But they never did. Lucas didn't even say goodbye.
((Katelynne Kirkpatrick continued from earlier in the temple))
No one came by in the last two days, which honestly was a bit of a blessing even though Lucas and Tyrell had both been AWOL. Just Katelynne and Princess in the musty old cathedral, waiting, and waiting, and waiting. At least it was boring. Boring was good.
She had a lot of time to think. Her mind wandered around, thinking about memories of Dante at the animal shelter. Thinking about how Garren was doing... his name never came up in the announcements, right? Daria, too, or the girl with the assault rifle at the beach, or at least Katelynne hoped so. Never got a name. She really wish she had.
Julien was in the announcements, too, along with Lucas. That rice paddies pow wow with Marco felt like a lifetime ago even though it was about, uhm, four days ago? Maybe five? They couldn't have been trapped here for more than a little over a week, but the days were really starting to swirl together like food in a blender.
Katelynne didn't necessarily welcome these thoughts with open arms, but honestly she didn't mind. It was better than the memories of visiting her granddad while he was on his deathbed. Princess was doing fine, but just... there was a lot of feelings Katelynne never had since sophomore year. Not necessarily repressed, but just feelings she didn't miss, triggered every time Princess babbled strawberry nonsense in her fever dreams.
They were starting to run low on water, too, but what was Katelynne supposed to do? Drag Princess with her to the river and back? Leave her here to fend for herself? Katelynne couldn't do it. She had to wait. Had to wait for Tyrell. He'd come back. He wouldn't be like Lucas.
...Sigh.
At least the breeze came back. The night sky still felt damp and oppressive, but at least the coastal winds gave some sort of shelter even if it was just like blowing on a hot bowl of soup.
More importantly, it was time again.
Katelynne stood up from the stoop of the temple and stretched. First her back, then one arm, then the other. She slipped back inside and gently pushed the door forward, leaving a small sliver of light to trickle in. She glided over to where Princess was lying in quiet agony, whipped out the flashlight, and dug around in the slowly depleting first aid kit for the pain pills.
Starting to run out there, too. But it's fine. They'll be fine.
Katelynne licked her dry, cracking lips and gently tapped and shook Princess's shoulder.
"I'm... I'm sorry. It's time again."
Princess of the Night
Day 9 sometime overnight to day 11 post-announcements, private
Princess stayed quiet, stayed in agony.
((Princess McQuillan continued from be with me always, take any form, drive me mad))
Her dreams had been silent this time, anyways.
Or maybe she couldn't have called them dreams. She was very used too... that lingering sensation, the point between wakefulness and not, where there was an echo of world she'd spun for herself like the tallest, and oft most self-aggrandizing, of tales. The things told her by the ghosts in her dreams, her response still half heavy like a dribble of spit over her own lower lip. Only in a dream she had no lips because the sensation of existing was less important than the experience attached. Her lips that didn't exist would begin to coexist with the lips she had that did. A mutual sensation, the dream and the reality that shattered it.
It had passed cleanly this time, as if it had never happened, how her nothingness of sleeping had become more nothingness in waking. Then, a scant second later, her eyes adjusted. She was reminded of pain, and of Katelynne, and then thereafter of a different sort of pain. The quieter sort of pain- her succumbing to being a burden onto others. No less a crick in her obscenely stiff, barely motile neck.
"Don't apologize."
She couldn't tell if she sounded better or not. Her ears might have been as packed with deliciously crusty phlegm as her throat.
"How much have we got...?"
She reached for the cup. Something else occurred to her. A more poetic version of her, AKA a past version of her, AKA a fucking idiot, might have in that moment discerned a spiritual moment, a connection with something primal. Her sixth sense... her narrative contrivance.
She was just hypersensitive, that was the thing. Nerves all raw and bleeding, gently peeled like smooth potatoes by days worth of her degradation. But it rocked through her tailbone- annoyingly, as if she needed more pain? Tremors. Wrong side of the wall from them, and voices accompanying.
"Someone's outside."
She nearly dropped the cup, on accident. Fingers trembling much like the rest of her stiff body started to, in the most tightly wound up of ways where she could barely move but felt like she was infinitely shivering.
((Princess McQuillan continued from be with me always, take any form, drive me mad))
Her dreams had been silent this time, anyways.
Or maybe she couldn't have called them dreams. She was very used too... that lingering sensation, the point between wakefulness and not, where there was an echo of world she'd spun for herself like the tallest, and oft most self-aggrandizing, of tales. The things told her by the ghosts in her dreams, her response still half heavy like a dribble of spit over her own lower lip. Only in a dream she had no lips because the sensation of existing was less important than the experience attached. Her lips that didn't exist would begin to coexist with the lips she had that did. A mutual sensation, the dream and the reality that shattered it.
It had passed cleanly this time, as if it had never happened, how her nothingness of sleeping had become more nothingness in waking. Then, a scant second later, her eyes adjusted. She was reminded of pain, and of Katelynne, and then thereafter of a different sort of pain. The quieter sort of pain- her succumbing to being a burden onto others. No less a crick in her obscenely stiff, barely motile neck.
"Don't apologize."
She couldn't tell if she sounded better or not. Her ears might have been as packed with deliciously crusty phlegm as her throat.
"How much have we got...?"
She reached for the cup. Something else occurred to her. A more poetic version of her, AKA a past version of her, AKA a fucking idiot, might have in that moment discerned a spiritual moment, a connection with something primal. Her sixth sense... her narrative contrivance.
She was just hypersensitive, that was the thing. Nerves all raw and bleeding, gently peeled like smooth potatoes by days worth of her degradation. But it rocked through her tailbone- annoyingly, as if she needed more pain? Tremors. Wrong side of the wall from them, and voices accompanying.
"Someone's outside."
She nearly dropped the cup, on accident. Fingers trembling much like the rest of her stiff body started to, in the most tightly wound up of ways where she could barely move but felt like she was infinitely shivering.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
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Emprexx Plush
- Posts: 1678
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 3:37 pm
- Contact:
((Marco Hart Continues From We're All Excited, We Don't Know Why, Maybe It's 'Cause, We're Gonna Die))
(tw: dysphoria, misgendering, reference to self harm)
Yesterday could be best defined by movement. Marco wasn't highly mobile at the best of times but he found a routine that helped push through the headaches. Ibuprofen chased with plenty of water and a walk as long as Nick was able. Shaking them completely wasn't happening but it helped. Effort cleared the fog out of his head. Add that up with the practical desire to avoid other people for motivation to not linger any one place. Marco kept the map updated with guesses at where the Danger Zones started, shelters, resources, dangers, everything they needed to plan routes in the morning. Between locations they talked about, well, anything that came up. The words weren't as important as their ability to stay connected. Anxiety wasn't isolating him. Staying sharp, staying careful, didn't have to come at the cost of their trust in each other.
The announcements reminded him how much he messed up that decision in the rest of his life. Most days they drifted by with little recognition, names he sort of recognized and could sometimes put faces to but not feelings past the sadness you were supposed to feel whenever someone died. It was hard to register through everything else. The names that hit closer to home, Regina, Adele, some others, they hurt. Distantly. Marco relied on them more than they ever relied on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t cross their minds while they were here and when he thought it like that it sounded really bitter in a way he didn’t intend? They didn’t have to think about him. He hadn’t done enough to make himself important in their lives, it was his fault. Okay? Okay. Just, when it came to reciprocating that made it hard to feel a lot more without seeming like he was faking it, and if he was faking it why was he faking it, wasn’t that really messed up to try and squeeze more grief out of other’s tragedy to make himself feel like a better person? It was like, what did they call it, a parasocial relationship where he was projecting more importance onto their feelings for each other than was there, and wasn’t that more disrespectful than not mourning them in much of a visible way? That made sense didn’t it?
