The knife wasn't supposed to actually hurt Roxanne, it was just supposed to be a deterrent. Marceline didn't want to do her friend any really harm, even though the other girl was clearly trying to kill her. She couldn't stomach the idea of having to kill another friend, even if it was self-defense. Diego had killed a friend in self defense, and he hadn't seemed to have been any happier with the end result than she was with Amelia.
Roxanne was the only friend she had left. If Roxanne died then that would be it, she would be truly alone. She knew it had to happen eventually if she wanted to leave, but she didn't want to actively make it happen. If anything, she had wanted to delay it for as long as possible, or at least not be directly responsible for it in the end.
When the charge happened, she anticipated it and feinted, trying to get Roxanne to back off and reconsider her actions. The bluff didn't work, though, and Roxanne kept coming anyway. The dagger's edge met her skin, causing searing pain to erupt in her left hand. She reflexively jerked it back, only to let go of the knife in the process. Roxanne immediately dove for it, snatching it out of the air before she had the time to react.
Marceline panicked, rearing her foot back, before delivering a swift kick to Roxanne's ribs, the impact sent the other girl reeling once again. Marceline jumped back to get some space between them, before drawing the sword from its sheathe with her good hand as Roxanne stood back up.
Both of them heaved from exertion as they stared at one another, the downpour continuing unabated around them.
Marceline didn't want to do this, but there was no other way out, was there? She didn't know what she could say to make Roxanne back down, if pleading hadn't worked.
One last chance, that was all she had left to give. Then if Roxanne didn't take it...
She didn't want to think about that.
"Roxy... don't make me do this... please..."
Beyond Human (Barely Human)
Day 12. Private. You know why.
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VoltTurtle
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Their fight had devolved into a tepid, predictable back and forth. Roxanne was barely even bleeding, though she was winded from Marceline’s kick. Each indecisive clash had ended in the same way, with Roxanne being summarily but temporarily repelled. Marceline was running out of weapons. This couldn’t last forever.
They sized each other up, one last time. Marceline selfishly begged, one last time for Roxanne to die somewhere she wouldn’t have to see it. Coward. More than her hypocrite’s tears, it hurt that she still didn’t understand, even at the end.
She hadn’t once tried to convince Roxanne that she was wrong. That there was something more to live for than just killing or being killed. This was the only possible endpoint of Marceline’s - the island’s philosophy, yet her hands were too stained to ever reject it. How could she blame Roxanne for giving up, for living the same way?
There was a grim satisfaction in knowing that even her death would leave a permanent mark on Marceline’s psyche, and Roxanne couldn’t pretend that she’d ever be able to forget Marceline’s dying gasps, either. They knew each other too well.
And shouldn’t the victor suffer? It was the least they owed to the restless spirits of those who paved their way, the faustian price they paid for survival. Roxanne had already sealed that contract the moment she stained her knife with Marceline’s blood, something that could never be taken back. Only the beginning of her regrets.
After all, Roxanne knew the one thing Marceline could never forgive. Maybe it would finally set them both free.
“Last night, I met Blaise. I let them walk away from me. We didn’t even try to kill each other.” This time, she waited for a reaction. Couldn’t get too predictable.
They sized each other up, one last time. Marceline selfishly begged, one last time for Roxanne to die somewhere she wouldn’t have to see it. Coward. More than her hypocrite’s tears, it hurt that she still didn’t understand, even at the end.
She hadn’t once tried to convince Roxanne that she was wrong. That there was something more to live for than just killing or being killed. This was the only possible endpoint of Marceline’s - the island’s philosophy, yet her hands were too stained to ever reject it. How could she blame Roxanne for giving up, for living the same way?
There was a grim satisfaction in knowing that even her death would leave a permanent mark on Marceline’s psyche, and Roxanne couldn’t pretend that she’d ever be able to forget Marceline’s dying gasps, either. They knew each other too well.
And shouldn’t the victor suffer? It was the least they owed to the restless spirits of those who paved their way, the faustian price they paid for survival. Roxanne had already sealed that contract the moment she stained her knife with Marceline’s blood, something that could never be taken back. Only the beginning of her regrets.
After all, Roxanne knew the one thing Marceline could never forgive. Maybe it would finally set them both free.
“Last night, I met Blaise. I let them walk away from me. We didn’t even try to kill each other.” This time, she waited for a reaction. Couldn’t get too predictable.
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VoltTurtle
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Marceline froze up, staring wide eyed and slack jawed at Roxanne.
"You... didn't..."
After everything d'Aramitz had done, to the both of them, Roxanne just let them go?
