((Bree Jones continued from Just keep breathin' and breathin' and breathin')
So far, things had been quiet. Bree had patched up Terra’s hand, a bit of conversation here and there, she had washed up a bit and changed to her white sneakers, and right now, it was Bree’s shift. See, they’d agreed to have someone stay awake to keep watch and stuff, right? So it was Bree’s turn, and that did have the whole side-effect of “occasionally your thoughts begin to wander.”
Back home, Bree was a lot of things. She kept fish, she was the swim team captain, she kayaked, she volunteered at an animal shelter and worked at a pet store, she had a movie night for her last two birthdays. She was “popular.” In retrospect, the whole idea of “popularity” was kind of weird and arbitrary to the point where she actually didn’t realize she was “popular” until someone used the word to describe her. It was probably because she was athletic, and a good student, and took reasonable care of her appearance, and didn’t rampage like a chimpanzee on meth like some other people. She was also a “bitch,” sure, but honestly? You need to be a bitch sometimes to get things done.
It was funny. She knew before she even went on the trip. Everyone knew. A segment of their lives was ending. Soon they’d graduate, and go do whatever they wanted for the rest of their lives. For Bree, that was going to college for Bio. There were a few plans she heard here and there. Sometimes, she wondered. Did it ever fully hit people that a part of their lives was ending to begin with? Like, the way people occasionally acted, it was as if they’d be at high school forever.
Ah, well. See, the funny part was, it kind of made her realize that kidnapping people around this time of year was probably a sick joke on the part of the terrorists. Like, “you were expecting graduation but it was me, Danya”, or at least that’s how the meme went from what she remembered. She’d never seen anything Jojo related, but she knew the meme.
So Bree had been sitting outside, in the dark, by herself. The moon didn’t offer much light, so she had her flashlight in her hand. But it wasn’t long before the sky changed from the black, to shades of dark blue. And Bree knew, her shift was done.
She went back inside and found Mikki sleeping. Bree knelt down and reached to nudge her.
“Psst. It’s your turn.”
Children of Cain
Roughly 3-4 AM, following in from the previous thread in the area. Private, sorry!
((Mikki Swift continued from Just keep breathin' and breathin' and breathin'))
"Whuzzuh?"
Mikki startled awake as Bree nudged her shoulder. She'd been sleeping, but it wasn't exactly heavy sleep - Mikki had some shitty mattresses in her life, but at least they were matresses, not...whatever Mikki had rolled onto at some point during the night.
The four of them - herself, Phillip, Terra and Zach - were in one of the back rooms of the dilapidated building, and once the fear of the ceiling falling down on them dissapated, Mikki had managed to get some rest. She'd spent most of the afternoon and the early night figuring out how to ration, what weapon should be good where, and where to even set up for the night in the first place. Just taking a look around the entire building, Mikki knew it had to be a room that required some kind of journey to get through; the least routes, the smallest holes in the wall, and it turned out to be a room in such disrepair Mikki had no idea what it had been in the first place, not even being able to hazard a guess.
As Mikki drifted off to sleep, she considered the good job she'd done on putting the five of them together.
But with every moment she woke up, usually from a loud shuffle or someone being woken up for watch, she realized it just wasn't enough.
What wasn't enough? What she was doing. It was okay that she'd put together a group, a group with a seemingly fragile foundation but now a strong common goal, but she realized that even though she'd calmed down immensly and could at least talk about it, she still wasn't over what had happened to Abel. Someone had beaten his head in and for all Mikki knew, they were still running around the island doing it to other people; there was even that little factor hiding in there like her in a building run gone bad that she didn't know - she had no idea who'd killed him, taken his things, and left him to bloat and rot in a field of rice. She wanted to know, for reasons she hadn't quite nailed down, because it would be one step towards closure she felt she deserved on this awful chapter in her life story. She still had no idea what she'd do if she found out who killed him, but that was a problem for another morning, probably even the next morning if the ceiling didn't crush them all in the night.
So when Bree woke her up for her shift, Mikki betrayed none of this, and instead quickly and quietly got to her feet.
"Thanks," she whispered, "I'll wake whoever's next when the sun's up."
She'd probably woken one of them up even through whispering, but there wasn't really much to do. She only had so many ways of communicating in the blue dark.
Mikki walked through the doorway of the room towards the front of the lighthouse, parked herself at the front facing the doorway, pulled her bag close to her, and pulled out the gun. Maybe it was the fact she'd only just woken up again, or her thoughts were still lingering on Abel, or that she was still quite unsure of how to use the gun in her hands, but she couldn't stop staring at the Thomet MP9. It was tiny, but so was she. It could pack a punch, and if pushed the wrong way, so could she. But she knew what she was capable of, yet she didn't know the same fully for the gun. She supposed the same could technically be said about herself still, but that was where the comparison ended.
With her torch out and sitting in her lap, she pulled out the slightly damp manual of the Thomet MP9, and began to pull apart the pages.
"Whuzzuh?"
Mikki startled awake as Bree nudged her shoulder. She'd been sleeping, but it wasn't exactly heavy sleep - Mikki had some shitty mattresses in her life, but at least they were matresses, not...whatever Mikki had rolled onto at some point during the night.
The four of them - herself, Phillip, Terra and Zach - were in one of the back rooms of the dilapidated building, and once the fear of the ceiling falling down on them dissapated, Mikki had managed to get some rest. She'd spent most of the afternoon and the early night figuring out how to ration, what weapon should be good where, and where to even set up for the night in the first place. Just taking a look around the entire building, Mikki knew it had to be a room that required some kind of journey to get through; the least routes, the smallest holes in the wall, and it turned out to be a room in such disrepair Mikki had no idea what it had been in the first place, not even being able to hazard a guess.
As Mikki drifted off to sleep, she considered the good job she'd done on putting the five of them together.
But with every moment she woke up, usually from a loud shuffle or someone being woken up for watch, she realized it just wasn't enough.
What wasn't enough? What she was doing. It was okay that she'd put together a group, a group with a seemingly fragile foundation but now a strong common goal, but she realized that even though she'd calmed down immensly and could at least talk about it, she still wasn't over what had happened to Abel. Someone had beaten his head in and for all Mikki knew, they were still running around the island doing it to other people; there was even that little factor hiding in there like her in a building run gone bad that she didn't know - she had no idea who'd killed him, taken his things, and left him to bloat and rot in a field of rice. She wanted to know, for reasons she hadn't quite nailed down, because it would be one step towards closure she felt she deserved on this awful chapter in her life story. She still had no idea what she'd do if she found out who killed him, but that was a problem for another morning, probably even the next morning if the ceiling didn't crush them all in the night.
