She had taken notes earlier that day.
>> Apollonia "Nia" Karahalios continued from Assignment to Catastrophe
Staying inside, though her general preferred course of action, seemed unwise. The village had the advantage of being more spread out, with more potential spots for shelter, though admittedly she had chosen the obvious target of the commissary to spend the night in previously. It was more defensible, with its easily securable storeroom, than the leadership house where they'd spent the night, flush as it was with easily opened windows and multiple entrances and weak-looking walls. As nice as spending the night in a proper bed felt, it was not worth the paranoia she felt with every minor sound she heard, despite their attempts to barricade the obvious weak points. They needed to move, and ideally quickly. After the announcements, which held no surprises worth dwelling on, she and Alexander agreed that they would wait out the storm, and then depart. They hoped the clouds would clear soon enough.
The storm resisted "waiting out", however, and their anxiousness overrode their desire for shelter. Eventually, their options ran thin. They decided to leave, though the moment they stepped into the rain Nia instantly regretted leaving the comforts of shelter.
Their conversations were still severely limited by his eyes and her throat, but they had gotten used to that, over the days and hours. The discomfort she'd originally felt in pressing her finger into his palm had disappeared completely, and she held his hand gently as they left the house, heading, reluctantly, into the gardens.
It was an uncomfortable place, oppressive, likely difficult to navigate for Alexander, hence her keeping him close. Ideally she would have cut around the back end of the leadership houses rather than taking the risk, but the house they'd stayed in on the map seemed uncomfortably close to the menagerie area, and while logically there would have to be some sort of warning before the danger zone claimed her life and her neck, she would prefer not to take the chance that she'd wander across an imaginary border and die for her troubles. So the gardens were a necessary evil, to cut across to take them, eventually, to the lake.
She looked at Alexander. Inscrutable as always, even soaking wet. His consistency was a comfort.
"D-E-V-I-L-I-V-Y," she spelled slowly on his palm as he crunched some leaves underfoot, as she stopped and took a moment, looking out at the greenery, to plot a path that wouldn't trip him up too badly. "O-V-E-R-G-R-O-W-N. I-N-V-A-S-I-V-E." It told its own story, spread out before them. A passing curiosity.
"W-H-O-L-I-V-E-D-H-E-R-E?" She began walking again, as he had the luxury of using his voice to answer.
I Know in Darkness, I Will Find You (Giving Up Inside Like Me)
[day 3, mid-afternoon, private for m u r d e r]
I Know in Darkness, I Will Find You (Giving Up Inside Like Me)
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
((Another day.))
Despite all of Alexander's pretenses of severing emotional ties to everyone he had once held dear, he had still frozen once the announcements had started; holding Nia's left hand while she took notes with her right.
With the obvious exception of Jeremiah, none of the names were anyone he had a reason to care about. He didn’t want to let Danya get under his skin, but the oh so hilarious reminder that Nick had ended the lives of two beloved people via damage to the throat still stung.
He squeezed Nia’s hand, once. None of the other dead seemed to perturb her, and if she was upset by Jeremiah’s name, she didn’t let it show through trembling or sharpness of breath. She was, as ever, calm and cool. Her consistency was a comfort.
Alexander’s relief at his old friends living another day was annoyingly paradoxical. He hoped to outlive them, yet he dreaded hearing the bell toll for them. He hoped never to see them again, and the longer they stayed alive, the more likely it became they’d have a chance encounter that could only end in tragedy; but it gave him some small comfort to know that they still drew breath. Small comfort, because they were surely scared, hurt, and miserable. But alive. He had yet to be convinced there was anything worse than death.
It made sense, why he was so conflicted - he doubted any well-adjusted person could so easily go scorched-earth on their heart, even with cold determination and days of trauma on their side. That didn’t mean the feelings sat any better with them. If there had been some mythical button that’d allow him to truly free himself from his relationships, he’d smash it with his hammer without a moment’s hesitation.
Perhaps. In all honesty, he was just trying to convince himself of that, to soften the blow when it inevitably came. In any case, the time for dwelling on that had passed - it was time for him and Nia to leave their shelter. They hadn’t been thrilled to spend the night in yet another conspicuous building, but the downpour had offered them little choice - they hadn’t the means to construct any sort of rudimentary campsite in the wilderness, and he doubted either of them could’ve gotten any sleep while being relentlessly pelted with precipitation. At least it had helped to wash Jeremiah’s dried blood off of them.
They'd stayed inside longer than either had been comfortable with trying to wait out the storm, but the rain hadn’t stopped and they couldn’t afford to waste any more time waiting for clear skies. Thus they proceeded outside, through the garden; Alexander keeping close to Nia to avoid stumbling on the treacherous terrain; creeping plant life brushing against his arms as they walked. He hoped it wasn’t poisonous - the last thing he needed was a rash.
Nia asked a question, something Alexander had been idly wondering about as well. “Hm. I’d say there’s only two reasons to build on an island like this - either business or seclusion. This hardly seems like a resort, nor are there any real signs of industry, so I think that’s right out.” It felt good to think about something beyond pure survival. Curiosity was a luxury, now.
“This doesn’t seem like any sort of military base, so I think whoever lived here was part of some fringe religious group, or maybe an extremist political organization. I wonder if they’d be anyone we’ve heard of.” The island was clearly long abandoned, but was it due to the simple passing of time, or had some catastrophic event chased its inhabitants away?
Despite all of Alexander's pretenses of severing emotional ties to everyone he had once held dear, he had still frozen once the announcements had started; holding Nia's left hand while she took notes with her right.
With the obvious exception of Jeremiah, none of the names were anyone he had a reason to care about. He didn’t want to let Danya get under his skin, but the oh so hilarious reminder that Nick had ended the lives of two beloved people via damage to the throat still stung.
He squeezed Nia’s hand, once. None of the other dead seemed to perturb her, and if she was upset by Jeremiah’s name, she didn’t let it show through trembling or sharpness of breath. She was, as ever, calm and cool. Her consistency was a comfort.
Alexander’s relief at his old friends living another day was annoyingly paradoxical. He hoped to outlive them, yet he dreaded hearing the bell toll for them. He hoped never to see them again, and the longer they stayed alive, the more likely it became they’d have a chance encounter that could only end in tragedy; but it gave him some small comfort to know that they still drew breath. Small comfort, because they were surely scared, hurt, and miserable. But alive. He had yet to be convinced there was anything worse than death.
It made sense, why he was so conflicted - he doubted any well-adjusted person could so easily go scorched-earth on their heart, even with cold determination and days of trauma on their side. That didn’t mean the feelings sat any better with them. If there had been some mythical button that’d allow him to truly free himself from his relationships, he’d smash it with his hammer without a moment’s hesitation.
Perhaps. In all honesty, he was just trying to convince himself of that, to soften the blow when it inevitably came. In any case, the time for dwelling on that had passed - it was time for him and Nia to leave their shelter. They hadn’t been thrilled to spend the night in yet another conspicuous building, but the downpour had offered them little choice - they hadn’t the means to construct any sort of rudimentary campsite in the wilderness, and he doubted either of them could’ve gotten any sleep while being relentlessly pelted with precipitation. At least it had helped to wash Jeremiah’s dried blood off of them.
They'd stayed inside longer than either had been comfortable with trying to wait out the storm, but the rain hadn’t stopped and they couldn’t afford to waste any more time waiting for clear skies. Thus they proceeded outside, through the garden; Alexander keeping close to Nia to avoid stumbling on the treacherous terrain; creeping plant life brushing against his arms as they walked. He hoped it wasn’t poisonous - the last thing he needed was a rash.
Nia asked a question, something Alexander had been idly wondering about as well. “Hm. I’d say there’s only two reasons to build on an island like this - either business or seclusion. This hardly seems like a resort, nor are there any real signs of industry, so I think that’s right out.” It felt good to think about something beyond pure survival. Curiosity was a luxury, now.
“This doesn’t seem like any sort of military base, so I think whoever lived here was part of some fringe religious group, or maybe an extremist political organization. I wonder if they’d be anyone we’ve heard of.” The island was clearly long abandoned, but was it due to the simple passing of time, or had some catastrophic event chased its inhabitants away?