And yet was now trying to kill her, instead?
She took a sharp, deep breath in, before glaring at her former friend.
"Alright Roxy, I get it," she murmured, flatly, just loud enough to be heard over the rain and wind. "If you want me quit holding back, then I will."
"You... didn't..."
After everything d'Aramitz had done, to the both of them, Roxanne just let them go?
And yet was now trying to kill her, instead?
She took a sharp, deep breath in, before glaring at her former friend.
"Alright Roxy, I get it," she murmured, flatly, just loud enough to be heard over the rain and wind. "If you want me quit holding back, then I will."
Roxanne closed her eyes for a moment. Breathing, feeling every new wound on her body screaming for attention.
Then, she smiled at her friend. The memory of Marceline, not the girl standing before her with long-overdue hate in her eyes. They were both already dead, but Blaise didn’t even deserve to exorcise their ghosts. This way, the loser would be spared such a disgraceful, anonymous death, and the winner would finally have the strength to overcome anything.
Roxanne vaguely realized how insane this would have sounded to anyone else, even the aimless girl she had been just a few days ago, but that was okay. She wasn’t really herself anymore.
“Thank you,” she murmured, not sure if Marceline would even hear it. That was okay, too.
There was nothing more to say. She attacked, carrying death in each hand.
Then, she smiled at her friend. The memory of Marceline, not the girl standing before her with long-overdue hate in her eyes. They were both already dead, but Blaise didn’t even deserve to exorcise their ghosts. This way, the loser would be spared such a disgraceful, anonymous death, and the winner would finally have the strength to overcome anything.
Roxanne vaguely realized how insane this would have sounded to anyone else, even the aimless girl she had been just a few days ago, but that was okay. She wasn’t really herself anymore.
“Thank you,” she murmured, not sure if Marceline would even hear it. That was okay, too.
There was nothing more to say. She attacked, carrying death in each hand.
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VoltTurtle
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And as soon as Roxanne got close, Marceline swung the sword with everything she had, right at her friend's torso.
The following sensation of metal cleaving through flesh felt all too familiar to her. The blade only stopped when it hit what felt like bone, leaving a grisly injury in its wake that she could only describe as being "half-bisected".
With that injury, Roxanne's momentum halted, the tips of her twin blades stopped inches from Marceline's face, only for them to fall free from her grasp.
Just like that, it was over.
The following sensation of metal cleaving through flesh felt all too familiar to her. The blade only stopped when it hit what felt like bone, leaving a grisly injury in its wake that she could only describe as being "half-bisected".
With that injury, Roxanne's momentum halted, the tips of her twin blades stopped inches from Marceline's face, only for them to fall free from her grasp.
Just like that, it was over.
clarity was a charitable word to describe the sensation that accompanied the indescribable pain of being almost totally cleaved with a sword
a sword a literal sword dragons were supposed to die by the sword, not princesses, but she was not cut from marble even though she had lived her life just as listlessly as a statue, and there was no moon to blanket her with comforting madness
and still despite everything this was the best she could have hoped for this was the best she could have hoped for dying at the hands of a friend who would not forget her dying in a moment of if not triumph than at least a moment of self-actualization dying as more than just a bystander dying as an attempted murderer dying pointlessly out of spite in the way she knew would hurt Marceline the most
with clarity came resignation, or maybe they were one and the same, there was no transformation no ascension no truth, either within or without, the island forsook failures so she’d been doomed from the beginning
she had thrown herself into the flames to be reforged but instead she was just melting away, the layers of armor and pretense and bullshit that formed her nickname slash persona which was in all honesty far more the former couldn’t hide her hollowness any more than they could stop her blood from flowing out of her body, the performance was over
“Oh,” Anna said, staring vacantly forward, daggers clattered to the ground from her now-limp hands. She would have fallen, but the sword embedded in her side kindly kept her upright.
a sword a literal sword dragons were supposed to die by the sword, not princesses, but she was not cut from marble even though she had lived her life just as listlessly as a statue, and there was no moon to blanket her with comforting madness
and still despite everything this was the best she could have hoped for this was the best she could have hoped for dying at the hands of a friend who would not forget her dying in a moment of if not triumph than at least a moment of self-actualization dying as more than just a bystander dying as an attempted murderer dying pointlessly out of spite in the way she knew would hurt Marceline the most
with clarity came resignation, or maybe they were one and the same, there was no transformation no ascension no truth, either within or without, the island forsook failures so she’d been doomed from the beginning
she had thrown herself into the flames to be reforged but instead she was just melting away, the layers of armor and pretense and bullshit that formed her nickname slash persona which was in all honesty far more the former couldn’t hide her hollowness any more than they could stop her blood from flowing out of her body, the performance was over
“Oh,” Anna said, staring vacantly forward, daggers clattered to the ground from her now-limp hands. She would have fallen, but the sword embedded in her side kindly kept her upright.