It was where he had been mentally for the last couple of days. Where he should have been when the announcements kicked on this morning. They had been on their way to the temple since earlier that morning, it seemed like a good hideaway until the afternoon as long as nobody was there already. To be honest he was kind of ashamed of it but he barely noticed them coming on at all at first. Nick was right here beside him. Who else was out there for him to worry about? Shauna? Garnet? Princess? Katelynne? Michael? There should have been more, but he was struggling to put more names together. He couldn’t be sure some of them weren’t already gone.
"In a more quiet bit of murder, Theo Walterson was killed when Camilla Bell strangled the life out of him like a nasty weed."
If there was anybody that’d touched his life Marco didn’t deserve to mourn most, it had to be Theo. They’d known each other for all of a week, well more than that but before prom Marco didn’t remember spending much time together. It was one dance, not a date. A couple of loose friends making sure the other wasn’t alone. That was it. Marco hadn’t even texted him back after.
Marco hadn’t texted him.
Theo reached out to a lonely person who was practically a stranger to him. He’d braved Marco’s mom, awkwardness with his own, all Marco’s mood swinging, even started and ended their night together with tasteful gifts. There was no hint he was trying to get anything out of it other than a friend. Theo hadn’t tried to put any moves on him, he hadn’t asked for anything in return. He just wanted them to have a good night together, and maybe this was Marco’s brain editorializing on his intent since he couldn’t say speak for what had been in the other boy’s head but boiled down to its simplest nature was making sure they didn’t feel alone on the most social night of their high school lives. Marco had this way of overcomplicating things by simplifying them into a much greater point than was meant to be made but that was it wasn’t it? Even if Theo hadn’t meant for it to be, it was what he’d done?
And Marco couldn’t even text him.
The picture Marco held of him was one dimensional, based mostly on a few blurry hours where his own narration was unreliable at best, but its impression was of someone who was kind. Selfless. Marco couldn’t imagine Theo hurting anyone or forcing anything that would make them feel threatened. There was always the possibility that he had missed something in his nature, but he couldn’t conceive of him as anything but the awkward but endearing gentleman who had been the only good part of one of the worst nights of his life. And he never would.
Because Marco couldn’t text him back.
It was such a flawless commentary on the way he’d chosen to live his life until now.
When he collapsed in Nick’s arms he tried to explain it. Strain from crying made his headache worse. Words he was already choking on became cloudier. He wasn’t sure how much of it came through intelligibly, and in a concurrent train of thought he wondered how much of it he wanted to make clear. There was a fear that he wouldn’t be able to explain that his breakdown was bigger than one person. Nick had watched him go through so many announcements with muted to null reactions and for him to explode like this over the name of a boy he might not even know, what must he think about that? Were the words even reaching him? Or did he see cracks in the trust Marco had put in him? It wouldn’t be unfair to lose track of his babbling and feel jealous. Used, even, that he’d harboured such strong emotions for someone that he hadn’t mentioned in their days together. The implication that Marco had hid something from him was clear, he was starting to believe it even though he knew it wasn’t true because what if he had? He told himself then and just a moment ago that Theo reached out to him as a friend but just because Theo’s intentions were pure didn’t mean his were; had he thought of it like a date? Had he been hoping Theo wanted more from him than a nice night? Was he disappointed with how things went? He didn’t remember being disappointed but what if he buried it, what if that was what set him off, what if this whole thing was a fake grab for attention to hide that she was disgusting, she was unwanted, she didn’t want to be herself because Nona was a pathetic useless person who made up all these feelings because people who didn’t know the real her liked her more when she gave them a label they could pity, she was weak, she was fake, she was exploitative, she was sick and perverted and she should
His right hand didn’t make it to his left arm before Nick was holding it.
Before he was kissing him.
Before he tensed with his eyes wide and thought about pushing him away.
Before his body collapsed against Nick’s and he let himself be held.
When he stopped crying his head was in Nick’s lap, Nick’s fingers lightly stroking his hair. Marco didn’t know if Nick totally understood what he had been trying to say. He accepted it though. Nick accepted him from the moment he’d spoken his real name. There hadn’t been a moment where Marco looked into his eyes and thought Nick still saw...he could look at him in ways Marco had been afraid of being seen his entire life and still make him feel, the first word that came to mind was desirable but that was a bad habit. Nick wasn’t looking at something he wanted. He was looking at Marco.
Even when he did a lot more than look.
Long hours stretched by when they found a safe hiding place. There was not a lot to do here, so they spent most of it either planning or talking. Taking stock of all of their supplies so they’d be sure they hadn’t run out, making sure the maps were up to date, securing wherever they were staying, chatting about whatever came up. Anything to fill the time. Sometimes stretching, sometimes cuddling, and when they were absolutely certain they were absolutely alone, um, sometimes a combination of the two. Or combinations. They, Nick, there were several, well, the train of thought wasn’t coming together unlike-
It was whiplash, he could tell he was trying to throw himself into a more powerful mood to get out of the one he didn’t want to be in anymore, classic dissociative coping and the healthy thing to do once they got to their next stop would be to sit down with Nick and have a frank and serious discussion of his insecurities to make sure they were on the same page before something blew up in him to get them both in trouble. Very adult. Very responsible.
But Marco sort of hoped before he could get to all that they would make sure they were absolutely alone, and that they were absolutely safe, and once they were less exposed on the path upwards Nick would want to get more exposed on the path oh he was doing it again already wasn’t he?
Nick had returned the energy at least half the times they’d stopped that day in one form or another. There’d been nobody to interrupt them. Days defined by movement of one kind or another, that was how he explained the way his body ached in places he rarely thought about. Fatigue had him so ready to find their place to crash fo the night that they weren’t that far from the door when his hand shot out in front of Nick. “Wait…” He pointed towards the crack. Someone could have been inside, or near enough to sneak up on them if they went in. Any other leg of their journey and he would already have started taking steps back, but they were beat. There wasn’t a plan past this point. They’d have to wing it and that could be riskier than going in quiet. Marco looked at Nick, then the door, then the way they came, and raised an eyebrow. “Should we…?” It was up to him. Marco trusted his decision.
(tw: dysphoria, misgendering, reference to self harm)
Yesterday could be best defined by movement. Marco wasn't highly mobile at the best of times but he found a routine that helped push through the headaches. Ibuprofen chased with plenty of water and a walk as long as Nick was able. Shaking them completely wasn't happening but it helped. Effort cleared the fog out of his head. Add that up with the practical desire to avoid other people for motivation to not linger any one place. Marco kept the map updated with guesses at where the Danger Zones started, shelters, resources, dangers, everything they needed to plan routes in the morning. Between locations they talked about, well, anything that came up. The words weren't as important as their ability to stay connected. Anxiety wasn't isolating him. Staying sharp, staying careful, didn't have to come at the cost of their trust in each other.
The announcements reminded him how much he messed up that decision in the rest of his life. Most days they drifted by with little recognition, names he sort of recognized and could sometimes put faces to but not feelings past the sadness you were supposed to feel whenever someone died. It was hard to register through everything else. The names that hit closer to home, Regina, Adele, some others, they hurt. Distantly. Marco relied on them more than they ever relied on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t cross their minds while they were here and when he thought it like that it sounded really bitter in a way he didn’t intend? They didn’t have to think about him. He hadn’t done enough to make himself important in their lives, it was his fault. Okay? Okay. Just, when it came to reciprocating that made it hard to feel a lot more without seeming like he was faking it, and if he was faking it why was he faking it, wasn’t that really messed up to try and squeeze more grief out of other’s tragedy to make himself feel like a better person? It was like, what did they call it, a parasocial relationship where he was projecting more importance onto their feelings for each other than was there, and wasn’t that more disrespectful than not mourning them in much of a visible way? That made sense didn’t it?
