((Garren Mortimer continued from who is the lamb and who is the knife?))
It really didn’t feel like he’d only been with Myles and Ivy for three days.
He’d felt the loss of their presence almost immediately after he’d left the village, trudging along to God knows where. It was uncomfortable, and Garren had felt a chill run down his spine as he stepped out into the open, all by himself, nothing but guns for company. The weight on his shoulders was lighter now, much lighter, weapons spread out across his arms and pockets. He couldn’t exactly say he missed the additional bags piled on top of his back, making him stumble with every step. But if he also couldn’t truly say he preferred his current situation, either.
All these guns, and knives, and weird saw-tooth swords, and he still didn’t feel totally secure. He wasn’t a mom, he only had one pair of eyes, and they didn’t happen to be located in the back of his head. He could only react to so much, so quickly. If someone jumped him from behind and shot him, like, seven times in the head and chest area as he spun around, well first of all that’d be fucking rude, and second of all, he’d be shit outta luck, and the only salvation he’d be able to find would be in some fucking miracle.
And… look. It had been good, truly, having some form of companionship. Better than good, really. He’d been nothing more than one part of an unstable alliance, a pack mule, a third wheel, a potential meatshield for the majority of these past three days. Conversation had been stilted. They hadn’t hid their expressions or the tones in their voices. He knew that. He knew.
It really felt like they’d been about to turn a corner.
Didn’t matter he’d spent two-thirds of his time on the island alone. It didn’t feel right being by himself anymore.
It also meant that he had nobody to blame but himself, now that he was totally fucking lost. Even if he had a goddamn map right now, he didn’t think he’d have been able to figure out where the fuck he was. Like, how the shit could you differentiate one patch of humid undergrowth from another?
Garren muttered under his breath, turning the air around his mouth blue with curses and swears and incoherences that were, like, probably seriously awful slurs in Klingon or whatever. He pressed on forwards, deciding that if he just… walked straight he’d either end up somewhere, or in the goddamn ocean. Which was still, like, somewhere, so win-win, he guessed. He pushed branches and clusters of foliage away from his face as he continued his trek, wincing whenever thorns dug into his palms. He’d tried to cut through everything in his way with the tooth-sword-thing for a while, but that had just gotten the dumb thing tangled up in vines, and after almost catapulting it directly into his face, he’d cast that idea well aside.
His path was taking up him up a pretty damn steep incline, and Garren could feel the strain it was putting on his already battered legs. His shirt was practically more sweat than fabric now - christ, poor Umaru-Chan had been put through the fucking wringer - and he really didn’t wanna imagine what his hair looked like right now. Maybe all the sweat would wash away the dirt and blood caked into his clothes, but that’d be a moot point if he stumbled and staggered and tripped, and tumbled all the way back down the hill, and-
And then just like that, he’d broken clear of the treeline, and found himself face to side with a massive fuck-off manor.
Huh.
Garren remembered seeing somewhere marked as ‘The Manor House’, back when he’d actually had a map, but nothing more than that; nothing about where it was located, nothing but the areas surrounding it, nothing other than, hey, here was a massive fuckin’ manor, cause… why not!
But it wasn’t a danger zone, it was comfort, and it was likely to provide more comfort than one of the shitty, rundown houses in the village, and that was enough for Garren to make his way towards the front entrance of the place. It was nice, in some, strange way, that his body still instinctively crouched down low, searching for cover to hide behind. That there was still some of him - and some of him that he didn’t want to cut out and discard forever - left inside.
He stopped himself from humming Snake Eater, though. And he definitely forced himself to resist the urge to combat roll. He’d already come close to sticking his own sword into his face, he really didn’t wanna do the same to his gut.
There was a stench, emanating from inside the manor, as soon as Garren pushed open the doors and slipped through them, pungent enough to cut through everything he saw in front of him, pushing the elaborate chandelier and brightly patterned rugs into the background. He was lucky enough that he hadn’t experienced this smell before - if you could count ‘only experiencing death first-hand, rather than days after the fact’ as ‘lucky’ - but he still had a strong inkling as to what it was.
That same, twisted luck helped tell him exactly where the stench was emanating from. So he made his way upstairs instead, each step creaking underfoot.
“So, should we-”
Garren stopped, and Garren caught himself, midway through talking to ghosts. He closed his eyes as his face fell, and he exhaled, and he felt the little pit in his heart grow a little deeper.
Then he walked into the first room on the left, flung his bag and his weapons onto the bed, and walked over to the window.
Look at the Cleanse, look at the moves!
Open - Late Day 9
Look at the Cleanse, look at the moves!
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
((Michael had been trailing Garren for a while now.))
No real reason why. For fun, he guessed. Maybe also because Garren was a fucking pathetic waste of space person whose only positive impact on the world was indirectly delaying the heat death of the universe by existing.
Like, hey, Michael may have been a spree killer, but at least he wasn't Garren Mortimer. He felt good about that. Proud. Garren looked like he hadn't showered in days, which meant he looked like he always did. Bam haha fuck you Garren and fuck your dumb weeb shirt et cetera.
