((Juliette Sargent continued from High Hopes))
The first thing that went through Juliette's mind when she caught sight of the shoe tree was a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment.
She'd been curious about the place ever since she read the name on the map. The pairing of the two words was distinct in character yet vague in specifics, describing a location presumably iconic enough to know at a glance and serve as a landmark but with precisely how left to the imagination.
It turned out to be a tree covered completely in shoes, rather than, say, one that resembled a shoe. The trunk was a patchwork of sneakers and sandals and flats and a few heels roughly nailed to the bark, footwear bowing inwards towards the point of connection in many cases, or with cracks running through firmer soles. More shoes dangled from the limbs, affixed by either their laces or pieces of rough brown twine. Here and there, one had fallen free. Juliette stepped around what looked to be a faded, worn work boot, half submerged in the dirt and grass, embedded concrete-like after the drying of much of the mud produced by the storm.
The satisfaction was with her ability to deduce potential explanations for the tree's name, and with her ability to successfully navigate her way there. The disappointment came from the fact that none of the shoes would be in any way an upgrade to what she already had.
They were old, worn, waterlogged and dried out again, maybe dozens or hundreds of times. The whole area stank faintly of overheated rubber and damp canvas and mildewed leather. Forget the looks factor—these would probably give Juliette foot fungus within an hour. Her flats were starting to get holes, and she relished neither the prospect of a return to heels nor breaking out the sandals once again, but both options beat everything on offer here.
It was still more pleasant to contemplate than some of the other things she had seen and experienced on her journey. She was still rather sweaty and unshaven, and had been using this stop to orient herself towards the lake, as a clearly noted landmark. A less expected landmark had been the body of Ariana Moretti, one arm severed around the elbow. Juliette had not kept perfect track of every killer and victim and the circumstances thereof, but this one in specific had been impossible for her to do anything but take note of and stow away. She'd been there that night, after all, unobtrusive but watching, playing games with them. She'd seen it all go down, could remember the stinging echo of the slap, or at least create a memory that felt right. Had it been the hand Ariana had lost?
So many things were building up for her to say if she ever ran into Marco again. "Never have I ever dismembered somebody with a chainsaw" was a pretty unbeatable opener, though.
Juliette hoped he wasn't mad at her about anything. He hadn't seemed angry with her specifically back at the boat, but that was so long ago now. He hadn't had a chainsaw then. He'd shot at Arjen, but hadn't finished him for days more.
These were thoughts to set to the side unless they were useful. Their utility in this moment had been to bring Juliette's razor from its hiding place and into easier reach at the waistband of her skirt. She wasn't looking for fights, had no intention to swing for Marco or to threaten him if their paths crossed. It was just a precaution. She doubted he'd be around here still anyways. It had happened some time ago. She was just being cautious. Prudent. She would not be scared away before doing what she could to take advantage of this place.
She could probably learn a lot about the island from these shoes. She could almost certainly date its abandonment within half a decade or so, from the writing inside. In many cases it would be faded, but surely not all. Step by light step, Juliette moved towards the tree.
Something wasn't right.
From the corner of her eye, she caught one little piece that didn't fit in. Or maybe it did. It seemed the natural progression of her encounters thus far.
Casually, Juliette rested her hand on the razor, but did not draw it. Her lips formed the smile she'd trained to be second nature in situations like this. Her heart thumped hard enough she could feel it in her fingertips and ears. She was so, so glad she was good with names and faces.
"Good afternoon," she said, with a polite nod.
Fly Back To School Now, Little Starling
Please PM if you wanna join, day five
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MurderWeasel
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((Quinn continued from Severed))
Like clockwork, Quinn came back around here again.
Something drew her to this place, though what she couldn't say. Nostalgia for the memory of her first attempt, which even now she recalled the thrill of, despite it since being surpassed? Unlikely, as she also recalled how it hadn't gone like she'd intended, hadn't resulted in Katelynne laying there dead, and subsequently the girl had eluded her over and over. Was it instead that she had Ace on her mind, after a second encounter with him and a fresh group? No, that would suggest she cared even slightly about some meathead. He had far more reason to concern himself with her than she had with him. The girl she'd gutted was important to him, not to her. Quinn wasn't going to complain about finally having her hands on a real blade, though.
Perhaps she just had to accept her wandering feet had brought her down a familiar path to the tree filled with shoes. It was a beginning, perhaps that was all it had to be.
She was trying to keep last night's frustrations out of her mind. After all of her efforts, after her improvements, her new gear, she'd been thwarted by something as simple as a locked door. The boy on the other side appeared to have completely lost it halfway through, so she took a sliver of consolation from the fact she'd apparently scared him that much, but that failed to override the sheer frustration of the whole situation. If he'd just opened the damn door, she'd have had a chance to try out the double knife. But no, he'd freaked out instead.
Whatever, acting wasn't her thing anyway.
She was studying the blade again, leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing when someone called out a greeting to her, surprisingly level. Quinn's head snapped up.
Quinn recognised that one.
Juliette. Another of the upper crust. They knew each other a fraction better than most; they'd studied together perhaps twice, but their circles were so vastly different that shared academia hadn't bridged the gap. Quinn's face twisted into a scowl.
"What."
Like clockwork, Quinn came back around here again.
Something drew her to this place, though what she couldn't say. Nostalgia for the memory of her first attempt, which even now she recalled the thrill of, despite it since being surpassed? Unlikely, as she also recalled how it hadn't gone like she'd intended, hadn't resulted in Katelynne laying there dead, and subsequently the girl had eluded her over and over. Was it instead that she had Ace on her mind, after a second encounter with him and a fresh group? No, that would suggest she cared even slightly about some meathead. He had far more reason to concern himself with her than she had with him. The girl she'd gutted was important to him, not to her. Quinn wasn't going to complain about finally having her hands on a real blade, though.
Perhaps she just had to accept her wandering feet had brought her down a familiar path to the tree filled with shoes. It was a beginning, perhaps that was all it had to be.
She was trying to keep last night's frustrations out of her mind. After all of her efforts, after her improvements, her new gear, she'd been thwarted by something as simple as a locked door. The boy on the other side appeared to have completely lost it halfway through, so she took a sliver of consolation from the fact she'd apparently scared him that much, but that failed to override the sheer frustration of the whole situation. If he'd just opened the damn door, she'd have had a chance to try out the double knife. But no, he'd freaked out instead.
Whatever, acting wasn't her thing anyway.
