her sound more like herself. She wasn't supposed to be so scared and upset and unsure of herself when she was sober. Even when the whole thing with Wyatt and Bret had gone down-
Oh yeah. Bret.
Bret was dead, huh. Myles thought about that for a few seconds, just to confirm that he didn't feel anything more than faintly perturbed. Of the Carter twins, he wouldn't have expected Bret to be the first to go. He couldn't say that to Ivy, of course. She had figured out that she liked Wyatt more for some reason Myles still couldn't comprehend and didn't care to try to unpack, so whatever she felt for Bret now, she'd probably be more hurt on Wyatt's behalf.
It was probably better if Myles just didn't bring any of that up. He wasn't sure how much of the announcement Ivy had actually absorbed. He'd stopped listening so hard days ago. All he needed was to know who to avoid.
All he needed was to know how Declyn had managed it, while Myles couldn't.
"Here," he found himself saying, momentarily releasing Ivy to dig around in his bag. "Water. It'll make you feel better." Simple, almost habitual actions now. He could do them without thinking about them, without hinting what he was really thinking about.
He didn't like lying to Ivy, even through omission, but he could barely handle his own thoughts. There was no way she'd be able to deal with that right now.
Oh yeah. Bret.
Bret was dead, huh. Myles thought about that for a few seconds, just to confirm that he didn't feel anything more than faintly perturbed. Of the Carter twins, he wouldn't have expected Bret to be the first to go. He couldn't say that to Ivy, of course. She had figured out that she liked Wyatt more for some reason Myles still couldn't comprehend and didn't care to try to unpack, so whatever she felt for Bret now, she'd probably be more hurt on Wyatt's behalf.
It was probably better if Myles just didn't bring any of that up. He wasn't sure how much of the announcement Ivy had actually absorbed. He'd stopped listening so hard days ago. All he needed was to know who to avoid.
All he needed was to know how Declyn had managed it, while Myles couldn't.
"Here," he found himself saying, momentarily releasing Ivy to dig around in his bag. "Water. It'll make you feel better." Simple, almost habitual actions now. He could do them without thinking about them, without hinting what he was really thinking about.
He didn't like lying to Ivy, even through omission, but he could barely handle his own thoughts. There was no way she'd be able to deal with that right now.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"Thank you."
Her voice was barely a whisper. She hated that, hated how meek and timid she sounded, especially here, alone, with Myles. Anyone else in the world and she wouldn't feel guilty about wallowing in her self-pity for as far as it would carry her. He deserved more than having to play babysitter, not that she hadn't stuck him with doing that a thousand times back home. He'd never seemed to mind, much, though the stakes were admittedly much lower back then. It had felt so much like life or death sometimes. It was funny, in retrospect, except for how much it really really wasn't.
She did take the water. It tasted like lukewarm dirt but somehow seemed refreshing regardless. She drank what was objectively too much, not quite consciously realizing it was Myles's water and not her own until she'd already drained half the bottle, but apologizing was only going to worsen the timidity problem, so she handed the bottle back in silence.
It was silent for a few more seconds and she was so, so sick of it.
"I'm glad you're here."
She paused.
"If you had to be... here. You know."
Meaningless words, but better than nothing.
"I missed. Most of the announcements. I heard—you know." She made a vague hand gesture that meant absolutely nothing. "I missed the rest. Was there..."
She trailed off, aimlessly. Was there anyone important felt crueler than she meant it, but she knew he knew. He always did.
Her voice was barely a whisper. She hated that, hated how meek and timid she sounded, especially here, alone, with Myles. Anyone else in the world and she wouldn't feel guilty about wallowing in her self-pity for as far as it would carry her. He deserved more than having to play babysitter, not that she hadn't stuck him with doing that a thousand times back home. He'd never seemed to mind, much, though the stakes were admittedly much lower back then. It had felt so much like life or death sometimes. It was funny, in retrospect, except for how much it really really wasn't.