It was where he had been mentally for the last couple of days. Where he should have been when the announcements kicked on this morning. They had been on their way to the temple since earlier that morning, it seemed like a good hideaway until the afternoon as long as nobody was there already. To be honest he was kind of ashamed of it but he barely noticed them coming on at all at first. Nick was right here beside him. Who else was out there for him to worry about? Shauna? Garnet? Princess? Katelynne? Michael? There should have been more, but he was struggling to put more names together. He couldn’t be sure some of them weren’t already gone.
"In a more quiet bit of murder, Theo Walterson was killed when Camilla Bell strangled the life out of him like a nasty weed."
If there was anybody that’d touched his life Marco didn’t deserve to mourn most, it had to be Theo. They’d known each other for all of a week, well more than that but before prom Marco didn’t remember spending much time together. It was one dance, not a date. A couple of loose friends making sure the other wasn’t alone. That was it. Marco hadn’t even texted him back after.
Marco hadn’t texted him.
Theo reached out to a lonely person who was practically a stranger to him. He’d braved Marco’s mom, awkwardness with his own, all Marco’s mood swinging, even started and ended their night together with tasteful gifts. There was no hint he was trying to get anything out of it other than a friend. Theo hadn’t tried to put any moves on him, he hadn’t asked for anything in return. He just wanted them to have a good night together, and maybe this was Marco’s brain editorializing on his intent since he couldn’t say speak for what had been in the other boy’s head but boiled down to its simplest nature was making sure they didn’t feel alone on the most social night of their high school lives. Marco had this way of overcomplicating things by simplifying them into a much greater point than was meant to be made but that was it wasn’t it? Even if Theo hadn’t meant for it to be, it was what he’d done?
And Marco couldn’t even text him.
The picture Marco held of him was one dimensional, based mostly on a few blurry hours where his own narration was unreliable at best, but its impression was of someone who was kind. Selfless. Marco couldn’t imagine Theo hurting anyone or forcing anything that would make them feel threatened. There was always the possibility that he had missed something in his nature, but he couldn’t conceive of him as anything but the awkward but endearing gentleman who had been the only good part of one of the worst nights of his life. And he never would.
Because Marco couldn’t text him back.
It was such a flawless commentary on the way he’d chosen to live his life until now.
When he collapsed in Nick’s arms he tried to explain it. Strain from crying made his headache worse. Words he was already choking on became cloudier. He wasn’t sure how much of it came through intelligibly, and in a concurrent train of thought he wondered how much of it he wanted to make clear. There was a fear that he wouldn’t be able to explain that his breakdown was bigger than one person. Nick had watched him go through so many announcements with muted to null reactions and for him to explode like this over the name of a boy he might not even know, what must he think about that? Were the words even reaching him? Or did he see cracks in the trust Marco had put in him? It wouldn’t be unfair to lose track of his babbling and feel jealous. Used, even, that he’d harboured such strong emotions for someone that he hadn’t mentioned in their days together. The implication that Marco had hid something from him was clear, he was starting to believe it even though he knew it wasn’t true because what if he had? He told himself then and just a moment ago that Theo reached out to him as a friend but just because Theo’s intentions were pure didn’t mean his were; had he thought of it like a date? Had he been hoping Theo wanted more from him than a nice night? Was he disappointed with how things went? He didn’t remember being disappointed but what if he buried it, what if that was what set him off, what if this whole thing was a fake grab for attention to hide that she was disgusting, she was unwanted, she didn’t want to be herself because Nona was a pathetic useless person who made up all these feelings because people who didn’t know the real her liked her more when she gave them a label they could pity, she was weak, she was fake, she was exploitative, she was sick and perverted and she should
His right hand didn’t make it to his left arm before Nick was holding it.
Before he was kissing him.
Before he tensed with his eyes wide and thought about pushing him away.
Before his body collapsed against Nick’s and he let himself be held.
When he stopped crying his head was in Nick’s lap, Nick’s fingers lightly stroking his hair. Marco didn’t know if Nick totally understood what he had been trying to say. He accepted it though. Nick accepted him from the moment he’d spoken his real name. There hadn’t been a moment where Marco looked into his eyes and thought Nick still saw...he could look at him in ways Marco had been afraid of being seen his entire life and still make him feel, the first word that came to mind was desirable but that was a bad habit. Nick wasn’t looking at something he wanted. He was looking at Marco.
Even when he did a lot more than look.
Long hours stretched by when they found a safe hiding place. There was not a lot to do here, so they spent most of it either planning or talking. Taking stock of all of their supplies so they’d be sure they hadn’t run out, making sure the maps were up to date, securing wherever they were staying, chatting about whatever came up. Anything to fill the time. Sometimes stretching, sometimes cuddling, and when they were absolutely certain they were absolutely alone, um, sometimes a combination of the two. Or combinations. They, Nick, there were several, well, the train of thought wasn’t coming together unlike-
It was whiplash, he could tell he was trying to throw himself into a more powerful mood to get out of the one he didn’t want to be in anymore, classic dissociative coping and the healthy thing to do once they got to their next stop would be to sit down with Nick and have a frank and serious discussion of his insecurities to make sure they were on the same page before something blew up in him to get them both in trouble. Very adult. Very responsible.
But Marco sort of hoped before he could get to all that they would make sure they were absolutely alone, and that they were absolutely safe, and once they were less exposed on the path upwards Nick would want to get more exposed on the path oh he was doing it again already wasn’t he?
Nick had returned the energy at least half the times they’d stopped that day in one form or another. There’d been nobody to interrupt them. Days defined by movement of one kind or another, that was how he explained the way his body ached in places he rarely thought about. Fatigue had him so ready to find their place to crash fo the night that they weren’t that far from the door when his hand shot out in front of Nick. “Wait…” He pointed towards the crack. Someone could have been inside, or near enough to sneak up on them if they went in. Any other leg of their journey and he would already have started taking steps back, but they were beat. There wasn’t a plan past this point. They’d have to wing it and that could be riskier than going in quiet. Marco looked at Nick, then the door, then the way they came, and raised an eyebrow. “Should we…?” It was up to him. Marco trusted his decision.
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General Goose
- Posts: 731
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:02 pm
((Nick Ogilvie continued from elsewhere.))
The announcements had hurt, of course. There were, like always, so many names that Nick recognised, so many names that in a normal time he could have gone on about for hours on end, that he could have mourned or cursed or some eclectic fusion of both. It was easier this time around, though. Not easier in the sense that it was less painful, but easier in that Nick's thoughts were focused. He could think about Axel, shut out all the other names and just...it was easier, really, having one name that hurt so much more than all the others. Concentrated things. Saved Nick the trouble of having to sift through and organise his thoughts before he could begin all the mourning process.
Axel had probably been the name on that list that he'd been closest to before all the shit hit the fan, but it was their meeting on the island that stuck in his mind the most. It was the only thing that seemed real now, that seemed to be part of the same...lifetime, the same timeline. All of that shit from before, it wasn't that Nick thought it no longer mattered or that it no longer shaped him, but this was a life defined by Beryl and Darlene and Henry and Michael and Yuka and Teresa and Marco, and almost everyone else might have just been a fictional character. A fictional character that carried strong aesops, powerful memories, left some indelible marks on his character, maybe, but there was a sort of barrier between him and them, some sort of nonsensical discontinuity. It sucked that he didn't even have that as he died - the comfort that his life before had truly been his, that there was some overarching continuity in his life that others could maybe use to find some kind of value in it.
And that encounter with Axel had sorta kept Nick feeling...grounded. Semi-reasonable. Like he hadn't been completely cast adrift. Marco was, of course, great, but Nick had not really known Marco that while back in Tennessee. How could he have, was the pathetic excuse, when Nick hadn't even known Marco's real name. But that was a mediocre excuse, Nick knew that. He just hadn't really given Marco all that much thought, all that much attention, not really put the effort into getting to him. Which, sure, in the long run had not ultimately amounted up to too much extra lost time, Danya had made sure of that, but still. Felt like a missed opportunity.
