It was almost like some sort of sick joke that there was a half-capsized yacht staring them in the face, mocking them for their inability to get in it and boat away. Of course, as Lizzie had said to him only a day prior — these terrorists weren't exactly the kind who made good jokes. None of their humour was all that funny. It was even a step down from dad-humour, the jokes were low-effort, biting, and odds were, the person telling them was so powerful that no one, terrorist or otherwise, had the guts to tell him that they sucked.
As it stood, Morgan didn't really feel like he had very much to laugh about, anyways.
((Morgan Dragosavich continued from Shame, Shame Go Away, Come Again Some Other Day))
Having a travelling companion for the fifth day of Survival of the Fittest was honestly a burden off of his back. There were all of the usual emotions that he'd felt once he'd found Lizzie — happiness, gratitude, even a little bit of guilt, but the overriding one had been relief. She was mostly okay, definitely in one piece, and hadn't done anything egregiously immoral since she'd been trapped here. Sure, there'd been the bit with the garden shears and taking Alexander Brooke hostage, but—
Morgan grimaced as the thought entered his mind. It didn't matter anymore, because someone else had wiped Alexander off the face of the planet. Poor guy, he hadn't even had a shot. Surviving this hellish ordeal wasn't going to be easy for anybody, but having a literal handicap to deal with? That was a death sentence. Grimly, Morgan's thoughts went to the guide dog that was never far from Alexander's side. Had the terrorists put the dog out of its misery, too, or were they keeping him as a sick trophy?
"Fuck sakes," he muttered.
Glancing back at Lizzie, he couldn't manage to muster up a smile for her. The night prior had been rougher than some of his others, and while they hadn't been rained on, they had spent it outside and it was undoubtedly more perilous than their night in the cabin had been. Both of them smelled, they were dirty, and almost a week fighting for their lives with minimal supplies had erased a lot of the idle chatter that they may have otherwise engaged in. The sun had already risen in the sky, and he could see that the upcoming day was going to be a hot one.
They were far enough away from the yacht to elude the danger zone, but at this point, there was no other recourse than to turn back the way they came. Morgan had already had one near-miss with a danger zone; he didn't plan to have another. An exploding neck sounded like a very painful, very unpleasant way to die. Not that he was in a hurry to find another way, of course.
"Your chariot awaits," he gestured to the broken-down yacht in the distance, sighing and allowing his hand to fall down to his side. They hadn't seen hide nor hair of Michael, and enough time had passed that Morgan wasn't really sure where to look. He was fairly sure that a danger zone wasn't the place, but assuming that the announcement was soon upcoming, it could be a relatively safe spot for the time being.
"Now all we have to do is repair the boat, get the collars off, and we're home free. Piece of cake."
His stomach rumbled. God, what he wouldn't give for a piece of cake.
Memories Keep Haunting Me, Help Me Chase Them All Away
post-announcement day 6; open
“You forgot the part where we cruise into the terrorists base, machine guns blazing as we go Rambo on their asses.”
((Lizzie Lebowski continued from Shame, Shame Go Away, Come Again Some Other Day))
Lizzie looked out wishfully at the broken escape route. What she wouldn’t do for a ticket out for both of them, she pined. Firepower would just be an added bonus. Cruising out on a speedboat into the sunset, guns firing and eagles screaming. Very romantic. Very American.
She took his hand in hers, smiling sadly. She was glad that they were together now, and gladder still that they’d managed to go another twenty-four hours with no-one else trying to go Rambo on their own asses. Still, Morgan had obviously not been in a mood for much chatter, so she’d left him be for the most part. She would’ve preferred otherwise, as she wanted as many distractions from their impending swiss cheese status as she could find, but it was something she'd just had to accept. Morgan had a basket of worries after all, while no-one was out for revenge on her as far as she knew. Especially if Alex had already been killed. Poor guy. She wished she could've apologised first.
“Hey, at least we got to see the ocean together. That’s sweet.”
Endless and vast. Very much not their futures. She put her head on his shoulder.
“Want to have a look inside? Once our necks won’t explode, I mean. Could be cool.”
((Lizzie Lebowski continued from Shame, Shame Go Away, Come Again Some Other Day))
Lizzie looked out wishfully at the broken escape route. What she wouldn’t do for a ticket out for both of them, she pined. Firepower would just be an added bonus. Cruising out on a speedboat into the sunset, guns firing and eagles screaming. Very romantic. Very American.
She took his hand in hers, smiling sadly. She was glad that they were together now, and gladder still that they’d managed to go another twenty-four hours with no-one else trying to go Rambo on their own asses. Still, Morgan had obviously not been in a mood for much chatter, so she’d left him be for the most part. She would’ve preferred otherwise, as she wanted as many distractions from their impending swiss cheese status as she could find, but it was something she'd just had to accept. Morgan had a basket of worries after all, while no-one was out for revenge on her as far as she knew. Especially if Alex had already been killed. Poor guy. She wished she could've apologised first.
“Hey, at least we got to see the ocean together. That’s sweet.”
Endless and vast. Very much not their futures. She put her head on his shoulder.
“Want to have a look inside? Once our necks won’t explode, I mean. Could be cool.”
"Well yeah, of course. Who knows what kind of goodies we'll find within?"
Bodies, probably.
Of that Morgan had very little doubt.
As he opened his mouth to retort, or at least try and retort back in a way that indicated he hadn't entirely lost his will to live, he was cut off by the crackle of the loudspeakers. As if on cue, that horrible voice filled every crevice, every area of the island, basically boring its way into Morgan's ears. Fuck that guy, whomever he was. Danya was probably an alias, after all. If it were him, he sure as shit wouldn't be using his real name.
