((Yeah, this post sucks, but so do comp hours))
"Get over here!"
Tiffany looked up to the source of the voice. Quincy was hiding behind a building. Of course, with Psycho-chick firing at her, she didn't want to move. Then again, with Psycho-chick firing, it meant that she could get hit. Given how frightened she was, Tiffany could hardly think in this situation. Of course, she wasn't really accustomed to getting shot at, either, so it would have made sense. If she had been able to think about anything, it would have been asking herself whether it was safer to stay where she was, or to get up and hide with Quincy. As such, TIffany made a decision, albeit unconsciously.
Tiffany scrabbled up, staying as low as possible while still running towards where she had heard and now could see Quincy, stopping only when she was behind the building and Quincy, who was currently her only source of protection.
Later, Buddy
Private Thread
Survivor: UCONN - Seriously, it's awesome!
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
((SORRY, SORRY, I was waiting on Kami to enter before I posted, but since I'm near inactivity...))
They scarpered, go scarper, scarper away from your crimes. You did it, don't try to deny it, don't try to act scared of all things. You're killers. You're murderers. You're going to die by her hand, and you will not deny your fate. Just lie there, act scared, be scared, don't try to run.
Kill them. Kill them.
You get closer, you hide, you take out a magazine and reload. Bullet by bullet. Click, it's done, you're back in business, get back to business. You don't even try hiding, you know where they are, just take them down. You step out, you go forward, and you keep on firing. Bang. Bang. Bang bang bang. Half gone already, this is so much fun. Ignore the fun, this isn't fun, go kill them.
You get closer, half your bullets are gone this time, 5 to go. You feel one, not yours, go whizzing by your head. It doesn't hurt, it misses, but you can feel everything rushing back to you, why are you crying little girl-IGNORE IT. FOCUS. KILL THEM.
Have they run? They could probably run now if they wanted. Let them run, why don't you kill them? They deserve it, you get closer, they can even hear your cries, your tears, what tears, you're not crying, no way, just kill them, why kill them? Because you don't want them to live, they killed the only person you ever had a crush on-NO THAT'S NOT WHY THEY KILLED SO THEY DESERVE TO DIE NO ONE WILL BLAME YOU JUST KILL THEM, TEAR THEM APART.
But your eyes fall upon his body. It's so close, yet, you can feel it right there, staring, what staring, what are you talking about, he's dead you don't stare if you're dead, shut up, but he's dead. Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
She blinked. She couldn't see, and now she fully knew why now.
A small sob escaped her lips. It wasn't anything, barely audible. She was still stable, if only for that brief moment of clarity. Then, the larger ones came up like frogs in her throat, clawing out and cawing across the fair.
Before she knew it she was on her knees. They flew out her mouth like she was becoming sick. Wet sobs filled the air, as the one person in the world who she actually somewhat cared for lay dead beneath her.
She didn't care about his two killers now. They could be in Timbucktoo for all she cared.
Aston just wanted to stop crying.
They scarpered, go scarper, scarper away from your crimes. You did it, don't try to deny it, don't try to act scared of all things. You're killers. You're murderers. You're going to die by her hand, and you will not deny your fate. Just lie there, act scared, be scared, don't try to run.
Kill them. Kill them.
You get closer, you hide, you take out a magazine and reload. Bullet by bullet. Click, it's done, you're back in business, get back to business. You don't even try hiding, you know where they are, just take them down. You step out, you go forward, and you keep on firing. Bang. Bang. Bang bang bang. Half gone already, this is so much fun. Ignore the fun, this isn't fun, go kill them.
You get closer, half your bullets are gone this time, 5 to go. You feel one, not yours, go whizzing by your head. It doesn't hurt, it misses, but you can feel everything rushing back to you, why are you crying little girl-IGNORE IT. FOCUS. KILL THEM.
Have they run? They could probably run now if they wanted. Let them run, why don't you kill them? They deserve it, you get closer, they can even hear your cries, your tears, what tears, you're not crying, no way, just kill them, why kill them? Because you don't want them to live, they killed the only person you ever had a crush on-NO THAT'S NOT WHY THEY KILLED SO THEY DESERVE TO DIE NO ONE WILL BLAME YOU JUST KILL THEM, TEAR THEM APART.
But your eyes fall upon his body. It's so close, yet, you can feel it right there, staring, what staring, what are you talking about, he's dead you don't stare if you're dead, shut up, but he's dead. Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
She blinked. She couldn't see, and now she fully knew why now.
A small sob escaped her lips. It wasn't anything, barely audible. She was still stable, if only for that brief moment of clarity. Then, the larger ones came up like frogs in her throat, clawing out and cawing across the fair.
Before she knew it she was on her knees. They flew out her mouth like she was becoming sick. Wet sobs filled the air, as the one person in the world who she actually somewhat cared for lay dead beneath her.
She didn't care about his two killers now. They could be in Timbucktoo for all she cared.
Aston just wanted to stop crying.
((Anna Chase continued from Amazing Journey/Sparks. Sorry it took so long!))
Oh... no...
Her search for Aston had lead her to one place she hadn't wished to return again.
The fairground.
That fairground.
She was here again. That fairground, that wretched fairground. The ferris wheel still towered over her. The stalls were still poised. The games were still up without people attending to them.
And even after everything she had been through, the memories of that first day still bubbled up. She could remember someone talking to her. Was it Lexie? No, Lexie wasn't on the trip. She had been lucky. But the rest was a blur in more ways than one. She could vaguely remember what happened though. Nancy had attacked her and stolen her things. And those two... those two... they just stood there. She didn't remember who they were, but they just stood there and argued. She had been blind and terrified and she remembered how Nancy had pulled and tugged at her hair and the roar of machinery and the organs and-
Chase absentmindedly massaged the back of her head. The pain had long since dulled, and her mind didn't want to remember. But the vague memory of what had happened remained. She didn't want to remember. But there it was. For a few minutes, Chase looked like a deer in headlights.
It had felt like she had just ran out of the fairground just minutes ago after seeing Robert's remains. Obviously she hadn't, but it still felt that way. So here she was. Trembling and shaking right at the entrance of the fairground.
She didn't want to be here.
She didn't want to be at the fairground.
No no no no no no no no no no no.
She took a deep breath.
Okay, check to see if Aston was in there, and scurry on out once she'd checked everything. Quickly now. She didn't want to linger here. Chase grabbed the remaining bag and crossbow from off the ground where it had been rested and held tightly as she hesitantly stepped further into the fairground.
She could defend herself this time, right? She was armed. People like Nancy weren't as able to get her, were they? She could fight them off. She didn't want to die, after all. Did she? Not that much, at least. But she had to be careful. Keep a tight grip on that crossbow and bag. Keep an eye out for psychos like Rasputin and Nancy. She just had to be particularly careful here. If she found Aston, great, drag her out and bring her back to the shack as soon as possible. If not, she'd look elsewhere.
Besides, she had to continue looking for Aston. Her arm was hurt, and not only that, but she had the gun again. Why did Chase let her have it again? If she knew any better, she wouldn't have given it back to her! God knew what Aston was going to do with it if something happened!
Chase took another deep breath. And another.
God damn, why did she have to be here? Hopefully she won't be here for long, and was just passing through. Hopefully.
And suddenly, gunshots. Chase practically jumped at the sound.
Nancy? Rasputin? No, they'd be long gone by now. Screaming? Oh hell yes. Someone was getting shot. Oh no, obviously that wasn't good. Of course it wasn't fucking good! Some psycho was nearby doing god knew what! God fucking damn. This whole thing... this wretched place...
The gunshots continued as she froze in place once more, eyes wide open. After a while, they stopped completely.
She shouldn't look to see what happened. She shouldn't stay.
And yet, curiosity got her. It got her good.
Heart pounding in her chest, she approached the direction of the sound, only to find.... Aston. Yes, she had found her! But why was she crying? Why was she so upset? What just happened?
"Aston...?"
Chase approached the girl, only to see a sight up in front of her. At first she couldn't recognize what was wrong with the carousel. If she was in a better state of mind, she would have recognized it straight away. But she had to look at it for a few seconds. There was a splash of red on it, like... oh god. She saw it now. It wasn't him, it was... it was an it. No, he had to still be alive, right? Maybe he was simply injured or that was someone else's blood and he was just exhausted.
"Oh god... Aston... what... what happened?" Chase murmured quietly, staring at the scene.
Did Aston do that to him? She couldn't have. Sure the group had been chaotic, but she wouldn't have actually done that. But she had been upset at him and Marty earlier. She might have. It wouldn't be improbable, right?
And so Chase continued staring at what was left of Joshua Krakowski, her crossbow pistol shaking in her right hand.
Maybe there was a chance he was still alive. Maybe that's why she was upset. She didn't know how to save him, right? No, there was too much blood. And it was all coming from the head.
So he was... gone then, right? No... not him...
Oh... no...
Her search for Aston had lead her to one place she hadn't wished to return again.
The fairground.
That fairground.
She was here again. That fairground, that wretched fairground. The ferris wheel still towered over her. The stalls were still poised. The games were still up without people attending to them.
And even after everything she had been through, the memories of that first day still bubbled up. She could remember someone talking to her. Was it Lexie? No, Lexie wasn't on the trip. She had been lucky. But the rest was a blur in more ways than one. She could vaguely remember what happened though. Nancy had attacked her and stolen her things. And those two... those two... they just stood there. She didn't remember who they were, but they just stood there and argued. She had been blind and terrified and she remembered how Nancy had pulled and tugged at her hair and the roar of machinery and the organs and-
Chase absentmindedly massaged the back of her head. The pain had long since dulled, and her mind didn't want to remember. But the vague memory of what had happened remained. She didn't want to remember. But there it was. For a few minutes, Chase looked like a deer in headlights.
It had felt like she had just ran out of the fairground just minutes ago after seeing Robert's remains. Obviously she hadn't, but it still felt that way. So here she was. Trembling and shaking right at the entrance of the fairground.
She didn't want to be here.
She didn't want to be at the fairground.
No no no no no no no no no no no.
She took a deep breath.