So when Bree woke her up for her shift, Mikki betrayed none of this, and instead quickly and quietly got to her feet.
"Thanks," she whispered, "I'll wake whoever's next when the sun's up."
She'd probably woken one of them up even through whispering, but there wasn't really much to do. She only had so many ways of communicating in the blue dark.
Mikki walked through the doorway of the room towards the front of the lighthouse, parked herself at the front facing the doorway, pulled her bag close to her, and pulled out the gun. Maybe it was the fact she'd only just woken up again, or her thoughts were still lingering on Abel, or that she was still quite unsure of how to use the gun in her hands, but she couldn't stop staring at the Thomet MP9. It was tiny, but so was she. It could pack a punch, and if pushed the wrong way, so could she. But she knew what she was capable of, yet she didn't know the same fully for the gun. She supposed the same could technically be said about herself still, but that was where the comparison ended.
With her torch out and sitting in her lap, she pulled out the slightly damp manual of the Thomet MP9, and began to pull apart the pages.
Mikki stirred awake. It was fairly easy to wake her. But what mattered right now was that it was her turn, and Bree could get some rest.
They switched places. Bree took Mikki’s spot, and Mikki moved out. And, as Bree laid down, she thought a bit more.
The thing was if anyone made it back home, how would you talk to people like “oh yeah, we found the murdered body of a classmate in a rice paddy, it was awful” or “we watched our teacher die”? Sure, people went through worse, but then there was like, Katrina with a sword, Reuben hurting Terra, and so on. The list went on, and it was probably getting longer. How do you go to college, go to work every day, raise a family, with all that in the back of your head?
No, stop that.
If she just thought it through, tried to think sense, stayed low, it’d be fine. If she let herself get carried away with hypotheticals like that, she’d lose her cool.
And that’s why she had to get some rest.
…
Any second now.
….
Any second now.
They switched places. Bree took Mikki’s spot, and Mikki moved out. And, as Bree laid down, she thought a bit more.
The thing was if anyone made it back home, how would you talk to people like “oh yeah, we found the murdered body of a classmate in a rice paddy, it was awful” or “we watched our teacher die”? Sure, people went through worse, but then there was like, Katrina with a sword, Reuben hurting Terra, and so on. The list went on, and it was probably getting longer. How do you go to college, go to work every day, raise a family, with all that in the back of your head?
No, stop that.
If she just thought it through, tried to think sense, stayed low, it’d be fine. If she let herself get carried away with hypotheticals like that, she’d lose her cool.
And that’s why she had to get some rest.
…
Any second now.
….
Any second now.
She'd read what she could of the manual, and, having made sure that the safety was on, began fidgeting with the gun.
If she was standing guard, the stock would probably be useful, make holding it a lot easier, even aiming if it came down to it. She'd even managed to figure out that if she'd pulled the trigger at any point before that, the entire magazine would probably have been emptied into the floor in a little under two seconds, since it fired 990 rounds per minute. She'd switched the option on and off trying to figure out what would be better if it came down to it, and she ended up on the option that meant a pull of the trigger meant a single bullet rather than hundreds.
And once she'd finished that, with the stock in for now and the non-spree option selected, she continued staring at her gun.
Out of everyone, she'd been given this powerful weapon, something which could tear her classmates to shreds if she so pleased. She could walk into the room of sleeping classmates and end them all if she wanted to. She didn't want to, of course - the thought hadn't even crossed her mind before considering the gun's power. But all she could really think about was the one person she really did want to empty an entire round into.
The person who killed Abel.
It was easy to sit back and think that everything was going to turn out alright and you'd be able to keep the people closest to you safe when you were one of the people sitting on Murder Island having not lost one of the people closest to you. As far as Mikki could tell from all of their conversations, none of them had lost as good a friend as Abel, so it made them incapable of being true judges of the thoughts and desires coarsing through Mikki's head. She'd spearheaded the entire idea of staying close, keeping safe, finding friends and riding the whole thing out until rescue came, but as she thought about it more and more that wasn't what she really wanted to do right now. She didn't want to sit back and be safe, because that wasn't how Mikki did things. She wanted to get out there, find someone who knew something about what had gone on in that rice paddy, track down the person responsible, and make sure they paid. After that, she could come back, and forge a return to normalcy, and everything would be fine.
That was what Mikki wanted to do, and by the time it had been questionably rationalised in her head, she'd figured out it was also what she needed to do.
These four, they'd be fine. They had numbers, they had a building, they had a plan, and they even had that weird giant club with the blades on it Phillip got issued. They knew what to do, they didn't need Mikki to hold their hand. If Mikki was as good at extracting revenge as she was at everything else she was good at in her real life, this wouldn't even take that long.
Mikki pulled herself up from the floor, and with a determined stance and the gun in her hand, headed towards the door of the lighthouse, ready to do what needed to be done.
((Mikki Swift continu-))
At least, ready until she didn't see the awkwardly floored piece of wooden debris in front of her, obscured in the blue dark, which she then tripped over, gun flying out of her hand to skid across the ground as she braced her fall. Her hands ached as they caught the floor, but she couldn't do anything as the gun rattled noisily across the ground into another piece of debris.
Her eyes widened.
Ow, fuck. Just gotta hope nobody heard that.
If she was standing guard, the stock would probably be useful, make holding it a lot easier, even aiming if it came down to it. She'd even managed to figure out that if she'd pulled the trigger at any point before that, the entire magazine would probably have been emptied into the floor in a little under two seconds, since it fired 990 rounds per minute. She'd switched the option on and off trying to figure out what would be better if it came down to it, and she ended up on the option that meant a pull of the trigger meant a single bullet rather than hundreds.
And once she'd finished that, with the stock in for now and the non-spree option selected, she continued staring at her gun.
Out of everyone, she'd been given this powerful weapon, something which could tear her classmates to shreds if she so pleased. She could walk into the room of sleeping classmates and end them all if she wanted to. She didn't want to, of course - the thought hadn't even crossed her mind before considering the gun's power. But all she could really think about was the one person she really did want to empty an entire round into.
