Paloma hated lawyers.
((Paloma continued from Don't Stop Dancing.))
They were the type of annoying human beings who fought tooth and nails for goals that didn't make sense to anyone but themselves. The worst part was that she related to that. She knew how it felt and she wanted to yearn the same feelings they were cultivating over the years of training, but Paloma hated them.
So, she didn't.
On a side note, she stopped bothering with changing her bandages. They were always sloppy and bloody and nothing that Paloma would do fixed the problem. She still couldn't see, she still couldn't close her mouth and there was no way in hell she would patch up her face with a rusty needle at the back of a latrine.
As much as she wanted to scrub her skin raw and rip off the layers to see the actual damage underneath her skin, Paloma's nails dug into the wood of the baseball. It was heavy and it was lopsided and it made her feel good. It was comforting to feel its weight in her hands as she swung it around the manor, hitting furnitures.
The pottery shattered and it made the whole building shake and it felt so fucking good.
This catharsis was short lived though because of her discovery in the dining room. At first, she would have believed that the set up was a trap, but it was actually just a DIY courtroom. It was unexpected. She felt like it was some type of joke: a reminder of everything that had happened until now.
So, she started swinging.
The bat shattered against the desks and the tables and chairs and the paintings and candles. She wasn't strong and she wasn't fast but her swings were enough. The pain in her face flared up as she smashed a chair into pieces but it felt good to wreck it but again, it was transient.
A thought sparked up in the wires of her brain and two links that connected into a spiral: someone was clearly in this room.
And they were taunting her and she wanted
them
out.
Someone, up there or down here, was making it into a joke. She wanted to find their skull. To seek it through with her bat and smash and crush and destroy it until it was gone. Just like Amber, just like Jeff, just like Garnet, just like anyone else who had taunted her and suffered because of it.
She hoped it was Erika.
Tooth and Hair
open
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MethodicalSlacker
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A figure watched from the doorway as Paloma careened from furnishing to furnishing, smashing the room to smithereens. Slowly, she raised her crossbow, ready to fire at a moments notice. Her eyes were calm. Her aim was steady. Her belly was full of squirrel.
She was not, in fact, Erika.
[Violet Schmidt continued from Walpurgisnacht.]
Paloma had killed. The first to kill, actually. Fate looked down on her with special vengeance, unique cruelty. She had gone beyond the pale before any other. There was, Violet knew from her reading, in most cases a short liminal phase between the first awakenings on the island and first murder. From what Violet understood of how the murder of Abel proceeded, this iteration's calm before the storm was exceptionally short lived.
It looked like they had already taken their revenge on her, in some form. Part of Paloma's face was torn off. She wore rags lightly fringed in blood, what looked like a hooded sweatshirt. The rest of her clothing also looked over-sized, like it belonged to somebody else. In her robe, Violet was hardly fit to criticize Paloma's fashion sense, but at least the robe was hers. Paloma looked like she had crawled partways into somebody else's skin and was going mad from the subtle ways in which she did not quite fit inside. Disturbingly, her fury was remarkably quiet. Not even her breathing was audible over the sound of the havoc she wrought with the bat. It was entirely possible Violet was looking at a spirit. She'd convened with them before, but none had appeared to the naked eye. They'd come to her in her mind's eye, but here was one clearly manifested. As good as alive, even if she wasn't.
And because she was alive, she needed to be treated as a threat.
With a short, sharp inhale, Violet pulled back on the trigger and loosed a bolt at Paloma.
It sailed past her and embedded itself in the wall on the opposite side of the room.
She was not, in fact, Erika.
[Violet Schmidt continued from Walpurgisnacht.]
Paloma had killed. The first to kill, actually. Fate looked down on her with special vengeance, unique cruelty. She had gone beyond the pale before any other. There was, Violet knew from her reading, in most cases a short liminal phase between the first awakenings on the island and first murder. From what Violet understood of how the murder of Abel proceeded, this iteration's calm before the storm was exceptionally short lived.