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VoltTurtle
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It was only in the immediate aftermath, when Roxanne's blood started spilling out of her in horrifying volume, that Marceline finally realized what she just did.
Roxanne was dying, fast. She hadn't wanted this, she couldn't go through this again. Regret followed quickly in the wake of Marceline's attack, along with a healthy dose of both guilt and panic. Acting impulsively in order to help and believing for the briefest moment that removing the blade would prevent further damage, she ripped the sword out of Roxanne's body. She only realized how bad of an idea that was and just how much worse that made it when Roxanne promptly collapsed to the ground.
"Roxy!" she yelped, letting go of the sword and immediately dropping to her friend's side.
Up to this point, she hadn't wanted to consider just what would happen when Roxanne inevitably died. She knew that it had to come eventually if she was to leave this place alive, but she hadn't wanted to think about how that would make her feel afterwards. She knew, however, that she would have preferred hearing it over the loudspeakers rather than be the one to do it herself. Was that bad? Wanting her friend to die somewhere out of sight and out of mind, just to make it easier to stomach?
Roxanne certainly seemed to think so.
Marceline hoped that wasn't why she had done this.
Staring wide-eyed, she tried to think of something to say to her imminently dying friend, watching as the blood mixed and pooled with the rain and mud underneath them. Nothing came out though, because there was nothing left for her to say, nothing left that she could ask. Another friend was dying right in front of her again, it was her fault again, and there was nothing she could do to stop it again. She had chosen to survive, to not back down when Roxanne challenged her, and now she was paying the emotional toll that entailed.
She could always attempt to hasten it, minimize her friend's suffering like she tried to do with Amelia, but she had messed that up last time, and her immediate instincts had only made it worse this time. For fear of making the situation worse and lacking any other ideas, she decided not to interfere any further, and instead do what she did before. Slowly, gently, she cradled her friend's head in her lap, and stroked the side of her head.
"There, there," she soothed, tears welling up in her eyes, only to be washed away by the rain. "I've got you."
Roxanne was dying, fast. She hadn't wanted this, she couldn't go through this again. Regret followed quickly in the wake of Marceline's attack, along with a healthy dose of both guilt and panic. Acting impulsively in order to help and believing for the briefest moment that removing the blade would prevent further damage, she ripped the sword out of Roxanne's body. She only realized how bad of an idea that was and just how much worse that made it when Roxanne promptly collapsed to the ground.
"Roxy!" she yelped, letting go of the sword and immediately dropping to her friend's side.
Up to this point, she hadn't wanted to consider just what would happen when Roxanne inevitably died. She knew that it had to come eventually if she was to leave this place alive, but she hadn't wanted to think about how that would make her feel afterwards. She knew, however, that she would have preferred hearing it over the loudspeakers rather than be the one to do it herself. Was that bad? Wanting her friend to die somewhere out of sight and out of mind, just to make it easier to stomach?
Roxanne certainly seemed to think so.
Marceline hoped that wasn't why she had done this.
Staring wide-eyed, she tried to think of something to say to her imminently dying friend, watching as the blood mixed and pooled with the rain and mud underneath them. Nothing came out though, because there was nothing left for her to say, nothing left that she could ask. Another friend was dying right in front of her again, it was her fault again, and there was nothing she could do to stop it again. She had chosen to survive, to not back down when Roxanne challenged her, and now she was paying the emotional toll that entailed.
She could always attempt to hasten it, minimize her friend's suffering like she tried to do with Amelia, but she had messed that up last time, and her immediate instincts had only made it worse this time. For fear of making the situation worse and lacking any other ideas, she decided not to interfere any further, and instead do what she did before. Slowly, gently, she cradled her friend's head in her lap, and stroked the side of her head.
"There, there," she soothed, tears welling up in her eyes, only to be washed away by the rain. "I've got you."
She'd gotten Roxy, yes. In a way.
It was the aftermath of a storm deep out at sea, much as Kelly had never imagined such a moment outside of bit of English and dire imagination. All that melodrama, the crashing waves, the men overboard and the women and the children first, and all that was left of the ships were sea-foam choked wreckage. Flotsam disrespectfully placid as it drifted along, as if the ship's violent end had never been relevant. A full life's worth of story was swallowed away, ignobly, without a monument to it's passing.
