((At least the rain had finally stopped.))
The lower wilds were the same as they ever were, thick trees blocking his vision, the sounds of the wild filling his ears, the smell of damp plant-life overwhelming his nostrils. Richard once again found himself sitting on a boulder, gazing at his gun, unsure of his standing in the world.
He growled at himself, scowling and gripping the bridge of his nose in frustration. What the hell had he been doing these last few days? Such a short time had passed, and he had already completely forgotten the whole reason he hadn't just blown his brains out the moment woke up. He had been acting like a damn moron, willingly letting himself be too friendly with the people around him. What would have happened if he had run into someone that wasn't being an idiot like him?
He had to survive this, he had to be the last man standing. He had to go along with this stupid game, and he had to be the one to win.
He didn't have a choice.
He sat there for a very long time, considering his options, his plan of attack. Eventually, his mind wandered as he sat there, staring at the ground, his thoughts drifting away from this place, only to arrive at a memory of a time that now felt like a millennia ago.
~*~
The sound of Richard's alarm blaring from the clock on his nightstand greeted his return to consciousness. He sat up, fumbling for it in the dark of his bedroom, hitting the button to stop the noise just as it was really starting to irritate him.
He got out of bed and moved towards the switch, the lights blinding him as they came on. His room was the same as always. A tidy place, with blandly painted beige walls alongside a slightly discolored, beige carpet. The one window to the outside world was obscured by heavy, dark curtains, and his door leading out to the rest of the apartment remained closed and undisturbed.
His twin sized bed sat across one wall, covered in messy, navy blue sheets. His dresser sat in the corner, old and wooden, with the cracked, white, plastic hamper full of his dirty laundry sitting next to it. His PC setup sat quietly in the corner opposite the dresser, his subpar office chair sitting slightly askew in front of it.
He trudged towards the dresser, yanking open the top drawer and pulling out some fresh clothes. It was time for him to get ready for school before the bus arrived. Throwing on the first set of clothes he yanked out and depositing his pajamas on his bed, he flung open his door and walked out.
The apartment was mostly the same as his room. Tidy, beige, and mostly empty. The door to his mom's bedroom was open, as was the door to the bathroom, though the lights were off in both cases. Sunlight streamed through the window into the combined living room and kitchen, illuminating the place.
The small, flat screen television which sat in front of the couch and coffee table was still on, though it was quiet enough that he didn't hear it until now. He glanced over at the kitchen, noticing a small orange bottle full of light blue pills, the name "COLETTE SMITH" emblazoned on the white label, sitting on the counter.
Walking over to the TV to turn it off, he finally noticed his mother lying asleep on the couch, an open box wine and a half finished glass of the stuff sitting on the coffee table in front of her. He sighed, before reaching down and gently taking hold of her shoulder.
"Mom," he said, lightly squeezing her. "You're late for work."
Eventually, after a few repetitions of that, she stirred awake, looking around before abruptly sitting up.
"I think you forgot to set an alarm," he continued, pointing towards her bedroom.
"No no," his mother replied, groggily rubbing her eyes. "I took the day off today. Did I forget to tell you?"
"I think so," he replied back, moving towards the kitchen. "But that's alright, I was just worried you were going to get in trouble or something."
He pulled out a bowl from the cabinet and a spoon from the drawer, before fetching a box of cheap cereal from atop the refrigerator and a carton of milk from inside it. Sitting down at the table, he quickly poured out a bowl and began wolfing it down.
Once he was finished, he stood up and rinsed the bowl out in the sink, before leaving it there and moving towards the door. He began to open it gingerly, only for his mother to speak up.
"Hey um, sweetie," she said, falteringly. "I could take you to school today, if you want me to."
"Sure mom," he replied, softly.
Together, they left the building, eventually arriving at his mother's car, parked out in front of the building. They both got in without a word, his mother taking the driver's seat while Richard sat next to her in the passenger's seat.
As they started driving, Richard stared out the window, silently taking in the city around him. A few minutes passed before his mother finally broke the silence.
"You know," she began, her voice somewhat quiet. "It gets lonely in there sometimes, with nobody else around, and you spending all your time in your room."
He shifted in his seat, his head turning to face his mother. "I prefer the quiet, honestly. Plus, you know how I just don't like dealing with people."
"Y-yeah," his mother replied, her voice shaky. "I know."