It looked like they had already taken their revenge on her, in some form. Part of Paloma's face was torn off. She wore rags lightly fringed in blood, what looked like a hooded sweatshirt. The rest of her clothing also looked over-sized, like it belonged to somebody else. In her robe, Violet was hardly fit to criticize Paloma's fashion sense, but at least the robe was hers. Paloma looked like she had crawled partways into somebody else's skin and was going mad from the subtle ways in which she did not quite fit inside. Disturbingly, her fury was remarkably quiet. Not even her breathing was audible over the sound of the havoc she wrought with the bat. It was entirely possible Violet was looking at a spirit. She'd convened with them before, but none had appeared to the naked eye. They'd come to her in her mind's eye, but here was one clearly manifested. As good as alive, even if she wasn't.
And because she was alive, she needed to be treated as a threat.
With a short, sharp inhale, Violet pulled back on the trigger and loosed a bolt at Paloma.
It sailed past her and embedded itself in the wall on the opposite side of the room.
/ 
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/ 
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- 
- 
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- Ah...
Ah.
It wasn't Erika. It was something else. It had shot at her. The little gnawing voice had came back and take it. take it. its yours. Paloma's lopsided smile saw light again.
Paloma raised her baseball bat. The wood felt heavy and it felt good. It was comforting. It was there in her hands and it wouldn't go away again. And there, right there, there it was, the next kill. Her next prey, sitting right there with a weapon that Paloma would love to get her hands on.
"I'm going to break your fucking kneecaps."
Paloma said softly. It felt like it was someone else that was speaking.
"And then I'm going to fuck your body with that arrow."
Ah.
It wasn't Erika. It was something else. It had shot at her. The little gnawing voice had came back and take it. take it. its yours. Paloma's lopsided smile saw light again.
Paloma raised her baseball bat. The wood felt heavy and it felt good. It was comforting. It was there in her hands and it wouldn't go away again. And there, right there, there it was, the next kill. Her next prey, sitting right there with a weapon that Paloma would love to get her hands on.
"I'm going to break your fucking kneecaps."
Paloma said softly. It felt like it was someone else that was speaking.
"And then I'm going to fuck your body with that arrow."
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MethodicalSlacker
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"Quiet," Violet murmured.
While Paloma spoke, Violet reloaded and readied another bolt. There were two left that she had prepped, but it was likely that if she missed again, she'd need to draw her knife.
Paloma was hardly imposing. Violet had more than a foot on her. Plus, Paloma was injured, at least superficially, and Violet was decidedly not. She wasn't athletic, and neither was Violet, but Paloma wouldn't be hitting her with that much force, probably. The bat was wood, too, which might get ugly if it somehow splintered, but otherwise was another point in Violet's favor. She didn't know how Abel or Tony got taken out, exactly, but she figured it couldn't be a fair fight.
If this was a trial, it was a trial of patience, and of keeping a level head.
Violet raised the crossbow once more, aimed it at Paloma's torso, and pulled the trigger.
While Paloma spoke, Violet reloaded and readied another bolt. There were two left that she had prepped, but it was likely that if she missed again, she'd need to draw her knife.
Paloma was hardly imposing. Violet had more than a foot on her. Plus, Paloma was injured, at least superficially, and Violet was decidedly not. She wasn't athletic, and neither was Violet, but Paloma wouldn't be hitting her with that much force, probably. The bat was wood, too, which might get ugly if it somehow splintered, but otherwise was another point in Violet's favor. She didn't know how Abel or Tony got taken out, exactly, but she figured it couldn't be a fair fight.
If this was a trial, it was a trial of patience, and of keeping a level head.
Violet raised the crossbow once more, aimed it at Paloma's torso, and pulled the trigger.
What happened next was purely based on instinct. There wasn't any processed thoughts or creativity involved, it was simply a reaction based on an action. It was basic chemistry like termite with iron, cesium with dihydrogen monoxide, mercury thiocyanate with fire, and finally, Paloma with Violet.