The person who killed Abel.
It was easy to sit back and think that everything was going to turn out alright and you'd be able to keep the people closest to you safe when you were one of the people sitting on Murder Island having not lost one of the people closest to you. As far as Mikki could tell from all of their conversations, none of them had lost as good a friend as Abel, so it made them incapable of being true judges of the thoughts and desires coarsing through Mikki's head. She'd spearheaded the entire idea of staying close, keeping safe, finding friends and riding the whole thing out until rescue came, but as she thought about it more and more that wasn't what she really wanted to do right now. She didn't want to sit back and be safe, because that wasn't how Mikki did things. She wanted to get out there, find someone who knew something about what had gone on in that rice paddy, track down the person responsible, and make sure they paid. After that, she could come back, and forge a return to normalcy, and everything would be fine.
That was what Mikki wanted to do, and by the time it had been questionably rationalised in her head, she'd figured out it was also what she needed to do.
These four, they'd be fine. They had numbers, they had a building, they had a plan, and they even had that weird giant club with the blades on it Phillip got issued. They knew what to do, they didn't need Mikki to hold their hand. If Mikki was as good at extracting revenge as she was at everything else she was good at in her real life, this wouldn't even take that long.
Mikki pulled herself up from the floor, and with a determined stance and the gun in her hand, headed towards the door of the lighthouse, ready to do what needed to be done.
((Mikki Swift continu-))
At least, ready until she didn't see the awkwardly floored piece of wooden debris in front of her, obscured in the blue dark, which she then tripped over, gun flying out of her hand to skid across the ground as she braced her fall. Her hands ached as they caught the floor, but she couldn't do anything as the gun rattled noisily across the ground into another piece of debris.
Her eyes widened.
Ow, fuck. Just gotta hope nobody heard that.
Somebody did.
Bree lifted herself up, her thoughts of the game dissipating in a heartbeat. A moment passed, and…
You know what? She was going to try to figure out what that noise was. Hopefully it wasn’t anything dangerous that slipped past her or Mikki, but you know.
So she got on her feet, went to where she heard the noise, and--
“Mikki, what the hell are you doing?” she lowly hissed.
Bree lifted herself up, her thoughts of the game dissipating in a heartbeat. A moment passed, and…
You know what? She was going to try to figure out what that noise was. Hopefully it wasn’t anything dangerous that slipped past her or Mikki, but you know.
So she got on her feet, went to where she heard the noise, and--
“Mikki, what the hell are you doing?” she lowly hissed.
It probably would have worked out better for Mikki if she'd figured out a convincing lie for if it all blew up in her face.
But she didn't.
As Bree walked out and hissed at her like one of her many new lizards, probably sitting at home and still being cared for by Dad, she realized how bad it looked. The torch illuminated her hand from its position on the floor, as well as the gun sitting several feet away. Her job was to stand or sit guard, not go on a brisk walk. There was no excuse for what she'd been planning to do.
As she sprawled across the floor on her hands and knees, she near silently looked up at the real security guard of this whole operation. Bree Jones, who'd been with her the entire day, and would probably have the best idea of what was going through her head. She got to see the worst of Mikki, the weakest she'd ever been; none of Terra or Phillip or Zach had been there trying to mentally will a dead friend back to life, none of them knew what it was like to feel such tremendous loss. But Bree was there, she'd cried like Mikki had cried, and stayed with her even when she ran before. She was running again, maybe she could understand. Maybe she could even join her.
No, that wouldn't do. The group needed to stay together, and the group included Bree. It also included Mikki, but the letter of temporary leave was only penned in her head, not postered on the wall. It needed to become a real one soon.
Mikki pulled herself off the ground and scrambled over to her gun, picking it up from the floor. From what she could see, nothing had happened to the gun itself, at least from her field of vision in near darkness. With that, she turned back to Bree for the harder part.
"Oh, hey, I..."
She paused, realizing just how bad it all looked.
"I was...just...walking. To...thought I...heard."
She was breathing so silently yet so deeply and quickly that a convincing lie physically couldn't form in her head. It fell from her mouth like an anvil. What followed next glid through the air like a downed butterfly, only because it was the truth and it was all she could manage right now.
"I was...I was going to go vigilante. And stuff. I just...I don't want the person who killed Abel to get away with it, even if rescue comes."
Mikki wanted Bree to understand her. She hated the feeling of nobody getting how she felt back in the rice paddies, and to have it repeated now would destroy her.
But she didn't.
As Bree walked out and hissed at her like one of her many new lizards, probably sitting at home and still being cared for by Dad, she realized how bad it looked. The torch illuminated her hand from its position on the floor, as well as the gun sitting several feet away. Her job was to stand or sit guard, not go on a brisk walk. There was no excuse for what she'd been planning to do.
As she sprawled across the floor on her hands and knees, she near silently looked up at the real security guard of this whole operation. Bree Jones, who'd been with her the entire day, and would probably have the best idea of what was going through her head. She got to see the worst of Mikki, the weakest she'd ever been; none of Terra or Phillip or Zach had been there trying to mentally will a dead friend back to life, none of them knew what it was like to feel such tremendous loss. But Bree was there, she'd cried like Mikki had cried, and stayed with her even when she ran before. She was running again, maybe she could understand. Maybe she could even join her.
No, that wouldn't do. The group needed to stay together, and the group included Bree. It also included Mikki, but the letter of temporary leave was only penned in her head, not postered on the wall. It needed to become a real one soon.
Mikki pulled herself off the ground and scrambled over to her gun, picking it up from the floor. From what she could see, nothing had happened to the gun itself, at least from her field of vision in near darkness. With that, she turned back to Bree for the harder part.
"Oh, hey, I..."
She paused, realizing just how bad it all looked.
"I was...just...walking. To...thought I...heard."
She was breathing so silently yet so deeply and quickly that a convincing lie physically couldn't form in her head. It fell from her mouth like an anvil. What followed next glid through the air like a downed butterfly, only because it was the truth and it was all she could manage right now.
"I was...I was going to go vigilante. And stuff. I just...I don't want the person who killed Abel to get away with it, even if rescue comes."
Mikki wanted Bree to understand her. She hated the feeling of nobody getting how she felt back in the rice paddies, and to have it repeated now would destroy her.
“What?”