She did take the water. It tasted like lukewarm dirt but somehow seemed refreshing regardless. She drank what was objectively too much, not quite consciously realizing it was Myles's water and not her own until she'd already drained half the bottle, but apologizing was only going to worsen the timidity problem, so she handed the bottle back in silence.
It was silent for a few more seconds and she was so, so sick of it.
"I'm glad you're here."
She paused.
"If you had to be... here. You know."
Meaningless words, but better than nothing.
"I missed. Most of the announcements. I heard—you know." She made a vague hand gesture that meant absolutely nothing. "I missed the rest. Was there..."
She trailed off, aimlessly. Was there anyone important felt crueler than she meant it, but she knew he knew. He always did.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Myles kept one arm around Ivy's shoulders, absently winding his fingers into her hair. It was knotted and greasy; he'd honestly never seen it in this state in all the years that they'd known each other. Ivy knew how to take good care of her hair.
"Declyn shot a guy. That's all they said about it."
Honestly, which guy it was barely even mattered, despite Myles's earlier thoughts. It was Declyn. Declyn had pulled the trigger. Ivy had been with him on the first day she'd told him, when Lori tried to drug all of them. It sounded like Declyn had been the only one to keep his head on straight, there.
Myles didn't know how to feel. He didn't want to feel anything, but instead he was confused and upset about everything. It wasn't fair.
The bushes off to the side didn't care about his little pity party, judging from how they kept rustling every so often and interrupting his thoughts. By the time it finally registered, Myles was irritated about it before it clicked what the noise might actually mean, and he started, unconsciously squeezing Ivy closer to his side.
"Did you hear that?"
"Declyn shot a guy. That's all they said about it."
Honestly, which guy it was barely even mattered, despite Myles's earlier thoughts. It was Declyn. Declyn had pulled the trigger. Ivy had been with him on the first day she'd told him, when Lori tried to drug all of them. It sounded like Declyn had been the only one to keep his head on straight, there.
Myles didn't know how to feel. He didn't want to feel anything, but instead he was confused and upset about everything. It wasn't fair.
The bushes off to the side didn't care about his little pity party, judging from how they kept rustling every so often and interrupting his thoughts. By the time it finally registered, Myles was irritated about it before it clicked what the noise might actually mean, and he started, unconsciously squeezing Ivy closer to his side.
"Did you hear that?"
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Oh, fuck off.
He thought he’d gotten away with it at first, that the noise had been amplified in his head and that it had barely been above a whisper to the rest of the world. Hell, maybe it still had! Maybe he just sucked shit at being stealthy, not helped by the fact he thought he would black out from exhaustion and hunger whenever he held the same position for too long. He’d never exactly been known for being lowkey and under-the-radar, which really put another nail in the coffin of his ‘stay out of sight of the players’ plan.
Whatever the case might have been, Myles had obviously caught wind that he and Ivy were no longer alone, just as Garren had thought it safe to let out a sigh of relief.
Oh, and of course, now his body decided it was gonna totally freeze up and let him hold his breath effortlessly, after he’d already been found out. Great job, stunning play all around, real team effort. Fuck’s sake.
He briefly considered laying low and remaining hidden, hoping the duo decided not to investigate what could have just been a sudden gust of wind, and then just as briefly considered turning tail and fleeing, because the bottom line was, he really, really didn’t want to deal with Ivy and Myles right now. Like, he didn’t wanna deal with them in a normal situation, he didn’t wanna deal with them tenfold now, and he’d just been dealing with another-
…
Well. He’d just been through a lot. Yeah.
But neither of those options were really viable at all, because it would be straight up suicidal to pass up a chance at food and safety and a momentary respite, no matter who it was in front of him. And, once again… both of them looked like shit. If they’d been through hell, he didn’t really feel great about leaving them in the lurch and making them paranoid as to whether they were being watched or not.