Fringe religious group. Extremist political movement. It was the sort of thing Nia would dismiss as conspiratorial were she not standing on this island herself. The stark differences between the village and the inner circle spoke to some variety of strict class hierarchy, which would better support the cult theory, though extreme political movements were not all that dissimilar from cults, if she were to be perfectly honest. The amount of effort it would have taken to transport a population that would fill the village to a wholly deserted island without attracting government attention seemed staggering, but a terrorist organization had managed to transport over a hundred teenagers here without notice, and that was under the relatively watchful eye of the United States. She shouldn't be so doubtful.
She paused walking again for a moment to reply. "A-B-A-N-D-O-N-Y-E-A-R-S. B-E-F-O-R-E-T-E-R-R-O-R-I-S-T-S. S-U-I-C-I-D-E-? O-R-H-U-R-R-I-C-A-N-E." Grim thoughts. It was of course possible that they had simply left for one reason or another, but fringe movements of all kinds didn't often dissolve peacefully, especially not when they'd reached the stage of full seclusion. The island could have been full of corpses before they'd arrived, cleaned up by the terrorists before their arrival, though she didn't have any proof to support that theory. The fate of this island's inhabitants was a matter of little concern, anyway. Just a distraction.
Nia felt in need of distractions, today.
She stretched her arms above her head, yawning, before taking Alexander's hand again and continuing onward. The effect of a good night's rest wasn't to be underestimated. They had taken turns keeping watch, for the most part, though at times both were awake and at times, she was ashamed to admit, she had dozed off while it was meant to be her watch shift. They had barricaded the doors best they could and made sound traps out of old books and various other detritus, but that wasn't an excuse for negligence.
Some part of her was ashamed for a far less sensible reason. Stupid, illogical, but she thought, would any normal person be able to sleep with what she'd seen burned behind her eyes? She remembered every time they closed.
She wondered if Alexander thought her cold, she hadn't cried since she'd left Stepney, she would not cry again, but perhaps she should. Perhaps she was meant to grieve and do nothing more. Perhaps that was what anyone else would do, but she blinked and she saw Jeremiah take his last breath in her mind's eye and she kept walking.
The world kept turning. It would always keep turning.
"B-E-R-Y-L-Y-O-U-M-E-E-T-W-H-E-N-?"
"Just a few years ago. I was, embarrassingly enough, in a good mood and singing to myself because I thought I was alone. She and Marceline thought my voice was a good fit for the band they were starting, so they recruited me; and we became friends fairly quickly. How long have you known her?"
"S-O-P-H-O-M-O-R-E-Y-E-A-R-A-S-L-C-L-U-B. E-A-G-E-R-T-O-L-E-A-R-N-A-L-W-A-Y-S."
"Y-O-U-H-A-D-B-A-N-D?"
"We... we did, yes? What, did she never mention it?"
"N-O-B-E-R-Y-L-T-A-L-K-M-A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G-S-B-U-T-T-O-O-M-U-C-H-I-N-H-E-R-T-O-K-N-O-W."
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. That does sound like her. Lord knows I didn't know everything that was going on in her life, either."
"Our band's name is 'Beyond Human' - we do 80s style synthpop, along the lines of Depeche Mode. I sing, Beryl does - did - guitar and synths. Roxanne played the bass, Marceline played the drums. We got into a lot of debates about what sort of mood we were going for. I tried to steer the band towards gloom and melancholia, but Beryl preferred a lighter, dreamier tone."
"N-O-T-K-N-O-W-M-U-C-H-M-U-S-I-C. J-E-R-E-M-I-A-H-S-T-H-I-N-G-N-O-T-M-I-N-E. P-E-R-F-O-R-M-W-I-T-H-H-I-M-S-O-M-E-T-I-M-E-S-N-O-T-S-A-M-E-T-H-O-U-G-H."
"Oh? What did you perform?"
"A-S-L-I-N-T-E-R-P-R-E-T-A-T-I-O-N-S-R-A-P-M-O-S-T-L-Y. N-O-T-A-L-E-N-T-F-O-R-I-T-B-U-T-J-E-R-E-M-I-A-H-A-M-A-Z-I-N-G-A-L-W-A-Y-S-W-O-R-K-S-O-H-A-R-D-M-A-D-E-H-I-M-S-M-I-L-E. N-O-T-S-M-I-L-E-E-N-O-U-G-H."
"Well, art is art, regardless of whether you believe you're good at it or not. I'd say it's admirable just to perform - it's a shame it's a medium I have no real way of appreciating."
"How close were Jeremiah and Beryl?"
"T-H-I-N-K-H-E-L-O-V-E-D-H-E-R. N-O-T-K-N-O-W-W-H-A-T-K-I-N-D-O-F-L-O-V-E. N-O-T-M-A-T-T-E-R-N-O-W."
"I suppose it doesn't."
Curiosity, distractions. Her conversations, such as they were, with Alexander the night before had whiled away hours that would have otherwise been spent alone with unquiet thoughts. She supposed that was the tradeoff, her payment for staying with him. Company, words that filled the parts of her head she would rather not stay quiet for the time being, a guard to keep metaphorical watch in the night. It was folly to pretend she only stayed with him for logical reasons, but it was what it was.
She had heard Stepney chasing them, when they'd left. She had made a decision. She wondered still, if it was the right one.
It was hard to deny Alexander was a burden in ways Stepney would never be.
She frowned, bit her lip, and kept moving.
She paused walking again for a moment to reply. "A-B-A-N-D-O-N-Y-E-A-R-S. B-E-F-O-R-E-T-E-R-R-O-R-I-S-T-S. S-U-I-C-I-D-E-? O-R-H-U-R-R-I-C-A-N-E." Grim thoughts. It was of course possible that they had simply left for one reason or another, but fringe movements of all kinds didn't often dissolve peacefully, especially not when they'd reached the stage of full seclusion. The island could have been full of corpses before they'd arrived, cleaned up by the terrorists before their arrival, though she didn't have any proof to support that theory. The fate of this island's inhabitants was a matter of little concern, anyway. Just a distraction.
Nia felt in need of distractions, today.
She stretched her arms above her head, yawning, before taking Alexander's hand again and continuing onward. The effect of a good night's rest wasn't to be underestimated. They had taken turns keeping watch, for the most part, though at times both were awake and at times, she was ashamed to admit, she had dozed off while it was meant to be her watch shift. They had barricaded the doors best they could and made sound traps out of old books and various other detritus, but that wasn't an excuse for negligence.
Some part of her was ashamed for a far less sensible reason. Stupid, illogical, but she thought, would any normal person be able to sleep with what she'd seen burned behind her eyes? She remembered every time they closed.
She wondered if Alexander thought her cold, she hadn't cried since she'd left Stepney, she would not cry again, but perhaps she should. Perhaps she was meant to grieve and do nothing more. Perhaps that was what anyone else would do, but she blinked and she saw Jeremiah take his last breath in her mind's eye and she kept walking.
The world kept turning. It would always keep turning.
"B-E-R-Y-L-Y-O-U-M-E-E-T-W-H-E-N-?"
"Just a few years ago. I was, embarrassingly enough, in a good mood and singing to myself because I thought I was alone. She and Marceline thought my voice was a good fit for the band they were starting, so they recruited me; and we became friends fairly quickly. How long have you known her?"
"S-O-P-H-O-M-O-R-E-Y-E-A-R-A-S-L-C-L-U-B. E-A-G-E-R-T-O-L-E-A-R-N-A-L-W-A-Y-S."
"Y-O-U-H-A-D-B-A-N-D?"
"We... we did, yes? What, did she never mention it?"
"N-O-B-E-R-Y-L-T-A-L-K-M-A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G-S-B-U-T-T-O-O-M-U-C-H-I-N-H-E-R-T-O-K-N-O-W."
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. That does sound like her. Lord knows I didn't know everything that was going on in her life, either."
"Our band's name is 'Beyond Human' - we do 80s style synthpop, along the lines of Depeche Mode. I sing, Beryl does - did - guitar and synths. Roxanne played the bass, Marceline played the drums. We got into a lot of debates about what sort of mood we were going for. I tried to steer the band towards gloom and melancholia, but Beryl preferred a lighter, dreamier tone."