Could he possibly be that cocky?
Allowing his ears to adjust to the volume, Morgan's hand fell away from Lizzie's and went to his mouth as the terrorist leader gleefully filled them in on the demise of their student council president — the one, the only Nathan Coleman. Evidently, Madison Springer of all people had bashed his head in, which left a horrific mental image in his head. There could be no mistake — whatever spin the terrorists put on it, Madison had murdered Nathan more viciously than he had really heard of anyone dying as of yet. Doing something like that required a rage that he wasn't sure he could even fathom.
Madison was dangerous, holy hell.
The list went on, more names — some familiar, others not, some that conjured faces at their very mention. Of particular note was the fact that holy shit, one of his assailants on the first day had gone down. Bret Carter was dead. Someone had taken a swing at the almighty Carter army and had scored a victory. The fact that Morgan was almost glad that the boy was dead made him feel sick to his stomach. What kind of person revelled in the death of another, even if that person was someone who had participated in dishing out great personal injury to him? There were a lot of emotions swirling within his mind, the last of which was great confusion at the concept of Claudeson killing someone else. Once, he could understand might have been an accident, but twice?
All of them were turning into warped tapestries of the people that they'd once been, and once more, he fought the urge to vomit.
Lorenzo killed someone else. What kind of an enormous bullet had he dodged when Andy and Axel had pulled him away from that fight? They had likely saved his life. And what had he given them in return? A death sentence. Andy was dead, and God knew how long it would be until Lucas Brady caught up with the rest of them?
The list just kept on going. Erika, again.
"My God, Erika," he breathed, barely comprehending the swath of violence that his friend was reported to have cut across the island. Michael and her had met when he'd won his award, and ever since then she had laid waste to seemingly everyone that she had run across. It was yet another image that didn't compute in his head — she was always the hippy sort, never one to think to use excessive violence in any situation. She'd been downright placid, pleasant on the cave trip. Hell, she'd probably been high for most of it.
But Erika had nine people's bodies on her conscience. Or lack thereof.
Reeling from the trio of new bodies on Erika's ledger, Morgan actually fell to his feet at the next name: Lucas Brady. But this one was different, this was entirely at his own hand. After the teasing, the Facebook incident, the attacks on his character and after Morgan's own attack on his ribs, Lucas had killed Andy, and then himself.
Lucas had committed suicide, and Morgan wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't to blame.
Still peering out at the yacht, he heard more words through the loudspeaker, but at this point, they were just noise. It didn't matter.
It didn't matter that he was still alive.
It didn't matter that no one was coming to kill him.
It didn't matter that Michael hadn't killed anyone else.
It didn't matter that Henry was still around.
It didn't matter that he had Lizzie with him.
It didn't matter.
It didn't matter because if it did, if it all truly mattered, they wouldn't be here. Someone would have figured out where they were and the governments of the world wouldn't let such atrocities happen, not for such a long term and at such a global scale. But it didn't matter. They were expendable, just another list of names that would be used to justify more funding for school security, fewer social liberties, more xenophobic political agendas.
And the worst part — the very worst thing of all?
Maybe they deserved it.
For so long he thought of himself as a decent guy, someone who was above most of the usual bullshit. Yet he'd commented on Lucas Brady's Facebook post. He'd gently mocked the boy. Morgan had snapped at him and then retaliated when he'd fucked up his own attack. Deliberately and with malice, Morgan had tried to hurt Lucas Brady.
That one decision; two people were dead.
"What have I done?"
As he wallowed in his own self-pity, he allowed himself one caustic thought, almost entirely forgetting that he wasn't alone. It was a shitty thought, one that if he truly believed would damn him for good.
He blamed himself.
Once he started blaming himself , he knew there was no going back. He had not stabbed Andy with a branch, he had not bashed Lucas' head in. Yet he still felt as though he were directly responsible for the both of them. It was an awful feeling, and it settled in his stomach long enough that finally he could not hold it back any longer, and he vomited on the ground in front of himself; primarily water and bile. It burned coming up. Was this what it was like to hate yourself?
Perhaps he had more in common with Michael, after all.
Bodies, probably.
Of that Morgan had very little doubt.
As he opened his mouth to retort, or at least try and retort back in a way that indicated he hadn't entirely lost his will to live, he was cut off by the crackle of the loudspeakers. As if on cue, that horrible voice filled every crevice, every area of the island, basically boring its way into Morgan's ears. Fuck that guy, whomever he was. Danya was probably an alias, after all. If it were him, he sure as shit wouldn't be using his real name.
Could he possibly be that cocky?
Allowing his ears to adjust to the volume, Morgan's hand fell away from Lizzie's and went to his mouth as the terrorist leader gleefully filled them in on the demise of their student council president — the one, the only Nathan Coleman. Evidently, Madison Springer of all people had bashed his head in, which left a horrific mental image in his head. There could be no mistake — whatever spin the terrorists put on it, Madison had murdered Nathan more viciously than he had really heard of anyone dying as of yet. Doing something like that required a rage that he wasn't sure he could even fathom.
Madison was dangerous, holy hell.
The list went on, more names — some familiar, others not, some that conjured faces at their very mention. Of particular note was the fact that holy shit, one of his assailants on the first day had gone down. Bret Carter was dead. Someone had taken a swing at the almighty Carter army and had scored a victory. The fact that Morgan was almost glad that the boy was dead made him feel sick to his stomach. What kind of person revelled in the death of another, even if that person was someone who had participated in dishing out great personal injury to him? There were a lot of emotions swirling within his mind, the last of which was great confusion at the concept of Claudeson killing someone else. Once, he could understand might have been an accident, but twice?