She was studying the blade again, leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing when someone called out a greeting to her, surprisingly level. Quinn's head snapped up.
Quinn recognised that one.
Juliette. Another of the upper crust. They knew each other a fraction better than most; they'd studied together perhaps twice, but their circles were so vastly different that shared academia hadn't bridged the gap. Quinn's face twisted into a scowl.
"What."
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MurderWeasel
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Bump, bump, bump. Chest, fingertips, ears. Neck, feeling more tightly constricted now by the collar than at any other point Juliette could remember.
Quinn sounded irritated. She also had not yet opened fire on Juliette. She hadn't even raised a weapon. Yet. That meant that, at this moment, Juliette was winning. This was far from over, of course; Quinn had killed, oh, enough people that Juliette had lost precise count. Maybe the girl played with them first. Maybe they'd all been justified, somehow. Maybe she would spring into action at any moment. What made Juliette different from any of those other victims?
But that wasn't a rhetorical question. The answer was simple: Juliette knew how to talk to people. She knew, specifically, how to talk to her classmates. She was good at it. Second place in the class elections wasn't for show. She'd walked through the fires of Swiftball and emerged unscathed. Whatever Quinn had done, whatever she had become here, she was still one of Juliette's peers. There was an angle to play, a stance to take.
And, while it was perhaps presumptive, overly-optimistic in the extreme, Juliette wondered whether it just might be something that could be beneficial to her, too.
"Good afternoon, Quinn," she said again. Her tone was mild. It would not do to come off mocking or condescending in this moment. She included Quinn's name as a little reassurance: yes, Juliette remembered who Quinn was, and yes, she was aware of all that entailed, and yes, she was greeting her normally anyways. It really wasn't so different from passing the night with Erika, only for the girl to go on a rampage the next day. Just, this was slightly more unnerving because Juliette was fully aware of Quinn's capacity for violence already.
The breeze made the branches of the tree shift, the hanging shoes swaying like pendulums. Juliette breathed in through her nose, taking in the rubber, the damp, the mixed odors of wilderness and spoiled civilization. Quinn had never cut a particularly distinct or impressive figure. She did not stand tall with the others on the basketball team, did not dress well and did not even dress terribly in a particularly interesting way. In hindsight, though, she always seemed to be covering something. Was that all on display now?
"I thought we could talk for a moment," Juliette continued. "Put everything else on hold, just for a little."
She shrugged. She did not make any move to draw attention to the weapon at her hip, but didn't hide it either. Quinn was undoubtedly far better armed. Juliette was perhaps slightly larger, but surely less fit. If this became a fight, it would not be in her favor. She had never been in a real fight. She kept her smile on.
"Your call."
Quinn sounded irritated. She also had not yet opened fire on Juliette. She hadn't even raised a weapon. Yet. That meant that, at this moment, Juliette was winning. This was far from over, of course; Quinn had killed, oh, enough people that Juliette had lost precise count. Maybe the girl played with them first. Maybe they'd all been justified, somehow. Maybe she would spring into action at any moment. What made Juliette different from any of those other victims?
But that wasn't a rhetorical question. The answer was simple: Juliette knew how to talk to people. She knew, specifically, how to talk to her classmates. She was good at it. Second place in the class elections wasn't for show. She'd walked through the fires of Swiftball and emerged unscathed. Whatever Quinn had done, whatever she had become here, she was still one of Juliette's peers. There was an angle to play, a stance to take.
And, while it was perhaps presumptive, overly-optimistic in the extreme, Juliette wondered whether it just might be something that could be beneficial to her, too.
"Good afternoon, Quinn," she said again. Her tone was mild. It would not do to come off mocking or condescending in this moment. She included Quinn's name as a little reassurance: yes, Juliette remembered who Quinn was, and yes, she was aware of all that entailed, and yes, she was greeting her normally anyways. It really wasn't so different from passing the night with Erika, only for the girl to go on a rampage the next day. Just, this was slightly more unnerving because Juliette was fully aware of Quinn's capacity for violence already.
The breeze made the branches of the tree shift, the hanging shoes swaying like pendulums. Juliette breathed in through her nose, taking in the rubber, the damp, the mixed odors of wilderness and spoiled civilization. Quinn had never cut a particularly distinct or impressive figure. She did not stand tall with the others on the basketball team, did not dress well and did not even dress terribly in a particularly interesting way. In hindsight, though, she always seemed to be covering something. Was that all on display now?
"I thought we could talk for a moment," Juliette continued. "Put everything else on hold, just for a little."
She shrugged. She did not make any move to draw attention to the weapon at her hip, but didn't hide it either. Quinn was undoubtedly far better armed. Juliette was perhaps slightly larger, but surely less fit. If this became a fight, it would not be in her favor. She had never been in a real fight. She kept her smile on.
"Your call."
Quinn took a moment to sort through her immediate urges and decided that she didn't feel like stabbing Juliette in the face. This very second. Not this very second.
It wasn't like Daria, defiantly proving a point, she just didn't feel like making the effort. Quinn had killed a lot of people lately and had fun in the process, but it was tiring work and she'd done a lot of walking too. Her feet were kind of tired. Juliette was just there. And she'd be there in a few minutes' time as and when Quinn changed her mind. Just because she stood still for now didn't mean she had to remain.
Juliette was busy making clear that yes, she was aware who Quinn was, probably a nod to the fact that she was aware of the danger she was courting by even having this conversation. That was part of why Quinn didn't immediately just walk at her with the blade in hand. It was kind of interesting that the first instinct was to talk. Not negotiate or beg, just talk regularly, like this was class and she needed to borrow a pen. Even Daria hadn't managed that, coming at her with accusations and remonstrations.
"I don't see what's to talk about," Quinn said eventually, belatedly, too long a beat than that answer warranted. Quinn had never much been interested in the small talk, and she had even less incentive now to play along with that pointless social dance.
Quinn thought about planting the dual-blade in Juliette's eye and popping the whole thing out. She smiled. Maybe Juliette, maybe someone else. She had time and targets, if she felt like pursuing them.
All the time she wanted.
It wasn't like Daria, defiantly proving a point, she just didn't feel like making the effort. Quinn had killed a lot of people lately and had fun in the process, but it was tiring work and she'd done a lot of walking too. Her feet were kind of tired. Juliette was just there. And she'd be there in a few minutes' time as and when Quinn changed her mind. Just because she stood still for now didn't mean she had to remain.