"N-O-T-K-N-O-W-M-U-C-H-M-U-S-I-C. J-E-R-E-M-I-A-H-S-T-H-I-N-G-N-O-T-M-I-N-E. P-E-R-F-O-R-M-W-I-T-H-H-I-M-S-O-M-E-T-I-M-E-S-N-O-T-S-A-M-E-T-H-O-U-G-H."
"Oh? What did you perform?"
"A-S-L-I-N-T-E-R-P-R-E-T-A-T-I-O-N-S-R-A-P-M-O-S-T-L-Y. N-O-T-A-L-E-N-T-F-O-R-I-T-B-U-T-J-E-R-E-M-I-A-H-A-M-A-Z-I-N-G-A-L-W-A-Y-S-W-O-R-K-S-O-H-A-R-D-M-A-D-E-H-I-M-S-M-I-L-E. N-O-T-S-M-I-L-E-E-N-O-U-G-H."
"Well, art is art, regardless of whether you believe you're good at it or not. I'd say it's admirable just to perform - it's a shame it's a medium I have no real way of appreciating."
"How close were Jeremiah and Beryl?"
"T-H-I-N-K-H-E-L-O-V-E-D-H-E-R. N-O-T-K-N-O-W-W-H-A-T-K-I-N-D-O-F-L-O-V-E. N-O-T-M-A-T-T-E-R-N-O-W."
"I suppose it doesn't."
Curiosity, distractions. Her conversations, such as they were, with Alexander the night before had whiled away hours that would have otherwise been spent alone with unquiet thoughts. She supposed that was the tradeoff, her payment for staying with him. Company, words that filled the parts of her head she would rather not stay quiet for the time being, a guard to keep metaphorical watch in the night. It was folly to pretend she only stayed with him for logical reasons, but it was what it was.
She had heard Stepney chasing them, when they'd left. She had made a decision. She wondered still, if it was the right one.
It was hard to deny Alexander was a burden in ways Stepney would never be.
She frowned, bit her lip, and kept moving.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
“Suicide, hurricane, in-fighting, loss of faith in a nebulous cause… a lot of terrible things can happen in the middle of nowhere.” Case in point, their current situation. Alexander wondered if there was anyone still alive who knew what had occurred on the island, all those years ago.
He’d been successfully avoiding the thought of the disturbed, faceless masses watching their plight, safely in their homes, but he did have to wonder - would some among them be wondering the same thing as him? Would they be compelled to do research, to discover the truth he’d never have the chance to know? Would there be enough interest to produce a documentary of questionable taste, exploring the history of a secret organization whose headquarters would become the site for a death game, decades after their dissolution?
Idle thoughts, nothing more. Much preferable to obsessive, intrusive thoughts. Alexander wondered what had happened to the group they had so briefly encountered - none of them had managed to get themselves killed before the end of the day, at least, even the self-destructive Brian.
He never asked why Nia had decided to abandon Stepney, and she hadn’t told him. It wasn’t really his business, though he could still hazard a few guesses as to why - he had, abstractly, done the same thing to all of his friends, after all. The boy had been inoffensive enough, but more people meant more complications, more weak links. Alexander and Nia were doing just fine on their own.
Speaking of which. “So, any idea about our next destination? Is it time to abandon civilization altogether?”
He’d been successfully avoiding the thought of the disturbed, faceless masses watching their plight, safely in their homes, but he did have to wonder - would some among them be wondering the same thing as him? Would they be compelled to do research, to discover the truth he’d never have the chance to know? Would there be enough interest to produce a documentary of questionable taste, exploring the history of a secret organization whose headquarters would become the site for a death game, decades after their dissolution?
Idle thoughts, nothing more. Much preferable to obsessive, intrusive thoughts. Alexander wondered what had happened to the group they had so briefly encountered - none of them had managed to get themselves killed before the end of the day, at least, even the self-destructive Brian.
He never asked why Nia had decided to abandon Stepney, and she hadn’t told him. It wasn’t really his business, though he could still hazard a few guesses as to why - he had, abstractly, done the same thing to all of his friends, after all. The boy had been inoffensive enough, but more people meant more complications, more weak links. Alexander and Nia were doing just fine on their own.
Speaking of which. “So, any idea about our next destination? Is it time to abandon civilization altogether?”
It was a bit disheartening, considering the island's history while knowing the truth would never be known to them. Nia did not like not having information. Her inability to even just take out her phone to research basic information rankled her, let alone considering something so mysterious that her phone would likely be useless. At any rate, if the terrorists had known of this location for a while—and they had certainly been active for long enough that, unless this island had been abandoned for even longer than she'd thought—its prior inhabitants would have made a good test case for them. If the people, the community, the cult that had lived here had lived their lives here for years without intervention or discovery, well, that would speak volumes as to its suitability for their game, wouldn't it?
Their game. The biggest mystery of all, of course. She recalled internet debates she had never paid much attention to, about why Survival of the Fittest happened, what the terrorist's motives were. She had never been particularly curious until now, and even now it struck her as a pointless thought exercise, not even entertaining as a distraction. To ponder the motivations of their captors opened up dangerous trains of thought. Much like Bryan's. Pretending you knew the answers engendered thoughts of rebellion. Would the terrorists really be unhappy, if they all stopped killing? Or would it simply be another passionless note in their experimental notes? Was there a point to stopping, when it would inevitably result in your death, if you had no way of knowing if doing so would make any impact at all?
She didn't understand. She didn't understand the lack of value some put on their lives. She didn't understand the mind that would seek ways to defy a game that could kill them in an instant. She didn't understand the lack of caution. Were others simply unafraid of death? Her fear was silent and dignified but it drove her forward as adrenaline powered the legs of a gazelle fleeing a lion.
Turning to glance at Alexander for a moment, she wondered what expression he would see on her face, if he could. She wondered how afraid he was. Death could come at any moment, and he wouldn't know until it was too late.
She paused for a moment before remembering to answer his question.
"W-A-T-E-R-F-A-L-L." She paused again. "N-O-R-E-A-S-O-N."
Her reason was that she wanted to see the waterfall.
Childish, perhaps. She had the right to that, one more time.
Their game. The biggest mystery of all, of course. She recalled internet debates she had never paid much attention to, about why Survival of the Fittest happened, what the terrorist's motives were. She had never been particularly curious until now, and even now it struck her as a pointless thought exercise, not even entertaining as a distraction. To ponder the motivations of their captors opened up dangerous trains of thought. Much like Bryan's. Pretending you knew the answers engendered thoughts of rebellion. Would the terrorists really be unhappy, if they all stopped killing? Or would it simply be another passionless note in their experimental notes? Was there a point to stopping, when it would inevitably result in your death, if you had no way of knowing if doing so would make any impact at all?
She didn't understand. She didn't understand the lack of value some put on their lives. She didn't understand the mind that would seek ways to defy a game that could kill them in an instant. She didn't understand the lack of caution. Were others simply unafraid of death? Her fear was silent and dignified but it drove her forward as adrenaline powered the legs of a gazelle fleeing a lion.
Turning to glance at Alexander for a moment, she wondered what expression he would see on her face, if he could. She wondered how afraid he was. Death could come at any moment, and he wouldn't know until it was too late.
She paused for a moment before remembering to answer his question.
"W-A-T-E-R-F-A-L-L." She paused again. "N-O-R-E-A-S-O-N."
Her reason was that she wanted to see the waterfall.
Childish, perhaps. She had the right to that, one more time.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
“We can find a reason when we get there. Anywhere is better than here,” Alexander said, unwittingly providing a spot of comedic timing as his cane got entangled in one of the many vines that intruded on the path. He struggled for a moment, then tugged it free - reminding him of the last time he’d tried to yank it free from something’s grasp.
Jeremiah. Nia’s dear friend. Considered Beryl a dear friend. A performer. Still somewhat infuriating. Dead regardless. His last gasps, the blood that had polluted what felt like the entirety of the commissary - they had left a more permanent mark on Alexander’s psyche than anything the boy had done while he was alive, more than any story about his life could displace.
He was dwelling again. He needed to stop doing that.
"You said you were planning on majoring in biology, correct? We never got to finish that conversation."
"Y-E-S. B-O-S-T-O-N-U. M-A-Y-B-E-D-O-C-T-O-R-M-A-Y-B-E-R-E-S-E-A-R-C-H. D-A-D-I-S-D-O-C-T-O-R."