The trigger was pulled and the reaction was instant. The moment that Violet twitched her finger, Paloma's body reacted into a blast of an energy, throwing her weight forward with all of her might.
And it connected. It was the perfect noise. The sound of a twig breaking under her strength.
"Ha." Another chemical reaction. "Ha hha ha H HA AHA AH AHA AHA HA HAHA AHA HA AHA HAHA AH AHA AHA AH AHA HA HAHA AHA HA AHA HAAH AHA H AH AHA HA AHA HA AHA A A HA AHHA AHHAHA HAAH AHAHA AHAH AHA AHAHAH AHAHA AHHAA HAHA AHHAA HAH AHA AHA HA AHHA AHAH AHAH AHAH AHA H-"
It was simple, yes. it was. it was so simple. keep going. but she was out of breath. But her lopsided smile stayed plastered on her face as it was stapled on. It did feel like it. Her face was bleeding again.
"I'm going to get youuuuuuuuuuu."
Paloma pointed the bat at the thing in front of her.
"Just give up," the little voice was talking, "I might make it quick."
The trigger was pulled and the reaction was instant. The moment that Violet twitched her finger, Paloma's body reacted into a blast of an energy, throwing her weight forward with all of her might.
And it connected. It was the perfect noise. The sound of a twig breaking under her strength.
"Ha." Another chemical reaction. "Ha hha ha H HA AHA AH AHA AHA HA HAHA AHA HA AHA HAHA AH AHA AHA AH AHA HA HAHA AHA HA AHA HAAH AHA H AH AHA HA AHA HA AHA A A HA AHHA AHHAHA HAAH AHAHA AHAH AHA AHAHAH AHAHA AHHAA HAHA AHHAA HAH AHA AHA HA AHHA AHAH AHAH AHAH AHA H-"
It was simple, yes. it was. it was so simple. keep going. but she was out of breath. But her lopsided smile stayed plastered on her face as it was stapled on. It did feel like it. Her face was bleeding again.
"I'm going to get youuuuuuuuuuu."
Paloma pointed the bat at the thing in front of her.
"Just give up," the little voice was talking, "I might make it quick."
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MethodicalSlacker
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The bolt deflected off of Paloma's bat.
No, that wasn't entirely accurate. Paloma hit the bolt out of the air. She swung the bat, and got at least a single. The bolt bounced harmlessly away and fell onto the ground. She gloated, reveled in her victory, however small it was. Paloma's laugh chilled Violet to the bone. For a moment, she felt paralyzed, unable to reload the crossbow. Her next move felt unfathomable. If Paloma could do that, what else could she do?
"I might make it quick."
It didn't take long for the panic to wear off, though. Paloma's laugh might have been blood-curdling, her reflexes improbable, but her body was still flesh. Her voice was still tiny, small like a squirrel. She was intimidating because she was unhinged, because she didn't care about how physically inept she was—but just because Paloma couldn't conceive of herself as weak didn't mean that she was strong. On the other side of every threatening breath that hacked its way out of Paloma's lungs was a pained scream, just as loud, waiting to be drawn out by Violet's bolts, or her knife, or anything. There was no uncertainty in what Paloma would do, given the chance to touch Violet. That wouldn't come to pass—and if it did, Violet could retaliate now. There wasn't much to be afraid of anymore, she told herself. Violet was big. Paloma was small. Violet got big so she could never be small again.
"Shut up," Violet said, drawing her blade. She held her crossbow in her left hand, and the knife in her right. Any stab Paloma blocked could be countered by Violet reaching over her and shooting downward. The fight had already played itself out in Violet's head. She couldn't see herself getting hurt. Or even being so much as scratched.
It was over before it began.
"Just shut the fuck up, already!"
Violet raised the crossbow and fired at Paloma as she moved in, closing the distance between them and slashing with her knife.