He watched as the grease-filled neckbeard disappeared into the manor house, and waited a few seconds before following him in. Watched as he went up the stairs.
Garren suddenly started to say something. Michael froze, and his eyes shot wide. Then Garren stopped, and Michael realized Garren was talking to himself, not him. Actually, Garren was totally talking to his dead friends, wasn't he? Michael almost felt some sympathy there, until he realized that he also had a tendency of talking to dead people. Then, he felt revulsion.
Garren went into a room. Michael followed up the stairs, footsteps as weightless as a ghost's. Fixed his hair, pushed his glasses up. Looked through the camera at the 4chan dickheads he knew were never not watching. They reminded him of Garren, kind of.
He stepped into the doorway. Blank stare. Blank face. Jonah's gun was in his pocket. Adam Dodd's gun was in his hand, safety off, limp at his side. Stood silent, waiting for Garren to notice he wasn't alone. He could almost hear the boy's heart beating.
Was he gonna kill Garren? Probably not. Was he gonna fuck with Garren's mental health? He'd try his damnedest.
No real reason why. For fun, he guessed. Maybe also because Garren was a fucking pathetic waste of space person whose only positive impact on the world was indirectly delaying the heat death of the universe by existing.
Like, hey, Michael may have been a spree killer, but at least he wasn't Garren Mortimer. He felt good about that. Proud. Garren looked like he hadn't showered in days, which meant he looked like he always did. Bam haha fuck you Garren and fuck your dumb weeb shirt et cetera.
He watched as the grease-filled neckbeard disappeared into the manor house, and waited a few seconds before following him in. Watched as he went up the stairs.
Garren suddenly started to say something. Michael froze, and his eyes shot wide. Then Garren stopped, and Michael realized Garren was talking to himself, not him. Actually, Garren was totally talking to his dead friends, wasn't he? Michael almost felt some sympathy there, until he realized that he also had a tendency of talking to dead people. Then, he felt revulsion.
Garren went into a room. Michael followed up the stairs, footsteps as weightless as a ghost's. Fixed his hair, pushed his glasses up. Looked through the camera at the 4chan dickheads he knew were never not watching. They reminded him of Garren, kind of.
He stepped into the doorway. Blank stare. Blank face. Jonah's gun was in his pocket. Adam Dodd's gun was in his hand, safety off, limp at his side. Stood silent, waiting for Garren to notice he wasn't alone. He could almost hear the boy's heart beating.
Was he gonna kill Garren? Probably not. Was he gonna fuck with Garren's mental health? He'd try his damnedest.
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
It took him a while to notice the presence sharing the room with him.
Couple of reasons for that. He was still suffering from the combination of his ‘pre-island-zero-exercise’ policy and his long trek across rough terrain and up a goddamn hill. His lungs were fucking burning, and it was hard to concentrate even on that with his leg vying for attention, bullet slashes feeling like they were cutting even deeper into his flesh as he tried to stand steady. Fuck, dude, maybe if he’d gotten to college he’d have actually joined some kinda sports team. Maybe. Probably not something like football, or basketball, but, like. Ultimate frisbee. That kinda area.
The other reason was that he was still reeling, still dealing with the ghosts he’d just been trying to converse with. He knew, he knew that they were… that they were gone, because he’d fucking seen it happen, and so any reason he could think of, as to why he couldn’t quite let them go, well. It didn’t paint a pretty picture, really. There was guilt, a crushing amount of guilt, survivor’s guilt at being at the right place at the right time to watch his allies die without being able to do anything to prevent it.
And, lets be fucking blunt here, part of it was the fact that he wasn’t fucking used to having people close to him that he cared about and wanted to see happy. It was an unfamiliar situation, that had ripped an unfamiliar hole inside of him.
So it wasn’t until the high-pitched whining in his head had died down, and the air had returned to his lungs, that Garren realised he was no longer alone. He felt that instinctive sense when someone was behind you, the sudden weight added to the room, the second set of breathing echoing your own.
He spun around, jolting once at the sight of the person standing there, along with who that person was, and jolting again at the gun hanging loosely at his side, just about stifling the yelp that was about to escape his throat. Michael had been a weirdo nerd, once upon a time, who was super into marine biology and shit, and yet he’d always been a weirdo nerd several rungs above him, because he unlike Garren, he was a weirdo nerd who wasn’t a total shitstain.
And yet it was Michael who had racked himself up a laundry list of bodies, not quite to the extent of Erika or of Quinn, but enough that Garren could feel a trickle of cold sweat flow down his spine. He wondered briefly how badly you had to push a dumb, scared teenager to the point that they snapped this badly, before the gun brought him right out of that little thought.
“Yo, Mickey, I, uh…”
Of course he’d chucked his fucking shotgun onto the bed. Dipshit. A sudden, huge advantage that he’d immediately thrown down the goddamn drain.
“I’m really not in the mood for any of your bullshit right now, alright?”