It was silent again, for another few scant minutes. This time, it was Richard that broke the silence.
"I'm guessing your date last night didn't go so well?" He asked, fairly bluntly.
"No…" She murmured, choking slightly as her eyes began to water. "It didn't, sweetie."
His gaze returned to the window, as he watched the school approaching in the distance.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"It's okay sweetie," his mother replied, sniffling. "It's not your fault."
She reached over with one hand, affectionately ruffling his hair. "And you help me just by being you."
"But," she continued, her voice temporarily losing its normal melancholy, instead gaining a certain warmth. "You really need to shower, your hair is getting all greasy."
"Guess I'll do it when I get home," he replied, his tone equally warm.
A few more minutes passed, the quiet hum of the road beneath the wheels being the only sound he could hear. Eventually, they arrived at the George Hunter parking lot, and once the car finally stopped, Richard moved to get out.
"Have a good day at school, sweetie."
He looked back at his mother as he stepped out of the car. He saw the exhaustion in her face, the sorrow in her eyes, and he stopped moving.
"Hey, uh," he began to say, "when I get home, do you wanna like… play some board games, or something like that?"
His mother smiled, ever so slightly.
"Sure, sweetie, I'd love to."
~*~
As much as he wished he could just take the easy way out, and not have to go through with all the misery and death required to win, he didn't have a choice. He was all his mom had left, and he didn't know how she would cope if he died. He had to make it back home, for her.
He was broken out of his thoughts and reminiscing by the sound of something loudly hitting the ground, some distance behind him. Instantly, he flipped around, brandishing his gun in the direction of the noise, holding it steady with both of his hands.
"Who's there?" He shouted, glaring angrily at the area in front of him. "Come out with your hands up if you don't want to get shot!"
He stood there for several moments, the only response that greeted him being the calls of birds. Part of him questioned his own senses, suggesting that maybe paranoia had gotten the better of him, and he was just hearing things, shouting at ghosts that weren't even there.
Another part of him didn't want to take the risk if he was actually right.
"I know somebody's there," he shouted anew, his voice and hands growing more unsteady as his anxiety increased. "Show yourself!"
Life Anew
Day 4 Noon, Private
-
VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Quinn obliged.
The rock she’d thrown into the undergrowth had caught his attention, diverting him to look away.
She closed in from the flank and sprung.
The gun was the priority. Controlling that was required or there would be a swift and ignominious end. She swung her stake in a vicious downward arc, right at his hand.
This had to happen sooner or later. The reality was that she had to face a firearm or else trust to chance alone that she was never in a position to need or be threatened by one. Quinn disliked luck on principle. She was better than luck.
Her heart pounded, blood pumping. This rush. God what a feeling.
The rock she’d thrown into the undergrowth had caught his attention, diverting him to look away.
She closed in from the flank and sprung.
The gun was the priority. Controlling that was required or there would be a swift and ignominious end. She swung her stake in a vicious downward arc, right at his hand.
This had to happen sooner or later. The reality was that she had to face a firearm or else trust to chance alone that she was never in a position to need or be threatened by one. Quinn disliked luck on principle. She was better than luck.
Her heart pounded, blood pumping. This rush. God what a feeling.
-
VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Everything had happened way, way too fast.
Quinn's stake had been driven deep into Richard's right hand, tearing apart skin and muscle and setting his mind aflame with a level of excruciating pain that he had never before experienced. He screamed as his finger curled around the trigger in a panic, a thunderous boom echoing out of the barrel, the shot going wide and hitting a tree some distance away. His now injured hand couldn't handle the ensuing recoil, causing him to lose his hold on the pistol grip as it flew back and out of his grasp, landing on the ground some distance away.
This bitch was going to kill him, the blood oozing from his hand made that was abundantly clear. Heart racing, reacting solely on instinct alone, he powered through the pain to the best of his ability, rearing back with his good hand and punching Quinn as hard as he could. This was a fight for his life, and he needed to get the gun back, before she did.
Scrambling for the gun, he yanked himself away from Quinn and threw himself towards it.
Quinn's stake had been driven deep into Richard's right hand, tearing apart skin and muscle and setting his mind aflame with a level of excruciating pain that he had never before experienced. He screamed as his finger curled around the trigger in a panic, a thunderous boom echoing out of the barrel, the shot going wide and hitting a tree some distance away. His now injured hand couldn't handle the ensuing recoil, causing him to lose his hold on the pistol grip as it flew back and out of his grasp, landing on the ground some distance away.
