"I didn't intend to sneak up on you," Lily mumbled. It had been stupid. This was, in general, a very stupid idea. And the more Alex spoke, the warier she got.
Alex was clearly insane.
"I... I just wanted to know if you'd seen which way Isabel went? I didn't say I was joining... whatever this is."
Lily resisted the urge to cover her nose. That body was stinking up the place—Conrad. It had to be Conrad, right, because that was who Isabel killed. The knowledge of who that body was made the nausea and horror bubble higher in Lily's stomach. It was one thing to know someone was dead, and also one thing to see a nameless corpse. It was something else to see a corpse and know who they had once been, what they had once been like.
She knew this was how things were, but she was still disturbed at the fact that Alex and... Jeremy, was that his name? They were just... ignoring it. Or acting like there wasn't a rotting corpse right there. Maybe they'd gotten over their shock before she got there. But given how Alex was behaving...
"You're awfully quick to offer an alliance, given that we just met," Lily added. Her voice was a little clogged, perhaps as a side effect of trying not to breathe in too much. "Given that you said immediately beforehand that I'm 'a special breed of stupid.' I would think that immediately bars me from being one of your potential fittest."
Lily had the sense that she was walking on a tightrope here. A tightrope where failing meant getting stabbed repeatedly. It really would be smarter to just back away.
"Besides, the fittest here is clearly Jeremy. He's the one with the gun." Lily lifted the hand that wasn't holding the glass and curled her pointer finger. She looked at Jeremy, hand still raised. "That's all it takes for you to kill us."
This World Belongs to the Mad
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ViolentMedic
- Posts: 813
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
[whoops sorry guys somehow did not realize Medic had posted]
A grin flashed across Alex's face. He forced his eyes to burn with resolve he didn't feel. He crossed to Jeremy and clapped him on the shoulder. "Excellent," he said. "Excellent! We will put an end to the lunatics like Isabel! We will-!"
But Lily spoke again. Alex's grin widened. He forced it to, because Lily was right. Because he knew that gun was there. Because it could end him in an instant, for all his pretending.
Except...could it? One guy had already fired, a bullet scraping against his skull. How much was pretend, and how much was real? What was the line?
A true actor inhabits their stage.
He turned towards Lily, raised his free hand to his headband, pulled it up to show the long, blood-crusted scrape. "A man with a gun already tried," he said. "I'm still standing." His grin faded slightly, and he added, "It takes more than a gun. It requires the will to use it. And the luck to hit your target. For all we know, Jeremy has neither. For all we know, he's less fit than you are."
He took a step towards her and away from Jeremy. "I did not offer you a place in our company. I do not think I want you. Look at you. You're like a scared animal. You came to investigate and now you're rearing up to make yourself bigger because you cannot hurt us and you know we can hurt you. You want us to imagine that you are some fount of truth or insight. You're nothing. You're a speck."
He made sure he still had Jeremy in his peripheral vision, and allowed his grin to die entirely. Now there was just the terrible burning of his eyes. He felt them prickling with tears, but he could not allow them to fall. He used them, gave them that laughing cast that looked so mad and so dangerous. Because if he did this, he was committed to his path. There would be no turning back.
But there was no turning back already. None that left him a road to glory.
The stench of Conrad's corpse hung heavy over him. He wondered how much worse it would become, if they added a second body to the mix.
"Jeremy," he said, keeping his voice conversational. He stared fixedly at the girl, but conscious of the other man with the gun on his periphery, conscious for any sign of dangerous or threatening movement. "Do you think we should kill her?"
A grin flashed across Alex's face. He forced his eyes to burn with resolve he didn't feel. He crossed to Jeremy and clapped him on the shoulder. "Excellent," he said. "Excellent! We will put an end to the lunatics like Isabel! We will-!"
But Lily spoke again. Alex's grin widened. He forced it to, because Lily was right. Because he knew that gun was there. Because it could end him in an instant, for all his pretending.
Except...could it? One guy had already fired, a bullet scraping against his skull. How much was pretend, and how much was real? What was the line?
A true actor inhabits their stage.
He turned towards Lily, raised his free hand to his headband, pulled it up to show the long, blood-crusted scrape. "A man with a gun already tried," he said. "I'm still standing." His grin faded slightly, and he added, "It takes more than a gun. It requires the will to use it. And the luck to hit your target. For all we know, Jeremy has neither. For all we know, he's less fit than you are."
He took a step towards her and away from Jeremy. "I did not offer you a place in our company. I do not think I want you. Look at you. You're like a scared animal. You came to investigate and now you're rearing up to make yourself bigger because you cannot hurt us and you know we can hurt you. You want us to imagine that you are some fount of truth or insight. You're nothing. You're a speck."
He made sure he still had Jeremy in his peripheral vision, and allowed his grin to die entirely. Now there was just the terrible burning of his eyes. He felt them prickling with tears, but he could not allow them to fall. He used them, gave them that laughing cast that looked so mad and so dangerous. Because if he did this, he was committed to his path. There would be no turning back.
But there was no turning back already. None that left him a road to glory.
The stench of Conrad's corpse hung heavy over him. He wondered how much worse it would become, if they added a second body to the mix.
"Jeremy," he said, keeping his voice conversational. He stared fixedly at the girl, but conscious of the other man with the gun on his periphery, conscious for any sign of dangerous or threatening movement. "Do you think we should kill her?"
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
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Yugikun
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Jeremy frowned. Was Lily trying to throw him under the bus?
That wasn’t very nice. Best to disprove her accusation while it was standing.