Couple of reasons for that. He was still suffering from the combination of his ‘pre-island-zero-exercise’ policy and his long trek across rough terrain and up a goddamn hill. His lungs were fucking burning, and it was hard to concentrate even on that with his leg vying for attention, bullet slashes feeling like they were cutting even deeper into his flesh as he tried to stand steady. Fuck, dude, maybe if he’d gotten to college he’d have actually joined some kinda sports team. Maybe. Probably not something like football, or basketball, but, like. Ultimate frisbee. That kinda area.
The other reason was that he was still reeling, still dealing with the ghosts he’d just been trying to converse with. He knew, he knew that they were… that they were gone, because he’d fucking seen it happen, and so any reason he could think of, as to why he couldn’t quite let them go, well. It didn’t paint a pretty picture, really. There was guilt, a crushing amount of guilt, survivor’s guilt at being at the right place at the right time to watch his allies die without being able to do anything to prevent it.
And, lets be fucking blunt here, part of it was the fact that he wasn’t fucking used to having people close to him that he cared about and wanted to see happy. It was an unfamiliar situation, that had ripped an unfamiliar hole inside of him.
So it wasn’t until the high-pitched whining in his head had died down, and the air had returned to his lungs, that Garren realised he was no longer alone. He felt that instinctive sense when someone was behind you, the sudden weight added to the room, the second set of breathing echoing your own.
He spun around, jolting once at the sight of the person standing there, along with who that person was, and jolting again at the gun hanging loosely at his side, just about stifling the yelp that was about to escape his throat. Michael had been a weirdo nerd, once upon a time, who was super into marine biology and shit, and yet he’d always been a weirdo nerd several rungs above him, because he unlike Garren, he was a weirdo nerd who wasn’t a total shitstain.
And yet it was Michael who had racked himself up a laundry list of bodies, not quite to the extent of Erika or of Quinn, but enough that Garren could feel a trickle of cold sweat flow down his spine. He wondered briefly how badly you had to push a dumb, scared teenager to the point that they snapped this badly, before the gun brought him right out of that little thought.
“Yo, Mickey, I, uh…”
Of course he’d chucked his fucking shotgun onto the bed. Dipshit. A sudden, huge advantage that he’d immediately thrown down the goddamn drain.
“I’m really not in the mood for any of your bullshit right now, alright?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Michael had underestimated how physically uncomfortable he would feel, standing there and watching someone like a horror villain, which meant it was a relief when Garren finally turned around, flinched several times, then made a noise like a beaver getting punched in the kidney.
Michael would have laughed, but he mostly only laughed when he was sad, so.
He looked at Garren's beady little rat eyes. Michael wondered if his own pupils were still super dilated from back when he was doing all the drugs. They probably were, he decided.
"Mmm, that's so sad, Darren. Alexa, play Despacito. I didn't shoot you in the back. Why would I shoot you in the front," Michael snapped monotonously, an indifferent look on his face. Showing vocal emotion had always required a conscious effort. It was fucking exhausting. He liked talking like this much better.
Briefly, his eyes drifted over to the big gun on the bed. Michael had a big gun too (in his pocket!). Michael's was bigger. No it wasn't. But it was shinier. Eyes back to Garren.
"You and your dead homies mind if I chill here with you for a little bit?"
Michael would have laughed, but he mostly only laughed when he was sad, so.
He looked at Garren's beady little rat eyes. Michael wondered if his own pupils were still super dilated from back when he was doing all the drugs. They probably were, he decided.
"Mmm, that's so sad, Darren. Alexa, play Despacito. I didn't shoot you in the back. Why would I shoot you in the front," Michael snapped monotonously, an indifferent look on his face. Showing vocal emotion had always required a conscious effort. It was fucking exhausting. He liked talking like this much better.
Briefly, his eyes drifted over to the big gun on the bed. Michael had a big gun too (in his pocket!). Michael's was bigger. No it wasn't. But it was shinier. Eyes back to Garren.
"You and your dead homies mind if I chill here with you for a little bit?"
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Garren bristled.
Had Michael been fucking following him or something? He’d initially thought that the other boy had just stumbled upon him in his own search of the manor, but he had to have heard him talking to… well, himself, in the end, with that comment. Cause what other reason would you put ‘Garren’ and ‘friends’ in the same fucking sentence? If Garren had been in a better position, he might’ve been kinda annoyed that he couldn’t even make fun of weird Marine Michael for having no friends, because the guy did.
And yet, even with that fact, with that leverage he had over Garren, he didn’t seem to give a shit that people Garren cared about were dead. But, hey, why should he? Apparently, having a bunch of friends and being well-liked and shit didn’t stop you from turning into a fucking murderer, after goddamn all!
Garren was shaking now. Fear or anger? Hey, why limit himself to just one of the two?
“Do I have much of a choice?”
His gaze flitted from Michael to the bed, then back again.
“Like, I got a hunch that if I take a step closer to my shit then you might change your mind on that fuckin’ shooting thing.”