Okay, check to see if Aston was in there, and scurry on out once she'd checked everything. Quickly now. She didn't want to linger here. Chase grabbed the remaining bag and crossbow from off the ground where it had been rested and held tightly as she hesitantly stepped further into the fairground.
She could defend herself this time, right? She was armed. People like Nancy weren't as able to get her, were they? She could fight them off. She didn't want to die, after all. Did she? Not that much, at least. But she had to be careful. Keep a tight grip on that crossbow and bag. Keep an eye out for psychos like Rasputin and Nancy. She just had to be particularly careful here. If she found Aston, great, drag her out and bring her back to the shack as soon as possible. If not, she'd look elsewhere.
Besides, she had to continue looking for Aston. Her arm was hurt, and not only that, but she had the gun again. Why did Chase let her have it again? If she knew any better, she wouldn't have given it back to her! God knew what Aston was going to do with it if something happened!
Chase took another deep breath. And another.
God damn, why did she have to be here? Hopefully she won't be here for long, and was just passing through. Hopefully.
And suddenly, gunshots. Chase practically jumped at the sound.
Nancy? Rasputin? No, they'd be long gone by now. Screaming? Oh hell yes. Someone was getting shot. Oh no, obviously that wasn't good. Of course it wasn't fucking good! Some psycho was nearby doing god knew what! God fucking damn. This whole thing... this wretched place...
The gunshots continued as she froze in place once more, eyes wide open. After a while, they stopped completely.
She shouldn't look to see what happened. She shouldn't stay.
And yet, curiosity got her. It got her good.
Heart pounding in her chest, she approached the direction of the sound, only to find.... Aston. Yes, she had found her! But why was she crying? Why was she so upset? What just happened?
"Aston...?"
Chase approached the girl, only to see a sight up in front of her. At first she couldn't recognize what was wrong with the carousel. If she was in a better state of mind, she would have recognized it straight away. But she had to look at it for a few seconds. There was a splash of red on it, like... oh god. She saw it now. It wasn't him, it was... it was an it. No, he had to still be alive, right? Maybe he was simply injured or that was someone else's blood and he was just exhausted.
"Oh god... Aston... what... what happened?" Chase murmured quietly, staring at the scene.
Did Aston do that to him? She couldn't have. Sure the group had been chaotic, but she wouldn't have actually done that. But she had been upset at him and Marty earlier. She might have. It wouldn't be improbable, right?
And so Chase continued staring at what was left of Joshua Krakowski, her crossbow pistol shaking in her right hand.
Maybe there was a chance he was still alive. Maybe that's why she was upset. She didn't know how to save him, right? No, there was too much blood. And it was all coming from the head.
So he was... gone then, right? No... not him...
-
Killer_Moth†
- Posts: 259
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 8:22 am
Tiffany was safe. That was the main thing right now. But between the gun nut, and now this new figure appearing, things were getting too hat to stick around. He could possibly have managed with the element of surprise, as he had with Joshua, but they knew he was there.
"Okay, Tiff. We've done all we can here. I figure we take advantage of this break and get out of here. I'm not risking you in attacking this pair. Sooner or later, they're meat anyway. We need to pick our targets, pick our chances, if we're going to get out of this. Now come on."
It was too easy. This acknowledgement that now he was playing the game. It changed his priorities. Before, where he had avoided trouble, and concentrated on finding Felicia, now that was a secondary consideration. Now, he had to stay low. He was a known killer, double threat. At least Tiffany was in the clear, announcement wise, he hoped. He hadn't noticed any 'assists' being mentioned. He could use that. It meant she was still an asset.
Keeping crouched down, he made his way away from where gun chick and Anna Chase were. Better they didn't see which way they went. Meant there was less chance of being followed.
((Quincy Jones cont'd in Endings & Beginnings))
"Okay, Tiff. We've done all we can here. I figure we take advantage of this break and get out of here. I'm not risking you in attacking this pair. Sooner or later, they're meat anyway. We need to pick our targets, pick our chances, if we're going to get out of this. Now come on."
It was too easy. This acknowledgement that now he was playing the game. It changed his priorities. Before, where he had avoided trouble, and concentrated on finding Felicia, now that was a secondary consideration. Now, he had to stay low. He was a known killer, double threat. At least Tiffany was in the clear, announcement wise, he hoped. He hadn't noticed any 'assists' being mentioned. He could use that. It meant she was still an asset.
Keeping crouched down, he made his way away from where gun chick and Anna Chase were. Better they didn't see which way they went. Meant there was less chance of being followed.
((Quincy Jones cont'd in Endings & Beginnings))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Killer_Moth. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
The shooting had stopped. Psycho Girl had, for whatever reason, given them a break.
"Okay, Tiff. We've done all we can here. I figure we take advantage of this break and get out of here. I'm not risking you in attacking this pair. Sooner or later, they're meat anyway. We need to pick our targets, pick our chances, if we're going to get out of this. Now come on."
Quincy kept himself crouched down as he started away from Psycho Girl and some other girl whom Tiffany wouldn't really care to know either now or back at Bayview. She just followed Quincy and got out of there. There were only two things that were really going through her head as she left.
The first thought was that she and Quincy had been very close to literally eating a bullet. The second was that as Quincy had been the one to fire the shot into Joshua, it was pretty likely that Danya announce him as the killer, regardless of Tiffany's small role in what had happened, meaning that nobody was going to be suspicious of her. Well, they wouldn't be more suspicious of her.
((Tiffany Chanders continued in Endings and Beginnings))
"Okay, Tiff. We've done all we can here. I figure we take advantage of this break and get out of here. I'm not risking you in attacking this pair. Sooner or later, they're meat anyway. We need to pick our targets, pick our chances, if we're going to get out of this. Now come on."
Quincy kept himself crouched down as he started away from Psycho Girl and some other girl whom Tiffany wouldn't really care to know either now or back at Bayview. She just followed Quincy and got out of there. There were only two things that were really going through her head as she left.
The first thought was that she and Quincy had been very close to literally eating a bullet. The second was that as Quincy had been the one to fire the shot into Joshua, it was pretty likely that Danya announce him as the killer, regardless of Tiffany's small role in what had happened, meaning that nobody was going to be suspicious of her. Well, they wouldn't be more suspicious of her.
((Tiffany Chanders continued in Endings and Beginnings))
Survivor: UCONN - Seriously, it's awesome!
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
He's gone...
Aston didn't know what to do. She was never taught how to cope with something this heavy. He was dead. This was...horrible.
In all her life, she'd never really grieved. Her great-grandparents died before she really got to know them, so she was just...sad, when they passed on. She'd never know anything outside the stories her parents told her about them. There was even her cousin, some 40-year-old from "New Joisey" in New York, had a heart attack at the butchers. Her parents, even her brothers, were in grievance, but she wasn't. She never knew him, she had no reason to be sad. But...now...
Joshua Krakowski. He was the same age as her, same situation. He had a friend. He had people who cared about him. She cared about him, Aston never knew how much until now. He was the first person she...no...
She was so numb. Her skin picked up all the tiniest little movements. A breeze felt like pins and needles. The water dripping down her cheeks were like knives ripping open her skin. And she kept on letting these knives rip down her face, because Aston didn't want this to be true.
She heard that goth girl
Chase
arriving. The crunchiness of the grass echoed louder until it stopped. Vocals, movements, she could hear goth girl
Chase
speaking, just saying...something. It didn't make any sense to her, and Aston just couldn't care. This was her moment, she just wanted to...grieve. She didn't know how to do that, but she just wanted to.
Aston never moved, not for a long time. Her eyes just kept swelling up, staring at the body, trying to not do anything except cry, and cry and cry, for a boy she couldn't save.
Time passed.
*Screeeech*
She didn't know how long she'd been there, but it was a hell of a long time, apparently. It couldn't have been more than a few hours though, but she couldn't stop...
What she didn't show the world was what she was planning to do.
Aston wasn't a girly kind of girl. She wasn't used to having to let her feelings out, especially among her brothers. Fuck, her brothers, they gave her the worst of it every time she cried - "You wanna be like us, you toughen up like us, huh?" - whenever she wanted to punch them, she knew and they knew it was working just fine.
But not now. No brothers around to keep her in check. No one except herself to just tell her to be tough, tough it out, tough it all out.
She'd had enough.
No more of the charade.
Aston waited, and listened until the announcement was over. Their current locale was free.
She got up off her knees, where she'd been sitting for almost forever. Her legs felt weak, made of string cheese or something. After a stumble, she stood up straight, and sat down right where Joshua's blood coated the carousel.
I...don't know what to do. What the fuck do I do? My only...the only friend I have here is gone. He's gone, dead.
...so this is the reality of it.
If I don't kill, I'll die to.
And I'm not killing to win.
I don't want to win this game if it means I have to be reduced to the level of a maniac.
...
...If I can't kill to win...I can kill for Josh.
For him.
I'll find Quincy. I'll find that blonde bitch with him.
I'll kill them both.
It won't bring him back, but I can at least make sure they don't win.
...heh. I'm just gonna spoil the game for them.
Fuck them.
I'll make for sure that I avenge Josh.
Aston looked at the gun clasped in her hand, even after all this time. It felt sticky, but...it felt like it belonged there. The imprint was still left in her skin, a drawn sketch canvas across her palm. She didn't even bat an eye, and slipped it right back into the palm of her hand. It was half-empty now. She wasted half the bullets in her blind rage, and now...she had to be careful.
Aston slung the bag she dropped beside Joshua's body over her shoulder, and started walking.
Only a few steps away, she looked back.
It was goth girl,
Chase
still here.
"I'm going to find them...Chase. If you want to come with me, say so now. What I'm gonna do is not pretty, but it's the only thing I have left. I'll make sure they don't win. I'm going to kill them, and then...however it goes, it goes."
Aston turned back to the trail sprawling before her, and bit her lip. Flicker of pain.
It was so good to know she could feel again.
((Aston Bennett continues in Feral Intelligence))
Aston didn't know what to do. She was never taught how to cope with something this heavy. He was dead. This was...horrible.