"I see. I was going to the University of Texas, majoring in business. What drew you to biology? Was it because of your father?"
"N-O-T-R-E-A-L-L-Y. H-E-H-A-P-P-Y-P-R-O-U-D-I-T-O-L-D-H-I-M-B-E-C-A-U-S-E-H-I-M. B-U-T."
"D-O-C-T-O-R-S-S-A-V-E-M-E. W-H-E-N-I-W-A-S-L-I-T-T-L-E. T-H-R-O-A-T-B-U-R-N-E-D. B-L-E-A-C-H."
"A-L-M-O-S-T-D-I-E-D. G-O-O-D-D-O-C-T-O-R-S-S-A-V-E-M-E. W-A-N-T-L-E-A-R-N-H-O-W."
“Ah. How admirable.”
"Sorry, that sounded dismissive - I genuinely mean it. That's a wonderful ambition. You're obviously intelligent and driven - I'm sure you'd excel as a doctor."
"My mother is an executive, and I respect her greatly, but for me... I think I just wanted to succeed at something, and business was a good match for my skill set. And it's something you can fairly unambiguously win at."
"Was - sorry, are you laughing?"
"I-T-S-N-O-T-H-I-N-G. J-U-S-T-T-H-I-N-K-I-N-G-T-H-A-T-S-U-I-T-S-Y-O-U."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Alexander didn’t even want to imagine how lost in his thoughts he’d be if it wasn’t for Nia, not to mention the more obvious physical assistance she provided.
It felt like the previous night had been when he’d started really getting to know her. Despite spending the entirety of the first day together, there had been wrinkles - uncertainty about how permanent their alliance would be, trust that was only tentative, the presence of Jeremiah, the awkwardness of their only way to communicate.
But yesterday, once they’d left Stepney and his irrelevant companions behind, they’d had nothing but time. Once they’d gotten over the initial, horrible shock, once they’d had time to breathe - they were getting comfortable with each other. Alexander had initially struggled to follow Nia’s palm-writing, had to concentrate intently to keep her letters and words from blending together, but now it felt like second nature, even for lengthy sentences.
He honestly found it hard to imagine any way in which he could be better off; any decisions he regretted even with hindsight on his side.
Jeremiah. Nia’s dear friend. Considered Beryl a dear friend. A performer. Still somewhat infuriating. Dead regardless. His last gasps, the blood that had polluted what felt like the entirety of the commissary - they had left a more permanent mark on Alexander’s psyche than anything the boy had done while he was alive, more than any story about his life could displace.
He was dwelling again. He needed to stop doing that.
"You said you were planning on majoring in biology, correct? We never got to finish that conversation."
"Y-E-S. B-O-S-T-O-N-U. M-A-Y-B-E-D-O-C-T-O-R-M-A-Y-B-E-R-E-S-E-A-R-C-H. D-A-D-I-S-D-O-C-T-O-R."
"I see. I was going to the University of Texas, majoring in business. What drew you to biology? Was it because of your father?"
"N-O-T-R-E-A-L-L-Y. H-E-H-A-P-P-Y-P-R-O-U-D-I-T-O-L-D-H-I-M-B-E-C-A-U-S-E-H-I-M. B-U-T."
"D-O-C-T-O-R-S-S-A-V-E-M-E. W-H-E-N-I-W-A-S-L-I-T-T-L-E. T-H-R-O-A-T-B-U-R-N-E-D. B-L-E-A-C-H."
"A-L-M-O-S-T-D-I-E-D. G-O-O-D-D-O-C-T-O-R-S-S-A-V-E-M-E. W-A-N-T-L-E-A-R-N-H-O-W."
“Ah. How admirable.”
"Sorry, that sounded dismissive - I genuinely mean it. That's a wonderful ambition. You're obviously intelligent and driven - I'm sure you'd excel as a doctor."
"My mother is an executive, and I respect her greatly, but for me... I think I just wanted to succeed at something, and business was a good match for my skill set. And it's something you can fairly unambiguously win at."
"Was - sorry, are you laughing?"
"I-T-S-N-O-T-H-I-N-G. J-U-S-T-T-H-I-N-K-I-N-G-T-H-A-T-S-U-I-T-S-Y-O-U."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Alexander didn’t even want to imagine how lost in his thoughts he’d be if it wasn’t for Nia, not to mention the more obvious physical assistance she provided.
It felt like the previous night had been when he’d started really getting to know her. Despite spending the entirety of the first day together, there had been wrinkles - uncertainty about how permanent their alliance would be, trust that was only tentative, the presence of Jeremiah, the awkwardness of their only way to communicate.
But yesterday, once they’d left Stepney and his irrelevant companions behind, they’d had nothing but time. Once they’d gotten over the initial, horrible shock, once they’d had time to breathe - they were getting comfortable with each other. Alexander had initially struggled to follow Nia’s palm-writing, had to concentrate intently to keep her letters and words from blending together, but now it felt like second nature, even for lengthy sentences.
He honestly found it hard to imagine any way in which he could be better off; any decisions he regretted even with hindsight on his side.
Nia smiled, slightly, as Alexander got his cane caught in the foliage for a moment. She would have helped him had he needed it, of course, but he worked things out for himself in short order, and there was something oddly charming about the small disturbance in his ever-smooth demeanor. She was rather glad he couldn't see the smile, all things considered.
"C-H-A-N-G-E-O-F-P-A-C-E. M-A-Y-B-E-S-W-I-M-M-I-N-G?" It was a joke, not that it was easy to discern tone from letters drawn on his palm. She imagined he knew her well enough by now to know. It was strange to consider, that they had met so recently and yet she could think such a thing with some confidence despite him not being able to so much as see her face.
None of this would have happened, had Alexander not been blind.
He was not the sort to seek help, particularly not from someone he didn't know, from someone with whom communication was undeniably a chore. Though he had gotten accustomed to her improvised form of speech fairly quickly, all things considered. She still might have been able to steal his gun but it would have been far riskier, and she wouldn't be able to trick him as to the nature of his assignment. Likely he would have realized from the start what she'd taken from him. He was too intelligent to trick without taking advantage of his disability.
Her stomach churned, just a bit.
She would have killed him, most likely. Or perhaps he'd choose to walk away, and she would be alone again. Perhaps he would catch her in the act of stealing the pistol and kill her himself. The theoretical web of fate was impossible to untangle, particularly starting from such a silly hypothetical. Alexander had always been blind.
He had always been blind, and he was her ally. Her friend, perhaps. In another life, or this one. It was hard to say. What made someone a friend? Were the bonds of trauma enough? They'd known each other for two days, a fraction of a fraction of a school year, an adolescence, a lifetime. She knew more about him after one night of conversation than she knew about classmates she'd known for years. Was that enough? Did that mean anything?
If Alexander hadn't been blind, if he'd walked away from her on the beach, where would she be now?
She had known stopping to help him was stupid, foolish, irrational, she had known that her guilt and her pity would be unwanted by him had he known those were the feelings she bore, but she couldn't stand to carry them off the beach with her. She laid them at his feet, and he had graciously absolved them. She had been selfish, but she had been genuine. She told herself a million times that she would use him when she needed to, that she would discard him if she had to, but she had helped him. She had held his hand through the labyrinth, metaphorical and near-literal considering the state of the garden.
Perhaps it would be kinder to discard him sooner rather than later. Perhaps she was stalling.
She still felt that guilt. It was a heavy burden.
No matter what she did, she would bear it for the rest of her life.
"C-H-A-N-G-E-O-F-P-A-C-E. M-A-Y-B-E-S-W-I-M-M-I-N-G?" It was a joke, not that it was easy to discern tone from letters drawn on his palm. She imagined he knew her well enough by now to know. It was strange to consider, that they had met so recently and yet she could think such a thing with some confidence despite him not being able to so much as see her face.
None of this would have happened, had Alexander not been blind.
He was not the sort to seek help, particularly not from someone he didn't know, from someone with whom communication was undeniably a chore. Though he had gotten accustomed to her improvised form of speech fairly quickly, all things considered. She still might have been able to steal his gun but it would have been far riskier, and she wouldn't be able to trick him as to the nature of his assignment. Likely he would have realized from the start what she'd taken from him. He was too intelligent to trick without taking advantage of his disability.