Juliette was busy making clear that yes, she was aware who Quinn was, probably a nod to the fact that she was aware of the danger she was courting by even having this conversation. That was part of why Quinn didn't immediately just walk at her with the blade in hand. It was kind of interesting that the first instinct was to talk. Not negotiate or beg, just talk regularly, like this was class and she needed to borrow a pen. Even Daria hadn't managed that, coming at her with accusations and remonstrations.
"I don't see what's to talk about," Quinn said eventually, belatedly, too long a beat than that answer warranted. Quinn had never much been interested in the small talk, and she had even less incentive now to play along with that pointless social dance.
Quinn thought about planting the dual-blade in Juliette's eye and popping the whole thing out. She smiled. Maybe Juliette, maybe someone else. She had time and targets, if she felt like pursuing them.
All the time she wanted.
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MurderWeasel
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"How about this:" Juliette said, "I've spent some time with Marco, Blaise, and Erika. I can tell you about them..."
Still winning. Still smiling. Juliette leaned against the trunk of the tree, though her nose wrinkled as she inadvertently rested her left elbow directly in the opening of a dirty sneaker. Quickly, she let the arm fall back to her side, let her face resume its practiced neutrality.
This was nothing. Well, that wasn't quite true at this stage of her life; it would be more accurate to say that this was practice. Juliette fully intended to conduct discussions, negotiations even, with their captors once this was over. She would be looking truly homicidal psychopaths in the face and trying to get them to agree to give her what she wanted, from a particularly weak bargaining position. By comparison, Quinn was far gone—off the deep end, but still recognizably Quinn. That disinterest in socializing, that taciturn response, that was still the Quinn from school, the Quinn who had found herself the unwilling center of so much attention over a few silly lines of verse on paper. The killings weren't about that, Juliette didn't think—they were spread too widely, and to her knowledge had not targeted the central culprits—but perhaps that ostracism was a factor.
Quiet people were more difficult for Juliette to deal with. It wasn't that it had been particularly hard to guess what Quinn had wanted out of social situations. Mostly, she'd seemed to want to be left alone. The problem was how to leverage that in order to get credit for it, how to make it clear that respecting somebody else's space was an intentional act of understanding rather than apathy or accident. Usually, Juliette had gone with minimal yet position interactions, a quiet greeting here, a little wave there, never pushing, trying not to intrude.
"...if," she continued, "you're willing to sit and chat for a few minutes, and maybe sate my curiosity on a thing or two in return."
There was of course a chance Quinn decided to simply try to take what was offered, but the beautiful thing about information as incentive was that there was no real way to pry it free by force. Any attempts to do so could be met with refusal or misdirection, and Juliette was reasonably certain that Quinn lacked the acumen to reliably catch out any fabrication. And besides, she was asking so little in exchange, a trifle.
At least, overtly.
Juliette shrugged again.
"I'm not after you or anything. As far as I see it, there's no reason for us to be enemies at this point."
"Or ever," she didn't add, because before too long Quinn would inevitably be put down like a rabid animal by somebody more suited to the task, somebody more willing to pointlessly risk life and limb, but drawing overt attention to that fact felt like the wrong foot to get this discussion off on.
Still winning. Still smiling. Juliette leaned against the trunk of the tree, though her nose wrinkled as she inadvertently rested her left elbow directly in the opening of a dirty sneaker. Quickly, she let the arm fall back to her side, let her face resume its practiced neutrality.
This was nothing. Well, that wasn't quite true at this stage of her life; it would be more accurate to say that this was practice. Juliette fully intended to conduct discussions, negotiations even, with their captors once this was over. She would be looking truly homicidal psychopaths in the face and trying to get them to agree to give her what she wanted, from a particularly weak bargaining position. By comparison, Quinn was far gone—off the deep end, but still recognizably Quinn. That disinterest in socializing, that taciturn response, that was still the Quinn from school, the Quinn who had found herself the unwilling center of so much attention over a few silly lines of verse on paper. The killings weren't about that, Juliette didn't think—they were spread too widely, and to her knowledge had not targeted the central culprits—but perhaps that ostracism was a factor.
Quiet people were more difficult for Juliette to deal with. It wasn't that it had been particularly hard to guess what Quinn had wanted out of social situations. Mostly, she'd seemed to want to be left alone. The problem was how to leverage that in order to get credit for it, how to make it clear that respecting somebody else's space was an intentional act of understanding rather than apathy or accident. Usually, Juliette had gone with minimal yet position interactions, a quiet greeting here, a little wave there, never pushing, trying not to intrude.
"...if," she continued, "you're willing to sit and chat for a few minutes, and maybe sate my curiosity on a thing or two in return."
There was of course a chance Quinn decided to simply try to take what was offered, but the beautiful thing about information as incentive was that there was no real way to pry it free by force. Any attempts to do so could be met with refusal or misdirection, and Juliette was reasonably certain that Quinn lacked the acumen to reliably catch out any fabrication. And besides, she was asking so little in exchange, a trifle.
At least, overtly.
Juliette shrugged again.
"I'm not after you or anything. As far as I see it, there's no reason for us to be enemies at this point."
"Or ever," she didn't add, because before too long Quinn would inevitably be put down like a rabid animal by somebody more suited to the task, somebody more willing to pointlessly risk life and limb, but drawing overt attention to that fact felt like the wrong foot to get this discussion off on.
Quinn blinked slowly.
Blaise, Marco, Erika...? Oh, they'd killed, too. She wasn't really paying all that much attention to the announcements, other than to keep an ear out for anyone dying that she'd been itching to get her hands on. But, being practical, she wasn't going to be able to kill literally every single person she saw, because that would be stupid to even try, and realistically, much of what happened on the island was going to be out of her hands. Quinn had resigned herself to the fact that there would be ones that got away. Plenty of people had already gotten themselves killed with no influence from her whatsoever. Better to enjoy what she had than sour herself on what she'd missed.
Except Katelynne. Quinn most certainly was not going to shrug her shoulders and let go of her frustrations towards Katelynne.
Other killers, though? All they were really doing was thinning the field out, and when it came down to it, that didn't matter to her. She'd given everyone ample reason to come after her, much easier to assume literally everyone would be hostile. Only difference being a player would make was probably having better weapons. Would still be trying to kill her, which you know, do unto.
"I don't care about them." Quinn said bluntly and truthfully.
She didn't get Juliette. Never had, but that was nothing unusual or new. No, it was more... what was the point of this? Was she playing murder chicken? If Quinn hadn't seen her coming a ways off she might have thought that she was acting as a distraction while someone else flanked from behind. The topography here was all wrong for that, though; would have required Juliette and a potential partner to detect her through all the trees, at a distance.