This bitch was going to kill him, the blood oozing from his hand made that was abundantly clear. Heart racing, reacting solely on instinct alone, he powered through the pain to the best of his ability, rearing back with his good hand and punching Quinn as hard as he could. This was a fight for his life, and he needed to get the gun back, before she did.
Scrambling for the gun, he yanked himself away from Quinn and threw himself towards it.
He screamed, a feedback which sent a shiver coursing right back through Quinn. The gun fired, but it was reflex and panic, nothing she needed to be concerned with. He jerked his hand and between the motion and the recoil, his weapon went flying, bouncing off into the undergrowth. She immediately tracked its movement with her eyes, noting exactly where it landed. Losing it in all the excitement would be a mistake which got her killed. As much as firearms weren't fun, they'd kill Quinn far more easily than anything else.
She skittered back, which was just as well because--oh hey it was Richard, hello Richard, goodbye Richard--his fist lashed wildly out at her, clipping her across the cheek and sending her stumbling. The impact still snapped her head to one side. A direct hit probably would have knocked her down if not out. She was still a step behind. Didn't matter. She was on her feet, he wasn't.
Richard dove and Quinn leaped after him, bringing one foot down onto his back, the second onto the back of his head, stomping him down into the dirt. The momentum carried her through another couple of steps and she snatched the gun up off the ground.
She looked at it for a second as she turned around, glanced down at him.
Eh, someone might have heard the gunfire.
She extended the pistol and shot him twice in the back.
She skittered back, which was just as well because--oh hey it was Richard, hello Richard, goodbye Richard--his fist lashed wildly out at her, clipping her across the cheek and sending her stumbling. The impact still snapped her head to one side. A direct hit probably would have knocked her down if not out. She was still a step behind. Didn't matter. She was on her feet, he wasn't.
Richard dove and Quinn leaped after him, bringing one foot down onto his back, the second onto the back of his head, stomping him down into the dirt. The momentum carried her through another couple of steps and she snatched the gun up off the ground.
She looked at it for a second as she turned around, glanced down at him.
Eh, someone might have heard the gunfire.
She extended the pistol and shot him twice in the back.
-
VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Ringing ears. Blurred vision. Unbearable anguish. All of those were accurate descriptions of what Richard was experiencing right now.
As he laid there, face down in the mud, he screamed, louder than he ever had before in his life. The pain in his hand was nothing compared to the agony now shooting through his whole body. His newly created wounds soaked his shirt with his own blood, the sensation of the spread of that warm fluid gently tickling his skin. That was it, one little mistake, and he had already lost. There was no way he could recover from injuries like this. Even if he somehow managed to turn the tables with his assailant hovering over him with a loaded gun, the wounds would almost certainly kill him.
He tried to move, but all he could do was lie there and groan. Even with the adrenaline flowing through his veins, the pain was absolutely mind-shattering, and his body refused to cooperate with anything he wanted to do. He was done for, now all he had to do was wait for Quinn to finish him off. Wait for her to finally cap him in the back of the head and obliterate everything he was. At this point, he welcomed it. Anything to end the torture he was feeling.
But that end didn't come. Instead, he just remained there, taking progressively more difficult labored breaths, waiting. One of his lungs felt very heavy, and eventually he hacked up way too much of his own blood, staining his chin and teeth. She could've killed him a thousand times over by now. Why wasn't he already dead? Did she just take the gun and leave, without even grabbing his bag?
Eventually, after some time had passed like this, the pain subsided just enough that he was able to move. He turned his head and twisted his neck slowly, powering through the anguish to get a look behind him. Quinn was just standing there, over top of him. Watching him.
What, was killing him, eliminating a threat, and taking everything he had not enough? Was she actually just watching him die, waiting to see whether or not the blood loss or the suffocation would kill him first? Was she getting off on this shit?
What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck.
No, no, no. This wasn't how he wanted to go out. This couldn't be how he went out. What if his mom saw this? Jesus fuck, what if his mom saw this? He could do better, he had to do better. He didn't know what he would do, but anything was better than this.