All of them were turning into warped tapestries of the people that they'd once been, and once more, he fought the urge to vomit.
Lorenzo killed someone else. What kind of an enormous bullet had he dodged when Andy and Axel had pulled him away from that fight? They had likely saved his life. And what had he given them in return? A death sentence. Andy was dead, and God knew how long it would be until Lucas Brady caught up with the rest of them?
The list just kept on going. Erika, again.
"My God, Erika," he breathed, barely comprehending the swath of violence that his friend was reported to have cut across the island. Michael and her had met when he'd won his award, and ever since then she had laid waste to seemingly everyone that she had run across. It was yet another image that didn't compute in his head — she was always the hippy sort, never one to think to use excessive violence in any situation. She'd been downright placid, pleasant on the cave trip. Hell, she'd probably been high for most of it.
But Erika had nine people's bodies on her conscience. Or lack thereof.
Reeling from the trio of new bodies on Erika's ledger, Morgan actually fell to his feet at the next name: Lucas Brady. But this one was different, this was entirely at his own hand. After the teasing, the Facebook incident, the attacks on his character and after Morgan's own attack on his ribs, Lucas had killed Andy, and then himself.
Lucas had committed suicide, and Morgan wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't to blame.
Still peering out at the yacht, he heard more words through the loudspeaker, but at this point, they were just noise. It didn't matter.
It didn't matter that he was still alive.
It didn't matter that no one was coming to kill him.
It didn't matter that Michael hadn't killed anyone else.
It didn't matter that Henry was still around.
It didn't matter that he had Lizzie with him.
It didn't matter.
It didn't matter because if it did, if it all truly mattered, they wouldn't be here. Someone would have figured out where they were and the governments of the world wouldn't let such atrocities happen, not for such a long term and at such a global scale. But it didn't matter. They were expendable, just another list of names that would be used to justify more funding for school security, fewer social liberties, more xenophobic political agendas.
And the worst part — the very worst thing of all?
Maybe they deserved it.
For so long he thought of himself as a decent guy, someone who was above most of the usual bullshit. Yet he'd commented on Lucas Brady's Facebook post. He'd gently mocked the boy. Morgan had snapped at him and then retaliated when he'd fucked up his own attack. Deliberately and with malice, Morgan had tried to hurt Lucas Brady.
That one decision; two people were dead.
"What have I done?"
As he wallowed in his own self-pity, he allowed himself one caustic thought, almost entirely forgetting that he wasn't alone. It was a shitty thought, one that if he truly believed would damn him for good.
He blamed himself.
Once he started blaming himself , he knew there was no going back. He had not stabbed Andy with a branch, he had not bashed Lucas' head in. Yet he still felt as though he were directly responsible for the both of them. It was an awful feeling, and it settled in his stomach long enough that finally he could not hold it back any longer, and he vomited on the ground in front of himself; primarily water and bile. It burned coming up. Was this what it was like to hate yourself?
Perhaps he had more in common with Michael, after all.
-
Primrosette
- Posts: 1033
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 9:58 am
- Location: In the Dark Abyss
"...."
Listening to the announcement had not been fun. Not like they were ever fun to hear of the names of his classmates dying and killing each other. He honestly wondered if he was slowly becoming used to it all and he guessed that meant that there was something wrong with him. He was getting more quieter and withdrawn from other people as he felt like he couldn't trust them and that he couldn't trust himself not to hurt them at some point. That's what he had to do at some point....
Only one can go back home.
Did he really want it to be himself? Or was there anyone else who deserved to go home more?
Honestly, there were better people than him and he knew that he was being selfish if he wanted to fuck over everyone else. Being a peacemaker was not going to help anyone on the island and he had to make people see that.
((Jonathan Meyers continued from Speaking Louder In My Own Voice))
Jonathan had only cared about one name that he had heard on the announcement as he leaned against the side of a tree as he was watching Lizzie and Morgan from a short distance and he was absentmindedly swinging the branch at his side. He was still trying to process what he had heard on the announcement and his mind still felt like it was in scrambles. The bandage had come loose early for him at some woods as he had gone back to wandering alone in the woods once again and now he was trying to think more clearly. His head was still slightly in pain but it was a lot better than beforehand.
Declyn.
Declyn had killed his best friend.
Jonathan felt.... confused and he didn't know why. He felt like he cared about Declyn and he hardly even knew the guy. He needed to find him as he felt like Declyn wouldn't have done that with malice in his heart and Jonathan felt like he needed to be there for Declyn. Maybe he just needed a hug or a shoulder to cry on.
God. he just hoped that Declyn wouldn't break in his arms if he managed to find him.
He felt himself turning away from the two people currently in front of him and he was getting ready to leave.
Listening to the announcement had not been fun. Not like they were ever fun to hear of the names of his classmates dying and killing each other. He honestly wondered if he was slowly becoming used to it all and he guessed that meant that there was something wrong with him. He was getting more quieter and withdrawn from other people as he felt like he couldn't trust them and that he couldn't trust himself not to hurt them at some point. That's what he had to do at some point....
Only one can go back home.
Did he really want it to be himself? Or was there anyone else who deserved to go home more?
Honestly, there were better people than him and he knew that he was being selfish if he wanted to fuck over everyone else. Being a peacemaker was not going to help anyone on the island and he had to make people see that.
((Jonathan Meyers continued from Speaking Louder In My Own Voice))
Jonathan had only cared about one name that he had heard on the announcement as he leaned against the side of a tree as he was watching Lizzie and Morgan from a short distance and he was absentmindedly swinging the branch at his side. He was still trying to process what he had heard on the announcement and his mind still felt like it was in scrambles. The bandage had come loose early for him at some woods as he had gone back to wandering alone in the woods once again and now he was trying to think more clearly. His head was still slightly in pain but it was a lot better than beforehand.