God, don’t push any further, don’t let your anger show even more, don’t try and prod the bull, disen-fucking-gage from the dude who’d already murdered multiple people.
“Just from what the announcements have told me, I mean.”
Goddamnit, dude.
Had Michael been fucking following him or something? He’d initially thought that the other boy had just stumbled upon him in his own search of the manor, but he had to have heard him talking to… well, himself, in the end, with that comment. Cause what other reason would you put ‘Garren’ and ‘friends’ in the same fucking sentence? If Garren had been in a better position, he might’ve been kinda annoyed that he couldn’t even make fun of weird Marine Michael for having no friends, because the guy did.
And yet, even with that fact, with that leverage he had over Garren, he didn’t seem to give a shit that people Garren cared about were dead. But, hey, why should he? Apparently, having a bunch of friends and being well-liked and shit didn’t stop you from turning into a fucking murderer, after goddamn all!
Garren was shaking now. Fear or anger? Hey, why limit himself to just one of the two?
“Do I have much of a choice?”
His gaze flitted from Michael to the bed, then back again.
“Like, I got a hunch that if I take a step closer to my shit then you might change your mind on that fuckin’ shooting thing.”
God, don’t push any further, don’t let your anger show even more, don’t try and prod the bull, disen-fucking-gage from the dude who’d already murdered multiple people.
“Just from what the announcements have told me, I mean.”
Goddamnit, dude.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Michael exhaled slowly through his nose.
If he hadn't been giving Garren a choice, he wouldn't have fucking asked, and if he was who the announcements said he was, Garren'd already be bleeding to death, and if he cared about dying, he would have stopped after killing Camila.
He'd never killed someone who was a direct threat to his survival.
"I'm surprised. You always struck me as the kind of person who believes in something less when it's what everyone else tells you is true. Someone who habitually takes the red pill regardless of the accuracy of the reality you think you're waking up to."
He whistled. Looked down at his shoes.
"Already had that one planned. The delivery sounded more natural in my head."
Closed his eyes. Opened them. Too long to be a blink. Looked back up at Garren's face.
"I don't even remember why I'm still here."
If he hadn't been giving Garren a choice, he wouldn't have fucking asked, and if he was who the announcements said he was, Garren'd already be bleeding to death, and if he cared about dying, he would have stopped after killing Camila.
He'd never killed someone who was a direct threat to his survival.
"I'm surprised. You always struck me as the kind of person who believes in something less when it's what everyone else tells you is true. Someone who habitually takes the red pill regardless of the accuracy of the reality you think you're waking up to."
He whistled. Looked down at his shoes.
"Already had that one planned. The delivery sounded more natural in my head."
Closed his eyes. Opened them. Too long to be a blink. Looked back up at Garren's face.
"I don't even remember why I'm still here."
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
“What…”
’The fuck’ were the unspoken words that Garren had been planning next, words that he let die in his throat with his mouth hanging slightly open instead. After all, he was pretty sure he was already walking on thin ice; he’d already pushed someone who clearly didn’t like him, was carrying a gun, and had a trail of bodies behind him, probably pushed him a little further than was medically advisable.
And yet, ‘What The Fuck’ was the crux of this entire goddamn thing, because Garren didn’t have a goddamn clue what Michael’s gameplan here was. Like, just to reiterate; Michael didn’t like him, he was carrying a gun, and most pertinently, he had already killed multiple people.
Why the fuck hadn’t he just pulled the trigger and taken the shot the moment he’d stepped into the room?
Garren had been beginning to entertain the idea of moving across to the bed, getting close enough to scoop up one of his guns before Michael had time to pull the trigger of his own. He stood perfectly still now, though. His arms hung loose by his sides. He stared at Michael. He could feel how heavy his breathing was, the sweat pooling on his back. He thought about the question he’d asked himself earlier, about just what had to happen to a kid to break them into a multi-time killer.
He breathed in, a long, slow intake of breath. There was every chance this train would go south very quickly, but. Hey. Better that. Better that than him having to pull a trigger.
“What happened to you, dude?”
’The fuck’ were the unspoken words that Garren had been planning next, words that he let die in his throat with his mouth hanging slightly open instead. After all, he was pretty sure he was already walking on thin ice; he’d already pushed someone who clearly didn’t like him, was carrying a gun, and had a trail of bodies behind him, probably pushed him a little further than was medically advisable.
And yet, ‘What The Fuck’ was the crux of this entire goddamn thing, because Garren didn’t have a goddamn clue what Michael’s gameplan here was. Like, just to reiterate; Michael didn’t like him, he was carrying a gun, and most pertinently, he had already killed multiple people.
Why the fuck hadn’t he just pulled the trigger and taken the shot the moment he’d stepped into the room?
Garren had been beginning to entertain the idea of moving across to the bed, getting close enough to scoop up one of his guns before Michael had time to pull the trigger of his own. He stood perfectly still now, though. His arms hung loose by his sides. He stared at Michael. He could feel how heavy his breathing was, the sweat pooling on his back. He thought about the question he’d asked himself earlier, about just what had to happen to a kid to break them into a multi-time killer.