Powering through the pain once again, he slowly, gingerly, flipped himself around completely, choking up some more blood in the process. Now he was on his back, face to face with his killer. He stared at her for several moments, considering what he was going to do. Her face was blank, it didn't look like she even considered him the slightest threat. She was probably right to think that, there was no way he'd win a fight with her at this point.
But maybe there was something else he could win.
"What," he began to choke out between heavy breaths, "do you think you're fucking scary? Standing there menacingly as if you're Michael Fucking Myers? You look more like Spongebob Fucking Squarepants." He coughed. "I've taken shits more threatening than you."
As he laid there, face down in the mud, he screamed, louder than he ever had before in his life. The pain in his hand was nothing compared to the agony now shooting through his whole body. His newly created wounds soaked his shirt with his own blood, the sensation of the spread of that warm fluid gently tickling his skin. That was it, one little mistake, and he had already lost. There was no way he could recover from injuries like this. Even if he somehow managed to turn the tables with his assailant hovering over him with a loaded gun, the wounds would almost certainly kill him.
He tried to move, but all he could do was lie there and groan. Even with the adrenaline flowing through his veins, the pain was absolutely mind-shattering, and his body refused to cooperate with anything he wanted to do. He was done for, now all he had to do was wait for Quinn to finish him off. Wait for her to finally cap him in the back of the head and obliterate everything he was. At this point, he welcomed it. Anything to end the torture he was feeling.
But that end didn't come. Instead, he just remained there, taking progressively more difficult labored breaths, waiting. One of his lungs felt very heavy, and eventually he hacked up way too much of his own blood, staining his chin and teeth. She could've killed him a thousand times over by now. Why wasn't he already dead? Did she just take the gun and leave, without even grabbing his bag?
Eventually, after some time had passed like this, the pain subsided just enough that he was able to move. He turned his head and twisted his neck slowly, powering through the anguish to get a look behind him. Quinn was just standing there, over top of him. Watching him.
What, was killing him, eliminating a threat, and taking everything he had not enough? Was she actually just watching him die, waiting to see whether or not the blood loss or the suffocation would kill him first? Was she getting off on this shit?
What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck.
No, no, no. This wasn't how he wanted to go out. This couldn't be how he went out. What if his mom saw this? Jesus fuck, what if his mom saw this? He could do better, he had to do better. He didn't know what he would do, but anything was better than this.
Powering through the pain once again, he slowly, gingerly, flipped himself around completely, choking up some more blood in the process. Now he was on his back, face to face with his killer. He stared at her for several moments, considering what he was going to do. Her face was blank, it didn't look like she even considered him the slightest threat. She was probably right to think that, there was no way he'd win a fight with her at this point.
But maybe there was something else he could win.
"What," he began to choke out between heavy breaths, "do you think you're fucking scary? Standing there menacingly as if you're Michael Fucking Myers? You look more like Spongebob Fucking Squarepants." He coughed. "I've taken shits more threatening than you."
Oh.
That felt much more exciting than last time. Maybe the kind of gun had something to do with it? Quinn jostled the rifle on her back thoughtfully, turning the gun over a few times. She tried to spin it around her finger, but the weight made the motion clumsy. Heavier than she'd expected. A little smile played across her face. It wasn't the same as the visceral intensity of sliding a spike into someone, parting their flesh with your force of body and will, but this could grow on her.
Ah, Richard was dying, yes? She should pay attention. She was missing the moment.
She watched him flip himself over, bit by bit, and crouched down a short distance away, tilting her head this side and that. Taking in all the angles. With the weapon in her possession, even if someone else did come along, Quinn would be able to protect herself.
Blood dripped from his mouth. More bubble in his back. He spoke. Her mouth twitched again.
"Doesn't matter. Be an unthreatened corpse then."
That felt much more exciting than last time. Maybe the kind of gun had something to do with it? Quinn jostled the rifle on her back thoughtfully, turning the gun over a few times. She tried to spin it around her finger, but the weight made the motion clumsy. Heavier than she'd expected. A little smile played across her face. It wasn't the same as the visceral intensity of sliding a spike into someone, parting their flesh with your force of body and will, but this could grow on her.
Ah, Richard was dying, yes? She should pay attention. She was missing the moment.
She watched him flip himself over, bit by bit, and crouched down a short distance away, tilting her head this side and that. Taking in all the angles. With the weapon in her possession, even if someone else did come along, Quinn would be able to protect herself.