Declyn.
Declyn had killed his best friend.
Jonathan felt.... confused and he didn't know why. He felt like he cared about Declyn and he hardly even knew the guy. He needed to find him as he felt like Declyn wouldn't have done that with malice in his heart and Jonathan felt like he needed to be there for Declyn. Maybe he just needed a hug or a shoulder to cry on.
God. he just hoped that Declyn wouldn't break in his arms if he managed to find him.
He felt himself turning away from the two people currently in front of him and he was getting ready to leave.
Lizzie felt the hand in hers tightening as the announcement played. Or perhaps she was squeezing Morgan’s, it was hard to tell. This was fast becoming her least favourite radio show. All Danya needed was crappy sound effects of toilets flushing and babies crying and the pain would be complete.
The jokes did little to mitigate harsh reality. More of her classmates were dead, mostly at each other’s hand. She felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of Yuki passing on. Another one of the girls she’d met on day two, one whom she’d held in her arms after hearing that her sister had died. Had she found her other sister? She couldn’t tell. The announcement had given no indication they were together.
Unless the one who had died was the Yuki she hadn’t met, She could make an observation that there was only one left now, and hence easier to not mix them up, but even considering it made her feel repulsed. There was a line, Lizzie.
She looked at her boyfriend when the news that Lucas Brady had punched out had come out. She actually felt relieved to hear the guy she’d sympathised with had caved his own skull in. It was horribly selfish, but Morgan wouldn’t have to worry any more about him coming for payback. She turned to him, expecting a face that mirrored her own.
She found only despair.
“Babe?” she asked a man absorbed in his own dread. She took a moment to note down the next danger zone, a habit at this point but an important one, before stepping around to look Morgan straight on. The treeline stood behind him.
His self-blame took her by surprise, but she’d heard this before. In the peer counselling she had done in a time long ago, it wasn’t uncommon for people to put themselves at fault for their fights. They tended to either do that, or not blame themselves at all. Friends would come in feeling awful that their other friends were fighting, even though all they'd done was not say the right thing to stop it from starting. This was sort of the same thing, except the fights weren’t about a comment taking wrong and mostly just ending in a lot of screaming. Well, maybe they were, but with more firepower.
She was never supposed to give advice in peer counselling, not without more training so she didn't make the situation worse, but she’d still managed to slip in a hint once or twice. Here that restriction was long gone, and she could unleash the full extent of her therapy practice on her boyfriend. Which was good, because she really really didn’t need him to start shutting down on her right now. She wasn’t sure she could handle that.
“Morgan, look at me.” She said, holding both his hands and moving in closer, their foreheads practically bumping. “You aren’t responsible. You were with me all day yesterday, so whatever people did between then and now isn’t on you. I know it must feel terrible, I know. I feel terrible too. Let’s both feel terrible together, but it’s not your fault, I promise.”
She wanted to give him a hug, let him cry out his feelings as much as he needed to. He needed to process, and she could be there for that.
But before they could, she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye, behind Morgan's head. Jonathan stood in the treeline, too far to identify. She tensed.
“We’re not alone.”
The jokes did little to mitigate harsh reality. More of her classmates were dead, mostly at each other’s hand. She felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of Yuki passing on. Another one of the girls she’d met on day two, one whom she’d held in her arms after hearing that her sister had died. Had she found her other sister? She couldn’t tell. The announcement had given no indication they were together.
Unless the one who had died was the Yuki she hadn’t met, She could make an observation that there was only one left now, and hence easier to not mix them up, but even considering it made her feel repulsed. There was a line, Lizzie.
She looked at her boyfriend when the news that Lucas Brady had punched out had come out. She actually felt relieved to hear the guy she’d sympathised with had caved his own skull in. It was horribly selfish, but Morgan wouldn’t have to worry any more about him coming for payback. She turned to him, expecting a face that mirrored her own.
She found only despair.
“Babe?” she asked a man absorbed in his own dread. She took a moment to note down the next danger zone, a habit at this point but an important one, before stepping around to look Morgan straight on. The treeline stood behind him.
His self-blame took her by surprise, but she’d heard this before. In the peer counselling she had done in a time long ago, it wasn’t uncommon for people to put themselves at fault for their fights. They tended to either do that, or not blame themselves at all. Friends would come in feeling awful that their other friends were fighting, even though all they'd done was not say the right thing to stop it from starting. This was sort of the same thing, except the fights weren’t about a comment taking wrong and mostly just ending in a lot of screaming. Well, maybe they were, but with more firepower.
She was never supposed to give advice in peer counselling, not without more training so she didn't make the situation worse, but she’d still managed to slip in a hint once or twice. Here that restriction was long gone, and she could unleash the full extent of her therapy practice on her boyfriend. Which was good, because she really really didn’t need him to start shutting down on her right now. She wasn’t sure she could handle that.
“Morgan, look at me.” She said, holding both his hands and moving in closer, their foreheads practically bumping. “You aren’t responsible. You were with me all day yesterday, so whatever people did between then and now isn’t on you. I know it must feel terrible, I know. I feel terrible too. Let’s both feel terrible together, but it’s not your fault, I promise.”
She wanted to give him a hug, let him cry out his feelings as much as he needed to. He needed to process, and she could be there for that.
But before they could, she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye, behind Morgan's head. Jonathan stood in the treeline, too far to identify. She tensed.
“We’re not alone.”