So with a long, drawn out sigh, Garren picked himself up, mumbling out curses as he disentangled himself from the branches grabbing at his clothes. He looked from Myles, to Ivy, the back to Myles, because out of the two Myles was definitely winning the ‘least fucked up’ award.
“Uh… hey.”
Fucking stunning. Garren paused, for a painfully long time, before continuing.
“So I’ll be the first to admit this doesn’t look great.”
He thought he’d gotten away with it at first, that the noise had been amplified in his head and that it had barely been above a whisper to the rest of the world. Hell, maybe it still had! Maybe he just sucked shit at being stealthy, not helped by the fact he thought he would black out from exhaustion and hunger whenever he held the same position for too long. He’d never exactly been known for being lowkey and under-the-radar, which really put another nail in the coffin of his ‘stay out of sight of the players’ plan.
Whatever the case might have been, Myles had obviously caught wind that he and Ivy were no longer alone, just as Garren had thought it safe to let out a sigh of relief.
Oh, and of course, now his body decided it was gonna totally freeze up and let him hold his breath effortlessly, after he’d already been found out. Great job, stunning play all around, real team effort. Fuck’s sake.
He briefly considered laying low and remaining hidden, hoping the duo decided not to investigate what could have just been a sudden gust of wind, and then just as briefly considered turning tail and fleeing, because the bottom line was, he really, really didn’t want to deal with Ivy and Myles right now. Like, he didn’t wanna deal with them in a normal situation, he didn’t wanna deal with them tenfold now, and he’d just been dealing with another-
…
Well. He’d just been through a lot. Yeah.
But neither of those options were really viable at all, because it would be straight up suicidal to pass up a chance at food and safety and a momentary respite, no matter who it was in front of him. And, once again… both of them looked like shit. If they’d been through hell, he didn’t really feel great about leaving them in the lurch and making them paranoid as to whether they were being watched or not.
So with a long, drawn out sigh, Garren picked himself up, mumbling out curses as he disentangled himself from the branches grabbing at his clothes. He looked from Myles, to Ivy, the back to Myles, because out of the two Myles was definitely winning the ‘least fucked up’ award.
“Uh… hey.”
Fucking stunning. Garren paused, for a painfully long time, before continuing.
“So I’ll be the first to admit this doesn’t look great.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Declyn. It was funny, it took Ivy a moment to remember who that was, even though she'd known him before the island and even though she'd spent her first day on the island with him. He'd been Myles's prom date, she remembered, she'd dragged his number out of Myles so she could apologize the day after prom for stealing more of Myles's attention than was maybe conscionable. He'd tried to hold things together that first night, when she and Ace and Amelia were up in space somewhere; they'd talked a little, before she was drugged. About anything that wasn't the island. About Myles, mostly. It was what they'd had in common.
It was hard to square that with him killing someone. It didn't really matter, maybe she was too emotionally exhausted by everything else to put much thought into it, she just kind of assumed there was a good reason, or whatever, probably, which felt like the wrong amount of energy to put behind that train of thought, but he wasn't her prom date.
Myles would be worried. He wasn't saying so, because he knew that she couldn't listen right now, but she knew. His fingers wound through her hair and she became hyper-aware very quickly of just how much of a rat's nest her hair was becoming, but she didn't pull away. It was comfortable, except it wasn't, because nothing was, but it was trying to be comfortable, and that was something.
He pulled her closer, suddenly. He smelled wrong. That didn't matter, but it bothered her.
"Did I hear w—"
And then a boy stepped out of the woods.
And then she shrieked in a manner that both was extremely embarrassing and would probably require an apology, considering it was delivered directly into Myles's ear. She also very nearly knocked both of them backward into the dirt, though she managed to mitigate that indignity into just wobbling a bit. It wasn't really indicative of her survival skills, was it, that despite nearly a week on this godforsaken island she was so distracted by shame at her overreaction to being startled that it took her a solid ten seconds to actually process who was standing in front of her.