Blood dripped from his mouth. More bubble in his back. He spoke. Her mouth twitched again.
"Doesn't matter. Be an unthreatened corpse then."
-
VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Well, that didn't work. Clearly Quinn didn't have an ego that Richard could easily bruise.
Quinn's words were punctuated by Richard's sharp, rapid inhaling through his nose. Goddamn, everything hurt. He could feel himself growing weaker. He could feel the blood filling his lungs. He could especially feel it when he coughed it up. Despite the pain, despite his weakness, he wasn't going down without taking some part of Quinn with him. He wasn't going to just let her enjoy killing him. There had to be something that he could make stick.
"No one will remember you, you know," he hissed, before taking a labored breath. "When someone comes along and blows your fucking brains out for everything you've done, everyone's gonna forget about you. Fuck," he coughed, hacking up a mouthful of blood. "They might even celebrate, before they dump your sorry, unloved carcass into the sea."
No reaction, not even a singular facial twinge. She was coldhearted bitch, that was for sure. How else could someone just sit there and watch a person they're murdering tell them how nobody would care about them when they inevitably died without reacting at all?
He decided to go for a different angle. He may be refusing to acknowledge just how much blood he was losing, but he still knew he was running out of time. He was breathing harder than he ever had in his life, and yet every breath he took was so shallow, and it was starting to get difficult to breath in general. He had to figure out what would really sting, and fast.
"Y-you know, you're one freaky bitch," he continued, spitting up yet another metallic-tasting mouthful. "W-were you always a serial killer in training? Or did you just decide to obey the second Daddy Danya told you what to do?"
Quinn's words were punctuated by Richard's sharp, rapid inhaling through his nose. Goddamn, everything hurt. He could feel himself growing weaker. He could feel the blood filling his lungs. He could especially feel it when he coughed it up. Despite the pain, despite his weakness, he wasn't going down without taking some part of Quinn with him. He wasn't going to just let her enjoy killing him. There had to be something that he could make stick.
"No one will remember you, you know," he hissed, before taking a labored breath. "When someone comes along and blows your fucking brains out for everything you've done, everyone's gonna forget about you. Fuck," he coughed, hacking up a mouthful of blood. "They might even celebrate, before they dump your sorry, unloved carcass into the sea."
No reaction, not even a singular facial twinge. She was coldhearted bitch, that was for sure. How else could someone just sit there and watch a person they're murdering tell them how nobody would care about them when they inevitably died without reacting at all?
He decided to go for a different angle. He may be refusing to acknowledge just how much blood he was losing, but he still knew he was running out of time. He was breathing harder than he ever had in his life, and yet every breath he took was so shallow, and it was starting to get difficult to breath in general. He had to figure out what would really sting, and fast.
"Y-you know, you're one freaky bitch," he continued, spitting up yet another metallic-tasting mouthful. "W-were you always a serial killer in training? Or did you just decide to obey the second Daddy Danya told you what to do?"
She'd be forgotten?
Those here would remember. Those back home would remember. They spoke about this, the violence and the killers. Quinn didn't much care about that. To worry about being spoken of implied that she worried she would die. She wasn't immortal, but death would be failure, death would be...well, it wasn't worth the time and energy thinking about it.
Quinn watched more blood trickling from his chin, spilling in little rivulets down his cheeks and his neck. Fascinating. She could watch for hours, if only it wasn't all too fleeting.
God, was he still talking? Daria already said that about being a serial killer, it was hardly—her brow creased.
Her lip peeled back a little as she snarled back at him.
"I am not doing as I'm told. Idiot. This is me, understand!? Me."
Those here would remember. Those back home would remember. They spoke about this, the violence and the killers. Quinn didn't much care about that. To worry about being spoken of implied that she worried she would die. She wasn't immortal, but death would be failure, death would be...well, it wasn't worth the time and energy thinking about it.
Quinn watched more blood trickling from his chin, spilling in little rivulets down his cheeks and his neck. Fascinating. She could watch for hours, if only it wasn't all too fleeting.
God, was he still talking? Daria already said that about being a serial killer, it was hardly—her brow creased.
Her lip peeled back a little as she snarled back at him.
"I am not doing as I'm told. Idiot. This is me, understand!? Me."