In all her life, she'd never really grieved. Her great-grandparents died before she really got to know them, so she was just...sad, when they passed on. She'd never know anything outside the stories her parents told her about them. There was even her cousin, some 40-year-old from "New Joisey" in New York, had a heart attack at the butchers. Her parents, even her brothers, were in grievance, but she wasn't. She never knew him, she had no reason to be sad. But...now...
Joshua Krakowski. He was the same age as her, same situation. He had a friend. He had people who cared about him. She cared about him, Aston never knew how much until now. He was the first person she...no...
She was so numb. Her skin picked up all the tiniest little movements. A breeze felt like pins and needles. The water dripping down her cheeks were like knives ripping open her skin. And she kept on letting these knives rip down her face, because Aston didn't want this to be true.
She heard that goth girl
Chase
arriving. The crunchiness of the grass echoed louder until it stopped. Vocals, movements, she could hear goth girl
Chase
speaking, just saying...something. It didn't make any sense to her, and Aston just couldn't care. This was her moment, she just wanted to...grieve. She didn't know how to do that, but she just wanted to.
Aston never moved, not for a long time. Her eyes just kept swelling up, staring at the body, trying to not do anything except cry, and cry and cry, for a boy she couldn't save.
Time passed.
*Screeeech*
She didn't know how long she'd been there, but it was a hell of a long time, apparently. It couldn't have been more than a few hours though, but she couldn't stop...
What she didn't show the world was what she was planning to do.
Aston wasn't a girly kind of girl. She wasn't used to having to let her feelings out, especially among her brothers. Fuck, her brothers, they gave her the worst of it every time she cried - "You wanna be like us, you toughen up like us, huh?" - whenever she wanted to punch them, she knew and they knew it was working just fine.
But not now. No brothers around to keep her in check. No one except herself to just tell her to be tough, tough it out, tough it all out.
She'd had enough.
No more of the charade.
Aston waited, and listened until the announcement was over. Their current locale was free.
She got up off her knees, where she'd been sitting for almost forever. Her legs felt weak, made of string cheese or something. After a stumble, she stood up straight, and sat down right where Joshua's blood coated the carousel.
I...don't know what to do. What the fuck do I do? My only...the only friend I have here is gone. He's gone, dead.
...so this is the reality of it.
If I don't kill, I'll die to.
And I'm not killing to win.
I don't want to win this game if it means I have to be reduced to the level of a maniac.
...
...If I can't kill to win...I can kill for Josh.
For him.
I'll find Quincy. I'll find that blonde bitch with him.
I'll kill them both.
It won't bring him back, but I can at least make sure they don't win.
...heh. I'm just gonna spoil the game for them.
Fuck them.
I'll make for sure that I avenge Josh.
Aston looked at the gun clasped in her hand, even after all this time. It felt sticky, but...it felt like it belonged there. The imprint was still left in her skin, a drawn sketch canvas across her palm. She didn't even bat an eye, and slipped it right back into the palm of her hand. It was half-empty now. She wasted half the bullets in her blind rage, and now...she had to be careful.
Aston slung the bag she dropped beside Joshua's body over her shoulder, and started walking.
Only a few steps away, she looked back.
It was goth girl,
Chase
still here.
"I'm going to find them...Chase. If you want to come with me, say so now. What I'm gonna do is not pretty, but it's the only thing I have left. I'll make sure they don't win. I'm going to kill them, and then...however it goes, it goes."
Aston turned back to the trail sprawling before her, and bit her lip. Flicker of pain.
It was so good to know she could feel again.
((Aston Bennett continues in Feral Intelligence))
-
Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
Discretion is the better part of valor.
And running away is the better part of discretion.
((Nick Reid continued from Keep On Smiling))
B055's legs kept working automatically, almost mechanically, as the fairground hove into view. He'd seen it before, briefly, but hadn't come anywhere near it thus far. But that's where he needed to go.
Maybe.
I'll be there. Well, this was "there." Or, close to it. They'd talked about where they were going, he and Jennifer, and this was on the list. She wanted to visit the House of Mirrors for whatever reason. It sounded like a deathtrap to Nick. But maybe it would be better to wait there. He didn't know. He turned inwards, trying to get a handle on how he felt about it.
Nothing.
His head spun briefly. Annoyingly. And the cure, he'd realized, lay strewn over a stump at the edge of some God-forsaken clearing in the woods. Unless Andrea had collected them. Or Alex. But no, he didn't really need his medication. Not like it really helped in the first place. And besides, he had something new, something better. Adrenaline. There was no shortage of it on the island. The problem was that it did nothing for withdrawal.
But that wasn't important now. The dizzy spells would ebb just as they'd peaked. The only things that were truly important were - he counted them off on mental fingers as the Ferris wheel loomed closer - his sword. And his food. And his water. His life - what he needed to get home again. His brain, the thing that should have popped his collar off by now, should have had everyone begging for mercy by this point. Jennifer. Except - he paused, gathered the right words to let loose on his mental stage. She wasn't - it wasn't like she was not important. But she didn't get him closer to home. She just smoothed his journey out. Made it more palatable. She'd die in the next week. He wasn't going to lose. But now he was walking straight into danger, just to wait for her.
If she forgave him.
Again.
He passed through a ticket booth, into the boundary of the park. She'd have to come back. She was a smart girl, she'd figure out where "there" was. And she had the incentive. She was safe with him.
Then why aren't we together now?
That was a one-time thing. They were both in danger. It was a powder keg. His flight, he could try to convince himself, was to save her, maybe others as well. There was no telling how many might have died, or even how many were hiding behind that truck. He'd fled to save her from death in a hail of fire. Left her alone - but, no, not alone. There was a friend. With a sword.
My replacement?
The girl couldn't know how to wield a blade like he did. But she wouldn't murder Jennifer in her sleep. Not that he would, of course. Never in a million years. Well, probably. Almost certainly not. There were some things, though, that were nice to have another layer of reassurance on.
...Almost?
She'd arrive sometime. She was playing to live, right? Trying to make her last days worth living by making everyone else's last days worth living. She'd done more than enough, and she'd kill herself trying to do more. She'd step between him and Alex or Maxwell or Ivan, or maybe just try to stop him from killing someone else. Try to redeem him, or something. Like she cared about his wellbeing, or soul, or whatever. The thought brought on a little flicker of warmth.
And then he turned and squinted. There was someone there.
He held out his sword.
And he waited.
And running away is the better part of discretion.
((Nick Reid continued from Keep On Smiling))
B055's legs kept working automatically, almost mechanically, as the fairground hove into view. He'd seen it before, briefly, but hadn't come anywhere near it thus far. But that's where he needed to go.
Maybe.
I'll be there. Well, this was "there." Or, close to it. They'd talked about where they were going, he and Jennifer, and this was on the list. She wanted to visit the House of Mirrors for whatever reason. It sounded like a deathtrap to Nick. But maybe it would be better to wait there. He didn't know. He turned inwards, trying to get a handle on how he felt about it.
Nothing.
His head spun briefly. Annoyingly. And the cure, he'd realized, lay strewn over a stump at the edge of some God-forsaken clearing in the woods. Unless Andrea had collected them. Or Alex. But no, he didn't really need his medication. Not like it really helped in the first place. And besides, he had something new, something better. Adrenaline. There was no shortage of it on the island. The problem was that it did nothing for withdrawal.
But that wasn't important now. The dizzy spells would ebb just as they'd peaked. The only things that were truly important were - he counted them off on mental fingers as the Ferris wheel loomed closer - his sword. And his food. And his water. His life - what he needed to get home again. His brain, the thing that should have popped his collar off by now, should have had everyone begging for mercy by this point. Jennifer. Except - he paused, gathered the right words to let loose on his mental stage. She wasn't - it wasn't like she was not important. But she didn't get him closer to home. She just smoothed his journey out. Made it more palatable. She'd die in the next week. He wasn't going to lose. But now he was walking straight into danger, just to wait for her.
If she forgave him.
Again.
He passed through a ticket booth, into the boundary of the park. She'd have to come back. She was a smart girl, she'd figure out where "there" was. And she had the incentive. She was safe with him.
Then why aren't we together now?
That was a one-time thing. They were both in danger. It was a powder keg. His flight, he could try to convince himself, was to save her, maybe others as well. There was no telling how many might have died, or even how many were hiding behind that truck. He'd fled to save her from death in a hail of fire. Left her alone - but, no, not alone. There was a friend. With a sword.
My replacement?
The girl couldn't know how to wield a blade like he did. But she wouldn't murder Jennifer in her sleep. Not that he would, of course. Never in a million years. Well, probably. Almost certainly not. There were some things, though, that were nice to have another layer of reassurance on.
...Almost?
She'd arrive sometime. She was playing to live, right? Trying to make her last days worth living by making everyone else's last days worth living. She'd done more than enough, and she'd kill herself trying to do more. She'd step between him and Alex or Maxwell or Ivan, or maybe just try to stop him from killing someone else. Try to redeem him, or something. Like she cared about his wellbeing, or soul, or whatever. The thought brought on a little flicker of warmth.
And then he turned and squinted. There was someone there.
He held out his sword.
And he waited.
((Marty J. Lovett continued from Requiem for a Rock Star))
It must of been a good hour or so since Marty had left the mines far behind him, and already he was beginning to get tired.
Tired of having to drag this shovel alongside him. Tired of having to walk nonstop for what felt like hours on end, desperately preying that he hadn't accidentally gone in the completely wrong direction.
But most of all, Marty was tired of life.
Sure enough though, it wasn't long until the young boy spotted his buddy lying just where he had left him by the carousel. Only, he looked different to how Marty was used to seeing him. His skin was paler, and his was surrounded by a dried pool of blood. Most notably though was the hole in the side of Joshua's temple. The hole which had been caused by a bullet from Quincy's gun.
A part of Marty had hoped that Joshua survived. After all, he didn't actually see the gunshot that had supposedly killed him. Maybe Quincy had missed? Maybe it was just a warning shot? Maybe there was still a chance that they could both make it off the island together after all...