Juliette just... wanted to talk, for some reason. Something told Quinn this wasn't the same as Daria, either.
Quinn twisted the hilt of the dual-knife around her fingers, rocking it back and forth.
Blaise, Marco, Erika...? Oh, they'd killed, too. She wasn't really paying all that much attention to the announcements, other than to keep an ear out for anyone dying that she'd been itching to get her hands on. But, being practical, she wasn't going to be able to kill literally every single person she saw, because that would be stupid to even try, and realistically, much of what happened on the island was going to be out of her hands. Quinn had resigned herself to the fact that there would be ones that got away. Plenty of people had already gotten themselves killed with no influence from her whatsoever. Better to enjoy what she had than sour herself on what she'd missed.
Except Katelynne. Quinn most certainly was not going to shrug her shoulders and let go of her frustrations towards Katelynne.
Other killers, though? All they were really doing was thinning the field out, and when it came down to it, that didn't matter to her. She'd given everyone ample reason to come after her, much easier to assume literally everyone would be hostile. Only difference being a player would make was probably having better weapons. Would still be trying to kill her, which you know, do unto.
"I don't care about them." Quinn said bluntly and truthfully.
She didn't get Juliette. Never had, but that was nothing unusual or new. No, it was more... what was the point of this? Was she playing murder chicken? If Quinn hadn't seen her coming a ways off she might have thought that she was acting as a distraction while someone else flanked from behind. The topography here was all wrong for that, though; would have required Juliette and a potential partner to detect her through all the trees, at a distance.
Juliette just... wanted to talk, for some reason. Something told Quinn this wasn't the same as Daria, either.
Quinn twisted the hilt of the dual-knife around her fingers, rocking it back and forth.
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MurderWeasel
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Still winning.
That wasn't just something Juliette was telling herself to feel better and safer, either. True, she had failed to gain ground with her tactic of choice, but that in itself was a fascinating insight into Quinn's psychology. There was a decent chance, of course, that it was a bluff. If Quinn was putting any thought into the same factors Juliette was weighing, she would've come to the same conclusions and would know that it would be advantageous to her to mask her interest in intelligence on her competition, the better to potentially worm something else out of the interaction above and beyond.
Then again, Quinn bluffing? Quinn was not exactly an aspiring thespian, and her delivery was bland in the extreme. She sounded like she meant it. Arrogance? Apathy?
Whatever the case, Juliette wasn't going to push the matter. Quinn had killed, oh, at least half a dozen of their mutual peers. She could frame herself however she wanted. Right now, she was showing the great courtesy to content herself with playing with her knife instead of driving it into Juliette. All things considered, they were off to a good start.
Had Quinn's previous victims thought the same until the moment she struck?
"Alright," Juliette said. "Don't hesitate to tell me if you change your mind, though."
She rolled her shoulders and lowered herself slowly to sit against the base of the tree, knees up and together. It would not be a great position to break into a sprint from, or really for any sort of flight bar diving into a roll, but Quinn was speedier anyways. Juliette tended to find herself wheezing, chest aching and sweat pouring, halfway through the mile run, stickier almost than the island had left her. Quinn? Juliette had watched the basketball team play. Most of her attention had been on Sam and Arizona, like everyone else, but she'd spared some notice for Quinn when the girl was off the bench. Quinn was quick.
The bark of the tree was rough against Juliette's back and legs, and a shoe was poking her in the righthand shoulder blade. She hated it. She was probably scuffing her blouse. She wished she was still wearing her improvised poncho just to keep the dirt and twigs away. She had to come off as casual here, though, lest she be misinterpreted. She dipped a hand into her handbag, fingers quickly dancing around contents she knew by shape and texture and heart—speedy, speedy, couldn't let Quinn think she was trying something—hard round plastic compact, prickly hairbrush, a tangle of bobby pins and elastics, and then there it was, two small hard pucks wrapped in crinkly cellophane.
She withdrew them, held them up to show red and white stripes.
"Care for a mint?" she asked, then gestured with her left hand to the ground next to her. "You can sit, if you like."
Smile mild, Juliette studied her companion, curiosity unmasked as she unwrapped one of the mints and popped into into her own mouth, the sweetness and sharpness landing immediately. Every little moment, every tiny movement, told a story. This was practice. When she asked Danya to stay with him, she'd be fighting an uphill battle. He would almost certainly tell her that she'd be useless to his organization—worse than useless, a liability. Better to just kill her, tell the world she died in a futile act of resistance, make sure the next one tried harder. Juliette ran her tongue over her lips, at the same time shifting the mint into her cheek.
"Do you mind if I ask you something a little personal?" she said.
That wasn't just something Juliette was telling herself to feel better and safer, either. True, she had failed to gain ground with her tactic of choice, but that in itself was a fascinating insight into Quinn's psychology. There was a decent chance, of course, that it was a bluff. If Quinn was putting any thought into the same factors Juliette was weighing, she would've come to the same conclusions and would know that it would be advantageous to her to mask her interest in intelligence on her competition, the better to potentially worm something else out of the interaction above and beyond.
Then again, Quinn bluffing? Quinn was not exactly an aspiring thespian, and her delivery was bland in the extreme. She sounded like she meant it. Arrogance? Apathy?
Whatever the case, Juliette wasn't going to push the matter. Quinn had killed, oh, at least half a dozen of their mutual peers. She could frame herself however she wanted. Right now, she was showing the great courtesy to content herself with playing with her knife instead of driving it into Juliette. All things considered, they were off to a good start.
Had Quinn's previous victims thought the same until the moment she struck?
"Alright," Juliette said. "Don't hesitate to tell me if you change your mind, though."
She rolled her shoulders and lowered herself slowly to sit against the base of the tree, knees up and together. It would not be a great position to break into a sprint from, or really for any sort of flight bar diving into a roll, but Quinn was speedier anyways. Juliette tended to find herself wheezing, chest aching and sweat pouring, halfway through the mile run, stickier almost than the island had left her. Quinn? Juliette had watched the basketball team play. Most of her attention had been on Sam and Arizona, like everyone else, but she'd spared some notice for Quinn when the girl was off the bench. Quinn was quick.