Because Marco was great. This was more than just a friendship of convenience or some mutually beneficial alliance calculated with coldness. There was something there. Nick was relying a lot on Marco. Marco was good with the maps and stuff. If he thought about it logically, Marco was reliant on him too. It wasn't codependency. It was something...healthier? Was healthy the right word for the context? Nick didn't know if healthy was a concept that even mattered here. But whatever.
The next set of announcements, there was no name for Nick to really concentrate his energies on. No on-island relationship to mourn, no contemporary bond of trust that had been violently severed. But there was a distraction in the form of Marco, some purpose to his life in the form of Marco, and Nick was there for him. Nick couldn't help but think how useless he was - how someone with more subtlety and nuance, a more tender disposition, some relevant skills for a predicament such as this, would be far more useful. But he knew that wasn't the case. He knew Marco didn't just need a shoulder to cry on. He needed Nick's shoulder to cry on. Nick wasn't sure what name had made Marco break down - or even if there was a name - but it didn't matter. Marco had so much shit to deal with to justify a breakdown that, quite frankly, Nick would be there for a thousand of them. And though Nick didn't quite grasp Marco's explanation, he got the feeling behind it. He got how much it mattered to Marco.
And that was all he cared about.
So they spent the day together. A quiet day. Conscientiously, proactively so. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. The new ordinary, though, Nick was fine with it. It was...yeah. When he knew what the alternative was, he felt truly lucky. Marco was there for him. He was there for Marco.
They were walking now. Somebody was there. Or somebodies. Other humans. Probably weren't aggressive, but how many people who were still alive could be trusted at all? In Nick's mind, only one. Marco asked Nick if they should go in. If Marco really didn't want to, he would have made that clear. Nick nodded. "Hello?" he called out.
The announcements had hurt, of course. There were, like always, so many names that Nick recognised, so many names that in a normal time he could have gone on about for hours on end, that he could have mourned or cursed or some eclectic fusion of both. It was easier this time around, though. Not easier in the sense that it was less painful, but easier in that Nick's thoughts were focused. He could think about Axel, shut out all the other names and just...it was easier, really, having one name that hurt so much more than all the others. Concentrated things. Saved Nick the trouble of having to sift through and organise his thoughts before he could begin all the mourning process.
Axel had probably been the name on that list that he'd been closest to before all the shit hit the fan, but it was their meeting on the island that stuck in his mind the most. It was the only thing that seemed real now, that seemed to be part of the same...lifetime, the same timeline. All of that shit from before, it wasn't that Nick thought it no longer mattered or that it no longer shaped him, but this was a life defined by Beryl and Darlene and Henry and Michael and Yuka and Teresa and Marco, and almost everyone else might have just been a fictional character. A fictional character that carried strong aesops, powerful memories, left some indelible marks on his character, maybe, but there was a sort of barrier between him and them, some sort of nonsensical discontinuity. It sucked that he didn't even have that as he died - the comfort that his life before had truly been his, that there was some overarching continuity in his life that others could maybe use to find some kind of value in it.
And that encounter with Axel had sorta kept Nick feeling...grounded. Semi-reasonable. Like he hadn't been completely cast adrift. Marco was, of course, great, but Nick had not really known Marco that while back in Tennessee. How could he have, was the pathetic excuse, when Nick hadn't even known Marco's real name. But that was a mediocre excuse, Nick knew that. He just hadn't really given Marco all that much thought, all that much attention, not really put the effort into getting to him. Which, sure, in the long run had not ultimately amounted up to too much extra lost time, Danya had made sure of that, but still. Felt like a missed opportunity.
Because Marco was great. This was more than just a friendship of convenience or some mutually beneficial alliance calculated with coldness. There was something there. Nick was relying a lot on Marco. Marco was good with the maps and stuff. If he thought about it logically, Marco was reliant on him too. It wasn't codependency. It was something...healthier? Was healthy the right word for the context? Nick didn't know if healthy was a concept that even mattered here. But whatever.
The next set of announcements, there was no name for Nick to really concentrate his energies on. No on-island relationship to mourn, no contemporary bond of trust that had been violently severed. But there was a distraction in the form of Marco, some purpose to his life in the form of Marco, and Nick was there for him. Nick couldn't help but think how useless he was - how someone with more subtlety and nuance, a more tender disposition, some relevant skills for a predicament such as this, would be far more useful. But he knew that wasn't the case. He knew Marco didn't just need a shoulder to cry on. He needed Nick's shoulder to cry on. Nick wasn't sure what name had made Marco break down - or even if there was a name - but it didn't matter. Marco had so much shit to deal with to justify a breakdown that, quite frankly, Nick would be there for a thousand of them. And though Nick didn't quite grasp Marco's explanation, he got the feeling behind it. He got how much it mattered to Marco.
And that was all he cared about.
So they spent the day together. A quiet day. Conscientiously, proactively so. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. The new ordinary, though, Nick was fine with it. It was...yeah. When he knew what the alternative was, he felt truly lucky. Marco was there for him. He was there for Marco.
They were walking now. Somebody was there. Or somebodies. Other humans. Probably weren't aggressive, but how many people who were still alive could be trusted at all? In Nick's mind, only one. Marco asked Nick if they should go in. If Marco really didn't want to, he would have made that clear. Nick nodded. "Hello?" he called out.
Katelynne placed her hand on Princess's forehead and cheeks as she grabbed the cup. Still burning up. Still clammy. Eyes still glazed over, but if that was from whatever malady this was or from everything happening from the last few days Katelynne couldn't say; she didn't know what was worse or not.
"We're doin' fine," Katelynne hesitated before speaking. "Once Tyrell gets back we gotta do another water run, but we're... we're okay."
Her mind wandered a bit watching Princess like a hawk, but it snapped back once Princess tattled on a newcomer. Katelynne whipped around to see a shadow blocking the crack in the door followed by a funny sounding salutations of some sort. But not Tyrell.
She quickly shut off the flashlight, one hand grabbing Princess's before shouting back with a feeble response.
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
"We're doin' fine," Katelynne hesitated before speaking. "Once Tyrell gets back we gotta do another water run, but we're... we're okay."
Her mind wandered a bit watching Princess like a hawk, but it snapped back once Princess tattled on a newcomer. Katelynne whipped around to see a shadow blocking the crack in the door followed by a funny sounding salutations of some sort. But not Tyrell.
She quickly shut off the flashlight, one hand grabbing Princess's before shouting back with a feeble response.
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
Goodness, why were they all so loud? Had the human voice always been this unearthly screech of ibuprofen-resistant echoes? One after the other, somehow a multi voiced choir arranged in the shape of her own skull.
Could've just been the circumstance laying all else bare, her next withdrawal-sober thought. Maybe she'd always hated how most people sounded.
Still, she recognized one voice as it was unceremoniously stuffed into her head through her eye sockets and maybe her ears secondarily. The inflection was a bit different. More tired? More stripped bare? It could just be that Princess hadn't thought about him for so long that she'd forgotten what his voice really was supposed to sound like. He'd changed a lot and she hadn't been there to dryly congratulate him for any of it. He'd changed his name. He'd changed his identity.
He'd become a killer too, and Princess at least in theory wasn't supposed to be happy about that. All the rest she could take or leave, but honestly, also. Marco had been a friend, would it have killed him to have told one of his few other friends his truth early enough that she could have postured over it for the sake of Instagram wokeness points?
"It's Marco, Kate."
Princess tried to lift up off the ground. It sort of worked anyways, she could at least see the door by the shadows it left on the wall. Strange, she didn't remember it having been that three-dimensional before. She needed to get her eyes checked, much like the rest of her.