But, after listening to the announcement, and seeing Joshua's corpse with his very own eyes, any shred of hope Marty had of there being any possibility of a bitter-sweet ending was shattered. A part of him felt sick looking at his corpse. A part of him wanted to run off, try to find some hole for Marty to hide in or some rock to hide under.
Nevertheless, Marty knew what he had to do. And, with a deep sigh, he began the long and painful process of digging a shallow grave to bury his friend in.
It took a while, but eventually he'd done it. He'd managed to dig a decently sized grave for his best friend. It wasn't exactly as good as he imagined it would be in his head, but for all intents and purposes, it was a lot better then the resting places the rest of his classmates had. A part of him wished he could actually go out and look for the body of Carol as well, give her a decent burial. But, even Marty knew that finding her again would be nigh impossible.
Besides, he hadn't any intention of leaving his Joshua's side ever again.
After he'd finished digging the grave, the young boy then closed his eyes as he rolled his friend's body towards it. After all, he didn't want to have to look at Joshua's injuries any longer then he had to. Eventually, the corpse fell into the shallow hole which Marty had dug, landing right onto his back. Now that the first stage was done, it was time to put the soil back on top of him.
But first, Marty felt it was appropriate to say a word or two.
"Well... Here we are buddy. To be totally honest with you, I didn't think either of us would make it this far. Who'd of though, huh? I was SURE that I'd be dead within the first couple of days. But... Here I am! Alive and well."
He took a deep breath before continuing, wiping something from his eye as he did so.
"Still, can't say I'm glad that I managed to make it this far... I mean, god. So many people are dead now. Daniel... Carol... You..... Was any of it even worth it? Did ANY of this mean anything at all? So many dead, just so some asshole can live. Lucky bastard. In a way, we're all already dead aren't we? I mean, whoever wins this is going to be pretty much dead anyway, inside aren't they?"
At that point, Marty laughed briefly. It was a joyless laugh though, one which have any happy intents behind it.
"God, look at me, talking to a corpse. Man, I must look crazy or something... Well... So long Joshua."
On that note, Marty emptied the pile of soil over Joshua's grave, burying him beneath the earth. He stood there for a moment, watching over the grave he'd just dug, taking the opportunity to think back on all the good times he'd shared with Joshua over the years. Like the time they went to see Iron Man at the cinema. Man, they laughed so hard that day...
Still, within a few moments, the nightmare would be over. All the pain he'd been through, the depressing announcements, the constant killing... None of it would ever matter again.
And that was when Marty started digging the second grave.
It must of been a good hour or so since Marty had left the mines far behind him, and already he was beginning to get tired.
Tired of having to drag this shovel alongside him. Tired of having to walk nonstop for what felt like hours on end, desperately preying that he hadn't accidentally gone in the completely wrong direction.
But most of all, Marty was tired of life.
Sure enough though, it wasn't long until the young boy spotted his buddy lying just where he had left him by the carousel. Only, he looked different to how Marty was used to seeing him. His skin was paler, and his was surrounded by a dried pool of blood. Most notably though was the hole in the side of Joshua's temple. The hole which had been caused by a bullet from Quincy's gun.
A part of Marty had hoped that Joshua survived. After all, he didn't actually see the gunshot that had supposedly killed him. Maybe Quincy had missed? Maybe it was just a warning shot? Maybe there was still a chance that they could both make it off the island together after all...
But, after listening to the announcement, and seeing Joshua's corpse with his very own eyes, any shred of hope Marty had of there being any possibility of a bitter-sweet ending was shattered. A part of him felt sick looking at his corpse. A part of him wanted to run off, try to find some hole for Marty to hide in or some rock to hide under.
Nevertheless, Marty knew what he had to do. And, with a deep sigh, he began the long and painful process of digging a shallow grave to bury his friend in.
It took a while, but eventually he'd done it. He'd managed to dig a decently sized grave for his best friend. It wasn't exactly as good as he imagined it would be in his head, but for all intents and purposes, it was a lot better then the resting places the rest of his classmates had. A part of him wished he could actually go out and look for the body of Carol as well, give her a decent burial. But, even Marty knew that finding her again would be nigh impossible.
Besides, he hadn't any intention of leaving his Joshua's side ever again.
After he'd finished digging the grave, the young boy then closed his eyes as he rolled his friend's body towards it. After all, he didn't want to have to look at Joshua's injuries any longer then he had to. Eventually, the corpse fell into the shallow hole which Marty had dug, landing right onto his back. Now that the first stage was done, it was time to put the soil back on top of him.
But first, Marty felt it was appropriate to say a word or two.
"Well... Here we are buddy. To be totally honest with you, I didn't think either of us would make it this far. Who'd of though, huh? I was SURE that I'd be dead within the first couple of days. But... Here I am! Alive and well."
He took a deep breath before continuing, wiping something from his eye as he did so.
"Still, can't say I'm glad that I managed to make it this far... I mean, god. So many people are dead now. Daniel... Carol... You..... Was any of it even worth it? Did ANY of this mean anything at all? So many dead, just so some asshole can live. Lucky bastard. In a way, we're all already dead aren't we? I mean, whoever wins this is going to be pretty much dead anyway, inside aren't they?"
At that point, Marty laughed briefly. It was a joyless laugh though, one which have any happy intents behind it.
"God, look at me, talking to a corpse. Man, I must look crazy or something... Well... So long Joshua."
On that note, Marty emptied the pile of soil over Joshua's grave, burying him beneath the earth. He stood there for a moment, watching over the grave he'd just dug, taking the opportunity to think back on all the good times he'd shared with Joshua over the years. Like the time they went to see Iron Man at the cinema. Man, they laughed so hard that day...
Still, within a few moments, the nightmare would be over. All the pain he'd been through, the depressing announcements, the constant killing... None of it would ever matter again.
And that was when Marty started digging the second grave.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fiori. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Time passed.
She didn't know how much time passed. Just a fair amount. But she was sure that it had been a while. Was it a few hours? Sure felt like it. It seemed as if the two girls mulled over Joshua Krakowski's death for the longest time.
And then, Aston spoke.
She was leaving...?
But, she couldn't leave! Chase had been all over the place for god knows how long looking for her! Eiko and Marty and god knew who else was probably waiting for them to come back! She couldn't run off again! She couldn't! She couldn't!
... She was WHAT?
She was... she was going to find his killers, track them down... and... and...
No. She wasn't. Aston wasn't going to do something so stupid. She wouldn't. That would be silly, tracking down some potential homicidal maniacs and doing god knows what. She didn't need to go for revenge! That was silly! Silly as... she didn't know... slicing into someone with a chainsaw and making their organs fall onto the ground...
"ASTON! Wait! Don't do something so stupid!" Chase cried out.
She attempted to follow her, but soon enough within minutes...
Chase was lost in the Fun Fair again.
Seriously, Aston had disappeared again. It wasn't good. She was about to do something stupid, and she might get hurt over it. That wasn't good. It wasn't good. Oh fuck, no. She could die and have something happen to her like getting shot or stabbed or beaten to death or something and oh god. She really was doing it and before she knew it she had lost sight of her again.
And Chase didn't want to stay in this hellhole. The fact that there was a carnival with games and clowns and god knows what was bad enough. But she still thought back to the first day, that horrible first day. She didn't want to relive it. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to get robbed again.
She might as well focus on getting the hell out first-
... Who was that, over by the ticket booth?
Chase squinted, in an attempt to get a better look. Oh great, a sword. Someone who was armed, that was just what she needed right now. God damn it, what about the Fun Fair attracted so many lunatics? Yet another reason why she didn't want to be here. It was a magnet for the crazy. And Josh had already been killed by it. Fucking crazy magnets. How do they work, anyways? She probably didn't want to know the answer to that question.
And what's worse?
It was Nick Reid, a.k.a. a known killer. Goody. She knew Nick from before, sort of. And now he was here, doing god knows what. She found herself trembling once again. Nick Reid, and he didn't look so good either. Then again, how many people looked good by this point? But, the point remained. He was probably yet another psycho. And that wasn't good at all.
And then Chase did the only thing she could think of. It was illogical, but it was the only thing that came to mind.
She lifted the crossbow, and with trembling hands, pointed it at Nick.
"HELLO?!"
There. He knew that she knew that she was there now. It wasn't the brightest idea, but she didn't care. At least no sneak attacks were going to occur. No one was going to sneak up on her again here. Hopefully he'd leave her alone and go on his way. And then she'd find Aston.
She didn't know how much time passed. Just a fair amount. But she was sure that it had been a while. Was it a few hours? Sure felt like it. It seemed as if the two girls mulled over Joshua Krakowski's death for the longest time.
And then, Aston spoke.
She was leaving...?
But, she couldn't leave! Chase had been all over the place for god knows how long looking for her! Eiko and Marty and god knew who else was probably waiting for them to come back! She couldn't run off again! She couldn't! She couldn't!
... She was WHAT?
She was... she was going to find his killers, track them down... and... and...
No. She wasn't. Aston wasn't going to do something so stupid. She wouldn't. That would be silly, tracking down some potential homicidal maniacs and doing god knows what. She didn't need to go for revenge! That was silly! Silly as... she didn't know... slicing into someone with a chainsaw and making their organs fall onto the ground...
"ASTON! Wait! Don't do something so stupid!" Chase cried out.
She attempted to follow her, but soon enough within minutes...
Chase was lost in the Fun Fair again.
Seriously, Aston had disappeared again. It wasn't good. She was about to do something stupid, and she might get hurt over it. That wasn't good. It wasn't good. Oh fuck, no. She could die and have something happen to her like getting shot or stabbed or beaten to death or something and oh god. She really was doing it and before she knew it she had lost sight of her again.
And Chase didn't want to stay in this hellhole. The fact that there was a carnival with games and clowns and god knows what was bad enough. But she still thought back to the first day, that horrible first day. She didn't want to relive it. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to get robbed again.
She might as well focus on getting the hell out first-
... Who was that, over by the ticket booth?
Chase squinted, in an attempt to get a better look. Oh great, a sword. Someone who was armed, that was just what she needed right now. God damn it, what about the Fun Fair attracted so many lunatics? Yet another reason why she didn't want to be here. It was a magnet for the crazy. And Josh had already been killed by it. Fucking crazy magnets. How do they work, anyways? She probably didn't want to know the answer to that question.