Bree had been trying to keep her voice down, but that… took her off guard. Was Mikki, seriously, seriously going to try to hunt down Abel’s killer? Now? She was probably about to do something stupid, and then what? One less person, and one less weapon between them. She’d likely get killed, too.
“You can’t leave. I’m sorry, but you just can’t. We need you, damn it.”
Really, they just couldn’t have people just up and going off to do what they want this… early morning? Early morning. You can’t just run off to abandon them to go off to get revenge this early in the morning. Especially since it was her idea, her plan to begin with, to wait out the night here and leave for the village in the morning. Was Mikki actually about to change her mind and go, welp, that plan was balls, have fun I guess?
Bree had been trying to keep her voice down, but that… took her off guard. Was Mikki, seriously, seriously going to try to hunt down Abel’s killer? Now? She was probably about to do something stupid, and then what? One less person, and one less weapon between them. She’d likely get killed, too.
“You can’t leave. I’m sorry, but you just can’t. We need you, damn it.”
Really, they just couldn’t have people just up and going off to do what they want this… early morning? Early morning. You can’t just run off to abandon them to go off to get revenge this early in the morning. Especially since it was her idea, her plan to begin with, to wait out the night here and leave for the village in the morning. Was Mikki actually about to change her mind and go, welp, that plan was balls, have fun I guess?
She didn't get anything she needed from Bree. Not a fucking thing. No understanding, no wavering, not even an attempt to try and see what Mikki was seeing. How could she do that to her? After all they'd been through, Bree was still acting a stranger.
Maybe Mikki needed to make it clear. Quietly, of course, because she wasn't going to get away if everyone knew what was going on.
"Look, I know I said I want to keep us all safe, but if we do get rescued, I can't fucking live knowing that whoever killed Abel could make it back home. I want to find out who it is, and I want to...I want to give him some goddamn justice. He needs it. It's all I can do for him now."
Every moment Mikki stood there just filled her to the brim with an emotion she couldn't quite process. Not only was Bree refusing understand what needed to happen if Mikki was going to lead them, but she was acting as though she was their protector, their golden savior. Mikki may have been a lot of things in her life, but even she knew she wasn't that great. She may have been the only worthwhile musician to come from that school and she may have been one of the only people who came from nothing who was going to make herself into something, but she wasn't this group's messiah. They would be fine.
And either way, it's not like Bree could stop her.
"I'm sorry, but I need this. I'll be back later, I'll meet you all at the village later, just-"
Mikki turned on her heels and stepped over the debris on the floor this time.
"Just let me do this."
Maybe Mikki needed to make it clear. Quietly, of course, because she wasn't going to get away if everyone knew what was going on.
"Look, I know I said I want to keep us all safe, but if we do get rescued, I can't fucking live knowing that whoever killed Abel could make it back home. I want to find out who it is, and I want to...I want to give him some goddamn justice. He needs it. It's all I can do for him now."
Every moment Mikki stood there just filled her to the brim with an emotion she couldn't quite process. Not only was Bree refusing understand what needed to happen if Mikki was going to lead them, but she was acting as though she was their protector, their golden savior. Mikki may have been a lot of things in her life, but even she knew she wasn't that great. She may have been the only worthwhile musician to come from that school and she may have been one of the only people who came from nothing who was going to make herself into something, but she wasn't this group's messiah. They would be fine.
And either way, it's not like Bree could stop her.
"I'm sorry, but I need this. I'll be back later, I'll meet you all at the village later, just-"
Mikki turned on her heels and stepped over the debris on the floor this time.
"Just let me do this."
“Mikki--”
Jesus Christ, Mikki. You don’t have to go on a crusade of vengeance. You don’t have to track down the killer. You don’t even know who did it, how are you going to know? Apparently they were going to tell them sometime later, but even then. You’re wandering around in the dark trying to find a murderer like an idiot. By yourself.
“At least wait until tomorrow morning? Jesus, Mikki--”
She wasn’t going to listen to reason, Bree felt. But goddamn it, it was worth a shot.
Bree stomped forward, her heart pounding and her face into a scowl.
“Wait--”
She reached towards her.
Jesus Christ, Mikki. You don’t have to go on a crusade of vengeance. You don’t have to track down the killer. You don’t even know who did it, how are you going to know? Apparently they were going to tell them sometime later, but even then. You’re wandering around in the dark trying to find a murderer like an idiot. By yourself.
“At least wait until tomorrow morning? Jesus, Mikki--”
She wasn’t going to listen to reason, Bree felt. But goddamn it, it was worth a shot.
Bree stomped forward, her heart pounding and her face into a scowl.
“Wait--”
She reached towards her.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
((Phillip Olivares continued from Just keep breathin' and breathin' and breathin'))
It had been okay, the rest of the night. Decent. Adequate. Better than falling off a net, at least, but Phillip had found the situation less restful than he had hoped.
A large part of that, of course, was the mixture of guilt and unease about what had happened before. Phillip hadn't exactly kept it a secret, just, he also hadn't really been hopping to delve into the nitty gritty of what he'd experienced prior to winding up at the lighthouse. He was almost totally sure that Shauna had been moving still when he ran off, though his memory whispered to him that maybe that wasn't right, maybe she'd splattered like a rotten apple dropped from a branch, and maybe tomorrow morning he'd be named as the instrument of her destruction.
It was absurd. He'd barely touched her, and that only to help. She had ultimately been the one to let go, so there was no rational argument for blaming Phillip on the announcements. He was just projecting his own, somewhat more reasonable, feelings of responsibility. He was, that is to say, certainly largely to blame, just not quite enough to actually be branded for what he'd done. Probably.
He wished the dawn would just hurry up and arrive so he could be sure. Best case, nobody whose name he knew (well, besides Abel) got called out. Worst case he wouldn't think about.
It did not help that the ground was rough and hard and made it very difficult to even loosely drift off to sleep. This was a small side room off the main body of the lighthouse, distinct from the larger, roofless area by virtue of having a canopy merely turned to Swiss cheese and threatening to collapse at any moment rather than entirely absent. He'd thought about arguing against the spot but then had thought it might actually be a mercy if they were all crushed to death in their sleep and hadn't said a thing. This had probably been a storage room or something; its highest point was much lower than even the remnants of the towering walls of the main chamber. It was not cozy.