“I mean,” he replied, trying to push the gun slightly further into his pocket. “Just because I have it doesn’t mean I’m going to use it.”
Wait, maybe he should elaborate a little on that last bit. He revealed a little too much there. Alex might not like the fact that he wasn’t all that into wantonly killing people he had known for the last four or so years. Well, maybe he had changed his mind, but given that it had been like forty seconds since Alex had gotten angry he doubted that that had happened. Best to keep pretending he was okay with it.
“Like, I’m not a gamebot. I’m not going to be someone who just mindlessly does what they need to do to get further ahead. That’s called being a sociopath, and if I don’t end up being the fittest I’d rather not spend my last days being considered that.”
Then Alex took over. That was good. Meant that he could just take the backseat. Rest his tongue. Alex probably had the better points to give, anyway. And he did! Well, whether or not he had the better points or not was up to LIly or any other third party but Alex probably did a better job at convincing her. Maybe he was edging a little bit too far into the personal attacks but honestly Jeremy wouldn’t be surprised if he happened to be on the debating team.
And then he asked Jeremy whether they should just kill Lily.
This was going to be a recurring thing, wasn’t it?
Immediate reaction was an internal ‘what?’ Next one was an internal big ‘no.’ But obviously he couldn’t say those out loud. Then Alex would get mad at him and Lily would probably make something out of that. So no, as much as he liked to say he was okay with dying he wasn’t okay with it happening right now. So, he just had to give a better version of ‘no’ and if Lily was actually smart she’d book it.
That sounded like a good plan, yeah.
“I dunno. Is she a lunatic? I thought we were going after the lunatics, here.”
That wasn’t very nice. Best to disprove her accusation while it was standing.
“I mean,” he replied, trying to push the gun slightly further into his pocket. “Just because I have it doesn’t mean I’m going to use it.”
Wait, maybe he should elaborate a little on that last bit. He revealed a little too much there. Alex might not like the fact that he wasn’t all that into wantonly killing people he had known for the last four or so years. Well, maybe he had changed his mind, but given that it had been like forty seconds since Alex had gotten angry he doubted that that had happened. Best to keep pretending he was okay with it.
“Like, I’m not a gamebot. I’m not going to be someone who just mindlessly does what they need to do to get further ahead. That’s called being a sociopath, and if I don’t end up being the fittest I’d rather not spend my last days being considered that.”
Then Alex took over. That was good. Meant that he could just take the backseat. Rest his tongue. Alex probably had the better points to give, anyway. And he did! Well, whether or not he had the better points or not was up to LIly or any other third party but Alex probably did a better job at convincing her. Maybe he was edging a little bit too far into the personal attacks but honestly Jeremy wouldn’t be surprised if he happened to be on the debating team.
And then he asked Jeremy whether they should just kill Lily.
This was going to be a recurring thing, wasn’t it?
Immediate reaction was an internal ‘what?’ Next one was an internal big ‘no.’ But obviously he couldn’t say those out loud. Then Alex would get mad at him and Lily would probably make something out of that. So no, as much as he liked to say he was okay with dying he wasn’t okay with it happening right now. So, he just had to give a better version of ‘no’ and if Lily was actually smart she’d book it.
That sounded like a good plan, yeah.
“I dunno. Is she a lunatic? I thought we were going after the lunatics, here.”
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ViolentMedic
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Lily took a step back as Alex stepped forward, feeling a mix of fear and derision.
What a crackpot. Did he really think he was fitter just because the first shot hadn't done the trick? Impressive if it was a full-on shot, but more likely someone with shitty marksmanship. And talking at her like being a scared animal was bad. She wasn't a predator, she already knew that. Predators were bigger. Predators could fight. But a wolf couldn't catch a rabbit if it knew where to hide.
...She didn't feel like a smart rabbit right now, though. A smart rabbit would run. She was... reasonably sure she could flee from Alex if she had to. But Jeremy was still the bigger threat, even if he was talking friendly right now. If she ran, Jeremy could still shoot.
"You could do that. You could kill me. Of course, I might just be a speck, but I'm a speck with family. Friends. People on this island who might decide to pursue revenge."
Lily wondered if someone was pursuing Isabel for what she did to Tina. Lily might have, if she were a better cousin. ...It would be a justification no-one could blink an eye at. Her eyes flickered to Conrad's corpse. She wondered how many would chase Isabel for what had been done to him.
"You've already done the murder you need to leave this island. How does it make you fitter to add kills to that pile? Especially if I, as a speck, pose absolutely no threat to you. Lions only kill when they need to eat, you know."
Wait. No. Bad. She shouldn't have said that, because Alex had already gotten his kill. But Jeremy... Jeremy still hadn't 'eaten.' Lily looked down for a moment, reaching up to rub the side of her face. An attempt to cover the flicker of fear that had crossed it. Then she looked back up.
"But maybe I'm wasting my breath. Because I do see one lunatic in this room."
What a crackpot. Did he really think he was fitter just because the first shot hadn't done the trick? Impressive if it was a full-on shot, but more likely someone with shitty marksmanship. And talking at her like being a scared animal was bad. She wasn't a predator, she already knew that. Predators were bigger. Predators could fight. But a wolf couldn't catch a rabbit if it knew where to hide.
...She didn't feel like a smart rabbit right now, though. A smart rabbit would run. She was... reasonably sure she could flee from Alex if she had to. But Jeremy was still the bigger threat, even if he was talking friendly right now. If she ran, Jeremy could still shoot.
"You could do that. You could kill me. Of course, I might just be a speck, but I'm a speck with family. Friends. People on this island who might decide to pursue revenge."