No, that wasn't entirely accurate. Paloma hit the bolt out of the air. She swung the bat, and got at least a single. The bolt bounced harmlessly away and fell onto the ground. She gloated, reveled in her victory, however small it was. Paloma's laugh chilled Violet to the bone. For a moment, she felt paralyzed, unable to reload the crossbow. Her next move felt unfathomable. If Paloma could do that, what else could she do?
"I might make it quick."
It didn't take long for the panic to wear off, though. Paloma's laugh might have been blood-curdling, her reflexes improbable, but her body was still flesh. Her voice was still tiny, small like a squirrel. She was intimidating because she was unhinged, because she didn't care about how physically inept she was—but just because Paloma couldn't conceive of herself as weak didn't mean that she was strong. On the other side of every threatening breath that hacked its way out of Paloma's lungs was a pained scream, just as loud, waiting to be drawn out by Violet's bolts, or her knife, or anything. There was no uncertainty in what Paloma would do, given the chance to touch Violet. That wouldn't come to pass—and if it did, Violet could retaliate now. There wasn't much to be afraid of anymore, she told herself. Violet was big. Paloma was small. Violet got big so she could never be small again.
"Shut up," Violet said, drawing her blade. She held her crossbow in her left hand, and the knife in her right. Any stab Paloma blocked could be countered by Violet reaching over her and shooting downward. The fight had already played itself out in Violet's head. She couldn't see herself getting hurt. Or even being so much as scratched.
It was over before it began.
"Just shut the fuck up, already!"
Violet raised the crossbow and fired at Paloma as she moved in, closing the distance between them and slashing with her knife.
"No."
As she held the bat with two hands, she realized in her moxie that she was losing. It was a fact: Violet had the range, the weaponry and the stamina to keep going in this duel. Paloma only had her baseball bat, and it was looking a bit rough on the edges from the days spent swinging and hitting.
"No!"
It was sluggish.
The way she moved was alike to a car after hitting the hard concrete: sluggish.
"No no no no."
It was a one syllable word. It was usually the first few words a child would learn after being around and up in the world. It was also distinctly easy to pronounce.
No.
But it had changed. Her tongue was stuck between her canine and her incisors and it started to bleed. It wasn't calculated anymore. It wasn't something she knew, it was this world of unknown as the bolt erupted from the crossbow. Paloma's reflex was to swing her bat. It wasn't that complicated. The movement was a swipe going from up to down and in the vague direction of Violet, and the weight she put into the motion slung her forward.
Just like that, the bolt missed Paloma's cheek by half an inch.
"Yes."
It wasn't a noise she enjoyed. It was the noise of death that whizzed just next to her ear. It had nicked it into a bloody mess. It was interesting, really. The bat struck the ground and Paloma saw the knife coming her way.
Obviously, there was a reason why Violet was still alive.
With that last thought, she mustered the strength to raise the bat. She wasn't sure if she was using the bat as a lever or if the bat was using her, but she still followed through the motion.
It was as simple as a chemical reaction.
As she held the bat with two hands, she realized in her moxie that she was losing. It was a fact: Violet had the range, the weaponry and the stamina to keep going in this duel. Paloma only had her baseball bat, and it was looking a bit rough on the edges from the days spent swinging and hitting.
"No!"
It was sluggish.
The way she moved was alike to a car after hitting the hard concrete: sluggish.
"No no no no."
It was a one syllable word. It was usually the first few words a child would learn after being around and up in the world. It was also distinctly easy to pronounce.
No.
But it had changed. Her tongue was stuck between her canine and her incisors and it started to bleed. It wasn't calculated anymore. It wasn't something she knew, it was this world of unknown as the bolt erupted from the crossbow. Paloma's reflex was to swing her bat. It wasn't that complicated. The movement was a swipe going from up to down and in the vague direction of Violet, and the weight she put into the motion slung her forward.
Just like that, the bolt missed Paloma's cheek by half an inch.