And what's worse?
It was Nick Reid, a.k.a. a known killer. Goody. She knew Nick from before, sort of. And now he was here, doing god knows what. She found herself trembling once again. Nick Reid, and he didn't look so good either. Then again, how many people looked good by this point? But, the point remained. He was probably yet another psycho. And that wasn't good at all.
And then Chase did the only thing she could think of. It was illogical, but it was the only thing that came to mind.
She lifted the crossbow, and with trembling hands, pointed it at Nick.
"HELLO?!"
There. He knew that she knew that she was there now. It wasn't the brightest idea, but she didn't care. At least no sneak attacks were going to occur. No one was going to sneak up on her again here. Hopefully he'd leave her alone and go on his way. And then she'd find Aston.
-
Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
Nick found himself staring down a pistol crossbow, of all things. He almost laughed. He'd killed a swordsman with his bare hands. He'd been on the wrong end of Maxwell's fists and walked away. He'd taunted a BKA winner. He'd stared down more gun barrels than he cared to count. And now he was being threatened with a tiny crossbow held by an equally tiny girl. Still, he remembered, he couldn't underestimate it.
It was a deadly weapon. For a certain definition of deadly. He knew, for example, that it wouldn't skewer his head at that range. But it could probably kill. He doubted the little goth in front of him could hit anything at all with it, but that held no comfort. He only needed his luck to fail once. Could he dodge it?
Forty feet, we'll be generous and say 150 MPH, call that 200 FPS, 40/200 so a fifth of a second. Human reaction time exactly.
His heart beat a little bit faster. He couldn't kill her, for Jennifer's sake. And he couldn't run off again. That was for his own sake. He wove words together quickly in his mind, turning strands of threats and daring and boldness into the fabric of the best oratory the island had seen thus far.
"Umm," he said. Brain-to-mouth attrition, of course... "Well. I'm a reasonable guy. Willing to talk things out. Given the chance, of course. And, well, I'll put it like this: I can run forty feet or whatever faster than you can reload. That's just something to think about. And I'm not really in the market for peashooters at the moment. So," he said, maintaining his distance but moving to create an open path to the exit. "There's your other choice."
Legs coiled. Sword ready. Heart beating. Waiting. Again.
It was a deadly weapon. For a certain definition of deadly. He knew, for example, that it wouldn't skewer his head at that range. But it could probably kill. He doubted the little goth in front of him could hit anything at all with it, but that held no comfort. He only needed his luck to fail once. Could he dodge it?
Forty feet, we'll be generous and say 150 MPH, call that 200 FPS, 40/200 so a fifth of a second. Human reaction time exactly.
His heart beat a little bit faster. He couldn't kill her, for Jennifer's sake. And he couldn't run off again. That was for his own sake. He wove words together quickly in his mind, turning strands of threats and daring and boldness into the fabric of the best oratory the island had seen thus far.
"Umm," he said. Brain-to-mouth attrition, of course... "Well. I'm a reasonable guy. Willing to talk things out. Given the chance, of course. And, well, I'll put it like this: I can run forty feet or whatever faster than you can reload. That's just something to think about. And I'm not really in the market for peashooters at the moment. So," he said, maintaining his distance but moving to create an open path to the exit. "There's your other choice."
Legs coiled. Sword ready. Heart beating. Waiting. Again.
It took a while to dig, but before long Marty had managed to create a second grave right besides Joshua's.
His grave, to be exact.
By the time he'd finished digging, the young boy was covered head to toe in dirt and sweat. His black and white shirt was now stained brown from all the filth he'd gotten on him, and his uncut fingernails were almost black from the amount of soil that had gotten underneath them. To make matters worse, he'd grown wiry and tired from the vast amount of effort he'd put into preparing this grave, especially seeing as he'd had little to no rest after digging Joshua's.
Not that it really mattered. Not that anything would really matter anymore. Within a few moments, Marty wouldn't have to worry about having to survive. What was the point of delaying the inevitable, anyway? If anything, he was saving someone the trouble of killing him themselves. Besides, he'd much rather die on his own terms then at the hands of some sadistic dickhead. At least this way it was guaranteed to be quick and painless... At least, he hoped it would be anyway. Marty hadn't any idea how painful getting your neck blown apart could be. From all he knew, it could be the single most excruciating experience of his entire life. Still, he didn't really have much else of a choice. Hanging looked WAY too painful for him to consider, and jumping off a cliff was something that freaked him out too much to try... No, lying down in the grave and pulling his collar was definitely the most efficient way he could think of pulling this off.
His only worry was that somebody wouldn't have the decency to finish the job by filling the grave with soil afterwords. Oh well, he was going to be dead anyway, so why should HE care?
Then again, his family.....
With a deep sigh, Marty shoved the shovel deep into the pile of dirt he'd built up right next to the grave, preying that the next person who passed by would get the hint. Then, he stepped into the shallow hole he'd dug for himself, which was barely a couple of feet deep. All he had to do now was lie down and pull his collar. Ridiculously simple, really, how it was for him to end his life. He could have saved himself the trouble by just pulling his collar days ago, ending his torment before it could even begin.
Still, before then, he had one or two things he wanted to say to the camera first...
"Hey... I... I don't know if you're watching this, mom and dad. Heck, to be honest, a part of me kinda hopes that you aren't. Must be a hundred more interesting things going on out there for the cameras to be focusing on me all of a sudden. Still, I... If you ARE watching this, I just want you all to know that..... That I really DO love and appreciate all you did for me over the years. And... And i'm sorry that I never showed that I cared. But I did, I REALLY did! And... And i'm sorry that I never got my act together in time."
As much as Marty fought hard not to burst into tears on the spot, he couldn't help but wipe a tell-tale wetness from his eyes.
"And... Natalie, if for some reason you're watching this too, I want you to know that I always loved you. More than anyone else, really. And... And I hope you'll not make the same mistakes I did. I want you to enjoy your life to the fullest. Don't let the bad parts overshadow all the many, many good ones. Promise me that you'll do this... Please, just for me."
A faint smile appeared on Marty's face. The young boy knew that he was finally ready to do this. Finally ready to do what was necessary...
"Oh, by the way... Danny, if you're watching this right now, I just wanna say that its YOUR fault i'm here in the first place. If you hadn't of placed the blame on me after you and your jackass 'friends' ruined the school theatre, then I might not have moved to St Paul in the first place. So yeah, go fuck yourself."
Having said everything that was needed to be said, with tears flowing freely down his cheeks, Marty lay on the dirty floor of the grave he'd dug and grasped onto his collar. It wouldn't be long now, just one simple tug away from oblivion. Who knows, maybe on the off-chance there was some kind of afterlife where he cold hang out with Joshua for all eternity or something. Marty doubted that would be the case, after all even if there WAS an afterlife it wasn't likely to be as simple as it looked in the movies.
Alright, just count down from ten, then pull back as hard as you can. S-simple, really...
Okay, 10..........
9.........
8........
7.......
6......
5.....
4....
3...
2............................
.............2.............................
.............................................................
..........Oh god damnit Marty. Okay, from the top. 10....... 9....................
Wait, what was that?
Marty heard something.
A voice to be exact.
Someone calling out to someone else.
His eyes flashed open as stood up from where he was laying down, his eyes darting about the area in an attempt to figure out where he'd heard the voice. It wasn't just any old voice either. It was Anna's. Only, it sounded more concerned then usual. Which considering everything that had happened over the past few years must of meant something pretty bad was going on...
A part of Marty wanted to just ignore her and go along with his original plan. After all, why should he concern himself with other people anymore? He was going to die momentarily anyway, so why bother? There was no way Anna was going to survive anyway...
And yet, for some reason, Marty found himself leaving the grave and heading through the carousel, looking past all the wooden horses into the distance where he saw Anna Chase aiming her gun at none other then Nick Reid...
...Nick Reid... Wait, wasn't he one of the players? And a pretty good one at that, according to the announcements. How many had he killed so far... Three? Maybe even four? Marty hadn't exactly kept track, but he knew for a fact that he was someone to worry about.
And, from where Marty was hiding, he looked as though he was on guard... As if he was preparing to charge at Anna and run her through right there on the spot!
Oh shit, ANNA! Oh god, theres now way she'd have the heart to shoot him... Holy shit, she's... She's going to get herself killed! He's going to run up to her and run her through! And theres nothing I can... Do.... About... It.......
As Marty stood there, looking over the scene, his hand touched the metal jutte that had belonged to Joshua. The one thing he had to remember him by... What would Joshua do in this situation, knowing full well that an innocent person's life was in danger?
He wouldn't just stand around and watch, thats for sure.
He'd of gone right in a be a hero, that's what. He'd scare off Nick, show him whose boss, and save the girl whilst he was at it. But Marty? Marty would just stand there with a slack-jawed expression on his face as he watched yet another innocent person die at the hands of some psychopath.
Just like how he'd let Kevin die...
...No. Not this time. I'm not going to let someone else die just because i'm a coward! I'm tired alright... I'm tired of running, tired of hiding... But you know what I'm gonna do instead?
I'm gonna stand and fight, thats what!
With adrenaline flowing through his frail bones, and holding his jutte as if it were some kind of dagger, the young boy crawled slowly along the side of the fun fair until he found himself looking past some aisles at Nick, who was still readying himself to attack Chase. At least, to Marty it looked as though he was readying himself. In all the excitement, Marty failed to consider that it might of all been a simple misunderstanding. That perhaps there was the slim possibility that neither Chase or Nick had any intention of attacking one another.
Nevertheless, with his new-found confidence, Marty felt for sure that he could do this. That he could finally prove his worth to humanity. In many ways, he'd never felt more convinced in his entire life that he could actually do something useful for once. It was too late for him to be the hero of SOTF, not after all the crap he'd let happen to other people already... But damnit, he was going to try.
Alright Reid... Lets do this!