She didn't die in those ten seconds, which was a good start. Her eyes darted to both of his hands and saw nothing; that helped, too. Then she looked at his face, and processed the words he was saying.
"You haven't looked great a day in your life, so."
He really did set himself up perfectly, didn't he? Of all the people in the world it could have been. She suddenly felt the knot in her stomach begin to unravel, the way it had when Wyatt and Ace had started ragging on each other in the infirmary.
"What do you want?"
It was hard to square that with him killing someone. It didn't really matter, maybe she was too emotionally exhausted by everything else to put much thought into it, she just kind of assumed there was a good reason, or whatever, probably, which felt like the wrong amount of energy to put behind that train of thought, but he wasn't her prom date.
Myles would be worried. He wasn't saying so, because he knew that she couldn't listen right now, but she knew. His fingers wound through her hair and she became hyper-aware very quickly of just how much of a rat's nest her hair was becoming, but she didn't pull away. It was comfortable, except it wasn't, because nothing was, but it was trying to be comfortable, and that was something.
He pulled her closer, suddenly. He smelled wrong. That didn't matter, but it bothered her.
"Did I hear w—"
And then a boy stepped out of the woods.
And then she shrieked in a manner that both was extremely embarrassing and would probably require an apology, considering it was delivered directly into Myles's ear. She also very nearly knocked both of them backward into the dirt, though she managed to mitigate that indignity into just wobbling a bit. It wasn't really indicative of her survival skills, was it, that despite nearly a week on this godforsaken island she was so distracted by shame at her overreaction to being startled that it took her a solid ten seconds to actually process who was standing in front of her.
She didn't die in those ten seconds, which was a good start. Her eyes darted to both of his hands and saw nothing; that helped, too. Then she looked at his face, and processed the words he was saying.
"You haven't looked great a day in your life, so."
He really did set himself up perfectly, didn't he? Of all the people in the world it could have been. She suddenly felt the knot in her stomach begin to unravel, the way it had when Wyatt and Ace had started ragging on each other in the infirmary.
"What do you want?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Okay, so then Ivy screamed directly into Myles's ear, and that kind of eclipsed any actual reaction he would have had to Garren Mortimer of all people walking out of the bushes. Kind of a pity, since he did give them the perfect setup. Literally walked right into that one. At least Ivy had seen the opportunity and taken it.
Removing his arm from around Ivy so that he could clamp his hand over his ringing ear, Myles squinted at him. "Yeah I mean, I'd say I was surprised, but creeping in the bushes is just so your style," he drawled once he'd had a moment to recover.
Maybe this should have been at least a little bit threatening, but Garren wasn't visibly armed, and it was Garren. Saying that he'd seen better days was a stretch, even now. Oh man, that was a good one. He'd have to save that to say out loud later, so that he wasn't just repeating his thoughts as soon as he had them. This kind of thing was all about timing.
"But yeah, what are you actually doing? Besides..." Myles gestured vaguely at just, everything on or around Garren's person. "You." Without even fully realizing it, Garren's appearance had burst some bubble of tension and melancholy between them.
Removing his arm from around Ivy so that he could clamp his hand over his ringing ear, Myles squinted at him. "Yeah I mean, I'd say I was surprised, but creeping in the bushes is just so your style," he drawled once he'd had a moment to recover.
Maybe this should have been at least a little bit threatening, but Garren wasn't visibly armed, and it was Garren. Saying that he'd seen better days was a stretch, even now. Oh man, that was a good one. He'd have to save that to say out loud later, so that he wasn't just repeating his thoughts as soon as he had them. This kind of thing was all about timing.
"But yeah, what are you actually doing? Besides..." Myles gestured vaguely at just, everything on or around Garren's person. "You." Without even fully realizing it, Garren's appearance had burst some bubble of tension and melancholy between them.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Well. At least Ivy hadn’t shrieked directly into his ear. You took every small comfort you were handed in this place.