He breathed in, a long, slow intake of breath. There was every chance this train would go south very quickly, but. Hey. Better that. Better that than him having to pull a trigger.
“What happened to you, dude?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Michael still glared into Garren's eyes. He bit his lip; hard enough to draw blood. He tasted it. What, really, had happened to Michael? He couldn't say. He trusted his perception of the universe about as far as he could throw it, which wasn't very far since it wasn't real. In general, he took a lot of pills that were both red and blue. He mentally focused on Garren's pupils, trying to drown out the mental static induced by the boy's question. For what felt like the first time, he noticed the unbearable silence of the island. His fingernails were digging into his palm again, he noticed. His lip twitched. He needed to cough. Didn't cough. Single sharp exhalation.
Raskolnikov felt sick but he couldn't say why, when he saw his face reflected in his victim's twinkling eye. So the song went. Michael shrugged.
Cleared his throat. Inhaled.
"I was the right person in the wrong place," he stated. That was probably the most straightforward answer he knew how to give. "If you keep asking me questions about myself, I probably actually will shoot you, so, like. Don't. Unless that's what you want."
A twinge. He could feel something wet in his left hand. He glanced down at it. His nails had broken through the skin again. He glanced back at Garren.
"Can I fucking stay or not? It's a big house. I can keep out of your way."
Raskolnikov felt sick but he couldn't say why, when he saw his face reflected in his victim's twinkling eye. So the song went. Michael shrugged.
Cleared his throat. Inhaled.
"I was the right person in the wrong place," he stated. That was probably the most straightforward answer he knew how to give. "If you keep asking me questions about myself, I probably actually will shoot you, so, like. Don't. Unless that's what you want."
A twinge. He could feel something wet in his left hand. He glanced down at it. His nails had broken through the skin again. He glanced back at Garren.
"Can I fucking stay or not? It's a big house. I can keep out of your way."
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
((Arizona Butler continued from I Heard Yxu Were Lxxking Fxr Me))
Michael Froese.
That was the name of the one who had killed Jonah. She'd absorbed that information from the announcement, embraced Shauna, and then departed.
Based on the light level and the position of the sun that had been twelve hours ago, maybe more. She was getting good at telling the time using nature.
In the time since she had left Shauna and her group behind Arizona hadn't encountered anyone else. She supposed that made sense. If the announcements could be believed—and they hadn't lied yet—they were rapidly approaching the end. The number of her classmates on the island was dwindling. So, of course, she was seeing less of them. That didn't make the situation any less frustrating. Granted, it meant she had avoided any potentially dangerous encounters, which wasn't a bad thing. But if she had met someone friendly she could have asked them about Michael Froese. His whereabouts, what he was wearing, what he looked like. Instead, she had spent twelve hours walking around with nothing to show for it.
As the dark tendrils of night had started to stretch across the island Arizona had started searching buildings more. It made sense in her head. She'd had a scare back in the village, as she'd been searching one of the buildings a can had bounced off the side of her head and she'd whirled around ready to unload a blast from the Pancor. The monkey had merely screeched at her and scurried away. That was the closest she'd come to encountering anyone.
Her return to the mansion hadn't been part of any conscious decision making on her part. It was nothing more beyond being the next place to search on her list.
It did hold significance though.
It was the place she had found Jonah. It had only been a week prior.
As she approached the door she considered a few things.
The first was that the mansion would have been a good place to rest. She had been walking all day and sitting down to rest and have something to eat would help. She was back on the original food the terrorists had provided her. The chicken and waffles had been finished earlier in the day as she no longer had anyone to share them with. The second was how much rest she was going to allow herself. At some point, she would need to sleep. But with so little to show and only half of her agreed time left she felt the urge to push further. She wanted to have something to show for splitting up when she went back to Shauna.
Not returning was out of the question. A promise had been made and she had every intention of keeping it. After the announcement, she was going to return to the gardens. No matter what happened.
As she approached the door Arizona also considered the fact the mansion could have already been occupied. Outwardly there was no real way to tell. Not unless a fight suddenly broke out inside. Most people had learned the value of staying quiet and keeping a low profile. The chain of thought led to other considerations, the question of if there were people in the mansion would they be friendly or not?
Stepping up to the door, Arizona gripped the Pancor with her right-hand, her index finger hovering by the trigger. Raising her left she knocked, loudly and deliberately, three times.
As soon as she knocked the third time she pivoted to the side, body pressed up against the wall, Pancor aimed at the doorway.
Michael Froese.
That was the name of the one who had killed Jonah. She'd absorbed that information from the announcement, embraced Shauna, and then departed.
Based on the light level and the position of the sun that had been twelve hours ago, maybe more. She was getting good at telling the time using nature.