Lily wondered if someone was pursuing Isabel for what she did to Tina. Lily might have, if she were a better cousin. ...It would be a justification no-one could blink an eye at. Her eyes flickered to Conrad's corpse. She wondered how many would chase Isabel for what had been done to him.
"You've already done the murder you need to leave this island. How does it make you fitter to add kills to that pile? Especially if I, as a speck, pose absolutely no threat to you. Lions only kill when they need to eat, you know."
Wait. No. Bad. She shouldn't have said that, because Alex had already gotten his kill. But Jeremy... Jeremy still hadn't 'eaten.' Lily looked down for a moment, reaching up to rub the side of her face. An attempt to cover the flicker of fear that had crossed it. Then she looked back up.
"But maybe I'm wasting my breath. Because I do see one lunatic in this room."
The first, hilarious thought was to insult her further: Really? I don't see a mirror in here. But maybe that was idiotic. No, scratch that: that was definitely idiotic. He had a role to play. Insulting her? Being petty? That would turn him into a caricature. That would make any audience want to see him go, so that they did not have to bear with him any more. He had to feel dangerous. Wasn't that what made Hannibal Lecter so fascinating? That he could be reasoned with, but that he would dispose of you in a heartbeat to suit his own ghastly ends.
He would have opportunity to prove the latter. Hell, he'd already done so, in the battle against Rea's friend yesterday. Now, he had to prove the former.
"Lunatic, she says." Alex chuckled, raising his voice so that Jeremy could hear him. "But only after she reminded me of her family. Did you notice that? Perfectly willing to talk high-minded concepts, but only after you try to threaten me by pretending to be part of some pack."
He jerked his head back towards the body rotting on the wall. "The woman who did that is monstrous," he said. "And I intend to deal with her, if she crosses my path. But then, when all is said and done, your family has to be dead if I'm to be the fittest. Maybe not by my hand, but they will be dead. Yourself included."
He paused, cocking his head thoughtfully, as though considering her. Truth was, he was considering how to play this. He didn't want to kill Lily. The thought made him sicker than the smell coming off of Conrad's body. He wasn't sure he could do it. He wasn't sure he could swing this blade intentionally. He clutched the handle of his machete reflexively, but forced himself to relax. Had to appear the perfect image of cool poise. Allow himself to become desperate in a fight, certainly. But outside of a fight, he had to look at ease.
"I'm not worried," Alex said. "You wandered blind into this place, and you scrabble to turn us against each other or find some threatening growl that will convince me you're dangerous. But you're not dangerous, are you?" He shrugged. "Let the others chase you down, if they choose," he said. "It's a waste of effort. Hell, it's a waste of a bullet. You'll kill yourself before you kill anyone else." He turned away from her and turned his head slightly to smile at Jeremy--and so that she was still in the corner of his gaze. "That's just my opinion, of course. If you disagree, feel free."
He would have opportunity to prove the latter. Hell, he'd already done so, in the battle against Rea's friend yesterday. Now, he had to prove the former.
"Lunatic, she says." Alex chuckled, raising his voice so that Jeremy could hear him. "But only after she reminded me of her family. Did you notice that? Perfectly willing to talk high-minded concepts, but only after you try to threaten me by pretending to be part of some pack."
He jerked his head back towards the body rotting on the wall. "The woman who did that is monstrous," he said. "And I intend to deal with her, if she crosses my path. But then, when all is said and done, your family has to be dead if I'm to be the fittest. Maybe not by my hand, but they will be dead. Yourself included."
He paused, cocking his head thoughtfully, as though considering her. Truth was, he was considering how to play this. He didn't want to kill Lily. The thought made him sicker than the smell coming off of Conrad's body. He wasn't sure he could do it. He wasn't sure he could swing this blade intentionally. He clutched the handle of his machete reflexively, but forced himself to relax. Had to appear the perfect image of cool poise. Allow himself to become desperate in a fight, certainly. But outside of a fight, he had to look at ease.
"I'm not worried," Alex said. "You wandered blind into this place, and you scrabble to turn us against each other or find some threatening growl that will convince me you're dangerous. But you're not dangerous, are you?" He shrugged. "Let the others chase you down, if they choose," he said. "It's a waste of effort. Hell, it's a waste of a bullet. You'll kill yourself before you kill anyone else." He turned away from her and turned his head slightly to smile at Jeremy--and so that she was still in the corner of his gaze. "That's just my opinion, of course. If you disagree, feel free."
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
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Yugikun
- Posts: 950
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:48 am
- Location: in a place where this joke is funny
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Jeremy, uh…
Jeremy just sorta stopped understanding what this conversation was a bit ago.
Because he said his thing, Lily said her thing, and then Alex responded to Lily. He got that he was mocking her for calling him a lunatic but then he started talking about a family? Was he referring to Jeremy or Lily there? He didn’t know. He probably should know in the case that Alex was actually referring to him there but if he were to put a bet on it he’d say that Alex was talking to Lily. Which was good, because if Jeremy had to respond it’d show that he didn’t really have an idea of what he was talking about, which considering that it was Alex probably wasn’t a good thing.
So he just stood there, as Alex and Lily had their small argument. Leaned on the wall, once again.
Until the conversation went back to him. A question, directed at Jeremy. Or rather, an idea of Alex’s, which was up for Jeremy to agree or disagree with. Jeremy’s opinion on the idea leaned very, very heavily towards agree. Killing Lily was probably not that good an idea.
Although…
Yeah, hang on. Maybe he could give a better reason for it. Maybe something to consider so that situations such as these didn’t happen. At least as often. Wouldn’t be too hard to say, either.