He hadn't done a thing; of course not. None of these deaths were truly on him. Anything that Lucas had decided to do had been his decisions, rather than Morgan's. Lizzie's words rang true — they were the right things to say at the absolute right time, but none of them did much to lift Morgan from his fit of despair. People's lives had ended here on this island, and in some sense, he had been involved. If he hadn't pulled the trigger, he surely had a hand in their deaths.
Self-flagellation aside, there was one particularly good reason to rise to his feet, and so when Lizzie hissed a quick warning at him, his body went into fight-or-flight mode. There was no more freeze mode in Morgan Dragosavich. He had made that mistake once already and almost been killed because of it.
"Where?" He whispered back, still feeling empty but not necessarily in a rush to have himself split in two to find out.
Scanning the treeline, it took Morgan a moment to see the figure watching them, but he couldn't make them out from his current location.
Out in the open.
Exposed.
"We should get to cover," he grasped Lizzie's hand and backpedalled, "I don't think we can take the chance. I can't tell who it is."
Terrified, barely armed, exhausted and suffering from malnourishment — none of these were great perks to take into a battle. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered just how many of his classmates hadn't succumbed to their baser instincts already.
Over sixty dead.
All it took was one.
Self-flagellation aside, there was one particularly good reason to rise to his feet, and so when Lizzie hissed a quick warning at him, his body went into fight-or-flight mode. There was no more freeze mode in Morgan Dragosavich. He had made that mistake once already and almost been killed because of it.
"Where?" He whispered back, still feeling empty but not necessarily in a rush to have himself split in two to find out.
Scanning the treeline, it took Morgan a moment to see the figure watching them, but he couldn't make them out from his current location.
Out in the open.
Exposed.
"We should get to cover," he grasped Lizzie's hand and backpedalled, "I don't think we can take the chance. I can't tell who it is."
Terrified, barely armed, exhausted and suffering from malnourishment — none of these were great perks to take into a battle. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered just how many of his classmates hadn't succumbed to their baser instincts already.
Over sixty dead.
All it took was one.
-
Primrosette
- Posts: 1033
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 9:58 am
- Location: In the Dark Abyss
Jonathan didn't know why he found himself looking back around at the two people who were still out in the open. It looked like they both had noticed him now and he felt a slight smile part across his lips absentmindedly. It was kinda thrilling to see them become scared little rabbits and he knew that he didn't have to do a thing to make them scatter. So he was not the only one who was having trust issues on the island, huh?
Jonathan found himself going back to a neutral expression as he slowly moved forward towards the two classmates and he raised his free hand in a greeting. He didn't say anything as he got closer to them and he was trying to think of how he was supposed to go from there. He noticed that it was Morgan and Lizzie and his vision was kind of slightly blurred. He really needed to get some rest and his eyes wandered to the yacht and then back to the two people in front of him.
He then stopped about five steps or so away from them and he lowered his hand back down to his side, not taking his eyes off of the both of them.
"Hey..."
That was all that he felt like mustering at that moment.
Jonathan found himself going back to a neutral expression as he slowly moved forward towards the two classmates and he raised his free hand in a greeting. He didn't say anything as he got closer to them and he was trying to think of how he was supposed to go from there. He noticed that it was Morgan and Lizzie and his vision was kind of slightly blurred. He really needed to get some rest and his eyes wandered to the yacht and then back to the two people in front of him.
He then stopped about five steps or so away from them and he lowered his hand back down to his side, not taking his eyes off of the both of them.
"Hey..."
That was all that he felt like mustering at that moment.
Lizzie looked between Morgan and the boy in the trees, furrowing her brow as he suggested they run. She didn’t like the idea. She couldn’t argue it wasn’t smart, but was that really what they’d reduced to? Running from anyone who wasn’t in their inner circle?
Didn’t seem fair, considering she was putting herself out there to find Morgan’s killer friend.
Besides, she did recognise him. Jon Meyers, not someone she knew well, but she’d seen him around somewhere. Hallway? Maybe at the anti-bullying group? He was already approaching by that point, which seemed pointless if he had a gun, and he wasn’t holding anything obviously lethal. The things you thought about after a night with your traumatised boyfriend, eh?
“Hold on.” She whispered to Morgan, putting herself between him and Jon with a neutral smile. Morgan was obviously not in a state to handle people, but they couldn’t just run away from everyone they met. That’d get old really fast. She squeezed his hand reassuringly as she passed.
“Hey Jon.” She replied, straight and to the point. Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t warm either. Strictly business, for now. She was brandishing her shears quite visibly. If she was lucky, maybe she’d even catch the light for that dramatic shine of a bladed edge. That’d make the situation clear. “How’s it hanging? Enjoying the morning sea breeze on our charming little island getaway?”
Had Jon been on the announcements? She couldn’t remember for sure. There had been a lot of names by that point.
“We’re just here, you know, being alive. Planning to keep it that way.”
Didn’t seem fair, considering she was putting herself out there to find Morgan’s killer friend.
Besides, she did recognise him. Jon Meyers, not someone she knew well, but she’d seen him around somewhere. Hallway? Maybe at the anti-bullying group? He was already approaching by that point, which seemed pointless if he had a gun, and he wasn’t holding anything obviously lethal. The things you thought about after a night with your traumatised boyfriend, eh?
“Hold on.” She whispered to Morgan, putting herself between him and Jon with a neutral smile. Morgan was obviously not in a state to handle people, but they couldn’t just run away from everyone they met. That’d get old really fast. She squeezed his hand reassuringly as she passed.
“Hey Jon.” She replied, straight and to the point. Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t warm either. Strictly business, for now. She was brandishing her shears quite visibly. If she was lucky, maybe she’d even catch the light for that dramatic shine of a bladed edge. That’d make the situation clear. “How’s it hanging? Enjoying the morning sea breeze on our charming little island getaway?”