In the time since she had left Shauna and her group behind Arizona hadn't encountered anyone else. She supposed that made sense. If the announcements could be believed—and they hadn't lied yet—they were rapidly approaching the end. The number of her classmates on the island was dwindling. So, of course, she was seeing less of them. That didn't make the situation any less frustrating. Granted, it meant she had avoided any potentially dangerous encounters, which wasn't a bad thing. But if she had met someone friendly she could have asked them about Michael Froese. His whereabouts, what he was wearing, what he looked like. Instead, she had spent twelve hours walking around with nothing to show for it.
As the dark tendrils of night had started to stretch across the island Arizona had started searching buildings more. It made sense in her head. She'd had a scare back in the village, as she'd been searching one of the buildings a can had bounced off the side of her head and she'd whirled around ready to unload a blast from the Pancor. The monkey had merely screeched at her and scurried away. That was the closest she'd come to encountering anyone.
Her return to the mansion hadn't been part of any conscious decision making on her part. It was nothing more beyond being the next place to search on her list.
It did hold significance though.
It was the place she had found Jonah. It had only been a week prior.
As she approached the door she considered a few things.
The first was that the mansion would have been a good place to rest. She had been walking all day and sitting down to rest and have something to eat would help. She was back on the original food the terrorists had provided her. The chicken and waffles had been finished earlier in the day as she no longer had anyone to share them with. The second was how much rest she was going to allow herself. At some point, she would need to sleep. But with so little to show and only half of her agreed time left she felt the urge to push further. She wanted to have something to show for splitting up when she went back to Shauna.
Not returning was out of the question. A promise had been made and she had every intention of keeping it. After the announcement, she was going to return to the gardens. No matter what happened.
As she approached the door Arizona also considered the fact the mansion could have already been occupied. Outwardly there was no real way to tell. Not unless a fight suddenly broke out inside. Most people had learned the value of staying quiet and keeping a low profile. The chain of thought led to other considerations, the question of if there were people in the mansion would they be friendly or not?
Stepping up to the door, Arizona gripped the Pancor with her right-hand, her index finger hovering by the trigger. Raising her left she knocked, loudly and deliberately, three times.
As soon as she knocked the third time she pivoted to the side, body pressed up against the wall, Pancor aimed at the doorway.
V8
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
Aracelis Fuentes
California “Cali” Fox
Darryl Smith Jr.
Jessica Romero
Roberta “Robbie” Woodvine
Well, it hadn’t gone south at least. But then, it hadn’t really gone anywhere at all.
The two boys were just staring at each other across the open spare room, now, vision locked together, silent as Garren turned over the scant amount of information Michael had given him. You were the ‘right person in the wrong place’? Cool, dude. So was everybody else on this goddamn island. Every action that had occurred, every kill, every death, every push and pull, that was because someone had realised, through fear or desperation or anger or panic or whatever, that they were the right person to carry it out.
And the ‘wrong place’? This whole fucking island was the wrong place! None of them should even be here? But here they fucking were, and here they were being pushed to their goddamn limits. The only question was how long it took before it pushed past that boundary.
With nothing else to focus on but the other boy, Garren noticed the little subconscious actions he was making. The clearing of his throat. The tiny pinpricks of blood that sprouted on his lips. The twitching of his hands, the digging in of his nails. Twitch twitch, fidget fidget. A murderer Michael definitely was. But a hardened, remorseless killer?
Perhaps not.
“Alright, alright, I get it. No asking questions, whatever. You’ve had something real bad happen to you. I get it. I-”
He’d been about to say something, launch into a few sentences that he’d thought sounded pretty cool and inspiring in his head at least. Maybe he’d get a chance to say ‘em in the future, maybe not. In the here and now, the echoing sound of a fist on wood rang out through the manor, cutting him off, making him freeze in the middle of the room, vision flicking round to look out the door of the spare room.
“You…”
Garren swallowed, throat dry all of a sudden, voice as low as he could possibly make it.
“Guessing you’re not expecting anybody, right?”
The two boys were just staring at each other across the open spare room, now, vision locked together, silent as Garren turned over the scant amount of information Michael had given him. You were the ‘right person in the wrong place’? Cool, dude. So was everybody else on this goddamn island. Every action that had occurred, every kill, every death, every push and pull, that was because someone had realised, through fear or desperation or anger or panic or whatever, that they were the right person to carry it out.
And the ‘wrong place’? This whole fucking island was the wrong place! None of them should even be here? But here they fucking were, and here they were being pushed to their goddamn limits. The only question was how long it took before it pushed past that boundary.
With nothing else to focus on but the other boy, Garren noticed the little subconscious actions he was making. The clearing of his throat. The tiny pinpricks of blood that sprouted on his lips. The twitching of his hands, the digging in of his nails. Twitch twitch, fidget fidget. A murderer Michael definitely was. But a hardened, remorseless killer?
Perhaps not.
“Alright, alright, I get it. No asking questions, whatever. You’ve had something real bad happen to you. I get it. I-”
He’d been about to say something, launch into a few sentences that he’d thought sounded pretty cool and inspiring in his head at least. Maybe he’d get a chance to say ‘em in the future, maybe not. In the here and now, the echoing sound of a fist on wood rang out through the manor, cutting him off, making him freeze in the middle of the room, vision flicking round to look out the door of the spare room.