“I don’t think we should take her out. That’ll just advertise to everyone that hey, Jeremy Frasier and Alex Tarquin are probably not the good guys. If we wanna make it so that we’re final two, we stay under the radar, or something.”
Maybe now he wouldn’t have to question his morality every time Alex opened his mouth.
Jeremy just sorta stopped understanding what this conversation was a bit ago.
Because he said his thing, Lily said her thing, and then Alex responded to Lily. He got that he was mocking her for calling him a lunatic but then he started talking about a family? Was he referring to Jeremy or Lily there? He didn’t know. He probably should know in the case that Alex was actually referring to him there but if he were to put a bet on it he’d say that Alex was talking to Lily. Which was good, because if Jeremy had to respond it’d show that he didn’t really have an idea of what he was talking about, which considering that it was Alex probably wasn’t a good thing.
So he just stood there, as Alex and Lily had their small argument. Leaned on the wall, once again.
Until the conversation went back to him. A question, directed at Jeremy. Or rather, an idea of Alex’s, which was up for Jeremy to agree or disagree with. Jeremy’s opinion on the idea leaned very, very heavily towards agree. Killing Lily was probably not that good an idea.
Although…
Yeah, hang on. Maybe he could give a better reason for it. Maybe something to consider so that situations such as these didn’t happen. At least as often. Wouldn’t be too hard to say, either.
“I don’t think we should take her out. That’ll just advertise to everyone that hey, Jeremy Frasier and Alex Tarquin are probably not the good guys. If we wanna make it so that we’re final two, we stay under the radar, or something.”
Maybe now he wouldn’t have to question his morality every time Alex opened his mouth.
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ViolentMedic
- Posts: 813
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
"If you wanted to stay under the radar, you could do better than siding with Mr. 'I Murdered Rea Adams With A Machete' over there." Lily shrugged and sighed. "But fine. Not my concern if you choose to go down that path."
It was a concern. As far as she was concerned, despite his 'oh maybe we shouldn't kill her' talk, Jeremy allying with Alex was as good as declaring his intent to kill, even if he hadn't worked up to it yet. And the last thing she needed was killers working together. That would be a problem when numbers got smaller.
But maybe she'd be lucky, and Jeremy would come to his senses and kill Alex in his sleep. She'd risked enough sticking around.
"So Isabel hasn't crossed your path? That's all I wanted to know. I'll be going before you kill me, then."
Lily took a step back. She had to go. Even if they weren't going to kill her, she was going to puke if she hung around Conrad's corpse any longer.
"Good luck getting to the final two. I'm sure it'll all work out fine for you." Those last words were dripping with sarcasm. She didn't turn around, heading out of the room backwards (and hoping there was no-one behind her), only turning and fleeing once she was behind shelter. Just in case one of them changed their minds about killing her.
Stupid risk, really. She'd have to avoid doing that again in the future. She supposed idiots like that went by their own logic, and couldn't be reasoned out of an alliance that was bad for them and her. Or maybe her words were just terrible. It could easily be that.
But not dangerous? Being a waste of a bullet? There were worse things to be. And when Alex ended up on the announcements as a victim—and he would end up there, if he carried on monologing and murdering—or Jeremy ended up there when Alex inevitably snapped further and stabbed him in the back, or if he decided to do something like ring the loudest thing on the island again out of some bizarre belief that it made him brave... well, Lily wouldn't feel a scrap of pity for them.
Now she could go back to her business of avoiding Isabel.
Avoiding. Hm. Perhaps that wasn't the best option available. Safest, but... she'd have to kill sometime.
((Lillian 'Lily' Caldwell continued in Let's Awaken, By the Day.))
It was a concern. As far as she was concerned, despite his 'oh maybe we shouldn't kill her' talk, Jeremy allying with Alex was as good as declaring his intent to kill, even if he hadn't worked up to it yet. And the last thing she needed was killers working together. That would be a problem when numbers got smaller.
But maybe she'd be lucky, and Jeremy would come to his senses and kill Alex in his sleep. She'd risked enough sticking around.
"So Isabel hasn't crossed your path? That's all I wanted to know. I'll be going before you kill me, then."
Lily took a step back. She had to go. Even if they weren't going to kill her, she was going to puke if she hung around Conrad's corpse any longer.
"Good luck getting to the final two. I'm sure it'll all work out fine for you." Those last words were dripping with sarcasm. She didn't turn around, heading out of the room backwards (and hoping there was no-one behind her), only turning and fleeing once she was behind shelter. Just in case one of them changed their minds about killing her.
Stupid risk, really. She'd have to avoid doing that again in the future. She supposed idiots like that went by their own logic, and couldn't be reasoned out of an alliance that was bad for them and her. Or maybe her words were just terrible. It could easily be that.
But not dangerous? Being a waste of a bullet? There were worse things to be. And when Alex ended up on the announcements as a victim—and he would end up there, if he carried on monologing and murdering—or Jeremy ended up there when Alex inevitably snapped further and stabbed him in the back, or if he decided to do something like ring the loudest thing on the island again out of some bizarre belief that it made him brave... well, Lily wouldn't feel a scrap of pity for them.
Now she could go back to her business of avoiding Isabel.
Avoiding. Hm. Perhaps that wasn't the best option available. Safest, but... she'd have to kill sometime.
((Lillian 'Lily' Caldwell continued in Let's Awaken, By the Day.))