Her stomach churned, just a bit.
She would have killed him, most likely. Or perhaps he'd choose to walk away, and she would be alone again. Perhaps he would catch her in the act of stealing the pistol and kill her himself. The theoretical web of fate was impossible to untangle, particularly starting from such a silly hypothetical. Alexander had always been blind.
He had always been blind, and he was her ally. Her friend, perhaps. In another life, or this one. It was hard to say. What made someone a friend? Were the bonds of trauma enough? They'd known each other for two days, a fraction of a fraction of a school year, an adolescence, a lifetime. She knew more about him after one night of conversation than she knew about classmates she'd known for years. Was that enough? Did that mean anything?
If Alexander hadn't been blind, if he'd walked away from her on the beach, where would she be now?
She had known stopping to help him was stupid, foolish, irrational, she had known that her guilt and her pity would be unwanted by him had he known those were the feelings she bore, but she couldn't stand to carry them off the beach with her. She laid them at his feet, and he had graciously absolved them. She had been selfish, but she had been genuine. She told herself a million times that she would use him when she needed to, that she would discard him if she had to, but she had helped him. She had held his hand through the labyrinth, metaphorical and near-literal considering the state of the garden.
Perhaps it would be kinder to discard him sooner rather than later. Perhaps she was stalling.
She still felt that guilt. It was a heavy burden.
No matter what she did, she would bear it for the rest of her life.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
It would be a dire exaggeration to say that Alexander laughed at Nia’s remark, but he exhaled sharply; barely even a snort. The telltale sign of mild amusement. It was somewhat heartening that she was in good enough spirit to joke around in a non-gallows manner.
“Well, we’re already drenched, so I guess there isn’t any harm in taking a dip.” He smiled slightly, even though Nia was leading the way and likely wouldn’t see it. Maybe she could tell, anyway - he’d heard about studies saying that people could unconsciously tell when something was being said with a smile; even if he had a hard time picking up the differences in his own voice. Maybe he just didn’t smile enough, but he’d somewhat run out of time to rectify that.
Their progress was steady, but slow. It took time for Nia to find navigable paths between all the debris and plant matter, it took time for Alexander to cautiously feel out where was safe to step without getting his foot caught in a vine. It felt almost as if they were traipsing through some untamed jungle, instead of what used to be a settlement. He wondered how many decades it would take before the foliage consumed the houses entirely.
“How sprawling are these gardens, anyway?” He was looking forward to reaching some less treacherous terrain.
“Well, we’re already drenched, so I guess there isn’t any harm in taking a dip.” He smiled slightly, even though Nia was leading the way and likely wouldn’t see it. Maybe she could tell, anyway - he’d heard about studies saying that people could unconsciously tell when something was being said with a smile; even if he had a hard time picking up the differences in his own voice. Maybe he just didn’t smile enough, but he’d somewhat run out of time to rectify that.
Their progress was steady, but slow. It took time for Nia to find navigable paths between all the debris and plant matter, it took time for Alexander to cautiously feel out where was safe to step without getting his foot caught in a vine. It felt almost as if they were traipsing through some untamed jungle, instead of what used to be a settlement. He wondered how many decades it would take before the foliage consumed the houses entirely.
“How sprawling are these gardens, anyway?” He was looking forward to reaching some less treacherous terrain.
"L-O-O-K-S-M-A-L-L-O-N-M-A-P." Nia shrugged for no one's benefit but her own. "J-U-S-T-S-L-O-W. T-A-K-E-O-U-R-T-I-M-E-Y-O-U-N-O-T-F-A-L-L." She couldn't be sure how accurate the map was, of course, or if it was properly scaled. There was no reference for scale provided, giving her little idea of how large the island was or how far they had actually traveled over the course of their three days, yet another gap in her knowledge she found frustrating. The icons used for buildings and such had to be wildly out of scale with the topography; she was fairly certain she would know by now if, for example, the island were thirteen commissary's wide. That made the scaling of the garden fairly useless, as the only real frame of reference she had for it was the surrounding buildings.
So long as their heading stayed west, they would be out soon enough. That was the only truth she held herself to. It was simpler that way.
It would be easier if she wasn't with Alexander, of course. Not that her visibility was great, considering the rain, but she at least was able to step over the littered debris in her path without much difficulty. Perhaps being frustrated with him for his disability at this juncture was unfair, but she felt it, nevertheless. She moved slowly, deliberately, beside him, his makeshift cane doing the work that her erstwhile voice could not. Frankly it was impressive how well he got around, all things considered. She couldn't imagine.
It was odd, observing someone while knowing they could not know you were doing so. Voyeuristic, even. Still, she found herself observing him, the subtle changes in his expressions, the deft way he moved his cane. People rarely interested her the way facts and ideas did.
It was a shame it had taken this to bring them together. It was a shame how little it mattered. Self-preservation was all there was, wasn't there? She couldn't protect him forever.
Justifications on justifications. She could talk herself into logistical circles for an eternity.
Could she forgive herself, she wondered, or perhaps more importantly: could she live with not being forgiven?
"W-H-A-T-H-A-P-P-E-N-S-L-A-T-E-R?"
"You mean, if we both make it to the end?"
"Y-E-S."
"Well. First, I'd take a bit of time to marvel that miracles can, apparently, happen."
"F-A-I-R."
"Then... I don't know. A duel, maybe? Pistols at dawn, ten paces. We'll have probably found another gun by then."
"A-D-U-E-L."
"Well, forgive me for not wanting to just sit down and let you shoot me."
"U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D. J-U-S-T-S-O-U-N-D-S-R-I-D-I-C-U-L-O-U-S. A-N-A-C-H-R-O-N-I-S-T-I-C."
"I know. But if I had the chance to choose how I was going to die, that sounds like one of the more dignified ways to go."
"...Assuming I didn't get the chance to cheat."
"D-O-I-N-G-G-R-E-A-T-J-O-B-S-O-U-N-D-T-R-U-S-T-W-O-R-T-H-Y."
(laughter)
"I want to go home as much as anyone else, alright? But don't worry, I know you're the biggest reason I'd even have a chance to get that far. And if I'm not going to win, well, you're the second-best option in my book."
"And don't pretend you wouldn't be expecting me to cheat, anyways."
"T-R-U-E. I-N-O-T-S-T-U-P-I-D. L-U-C-K-Y-M-E."
"N-O-T-K-N-O-W-Y-O-U-C-A-N-L-A-U-G-H."
(snort)
"Doesn't suit me, right?”
"W-H-A-T-Y-O-U-D-O-I-S-Y-O-U."
"Y-O-U-K-N-O-W-B-E-T-T-E-R-T-H-A-N-M-E."
"That's true. I guess I just have a hard time letting myself lose control, even for something as simple as laughing."
"C-O-N-T-R-O-L-G-O-O-D-T-O-H-A-V-E-H-E-R-E. B-U-T. N-O-T-M-U-C-H-T-I-M-E-T-O-L-A-U-G-H. T-A-K-E-W-H-E-N-Y-O-U-C-A-N."
"I should."
"...Thank you."
"F-O-R-W-H-A-T?"
"For talking, for being here, for everything up to this point, really."
"I-S-N-O-T-H-I-N-G."
"G-L-A-D-F-O-U-N-D-Y-O-U."
"Likewise."
Nia toyed with the pistol, still in her waistband. The greatest gift Alexander had unwillingly given her. She would like to say she was doing so idly.
She wanted him to say something, to make up her mind for her. But anything could be twisted into impetus for any action, if that was what she wanted it to be. Like flipping a coin for a frivolous choice and changing your mind once you realize you knew what you wanted all along.
She needed her hand to be forced, or else to abandon thought completely.
Both scared her.
But, then, so did everything else.
So long as their heading stayed west, they would be out soon enough. That was the only truth she held herself to. It was simpler that way.
It would be easier if she wasn't with Alexander, of course. Not that her visibility was great, considering the rain, but she at least was able to step over the littered debris in her path without much difficulty. Perhaps being frustrated with him for his disability at this juncture was unfair, but she felt it, nevertheless. She moved slowly, deliberately, beside him, his makeshift cane doing the work that her erstwhile voice could not. Frankly it was impressive how well he got around, all things considered. She couldn't imagine.