-
VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Richard smiled as best he could in this miserable situation. He found a point of weakness, something that seemed to actually bother Quinn, despite her being a heartless bitch. Now he just had to keep going, make sure that when he finally sunk into the long dark that he took a piece of Quinn's soul with him.
"Y-You, really?" He tried to laugh, but ended up only coughing up more blood, breathing heavy. "Then why didn't you kill anyone before you got here, huh?" He inhaled, deep as he could, stabbing pain shooting up his chest. He was gonna make this hurt. "Who d-do you think you're fooling? They stuck a bomb on your neck and told you to kill. You're just doing what they want you to do," he spit, clearing some of the blood building up in his mouth. "But since you're s-so easily manipulated, you're pretending that it's all you."
He put his arms behind him, grunting as he slowly, agonizingly forced himself to sit up. Everything he did right now was an act of defiance, an echo of his sheer, unfiltered hatred. He was going down, but he wouldn't let Quinn win even one more inch. "I-I know better, though," he sneered, through bloody, gritted teeth. "I c-can see you for everything you are. A worthless puppet, dancing on cheap strings. A collared dog, always at master's beck and call, always eager to please."
He grinned, as wide as he had ever grinned in his life, a second wind born of loathing. "You're n-nothing. You don't have any agency. You're just a pawn in s-someone else's game, and that's all you'll ever be."
"Y-You, really?" He tried to laugh, but ended up only coughing up more blood, breathing heavy. "Then why didn't you kill anyone before you got here, huh?" He inhaled, deep as he could, stabbing pain shooting up his chest. He was gonna make this hurt. "Who d-do you think you're fooling? They stuck a bomb on your neck and told you to kill. You're just doing what they want you to do," he spit, clearing some of the blood building up in his mouth. "But since you're s-so easily manipulated, you're pretending that it's all you."
He put his arms behind him, grunting as he slowly, agonizingly forced himself to sit up. Everything he did right now was an act of defiance, an echo of his sheer, unfiltered hatred. He was going down, but he wouldn't let Quinn win even one more inch. "I-I know better, though," he sneered, through bloody, gritted teeth. "I c-can see you for everything you are. A worthless puppet, dancing on cheap strings. A collared dog, always at master's beck and call, always eager to please."
He grinned, as wide as he had ever grinned in his life, a second wind born of loathing. "You're n-nothing. You don't have any agency. You're just a pawn in s-someone else's game, and that's all you'll ever be."
Quinn fixed him with a glare. He certainly could talk a big game for a man with two holes in his chest. Back? She wasn't certain if they went all the way through and was struck with an urge to check. She'd stick her fingers right in the wounds, forcing them open, wider, see him twist and writhe in agony. Watch him mock her then, watch him say that she was just following instructions then. She'd listen to his screams and laugh right along with him as he died alone and in and ...and she'd heard this before.
Not identical, sure. But didn't Richard's words ring with the same tune as Daria's? She, too, had asked Quinn why. Why now and not back then. Opportunity, not orders. Daria's questioning had pissed her off then and heck, Quinn was already pissed off now, and yet the reprise didn't have the same effect. It tempered her frustration. Honed it. Daria was a provocative challenge, Richard was just there, dying and spitting, an animal thrashing wildly in its final throes. What was the point of getting mad at him? Words were just words, and he was still dead.
He sat up. Quinn looked him up and down, deciding if he was going to be a threat.
Nah.
Quinn backed up, folded her arms, and leaned back against a tree.
He prized words so highly? She wasn't going to give him a single syllable more.
Not identical, sure. But didn't Richard's words ring with the same tune as Daria's? She, too, had asked Quinn why. Why now and not back then. Opportunity, not orders. Daria's questioning had pissed her off then and heck, Quinn was already pissed off now, and yet the reprise didn't have the same effect. It tempered her frustration. Honed it. Daria was a provocative challenge, Richard was just there, dying and spitting, an animal thrashing wildly in its final throes. What was the point of getting mad at him? Words were just words, and he was still dead.
He sat up. Quinn looked him up and down, deciding if he was going to be a threat.
Nah.
Quinn backed up, folded her arms, and leaned back against a tree.
He prized words so highly? She wasn't going to give him a single syllable more.
-
VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Well, that was it. That was all Richard had left in him. Quinn giving up and backing away was enough. He had gotten under her skin, ruined her fun, and there was nothing else he needed to say.