(( Michael Crowe continued from Gotta get a grip))
Michael was thankful for the invention of sunglasses. They hid emotions, people didn't know what the wearer was looking at, injuries could be visually covered by them... Right now he was thankful for the covering of emotions, of course crying didn't fix anything, but he couldn't help himself. It was only a few yards since he left Jerry's and Scarlett's room, but he found himself walking right into another one to sob like a bitch. Fucking weak ass wimp. It was your responsibility and you fucked up.
Get over it.
So he did, he had to force Jerry into the back of his mind or he wouldn't function, no thoughts of him alive, or carrying his body back, no, just keep thinking about the revenge part, the anger part. Don't get sad, get angry.
Michael decided to walk to the solitary confinement area for whatever reason. Maybe Brendan was hiding here. Little fuckin' rat... He stood for a second and sighed before he saw a girl in a goofy ass army helmet turn the corner and speed walk past him. She didn't look fucked up, there weren't any sounds of violence; but something was off. Michael flattened against the corner, raising his axe. Anyone turned to chase her, 'whap', axe right in the fucking mouth. After a solid fifteen seconds or so, he realized nobody would chase. He lowered his axe and turned the corner, despite his brain telling him not to.
Well shit... Wasn't Nancy, and it wasn't Brendan. But it was a killer. And it looks like he had a new friend. Michael started walking forwards, his axe dropping and grinding against the ground as he slowly trudged over to them. What in the fuck was Alex wearing? Looks like he had the same idea as Michael with the armor, except most of it was piss-poorly torn orderly clothing. And some old ass jacket. Alex normally wears stupid shit, but this?! Christ, that paintball game didn't prepare him for his uhhh, what'd you call it? Eccentricities. Yeah, eccentricities... Yeah, he went from Antonio Ban-dumbass to Mel Gibmemoney.
"So uhhh, with that getup, I take it Rea's wasn't an accident?"
His axe slid against the ground as he slowly walked towards them, making an audible scraping noise before something made him stop. Michael stepped closer before probably the worst thing he ever smelled in his life next to Bart after gym class hit. He legitimately had to step back, he held his nose with his free hand. That shit hit harder than a sucker punch.
"Whoo shit! You hidin' a body back there, or am I just that fuckin' scary?"
He noticed Alex's partner standing next to him. Michael pointed his axe at him.
"Was it you Jeremy? Did you catch the spook-squirts?"
He unzipped his bag, pulling out one of the rolls of toilet paper looted from the bar.
"You guys uhh, you guys know you're supposed to wipe once you're done right?"
Michael was thankful for the invention of sunglasses. They hid emotions, people didn't know what the wearer was looking at, injuries could be visually covered by them... Right now he was thankful for the covering of emotions, of course crying didn't fix anything, but he couldn't help himself. It was only a few yards since he left Jerry's and Scarlett's room, but he found himself walking right into another one to sob like a bitch. Fucking weak ass wimp. It was your responsibility and you fucked up.
Get over it.
So he did, he had to force Jerry into the back of his mind or he wouldn't function, no thoughts of him alive, or carrying his body back, no, just keep thinking about the revenge part, the anger part. Don't get sad, get angry.
Michael decided to walk to the solitary confinement area for whatever reason. Maybe Brendan was hiding here. Little fuckin' rat... He stood for a second and sighed before he saw a girl in a goofy ass army helmet turn the corner and speed walk past him. She didn't look fucked up, there weren't any sounds of violence; but something was off. Michael flattened against the corner, raising his axe. Anyone turned to chase her, 'whap', axe right in the fucking mouth. After a solid fifteen seconds or so, he realized nobody would chase. He lowered his axe and turned the corner, despite his brain telling him not to.
Well shit... Wasn't Nancy, and it wasn't Brendan. But it was a killer. And it looks like he had a new friend. Michael started walking forwards, his axe dropping and grinding against the ground as he slowly trudged over to them. What in the fuck was Alex wearing? Looks like he had the same idea as Michael with the armor, except most of it was piss-poorly torn orderly clothing. And some old ass jacket. Alex normally wears stupid shit, but this?! Christ, that paintball game didn't prepare him for his uhhh, what'd you call it? Eccentricities. Yeah, eccentricities... Yeah, he went from Antonio Ban-dumbass to Mel Gibmemoney.
"So uhhh, with that getup, I take it Rea's wasn't an accident?"
His axe slid against the ground as he slowly walked towards them, making an audible scraping noise before something made him stop. Michael stepped closer before probably the worst thing he ever smelled in his life next to Bart after gym class hit. He legitimately had to step back, he held his nose with his free hand. That shit hit harder than a sucker punch.
"Whoo shit! You hidin' a body back there, or am I just that fuckin' scary?"
He noticed Alex's partner standing next to him. Michael pointed his axe at him.
"Was it you Jeremy? Did you catch the spook-squirts?"
He unzipped his bag, pulling out one of the rolls of toilet paper looted from the bar.
"You guys uhh, you guys know you're supposed to wipe once you're done right?"
Empty words that refused engagement. Alex was satisfied. Whatever her parting jibes, any objective observer would clearly see that Alex had been in complete control of the situation. That she had managed to get the last word might even play to his advantage: it gave her an air of desperation, which he imagined would be neatly juxtaposed against his cool, terrifying gaze, his exposed back a taunt that she could not address.
The first real scene since the death of Rea
(since I killed her)
and he thought it had gone rather well.
"Bad and good are arbitrary distinctions, Jeremy," he said. "But you're not wrong, either. We do need to think about our visual. We do not yet have the reputation to protect us from reprisals." He began pulling objects out of his pack--fishing line and empty cans rescued from a fallen dumpster. He frowned at the cans and began probing one of them with his machete. "We need to be aware of anyone coming," he said. "If we can-"
And suddenly there was a new presence on the scene, a mocking voice and joking words, and Alex felt his heart lurch in his chest.