Had Jon been on the announcements? She couldn’t remember for sure. There had been a lot of names by that point.
“We’re just here, you know, being alive. Planning to keep it that way.”
Lizzie had a point; they couldn't just flee from every single person they came across that wasn't Michael. There was a modicum of truth in the adage of 'strength in numbers', but nearly a week after the beginning of the end of their collective lives, there was no telling who was dangerous, and who was still retaining their humanity. As Lizzie positioned herself in front of him, brandishing the shears at the boy — Jon, whom he didn't know all that well — he still felt skittish and exposed. The yacht, while no longer a danger zone, offered a degree of safety that standing out in the open did not.
It also felt a little odd that Lizzie was the one protecting him, rather than the other way around.
As he tried to remember how to feel self-assured, he frowned at his own thoughts. That was a bit of an antiquated way to look at the dynamic of his relationship, wasn't it? Lizzie was strong, smart, and a capable woman in her own right, and she had the better weapon; far better than his great big nothing. Just because he was a man — a boy, if he were being honest with himself — meant absolutely nothing as far as who should protect whom. Both of them had survived to this point, and by all accounts, Lizzie had fared multitudes better than Morgan. She hadn't suffered injury, hadn't been chased off by murderous classmates and more importantly, hadn't lost control.
Morgan was really glad they'd found one another. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd have been able to manage on his own. To now, he'd been doing a piss-poor job of things, and Lizzie seemed like a real stabilizing influence on his mental faculties. He knew she was scared; as much as he was, to be sure, but her assuredness in dealing with the newcomer made him feel like for the moment, things might actually be okay. God, she was awesome. In another life, he'd have thought himself lucky, but he knew better.
Allowing his spine to straighten, he forced a weak grin. "No death for us today, please and thank you," he added. His tone was neutral, his voice tired. If Jon had any humanity left within him, he'd likely agree.
Then again, if not...
Morgan didn't know what he'd do, in that case. Follow Lizzie's lead, and try not to die.
Something like that.
It also felt a little odd that Lizzie was the one protecting him, rather than the other way around.
As he tried to remember how to feel self-assured, he frowned at his own thoughts. That was a bit of an antiquated way to look at the dynamic of his relationship, wasn't it? Lizzie was strong, smart, and a capable woman in her own right, and she had the better weapon; far better than his great big nothing. Just because he was a man — a boy, if he were being honest with himself — meant absolutely nothing as far as who should protect whom. Both of them had survived to this point, and by all accounts, Lizzie had fared multitudes better than Morgan. She hadn't suffered injury, hadn't been chased off by murderous classmates and more importantly, hadn't lost control.
Morgan was really glad they'd found one another. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd have been able to manage on his own. To now, he'd been doing a piss-poor job of things, and Lizzie seemed like a real stabilizing influence on his mental faculties. He knew she was scared; as much as he was, to be sure, but her assuredness in dealing with the newcomer made him feel like for the moment, things might actually be okay. God, she was awesome. In another life, he'd have thought himself lucky, but he knew better.
Allowing his spine to straighten, he forced a weak grin. "No death for us today, please and thank you," he added. His tone was neutral, his voice tired. If Jon had any humanity left within him, he'd likely agree.
Then again, if not...
Morgan didn't know what he'd do, in that case. Follow Lizzie's lead, and try not to die.
Something like that.
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Primrosette
- Posts: 1033
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 9:58 am
- Location: In the Dark Abyss
Surviving.... I've been wandering around like a headless chicken without a clue about what I want to achieve. Maybe I should have stayed put with Meka, Val and Teresa. Not that it matters now.
"Well, it's definitely better today than running into some murderous people again. Yeah, you two haven't killed anyone." Yet. He had wanted to say that because he knew that it was more likely to happen sooner or later. Honestly he wouldn't be surprised if Lizzie just turned around and slit Morgan's throat with those shears that she was clearly trying to warn him off with. "I'm not interested in trying to bash your heads in with this branch."
Not now anyway. Maybe later if I get more desperate. Maybe....
Jonathan then let out an exhausted sigh and he glanced at Morgan behind Lizzie, remembering that he and Michael were.... friends? "...I just wanted to go and rest at the yacht. I couldn't sleep last night as I was a bit paranoid about getting attacked again. Maybe it wasn't a good idea for me to-" Jonathan stopped himself from speaking and he frowned a little as he thought about Declyn once more. "...N....Nevermind."
He hadn't stopped looking at Morgan. He should tell him right? He should just get it over with.
"I saw Michael the other day. He's your friend, right?" He asked Morgan, completely forgetting that Lizzie was still standing between them and he carelessly took a step closer to them. "He... He, uh...."
"Well, it's definitely better today than running into some murderous people again. Yeah, you two haven't killed anyone." Yet. He had wanted to say that because he knew that it was more likely to happen sooner or later. Honestly he wouldn't be surprised if Lizzie just turned around and slit Morgan's throat with those shears that she was clearly trying to warn him off with. "I'm not interested in trying to bash your heads in with this branch."
Not now anyway. Maybe later if I get more desperate. Maybe....
Jonathan then let out an exhausted sigh and he glanced at Morgan behind Lizzie, remembering that he and Michael were.... friends? "...I just wanted to go and rest at the yacht. I couldn't sleep last night as I was a bit paranoid about getting attacked again. Maybe it wasn't a good idea for me to-" Jonathan stopped himself from speaking and he frowned a little as he thought about Declyn once more. "...N....Nevermind."
He hadn't stopped looking at Morgan. He should tell him right? He should just get it over with.
"I saw Michael the other day. He's your friend, right?" He asked Morgan, completely forgetting that Lizzie was still standing between them and he carelessly took a step closer to them. "He... He, uh...."