The bark of the tree was rough against Juliette's back and legs, and a shoe was poking her in the righthand shoulder blade. She hated it. She was probably scuffing her blouse. She wished she was still wearing her improvised poncho just to keep the dirt and twigs away. She had to come off as casual here, though, lest she be misinterpreted. She dipped a hand into her handbag, fingers quickly dancing around contents she knew by shape and texture and heart—speedy, speedy, couldn't let Quinn think she was trying something—hard round plastic compact, prickly hairbrush, a tangle of bobby pins and elastics, and then there it was, two small hard pucks wrapped in crinkly cellophane.
She withdrew them, held them up to show red and white stripes.
"Care for a mint?" she asked, then gestured with her left hand to the ground next to her. "You can sit, if you like."
Smile mild, Juliette studied her companion, curiosity unmasked as she unwrapped one of the mints and popped into into her own mouth, the sweetness and sharpness landing immediately. Every little moment, every tiny movement, told a story. This was practice. When she asked Danya to stay with him, she'd be fighting an uphill battle. He would almost certainly tell her that she'd be useless to his organization—worse than useless, a liability. Better to just kill her, tell the world she died in a futile act of resistance, make sure the next one tried harder. Juliette ran her tongue over her lips, at the same time shifting the mint into her cheek.
"Do you mind if I ask you something a little personal?" she said.
Juliette sat down.
Quinn took a moment to parse that. Sitting down with Quinn right over here was exposing all sorts of vulnerabilities. Though the distance was such that they were more calling to each other than holding a normal conversation, they weren't so far apart that they were shouting. Point was, Quinn could very easily get right on top of Juliette with little effort. People overestimated how fast they could react to things. She'd seen it dozens of times on the basketball court where others tripped themselves up trying to recover, or went for a big block thinking that they could get set again. Juliette's lack of unease was strange. It existed, or else Juliette wouldn't be giving her this kind of berth and this kind of respect, but it stopped short of the kind of reaction Quinn would consider to be logical.
She didn't understand it. This couldn't just be about having a simple conversation. Of all the classmates that anyone would feel a burning desire to speak to before the end, Quinn couldn't ever imagine that she'd be amongst that number.
Frustrating.
Juliette invited her over. For a moment, Quinn bristled, seeing Juliette dip into her handbag, but what emerged was. Mints. Right.
Quinn stared her down, and then slowly began to walk, counting down steps. Was Juliette really just going to let her walk right up? Was this the trick? Was she going to whip out a gun from somewhere and try and kill her? But... Quinn couldn't see where the girl would have a weapon stored, and she had visibility of Juliette's hands.
Stopping short a few paces back, Quinn dropped to one knee, an easy resting position which she could launch herself out of if needed, easily propelling herself forward.
She shook her head. No. She was not minting today.
Then she shrugged. Juliette could ask. Quinn might not answer. Depended.
Quinn was perplexed enough that her sentiments were shifting away from stabbing Juliette to watch her bleed. In spite of herself, she was curious what the other girl actually wanted.
Though, if she started waxing philosophical like Daria had, Quinn was going to cut her to pieces. She was through with that.
Quinn took a moment to parse that. Sitting down with Quinn right over here was exposing all sorts of vulnerabilities. Though the distance was such that they were more calling to each other than holding a normal conversation, they weren't so far apart that they were shouting. Point was, Quinn could very easily get right on top of Juliette with little effort. People overestimated how fast they could react to things. She'd seen it dozens of times on the basketball court where others tripped themselves up trying to recover, or went for a big block thinking that they could get set again. Juliette's lack of unease was strange. It existed, or else Juliette wouldn't be giving her this kind of berth and this kind of respect, but it stopped short of the kind of reaction Quinn would consider to be logical.
She didn't understand it. This couldn't just be about having a simple conversation. Of all the classmates that anyone would feel a burning desire to speak to before the end, Quinn couldn't ever imagine that she'd be amongst that number.
Frustrating.
Juliette invited her over. For a moment, Quinn bristled, seeing Juliette dip into her handbag, but what emerged was. Mints. Right.
Quinn stared her down, and then slowly began to walk, counting down steps. Was Juliette really just going to let her walk right up? Was this the trick? Was she going to whip out a gun from somewhere and try and kill her? But... Quinn couldn't see where the girl would have a weapon stored, and she had visibility of Juliette's hands.
Stopping short a few paces back, Quinn dropped to one knee, an easy resting position which she could launch herself out of if needed, easily propelling herself forward.
She shook her head. No. She was not minting today.
Then she shrugged. Juliette could ask. Quinn might not answer. Depended.
Quinn was perplexed enough that her sentiments were shifting away from stabbing Juliette to watch her bleed. In spite of herself, she was curious what the other girl actually wanted.
Though, if she started waxing philosophical like Daria had, Quinn was going to cut her to pieces. She was through with that.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Still winning. Possibly just a little less, though?
There were at least two ways to view Quinn's reticence. On the one hand, maybe the girl was uninterested in saying much. It fit what Juliette knew of her, certainly, and in that case it was a neutral sign, no more than the sort of guarded behavior anyone with proper awareness and the appropriate proclivities would show. On the other, however, perhaps Quinn understood that words were not her forte, but were very much in Juliette's wheelhouse. Perhaps she had identified this push as something aggressive, an attempt to maneuver conflict into an arena of Juliette's choosing and advantage.
It wasn't that. That sort of finagling here would be pointless in the best case and seriously hazardous in the more likely one. Perhaps there were some among their class who could be talked away from violence, who could even be persuaded, by the right set of words or phrases, to take themselves out of contention. If Quinn was among that number, however, the keys to unlocking that potential were nothing Juliette knew of or could reasonably expect to ferret out of her. The was not the opening shot to some impossibly nuanced mental assault.
None of that mattered if Quinn got nervous and decided to make a particularly pointed rebuttal.
Juliette shifted a little, making herself more comfortable, and allowed the mint to click against her teeth, once. She never talked with her mouth full, but this was a special circumstance and the candy didn't slur her words besides. She'd had to eat one. She'd been proving to Quinn that she wasn't trying to feed her poison, though declining was the only reasonable choice anyhow. And of course, every choice, every response, provided Juliette with information. She knew Quinn better than she had before the offer was made. True, the bulk of what she learned was useless at this juncture, and she had no time to properly filter, but who could say what the future would hold?
Which brought her right back around to why she was talking to Quinn in the first place. Juliette wanted something, something she didn't think would cost Quinn anything, but that the girl might be hesitant to offer regardless. Quinn's posture was a whole lot less relaxed. It looked like she might burst into movement at any moment, her options wide open. She was, Juliette saw, not sporting any obvious bandages or injuries. A bit bedraggled, but who wasn't by now? Guns had been the minority of her kills, right? That meant Quinn could get in and mess people up without suffering particularly in reprisal. She had done so several times, against far more imposing foes. This called for careful handling indeed.