Crowe. Of course it was Crowe. Wannabe tough-guy, paintball opponent, always dropping jokes. In Kingman, all of that added up to a fairly entertaining man, albeit one who could get on your nerves. But here? Here the story was quite different. Here, Crowe was a problem.
Start with what he has just said, implying that one of them had shit themselves. But the problem is that a proper villain doesn't do that. A proper villain is always in control, often bested, never beaten. If Crowe makes such jokes, and if Alex lets him...
His confrontation with Lily was fraught with potential violence, potential danger. By making it clear he was capable of such action and then daring her to seize an opportunity, Alex had won. The power had belonged to him.
But really consider Crowe. There are only a few options here. He stays, or he goes. If he stays, it will be a never-ending series of such jokes. It will be constant mockery. He will undercut the seriousness of your position at every turn. He will turn you into someone petty that no one can take seriously. If there is any hope for glory or grandeur here, he will take it from you.
But if you react with anger--if you make it seem, even for a moment, that Crowe has gotten under your skin with his idiotic jibes--then you are lost.
He turned his head slowly, to see the other man pulling the toilet paper from his bag. He rose, with deliberate care, to his feet. He lifted his machete.
"Wipe what?" he asked, aware that this was dangerous, aware that just by acknowledging the joke he might be seen as agreeing to his premise. Aware that he walked a tight rope and if he erred even a little he would never recover. "My sword?" He waved it back and forth in front of his face, as though he couldn't even see Crowe. He ran a finger along the red still staining the blade. "You're right, I probably should have," he admitted. "But I was in a hurry."
Jesus Christ Alex what are you even saying.
"Now, Michael," he said. "I understand you may be scared shitless, if you'll pardon the pun-" Ah, good! Move into the humor of the situation, without ever letting it undercut your danger (Fly away, little Starling. Fly fly fly)! "-but if you think you can relax around me for even a moment I will cut you down faster than I did Rea."
He took a step towards Crowe.
The first real scene since the death of Rea
(since I killed her)
and he thought it had gone rather well.
"Bad and good are arbitrary distinctions, Jeremy," he said. "But you're not wrong, either. We do need to think about our visual. We do not yet have the reputation to protect us from reprisals." He began pulling objects out of his pack--fishing line and empty cans rescued from a fallen dumpster. He frowned at the cans and began probing one of them with his machete. "We need to be aware of anyone coming," he said. "If we can-"
And suddenly there was a new presence on the scene, a mocking voice and joking words, and Alex felt his heart lurch in his chest.
Crowe. Of course it was Crowe. Wannabe tough-guy, paintball opponent, always dropping jokes. In Kingman, all of that added up to a fairly entertaining man, albeit one who could get on your nerves. But here? Here the story was quite different. Here, Crowe was a problem.
Start with what he has just said, implying that one of them had shit themselves. But the problem is that a proper villain doesn't do that. A proper villain is always in control, often bested, never beaten. If Crowe makes such jokes, and if Alex lets him...
His confrontation with Lily was fraught with potential violence, potential danger. By making it clear he was capable of such action and then daring her to seize an opportunity, Alex had won. The power had belonged to him.
But really consider Crowe. There are only a few options here. He stays, or he goes. If he stays, it will be a never-ending series of such jokes. It will be constant mockery. He will undercut the seriousness of your position at every turn. He will turn you into someone petty that no one can take seriously. If there is any hope for glory or grandeur here, he will take it from you.
But if you react with anger--if you make it seem, even for a moment, that Crowe has gotten under your skin with his idiotic jibes--then you are lost.
He turned his head slowly, to see the other man pulling the toilet paper from his bag. He rose, with deliberate care, to his feet. He lifted his machete.
"Wipe what?" he asked, aware that this was dangerous, aware that just by acknowledging the joke he might be seen as agreeing to his premise. Aware that he walked a tight rope and if he erred even a little he would never recover. "My sword?" He waved it back and forth in front of his face, as though he couldn't even see Crowe. He ran a finger along the red still staining the blade. "You're right, I probably should have," he admitted. "But I was in a hurry."
Jesus Christ Alex what are you even saying.
"Now, Michael," he said. "I understand you may be scared shitless, if you'll pardon the pun-" Ah, good! Move into the humor of the situation, without ever letting it undercut your danger (Fly away, little Starling. Fly fly fly)! "-but if you think you can relax around me for even a moment I will cut you down faster than I did Rea."
He took a step towards Crowe.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
((Skipping Jeremy with permission from Yugi))
Michael raised a single eyebrow as he listened to Alex speak. And he thought Nancy disgusted him... Did Alex lose his fucking mind?! Michael put the TP back into his bag, feeling the two wooden clubs next to them. Alex was crazy, no doubt about it, he wasn't even sociopathic. It was the other one. Pure psycho. The question was, had he snap, or was he always like this?
He left his bag unzipped as he contemplated his chances. Alex had his machete, and well, it'd hurt like a bitch if it cut him. Hopefully his 60 mph asphalt proof jacket would help against it. God knows it's useless against bullets, but blades, well only one way to find out... Michael thought about his own weapons. Two clubs, one of them jagged from being yanked halfway off, decent, but not too good. Then there was his axe. Pretty bitchin', but there wasn't much you could do with it in terms of use. You can smack, or you can cut. Both could be fatal. But most of it was wood. Alex's blade could cut through that, he was pretty sure, so he'd have to dodge instead of block, that'd wear him out quicker. Their range was equal to, Alex slightly more so because of his height. Damn, we was at a bit of a disadvantage. But; there was also his plan B. Jerry's shock knife, placed firmly in his jacket. He forced back some thoughts of self blame as he brought himself to focus on the task at hand. He half listened to Alex talk, half daydreamed about knocking his cadaver through a window. His eyes trailed over to Jeremy.