Neither of the two were particularly happy to see him, which, like, yeah. Okay. He got that. He understood why. It just wasn’t a particularly fucking fun thing to acknowledge, was all. And he also had to acknowledge that lurking and watching from the bushes was a particularly creepy thing to do. But until he figured out exactly what he needed to do, discretion was the better part of valour. Better to sneak around in bushes and shadows and wait to see how people were acting than to leap headfirst into conversation and presume it’d all be hunky-dory.
Not that, y’know, he’d intentionally made the decision to reveal himself to Ivy and Myles, but, whatever. The fuckin’ gist was still there.
“Yeah, well…” Garren gestured and looked towards Ivy as he spoke. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a fuckin’ abattoir backwards, so neither of us are doing too hot, I’d say. And as for you…”
He turned his attention back to Myles. Silence hung in the air for a moment before he spoke up again.
“Yeah, whatever, I got nothing, you get that one.”
It was cathartic as all hell to actually fire back at somebody (metaphorically, obviously, jesus), because - and it had to be reiterated here - he fucking hated these two. But there had to be a cap slapped on top of the vitriol. From the most logical point of view, people didn’t like to help out when they were getting shit-talked about. Call that a big brain realisation right there.
There was of course more to it than that. Neither Ivy nor Myles had been on the announcements. As far as he was aware, neither of them had done a single thing wrong out here. Wondering whether he should talk to killers or not was neither here nor there; if they hadn’t initiated violence on someone else, they were innocent. If they were innocent, they deserved to be helped. If they deserved to be helped… he wanted to try and help them.
If his aims hinged on everyone putting his actions at school to one side, it’d be pretty fucking dickish of him not to do the same to those he hated.
“Look, I’m not plotting anything, I don’t have any fuckin’ Sherlock Holmes schemes up my sleeve, I sure as fuck aren’t jacking off in the bush if you’re planning on suggesting that. I’m just being cautious.”
Slowly, making sure he made no sudden movements, Garren stepped out of the bushes, hands up, palms out. His bag was unzipped, yawning open, the handful - God, no, not even that, handful was way too generous - of items inside free for them to witness. The metal chimes he’d attached, back at the weird hippy art show, jingled as he walked. A lonely sound, somehow.
“I’ve got nothin’ on me, see? I don’t wanna hurt you, I’m not looking for any trouble or shit like that. I just… need a little helping hand.”
Neither of the two were particularly happy to see him, which, like, yeah. Okay. He got that. He understood why. It just wasn’t a particularly fucking fun thing to acknowledge, was all. And he also had to acknowledge that lurking and watching from the bushes was a particularly creepy thing to do. But until he figured out exactly what he needed to do, discretion was the better part of valour. Better to sneak around in bushes and shadows and wait to see how people were acting than to leap headfirst into conversation and presume it’d all be hunky-dory.
Not that, y’know, he’d intentionally made the decision to reveal himself to Ivy and Myles, but, whatever. The fuckin’ gist was still there.
“Yeah, well…” Garren gestured and looked towards Ivy as he spoke. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a fuckin’ abattoir backwards, so neither of us are doing too hot, I’d say. And as for you…”
He turned his attention back to Myles. Silence hung in the air for a moment before he spoke up again.
“Yeah, whatever, I got nothing, you get that one.”
It was cathartic as all hell to actually fire back at somebody (metaphorically, obviously, jesus), because - and it had to be reiterated here - he fucking hated these two. But there had to be a cap slapped on top of the vitriol. From the most logical point of view, people didn’t like to help out when they were getting shit-talked about. Call that a big brain realisation right there.
There was of course more to it than that. Neither Ivy nor Myles had been on the announcements. As far as he was aware, neither of them had done a single thing wrong out here. Wondering whether he should talk to killers or not was neither here nor there; if they hadn’t initiated violence on someone else, they were innocent. If they were innocent, they deserved to be helped. If they deserved to be helped… he wanted to try and help them.