And, on that note, the young boy let out a primal roar as he charged towards Nick with his 'weapon' raised. For the first time in his entire life, he felt like he was actually being the hero for once. That he was finally redeeming himself after letting Carol and Joshua die. Not this time though. This time, Chase was going to live. There was no way in hell he was going to let Nick kill her, not in a million years.
Who knows, maybe this was it. Maybe there was still hope he could make it off the island after all. After all, Liz Polanski managed to figure out a way to get the collars off, so perhaps he could as well. Perhaps they all could! Perhaps they could all-SHICK!!!
Then, it was all over.
In all the excitement, Marty failed to move out of the way as Nick turned around and reacted to Marty's fatal charge, extending his sword out as Marty ran up to him. The young boy barely had the opportunity to even see the sword before it plunged right into his chest, impaling his heart.
Marty was dead before he even realised it. No last words, no final thoughts...
Nothing at all except a smile on his face as he died truly believing that he was finally doing some good for once in his entire life.....
B007 - MARTY J. LOVETT: DECEASED
His grave, to be exact.
By the time he'd finished digging, the young boy was covered head to toe in dirt and sweat. His black and white shirt was now stained brown from all the filth he'd gotten on him, and his uncut fingernails were almost black from the amount of soil that had gotten underneath them. To make matters worse, he'd grown wiry and tired from the vast amount of effort he'd put into preparing this grave, especially seeing as he'd had little to no rest after digging Joshua's.
Not that it really mattered. Not that anything would really matter anymore. Within a few moments, Marty wouldn't have to worry about having to survive. What was the point of delaying the inevitable, anyway? If anything, he was saving someone the trouble of killing him themselves. Besides, he'd much rather die on his own terms then at the hands of some sadistic dickhead. At least this way it was guaranteed to be quick and painless... At least, he hoped it would be anyway. Marty hadn't any idea how painful getting your neck blown apart could be. From all he knew, it could be the single most excruciating experience of his entire life. Still, he didn't really have much else of a choice. Hanging looked WAY too painful for him to consider, and jumping off a cliff was something that freaked him out too much to try... No, lying down in the grave and pulling his collar was definitely the most efficient way he could think of pulling this off.
His only worry was that somebody wouldn't have the decency to finish the job by filling the grave with soil afterwords. Oh well, he was going to be dead anyway, so why should HE care?
Then again, his family.....
With a deep sigh, Marty shoved the shovel deep into the pile of dirt he'd built up right next to the grave, preying that the next person who passed by would get the hint. Then, he stepped into the shallow hole he'd dug for himself, which was barely a couple of feet deep. All he had to do now was lie down and pull his collar. Ridiculously simple, really, how it was for him to end his life. He could have saved himself the trouble by just pulling his collar days ago, ending his torment before it could even begin.
Still, before then, he had one or two things he wanted to say to the camera first...
"Hey... I... I don't know if you're watching this, mom and dad. Heck, to be honest, a part of me kinda hopes that you aren't. Must be a hundred more interesting things going on out there for the cameras to be focusing on me all of a sudden. Still, I... If you ARE watching this, I just want you all to know that..... That I really DO love and appreciate all you did for me over the years. And... And i'm sorry that I never showed that I cared. But I did, I REALLY did! And... And i'm sorry that I never got my act together in time."
As much as Marty fought hard not to burst into tears on the spot, he couldn't help but wipe a tell-tale wetness from his eyes.
"And... Natalie, if for some reason you're watching this too, I want you to know that I always loved you. More than anyone else, really. And... And I hope you'll not make the same mistakes I did. I want you to enjoy your life to the fullest. Don't let the bad parts overshadow all the many, many good ones. Promise me that you'll do this... Please, just for me."
A faint smile appeared on Marty's face. The young boy knew that he was finally ready to do this. Finally ready to do what was necessary...
"Oh, by the way... Danny, if you're watching this right now, I just wanna say that its YOUR fault i'm here in the first place. If you hadn't of placed the blame on me after you and your jackass 'friends' ruined the school theatre, then I might not have moved to St Paul in the first place. So yeah, go fuck yourself."
Having said everything that was needed to be said, with tears flowing freely down his cheeks, Marty lay on the dirty floor of the grave he'd dug and grasped onto his collar. It wouldn't be long now, just one simple tug away from oblivion. Who knows, maybe on the off-chance there was some kind of afterlife where he cold hang out with Joshua for all eternity or something. Marty doubted that would be the case, after all even if there WAS an afterlife it wasn't likely to be as simple as it looked in the movies.
Alright, just count down from ten, then pull back as hard as you can. S-simple, really...
Okay, 10..........
9.........
8........
7.......
6......
5.....
4....
3...
2............................
.............2.............................
.............................................................
..........Oh god damnit Marty. Okay, from the top. 10....... 9....................
Wait, what was that?
Marty heard something.
A voice to be exact.
Someone calling out to someone else.
His eyes flashed open as stood up from where he was laying down, his eyes darting about the area in an attempt to figure out where he'd heard the voice. It wasn't just any old voice either. It was Anna's. Only, it sounded more concerned then usual. Which considering everything that had happened over the past few years must of meant something pretty bad was going on...
A part of Marty wanted to just ignore her and go along with his original plan. After all, why should he concern himself with other people anymore? He was going to die momentarily anyway, so why bother? There was no way Anna was going to survive anyway...
And yet, for some reason, Marty found himself leaving the grave and heading through the carousel, looking past all the wooden horses into the distance where he saw Anna Chase aiming her gun at none other then Nick Reid...
...Nick Reid... Wait, wasn't he one of the players? And a pretty good one at that, according to the announcements. How many had he killed so far... Three? Maybe even four? Marty hadn't exactly kept track, but he knew for a fact that he was someone to worry about.
And, from where Marty was hiding, he looked as though he was on guard... As if he was preparing to charge at Anna and run her through right there on the spot!
Oh shit, ANNA! Oh god, theres now way she'd have the heart to shoot him... Holy shit, she's... She's going to get herself killed! He's going to run up to her and run her through! And theres nothing I can... Do.... About... It.......
As Marty stood there, looking over the scene, his hand touched the metal jutte that had belonged to Joshua. The one thing he had to remember him by... What would Joshua do in this situation, knowing full well that an innocent person's life was in danger?
He wouldn't just stand around and watch, thats for sure.
He'd of gone right in a be a hero, that's what. He'd scare off Nick, show him whose boss, and save the girl whilst he was at it. But Marty? Marty would just stand there with a slack-jawed expression on his face as he watched yet another innocent person die at the hands of some psychopath.
Just like how he'd let Kevin die...
...No. Not this time. I'm not going to let someone else die just because i'm a coward! I'm tired alright... I'm tired of running, tired of hiding... But you know what I'm gonna do instead?
I'm gonna stand and fight, thats what!
With adrenaline flowing through his frail bones, and holding his jutte as if it were some kind of dagger, the young boy crawled slowly along the side of the fun fair until he found himself looking past some aisles at Nick, who was still readying himself to attack Chase. At least, to Marty it looked as though he was readying himself. In all the excitement, Marty failed to consider that it might of all been a simple misunderstanding. That perhaps there was the slim possibility that neither Chase or Nick had any intention of attacking one another.
Nevertheless, with his new-found confidence, Marty felt for sure that he could do this. That he could finally prove his worth to humanity. In many ways, he'd never felt more convinced in his entire life that he could actually do something useful for once. It was too late for him to be the hero of SOTF, not after all the crap he'd let happen to other people already... But damnit, he was going to try.
Alright Reid... Lets do this!
And, on that note, the young boy let out a primal roar as he charged towards Nick with his 'weapon' raised. For the first time in his entire life, he felt like he was actually being the hero for once. That he was finally redeeming himself after letting Carol and Joshua die. Not this time though. This time, Chase was going to live. There was no way in hell he was going to let Nick kill her, not in a million years.
Who knows, maybe this was it. Maybe there was still hope he could make it off the island after all. After all, Liz Polanski managed to figure out a way to get the collars off, so perhaps he could as well. Perhaps they all could! Perhaps they could all-SHICK!!!
Then, it was all over.
In all the excitement, Marty failed to move out of the way as Nick turned around and reacted to Marty's fatal charge, extending his sword out as Marty ran up to him. The young boy barely had the opportunity to even see the sword before it plunged right into his chest, impaling his heart.
Marty was dead before he even realised it. No last words, no final thoughts...
Nothing at all except a smile on his face as he died truly believing that he was finally doing some good for once in his entire life.....
B007 - MARTY J. LOVETT: DECEASED
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fiori. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Well then.
Seemed like he didn't want trouble either. Who did? Well, lots of people here, actually. He seemed to not want to deal with this, though. But, he expressed it by calling her little friend a "peashooter" and saying she had no chance in a fight because he could apparently run faster than she could load.
But, in any case, he wasn't looking to cause trouble, which was a good sign. At least, it looked like a good sign. If she just went the way he suggested, things would be okay, right? He didn't even seem to see her as something to be bothered with, but that was better than being something to practice using a sword on, right? Or a gun. Or 'something else. Either way, she was safe for the time being hopefully. Good, she wanted to get out of this clown-centric hellhole full of nutcases and serial killers, not end up with her guts used as silly putty or something. That was just her personal preference, but hey. It wasn't like something bad happened each time she came here.
Chase forced a smile on her face.
"Good. No trouble, th-then."
Well, might as well do what he said, then. Just head out, go look for Aston and Marty, and then... go look for Brendan, right? Go find those three. She had no idea what to do afterwards, but... she just had to look for them. Simple thing, really.
"I'll... I'll just leave, then."
Chase attempted to step towards the exit, and although she lowered it a little bit, she still left it in clear sight in her hands, just to "remind" Nick.. Even though he said he wasn't out for trouble, he could be lying or change his mind. In any case, she had to be careful until she left the fairgrounds. Maybe she could find Eiko at the old shack or something. Or maybe she'd run into Brendan...
But for now, she was leaving. Hopefully, she'd avoid the whole skull-cup scenario again. Her head didn't belong as a skull-cup. It belonged on her neck, like all heads. It didn't need to be severed and used for beverages, especially brain juice and blood. But, she was leaving. Hopefully nothing would happen.