Still, he had managed to just about almost lose consciousness when the time came for the watch to change and Bree's whispers, quiet though they were, brought him right back to full awareness. She was stationed a bit away from him, but someone closer sounded to be shifting too. Phillip tried to ignore it, closed his eyes.
He would fall back asleep. He could do it. The first time was the hardest.
There was a clattering somewhere. Bree took off. Stubbornly, Phillip kept his eyes closed. He felt more awake than he'd been in broad daylight.
"Phil?" The voice was almost pleading, and dammit, he hadn't been having any luck sleeping anyways.
He opened his eyes, not that it helped much, then turned and whispered, actually quietly because unlike some present he had some volume control, thank you very much, "Hey.
"Hey, you having trouble sleeping too?"
It had been okay, the rest of the night. Decent. Adequate. Better than falling off a net, at least, but Phillip had found the situation less restful than he had hoped.
A large part of that, of course, was the mixture of guilt and unease about what had happened before. Phillip hadn't exactly kept it a secret, just, he also hadn't really been hopping to delve into the nitty gritty of what he'd experienced prior to winding up at the lighthouse. He was almost totally sure that Shauna had been moving still when he ran off, though his memory whispered to him that maybe that wasn't right, maybe she'd splattered like a rotten apple dropped from a branch, and maybe tomorrow morning he'd be named as the instrument of her destruction.
It was absurd. He'd barely touched her, and that only to help. She had ultimately been the one to let go, so there was no rational argument for blaming Phillip on the announcements. He was just projecting his own, somewhat more reasonable, feelings of responsibility. He was, that is to say, certainly largely to blame, just not quite enough to actually be branded for what he'd done. Probably.
He wished the dawn would just hurry up and arrive so he could be sure. Best case, nobody whose name he knew (well, besides Abel) got called out. Worst case he wouldn't think about.
It did not help that the ground was rough and hard and made it very difficult to even loosely drift off to sleep. This was a small side room off the main body of the lighthouse, distinct from the larger, roofless area by virtue of having a canopy merely turned to Swiss cheese and threatening to collapse at any moment rather than entirely absent. He'd thought about arguing against the spot but then had thought it might actually be a mercy if they were all crushed to death in their sleep and hadn't said a thing. This had probably been a storage room or something; its highest point was much lower than even the remnants of the towering walls of the main chamber. It was not cozy.
Still, he had managed to just about almost lose consciousness when the time came for the watch to change and Bree's whispers, quiet though they were, brought him right back to full awareness. She was stationed a bit away from him, but someone closer sounded to be shifting too. Phillip tried to ignore it, closed his eyes.
He would fall back asleep. He could do it. The first time was the hardest.
There was a clattering somewhere. Bree took off. Stubbornly, Phillip kept his eyes closed. He felt more awake than he'd been in broad daylight.
"Phil?" The voice was almost pleading, and dammit, he hadn't been having any luck sleeping anyways.
He opened his eyes, not that it helped much, then turned and whispered, actually quietly because unlike some present he had some volume control, thank you very much, "Hey.
"Hey, you having trouble sleeping too?"
(Terra Johnson concluding from Just keep breathin' and breathin' and breathin'
Terra Johnson couldn't sleep.
It was dark, and she was tired, and she was safe. The last was especially important, and especially true. After what had happened with Reuben, she hadn't really believed she'd ever be safe again. Safety seemed impossible, hidden behind walls of terror and doubt.
But Bree was here, tending to her hand, kind and patient as always. Mikki was here, and for all Terra's reservations about her she now found the other girl's brash nature reassuring. She really seemed to be holding them together. Even the other boy, Zach, was quiet, and kind. And Phil...well, Phil was Phil.
So they set a rough watch, and night fell, and Terra curled up against a wall, and couldn't sleep.
She might have dozed. She might have dreamed. She might have lurched back into reality, terrified of those dreams, those nightmares, those memories. Over and over again, she heard her words to Reuben. Over and over again, she saw the arc of Reuben's knife. Over and over again, she felt cold, carving pain: against her hand, her ribs, her throat.
Her hand throbbed. Her back ached.
She was hurt. She was afraid. But bigger than that, she was in shock, and worse than that, she was in doubt.
She had run in a panic through the forest, with fear in her heart and God's name taken in vain upon her lips, and plunged into the middle of sin. God had guided her steps, and put her where she needed to be. Wasn't she supposed to stand against such sin? Wasn't she supposed to build a more righteous world?
The girl had gotten away. But for her troubles, a man she thought she could trust had carved her hand up with a knife. She remembered that pain, and the sting of the whip upon her back. They had meant to hurt her. They had meant to kill her.
Was that what God's plan for her was? Was she suppose to martyr herself before the eyes of the terrorists and the world? To prove the strength of the righteousness? Was Terra Johnson supposed to die? What if her nightmares were prophecy? What if she was supposed to be carved up, a sacrifice to the power of God in a sinful world?
Was Terra that godly? Was she willing to die?
Round and round, thoughts and dreams and memories and questions chased each other. Terra lay in the dark, not knowing what to do, not knowing-
There was a noise, distant and loud at the same time. Terra started, eyes wide in the darkness. Bree was already up, already moving own the stairs. Terra remained where she was, still frightened, still unsure. More unsure than she'd been in her life. More unsure even than she'd been when...
Bree was gone. Mikki was gone. Who else was in the room?
"Phil?" she whispered, softly, plaintively, not sure if she wanted him to answer.
"Hey," he answered, and her heart did that thing she hated. A dentist had once given her a shot of epinpehrine when filling a troublesome cavity, and this feeling always felt a little like that: like her heart stuttered, as her stomach tripped to freefall.
"You having trouble sleeping too?" he asked.
"Yeah." For a moment, she didn't know what else to say. After another moment, she almost laughed, barely biting it when she remembered Zach. Was she really gonna be hiding things now? She'd almost died once a few hours ago. She didn't know what was coming next. And Terra had never been one to watch what she said. "Yeah," she said, a little quieter. "Keep...thinking about things. What you guys saw. What I..."
She trailed off. There were voices from downstairs. Terra half-tried to listen to them, then pushed the thought away. Bree and Mikki, with their own fears and sadness. Bree, still so kind. Mikki, holding Phil like
like you always wanted to.
Are you really going to hold something back now, Terra Johnson?
"Phil?" she said. "I'm...sorry. About what I..." She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. "I miss you."
Terra Johnson couldn't sleep.