“You…”
Garren swallowed, throat dry all of a sudden, voice as low as he could possibly make it.
“Guessing you’re not expecting anybody, right?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Garren was talking a lot, but Michael wasn't sure if he was actually saying anything. Garren said that he got it. Michael knew he didn't. Michael'd seen things Garren wouldn't even know how to fit inside his head. Then Garren asked a question, immediately after saying he was done asking questions. Guess Michael wasn't the only liar in the house.
He opted not to answer Garren's question. Honestly, he was never not expecting someone.
Idly, he realized today had been the first time in nine days that he'd seen a set of stairs.
"The knock's bait. Don't bite," he said, taking a step further into the room, softly closing the door behind him. "Whoever it is, if they see me, they'll assume you're guilty by association, so. You can grab your shotgun, then I'll hide under the bed. If they find you here and try anything, I'll pop 'em. I got good aim when it's convenient."
He sighed. He hated feeling like something other than a leper. It wasn't right and it wasn't what he deserved but it was what he was getting.
It wasn't that he was evil; he just didn't like to pretend like he could still be someone's friend.
"Any objections?"
He opted not to answer Garren's question. Honestly, he was never not expecting someone.
Idly, he realized today had been the first time in nine days that he'd seen a set of stairs.
"The knock's bait. Don't bite," he said, taking a step further into the room, softly closing the door behind him. "Whoever it is, if they see me, they'll assume you're guilty by association, so. You can grab your shotgun, then I'll hide under the bed. If they find you here and try anything, I'll pop 'em. I got good aim when it's convenient."
He sighed. He hated feeling like something other than a leper. It wasn't right and it wasn't what he deserved but it was what he was getting.
It wasn't that he was evil; he just didn't like to pretend like he could still be someone's friend.
"Any objections?"
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
56, 57, 58, 59, 60.
No answer.
Arizona reached out with her free hand and gently opened the door.
The muzzle of the Pancor led the way as she stepped through the passage and back into the mansion. Gently pushing the door to with her foot, then satisfied no one was lurking in her immediate vicinity using her left hand to quietly close it. The smell hit her hard. It had continued to fester in her absence. She grimaced and pressed on, pausing only for a moment to take in the courtroom arrangement. Some of the seats had been tossed about but it was still vaguely recognizable if you knew what it had been. In the time since she had been in the manor a fight, or multiple fights had occurred. As she crept through the room she avoided familiar stains and stepped over new ones. The Pancor swept from side to side and corner to corner. Her eyes taking in the destruction and searching for any sign of life.
As she reached the foot of the stairs she paused. She still hadn't heard or seen anyone. But she knew there were more rooms waiting for her upstairs. She considered her options, then took a step back from the stairs and crouched down, Pancor resting across her knee.
Then she whistled.
No answer.
Arizona reached out with her free hand and gently opened the door.
The muzzle of the Pancor led the way as she stepped through the passage and back into the mansion. Gently pushing the door to with her foot, then satisfied no one was lurking in her immediate vicinity using her left hand to quietly close it. The smell hit her hard. It had continued to fester in her absence. She grimaced and pressed on, pausing only for a moment to take in the courtroom arrangement. Some of the seats had been tossed about but it was still vaguely recognizable if you knew what it had been. In the time since she had been in the manor a fight, or multiple fights had occurred. As she crept through the room she avoided familiar stains and stepped over new ones. The Pancor swept from side to side and corner to corner. Her eyes taking in the destruction and searching for any sign of life.
As she reached the foot of the stairs she paused. She still hadn't heard or seen anyone. But she knew there were more rooms waiting for her upstairs. She considered her options, then took a step back from the stairs and crouched down, Pancor resting across her knee.
Then she whistled.
Any objections? Yeah. Yeah, he had a few objections. A couple of ‘em, really, just a few teeny, tiny little queries, a handful of little niggles with the plan, honestly. Namely that, ah, y’know…
He was having to trust Michael fucking Froese with his goddamn life.
So that was already a bad fucking start. Off the top of his head, he could think of a billion different scenarios where he walked out of here with a brand new bloody hole in his torso. Like, what if the manor intruder had wandered in here with malicious intent, and Michael just stayed under the bed and watched as they shot Garren dead? Or what if he waited for them to lose interest and leave, before shooting Garren in the neck? Or what if he just popped out from under the bed and claimed that he’d been hiding from Garren out of fear or something?
But as Garren stared out through the doorway, he heard the person downstairs whistling, and he realised - although perhaps he’d realised as soon as Michael opened his stupid idiot mouth - that any objections he did have meant jack shit. Their little home intruder either knew there were people in the manor, or they suspected as much, and if they’d decided to whistle rather than announce their presence in any other way… well, it kinda suggested they weren’t here to fucking hang out and play Minecraft, y’know? Fight aggressive caution with caution of your own. Or something.
And besides, Garren thought as he quickly glanced back at Michael, raising any objections might qualify as asking more questions.