It was odd, observing someone while knowing they could not know you were doing so. Voyeuristic, even. Still, she found herself observing him, the subtle changes in his expressions, the deft way he moved his cane. People rarely interested her the way facts and ideas did.
It was a shame it had taken this to bring them together. It was a shame how little it mattered. Self-preservation was all there was, wasn't there? She couldn't protect him forever.
Justifications on justifications. She could talk herself into logistical circles for an eternity.
Could she forgive herself, she wondered, or perhaps more importantly: could she live with not being forgiven?
"W-H-A-T-H-A-P-P-E-N-S-L-A-T-E-R?"
"You mean, if we both make it to the end?"
"Y-E-S."
"Well. First, I'd take a bit of time to marvel that miracles can, apparently, happen."
"F-A-I-R."
"Then... I don't know. A duel, maybe? Pistols at dawn, ten paces. We'll have probably found another gun by then."
"A-D-U-E-L."
"Well, forgive me for not wanting to just sit down and let you shoot me."
"U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D. J-U-S-T-S-O-U-N-D-S-R-I-D-I-C-U-L-O-U-S. A-N-A-C-H-R-O-N-I-S-T-I-C."
"I know. But if I had the chance to choose how I was going to die, that sounds like one of the more dignified ways to go."
"...Assuming I didn't get the chance to cheat."
"D-O-I-N-G-G-R-E-A-T-J-O-B-S-O-U-N-D-T-R-U-S-T-W-O-R-T-H-Y."
(laughter)
"I want to go home as much as anyone else, alright? But don't worry, I know you're the biggest reason I'd even have a chance to get that far. And if I'm not going to win, well, you're the second-best option in my book."
"And don't pretend you wouldn't be expecting me to cheat, anyways."
"T-R-U-E. I-N-O-T-S-T-U-P-I-D. L-U-C-K-Y-M-E."
"N-O-T-K-N-O-W-Y-O-U-C-A-N-L-A-U-G-H."
(snort)
"Doesn't suit me, right?”
"W-H-A-T-Y-O-U-D-O-I-S-Y-O-U."
"Y-O-U-K-N-O-W-B-E-T-T-E-R-T-H-A-N-M-E."
"That's true. I guess I just have a hard time letting myself lose control, even for something as simple as laughing."
"C-O-N-T-R-O-L-G-O-O-D-T-O-H-A-V-E-H-E-R-E. B-U-T. N-O-T-M-U-C-H-T-I-M-E-T-O-L-A-U-G-H. T-A-K-E-W-H-E-N-Y-O-U-C-A-N."
"I should."
"...Thank you."
"F-O-R-W-H-A-T?"
"For talking, for being here, for everything up to this point, really."
"I-S-N-O-T-H-I-N-G."
"G-L-A-D-F-O-U-N-D-Y-O-U."
"Likewise."
Nia toyed with the pistol, still in her waistband. The greatest gift Alexander had unwillingly given her. She would like to say she was doing so idly.
She wanted him to say something, to make up her mind for her. But anything could be twisted into impetus for any action, if that was what she wanted it to be. Like flipping a coin for a frivolous choice and changing your mind once you realize you knew what you wanted all along.
She needed her hand to be forced, or else to abandon thought completely.
Both scared her.
But, then, so did everything else.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
“Very well. I suppose we’re not in much of a rush - it’s not like we’re going to be out of the rain anytime soon.”
The thought was disheartening, and now more than ever, Alexander regretted not packing an umbrella. How many of their compatriots had thought to? They’d be the most privileged person on the island, aside from any who had managed to claim and keep a building for themselves all throughout the storm.
Everyone else was soaked to the bone and incredibly unhappy about it, himself very much included. Having an umbrella would provide you with a substantial boost to your comfort and thus morale - the effects they had on your mental state could make or break your level of success on the island. Of course, it also painted a target quite literally above you. This might be the only situation in which someone would literally kill to have an umbrella.
Oh well. Obsessing over hypotheticals did them no good in the reality where neither of them had an umbrella or even a single raincoat. A reality of soaked shoes and wet socks as soon as they accidentally stepped in a puddle. There was no good obsessing over the hypothetical situation, of, say, being able to sit in a warm sunbeam like a lazy cat and not having water constantly dripping from your hair. No good at all.
No storm lasted forever. The sun would shine again, one day - the only question was how many of his classmates wouldn’t live to feel it break through the clouds.
The thought was disheartening, and now more than ever, Alexander regretted not packing an umbrella. How many of their compatriots had thought to? They’d be the most privileged person on the island, aside from any who had managed to claim and keep a building for themselves all throughout the storm.
Everyone else was soaked to the bone and incredibly unhappy about it, himself very much included. Having an umbrella would provide you with a substantial boost to your comfort and thus morale - the effects they had on your mental state could make or break your level of success on the island. Of course, it also painted a target quite literally above you. This might be the only situation in which someone would literally kill to have an umbrella.
Oh well. Obsessing over hypotheticals did them no good in the reality where neither of them had an umbrella or even a single raincoat. A reality of soaked shoes and wet socks as soon as they accidentally stepped in a puddle. There was no good obsessing over the hypothetical situation, of, say, being able to sit in a warm sunbeam like a lazy cat and not having water constantly dripping from your hair. No good at all.
No storm lasted forever. The sun would shine again, one day - the only question was how many of his classmates wouldn’t live to feel it break through the clouds.
-
Emprexx Plush
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((Blaise D'Aramitz Continued From Darkness Beloved))
Blaise needed practice.
The impassioned offense that sealed Dolly's pact with a bullet had cooled over the hours. No reason had guided them out of the village other than an impulse for movement over stillness, that need to be doing something because idleness invited insecurities they could not tolerate. A spiteful observer might highlight that nothing but their own tantrums had brought them to the sopping wet, shivering state of confusion that left them too exposed to even check their map for bearings, but they would not turn that poison on themself. They would do what they always did when faced with catastrophic failure. Reframe, reinvent, restart.
Here were the relevant facts of Blaise's new reality:
They were going to go home. Everyone else would die, in some fashion or another, and they would return to life as it was barring a few transitional hiccups. That was all the thought they needed give to the game at large, all this strategizing and subterfuge had gotten them nowhere but vexed.
Lorenzo Tavares needed to die. Other names tugged at their hems but were shooed away. They understood the need to punish Lorenzo. The others came from some other whim, ones they shed with the details of the last few days. Specifics would fade, and Blaise did not need more distractions.
They had food, water, medical supplies, and clothes to last well beyond any who weren't actively scavenging and most who were. If Lorenzo hid, they would outlast him.
They were better armed than anyone they had met so far, but lacked experience to leverage their advantage. An image of a bullet, though not their own, flying wide of Lorenzo's battered body came to mind. It was not one they cared to repeat. They needed to become more familiar with their weapon if they were going to give him what he deserved. Whether such a crash course was feasible had little relevance; something to gamble on gave them a degree of reassurance.
That is how they found themself crouched to the side of a much larger house than they'd seen in the village. There was movement inside, the sound of furniture and debris being cleared from the door. It's occupant would expose themself soon, surprise equalizing Blaise's lack of familiarity for a perfect opportunity. It had seemed almost too favorable that their target was the famously mute Nia Karahalios, who they imagined would not even be able to cry out and alert the other structures when shot...until her outstretched hand revealed a companion.
Now. Practicality aside, between this and their outburst at Sven they were going to begin developing a reputation. An unfair one! Blaise had no particular biases against the differently abled, that was the proper term now no? Really. It was ridiculous to pretend that their handicaps did not limit them. In a way that by definition made them lesser but that was how you say, mathematics? Not less of a person just less...useful. Hmm. No. Even in their own mind they could hear how this played. They would need to reflect on this explanation considerably before questioned on it in interviews, as they certainly would be if they continued to have confrontations like this. God, the think pieces that would storm their return if they gunned down the both of them right now. It would be an insufferable mischaracterization.