Jeremy didn't look like he cared too much. Hey, SOTF was a spectator sport after all. Could get closer to winning just by watching, who could blame him? Maybe he just stayed with Alex because nobody better would come along. Well, with Michael's help, his options would open...
Alex caught Michael's attention when he stepped forward. Did this little dickwit just...
Michael felt his grin come, he couldn't help it. His heart started pounding, and that adrenaline started pumping. The anticipation was like a fine wine after all...
"Ooooooh ho ho! Naah man, did I just hear you threaten me!?"
Michael tapped his finger against the handle of his axe.
"I-Is that a way to treat an old friend?" He feigned shock, as if his feelings were hurt.
They weren't old friends, acquaintances more like. Michael liked Alex's company before the games, how rare they were, but this? Michael had found someone worse than rock bottom. He managed to find someone who he utterly abhors. And it used to be someone so fuckin' affable...
"Now, I get that you think you're hot shit for killing some little girl..." Rea was like six feet though. What the fuck are you talking about, Mikey? "But I'm not some helpless screamer. I'm not gonna lay in the shower and yell while you chop me up, buddy. Speakin' of which..."
Michael tilted his head up. He wanted to know a few things before he put this fucker six feet under. He wanted to know how Hannibal Loser ticked.
"Why'd you do it? Kill Rea, I mean. Made you feel strong? Oooor, were you scared? Just wanted to get it over with?"
Michael wagged his finger. He then shook his head. "Naaah, that ain't it..."
"Y'know what I think?"
Michael pointed his axe from his groin, in a juvenile attempt to mimic an erection.
"I think you did it to give your little woody there some wood!" Michael mimed jerking the axe with a pelvis thrust here and there to taunt him further.
"That's what it is, ain't it, fucker! You wanted the sexual thrill of it! That get you off Al'? Killin' little girls like that? Bet it makes you feel like a man, don't it, you petty little pimp fuck! Fuckin' rat coward, that's what you are!"
Michael swung his axe through the air, grinning like a crocodile. He repeated the term 'Little girl' to underscore Alex's 'achievement' if you could call it that. He wanted to lower whatever chance anyone had on taking him seriously. He wanted Alex to know that he was nothing more than a dime-a-dozen coward. And what better way to tell him yourself that you thought he was an insignificant little skid mark on the crusty briefs that were this island.
"You kill lil' girls coz' it makes you feel like hot shit, amirite'? Well, news flash fucko, I ain't a lil girl, and the only hot shit you're gettin' is the one I'm leavin' on your fuckin' chest once I'm done splittin' you dick to dome, buddy!"
He brought his axe up into a defensive position. Alex was either gonna nut up or shut up. Michael had already made his choice of the two.
"Feelin' like hot shit now, motherfucker?"
Michael raised a single eyebrow as he listened to Alex speak. And he thought Nancy disgusted him... Did Alex lose his fucking mind?! Michael put the TP back into his bag, feeling the two wooden clubs next to them. Alex was crazy, no doubt about it, he wasn't even sociopathic. It was the other one. Pure psycho. The question was, had he snap, or was he always like this?
He left his bag unzipped as he contemplated his chances. Alex had his machete, and well, it'd hurt like a bitch if it cut him. Hopefully his 60 mph asphalt proof jacket would help against it. God knows it's useless against bullets, but blades, well only one way to find out... Michael thought about his own weapons. Two clubs, one of them jagged from being yanked halfway off, decent, but not too good. Then there was his axe. Pretty bitchin', but there wasn't much you could do with it in terms of use. You can smack, or you can cut. Both could be fatal. But most of it was wood. Alex's blade could cut through that, he was pretty sure, so he'd have to dodge instead of block, that'd wear him out quicker. Their range was equal to, Alex slightly more so because of his height. Damn, we was at a bit of a disadvantage. But; there was also his plan B. Jerry's shock knife, placed firmly in his jacket. He forced back some thoughts of self blame as he brought himself to focus on the task at hand. He half listened to Alex talk, half daydreamed about knocking his cadaver through a window. His eyes trailed over to Jeremy.
Jeremy didn't look like he cared too much. Hey, SOTF was a spectator sport after all. Could get closer to winning just by watching, who could blame him? Maybe he just stayed with Alex because nobody better would come along. Well, with Michael's help, his options would open...
Alex caught Michael's attention when he stepped forward. Did this little dickwit just...
Michael felt his grin come, he couldn't help it. His heart started pounding, and that adrenaline started pumping. The anticipation was like a fine wine after all...
"Ooooooh ho ho! Naah man, did I just hear you threaten me!?"
Michael tapped his finger against the handle of his axe.
"I-Is that a way to treat an old friend?" He feigned shock, as if his feelings were hurt.
They weren't old friends, acquaintances more like. Michael liked Alex's company before the games, how rare they were, but this? Michael had found someone worse than rock bottom. He managed to find someone who he utterly abhors. And it used to be someone so fuckin' affable...
"Now, I get that you think you're hot shit for killing some little girl..." Rea was like six feet though. What the fuck are you talking about, Mikey? "But I'm not some helpless screamer. I'm not gonna lay in the shower and yell while you chop me up, buddy. Speakin' of which..."