"Ah bup bup bup bup bup -" Lizzie interrupted, one hand raised in a Gandalf-tier 'You shall not pass' gesture as she gripped her shears in the other. "That's close enough, Jon. We're all friends here but let's be long distance friends for now, yeah?"
She didn't want to come off too harsh, but her frow furrowed regardless. She wanted to trust Jon, and she didn't think he was about to pull a knife out of his sleeve, but it was what it was. Desperate times, and all that.
"Just tell us what Michael did, ok? We can see about getting closer after that."
Jon didn't sound like he had good news to share. If it was that Michael had tried to filet him, then that'd be another point against hunting him down. Lizzie was pretty sure that Morgan couldn't be dissuaded at this point though, no matter how uninviting Michael was makig himself. Maybe she'd get lucky and Jon would tell them that Morgan's friend was having a good bit of penance and they'd all get some frosty chocolate milkshakes when they met up.
Maybe they'd all get to live longer than another week, too.
She didn't want to come off too harsh, but her frow furrowed regardless. She wanted to trust Jon, and she didn't think he was about to pull a knife out of his sleeve, but it was what it was. Desperate times, and all that.
"Just tell us what Michael did, ok? We can see about getting closer after that."
Jon didn't sound like he had good news to share. If it was that Michael had tried to filet him, then that'd be another point against hunting him down. Lizzie was pretty sure that Morgan couldn't be dissuaded at this point though, no matter how uninviting Michael was makig himself. Maybe she'd get lucky and Jon would tell them that Morgan's friend was having a good bit of penance and they'd all get some frosty chocolate milkshakes when they met up.
Maybe they'd all get to live longer than another week, too.
The grin fell almost immediately. Jonathan had identified him right away. Of course, Jonathan was a member of the drama crowd, probably someone Morgan would have known better had he made much of an effort to show up. Yet he hadn't, and often he'd scurried in with Michael in tow, making some sort of excuse why he couldn't stay after class. His body felt numb, as he forced himself to pry.
"What," he paused a moment to try and strengthen his voice, "did he do now?"
Michael's tenuous grasp upon his sanity had been evident to Morgan even when they'd met up, and days later, he couldn't imagine it was going much better than it had. At least he had Lizzie to ground him, Michael had no one.
No one who would have been any kind of a good influence, anyway.
They really needed to find him. Before it was too late.
Lizzie called a warning at Jonathan, but Morgan barely heard it. He was totally focused on the boy in front of them. He needed to know — how far had his friend fallen? Was it too late for him?
His stomach turned in knots once more.
"What," he paused a moment to try and strengthen his voice, "did he do now?"
Michael's tenuous grasp upon his sanity had been evident to Morgan even when they'd met up, and days later, he couldn't imagine it was going much better than it had. At least he had Lizzie to ground him, Michael had no one.
No one who would have been any kind of a good influence, anyway.
They really needed to find him. Before it was too late.
Lizzie called a warning at Jonathan, but Morgan barely heard it. He was totally focused on the boy in front of them. He needed to know — how far had his friend fallen? Was it too late for him?
His stomach turned in knots once more.
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Primrosette
- Posts: 1033
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 9:58 am
- Location: In the Dark Abyss
Jonathan heard Lizzie's words about simply staying put and he was trying to focus his mind to remember the parts about Michael. His head was still getting a buzz of still aching here and there and he raised his hand to the back of his head, feeling himself wincing slightly out of pure instinct. He could only remember a few bits and bobs about Michael and he had to try to tell Morgan about what he had trapped in his brain about the other boy.
"I definitely don't think that he was in the right state of mind when I talked to him back in the woods and I don't think he's gonna get any better. He just didn't seem like he was himself anymore. I think this island has broken his fragmented mind." Jonathan said simply and he paused slightly as he was about to say the next part to Morgan. "Justin was in the forest too and Michael told him to kill me.... However, Michael seemed like he does have a bit of humanity left. Even if he almost got me killed by Justin; he saved my life by distracting Justin so that I could get away."
….
"Michael confuses me."
"I definitely don't think that he was in the right state of mind when I talked to him back in the woods and I don't think he's gonna get any better. He just didn't seem like he was himself anymore. I think this island has broken his fragmented mind." Jonathan said simply and he paused slightly as he was about to say the next part to Morgan. "Justin was in the forest too and Michael told him to kill me.... However, Michael seemed like he does have a bit of humanity left. Even if he almost got me killed by Justin; he saved my life by distracting Justin so that I could get away."
….
"Michael confuses me."
“Oh, good, that makes two of us then.”
Lizzie wanted to pinch her nose and sigh in exasperation, but she had to maintain her composure for Morgan’s sake. Of course there wasn’t going to be any frosty chocolate milkshakes.
“Morgan,” she said, turning back to him and away from Jon. “I know he’s your friend and you want to help him, but this just keeps sounding like a worse idea. Assuming Jon’s not lying to us, and I don’t see why he would be, what makes you think Michael wouldn’t just try to kill you or me when we find him?”
She turned back to Jon. “You’re not lying, right?”
Lizzie wanted to pinch her nose and sigh in exasperation, but she had to maintain her composure for Morgan’s sake. Of course there wasn’t going to be any frosty chocolate milkshakes.
“Morgan,” she said, turning back to him and away from Jon. “I know he’s your friend and you want to help him, but this just keeps sounding like a worse idea. Assuming Jon’s not lying to us, and I don’t see why he would be, what makes you think Michael wouldn’t just try to kill you or me when we find him?”
She turned back to Jon. “You’re not lying, right?”