Practicality, though. Even if they were both normal-shit they had done it again-, the element of surprise would only cover one of their deaths. Optimistic. it would only cover their first shot, whether it killed or not. Moving targets would be much harder to pin down. Bodies rushing to tear their weapon away moreso. It would be best if they would separate, and eventually they would have to yes? Despite her reputation as an incomprehensible stone cold bitch Nia couldn't seriously have saddled herself as Alexander's replacement seeing eye dog. She would leave him alone for a few moments at least and they would make their move. They would shoot...hmm. Another thorny issue. Did it appear crueler to leave Alexander as figuratively in the dark as they presumed genetics had and kill Nia, or to gun him down when he was defenseless? For the sake of their image at some point it became more unforgivable to abandon someone to die in confused isolation than to put a bullet in their back, and really was it more or less bigoted to not kill someone because of their disability?
When they inevitably left this place their first priority, before friends, family, or medical care, had to be the acquisition of a talented public relations agent.
Irritating though the tangle of general moral perception may be, it provided a worthwhile distraction as Blaise stalked their prey into the gardens. Rain covered the sounds of their footsteps in the overgrowth while occupational conversation kept the pair from examining the surroundings too closely. It was a challenge, but opportunity would come. A few minutes passed, Nia and Alexander paused.
Blaise waited.
Ten minutes.
Waited, resolve steeled.
Fifteen minutes.
Waited, senses focused.
Twenty minutes.
Waited, sights dialed.
Thirty minutes.
Waited, finger- oh fuck all of this.
Bang.
Blaise needed practice.
The impassioned offense that sealed Dolly's pact with a bullet had cooled over the hours. No reason had guided them out of the village other than an impulse for movement over stillness, that need to be doing something because idleness invited insecurities they could not tolerate. A spiteful observer might highlight that nothing but their own tantrums had brought them to the sopping wet, shivering state of confusion that left them too exposed to even check their map for bearings, but they would not turn that poison on themself. They would do what they always did when faced with catastrophic failure. Reframe, reinvent, restart.
Here were the relevant facts of Blaise's new reality:
They were going to go home. Everyone else would die, in some fashion or another, and they would return to life as it was barring a few transitional hiccups. That was all the thought they needed give to the game at large, all this strategizing and subterfuge had gotten them nowhere but vexed.
Lorenzo Tavares needed to die. Other names tugged at their hems but were shooed away. They understood the need to punish Lorenzo. The others came from some other whim, ones they shed with the details of the last few days. Specifics would fade, and Blaise did not need more distractions.
They had food, water, medical supplies, and clothes to last well beyond any who weren't actively scavenging and most who were. If Lorenzo hid, they would outlast him.
They were better armed than anyone they had met so far, but lacked experience to leverage their advantage. An image of a bullet, though not their own, flying wide of Lorenzo's battered body came to mind. It was not one they cared to repeat. They needed to become more familiar with their weapon if they were going to give him what he deserved. Whether such a crash course was feasible had little relevance; something to gamble on gave them a degree of reassurance.
That is how they found themself crouched to the side of a much larger house than they'd seen in the village. There was movement inside, the sound of furniture and debris being cleared from the door. It's occupant would expose themself soon, surprise equalizing Blaise's lack of familiarity for a perfect opportunity. It had seemed almost too favorable that their target was the famously mute Nia Karahalios, who they imagined would not even be able to cry out and alert the other structures when shot...until her outstretched hand revealed a companion.
Now. Practicality aside, between this and their outburst at Sven they were going to begin developing a reputation. An unfair one! Blaise had no particular biases against the differently abled, that was the proper term now no? Really. It was ridiculous to pretend that their handicaps did not limit them. In a way that by definition made them lesser but that was how you say, mathematics? Not less of a person just less...useful. Hmm. No. Even in their own mind they could hear how this played. They would need to reflect on this explanation considerably before questioned on it in interviews, as they certainly would be if they continued to have confrontations like this. God, the think pieces that would storm their return if they gunned down the both of them right now. It would be an insufferable mischaracterization.
Practicality, though. Even if they were both normal-shit they had done it again-, the element of surprise would only cover one of their deaths. Optimistic. it would only cover their first shot, whether it killed or not. Moving targets would be much harder to pin down. Bodies rushing to tear their weapon away moreso. It would be best if they would separate, and eventually they would have to yes? Despite her reputation as an incomprehensible stone cold bitch Nia couldn't seriously have saddled herself as Alexander's replacement seeing eye dog. She would leave him alone for a few moments at least and they would make their move. They would shoot...hmm. Another thorny issue. Did it appear crueler to leave Alexander as figuratively in the dark as they presumed genetics had and kill Nia, or to gun him down when he was defenseless? For the sake of their image at some point it became more unforgivable to abandon someone to die in confused isolation than to put a bullet in their back, and really was it more or less bigoted to not kill someone because of their disability?
When they inevitably left this place their first priority, before friends, family, or medical care, had to be the acquisition of a talented public relations agent.
Irritating though the tangle of general moral perception may be, it provided a worthwhile distraction as Blaise stalked their prey into the gardens. Rain covered the sounds of their footsteps in the overgrowth while occupational conversation kept the pair from examining the surroundings too closely. It was a challenge, but opportunity would come. A few minutes passed, Nia and Alexander paused.
Blaise waited.
Ten minutes.
Waited, resolve steeled.
Fifteen minutes.
Waited, senses focused.
Twenty minutes.
Waited, sights dialed.
Thirty minutes.
Waited, finger- oh fuck all of this.
Bang.
Nia's hand had, conveniently, already been curled around the grip of her pistol. Waiting for an excuse for her planned course of action. Waiting for a sign.
It didn't come in the form she expected.
She remembered, viscerally, sent back in time what had only been a day prior and yet felt like an eternity—the explosion at Michael's fingertips. This one was further away, her ears could barely pick up the direction it had come from with the wind and the rain. Was it strange, that only a second exposure to a gunshot was enough that she could rationalize it, not freezing in fear for longer than a fraction of a second? It was incredible, indescribable, what the human mind could rationalize given time, adrenaline shot through her veins and brought time to a standstill.
She let go of Alexander's hand, pushed him roughly with her hand and her hip into the best cover the area allowed, the remnants of a crumbling stone arch. She didn't expect it to stand up to gunfire for long, but it was better than nothing. She recalled, in fractions and milliseconds, considering how easy Alexander would be to abandon if they were shot at, what a good shield he would be—
She could have laughed again—
Safety off, gun leveled in the direction the bullet had come from, her visibility narrowed to near-nothing by overgrowth and rain and fog but she swore she saw rustling and that was enough to pull the trigger once, twice, three times for luck before ducking behind cover herself.
It didn't come in the form she expected.
She remembered, viscerally, sent back in time what had only been a day prior and yet felt like an eternity—the explosion at Michael's fingertips. This one was further away, her ears could barely pick up the direction it had come from with the wind and the rain. Was it strange, that only a second exposure to a gunshot was enough that she could rationalize it, not freezing in fear for longer than a fraction of a second? It was incredible, indescribable, what the human mind could rationalize given time, adrenaline shot through her veins and brought time to a standstill.
She let go of Alexander's hand, pushed him roughly with her hand and her hip into the best cover the area allowed, the remnants of a crumbling stone arch. She didn't expect it to stand up to gunfire for long, but it was better than nothing. She recalled, in fractions and milliseconds, considering how easy Alexander would be to abandon if they were shot at, what a good shield he would be—
She could have laughed again—
Safety off, gun leveled in the direction the bullet had come from, her visibility narrowed to near-nothing by overgrowth and rain and fog but she swore she saw rustling and that was enough to pull the trigger once, twice, three times for luck before ducking behind cover herself.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
A bang, a punch to the gut (which was rather uncalled for, if you asked Alexander), a push to the side. He was sent sprawling to the slick ground, hands scrambling in front of him in a panic, accidentally banging them off the stone structure that was in front of him.
Ah. Nia must have shoved him behind cover. How kind of her.
Alexander stayed low to the ground and covered his head as Nia returned their attacker's greeting with three sharp cracks. All he could do was hope her aim was true; and not think about the wet, spreading numbness in his stomach.
Ah. Nia must have shoved him behind cover. How kind of her.
Alexander stayed low to the ground and covered his head as Nia returned their attacker's greeting with three sharp cracks. All he could do was hope her aim was true; and not think about the wet, spreading numbness in his stomach.
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Emprexx Plush
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Oh fuck all of this!