It was dark, and she was tired, and she was safe. The last was especially important, and especially true. After what had happened with Reuben, she hadn't really believed she'd ever be safe again. Safety seemed impossible, hidden behind walls of terror and doubt.
But Bree was here, tending to her hand, kind and patient as always. Mikki was here, and for all Terra's reservations about her she now found the other girl's brash nature reassuring. She really seemed to be holding them together. Even the other boy, Zach, was quiet, and kind. And Phil...well, Phil was Phil.
So they set a rough watch, and night fell, and Terra curled up against a wall, and couldn't sleep.
She might have dozed. She might have dreamed. She might have lurched back into reality, terrified of those dreams, those nightmares, those memories. Over and over again, she heard her words to Reuben. Over and over again, she saw the arc of Reuben's knife. Over and over again, she felt cold, carving pain: against her hand, her ribs, her throat.
Her hand throbbed. Her back ached.
She was hurt. She was afraid. But bigger than that, she was in shock, and worse than that, she was in doubt.
She had run in a panic through the forest, with fear in her heart and God's name taken in vain upon her lips, and plunged into the middle of sin. God had guided her steps, and put her where she needed to be. Wasn't she supposed to stand against such sin? Wasn't she supposed to build a more righteous world?
The girl had gotten away. But for her troubles, a man she thought she could trust had carved her hand up with a knife. She remembered that pain, and the sting of the whip upon her back. They had meant to hurt her. They had meant to kill her.
Was that what God's plan for her was? Was she suppose to martyr herself before the eyes of the terrorists and the world? To prove the strength of the righteousness? Was Terra Johnson supposed to die? What if her nightmares were prophecy? What if she was supposed to be carved up, a sacrifice to the power of God in a sinful world?
Was Terra that godly? Was she willing to die?
Round and round, thoughts and dreams and memories and questions chased each other. Terra lay in the dark, not knowing what to do, not knowing-
There was a noise, distant and loud at the same time. Terra started, eyes wide in the darkness. Bree was already up, already moving own the stairs. Terra remained where she was, still frightened, still unsure. More unsure than she'd been in her life. More unsure even than she'd been when...
Bree was gone. Mikki was gone. Who else was in the room?
"Phil?" she whispered, softly, plaintively, not sure if she wanted him to answer.
"Hey," he answered, and her heart did that thing she hated. A dentist had once given her a shot of epinpehrine when filling a troublesome cavity, and this feeling always felt a little like that: like her heart stuttered, as her stomach tripped to freefall.
"You having trouble sleeping too?" he asked.
"Yeah." For a moment, she didn't know what else to say. After another moment, she almost laughed, barely biting it when she remembered Zach. Was she really gonna be hiding things now? She'd almost died once a few hours ago. She didn't know what was coming next. And Terra had never been one to watch what she said. "Yeah," she said, a little quieter. "Keep...thinking about things. What you guys saw. What I..."
She trailed off. There were voices from downstairs. Terra half-tried to listen to them, then pushed the thought away. Bree and Mikki, with their own fears and sadness. Bree, still so kind. Mikki, holding Phil like
like you always wanted to.
Are you really going to hold something back now, Terra Johnson?
"Phil?" she said. "I'm...sorry. About what I..." She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. "I miss you."
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Oh boy. Oh boy, not now.
So there had been a few moments not so long ago between Terra and Phillip that were... awkward. Benign, but indisputably awkward. It was like, like she was cool and for reasons that were pretty much a mystery of the universe on par with the forces of magnetism, she actually was under the extremely mistaken impression that Phillip was at least sort of vaguely kind of close to cool too, and that was a problem because Phillip was so uncool even he knew it. Like, he had stuff he was good at, stuff that was cool but in this geeky sort of way, like the clown thing and the magic thing. Those were both awesome in their own respects, but not the draw-positive-attention-from-girls ways, like he wasn't Nick Ogilvie able to wave his fingers and make anyone's pants disappear. Not close. And that was fine. Phillip was really, honestly, truly not jealous of Nick.
But he bet Nick would've had a whole lot more of a damn clue what to do about this whole situation. Phillip had kind of just done what he normally did with trouble and avoided it, which in this case had meant avoiding Terra, who seemed to be more than content to return the favor. But now? Now that felt pretty stupid. After all, they were going to die, probably all of them and certainly far sooner than anyone would've anticipated.
Come to think of it, it was just another little piece of stupid cowardice that hurt other people and kicked in only when Phillip himself had startlingly little to lose. Just like the net. Great.
Maybe it wasn't totally too late? Or, well, it was too late to be decent and brave and normal, that ship had sailed just as soon as the gas started to flow, but maybe he could improve. Maybe he could get a start on the whole fixing-problems-tomorrow thing tonight. He didn't really think he could call it true growth of character given the extreme duress it came under, but that was what it was and he could try anyways.
"Yeah," he said, very quietly, but he was sure she could hear. "You too."
That was pretty weak, and he knew it. He could do better. He would.
"I'm sorry too. It's... scary, somehow. Not just being here. Everything."
Vague, but appropriate. A starting point. And he meant it, at least.
Zach was probably listening in and cracking up about what huge fucking dweebs they both were.
So there had been a few moments not so long ago between Terra and Phillip that were... awkward. Benign, but indisputably awkward. It was like, like she was cool and for reasons that were pretty much a mystery of the universe on par with the forces of magnetism, she actually was under the extremely mistaken impression that Phillip was at least sort of vaguely kind of close to cool too, and that was a problem because Phillip was so uncool even he knew it. Like, he had stuff he was good at, stuff that was cool but in this geeky sort of way, like the clown thing and the magic thing. Those were both awesome in their own respects, but not the draw-positive-attention-from-girls ways, like he wasn't Nick Ogilvie able to wave his fingers and make anyone's pants disappear. Not close. And that was fine. Phillip was really, honestly, truly not jealous of Nick.
But he bet Nick would've had a whole lot more of a damn clue what to do about this whole situation. Phillip had kind of just done what he normally did with trouble and avoided it, which in this case had meant avoiding Terra, who seemed to be more than content to return the favor. But now? Now that felt pretty stupid. After all, they were going to die, probably all of them and certainly far sooner than anyone would've anticipated.
Come to think of it, it was just another little piece of stupid cowardice that hurt other people and kicked in only when Phillip himself had startlingly little to lose. Just like the net. Great.