Her bloody tragedy was strictly meaningless, and therein lay the problem. Roxy had been Kelly's reflection, after all.
Kelly trudged over. The bullet clipped something on the back of her knee, she didn't know what, but now one of her legs could only hesitatingly stumble, dragging like the weight of all the world. The rain was callous, and Kelly was obligated to put up a hand against her brow. Even a single blink out of place betrayed weakness that was unbecoming. She'd given away too much of herself, too many pounds of flesh, to be anything less than fully composed as she intruded on the quaint scene of one friend burying another.
So she told herself. A moment passed, that she might have been entertaining the fact that she'd miss Roxy. Above and beyond what the poor girl's failure represented.
The shotgun almost introduced itself to Marceline's shoulder. It would have been an accident, gravity briefly wresting from Kelly her domain as her uneven gait put a rocking sway into the gun cradled in her one hand that she tightly wound her fingers around. Marceline was irrelevant- always had been, in hindsight. This moment was about Roxy, and blowing out Marceline's brains would be no more an appraisal of the worth of the dying halves of a girl than anything else Roxy had sputtered out on in her short lifespan.
Kelly's eyes remained stoic, anyhow. She hovered vaguely at the still-beating corpse, lurking in Marceline's shadow, unbothered by its all-too-fresh stench. But she'd almost asked if Roxy wanted it over a bit quicker. She'd earned that much... But Kelly knew the answer to that question before even asking it.
"Did... did you find an answer?" Kelly gulped away the dry and the stiff, before she choked. "Roxy."
It was the aftermath of a storm deep out at sea, much as Kelly had never imagined such a moment outside of bit of English and dire imagination. All that melodrama, the crashing waves, the men overboard and the women and the children first, and all that was left of the ships were sea-foam choked wreckage. Flotsam disrespectfully placid as it drifted along, as if the ship's violent end had never been relevant. A full life's worth of story was swallowed away, ignobly, without a monument to it's passing.
Her bloody tragedy was strictly meaningless, and therein lay the problem. Roxy had been Kelly's reflection, after all.
Kelly trudged over. The bullet clipped something on the back of her knee, she didn't know what, but now one of her legs could only hesitatingly stumble, dragging like the weight of all the world. The rain was callous, and Kelly was obligated to put up a hand against her brow. Even a single blink out of place betrayed weakness that was unbecoming. She'd given away too much of herself, too many pounds of flesh, to be anything less than fully composed as she intruded on the quaint scene of one friend burying another.
So she told herself. A moment passed, that she might have been entertaining the fact that she'd miss Roxy. Above and beyond what the poor girl's failure represented.
The shotgun almost introduced itself to Marceline's shoulder. It would have been an accident, gravity briefly wresting from Kelly her domain as her uneven gait put a rocking sway into the gun cradled in her one hand that she tightly wound her fingers around. Marceline was irrelevant- always had been, in hindsight. This moment was about Roxy, and blowing out Marceline's brains would be no more an appraisal of the worth of the dying halves of a girl than anything else Roxy had sputtered out on in her short lifespan.
Kelly's eyes remained stoic, anyhow. She hovered vaguely at the still-beating corpse, lurking in Marceline's shadow, unbothered by its all-too-fresh stench. But she'd almost asked if Roxy wanted it over a bit quicker. She'd earned that much... But Kelly knew the answer to that question before even asking it.
"Did... did you find an answer?" Kelly gulped away the dry and the stiff, before she choked. "Roxy."
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
Was there freedom in knowing that nothing you did could ever make a difference? Only here, at the end, was Anna finally free from consequence. It barely mattered if she died cursing the world, or with a beatific smile on her face. She had no great parting wisdom, no deathbed confessions, nothing that could change another’s heart.
Whatever she did, soon enough Marcy and Kelly would carry on with the rest of their lives, and she would be dead. Perhaps If she struggled, she could squirm to the side and fade away face down in the mud rather than cradled in Marcy’s lap, but the thought didn’t really appeal. She could barely even feel Marcy’s fingers on her face, which was probably better than feeling everything.
She blinked and Kelly was there by her side. Not mortally injured or attacking Marcy. Almost too good to be true, but if she was hallucinating, she’d like to think that Alexander or Beryl would be there instead.
It felt almost jarring to hear her nickname, now. To the world at large, Anna would rot with the name she was born with, and that was alright. Still, she didn’t bother to correct her friends. Roxanne had done what Anna had always wanted to do, been cool in a way she’d always aspired to, but there had never been any meaningful difference between them. The change had come from within herself, if only she’d been able to realize that sooner.