Sighing, Morgan took a moment to look out at the yacht, still somewhat in the distance from them. After Jonathan's terrible tale, Morgan had no doubt that it was true. Michael had exuded a manic, bipolar energy when he'd found him as well. For a while. Michael had tried to convince Morgan that he was a serial killer. Naturally, that had been bullshit, but that was a side effect of his friend's trauma. Lizzie and Jonathan were both correct — Michael was out of his mind, and trying to find him was a fool's errand. There was every possibility that the second they caught up with him, he would be feral, homicidal, and waste no time putting a bullet in them.
Which of course, was why he couldn't stop trying.
If the only realistic thing any of them had left to cling to was their humanity, it was all that Morgan could do; to stop Michael from throwing his away. This was his best friend, the guy with whom he'd probably spent more time with outside of anyone that wasn't his immediate family. The more time that he spent in the company of murderers or miscreants who had already given in to the game, the less of his humanity he would be able to retain as he went forward. It was one thing to know that most of the class was going to die — barring a minor miracle, that was starting to seem really inevitable. But Morgan knew that from here forward, all of their names would live on with infamy. Children would see his own name on those Godforsaken memorials and wonder how you pronounced 'Dragosavich'. Kids would watch whatever footage existed of his beating at the hands of the Carters and probably circulate Reddit gifs for years to come.
People weren't supposed to know about and look at Survival of the Fittest, but of course, they did it anyways. It wasn't even on the deep web; forums like Reddit and 4Chan saw images circulated almost as shock value. So when they looked back at the George Hunter High class; the doomed kids who followed in the footsteps of the ones before them, it made him distraught to think that his friend Michael might be known as a 'crazy kid', or a 'psycho', or whatever derivative names they might want to assign to him. Mike was more than that — he was a kind soul, a lover of animals, someone who felt feelings more intensely than most. He wasn't a killer; at least, he hadn't been before he'd come here, and SOTF had made him into one.
Whatever he'd done, that didn't have to continue. So while he understood Lizzie's reticence, he echoed Jon's confusion, but he had to help his friend. There was a friend in need, and Morgan may have been a lot of things — obnoxious, annoying, barely responsible and only a little mature, but he wasn't someone who left his friends behind.
"He's telling the truth," he finally blurted out, after a few moments of staring off at the broken-down yacht. "That sounds exactly like Michael. He's lost, he thinks he doesn't have a choice. He's probably scared shitless, and he's probably either off his medication or on too much of it."
Looking up at Lizzie, he grimaced; she was probably right, after all. If Michael was volatile, Morgan's quest to find him was going to get them both killed. Perhaps even by Michael's own hand. The concept terrified him. Morgan was in no hurry to die and in even less hurry to see Lizzie shuffle off the mortal coil. The two of them had found one another once more, and then again, here — fate had brought them together.
"I have to try. It sounds like he's barely holding on, Lizzie. I can't," he stopped, not knowing how to say what he needed to say. "I'd — I'd understand if you couldn't."
Jonathan's face said the whole story — his run-in with Michael had required a warning, it was a requisite part of dealing with his friend, now. They had been okay just a day or so ago, but now?
All bets were off.
Which of course, was why he couldn't stop trying.
If the only realistic thing any of them had left to cling to was their humanity, it was all that Morgan could do; to stop Michael from throwing his away. This was his best friend, the guy with whom he'd probably spent more time with outside of anyone that wasn't his immediate family. The more time that he spent in the company of murderers or miscreants who had already given in to the game, the less of his humanity he would be able to retain as he went forward. It was one thing to know that most of the class was going to die — barring a minor miracle, that was starting to seem really inevitable. But Morgan knew that from here forward, all of their names would live on with infamy. Children would see his own name on those Godforsaken memorials and wonder how you pronounced 'Dragosavich'. Kids would watch whatever footage existed of his beating at the hands of the Carters and probably circulate Reddit gifs for years to come.
People weren't supposed to know about and look at Survival of the Fittest, but of course, they did it anyways. It wasn't even on the deep web; forums like Reddit and 4Chan saw images circulated almost as shock value. So when they looked back at the George Hunter High class; the doomed kids who followed in the footsteps of the ones before them, it made him distraught to think that his friend Michael might be known as a 'crazy kid', or a 'psycho', or whatever derivative names they might want to assign to him. Mike was more than that — he was a kind soul, a lover of animals, someone who felt feelings more intensely than most. He wasn't a killer; at least, he hadn't been before he'd come here, and SOTF had made him into one.
Whatever he'd done, that didn't have to continue. So while he understood Lizzie's reticence, he echoed Jon's confusion, but he had to help his friend. There was a friend in need, and Morgan may have been a lot of things — obnoxious, annoying, barely responsible and only a little mature, but he wasn't someone who left his friends behind.
"He's telling the truth," he finally blurted out, after a few moments of staring off at the broken-down yacht. "That sounds exactly like Michael. He's lost, he thinks he doesn't have a choice. He's probably scared shitless, and he's probably either off his medication or on too much of it."
Looking up at Lizzie, he grimaced; she was probably right, after all. If Michael was volatile, Morgan's quest to find him was going to get them both killed. Perhaps even by Michael's own hand. The concept terrified him. Morgan was in no hurry to die and in even less hurry to see Lizzie shuffle off the mortal coil. The two of them had found one another once more, and then again, here — fate had brought them together.
"I have to try. It sounds like he's barely holding on, Lizzie. I can't," he stopped, not knowing how to say what he needed to say. "I'd — I'd understand if you couldn't."
Jonathan's face said the whole story — his run-in with Michael had required a warning, it was a requisite part of dealing with his friend, now. They had been okay just a day or so ago, but now?
All bets were off.