"Yes."
It wasn't a noise she enjoyed. It was the noise of death that whizzed just next to her ear. It had nicked it into a bloody mess. It was interesting, really. The bat struck the ground and Paloma saw the knife coming her way.
Obviously, there was a reason why Violet was still alive.
With that last thought, she mustered the strength to raise the bat. She wasn't sure if she was using the bat as a lever or if the bat was using her, but she still followed through the motion.
It was as simple as a chemical reaction.
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MethodicalSlacker
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Violet saw blood erupt from Paloma's ear as she closed in with the knife. It wasn't a direct hit, but it was enough to stun her—it was enough for Violet to get her stab in, to end this as quickly as possible, to—
The bat caught her in her knife arm on her elbow, threatening to loose the weapon from her grip. She raised her arm, bringing it away from Paloma, and stepped aside. If she tried to slash her back, she might wind up throwing the knife across the room while she was at it. This was about staying collected. Controlled. Calm. And so, she took a step back.
Paloma's ability to keep swinging the bat surprised her, though. Maybe the fact that she had kept going despite all her wounds didn't mean that she was barely hanging on. It could just as well mean that she was just really, really good at dealing with pain. Underestimating her would be one of the worst things Violet could do. Paloma wasn't hurt enough for a finishing blow. There was more damage left to inflict. More harm left to cause.
The downward spiral circled onward.
Once she regained her balance, Violet reared back and aimed a kick square at Paloma's chest.
The bat caught her in her knife arm on her elbow, threatening to loose the weapon from her grip. She raised her arm, bringing it away from Paloma, and stepped aside. If she tried to slash her back, she might wind up throwing the knife across the room while she was at it. This was about staying collected. Controlled. Calm. And so, she took a step back.
Paloma's ability to keep swinging the bat surprised her, though. Maybe the fact that she had kept going despite all her wounds didn't mean that she was barely hanging on. It could just as well mean that she was just really, really good at dealing with pain. Underestimating her would be one of the worst things Violet could do. Paloma wasn't hurt enough for a finishing blow. There was more damage left to inflict. More harm left to cause.
The downward spiral circled onward.
Once she regained her balance, Violet reared back and aimed a kick square at Paloma's chest.
What..?
What was she doing?
What was Paloma doing?
She didn't remember.
As she slumped over the table after receving a swift kick to her chest, Paloma tried to remember what she was doing because all of this. Maybe she was searching for supplies and she forgot or perhaps it was the fact that everything around her felt just so fragile. She wasn't sure and her stomach hurt, both from hunger and the kick.
"What?"
What did she want to do before all this?
Why did she feel so buzzy? It was like a cloak of bees had surrounded her. Paloma's pain came back, and suddenly, her face was on fire. Her face bleeding and oozing again but it had never really stopped. Paloma just didn't bother checking it. And now, she wanted to dig her hands into her face to remember why she was here.
"I'm sorry." She was speaking to herself.
She raised her own free leg. Quickly, she brought it down on Violet.
What was she doing?
What was Paloma doing?
She didn't remember.
As she slumped over the table after receving a swift kick to her chest, Paloma tried to remember what she was doing because all of this. Maybe she was searching for supplies and she forgot or perhaps it was the fact that everything around her felt just so fragile. She wasn't sure and her stomach hurt, both from hunger and the kick.
"What?"
What did she want to do before all this?
Why did she feel so buzzy? It was like a cloak of bees had surrounded her. Paloma's pain came back, and suddenly, her face was on fire. Her face bleeding and oozing again but it had never really stopped. Paloma just didn't bother checking it. And now, she wanted to dig her hands into her face to remember why she was here.
"I'm sorry." She was speaking to herself.
She raised her own free leg. Quickly, she brought it down on Violet.
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MethodicalSlacker
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Hardly 'down.' More 'horizontal.'