“I don’t think there was ever anything to find,” she mumbled. She should have apologized, or thanked them, or at least asked them politely not to kill each other for five minutes, but the world was falling apart and she was left with the same old bullshit she’d had all along. Self-contradicting philosophies, abstract to the point of meaninglessness.
“Don’t end up like me, alright?” Not the most famous last words, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about legacies anymore, about worlds she’d never get to see. She wasn’t even sure what she meant. Don’t end up dead? Hopeless? Hollow?
They’d have to figure it out, she guessed.
Anna lost consciousness. She stopped breathing soon after.
Whatever she did, soon enough Marcy and Kelly would carry on with the rest of their lives, and she would be dead. Perhaps If she struggled, she could squirm to the side and fade away face down in the mud rather than cradled in Marcy’s lap, but the thought didn’t really appeal. She could barely even feel Marcy’s fingers on her face, which was probably better than feeling everything.
She blinked and Kelly was there by her side. Not mortally injured or attacking Marcy. Almost too good to be true, but if she was hallucinating, she’d like to think that Alexander or Beryl would be there instead.
It felt almost jarring to hear her nickname, now. To the world at large, Anna would rot with the name she was born with, and that was alright. Still, she didn’t bother to correct her friends. Roxanne had done what Anna had always wanted to do, been cool in a way she’d always aspired to, but there had never been any meaningful difference between them. The change had come from within herself, if only she’d been able to realize that sooner.
“I don’t think there was ever anything to find,” she mumbled. She should have apologized, or thanked them, or at least asked them politely not to kill each other for five minutes, but the world was falling apart and she was left with the same old bullshit she’d had all along. Self-contradicting philosophies, abstract to the point of meaninglessness.
“Don’t end up like me, alright?” Not the most famous last words, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about legacies anymore, about worlds she’d never get to see. She wasn’t even sure what she meant. Don’t end up dead? Hopeless? Hollow?
They’d have to figure it out, she guessed.
Anna lost consciousness. She stopped breathing soon after.
Surrender and silence.
That wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. But Kelly was used to being denied the last laugh. Once again she had to grit her teeth and bear the intrusion of their reality. Roxy and Kelly had yet to have escaped the confines of expectations and inertia, of boring old school days ad infinitium. Roxy, ultimately, never had escaped.
Kelly bore her legacy, she supposed. If Roxy had never opened her eyes before closing them for good, had never seen the clear skies above before the blood of her decaying body had begun to spill into the hollow behind her iris... It would give her focus, perhaps. Not something she'd lacked for, but it... mattered. Kelly didn't quite know how to put it. As far as she'd come, she still felt something was perhaps holding her back. Physically, she was only marginally less broken to bits than Roxy's cooling corpse. Mentally, only marginally less gone than the greasy pink flesh pile desperately holding onto the dead things that were her own fault.
Still she stood, and proudly. She was slower now, as she began to stomp away in silence. But the determination remained.
One last musing, only lasting so long as to totally dismiss Marceline's fate. It would be the culmination of a lack of vision, of one misstep too many, letting her lifeline go to cling onto another that she cut with her own gut smeared blade.
She was already soon-to-be dead.
((She abandoned Roxy at last, a tad bit later in time than her last and best friend had.))
That wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. But Kelly was used to being denied the last laugh. Once again she had to grit her teeth and bear the intrusion of their reality. Roxy and Kelly had yet to have escaped the confines of expectations and inertia, of boring old school days ad infinitium. Roxy, ultimately, never had escaped.
Kelly bore her legacy, she supposed. If Roxy had never opened her eyes before closing them for good, had never seen the clear skies above before the blood of her decaying body had begun to spill into the hollow behind her iris... It would give her focus, perhaps. Not something she'd lacked for, but it... mattered. Kelly didn't quite know how to put it. As far as she'd come, she still felt something was perhaps holding her back. Physically, she was only marginally less broken to bits than Roxy's cooling corpse. Mentally, only marginally less gone than the greasy pink flesh pile desperately holding onto the dead things that were her own fault.
Still she stood, and proudly. She was slower now, as she began to stomp away in silence. But the determination remained.
One last musing, only lasting so long as to totally dismiss Marceline's fate. It would be the culmination of a lack of vision, of one misstep too many, letting her lifeline go to cling onto another that she cut with her own gut smeared blade.
She was already soon-to-be dead.
((She abandoned Roxy at last, a tad bit later in time than her last and best friend had.))