"Marco!" She suddenly called out. That was his name now, much as the memories attached to him were attached to another name that had almost burned rubber and lips and ears before she'd roadblocked it in her throat. "It's Princess and Kate! We are..." Heavy breathing. She was already fatigued, gods'sake. "We're... the least threatening people? On this island. It's safe." She'd said the last two sentences so quiet she wasn't even sure she could have heard herself without her own face bouncing the pitiful noise back at her.
Could've just been the circumstance laying all else bare, her next withdrawal-sober thought. Maybe she'd always hated how most people sounded.
Still, she recognized one voice as it was unceremoniously stuffed into her head through her eye sockets and maybe her ears secondarily. The inflection was a bit different. More tired? More stripped bare? It could just be that Princess hadn't thought about him for so long that she'd forgotten what his voice really was supposed to sound like. He'd changed a lot and she hadn't been there to dryly congratulate him for any of it. He'd changed his name. He'd changed his identity.
He'd become a killer too, and Princess at least in theory wasn't supposed to be happy about that. All the rest she could take or leave, but honestly, also. Marco had been a friend, would it have killed him to have told one of his few other friends his truth early enough that she could have postured over it for the sake of Instagram wokeness points?
"It's Marco, Kate."
Princess tried to lift up off the ground. It sort of worked anyways, she could at least see the door by the shadows it left on the wall. Strange, she didn't remember it having been that three-dimensional before. She needed to get her eyes checked, much like the rest of her.
"Marco!" She suddenly called out. That was his name now, much as the memories attached to him were attached to another name that had almost burned rubber and lips and ears before she'd roadblocked it in her throat. "It's Princess and Kate! We are..." Heavy breathing. She was already fatigued, gods'sake. "We're... the least threatening people? On this island. It's safe." She'd said the last two sentences so quiet she wasn't even sure she could have heard herself without her own face bouncing the pitiful noise back at her.
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Emprexx Plush
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Marco had gotten used to the nameless label everyone they ran into put on him. He'd thought more about no one had come after him for Kayla in the last day and had to wonder how much was that there was no one to mourn her anymore and how much was that no one knew to recognize him and be angry. There was a sort of messed up comfort in how invisible he was, without explanation the number of people who could put the situation together couldn't be much bigger than the number of people he could have called friends.
Katelynne called back and Marco went sinking back into Nick's shadow. She hadn't heard him. Katelynne couldn't know he was there and that was a double barreled thought because he meant both that she had no way to know about him and that she couldn't learn he was there. Marco was, just that, he, he wasn't ready for her to see him. For anyone who could know to look at him, not, not about Kayla, he knew he deserved the way people looked at him for her. It was unavoidable for someone to see him as a murderer.
Garnet was the last person he would have called a friend to look at him, and even when she was trying to beat his face in she didn't understand. Her anger that he killed someone didn't hurt him. It was how she tripped over his name. The way she ignored everything he said. The dehumanizing way she looked at him that didn't observe a person in a conversation but an idea she needed to bend into acceptable shape. The cliche would be that she looked at him and only saw the surface, but they didn't get that far. She saw a reflection that confirmed what she already wanted to believe.
Would Katelynne do the same? It would be out of character. Most of their relationship hinged on infodumping about their latest fixations, there wasn't a lot in the way of guidance. If he had learned anything from the beating Garnet gave him though, it was that he wasn't so good at reading his friends for what they were either.
He was ready to run.
"Marco!"
He froze.
Princess's voice was labored. What words she was able to manage were spent reassuring him that it was safe when by all logical measures that burden should have been on him. She used his name, and he'd heard it in four or five voices now so it shouldn't have sounded so different, but it was the first time someone had said it without any clarification from him or Nick. Like it was his name, natural as could be. Marco stepped forward around Nick, "I'm, I'm coming in, okay?"
The crack widened around him until he was standing in the frame, hands clasped at his waist. Eyes down, so he didn't expect to be looking back at her on the floor. One kind of panic melted into another. "Princess?" He looked to Katelynne. "What happened?"
Katelynne called back and Marco went sinking back into Nick's shadow. She hadn't heard him. Katelynne couldn't know he was there and that was a double barreled thought because he meant both that she had no way to know about him and that she couldn't learn he was there. Marco was, just that, he, he wasn't ready for her to see him. For anyone who could know to look at him, not, not about Kayla, he knew he deserved the way people looked at him for her. It was unavoidable for someone to see him as a murderer.
Garnet was the last person he would have called a friend to look at him, and even when she was trying to beat his face in she didn't understand. Her anger that he killed someone didn't hurt him. It was how she tripped over his name. The way she ignored everything he said. The dehumanizing way she looked at him that didn't observe a person in a conversation but an idea she needed to bend into acceptable shape. The cliche would be that she looked at him and only saw the surface, but they didn't get that far. She saw a reflection that confirmed what she already wanted to believe.
Would Katelynne do the same? It would be out of character. Most of their relationship hinged on infodumping about their latest fixations, there wasn't a lot in the way of guidance. If he had learned anything from the beating Garnet gave him though, it was that he wasn't so good at reading his friends for what they were either.
He was ready to run.
"Marco!"
He froze.
Princess's voice was labored. What words she was able to manage were spent reassuring him that it was safe when by all logical measures that burden should have been on him. She used his name, and he'd heard it in four or five voices now so it shouldn't have sounded so different, but it was the first time someone had said it without any clarification from him or Nick. Like it was his name, natural as could be. Marco stepped forward around Nick, "I'm, I'm coming in, okay?"
The crack widened around him until he was standing in the frame, hands clasped at his waist. Eyes down, so he didn't expect to be looking back at her on the floor. One kind of panic melted into another. "Princess?" He looked to Katelynne. "What happened?"
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Nick stood still. It was Marco they recognised. Marco they wanted.
Nick placed his arm around Marco. Just in case that recognition turned into something sour. Just in case there was a vendetta, or a grievance, or a grudge, real or imagined, valid or petty, that could quickly explode into violence.
But if nothing else, that voice used Marco's name. Had heard the announcements, had respected them, had treated the news of Marco's transitioning with respect rather than getting all caught up on the admittedly violent way that that news was made. They had, without formal introduction (or perhaps there had been - Nick did not know all of Marco's life, even on the island), absorbed and processed Marco's news and adjusted their mental descriptions of him accordingly. And they had said it without clarification, without hesitation, and Nick could only imagine how that made Marco feel.
The other voice had sounded more intimidated at first, as if easily cowed and aware of that fact, hoping that they could somehow conceal that their tone conveyed weakness that more unscrupulous individuals could exploit for supplies or easy kills. But Princess - they revealed their names now, and Nick was able to put faces and names to the voices - was happy at Marco's arrival, and addressed Kate in a way that suggested that she would be too, and that Kate too would be accepting and welcoming towards Marco.
Marco stepped in. He needed this. This could be his Axel, maybe. Giving him that...anchoring. But instead of an anchoring to the past, an anchoring to a future that might have been.
Nick followed behind Marco. A couple of steps behind. In reach if anything happened, but distant enough that his frame wouldn't be a source of intimidation. Let him do all the talking. The situation was...well, bad.
Nick placed his arm around Marco. Just in case that recognition turned into something sour. Just in case there was a vendetta, or a grievance, or a grudge, real or imagined, valid or petty, that could quickly explode into violence.
But if nothing else, that voice used Marco's name. Had heard the announcements, had respected them, had treated the news of Marco's transitioning with respect rather than getting all caught up on the admittedly violent way that that news was made. They had, without formal introduction (or perhaps there had been - Nick did not know all of Marco's life, even on the island), absorbed and processed Marco's news and adjusted their mental descriptions of him accordingly. And they had said it without clarification, without hesitation, and Nick could only imagine how that made Marco feel.