“Fine,” Garren whispered, moving across to the bed, scooping the shotgun into his arms. Even with the threat of possibly-two killers surrounding him, his brain couldn’t help but replay ‘Any objections lady?’ over and over and over in his head.
It was still pretty appropriate, though. Michael made a damn good Adam Malkovich.
“No objections here, sir.”
Garren turned to face the door, shotgun cradled in his arms.
He was having to trust Michael fucking Froese with his goddamn life.
So that was already a bad fucking start. Off the top of his head, he could think of a billion different scenarios where he walked out of here with a brand new bloody hole in his torso. Like, what if the manor intruder had wandered in here with malicious intent, and Michael just stayed under the bed and watched as they shot Garren dead? Or what if he waited for them to lose interest and leave, before shooting Garren in the neck? Or what if he just popped out from under the bed and claimed that he’d been hiding from Garren out of fear or something?
But as Garren stared out through the doorway, he heard the person downstairs whistling, and he realised - although perhaps he’d realised as soon as Michael opened his stupid idiot mouth - that any objections he did have meant jack shit. Their little home intruder either knew there were people in the manor, or they suspected as much, and if they’d decided to whistle rather than announce their presence in any other way… well, it kinda suggested they weren’t here to fucking hang out and play Minecraft, y’know? Fight aggressive caution with caution of your own. Or something.
And besides, Garren thought as he quickly glanced back at Michael, raising any objections might qualify as asking more questions.
“Fine,” Garren whispered, moving across to the bed, scooping the shotgun into his arms. Even with the threat of possibly-two killers surrounding him, his brain couldn’t help but replay ‘Any objections lady?’ over and over and over in his head.
It was still pretty appropriate, though. Michael made a damn good Adam Malkovich.
“No objections here, sir.”
Garren turned to face the door, shotgun cradled in his arms.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Garren was still making mouth noises. Literally either Omar from The Wire or the school shooter kid from season 1 of American Horror Story were downstairs and Garren was still fucking talking. Not just talking, but sassing.
Michael mouthed the words "SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY" at the boy. Then, he whispered, very quietly, the words "Last time, it was Quinn on the other side of the door."
He let that sink in.
Then, he looked away from Garren, and drifted over to the bed. Crouched down. Slid his backpack off. Pushed it under. Accidentally pressed part of his left hand against the white bedsheet, leaving a splotch of noticeably fresh blood behind.
Haha whoops oh well not his problem.
He slid under.
Michael mouthed the words "SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY" at the boy. Then, he whispered, very quietly, the words "Last time, it was Quinn on the other side of the door."
He let that sink in.
Then, he looked away from Garren, and drifted over to the bed. Crouched down. Slid his backpack off. Pushed it under. Accidentally pressed part of his left hand against the white bedsheet, leaving a splotch of noticeably fresh blood behind.
Haha whoops oh well not his problem.
He slid under.
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
No sounds, no movement.
Arizona grimaced again.
No one emerged.
That left her with a few options. The most important ones to consider were that there was a chance someone was asleep or they had heard her and were waiting. Of course, there was always the chance the manor was empty. But Arizona pushed that from her mind. The building was occupied until she knew for a fact it wasn't. Once she could verify that she could relax. But until then, she'd continue being cautious.
She swung her bag around, retrieved a water bottle and took a quick drink before returning it.
Once that was done she ran a hand across the floor. Feeling the lumps, dents and chips in the old floorboards.
"You own this shit," She muttered to herself as she stood up. "It's yours now."
The pancor rested in her hands as she quietly ascended the stairs. She could remember there were three rooms on the second floor. Two of them were bedrooms. That meant if there was anyone else in the building she was going to find them soon.
Once she reached the first door she stopped and listened.
There were still no noises, nothing to give away any other potential occupants. The only thing she could hear was her own light breathing.
Her right-hand glided to rest on the trigger of the pancor, the left checked the strap that was across her shoulder then reached out and pushed the door open.
Arizona grimaced again.
No one emerged.
That left her with a few options. The most important ones to consider were that there was a chance someone was asleep or they had heard her and were waiting. Of course, there was always the chance the manor was empty. But Arizona pushed that from her mind. The building was occupied until she knew for a fact it wasn't. Once she could verify that she could relax. But until then, she'd continue being cautious.
She swung her bag around, retrieved a water bottle and took a quick drink before returning it.
Once that was done she ran a hand across the floor. Feeling the lumps, dents and chips in the old floorboards.
"You own this shit," She muttered to herself as she stood up. "It's yours now."
The pancor rested in her hands as she quietly ascended the stairs. She could remember there were three rooms on the second floor. Two of them were bedrooms. That meant if there was anyone else in the building she was going to find them soon.
Once she reached the first door she stopped and listened.
There were still no noises, nothing to give away any other potential occupants. The only thing she could hear was her own light breathing.
Her right-hand glided to rest on the trigger of the pancor, the left checked the strap that was across her shoulder then reached out and pushed the door open.