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
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VoltTurtle
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Kelly came and went with Marceline only dimly aware of her presence, too focused on the dying Roxanne for her to notice or care.
When Roxanne's breathing finally stopped, Marceline remained, only ceasing her gentle caressing of her friend's face. She did not move out of the rain and mud. Instead, she remained, staring vacantly at the pile of meat and blood that used to be one of her best friends. After some time, long after Kelly's departure, she finally allowed herself to wail. A desperate, pitiful noise made by a desperate, pitiful creature. She brought her hands up to cover her face, to both shield her eyes and hide herself in a juvenile, feckless way.
If you had asked her a day prior, she would have said that killing Amelia had hardened her to the experience of killing a friend, and made it easier for her to deal with having to do it again a second time around.
It did not.
In her grief, her mind swirled between so many thoughts. Memories of the times they had spent together, both good and bad. How she would never be able to hear the sound of her friend's voice, yet another silenced among oh-so-many. The fact that this entire situation was all her fault, top to bottom, just like everything else. How Roxanne's actions had been a reflection of her own, and how harrowing it had felt to be so suddenly betrayed like that. Was that how Amelia had felt, in her final moments? Had Amelia fought back and won, would she have mourned her in the way she was mourning Roxanne? Did these questions, uncertainties, thoughts even matter at all?
She didn't have any answers to her questions, or any kind of recompense for what just transpired, and that frightened her.
Marceline continued to sit still, staring vacantly at the body, Roxanne's head still cradled in her lap.
Another thought occurred to her, as she remained. She was the last member of Beyond Human left, now. In fact, out of all of her friends, she was the last one left. For the first time since she arrived here, the island felt well and truly deserted, as if she was the the one and only person left. That was what she wanted though, right? To be the sole survivor? She certainly felt like it now.
Her mind remained fixated on what she could have done differently, how she could have avoided this outcome. If she had known that Roxanne's death would be the result of her coming down, then she wouldn't have considered the idea. The fact that this outcome hadn't even crossed her mind was yet another damning show of her impulsiveness and failure to plan ahead. Whatever it was that she had wanted to accomplish coming down here, she could say without a doubt that what transpired wasn't what she had wanted.
Except, no, she had wanted this, it was just like with Amelia. Just because it had been self-defense in this case didn't mean that she hadn't wanted Roxanne to die. Kill everyone else by herself if she absolutely had to, right? Except she didn't have the resolve to do it again, to kill another friend in the name of her goal. Was this just the price she had to pay to win? To have what little remained of her sanity tested over and over again? To be forced to reckon with the memories of those she had lost, and carry their memories with her for the rest of her days?
This was horrible. She was horrible. She didn't want to do this anymore.
Yet, what other choice did she have, now? She had already taken three lives, all to keep the promise she had made to Dolly. To stop now, to die now, would render their deaths completely pointless.
She had to keep going, for their sake, she knew that.
Despite that, she did not move.
When Roxanne's breathing finally stopped, Marceline remained, only ceasing her gentle caressing of her friend's face. She did not move out of the rain and mud. Instead, she remained, staring vacantly at the pile of meat and blood that used to be one of her best friends. After some time, long after Kelly's departure, she finally allowed herself to wail. A desperate, pitiful noise made by a desperate, pitiful creature. She brought her hands up to cover her face, to both shield her eyes and hide herself in a juvenile, feckless way.
If you had asked her a day prior, she would have said that killing Amelia had hardened her to the experience of killing a friend, and made it easier for her to deal with having to do it again a second time around.
It did not.
In her grief, her mind swirled between so many thoughts. Memories of the times they had spent together, both good and bad. How she would never be able to hear the sound of her friend's voice, yet another silenced among oh-so-many. The fact that this entire situation was all her fault, top to bottom, just like everything else. How Roxanne's actions had been a reflection of her own, and how harrowing it had felt to be so suddenly betrayed like that. Was that how Amelia had felt, in her final moments? Had Amelia fought back and won, would she have mourned her in the way she was mourning Roxanne? Did these questions, uncertainties, thoughts even matter at all?
She didn't have any answers to her questions, or any kind of recompense for what just transpired, and that frightened her.
Marceline continued to sit still, staring vacantly at the body, Roxanne's head still cradled in her lap.
Another thought occurred to her, as she remained. She was the last member of Beyond Human left, now. In fact, out of all of her friends, she was the last one left. For the first time since she arrived here, the island felt well and truly deserted, as if she was the the one and only person left. That was what she wanted though, right? To be the sole survivor? She certainly felt like it now.