Paloma struck Violet's kneecap with Paloma's own leg as Violet approached to deliver the killing blow. It was a direct hit. Violet felt herself drop slightly, but had enough strength in her other leg to keep her upright, and found that she was instead merely sent stumbling backwards. It was the first time someone else—someone alive—had touched her since Layla. At the same time, it wasn't going to shake Violet too hard. It was sharp, direct contact that lasted all of one second. The intent behind it was clear, and carried out. Violet didn't have anything to worry about. Her thoughts neglected the opportunity to spiral.
Instead, they carried her in only one direction; backwards, far away to clear some space between herself and Paloma, who had taken the kick to the chest fairly hard and was slumped up against a table. The moving target had stopped moving.
Quickly, shakily, Violet brought her crossbow up again and fired it at Paloma once more.
Paloma struck Violet's kneecap with Paloma's own leg as Violet approached to deliver the killing blow. It was a direct hit. Violet felt herself drop slightly, but had enough strength in her other leg to keep her upright, and found that she was instead merely sent stumbling backwards. It was the first time someone else—someone alive—had touched her since Layla. At the same time, it wasn't going to shake Violet too hard. It was sharp, direct contact that lasted all of one second. The intent behind it was clear, and carried out. Violet didn't have anything to worry about. Her thoughts neglected the opportunity to spiral.
Instead, they carried her in only one direction; backwards, far away to clear some space between herself and Paloma, who had taken the kick to the chest fairly hard and was slumped up against a table. The moving target had stopped moving.
Quickly, shakily, Violet brought her crossbow up again and fired it at Paloma once more.
The second bolt didn't miss Paloma.
Actually, it was going to hit her straight through the chest. It would skewer her lungs and heart with a long spike and Paloma would die right there. She would die in front of someone that didn't care about her or her stories, that only wanted to add a tick to their score.
Paloma didn't want that.
She raised her left arm and it-
it-
blood.
There was blood all over her. She hadn't noticed from before. Or maybe she did, but she had forgotten about it. And now, there was new pain to catalog. There was new pain to put into a box. The pain was right there in her arm, it was just a bit more painful that her cheek and a lot less painful than her eye. Paloma needed to decide if it was worth it to give up.
The pain was a valid reason to give it all to Violet. It was a good to retire, too. There wasn't many people left and it would only get harder but Paloma's pride drove her to extreme.
And that extreme, right now, was to yank out the bolt out of her arm and lunge at her opponent.
"Told ya' I would fuck you with it."
Actually, it was going to hit her straight through the chest. It would skewer her lungs and heart with a long spike and Paloma would die right there. She would die in front of someone that didn't care about her or her stories, that only wanted to add a tick to their score.
Paloma didn't want that.
She raised her left arm and it-
it-
blood.
There was blood all over her. She hadn't noticed from before. Or maybe she did, but she had forgotten about it. And now, there was new pain to catalog. There was new pain to put into a box. The pain was right there in her arm, it was just a bit more painful that her cheek and a lot less painful than her eye. Paloma needed to decide if it was worth it to give up.
The pain was a valid reason to give it all to Violet. It was a good to retire, too. There wasn't many people left and it would only get harder but Paloma's pride drove her to extreme.
And that extreme, right now, was to yank out the bolt out of her arm and lunge at her opponent.
"Told ya' I would fuck you with it."
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MethodicalSlacker
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Paloma wasn't human.
She couldn't be. To shrug off that much pain, to pull it out of herself and point it back towards Violet, that was inhuman. Maybe she was human once, but right now, she was possessed by something otherworldly. It could be that the karmic forces mounting towards Violet's demise had finally made themselves manifest, invoked in Paloma's every twisted step, matters taken in their own gnarled spectral hands. Merely influencing outcomes was not enough for them anymore. The meager number of demons Violet had summoned to her side, she saw, paled in comparison to the demiurgical forces that were now hurtling towards her at breakneck speed.
Violet needed to run.