If his aims hinged on everyone putting his actions at school to one side, it’d be pretty fucking dickish of him not to do the same to those he hated.
“Look, I’m not plotting anything, I don’t have any fuckin’ Sherlock Holmes schemes up my sleeve, I sure as fuck aren’t jacking off in the bush if you’re planning on suggesting that. I’m just being cautious.”
Slowly, making sure he made no sudden movements, Garren stepped out of the bushes, hands up, palms out. His bag was unzipped, yawning open, the handful - God, no, not even that, handful was way too generous - of items inside free for them to witness. The metal chimes he’d attached, back at the weird hippy art show, jingled as he walked. A lonely sound, somehow.
“I’ve got nothin’ on me, see? I don’t wanna hurt you, I’m not looking for any trouble or shit like that. I just… need a little helping hand.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
"Good one. Did you get that off your word-of-the-day calendar?"
Ivy couldn't resist sneaking a quip back in before Garren turned back to Myles, if only to counteract the annoyance she felt at not knowing what the fuck an "abattoir" was. She had some other response percolating in the back of her mind, something about how when this was all over she'd be as beautiful as ever and he'd be the same grease trap he always was, but it was only half-formed when the conversation moved on and, anyway, "when this was all over" was maybe not something to dwell on? It was shockingly easy, in the context of finding novel ways to dunk on Garren Mortimer, to forget that most of them would be dead within the week. However momentary the distraction would come to be, it was, at least so far, a successful one.
She resisted the urge to dig into every word that came out of his mouth for a new angle of attack and simply listened. Good to know that he hadn't been jacking off in the bushes, she supposed. Since that was the kind of thing she was suddenly paranoid about apparently. She cut that train of thought down at the root before it could blossom. At any rate, it seemed like he was more or less genuine about his intention, his intention being to leech off of their stuff. At least that was honest. And at least he didn't have anything sharp or explosive backing up his questioning. Ivy was really not in the mood to be robbed after the morning she'd already had.
Is your right hand not helping enough?, she didn't say, but she was perfectly pleased with herself for having thought it.
"What's your point? Why would we help you? We aren't exactly flush with supplies ourselves." Ivy wrinkled her nose. "In case you haven't noticed, we haven't killed anyone—though I imagine you have noticed, since if we had you would have pissed yourself and ran screaming by now."
Ivy couldn't resist sneaking a quip back in before Garren turned back to Myles, if only to counteract the annoyance she felt at not knowing what the fuck an "abattoir" was. She had some other response percolating in the back of her mind, something about how when this was all over she'd be as beautiful as ever and he'd be the same grease trap he always was, but it was only half-formed when the conversation moved on and, anyway, "when this was all over" was maybe not something to dwell on? It was shockingly easy, in the context of finding novel ways to dunk on Garren Mortimer, to forget that most of them would be dead within the week. However momentary the distraction would come to be, it was, at least so far, a successful one.
She resisted the urge to dig into every word that came out of his mouth for a new angle of attack and simply listened. Good to know that he hadn't been jacking off in the bushes, she supposed. Since that was the kind of thing she was suddenly paranoid about apparently. She cut that train of thought down at the root before it could blossom. At any rate, it seemed like he was more or less genuine about his intention, his intention being to leech off of their stuff. At least that was honest. And at least he didn't have anything sharp or explosive backing up his questioning. Ivy was really not in the mood to be robbed after the morning she'd already had.
Is your right hand not helping enough?, she didn't say, but she was perfectly pleased with herself for having thought it.
"What's your point? Why would we help you? We aren't exactly flush with supplies ourselves." Ivy wrinkled her nose. "In case you haven't noticed, we haven't killed anyone—though I imagine you have noticed, since if we had you would have pissed yourself and ran screaming by now."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."