"How does it feel to kill someone?" Juliette asked.
There were at least two ways to view Quinn's reticence. On the one hand, maybe the girl was uninterested in saying much. It fit what Juliette knew of her, certainly, and in that case it was a neutral sign, no more than the sort of guarded behavior anyone with proper awareness and the appropriate proclivities would show. On the other, however, perhaps Quinn understood that words were not her forte, but were very much in Juliette's wheelhouse. Perhaps she had identified this push as something aggressive, an attempt to maneuver conflict into an arena of Juliette's choosing and advantage.
It wasn't that. That sort of finagling here would be pointless in the best case and seriously hazardous in the more likely one. Perhaps there were some among their class who could be talked away from violence, who could even be persuaded, by the right set of words or phrases, to take themselves out of contention. If Quinn was among that number, however, the keys to unlocking that potential were nothing Juliette knew of or could reasonably expect to ferret out of her. The was not the opening shot to some impossibly nuanced mental assault.
None of that mattered if Quinn got nervous and decided to make a particularly pointed rebuttal.
Juliette shifted a little, making herself more comfortable, and allowed the mint to click against her teeth, once. She never talked with her mouth full, but this was a special circumstance and the candy didn't slur her words besides. She'd had to eat one. She'd been proving to Quinn that she wasn't trying to feed her poison, though declining was the only reasonable choice anyhow. And of course, every choice, every response, provided Juliette with information. She knew Quinn better than she had before the offer was made. True, the bulk of what she learned was useless at this juncture, and she had no time to properly filter, but who could say what the future would hold?
Which brought her right back around to why she was talking to Quinn in the first place. Juliette wanted something, something she didn't think would cost Quinn anything, but that the girl might be hesitant to offer regardless. Quinn's posture was a whole lot less relaxed. It looked like she might burst into movement at any moment, her options wide open. She was, Juliette saw, not sporting any obvious bandages or injuries. A bit bedraggled, but who wasn't by now? Guns had been the minority of her kills, right? That meant Quinn could get in and mess people up without suffering particularly in reprisal. She had done so several times, against far more imposing foes. This called for careful handling indeed.
"How does it feel to kill someone?" Juliette asked.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Ambiguously winning.
Probably not fun for her, huh? Two ways to interpret that, neither wholly positive.
The first option was that Quinn was judging her and finding her wanting. Juliette, Quinn was implying in this scenario, lacked whatever it was that allowed one to make the slaughter gleeful. Such an assessment was at this stage untested. Juliette tried it on for size, rolled it around in her head.
Pushing Kelly off the boat, had that been "fun?" Her initial impulse was to answer with a resounding yes. It was more complicated, though. If she had to pick a word for it, Juliette would've chosen, instead, "cathartic." She had been anxious as she plotted her approach and picked her moment, tense but composed. She had seen someone willing to let herself be taken advantage of, and she had taken advantage. It had felt good to be in control, and it had felt good to throw Marco and Arjen for a loop.
What hadn't felt so good was that half second when her breath caught, when she wondered if Kelly would flip over one extra time and scrape her face off against the hull in a mess of shattered teeth and bared bone. What hadn't felt so good was throwing the life preserver blind. Waiting for the names to finish the next day, wondering if one particular one might show up, that had certainly not been one of Juliette's favorite experiences.
The other possibility was that Quinn meant to say that when she got bored of this conversation and murdered Juliette, being on the receiving end of that interaction was liable to be a little lacking.
Third hypothesis: both of the above.
Juliette's smile grew a little. Behind her teeth, she rolled the mint against her molars. Her fingertips slowly curled against the bark. She was giving Quinn respectful, full attention, but she was listening also to the world around them. The wind made the leaves of the trees rasp against each other. A shoe softly thumped the bark. Somewhere, birds made their calls. No sign of people yet. Good. Juliette had no fear of falling prey to some accomplice—it didn't fit the girl before her's MO at all—but an abrupt interruption might convince Quinn to take the most expedient path to simplifying the situation through removal of variables.
"Maybe," Juliette admitted.
Everyone always thought she wasn't good enough. She was too composed, so it was just a veneer. Too nice, just a suck-up. Too eager, just a wannabe.
"What's the best part about it?"
Probably not fun for her, huh? Two ways to interpret that, neither wholly positive.
The first option was that Quinn was judging her and finding her wanting. Juliette, Quinn was implying in this scenario, lacked whatever it was that allowed one to make the slaughter gleeful. Such an assessment was at this stage untested. Juliette tried it on for size, rolled it around in her head.
Pushing Kelly off the boat, had that been "fun?" Her initial impulse was to answer with a resounding yes. It was more complicated, though. If she had to pick a word for it, Juliette would've chosen, instead, "cathartic." She had been anxious as she plotted her approach and picked her moment, tense but composed. She had seen someone willing to let herself be taken advantage of, and she had taken advantage. It had felt good to be in control, and it had felt good to throw Marco and Arjen for a loop.
What hadn't felt so good was that half second when her breath caught, when she wondered if Kelly would flip over one extra time and scrape her face off against the hull in a mess of shattered teeth and bared bone. What hadn't felt so good was throwing the life preserver blind. Waiting for the names to finish the next day, wondering if one particular one might show up, that had certainly not been one of Juliette's favorite experiences.
The other possibility was that Quinn meant to say that when she got bored of this conversation and murdered Juliette, being on the receiving end of that interaction was liable to be a little lacking.
Third hypothesis: both of the above.
Juliette's smile grew a little. Behind her teeth, she rolled the mint against her molars. Her fingertips slowly curled against the bark. She was giving Quinn respectful, full attention, but she was listening also to the world around them. The wind made the leaves of the trees rasp against each other. A shoe softly thumped the bark. Somewhere, birds made their calls. No sign of people yet. Good. Juliette had no fear of falling prey to some accomplice—it didn't fit the girl before her's MO at all—but an abrupt interruption might convince Quinn to take the most expedient path to simplifying the situation through removal of variables.
"Maybe," Juliette admitted.
Everyone always thought she wasn't good enough. She was too composed, so it was just a veneer. Too nice, just a suck-up. Too eager, just a wannabe.
"What's the best part about it?"