There was no way she could kill Paloma if she was, indeed, possessed. She'd shrug off everything short of impalement or decapitation. Even then, Violet half imagined Paloma's head, detached from her body, glowing from the eyes, levitating several feet up off the ground, bewitching Violet and hypnotizing her into walking off the waterfall.
Utterly bewildered, somewhat scared, completely confused, Violet turned around to run out of the room just as Paloma brought the bolt down. Violet managed two steps forward, narrowly avoiding being stuck in the shoulder, but Paloma followed through, aiming low and lunging, lodging the bolt deep into the flesh of Violet's right butt-cheek.
All delusions of demons and angels and gods and spirits ran terrified from Violet's mind as she let loose a shriek like a banshee's, stumbled forward several more steps, turned on her heel, and pivoted back toward Paloma with her knife in hand. Her other hand, confused, first tried to reach down and pull the bolt out of her posterior, then realized it was still holding the crossbow, and finally pointed the crossbow forward and fired the last of Violet's loaded bolts.
She couldn't be. To shrug off that much pain, to pull it out of herself and point it back towards Violet, that was inhuman. Maybe she was human once, but right now, she was possessed by something otherworldly. It could be that the karmic forces mounting towards Violet's demise had finally made themselves manifest, invoked in Paloma's every twisted step, matters taken in their own gnarled spectral hands. Merely influencing outcomes was not enough for them anymore. The meager number of demons Violet had summoned to her side, she saw, paled in comparison to the demiurgical forces that were now hurtling towards her at breakneck speed.
Violet needed to run.
There was no way she could kill Paloma if she was, indeed, possessed. She'd shrug off everything short of impalement or decapitation. Even then, Violet half imagined Paloma's head, detached from her body, glowing from the eyes, levitating several feet up off the ground, bewitching Violet and hypnotizing her into walking off the waterfall.
Utterly bewildered, somewhat scared, completely confused, Violet turned around to run out of the room just as Paloma brought the bolt down. Violet managed two steps forward, narrowly avoiding being stuck in the shoulder, but Paloma followed through, aiming low and lunging, lodging the bolt deep into the flesh of Violet's right butt-cheek.
All delusions of demons and angels and gods and spirits ran terrified from Violet's mind as she let loose a shriek like a banshee's, stumbled forward several more steps, turned on her heel, and pivoted back toward Paloma with her knife in hand. Her other hand, confused, first tried to reach down and pull the bolt out of her posterior, then realized it was still holding the crossbow, and finally pointed the crossbow forward and fired the last of Violet's loaded bolts.
It landed!
It landed, it landed, it landed, it landed.
It landed.
Not where Paloma had wanted, not where she was planning to hit, but it was in Violet and not in her anymore. It shouldn't matter to Paloma now, but it did. It felt good to feel the flesh pierce and break underneath her own strength. But like everything on this island, it came with a cost.
Everything here was a bargain and everything here had a cost. It just depended on how much flesh you wanted to shed to get what you wanted. Paloma had wanted a lot.
She always had wanted more than her classmates. She wanted better things for herself, a future that was worth living for. Paloma didn't care when the pain hit her, it was a cost she knew about. Pain didn't matter if you succeeded in the end, the only thing that mattered was the success.
And if she had succeeded in landing her weapon into Violet's body even if she had a new hole in her body to show it. It was everything and anything that Paloma had wished for, and now, she was gaining a new wound to prove her determination.
Pain was just a reminder that she was alive, and she was never happier to feel the knife cut into her shoulder.
"Leave," she said as she gave Violet a shove.
It landed, it landed, it landed, it landed.
It landed.
Not where Paloma had wanted, not where she was planning to hit, but it was in Violet and not in her anymore. It shouldn't matter to Paloma now, but it did. It felt good to feel the flesh pierce and break underneath her own strength. But like everything on this island, it came with a cost.
Everything here was a bargain and everything here had a cost. It just depended on how much flesh you wanted to shed to get what you wanted. Paloma had wanted a lot.