Now what Blaise absolutely, positively, 100% certainly without any room for debate did not think when Nia returned fire was that given their sample size so far all the invalids on this island were exceptionally ill mannered. Hypothetically if they had had such an inappropriate thought in the heat of the moment it would have nothing to do with the returned gun fire and everything to do with immediately abandoning her accomplice. He was dying! Probably! They'd had an age and a half to line that shot up, no one could have fucked that up. She should be trying and failing to patch him up so that Blaise could round the corner and blow a hole through her skull, putting both of them out of their misery with minimal fuss for all involved. Her marksmanship was clearly no better than their own, yet she was awfully quick to return fire. Was she...had Blaise...no, that was absurd, she was taking so long about it. On the other hand maybe she was trying to work up the nerve, or they were having some sort of debate about it. They couldn't make out Alexander's side of the conversation or make heads or tails of whatever nonsense Nia was doing with his hand, but given her initiative one had to wonder...no, one could only conclude.
Nia was about to kill Alexander herself, either at his request or for her own purposes. Taken as a logical puzzle the situation was intriguing, but in reality Blaise had little interest musing over it when her attention would turn on them the moment they were discovered.
The shooting stopped. They held their breath and waited a few seconds. Through the brush they saw no sign of Nia, or Alexander. Was she tending to him? Had he died? Had she killed him? They had ducked low as soon as the first shot went off, any number of them could have been aimed at him instead.
Fuck. All. Of. This.
They crept backwards just as cautiously as they came, eyes on Nia's last position whenever they paused until they were thirty, forty feet away at least. Still no sign of the girl, and no more gunshots. She could be anywhere.
They bolted back for the houses and hoped for the best.
((Blaise D'Aramtiz Continued In Sleep Is The Cousin of Death))
Now what Blaise absolutely, positively, 100% certainly without any room for debate did not think when Nia returned fire was that given their sample size so far all the invalids on this island were exceptionally ill mannered. Hypothetically if they had had such an inappropriate thought in the heat of the moment it would have nothing to do with the returned gun fire and everything to do with immediately abandoning her accomplice. He was dying! Probably! They'd had an age and a half to line that shot up, no one could have fucked that up. She should be trying and failing to patch him up so that Blaise could round the corner and blow a hole through her skull, putting both of them out of their misery with minimal fuss for all involved. Her marksmanship was clearly no better than their own, yet she was awfully quick to return fire. Was she...had Blaise...no, that was absurd, she was taking so long about it. On the other hand maybe she was trying to work up the nerve, or they were having some sort of debate about it. They couldn't make out Alexander's side of the conversation or make heads or tails of whatever nonsense Nia was doing with his hand, but given her initiative one had to wonder...no, one could only conclude.
Nia was about to kill Alexander herself, either at his request or for her own purposes. Taken as a logical puzzle the situation was intriguing, but in reality Blaise had little interest musing over it when her attention would turn on them the moment they were discovered.
The shooting stopped. They held their breath and waited a few seconds. Through the brush they saw no sign of Nia, or Alexander. Was she tending to him? Had he died? Had she killed him? They had ducked low as soon as the first shot went off, any number of them could have been aimed at him instead.
Fuck. All. Of. This.
They crept backwards just as cautiously as they came, eyes on Nia's last position whenever they paused until they were thirty, forty feet away at least. Still no sign of the girl, and no more gunshots. She could be anywhere.
They bolted back for the houses and hoped for the best.
((Blaise D'Aramtiz Continued In Sleep Is The Cousin of Death))
Her hands were numb.
Considering the circumstances it was sheer luck that had prevented Nia from needing to fire her gun before now, and in retrospect it would have been smart of her to find some opportunity to have done some target practice. Not that that would have compensated from her disadvantages here, with the lack of visibility complicated further by having been ambushed, but at least she wouldn't have been quite so surprised by the recoil. She had knowledge both shallow and deep in many subjects of varying applicability to island life, but perhaps her biggest regret in pointless hindsight was never having much interest in guns. Technical specifications made for dull memorization, more than enough to steer her away from the subject, and thus her knowledge was so shallow and broad that off the top of her head she wasn't entirely sure what made an assault rifle different from a plain old "rifle".
As long as she could learn her own gun, it didn't matter much. She had been—or, rather, Alexander had been, but the difference was irrelevant at this stage—issued a fairly sizeable amount of ammunition, certainly enough she could spare to waste a few bullets on a tree to learn to steady her aim. It was worth a discussion once they were elsewhere, though she'd have to make a point of warning Alexander, lest he run away in a panic and trip himself or somesuch.
Almost funny how quickly her priorities had changed, faced with actual danger. It was a tight fit behind the arc between the two of them and might not be safe for long but she glanced at Alexander, wondering for a moment how she had—
air whistled between her teeth.
She was on the ground immediately, the rational, logical part of her brain, always in charge, screaming at her that her backside was out of cover but there was grass and ivy and chunks of debris, she was probably fine, there were no more gunshots anyway. What there was was blood in familiar quantities and she remembered, viscerally, as though it had passed only moments before, watching the life fade rapidly from—
what was she supposed to do
there were no more gunshots in the air. She wasn't entirely sure she would run from them if there were, paralyzed as she was by the blooming red stain in Alexander's shirt. She didn't know much about guns, but she knew quite a lot about bodies, blood, wounds, she had read and she had studied and she had thought herself prepared and that preparation had already proven itself meaningless and here she was, again, staring blankly at a boy who couldn't even see her.
She was going to shoot him.
She couldn't imagine.
She scrambled for her bag, dropped in the chaos, she had a spare sweater, the only item of clothing she'd brought with her, in moments she was pressing it to his stomach and watching blood creep through the fibers. Pointless effort, she knew, but she had to try this time, she couldn't sit and stare and cry again and again and again and lose everything, she had almost nothing left and she was watching what she had drain out into the garden soil.
Not today, she thought, pointlessly, not now, not here, not me, I deserve—
She deserved nothing, but she would try, anyway.
Considering the circumstances it was sheer luck that had prevented Nia from needing to fire her gun before now, and in retrospect it would have been smart of her to find some opportunity to have done some target practice. Not that that would have compensated from her disadvantages here, with the lack of visibility complicated further by having been ambushed, but at least she wouldn't have been quite so surprised by the recoil. She had knowledge both shallow and deep in many subjects of varying applicability to island life, but perhaps her biggest regret in pointless hindsight was never having much interest in guns. Technical specifications made for dull memorization, more than enough to steer her away from the subject, and thus her knowledge was so shallow and broad that off the top of her head she wasn't entirely sure what made an assault rifle different from a plain old "rifle".
As long as she could learn her own gun, it didn't matter much. She had been—or, rather, Alexander had been, but the difference was irrelevant at this stage—issued a fairly sizeable amount of ammunition, certainly enough she could spare to waste a few bullets on a tree to learn to steady her aim. It was worth a discussion once they were elsewhere, though she'd have to make a point of warning Alexander, lest he run away in a panic and trip himself or somesuch.
Almost funny how quickly her priorities had changed, faced with actual danger. It was a tight fit behind the arc between the two of them and might not be safe for long but she glanced at Alexander, wondering for a moment how she had—
air whistled between her teeth.
She was on the ground immediately, the rational, logical part of her brain, always in charge, screaming at her that her backside was out of cover but there was grass and ivy and chunks of debris, she was probably fine, there were no more gunshots anyway. What there was was blood in familiar quantities and she remembered, viscerally, as though it had passed only moments before, watching the life fade rapidly from—
what was she supposed to do
there were no more gunshots in the air. She wasn't entirely sure she would run from them if there were, paralyzed as she was by the blooming red stain in Alexander's shirt. She didn't know much about guns, but she knew quite a lot about bodies, blood, wounds, she had read and she had studied and she had thought herself prepared and that preparation had already proven itself meaningless and here she was, again, staring blankly at a boy who couldn't even see her.
She was going to shoot him.
She couldn't imagine.
She scrambled for her bag, dropped in the chaos, she had a spare sweater, the only item of clothing she'd brought with her, in moments she was pressing it to his stomach and watching blood creep through the fibers. Pointless effort, she knew, but she had to try this time, she couldn't sit and stare and cry again and again and again and lose everything, she had almost nothing left and she was watching what she had drain out into the garden soil.
Not today, she thought, pointlessly, not now, not here, not me, I deserve—
She deserved nothing, but she would try, anyway.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."