He gave her one last defiant, bloody smile, before lying back down in the mud. With his second wind now over, a fog began to fill his head. Breathing was so hard now, but at least the pain started to subside. Everything began to feel so much more distant. The fog in his mind drowned out his hearing, his sense of touch. He felt like he was floating.
Is this what dying was like? He was dying, after all, so it must be. This weightless, foggy feeling was the last thing he'd ever experience. Someone else might be scared, might not want to let go, but he had never been afraid of dying. If anything, he had always been waiting for the day that it'd finally come to him. He knew he'd never amount to much, never accomplish anything, never be well known, and he was okay with that. All that mattered is that he enjoyed what few good moments he had, no matter how short and miserable his life wound up being.
Everything was starting to get dark, as he felt his grasp on consciousness weaken. This was the end. He wondered how his mom would cope, once he was gone? Not that it really mattered now, since he'd never know, and he couldn't let himself die full of regrets. He would just hope that she would be okay, and he wouldn't trouble himself anymore than that. If he let himself lose it, Quinn would probably like it, and he wasn't going to give her anything else.
She took his life, she took his gun, she was going to take his stuff. He wouldn't let her take his dignity too. He was dying on his own terms.
And with that thought, he took his final breath, closed his eyes, and let the dark take him away.
B044 - Richard Smith: Deceased
He gave her one last defiant, bloody smile, before lying back down in the mud. With his second wind now over, a fog began to fill his head. Breathing was so hard now, but at least the pain started to subside. Everything began to feel so much more distant. The fog in his mind drowned out his hearing, his sense of touch. He felt like he was floating.
Is this what dying was like? He was dying, after all, so it must be. This weightless, foggy feeling was the last thing he'd ever experience. Someone else might be scared, might not want to let go, but he had never been afraid of dying. If anything, he had always been waiting for the day that it'd finally come to him. He knew he'd never amount to much, never accomplish anything, never be well known, and he was okay with that. All that mattered is that he enjoyed what few good moments he had, no matter how short and miserable his life wound up being.
Everything was starting to get dark, as he felt his grasp on consciousness weaken. This was the end. He wondered how his mom would cope, once he was gone? Not that it really mattered now, since he'd never know, and he couldn't let himself die full of regrets. He would just hope that she would be okay, and he wouldn't trouble himself anymore than that. If he let himself lose it, Quinn would probably like it, and he wasn't going to give her anything else.
She took his life, she took his gun, she was going to take his stuff. He wouldn't let her take his dignity too. He was dying on his own terms.
And with that thought, he took his final breath, closed his eyes, and let the dark take him away.
B044 - Richard Smith: Deceased
He smiled at her, as if briefly riling her up was a crowning achievement in his sorry life. Well guess what, Richard? Now you're dead, and making her glower wasn't going to change that.
Let him bleed out. Let it be slow. He'd have a good long time for the realisation to sink in that he was nothing. He didn't matter. None of them did.
Quinn flicked her gaze between the dying boy and her surroundings, watchful for anyone that may have heard or witnessed the confrontation. She'd intermittently heard gunshots ever since she first arrived here, perhaps growing in frequency, and she'd yet to actually stumble on a gunfight or even an aftermath, only long cold corpses. It was far easier to hear gunfire than it was to locate the gunfire, and many of her classmates were too smart or at the very least too wary to march gleefully towards an ongoing battle. Perhaps the scavengers would be along later. She'd have to be sure to give them something worth finding.
After another couple of minutes, Richard's movement had entirely stilled. Quinn studied him closely, searching for any sign that he was playing possum. None.
Good. She'd been getting bored. The fascination drained out of death when it was just there. Strange, how seeing those final quavering breaths could have such lustre only for the shine to fade within a few lost heartbeats.
Unhurriedly, Quinn moved over to Richard's bag and rifled through it. Ammunition was good. Less exciting the gun may have been, but there was a certain charm to the kick in her hand and the way Richard had convulsed when she'd shot him. She still longed for a knife, but now she would have to worry less about losing opportunities to a lack of decent weaponry. All the more gladdening was to not have to pay such close attention to individual bullets, and so too not to have to haul the rifle around any longer. Quinn was a bad shot. The one successful hit had been luck alone; she wasn't conserving any of value by keeping the weapon on her person. One bullet didn't matter.