She always had wanted more than her classmates. She wanted better things for herself, a future that was worth living for. Paloma didn't care when the pain hit her, it was a cost she knew about. Pain didn't matter if you succeeded in the end, the only thing that mattered was the success.
And if she had succeeded in landing her weapon into Violet's body even if she had a new hole in her body to show it. It was everything and anything that Paloma had wished for, and now, she was gaining a new wound to prove her determination.
Pain was just a reminder that she was alive, and she was never happier to feel the knife cut into her shoulder.
"Leave," she said as she gave Violet a shove.
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: Here And There Along The Echo
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The bolt, predictably, missed. It clattered off some furniture in the back of the room, slipped underneath a floorboard, and disappeared. From the sound of Paloma's voice, she was barely even in pain. The knife wound was somewhere between shallow and deep, a medium cut, perhaps just barely beyond the capabilities of the med-kits to save — and Paloma was talking almost as normal. Even if it was just one word, dangling on a rope from the back of an outward breath.
And her shove, as weak as it was, as clear as the intent was, as unmistakably not an attempt to get Violet to be any closer as it was, still set her off. It set Violet's heart, already racing, into a dead heat sprint. Violet ripped the sword-breaker from Paloma's arm and moved away, stumbling backwards, the tearing of each embedded tooth offering its own small pang of resistance, sliding through Paloma's skin as she pulled. Violet took a few stumbling steps backwards, landing wrong each time, the bolt sending new ripples of pain through her body.
Violet stared Paloma down from across the room. With any luck, she'd bleed out from that new wound, or any of the exit holes Violet had made. She couldn't imagine Paloma chasing after her, anyway. Not in this state, and certainly not for very long. There was an exit to Violet's right. The door she came into the room from. She'd been in here to seek shelter. It was likely that the lesson she'd have to take from this was that buildings offered no shelter. She'd be better under cover of tree than with a roof over her head.
For a moment, even as she stepped away, Violet's gaze lingered on Paloma's mangled form. Not finishing the job and letting her suffer felt like a greater act of evil than killing her outright.
Then again, Paloma didn't particularly look like she was in pain.
Violet locked her gaze on Paloma and walked backwards from the room.
Even as she left the manor house, one of her steps was consistently shorter than the other.
[Violet Schmidt continued elsewhere.]
And her shove, as weak as it was, as clear as the intent was, as unmistakably not an attempt to get Violet to be any closer as it was, still set her off. It set Violet's heart, already racing, into a dead heat sprint. Violet ripped the sword-breaker from Paloma's arm and moved away, stumbling backwards, the tearing of each embedded tooth offering its own small pang of resistance, sliding through Paloma's skin as she pulled. Violet took a few stumbling steps backwards, landing wrong each time, the bolt sending new ripples of pain through her body.
Violet stared Paloma down from across the room. With any luck, she'd bleed out from that new wound, or any of the exit holes Violet had made. She couldn't imagine Paloma chasing after her, anyway. Not in this state, and certainly not for very long. There was an exit to Violet's right. The door she came into the room from. She'd been in here to seek shelter. It was likely that the lesson she'd have to take from this was that buildings offered no shelter. She'd be better under cover of tree than with a roof over her head.
For a moment, even as she stepped away, Violet's gaze lingered on Paloma's mangled form. Not finishing the job and letting her suffer felt like a greater act of evil than killing her outright.
Then again, Paloma didn't particularly look like she was in pain.
Violet locked her gaze on Paloma and walked backwards from the room.
Even as she left the manor house, one of her steps was consistently shorter than the other.
[Violet Schmidt continued elsewhere.]
"I won!"
Paloma giggled to herself.
She had won and Violet had lost. They were both bleeding. She had never felt better in her life.
((Paloma goes next.))
Paloma giggled to herself.
She had won and Violet had lost. They were both bleeding. She had never felt better in her life.
((Paloma goes next.))