Her mind remained fixated on what she could have done differently, how she could have avoided this outcome. If she had known that Roxanne's death would be the result of her coming down, then she wouldn't have considered the idea. The fact that this outcome hadn't even crossed her mind was yet another damning show of her impulsiveness and failure to plan ahead. Whatever it was that she had wanted to accomplish coming down here, she could say without a doubt that what transpired wasn't what she had wanted.
Except, no, she had wanted this, it was just like with Amelia. Just because it had been self-defense in this case didn't mean that she hadn't wanted Roxanne to die. Kill everyone else by herself if she absolutely had to, right? Except she didn't have the resolve to do it again, to kill another friend in the name of her goal. Was this just the price she had to pay to win? To have what little remained of her sanity tested over and over again? To be forced to reckon with the memories of those she had lost, and carry their memories with her for the rest of her days?
This was horrible. She was horrible. She didn't want to do this anymore.
Yet, what other choice did she have, now? She had already taken three lives, all to keep the promise she had made to Dolly. To stop now, to die now, would render their deaths completely pointless.
She had to keep going, for their sake, she knew that.
Despite that, she did not move.
((Diego Larrosa continues from life's alright in devil town))
The girl stood unmoving in the grass, unresponsive to the footsteps rapidly approaching her. She had not moved one inch since Diego had witnessed her victory from the manor window above a few minutes ago.
He had slowed from a jog to a brisk walk as his feet made contact with the muddy soil. He hadn't realized how strong the storm had been; the manor had insulated them from the wind-driven precipitation, dulled the lashing of rain into a gentle pattering. There was no such respite to be found in the gardens. Diego felt cold and wet already.
He finally came to a stop a few feet from Marceline and the dead girl. It was only there a name came to him. Anna. Roxanne. One of the two. Marceline had just mentioned a friend named Roxy, a few minutes ago. She'd been alive when she'd been mentioned.
It occurred to him that perhaps he should grab her shoulder, rouse her attention somehow, but she'd drifted from him the last time he'd done that. Instead, he called out to her, voice meeker than he would've liked. Somewhat scared.
"Hey. Marceline?"
The girl stood unmoving in the grass, unresponsive to the footsteps rapidly approaching her. She had not moved one inch since Diego had witnessed her victory from the manor window above a few minutes ago.
He had slowed from a jog to a brisk walk as his feet made contact with the muddy soil. He hadn't realized how strong the storm had been; the manor had insulated them from the wind-driven precipitation, dulled the lashing of rain into a gentle pattering. There was no such respite to be found in the gardens. Diego felt cold and wet already.
He finally came to a stop a few feet from Marceline and the dead girl. It was only there a name came to him. Anna. Roxanne. One of the two. Marceline had just mentioned a friend named Roxy, a few minutes ago. She'd been alive when she'd been mentioned.
It occurred to him that perhaps he should grab her shoulder, rouse her attention somehow, but she'd drifted from him the last time he'd done that. Instead, he called out to her, voice meeker than he would've liked. Somewhat scared.
"Hey. Marceline?"
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
A voice stirred Marceline from her stupor. Her sobbing ceased as she looked up at Diego, silently taking him in as they both stood underneath the unrelenting downpour. She opened her mouth as if to speak, only to close it and look away from him. She frowned and shook her head, as if she was mad at herself for even considering speaking, and then began the slow process of getting up. Gently cupping her hand behind Roxanne's head, she slowly inched her legs out from underneath her, before gently placing her head down on the ground, as if her friend was still alive.
Standing now on shaky legs, she took another look at Diego and opened her mouth again, only for nothing to come out. She turned away once more, her glassy eyes affixed to the ground and the corners of her lips still curled into a frown. Instead of speaking, she began to scan the area around her, systematically recollecting her lost weapons one by one, until she finally got to Roxanne's shotgun. It remained where it had been deposited minutes ago. She stared at it silently for some time, reaching down to pick it up. She looked at the rain-slick weapon up and down, holding it tightly, as if it were some kind of venomous snake poised to strike at any time.
Eventually, she let it fall to her side, and began to approach Diego quietly, pistol in one pocket, knife in the other, her sword on her back, and a shotgun in either hand.
She stood next to the shorter boy quietly, vacantly staring at his bare chest instead of looking him in the eyes.
It was then that her sobbing resumed, the shotguns clattering to the ground as she pulled him into a hug.