And as if fate hated Anna Chase... something did happen.
Out of nowhere, someone appeared, and blitzed towards Nick, screaming as if in anger.
Marty...?
Before Chase could really react, she could see Nick thrust his sword towards him, and within the next second Marty... oh god...
He killed him.
There was no doubt about it. Nick killed Marty. Even from here, she could see his scarlet blood leaking from under his black and white shirt. He was dead. He... killed him. He just ran out and then Nick killed him. Why he did, she didn't know, but he did. But...
The smile forced onto Chase's face faded.
She... she was scared... and sad... and...
Chase lifted the crossbow towards Nick again.
"Don't... don't move!" she screamed.
Murderer. That's what he was. A killer. Just another one. Just another killer in the death fair on the death island. And he had hurt Marty. No, he had stabbed and killed him. And he was probably going to get her next. He was looking for trouble after all.
And she could only barely prevent herself from crying.
Seemed like he didn't want trouble either. Who did? Well, lots of people here, actually. He seemed to not want to deal with this, though. But, he expressed it by calling her little friend a "peashooter" and saying she had no chance in a fight because he could apparently run faster than she could load.
But, in any case, he wasn't looking to cause trouble, which was a good sign. At least, it looked like a good sign. If she just went the way he suggested, things would be okay, right? He didn't even seem to see her as something to be bothered with, but that was better than being something to practice using a sword on, right? Or a gun. Or 'something else. Either way, she was safe for the time being hopefully. Good, she wanted to get out of this clown-centric hellhole full of nutcases and serial killers, not end up with her guts used as silly putty or something. That was just her personal preference, but hey. It wasn't like something bad happened each time she came here.
Chase forced a smile on her face.
"Good. No trouble, th-then."
Well, might as well do what he said, then. Just head out, go look for Aston and Marty, and then... go look for Brendan, right? Go find those three. She had no idea what to do afterwards, but... she just had to look for them. Simple thing, really.
"I'll... I'll just leave, then."
Chase attempted to step towards the exit, and although she lowered it a little bit, she still left it in clear sight in her hands, just to "remind" Nick.. Even though he said he wasn't out for trouble, he could be lying or change his mind. In any case, she had to be careful until she left the fairgrounds. Maybe she could find Eiko at the old shack or something. Or maybe she'd run into Brendan...
But for now, she was leaving. Hopefully, she'd avoid the whole skull-cup scenario again. Her head didn't belong as a skull-cup. It belonged on her neck, like all heads. It didn't need to be severed and used for beverages, especially brain juice and blood. But, she was leaving. Hopefully nothing would happen.
And as if fate hated Anna Chase... something did happen.
Out of nowhere, someone appeared, and blitzed towards Nick, screaming as if in anger.
Marty...?
Before Chase could really react, she could see Nick thrust his sword towards him, and within the next second Marty... oh god...
He killed him.
There was no doubt about it. Nick killed Marty. Even from here, she could see his scarlet blood leaking from under his black and white shirt. He was dead. He... killed him. He just ran out and then Nick killed him. Why he did, she didn't know, but he did. But...
The smile forced onto Chase's face faded.
She... she was scared... and sad... and...
Chase lifted the crossbow towards Nick again.
"Don't... don't move!" she screamed.
Murderer. That's what he was. A killer. Just another one. Just another killer in the death fair on the death island. And he had hurt Marty. No, he had stabbed and killed him. And he was probably going to get her next. He was looking for trouble after all.
And she could only barely prevent herself from crying.
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Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
The moment stretched on and on, somehow skidding past at the same time like greased lightning. Every breath he took felt carnal. Base. So much more real to actually be doing something while an endless stream of thoughts ran every which way. Not just thinking, doing. And yet, each passing moment pruned endless branches of an infinite tree of possibilities. He'd look back at the end of five minutes that filled a week and wonder at his foolishness, how he hadn't seen this or discovered that. There was an eternity to chase his thoughts around in circles. But real moments were a precious few.
There was a noise behind him.
He turned away from Chase, put the whole crossbow situation on hold. He wondered what would happen if she found the nerve to pull the trigger. Would he remember it in slow motion? Would he spend his last moments wondering how he'd failed to dodge a missile that streaked faster than human reaction? Could he drag his killer to Hell with him before his moment ended in a pool of shining blood? Or would he even die at all?
But there was no fatal dart streaking toward him now. It was something far more predictable, infinitely less threatening. He squeezed the handle of his sword; the grip inviting, the weight imposing, the balance impeccable. His opponent, pitiful. Pitiful in his choice of weapons, his choice of strategy, his choice of foes. Nick's mind was a kaleidescope of ideas shifting too fast for words. There was no time now. The enemy was coming, running, approaching in such a haste that he didn't realize he was already -
Shhhhk
- dead.
And he hadn't even hit the ground. The corpse gave way at the knees, dragging Nick's sword arm down, spewing a dark gush of blood that stained dirt and checkered fabric. Simply, swiftly, gone.
It was, all things considered, a thing of beauty. No one else on the island could have done it. His expertise, that beautiful blade, a dash of luck, the perfect opportunity - everything had come together for one flawless moment. So swift, so deadly, so beautiful. Anyone could be assigned a gun, take a potshot, blow some hapless kid away. But this? The work of a master. An artist. No ugly spray of bone and brain, no stomach-turning explosion of liquefied flesh, no boorish unsporting firearms. Just a neat little hole punched with the precision and elegance befitting his weapon, the sword he'd earned with his bare hands.
He turned now, tearing his eyes from the fresh corpse. A bloody crescent slashed across the ground, flung off his blade as it whipped around beside him. A steady trickle continued to ooze down its length, flowing in blood's distinctive manner. Droplets broke off the tip, spaced apart by a second, two seconds, three.
"Don't... don't move!"
Nick froze obediently, staring at the crossbow as if through someone else's eyes. The elation was gone, but in its place was absolutely nothing. No fear. No anger. Just a dull sort of realization. Marty was dead, and he'd killed him. He'd killed a man, and he didn't-
He bit his lip. Squeezed the fat and muscle between his teeth. Tore off curling flakes of dead, chapped skin.
Nothing.
Desperately he bit down again. Hard. Harder. Jaw trembling. Eyes moistening. Finally, the taste of blood. Pain. The floodgates unlocked, and dull shock gave way to creeping horror. He was surrounded by blood. It dripped on his shoes, crusted his jaw, daubed his jeans. Pounded in his ears. Rushed to his cheeks.
Ice ran up his spine, tightening goosebumps as it went. He had a crossbow pointed at him. Right at his face. He could see the bolt head-on. It menaced, rooting him to the spot not with obedience any more, but with mortal fear.
No, his mind protested, It's just a little bow.
Not a real crossbow. A fake. He wasn't going to die right there. She wouldn't shoot it. And if she did, it wouldn't hit him. And if it hit him, he wouldn't die. He reasoned with himself. Pleaded with himself. It was just like standing at the edge of a cliff. It would kill him if he wasn't careful, but there was no need to slip up, no need to go over the edge. But what could he do? There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. If this was his end, he couldn't say he hadn't deserved it.
He opened his mouth to speak. Closed it again.
He licked the blood off his lip. It was his move. His chance to speak his mind, plead for mercy, call her bluff, make a stand, ask for death.
...
...
"You waiting for something?"
There was a noise behind him.
He turned away from Chase, put the whole crossbow situation on hold. He wondered what would happen if she found the nerve to pull the trigger. Would he remember it in slow motion? Would he spend his last moments wondering how he'd failed to dodge a missile that streaked faster than human reaction? Could he drag his killer to Hell with him before his moment ended in a pool of shining blood? Or would he even die at all?
But there was no fatal dart streaking toward him now. It was something far more predictable, infinitely less threatening. He squeezed the handle of his sword; the grip inviting, the weight imposing, the balance impeccable. His opponent, pitiful. Pitiful in his choice of weapons, his choice of strategy, his choice of foes. Nick's mind was a kaleidescope of ideas shifting too fast for words. There was no time now. The enemy was coming, running, approaching in such a haste that he didn't realize he was already -
Shhhhk
- dead.
And he hadn't even hit the ground. The corpse gave way at the knees, dragging Nick's sword arm down, spewing a dark gush of blood that stained dirt and checkered fabric. Simply, swiftly, gone.
It was, all things considered, a thing of beauty. No one else on the island could have done it. His expertise, that beautiful blade, a dash of luck, the perfect opportunity - everything had come together for one flawless moment. So swift, so deadly, so beautiful. Anyone could be assigned a gun, take a potshot, blow some hapless kid away. But this? The work of a master. An artist. No ugly spray of bone and brain, no stomach-turning explosion of liquefied flesh, no boorish unsporting firearms. Just a neat little hole punched with the precision and elegance befitting his weapon, the sword he'd earned with his bare hands.
He turned now, tearing his eyes from the fresh corpse. A bloody crescent slashed across the ground, flung off his blade as it whipped around beside him. A steady trickle continued to ooze down its length, flowing in blood's distinctive manner. Droplets broke off the tip, spaced apart by a second, two seconds, three.
"Don't... don't move!"
Nick froze obediently, staring at the crossbow as if through someone else's eyes. The elation was gone, but in its place was absolutely nothing. No fear. No anger. Just a dull sort of realization. Marty was dead, and he'd killed him. He'd killed a man, and he didn't-
He bit his lip. Squeezed the fat and muscle between his teeth. Tore off curling flakes of dead, chapped skin.
Nothing.
Desperately he bit down again. Hard. Harder. Jaw trembling. Eyes moistening. Finally, the taste of blood. Pain. The floodgates unlocked, and dull shock gave way to creeping horror. He was surrounded by blood. It dripped on his shoes, crusted his jaw, daubed his jeans. Pounded in his ears. Rushed to his cheeks.
Ice ran up his spine, tightening goosebumps as it went. He had a crossbow pointed at him. Right at his face. He could see the bolt head-on. It menaced, rooting him to the spot not with obedience any more, but with mortal fear.
No, his mind protested, It's just a little bow.