The other voice had sounded more intimidated at first, as if easily cowed and aware of that fact, hoping that they could somehow conceal that their tone conveyed weakness that more unscrupulous individuals could exploit for supplies or easy kills. But Princess - they revealed their names now, and Nick was able to put faces and names to the voices - was happy at Marco's arrival, and addressed Kate in a way that suggested that she would be too, and that Kate too would be accepting and welcoming towards Marco.
Marco stepped in. He needed this. This could be his Axel, maybe. Giving him that...anchoring. But instead of an anchoring to the past, an anchoring to a future that might have been.
Nick followed behind Marco. A couple of steps behind. In reach if anything happened, but distant enough that his frame wouldn't be a source of intimidation. Let him do all the talking. The situation was...well, bad.
Katelynne clenched her hand tighter as Princess in her delirium called out their identities in front of God and everyone just like that. She even half-shushed her right as the crack widened, the moonlight revealing more of Princess's face as the entities right at the door stayed obscured.
Her other hand reached for the trenching shovel as she stared like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car.
...It really was h- him. Him. Him. Kayla's killer. A few days ago Katelynne would've shirked away coming face to face with him like this, but either in disbelief or relief she was.... she didn't know. It was unreal. A lot of this was; still felt like some sorta fever dream even a week in. Or was it two weeks now? Would it ever feel real?
But her feelings didn't matter. He was right here now, with someone else, too. That's what mattered; one thing at a time.
Katelynne stood back up and turned on the flashlight pointed at Marco's feet, tapped her fingers a few times on the rough matted casing before speaking. "She's, uhm..." Her head wandered towards Princess. "Princess is sick. Been holed up here the last few days like this."
Almost slipped about Tyrell.
She bit her lip, hesitated before continuing. "You can come over. Nicholas, too."
Her other hand reached for the trenching shovel as she stared like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car.
...It really was h- him. Him. Him. Kayla's killer. A few days ago Katelynne would've shirked away coming face to face with him like this, but either in disbelief or relief she was.... she didn't know. It was unreal. A lot of this was; still felt like some sorta fever dream even a week in. Or was it two weeks now? Would it ever feel real?
But her feelings didn't matter. He was right here now, with someone else, too. That's what mattered; one thing at a time.
Katelynne stood back up and turned on the flashlight pointed at Marco's feet, tapped her fingers a few times on the rough matted casing before speaking. "She's, uhm..." Her head wandered towards Princess. "Princess is sick. Been holed up here the last few days like this."
Almost slipped about Tyrell.
She bit her lip, hesitated before continuing. "You can come over. Nicholas, too."
She recognized them both. After a long second of adjustment needed when the moonlight suddenly spilling into the temple hit her face. Like a tomb opened for the first time in millennia, the dusty bits of history eroding away in the light. There was Princess, dissolving. She squinted until it hurt.
The other boy she only recognized as a face, not as a name. Distinctive silhouette. Charlatan, smooth operator.
The the boy she knew by name, though, he was one Princess recognized all too well. The energy and the poise were different of course. The grime of days of sweat with no shower added some superficial contrast... But no, that was the same boy that Princess had known for years of her life who had apparently been a boy. Princess couldn't make out the details too effectively, of course. Hurt to focus, hammer and chisel to the deeper squishier bits buried under her temples, but she could understand even at a barely formative glance that Marco's evolution had been deeper than skin. Somehow more convincing for it, but maybe that was because Princess was so blind by now that she could only see the world as she wanted it to be, not as it actually was.
That was her friend- that's what she wanted to see.
"Sick for sure..." A terse bite at lips that refused to be any less dry to the touch. "Don't know about dying."
She finished straightening up. Her posture was unnaturally stiff, as if her spine was threaded with steel. A microscopically dizzy sway, left to right or rather she wasn't sure what the direction was, they at this point all rather seamlessly blended together into a soupy blur of lights and colors and people she regretted having not spent more time with.
"Not contagious either, but..."
"Marco, I-" Her tone already solemn, as she contemplated how to best mumble her way through undeserved penance in her state. She had a lot more to say than she had the energy to say, and a lot more still to say than she felt was really that reasonable or relevant in value? Sure, she could carelessly piss all over their valuable time like she had with Lucas or Megan, or Thomas or Claudeson going earlier back into time, or Violet further back still, or Mom way back in the beginning of history... Marco and Kate deserved better than that. They deserved to be heard, not preached to. For once. Just this once, when there would be no other times.
Princess remembered something. The final legacy of Quinn's having ruined lesbianism for the rest of them for generations to come- the promise Kate and Princess had made to each other under some melodramatically dreary tree. Princess glanced back at her other friend, the stronger one- always had been.
"Is this okay...? If you really don't trust them... If you think they're coming... coming back, still."
Princess was still thoroughly convinced the next time she'd meet Tyrell or Lucas would be on the other side. Wait. Lucas had died, hadn't he? Who the hell even knew anymore. Princess' world was smaller than her hands could grasp at. She was almost literally a shriveled husk by now. She could be forgiven the increasing lack of generic awareness.
The other boy she only recognized as a face, not as a name. Distinctive silhouette. Charlatan, smooth operator.
The the boy she knew by name, though, he was one Princess recognized all too well. The energy and the poise were different of course. The grime of days of sweat with no shower added some superficial contrast... But no, that was the same boy that Princess had known for years of her life who had apparently been a boy. Princess couldn't make out the details too effectively, of course. Hurt to focus, hammer and chisel to the deeper squishier bits buried under her temples, but she could understand even at a barely formative glance that Marco's evolution had been deeper than skin. Somehow more convincing for it, but maybe that was because Princess was so blind by now that she could only see the world as she wanted it to be, not as it actually was.
That was her friend- that's what she wanted to see.
"Sick for sure..." A terse bite at lips that refused to be any less dry to the touch. "Don't know about dying."
She finished straightening up. Her posture was unnaturally stiff, as if her spine was threaded with steel. A microscopically dizzy sway, left to right or rather she wasn't sure what the direction was, they at this point all rather seamlessly blended together into a soupy blur of lights and colors and people she regretted having not spent more time with.
"Not contagious either, but..."
"Marco, I-" Her tone already solemn, as she contemplated how to best mumble her way through undeserved penance in her state. She had a lot more to say than she had the energy to say, and a lot more still to say than she felt was really that reasonable or relevant in value? Sure, she could carelessly piss all over their valuable time like she had with Lucas or Megan, or Thomas or Claudeson going earlier back into time, or Violet further back still, or Mom way back in the beginning of history... Marco and Kate deserved better than that. They deserved to be heard, not preached to. For once. Just this once, when there would be no other times.
Princess remembered something. The final legacy of Quinn's having ruined lesbianism for the rest of them for generations to come- the promise Kate and Princess had made to each other under some melodramatically dreary tree. Princess glanced back at her other friend, the stronger one- always had been.
"Is this okay...? If you really don't trust them... If you think they're coming... coming back, still."
Princess was still thoroughly convinced the next time she'd meet Tyrell or Lucas would be on the other side. Wait. Lucas had died, hadn't he? Who the hell even knew anymore. Princess' world was smaller than her hands could grasp at. She was almost literally a shriveled husk by now. She could be forgiven the increasing lack of generic awareness.
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Emprexx Plush
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Anxiety had crept up his spine to meet Nick's hand coming from behind him before they were inside. It had been a while since Marco had been the one taking the lead. That was generous, there hadn't been a situation where he'd consciously been in control. He gave a lot of advice and Nick considered his opinion equally but they both knew who usually made the important decisions. Nick's presence behind him was a wall blocking escape. If he panicked there was nowhere for him to go. There was nowhere for him to go. There was nowhere for him to go. There was nowhere for him to go. The sentence stuck on a loop in his head as tic preamble to an attack, except instead of growing more urgent with each repetition it mellowed. It cooled from threat to warning to observation to, to, he wasn't sure what word to use for it. Calling it a comfort was such an alien idea he rejected it on reflex but, just, all the messed up things he'd thought, all the impulses he forced, they came from an unsatisfiable desire for opportunity to live the life he'd watched escape him. He'd promised compromises leveraged in the suffering of others for those opportunities and he hadn't had to actually make them often, but he'd thought about them. Given them voice a couple times. They were in him.