Quinn wondered for a moment whether or not Juliette would take her words as a threat. She smiled when she said it, if only a little. Though, if Juliette did think that Quinn's words were intended in that manner, then she was brave, stupid, or both to just keep on as she was.
The thing was, Quinn was under no illusions that how she was approaching the game was in any way typical, but when had she ever been? What she'd said to Daria was true. Being on the island was opportunity, nothing more. Home had only been the way that it had because she'd never had the chance to make it any different. Home wasn't here because home had rules she had to follow, and unfortunately those weren't optional. Having to hold herself back from acting on whatever whim struck her was frustrating, but being gunned down by an itchy trigger finger or locked behind bars forever, those were worse. Did everyone harbour that kind of thinking? Of course not. Nobody else was Quinn.
Juliette kept going. Quinn tilted her head to the side.
The persistence was vaguely impressive, though Quinn still hadn't made up her mind as to whether it was sheer blind overconfidence. Juliette couldn't seriously believe that whatever razor she was holding gave her the advantage. Only one of the two of them had killed eight people.
She still found that she was considering the question. What was best? The look of fear? The fading light in their eyes? The visceral impact of driving a sharp point home? The gush of blood? The exultant triumph of finally being able to cut loose, and it being everything she'd ever hoped for?
At length, she shrugged.
"Freedom."
The thing was, Quinn was under no illusions that how she was approaching the game was in any way typical, but when had she ever been? What she'd said to Daria was true. Being on the island was opportunity, nothing more. Home had only been the way that it had because she'd never had the chance to make it any different. Home wasn't here because home had rules she had to follow, and unfortunately those weren't optional. Having to hold herself back from acting on whatever whim struck her was frustrating, but being gunned down by an itchy trigger finger or locked behind bars forever, those were worse. Did everyone harbour that kind of thinking? Of course not. Nobody else was Quinn.
Juliette kept going. Quinn tilted her head to the side.
The persistence was vaguely impressive, though Quinn still hadn't made up her mind as to whether it was sheer blind overconfidence. Juliette couldn't seriously believe that whatever razor she was holding gave her the advantage. Only one of the two of them had killed eight people.
She still found that she was considering the question. What was best? The look of fear? The fading light in their eyes? The visceral impact of driving a sharp point home? The gush of blood? The exultant triumph of finally being able to cut loose, and it being everything she'd ever hoped for?
At length, she shrugged.
"Freedom."
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Quinn's answer caught Juliette off-guard enough that she, for a moment, took her eyes off the prize, lost track of the score and where she stood.
Only for a moment.
Winning.
Her smile didn't change, but she meant it more. Could Quinn catch that evolution? Did the girl even have the ability to register such nuance? Juliette was pretty sure that most of her classmates didn't. They were all too wrapped up in their own business, too focused on their own little lives. Kindness had always been uncomfortably scarce around the halls of George Hunter.
"Oh," Juliette said. "I think I might know what you mean."
The shoes shook with the wind, twisting and tangling with each other, but none fell. They must have been here for a very long time. It must have been rare for one to drop loose, the result of particularly harsh gales or the slow deterioration of cheap shoelaces or a bough bent too far for too long by weight it was not equipped to support. The adornments would be here long after every member of the class but one was dead and gone. Juliette had a momentary, distracting impulse to add her most expendable set of footwear to the collection, but she couldn't let such flights of whimsy occupy her attention now. She couldn't run away from what Quinn had said, from what she thought both of them knew.
Quinn was completely correct and yet also totally wrong. Their current state of affairs represented an incredible freedom from all they had ever known before. All the old rules were gone, if only one chose to discard them. Everything that had mattered, every turn of etiquette or social maneuvering or perfect test score or lost student election or petty personal rivalry, all of that was now meaningless. Words no longer held primacy. There was no authority to appeal to. Welcome to the jungle, that was the phrase that came to mind, something from some old rap song or the like that Juliette had picked up through cultural osmosis. But the jungle had its own laws, its own kings.
They'd just traded one set of shackles for another. They had never been and would never be free. Even if everything went perfectly, if Juliette got all that she yearned for, she would be a prisoner for the rest of her life, an eventual equal to her current jailers, perhaps, but at the same time their cellmates, their collective warden played by the rest of the world. That, at its core, was life: jockeying for the cage most amenable to your preferences.
No need to tell that to Quinn. No reason to burst her bubble. It was, after all, euphoric to slip the oldest chains, the ones most key and core to self. Juliette had felt that magic when she'd started to push against Kelly's back. It had been a point of no return, a knife driven into the chest of the person she'd once been.
It was well past time to add a second blade.
"You know," Juliette said, tone still bland, "I always felt horrible for what happened to you. What Garren and the others did. It was needlessly cruel, but I was too afraid to do much of anything about it."
Only for a moment.
Winning.
Her smile didn't change, but she meant it more. Could Quinn catch that evolution? Did the girl even have the ability to register such nuance? Juliette was pretty sure that most of her classmates didn't. They were all too wrapped up in their own business, too focused on their own little lives. Kindness had always been uncomfortably scarce around the halls of George Hunter.
"Oh," Juliette said. "I think I might know what you mean."
The shoes shook with the wind, twisting and tangling with each other, but none fell. They must have been here for a very long time. It must have been rare for one to drop loose, the result of particularly harsh gales or the slow deterioration of cheap shoelaces or a bough bent too far for too long by weight it was not equipped to support. The adornments would be here long after every member of the class but one was dead and gone. Juliette had a momentary, distracting impulse to add her most expendable set of footwear to the collection, but she couldn't let such flights of whimsy occupy her attention now. She couldn't run away from what Quinn had said, from what she thought both of them knew.
Quinn was completely correct and yet also totally wrong. Their current state of affairs represented an incredible freedom from all they had ever known before. All the old rules were gone, if only one chose to discard them. Everything that had mattered, every turn of etiquette or social maneuvering or perfect test score or lost student election or petty personal rivalry, all of that was now meaningless. Words no longer held primacy. There was no authority to appeal to. Welcome to the jungle, that was the phrase that came to mind, something from some old rap song or the like that Juliette had picked up through cultural osmosis. But the jungle had its own laws, its own kings.
They'd just traded one set of shackles for another. They had never been and would never be free. Even if everything went perfectly, if Juliette got all that she yearned for, she would be a prisoner for the rest of her life, an eventual equal to her current jailers, perhaps, but at the same time their cellmates, their collective warden played by the rest of the world. That, at its core, was life: jockeying for the cage most amenable to your preferences.