Not a real crossbow. A fake. He wasn't going to die right there. She wouldn't shoot it. And if she did, it wouldn't hit him. And if it hit him, he wouldn't die. He reasoned with himself. Pleaded with himself. It was just like standing at the edge of a cliff. It would kill him if he wasn't careful, but there was no need to slip up, no need to go over the edge. But what could he do? There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. If this was his end, he couldn't say he hadn't deserved it.
He opened his mouth to speak. Closed it again.
He licked the blood off his lip. It was his move. His chance to speak his mind, plead for mercy, call her bluff, make a stand, ask for death.
...
...
"You waiting for something?"
And thus the two teens stared each other down.
If she were in a better state of mind, she'd crack a joke about two cowboys staring each other down like in old Westerns, where a tumbleweed would roll by and then one would draw a gun and shoot the other person in the face.
But this wasn't a Western movie. Oh no. This was Survival of the Fittest, where the killers were sent onto the death island and like to hang around in carnivals where killers like to hang out. And she was now dealing with Nick Reid. Who had killed Marty. And what's more, she was pointing a crossbow at him, and he was just...
Standing there.
In the fear, sadness and anger that had clouded Chase's mind, there was also confusion. He should react in some way. Try to kill her too. That's what killers did, right? They were supposed to kill. And he had a perfect opportunity to just run up and jab her with that thing. Just like... what happened with Marty.
No, Marty had ran towards him, and then got stabbed.
It seemed like eternity. Her shaking hands holding the crossbow. Him staring. Her staring back. Marty on the ground.
And finally, someone spoke. He essentially asked what she was waiting for.
Was she going to shoot?
Was she?
She was just saving her own life, right? And she was scared and angry and....
"M-m-maybe", Chase snapped. "Why... why shouldn't I fire? You killed him and-and-and he- I- I was looking for him and he's- you've..."
This time, she could only barely speak. Her stutter had gotten to the point where she could almost barely string together a sentence. Her hands continued to shake as she pointed the crossbow, and she was distantly aware that tears were streaming down her face. But she couldn't be crying, right? Chase didn't want to be crying. That was the last thing she could be doing right now.
She could have saved Marty and Joshua if... she had been... more... courageous? Was that the word?
And now she was staring at one of their murderers, asking if she was waiting for something.
But the question she had to ask herself sometime soon was "Was she?".
If she were in a better state of mind, she'd crack a joke about two cowboys staring each other down like in old Westerns, where a tumbleweed would roll by and then one would draw a gun and shoot the other person in the face.
But this wasn't a Western movie. Oh no. This was Survival of the Fittest, where the killers were sent onto the death island and like to hang around in carnivals where killers like to hang out. And she was now dealing with Nick Reid. Who had killed Marty. And what's more, she was pointing a crossbow at him, and he was just...
Standing there.
In the fear, sadness and anger that had clouded Chase's mind, there was also confusion. He should react in some way. Try to kill her too. That's what killers did, right? They were supposed to kill. And he had a perfect opportunity to just run up and jab her with that thing. Just like... what happened with Marty.
No, Marty had ran towards him, and then got stabbed.
It seemed like eternity. Her shaking hands holding the crossbow. Him staring. Her staring back. Marty on the ground.
And finally, someone spoke. He essentially asked what she was waiting for.
Was she going to shoot?
Was she?
She was just saving her own life, right? And she was scared and angry and....
"M-m-maybe", Chase snapped. "Why... why shouldn't I fire? You killed him and-and-and he- I- I was looking for him and he's- you've..."
This time, she could only barely speak. Her stutter had gotten to the point where she could almost barely string together a sentence. Her hands continued to shake as she pointed the crossbow, and she was distantly aware that tears were streaming down her face. But she couldn't be crying, right? Chase didn't want to be crying. That was the last thing she could be doing right now.
She could have saved Marty and Joshua if... she had been... more... courageous? Was that the word?
And now she was staring at one of their murderers, asking if she was waiting for something.
But the question she had to ask herself sometime soon was "Was she?".
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Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
Beat.
More words. They were moving towards something. What it was, Nick had no idea. But they were, at least, getting somewhere.
"Why... why shouldn't I fire?
That was a good question. He had half a mind to encourage her. It wasn't hard, just a little squeeze of the trigger. Half an inch, if that. It worked something like skydiving, or so he assumed. First time was the hardest. And then you'd learn to enj
Why not? That was a good question. He had half a mind to encourage her. He couldn't say he didn't deserve it, could he? Plead that Danya hadn't told the whole story? That was no excuse. Of course he hadn't told the whole story. He never did. A perfect example of that was oozing warm blood onto the ground. Marty. A killer. Was killing him justified? Nick would've loved to think so. He'd find Jennifer, explain how he'd eliminated a player, stopped someone intent on increasing his score. It would be the truth, almost. No need to include Chase at all. No need to admit that the "player" was just trying to get a quadruple-murderer away from his friend. But it wouldn't change the fact that he'd killed Marty, and it certainly wouldn't change the fact that there was a potentially unstable girl pointing a crossbow at him.
He could explain to her what it meant to be a killer. The one way street. A contract you signed with your victim's blood. And you couldn't ever break it, ever, ever. Every morning brought with it increasingly determined survivors, and every kill put another target on your back. A living Hell and then you died, and maybe it didn't stop there. That was why she couldn't shoot. The dead were the lucky ones compared to their killers.
Beat.
Chase was trembling, sobbing, shaking. Nick was struck suddenly by how small she was. A head shorter than him if not more, built even lighter than he was. Just a normal girl, scared out of her mind.
He saw little chance now of being shot. Even if she pulled the trigger, her vibrating hands left almost zero allowance for any semblance of accuracy. He softened his stance, stuffed the sword's point into the earth, felt the adrenaline drain away leaving him shaking and light-headed. He was shaking too. It almost made him laugh. There they were, two teens, staring each other down on an island in the middle of nowhere. Shaking at each other. He'd try to hide his shivering, of course. Clenching his teeth, clamping one hand around the sword in a vicegrip, tightening up his wobbling calves. Maybe she'd notice, and maybe she wouldn't. But in the afterglow of that rush-
That rush.
He opened his mouth, almost mechanically. Something needed to be said, just to break up the silence. His mouth fumbled, clamping onto the nearest available word.
"Anna."
Wait, crap, do I say Anna or Chase? It's always so presumptuous not to just use their real name, except Chase is her real name, or one of them...
He coughed, clearing his throat. "Anna," he said again, audibly and discernibly this time. He didn't know what came next, but it was a good start. Barring the possibility, of course, 'Chase' would have been better, but he'd learned by now to let bygones be bygones.
"Just... really, it's for you. It's not - dangit, I'm gonna sound like a jerk." He considered his options. 'You think I'm having fun?' wouldn't work. 'The dead are the lucky ones' was awfully presumptuous as well as a bit tacky and slightly off-topic, and 'He's not worth it' was right out.
"Look. You're signing a one-way ticket to Hell, and I don't even care if you're not religious, 'cause it starts the second you pull that trigger. Put that thing down, and neither of us have to die."
Beat.
More words. They were moving towards something. What it was, Nick had no idea. But they were, at least, getting somewhere.
"Why... why shouldn't I fire?
That was a good question. He had half a mind to encourage her. It wasn't hard, just a little squeeze of the trigger. Half an inch, if that. It worked something like skydiving, or so he assumed. First time was the hardest. And then you'd learn to enj
Why not? That was a good question. He had half a mind to encourage her. He couldn't say he didn't deserve it, could he? Plead that Danya hadn't told the whole story? That was no excuse. Of course he hadn't told the whole story. He never did. A perfect example of that was oozing warm blood onto the ground. Marty. A killer. Was killing him justified? Nick would've loved to think so. He'd find Jennifer, explain how he'd eliminated a player, stopped someone intent on increasing his score. It would be the truth, almost. No need to include Chase at all. No need to admit that the "player" was just trying to get a quadruple-murderer away from his friend. But it wouldn't change the fact that he'd killed Marty, and it certainly wouldn't change the fact that there was a potentially unstable girl pointing a crossbow at him.
He could explain to her what it meant to be a killer. The one way street. A contract you signed with your victim's blood. And you couldn't ever break it, ever, ever. Every morning brought with it increasingly determined survivors, and every kill put another target on your back. A living Hell and then you died, and maybe it didn't stop there. That was why she couldn't shoot. The dead were the lucky ones compared to their killers.
Beat.
Chase was trembling, sobbing, shaking. Nick was struck suddenly by how small she was. A head shorter than him if not more, built even lighter than he was. Just a normal girl, scared out of her mind.
He saw little chance now of being shot. Even if she pulled the trigger, her vibrating hands left almost zero allowance for any semblance of accuracy. He softened his stance, stuffed the sword's point into the earth, felt the adrenaline drain away leaving him shaking and light-headed. He was shaking too. It almost made him laugh. There they were, two teens, staring each other down on an island in the middle of nowhere. Shaking at each other. He'd try to hide his shivering, of course. Clenching his teeth, clamping one hand around the sword in a vicegrip, tightening up his wobbling calves. Maybe she'd notice, and maybe she wouldn't. But in the afterglow of that rush-
That rush.
He opened his mouth, almost mechanically. Something needed to be said, just to break up the silence. His mouth fumbled, clamping onto the nearest available word.
"Anna."
Wait, crap, do I say Anna or Chase? It's always so presumptuous not to just use their real name, except Chase is her real name, or one of them...
He coughed, clearing his throat. "Anna," he said again, audibly and discernibly this time. He didn't know what came next, but it was a good start. Barring the possibility, of course, 'Chase' would have been better, but he'd learned by now to let bygones be bygones.
"Just... really, it's for you. It's not - dangit, I'm gonna sound like a jerk." He considered his options. 'You think I'm having fun?' wouldn't work. 'The dead are the lucky ones' was awfully presumptuous as well as a bit tacky and slightly off-topic, and 'He's not worth it' was right out.
"Look. You're signing a one-way ticket to Hell, and I don't even care if you're not religious, 'cause it starts the second you pull that trigger. Put that thing down, and neither of us have to die."
Beat.