Standing now on shaky legs, she took another look at Diego and opened her mouth again, only for nothing to come out. She turned away once more, her glassy eyes affixed to the ground and the corners of her lips still curled into a frown. Instead of speaking, she began to scan the area around her, systematically recollecting her lost weapons one by one, until she finally got to Roxanne's shotgun. It remained where it had been deposited minutes ago. She stared at it silently for some time, reaching down to pick it up. She looked at the rain-slick weapon up and down, holding it tightly, as if it were some kind of venomous snake poised to strike at any time.
Eventually, she let it fall to her side, and began to approach Diego quietly, pistol in one pocket, knife in the other, her sword on her back, and a shotgun in either hand.
She stood next to the shorter boy quietly, vacantly staring at his bare chest instead of looking him in the eyes.
It was then that her sobbing resumed, the shotguns clattering to the ground as she pulled him into a hug.
Diego froze for a moment, and then wrapped his arms around her, embraced her tightly. He caressed the back of her shoulders soothingly, spoke with a cooing tone into her ear.
"There, there, Marcy, there, there. It's-"
okay, he wanted to say, but it wasn't. He hadn't helped her, he hadn't done anything. He had no right to say anything was okay.
"I'm here. I'm here."
He needed her to know that, at least.
The two stood in the rain-swept field, still for a moment.
"There, there, Marcy, there, there. It's-"
okay, he wanted to say, but it wasn't. He hadn't helped her, he hadn't done anything. He had no right to say anything was okay.
"I'm here. I'm here."
He needed her to know that, at least.
The two stood in the rain-swept field, still for a moment.
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VoltTurtle
- Posts: 801
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 4:10 pm
- Location: Dreamland
Marceline had needed a hug.
She had needed a hug for a long, long time.
All the people she would have wanted to hug the most were gone, now. Diego was the only person that she could even remotely call a friend left. Except he wasn't a friend, not really. They had shared a few conversations, and had spent exactly one night in each others presence. She could say she trusted him, for a certain manner of trust anyway, given the fact that she was still alive when she had woken up, but it was superficial. He was at best an ally, a relationship forged of pragmatism and convenience, not of love and acceptance.
So no, he wasn't a friend of hers, not really, but he could become one.
That scared her.
She didn't want Diego to be her friend, she didn't want to care about him in the same way that she had cared about Amelia or Roxanne or Beryl or Alex. She didn't want to weep when she saw him die right in front of her, with her powerless to do anything to stop it from happening. She didn't want to find herself two days from now, the two of them the last people left on the whole island, being forced to kill yet another person that she had formed a bond with. She couldn't allow herself to go through this loss again. The collective burden of all the spirits currently weighing her down was enough already.
She appreciated the hug. She appreciated the company. He had done so little for her, but she appreciated it all nonetheless, because she didn't deserve any of it.
But she couldn't stay with him. She couldn't allow herself to make the mistake of getting close.
She let go of the boy, after some time, her eyes puffy and raw from all the tears she had shed. Her face betrayed all her weakness, her vulnerability, all the humanity she still had that she just couldn't seem to kill for the sake of winning. When she spoke, her words were not much more than a shaky, melancholic whisper.
"I need to go. I'm sorry."
She had needed a hug for a long, long time.
All the people she would have wanted to hug the most were gone, now. Diego was the only person that she could even remotely call a friend left. Except he wasn't a friend, not really. They had shared a few conversations, and had spent exactly one night in each others presence. She could say she trusted him, for a certain manner of trust anyway, given the fact that she was still alive when she had woken up, but it was superficial. He was at best an ally, a relationship forged of pragmatism and convenience, not of love and acceptance.
So no, he wasn't a friend of hers, not really, but he could become one.
That scared her.
She didn't want Diego to be her friend, she didn't want to care about him in the same way that she had cared about Amelia or Roxanne or Beryl or Alex. She didn't want to weep when she saw him die right in front of her, with her powerless to do anything to stop it from happening. She didn't want to find herself two days from now, the two of them the last people left on the whole island, being forced to kill yet another person that she had formed a bond with. She couldn't allow herself to go through this loss again. The collective burden of all the spirits currently weighing her down was enough already.
She appreciated the hug. She appreciated the company. He had done so little for her, but she appreciated it all nonetheless, because she didn't deserve any of it.
But she couldn't stay with him. She couldn't allow herself to make the mistake of getting close.
She let go of the boy, after some time, her eyes puffy and raw from all the tears she had shed. Her face betrayed all her weakness, her vulnerability, all the humanity she still had that she just couldn't seem to kill for the sake of winning. When she spoke, her words were not much more than a shaky, melancholic whisper.
"I need to go. I'm sorry."