No need to tell that to Quinn. No reason to burst her bubble. It was, after all, euphoric to slip the oldest chains, the ones most key and core to self. Juliette had felt that magic when she'd started to push against Kelly's back. It had been a point of no return, a knife driven into the chest of the person she'd once been.
It was well past time to add a second blade.
"You know," Juliette said, tone still bland, "I always felt horrible for what happened to you. What Garren and the others did. It was needlessly cruel, but I was too afraid to do much of anything about it."
No she didn't.
But whatever, Quinn didn't really care enough to attempt to disabuse Juliette of the notion. Perhaps she believed that she understood. However, what Quinn meant and what Juliette thought she meant were likely to be two different things. Juliette hadn't chafed and strained against the restraints every day, toeing the line because there was no other option. Juliette had slotted into the upper echelons. Maybe that was something that she'd constructed for herself or maybe it just came naturally, she still wasn't chained. If the circumstances were alike, there had been ample time for Juliette to be creative with that razor of hers. She hadn't. Missed opportunities.
Quinn said nothing and shrugged. She didn't feel the need to explain herself. Juliette would die or perhaps Quinn would kill her—though Quinn was shading against that for the time being—and then what would those words have accomplished? Nothing. Juliette hadn't piqued her into a response like Daria, and so she wasn't interested. It was a lot of time to waste on somebody who didn't matter. A lot of somebodies who didn't matter. People would be watching at home, even if they were just a government team who had the task of sifting through all the tape of all the killing. Quinn cared about them even less than she did her classmates; why did they deserve an explanation? She'd said her piece earlier. They could draw whatever conclusion they wanted from her actions.
Juliette spoke again and Quinn's mouth twisted, first in frustration, then in something like a smile. Ah, so she felt that it was wrong to torment somebody for daring to have feelings, but not so strongly as to bother vocalising or doing anything. Quinn wasn't even a little bit surprised. Supporting her didn't net anyone anything, so why should they? Didn't affect them at the end of the day, did it? Anything could happen to Quinn and they could get along with their lives just fine.
Quinn didn't know what she'd been thinking back then. Emotional reactions weren't something that struck her often. She was pleased when the team won, frustrated to angry when the team lost, and generally irritated most times anyone tried to break through her obvious disinterest in an attempt to engage with her. So with Paloma, Quinn hadn't known what to do. She—there was nothing much that Quinn knew about Paloma as a person. On the other hand, she stood out, Quinn noticed her in a way entirely different from the others, so often pointless and dreary. She was musical, she had a unique style, there was something about her that just struck a chord with Quinn.
She'd... never had that. And Quinn had been attracted to the—call it the concept of there being somewhere out there who wasn't just so much window dressing and aggravation.
So she'd stumbled around the topic, she'd tried to think about what people supposedly did when there was someone they cared about in that kind of way and she'd clumsily scrawled out how she felt. The words didn't—couldn't match the depth of meaning that was swirling around Quinn's head. How could they? How could she express something that she had no means of likening to her own experiences? Meagre. Inadequate. She'd stared at the words on the pages and then in sheer impotent frustration, crammed them into the deepest recesses of her locker to never see the light of day again.
Until Garren decided to put his disgusting hands on her property.
Her attention drifted back to Juliette. "Dealing with it was worse."
He'd get his.
Garren was one she would be very, very displeased to see die at the hands of anyone else. She had so many ideas.
But whatever, Quinn didn't really care enough to attempt to disabuse Juliette of the notion. Perhaps she believed that she understood. However, what Quinn meant and what Juliette thought she meant were likely to be two different things. Juliette hadn't chafed and strained against the restraints every day, toeing the line because there was no other option. Juliette had slotted into the upper echelons. Maybe that was something that she'd constructed for herself or maybe it just came naturally, she still wasn't chained. If the circumstances were alike, there had been ample time for Juliette to be creative with that razor of hers. She hadn't. Missed opportunities.
Quinn said nothing and shrugged. She didn't feel the need to explain herself. Juliette would die or perhaps Quinn would kill her—though Quinn was shading against that for the time being—and then what would those words have accomplished? Nothing. Juliette hadn't piqued her into a response like Daria, and so she wasn't interested. It was a lot of time to waste on somebody who didn't matter. A lot of somebodies who didn't matter. People would be watching at home, even if they were just a government team who had the task of sifting through all the tape of all the killing. Quinn cared about them even less than she did her classmates; why did they deserve an explanation? She'd said her piece earlier. They could draw whatever conclusion they wanted from her actions.
Juliette spoke again and Quinn's mouth twisted, first in frustration, then in something like a smile. Ah, so she felt that it was wrong to torment somebody for daring to have feelings, but not so strongly as to bother vocalising or doing anything. Quinn wasn't even a little bit surprised. Supporting her didn't net anyone anything, so why should they? Didn't affect them at the end of the day, did it? Anything could happen to Quinn and they could get along with their lives just fine.
Quinn didn't know what she'd been thinking back then. Emotional reactions weren't something that struck her often. She was pleased when the team won, frustrated to angry when the team lost, and generally irritated most times anyone tried to break through her obvious disinterest in an attempt to engage with her. So with Paloma, Quinn hadn't known what to do. She—there was nothing much that Quinn knew about Paloma as a person. On the other hand, she stood out, Quinn noticed her in a way entirely different from the others, so often pointless and dreary. She was musical, she had a unique style, there was something about her that just struck a chord with Quinn.
She'd... never had that. And Quinn had been attracted to the—call it the concept of there being somewhere out there who wasn't just so much window dressing and aggravation.
So she'd stumbled around the topic, she'd tried to think about what people supposedly did when there was someone they cared about in that kind of way and she'd clumsily scrawled out how she felt. The words didn't—couldn't match the depth of meaning that was swirling around Quinn's head. How could they? How could she express something that she had no means of likening to her own experiences? Meagre. Inadequate. She'd stared at the words on the pages and then in sheer impotent frustration, crammed them into the deepest recesses of her locker to never see the light of day again.
Until Garren decided to put his disgusting hands on her property.
Her attention drifted back to Juliette. "Dealing with it was worse."
He'd get his.
Garren was one she would be very, very displeased to see die at the hands of anyone else. She had so many ideas.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
"I'm sure it was," Juliette said.
She looked at her hands for a moment and willed them still.
A second blade.
"Can I tell you a secret, Quinn?"
She looked at her hands for a moment and willed them still.
A second blade.
"Can I tell you a secret, Quinn?"