She picked out the rest of the supplies she wanted, left the rest. No need for more clothes, she had Stepney's going spare if she really needed them. Her current shirt wasn't blood-soaked yet, but it was probably a matter of time. Food, fine. Water, fine. Quinn restocked her own backpack, and then looked down at Richard again. Just leaving him felt like a wasted chance.
She shoved the pistol into her pants and then unslung the rifle, pointing it at his head. She pulled the trigger. Richard's head jerked back and more blood splattered onto the ground beneath him. Quinn let out a sudden, startled laugh. That had caught her off guard.
Tossing the rifle to the ground, Quinn crouched down to Richard and hauled him up off the ground. He was big, but not too heavy. Still more cumbersome than she would have liked. Well, not like she needed to take him far. Straightening up, Quinn dragged him over to the tree she'd been leaning against and propped him onto it. He almost immediately began to slide as Quinn rummaged through her things again, and sure enough, by the time she retrieved what she was looking for, his corpse had already slumped back down to the ground. Undeterred, Quinn took him by the shirt and dragged him up again, this time pinning him there with her own body weight. She squinted at the tree behind him, then her eyes lit up. The bark seemed more crumbly in one spot, and it flaked away easily at her touch, exposing a small hollow. Perfect.
Quinn left his body there, held up by the stake through its throat.
She wore a contented smile upon her face.
((Quinn continued in I'm only satisfied by the finer things in life like Rodarte and Margiela and making boys cry))
Let him bleed out. Let it be slow. He'd have a good long time for the realisation to sink in that he was nothing. He didn't matter. None of them did.
Quinn flicked her gaze between the dying boy and her surroundings, watchful for anyone that may have heard or witnessed the confrontation. She'd intermittently heard gunshots ever since she first arrived here, perhaps growing in frequency, and she'd yet to actually stumble on a gunfight or even an aftermath, only long cold corpses. It was far easier to hear gunfire than it was to locate the gunfire, and many of her classmates were too smart or at the very least too wary to march gleefully towards an ongoing battle. Perhaps the scavengers would be along later. She'd have to be sure to give them something worth finding.
After another couple of minutes, Richard's movement had entirely stilled. Quinn studied him closely, searching for any sign that he was playing possum. None.
Good. She'd been getting bored. The fascination drained out of death when it was just there. Strange, how seeing those final quavering breaths could have such lustre only for the shine to fade within a few lost heartbeats.
Unhurriedly, Quinn moved over to Richard's bag and rifled through it. Ammunition was good. Less exciting the gun may have been, but there was a certain charm to the kick in her hand and the way Richard had convulsed when she'd shot him. She still longed for a knife, but now she would have to worry less about losing opportunities to a lack of decent weaponry. All the more gladdening was to not have to pay such close attention to individual bullets, and so too not to have to haul the rifle around any longer. Quinn was a bad shot. The one successful hit had been luck alone; she wasn't conserving any of value by keeping the weapon on her person. One bullet didn't matter.
She picked out the rest of the supplies she wanted, left the rest. No need for more clothes, she had Stepney's going spare if she really needed them. Her current shirt wasn't blood-soaked yet, but it was probably a matter of time. Food, fine. Water, fine. Quinn restocked her own backpack, and then looked down at Richard again. Just leaving him felt like a wasted chance.
She shoved the pistol into her pants and then unslung the rifle, pointing it at his head. She pulled the trigger. Richard's head jerked back and more blood splattered onto the ground beneath him. Quinn let out a sudden, startled laugh. That had caught her off guard.
Tossing the rifle to the ground, Quinn crouched down to Richard and hauled him up off the ground. He was big, but not too heavy. Still more cumbersome than she would have liked. Well, not like she needed to take him far. Straightening up, Quinn dragged him over to the tree she'd been leaning against and propped him onto it. He almost immediately began to slide as Quinn rummaged through her things again, and sure enough, by the time she retrieved what she was looking for, his corpse had already slumped back down to the ground. Undeterred, Quinn took him by the shirt and dragged him up again, this time pinning him there with her own body weight. She squinted at the tree behind him, then her eyes lit up. The bark seemed more crumbly in one spot, and it flaked away easily at her touch, exposing a small hollow. Perfect.
Quinn left his body there, held up by the stake through its throat.
She wore a contented smile upon her face.
((Quinn continued in I'm only satisfied by the finer things in life like Rodarte and Margiela and making boys cry))