Maybe it wasn't totally too late? Or, well, it was too late to be decent and brave and normal, that ship had sailed just as soon as the gas started to flow, but maybe he could improve. Maybe he could get a start on the whole fixing-problems-tomorrow thing tonight. He didn't really think he could call it true growth of character given the extreme duress it came under, but that was what it was and he could try anyways.
"Yeah," he said, very quietly, but he was sure she could hear. "You too."
That was pretty weak, and he knew it. He could do better. He would.
"I'm sorry too. It's... scary, somehow. Not just being here. Everything."
Vague, but appropriate. A starting point. And he meant it, at least.
Zach was probably listening in and cracking up about what huge fucking dweebs they both were.
And there was silence.
Oh, if the awkwardness had been bad before, it was almost fatal now. Something like a knife stabbed inwards through Terra's chest, cold and dark and terrible, worse in some ways than the very real knife that had cut in her hand before. Nothing was any different. Nothing changed. Bombs on their necks, murderers loose all around them.
Abel was dead. She vaguely knew that Abel, in the same way she vaguely knew so many of George Hunter's athletes and gamers. Just in passing, just in a few brief words, an occasional banquet or fundraiser.
How many more people like that would die before this day was done? How many more of God's children reaped before their time? And Terra Johnson, would-be martyr and soldier of Christ, sat here close to tears because a boy didn't like her.
It didn't matter. It didn't matter. Sure, she liked Phil. Food kitchen here, community service there, goofing around in class together, Phil always a little quiet and effotlessly funny, disarming her with a magic trick or a spirited rendition of one of his ICP songs and one time a rant about the symbolism of ICP songs and videos that had lasted...damn it, she'd timed it! How long had it been? Longer or shorter than half an hour? Maybe she still had it on her phone.
Yes, she liked Phil. Who didn't like Phil? It was impossible not to like Phil. She didn't think she'd ever known anyone more sincere in her whole life. But it didn't matter. Your relationship with someone else was just a path to your relationship with God. And yes, Phil was devout in a way she felt like few people really were, and yes, being around him was comfortable. She didn't feel the instinctive defensiveness or disgust she felt around Mikki or the people she liked, she didn't feel the squirming uncertainty that she did when she heard some of the other track girls talk about their boyfriends or their hook-ups
(and she certainly never felt envy, no no no, that was a mortal sin and pre-marital sex was its own separate sin how many times had she had that fight with her parents how many times had she said as much to people like Mikki? So she couldn't feel envy, couldn't feel curiousity, couldn't want to know a little bit what it was like to have a boy in your bed when your parents were out of town one weekend, couldn't imagine it, didn't imagine it, never imagined it)
Around Phil, she felt at ease. Around Phil, she couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like if his arm was wrapped around her. Or wonder what his lips would feel like pressed against hers.
And look where that had gotten her. The way he'd looked at her when she'd leaned close during the movie in a friend's basement. The way he'd stiffened, like he was about to throw up. She disgusted him. Of course she did. She was disgusting. Awkward that night. Awkward the next day. Couldn't be around him. Couldn't be reminded of who she was. Stupid and weak and short-sighted and-
"Yeah."
Terra froze. Her eyes stopped prickling. She stared into the darkness.
"You too."
Sunlight in the pool.
Only feeling she could think of. Only thing that had ever come close. Diving into water just a little too cold, floating up on your back with a warm sun baking down on you, free and floating and at ease. The cold, dark knife was gone. Only the warm, sunlit pool, and Terra felt like she was floating.
"I'm sorry too," he said, and that was impossible, what on Earth did Phil have to be sorry for? But then he was speaking again: "It's... scary, somehow. Not just being here. Everything."
Terra laughed. She couldn't help it. She tried to muffle the sound, putting her hand against her mouth so it came out as a squeaking giggle. She didn't want to wake Zach. She felt so young. She felt so alive.
"Scary," she repeated, still laughing, because she couldn't believe someone else felt the same way. "I know. Always scary. Always weird, right?"
The laughter faded. She was still warm and cool at the same time, in all the best ways. She felt light and ecstatic, just a hint of runner's high. Her back no longer ached. Her hand no longer throbbed.
God had guided her feet to save a girl's life. God had guided her feet to a lighthouse door, where Phil would soon follow. She felt the old gratitude filling her from end to end. Had to have faith. Just had to have faith.
"It was..." Terra said, and tried to put everything she was feeling into her voice. "It was less scary. With you. That's why..."
Don't hold back, Terra. You're in this place for a reason.
"Phil?" she said, and couldn't help the nervousness in her voice, or the hysterical courage. "Can I say something...kinda scary?"
Oh, if the awkwardness had been bad before, it was almost fatal now. Something like a knife stabbed inwards through Terra's chest, cold and dark and terrible, worse in some ways than the very real knife that had cut in her hand before. Nothing was any different. Nothing changed. Bombs on their necks, murderers loose all around them.
Abel was dead. She vaguely knew that Abel, in the same way she vaguely knew so many of George Hunter's athletes and gamers. Just in passing, just in a few brief words, an occasional banquet or fundraiser.
How many more people like that would die before this day was done? How many more of God's children reaped before their time? And Terra Johnson, would-be martyr and soldier of Christ, sat here close to tears because a boy didn't like her.
It didn't matter. It didn't matter. Sure, she liked Phil. Food kitchen here, community service there, goofing around in class together, Phil always a little quiet and effotlessly funny, disarming her with a magic trick or a spirited rendition of one of his ICP songs and one time a rant about the symbolism of ICP songs and videos that had lasted...damn it, she'd timed it! How long had it been? Longer or shorter than half an hour? Maybe she still had it on her phone.
Yes, she liked Phil. Who didn't like Phil? It was impossible not to like Phil. She didn't think she'd ever known anyone more sincere in her whole life. But it didn't matter. Your relationship with someone else was just a path to your relationship with God. And yes, Phil was devout in a way she felt like few people really were, and yes, being around him was comfortable. She didn't feel the instinctive defensiveness or disgust she felt around Mikki or the people she liked, she didn't feel the squirming uncertainty that she did when she heard some of the other track girls talk about their boyfriends or their hook-ups
(and she certainly never felt envy, no no no, that was a mortal sin and pre-marital sex was its own separate sin how many times had she had that fight with her parents how many times had she said as much to people like Mikki? So she couldn't feel envy, couldn't feel curiousity, couldn't want to know a little bit what it was like to have a boy in your bed when your parents were out of town one weekend, couldn't imagine it, didn't imagine it, never imagined it)
Around Phil, she felt at ease. Around Phil, she couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like if his arm was wrapped around her. Or wonder what his lips would feel like pressed against hers.