Princess was offering him an uncompromised opportunity to be himself.
There was nowhere for him to go.
Marco left his bag at the door and came closer at their invitation. He knelt down beside Princess. How he was supposed to act in these moments, that was still fuzzy, he hadn't put it together yet, and he might have sat there chewing his lip in hesitance if a question that wasn't meant for him hadn't inspired a barrage of his own. "Them? Who, I mean, who's coming back? Did someone hurt you? Are they following you?" He didn't slow down for answers. It made sense. Princess was hurt, Katelynne was distracted, they'd been expecting somebody else at the door. There wasn't much light in the surrounding area. Where there other entrances? Other paths? What could they use as a barricade? Nick and Marco were both exhausted after a whole day of moving but they were going to have to make this place defensible anyway, right? "Don't worry, we, we've been doing this a lot, um, I'll have to look around but..." He trailed off, then nodded. "Yes, we can make it work. Right Nick?"
Princess was offering him an uncompromised opportunity to be himself.
There was nowhere for him to go.
Marco left his bag at the door and came closer at their invitation. He knelt down beside Princess. How he was supposed to act in these moments, that was still fuzzy, he hadn't put it together yet, and he might have sat there chewing his lip in hesitance if a question that wasn't meant for him hadn't inspired a barrage of his own. "Them? Who, I mean, who's coming back? Did someone hurt you? Are they following you?" He didn't slow down for answers. It made sense. Princess was hurt, Katelynne was distracted, they'd been expecting somebody else at the door. There wasn't much light in the surrounding area. Where there other entrances? Other paths? What could they use as a barricade? Nick and Marco were both exhausted after a whole day of moving but they were going to have to make this place defensible anyway, right? "Don't worry, we, we've been doing this a lot, um, I'll have to look around but..." He trailed off, then nodded. "Yes, we can make it work. Right Nick?"
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Nick listened. What was there for him to say in this scenario? This illness - such an odd way to go on the island, at once gentle and sadistic, natural and terrifying - just seemed so out of place. This was the place where people were killed by injuries inflicted by dead schoolmates, by manic poisoning sprees, by having their collars detonating or tripping from heights or having a punch to the throat inflict more damage than intended or being mercy-killed. But dying this way? Dying by illness? Sure, it was caused by the island. This place was certainly not good for anyone's long-term health, no. No medical facilities, no expertise, no infrastructure.
Nobody had said dying, and yet that was where Nick's mind had went. He was not one to have a good bedside manner. At least he could acknowledge that. At least he could recognise that. Maybe Princess would be fine. Maybe they were correct in thinking it was not contagious. Maybe her immune system just needed this opportunity to rest, recuperate, and then she could focus her energies on getting back up to her feet.
He'd been called Nicholas. That was odd. What was odder was that it didn't cause Nick to bat an eyelid. It felt like he'd stepped into some kind of surreal alternate reality, where the island hurt people with illness and decay rather than shock and awe. He ran his fingers through his hair. He looked a mess. A scraggly, unkempt mess. And yet he still looked the strongest person in this room. Just a consequence of his natural height and bulk rather than anything else. And they all knew at this point that physical stature was no indicator, no great correlator with, survivability.
People were coming back.
That was a problem that Nick knew he could handle. That was within Nick's skillset. And if it wasn't, if he ended up being outmatched, at least he could understand victory and defeat, grasp what that meant, decipher what he had to do, what he had to prioritise. "Aye. We can do that." He leaned down, planted a kiss on Marco's head. A slow, lingering kiss, like it was the last kiss he would ever give. Because how could he know? "Not a great strategic mind, but tell me what to do, I'll do it."
Nobody had said dying, and yet that was where Nick's mind had went. He was not one to have a good bedside manner. At least he could acknowledge that. At least he could recognise that. Maybe Princess would be fine. Maybe they were correct in thinking it was not contagious. Maybe her immune system just needed this opportunity to rest, recuperate, and then she could focus her energies on getting back up to her feet.
He'd been called Nicholas. That was odd. What was odder was that it didn't cause Nick to bat an eyelid. It felt like he'd stepped into some kind of surreal alternate reality, where the island hurt people with illness and decay rather than shock and awe. He ran his fingers through his hair. He looked a mess. A scraggly, unkempt mess. And yet he still looked the strongest person in this room. Just a consequence of his natural height and bulk rather than anything else. And they all knew at this point that physical stature was no indicator, no great correlator with, survivability.
People were coming back.
That was a problem that Nick knew he could handle. That was within Nick's skillset. And if it wasn't, if he ended up being outmatched, at least he could understand victory and defeat, grasp what that meant, decipher what he had to do, what he had to prioritise. "Aye. We can do that." He leaned down, planted a kiss on Marco's head. A slow, lingering kiss, like it was the last kiss he would ever give. Because how could he know? "Not a great strategic mind, but tell me what to do, I'll do it."
Katelynne shook her head as Marco panicked and Nicholas tried to calm them down. "No, it's, uhm... it's fine. We were waiting on Lucas for the last few days. Diaz. I don't think he's coming back."
She kept her eyes glued to the floor, burning a hole through the rotting wood.
"I don't know what's going on with her. Been forcefeeding her ibuprofen, but I don't... I don't know what else to do."
She kept her eyes glued to the floor, burning a hole through the rotting wood.
"I don't know what's going on with her. Been forcefeeding her ibuprofen, but I don't... I don't know what else to do."
'I don't know what's going on with her.' For sure, that made at least two of them.
Princess settled, as much as she could when the asking price of sitting upright was absurdly taxing. Her eyes were unfocused, buried in a formerly curly mop of scraggly pink and blond caked in dried sweat and... blood, who even knew. She couldn't see it, not when she'd long since forgotten what a mirror looked like. Even if she had the energy to dig all of two inches into the bag full of stuff that wasn't hers and check for a compact? She wasn't sure she'd be able to see anything, in her state. Reflections were a poorer resolution rendition of reality. Princess had enough difficulty as was, distinguishing the blurs right atop her own hands. They looked flesh colored, anyways. She couldn't tell what the texture could have been.
She appreciated Marco and Nick...? Nick. She appreciated, dully and distantly, their rushing to... strategy, whatever that was supposed to mean. Was that how Princess was supposed to have been thinking this whole time? Vigilance, defensiveness... Yeah, come to think of it. That was what Kate and Tyrell and (maybe even) Lucas had been trying to do on her behalf. Once again, for the n-th time, she promptly realized the simple truth, that she'd been dragging down her assorted friends and kind-of-friends, merely through a thought process convoluted into oblivion. Performative think, rather than anything of substance.
Even now, Princess was mulling on the irrelevant. She'd call them all to her side with her best melodrama and showboating, to burden them with some 'truths' as if those empty words that were allegedly her confession of lying and wrongdoing could in any way actually help them in there here and the now. That was the kind of person she was, apparently.
She stayed silent. She let Kate decide if she wanted to forgive them. She let them decide if they wanted to stay.
Almost. She couldn't resist asking one thing, almost mumbling it to herself.
"What do you two think? Can I recover? ... Would it matter, if I did."
Sorry, Kate.