And look where that had gotten her. The way he'd looked at her when she'd leaned close during the movie in a friend's basement. The way he'd stiffened, like he was about to throw up. She disgusted him. Of course she did. She was disgusting. Awkward that night. Awkward the next day. Couldn't be around him. Couldn't be reminded of who she was. Stupid and weak and short-sighted and-
"Yeah."
Terra froze. Her eyes stopped prickling. She stared into the darkness.
"You too."
Sunlight in the pool.
Only feeling she could think of. Only thing that had ever come close. Diving into water just a little too cold, floating up on your back with a warm sun baking down on you, free and floating and at ease. The cold, dark knife was gone. Only the warm, sunlit pool, and Terra felt like she was floating.
"I'm sorry too," he said, and that was impossible, what on Earth did Phil have to be sorry for? But then he was speaking again: "It's... scary, somehow. Not just being here. Everything."
Terra laughed. She couldn't help it. She tried to muffle the sound, putting her hand against her mouth so it came out as a squeaking giggle. She didn't want to wake Zach. She felt so young. She felt so alive.
"Scary," she repeated, still laughing, because she couldn't believe someone else felt the same way. "I know. Always scary. Always weird, right?"
The laughter faded. She was still warm and cool at the same time, in all the best ways. She felt light and ecstatic, just a hint of runner's high. Her back no longer ached. Her hand no longer throbbed.
God had guided her feet to save a girl's life. God had guided her feet to a lighthouse door, where Phil would soon follow. She felt the old gratitude filling her from end to end. Had to have faith. Just had to have faith.
"It was..." Terra said, and tried to put everything she was feeling into her voice. "It was less scary. With you. That's why..."
Don't hold back, Terra. You're in this place for a reason.
"Phil?" she said, and couldn't help the nervousness in her voice, or the hysterical courage. "Can I say something...kinda scary?"
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Phillip closed his eyes, then opened them again. It wasn't to shut anything out or clear his vision or anything like that. He was just sort of... unsure. It was something to do, while he thought to himself but failed to make any headway. Thinking about these things, this person (no, this girl, no, Terra), it was hard.
But it had nothing on the difficulty of feelings.
He reached up and scratched at his neck, and it was a little more purposeful at least because he actually was a bit itchy. It was probably the dirt and dust, which would probably settle in his lungs and make him go for his inhaler again at least twice before the night was over. He was... He was trying to push this away again, to get distracted. It still wasn't right. He might not deserve better, but she did.
He turned, faced Terra, and smiled.
"No," he said, but before she had time to get scared or hurt or upset or anything, because Phillip had a flair for the dramatic and was kind of an asshole but not a total one, he held up a finger and continued speaking.
"No, because, because I don't think anything you say can be too scary anymore. It's... I mean, it is, but also... it's not, you know? I don't think you'd hurt anyone, or me, so, so it can't be that scary."
He was talking himself out of the ideological stance he was espousing here, to be fully honest, letting his mouth run again and everything get more complicated, and that was scary indeed, but what he wasn't talking himself out of doing was hearing what Terra had to say. Maybe stalling, just a little, but from fear? Or from the feeling that this was a moment, a nice moment, and how few of those he would have left. Why not let it linger, just for now? Just for a little?
Well, because Zach was probably gagging to himself, for one. With that thought, the moment passed.
"So go ahea—"
And then there was a cacophony of sound, cutting through the night and cutting off whatever else there was to say.
But it had nothing on the difficulty of feelings.
He reached up and scratched at his neck, and it was a little more purposeful at least because he actually was a bit itchy. It was probably the dirt and dust, which would probably settle in his lungs and make him go for his inhaler again at least twice before the night was over. He was... He was trying to push this away again, to get distracted. It still wasn't right. He might not deserve better, but she did.
He turned, faced Terra, and smiled.
"No," he said, but before she had time to get scared or hurt or upset or anything, because Phillip had a flair for the dramatic and was kind of an asshole but not a total one, he held up a finger and continued speaking.
"No, because, because I don't think anything you say can be too scary anymore. It's... I mean, it is, but also... it's not, you know? I don't think you'd hurt anyone, or me, so, so it can't be that scary."
He was talking himself out of the ideological stance he was espousing here, to be fully honest, letting his mouth run again and everything get more complicated, and that was scary indeed, but what he wasn't talking himself out of doing was hearing what Terra had to say. Maybe stalling, just a little, but from fear? Or from the feeling that this was a moment, a nice moment, and how few of those he would have left. Why not let it linger, just for now? Just for a little?
Well, because Zach was probably gagging to himself, for one. With that thought, the moment passed.
"So go ahea—"
And then there was a cacophony of sound, cutting through the night and cutting off whatever else there was to say.
Mikki hadn't even made it several steps before Bree had stepped forward and suddenly her wrist was in the other girl's hand. Even though this technically didn't stop her from moving, Mikki stopped anyway. It felt a betrayal, somehow. With the words and all they'd been through, suddenly Bree had had enough of what Mikki was trying to do and wanted it done. Like Mikki was no longer the leader anymore, a position she was already begining to have a complicated relationship with.
So rather than being forceful, or violent, Mikki just made it simple.
"Bree, let go of me."
She stared through the lightening blue of the early morning, let the words be themselves, aimed at the girl holding her gun hand captive. She let the silence fill the gap, before reiterating what needed to be said in a raised voice, with absolutely no regard for any sense of whether or not the people upstairs would be disturbed or have any illusion of stopping her.
"I said, let me go!"
Mikki's heart beat through her chest.
So rather than being forceful, or violent, Mikki just made it simple.
"Bree, let go of me."
She stared through the lightening blue of the early morning, let the words be themselves, aimed at the girl holding her gun hand captive. She let the silence fill the gap, before reiterating what needed to be said in a raised voice, with absolutely no regard for any sense of whether or not the people upstairs would be disturbed or have any illusion of stopping her.
"I said, let me go!"
Mikki's heart beat through her chest.