Princess settled, as much as she could when the asking price of sitting upright was absurdly taxing. Her eyes were unfocused, buried in a formerly curly mop of scraggly pink and blond caked in dried sweat and... blood, who even knew. She couldn't see it, not when she'd long since forgotten what a mirror looked like. Even if she had the energy to dig all of two inches into the bag full of stuff that wasn't hers and check for a compact? She wasn't sure she'd be able to see anything, in her state. Reflections were a poorer resolution rendition of reality. Princess had enough difficulty as was, distinguishing the blurs right atop her own hands. They looked flesh colored, anyways. She couldn't tell what the texture could have been.
She appreciated Marco and Nick...? Nick. She appreciated, dully and distantly, their rushing to... strategy, whatever that was supposed to mean. Was that how Princess was supposed to have been thinking this whole time? Vigilance, defensiveness... Yeah, come to think of it. That was what Kate and Tyrell and (maybe even) Lucas had been trying to do on her behalf. Once again, for the n-th time, she promptly realized the simple truth, that she'd been dragging down her assorted friends and kind-of-friends, merely through a thought process convoluted into oblivion. Performative think, rather than anything of substance.
Even now, Princess was mulling on the irrelevant. She'd call them all to her side with her best melodrama and showboating, to burden them with some 'truths' as if those empty words that were allegedly her confession of lying and wrongdoing could in any way actually help them in there here and the now. That was the kind of person she was, apparently.
She stayed silent. She let Kate decide if she wanted to forgive them. She let them decide if they wanted to stay.
Almost. She couldn't resist asking one thing, almost mumbling it to herself.
"What do you two think? Can I recover? ... Would it matter, if I did."
Sorry, Kate.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
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Emprexx Plush
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Marco wasn't great at mouth words. Talking. That was just called talking. He thought that was what he was bad at, at least, and like lots of things he didn't understand he tried to research his way to getting better at it. People who liked to talk about talking had this idea that it wasn't just what you say but how you said it that mattered, X% of communication was nonverbal, all that. That was only half of the equation though, wasn't it? The other side was that what you heard only mattered as much as how you heard it.
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
He heard fear, because he knew that's what would be under the low tremor in his voice. Doors weren’t a luxury he’d had a lot hiding out on the island, but he could imagine looking up in the middle of the night to see shadows looming through the crack. Nick would have stacked furniture, crates, whatever they could get their hands on in front of the entrance before either of them went to sleep but that would not comfort him with an unknown hanging on the other side of the frame. Playing it back, Katelynne sounded afraid because he imagined he would sound afraid. That was one way he could have heard her. Playing it again-
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
He heard anger, because his first instinct was to assume anger when he interrupted someone. Marco's presence required enough effort to be noticed at all that of course it was an intrusion, when a confused voice called out to him the underlying notes of irritation sent him shrinking. It was reflex. Irrational reflex now, he had to talk himself back from it. Katelynne had not know it was him at the door so if there was anger it could not be so specific. She would have to have recognized him between one phrase and the next, but if she had why would she be angry besides his projected-
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
He heard judgement, because he'd avoided it for too long. Judgement separate from fear or anger; it lacked conviction. Katelynne wasn't going to punch him in the face. She wouldn't even look at him. The act of avoiding his shape said more than glare, didn’t it? Katelynne acknowledged that he was there. Invited him in, if reluctantly. She didn’t look at him though. Plenty of other explanations could be found for that, he could keep going around in his head like this the rest of the night. Would the direction change? If he listened hard enough to the memory, could he decide to hear something else? Something...
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
Joy. Surprise. Curiosity. Relief. Hope.
No.
Marco didn’t hear anything like that. Whether he chose not to, or he was incapable of picking it up, or it was never there at all, or, or, it all led to the same place. Marco wasn’t what she wanted to hear on the other side of that door, and she’d known it well before he’d climbed the path up here.
He couldn’t look at her either.
Nick was still behind him. The room was too dark for him to focus on anything but the floor and that felt uncomfortably like matching Katelynne’s stare in indirect mirror. So he looked at Princess and could not resist the morbid curiosity of wondering if she could look at him back. Delirium warped outer lucidity, which was a very pretentious way of saying medical trauma really fucked you up, which was an overly flippant way of saying Marco saw his own frequently fragile grasp on the world around him reflected in the glaze of her eyes and it frightened him enough to swing for overcompensation both old and new out of reflex. Warped or fucked what Marco was telling himself was that Princess was too far gone for him to be of any help. He would only be in the way. He couldn’t take care of himself, so how arrogant would it be for him to try and take care of her?
“I think everything we do now matters.” Putting his hand over hers felt like clawing through tar. Dumb simile. He didn’t know what that felt like anymore than he knew he could get hopefully less dumb thoughts from his brain to his mouth. “Good and, and bad, and everything. What we do now,” Marco tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “It’s all we’ve got left, so I think it’s worth trying to do what you want. Even if you can’t. If you f-fuck it up.” His voice tapered off in the end. It didn’t sound so convincing on playback.
Marco held Princess’s hand, kept his eyes on hers, and hoped it meant something anyway.
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
He heard fear, because he knew that's what would be under the low tremor in his voice. Doors weren’t a luxury he’d had a lot hiding out on the island, but he could imagine looking up in the middle of the night to see shadows looming through the crack. Nick would have stacked furniture, crates, whatever they could get their hands on in front of the entrance before either of them went to sleep but that would not comfort him with an unknown hanging on the other side of the frame. Playing it back, Katelynne sounded afraid because he imagined he would sound afraid. That was one way he could have heard her. Playing it again-
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
He heard anger, because his first instinct was to assume anger when he interrupted someone. Marco's presence required enough effort to be noticed at all that of course it was an intrusion, when a confused voice called out to him the underlying notes of irritation sent him shrinking. It was reflex. Irrational reflex now, he had to talk himself back from it. Katelynne had not know it was him at the door so if there was anger it could not be so specific. She would have to have recognized him between one phrase and the next, but if she had why would she be angry besides his projected-
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
He heard judgement, because he'd avoided it for too long. Judgement separate from fear or anger; it lacked conviction. Katelynne wasn't going to punch him in the face. She wouldn't even look at him. The act of avoiding his shape said more than glare, didn’t it? Katelynne acknowledged that he was there. Invited him in, if reluctantly. She didn’t look at him though. Plenty of other explanations could be found for that, he could keep going around in his head like this the rest of the night. Would the direction change? If he listened hard enough to the memory, could he decide to hear something else? Something...
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
"Who's there? Whadd'ya want?"
Joy. Surprise. Curiosity. Relief. Hope.
No.
Marco didn’t hear anything like that. Whether he chose not to, or he was incapable of picking it up, or it was never there at all, or, or, it all led to the same place. Marco wasn’t what she wanted to hear on the other side of that door, and she’d known it well before he’d climbed the path up here.
He couldn’t look at her either.
Nick was still behind him. The room was too dark for him to focus on anything but the floor and that felt uncomfortably like matching Katelynne’s stare in indirect mirror. So he looked at Princess and could not resist the morbid curiosity of wondering if she could look at him back. Delirium warped outer lucidity, which was a very pretentious way of saying medical trauma really fucked you up, which was an overly flippant way of saying Marco saw his own frequently fragile grasp on the world around him reflected in the glaze of her eyes and it frightened him enough to swing for overcompensation both old and new out of reflex. Warped or fucked what Marco was telling himself was that Princess was too far gone for him to be of any help. He would only be in the way. He couldn’t take care of himself, so how arrogant would it be for him to try and take care of her?
“I think everything we do now matters.” Putting his hand over hers felt like clawing through tar. Dumb simile. He didn’t know what that felt like anymore than he knew he could get hopefully less dumb thoughts from his brain to his mouth. “Good and, and bad, and everything. What we do now,” Marco tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “It’s all we’ve got left, so I think it’s worth trying to do what you want. Even if you can’t. If you f-fuck it up.” His voice tapered off in the end. It didn’t sound so convincing on playback.
Marco held Princess’s hand, kept his eyes on hers, and hoped it meant something anyway.