Michael tilted his head up. He wanted to know a few things before he put this fucker six feet under. He wanted to know how Hannibal Loser ticked.
"Why'd you do it? Kill Rea, I mean. Made you feel strong? Oooor, were you scared? Just wanted to get it over with?"
Michael wagged his finger. He then shook his head. "Naaah, that ain't it..."
"Y'know what I think?"
Michael pointed his axe from his groin, in a juvenile attempt to mimic an erection.
"I think you did it to give your little woody there some wood!" Michael mimed jerking the axe with a pelvis thrust here and there to taunt him further.
"That's what it is, ain't it, fucker! You wanted the sexual thrill of it! That get you off Al'? Killin' little girls like that? Bet it makes you feel like a man, don't it, you petty little pimp fuck! Fuckin' rat coward, that's what you are!"
Michael swung his axe through the air, grinning like a crocodile. He repeated the term 'Little girl' to underscore Alex's 'achievement' if you could call it that. He wanted to lower whatever chance anyone had on taking him seriously. He wanted Alex to know that he was nothing more than a dime-a-dozen coward. And what better way to tell him yourself that you thought he was an insignificant little skid mark on the crusty briefs that were this island.
"You kill lil' girls coz' it makes you feel like hot shit, amirite'? Well, news flash fucko, I ain't a lil girl, and the only hot shit you're gettin' is the one I'm leavin' on your fuckin' chest once I'm done splittin' you dick to dome, buddy!"
He brought his axe up into a defensive position. Alex was either gonna nut up or shut up. Michael had already made his choice of the two.
"Feelin' like hot shit now, motherfucker?"
[skipping with permission as well]
Oh, Alex, what have you done?
You drove Lily away, but Lily had no weapon. You killed Rea, but Rea was running. You survived your fight with the man with the gun, but you had to run. You broke down. You had the epiphany that must now guide everything you do (in public, and in private). And now Crowe--Crowe who you like, Crowe who dueled with you in the dark of Kingman, laughing just as hard as you as you sprayed paintballs through a place you knew you shouldn't be--has his weapon at the ready because you dared him to.
Jeremy is right behind you with his gun. If Jeremy shoots you both down now, he will walk away covered in glory, and you will be another betrayed child who trusted the wrong man. But a proper villain, a complex villain who holds the attention of the audience, he cannot just strike down every man and woman he comes across. He has to have a code. The audience must, in some small way, hope he can win. Wilson Fisk is compelling because he risks as much as Daredevil and for a similar cause. A villain who you can't understand is a villain who you cannot idolize.
So many ways this scene can play out. You can talk, and shoot down all his petty, petulant accusations. You can strike down, and leave everyone at home thinking that what he said was true, that it touched a nerve, that you were out of control and you needed to regain control. You can't become a psycho. You've already painted Isabel that way. You must be distinct.
Above all else: you must be unflappable. You must always have the visual fixed firmly in your head. You knew that even before Rea.
So Crowe talks and jibes and mocks, and you allow yourself to smile. No, more than that: you start to chuckle. Remember, though: restraint! If you allow yourself to cackle like a maniac, you will look like a maniac. You have to look right. Like a man who is so struck by the absurdity of what he is seeing that there is no other choice but to laugh. You have to make the audience think the same thing. In tone alone, you have to say, Look at how fucking stupid this things is! Laugh with me! Laugh, because if you see something different, maybe you're just as stupid as he is!
"Hot shit," he repeated, still chuckling. "Mike, do you actually think you're tough? Was that supposed to be intimidating? Was it supposed to make me feel something?" He allowed himself to laugh harder, though he was conscious of Jeremy behind him, conscious of the axe in front. "I guess it did, but I don't think it's what you were going for."
Alex really liked the works of Aaron Sorkin, but the problem with Sorkin--as it the problem with so many TV writers--is that they don't prepare you for reality. No one is every so brilliantly, inarguably right that they floor their opponent in an argument. No one delivers the perfect one-liner that ends the fight and drives the other off in shame. It was the hardest lesson Alex ever had to learn in Debate. You see yourself as the protagonist, but so does your opponent. No matter how devastating you, are no matter how insightful, your opponent will argue. You will never win.
Alex had just been reminded of this fact by his conflict with Lily. He was pretty sure he'd come out ahead. Any contest where you called your opponent a scared rabbit and she actually ran...well, how could he not win? But the visual was still important here. If he was to win, it would not be clear or unambiguous. He simply had to come off better than his raving opponent.
He had to look and sound better than Crowe.
"Rea is dead," Alex said, his laugh fading even though his smile remained. "Because at the moment it mattered most, she was weak, and I was strong." (Christ, that sounds so much better than, "Because I was picturing The Raid in my head and she surprised me.") "And Mike, all your jokes and all your fake courage aren't going to change the fact that that's all that's going to matter. Who's weak, and who's strong. Who's fit, and who's unfit."
Alex pointed his machete towards Crowe. He remembered Rea, and the machete skidding across the floor mere moments before she'd appeared. The only reason she'd died. The only reason. And Alex knew that. Alex would never not know that. Alex knew how scared he was, knew how desperately afraid he was of dying, how haunted he was by the image at every moment.
But the character he was playing? Alexander David Tarquin, The Man Who Would Be the Fittest? Alexander David Tarquin, who would prove just how dangerous this game was? Alexander David Tarquin needed more than that. Alexander David Tarquin needed glory. Alexander David Tarquin needed to be a creature from beyond reality. A man with the poise and sincerity of a Whedon villain and the razor wit of a Sorkin hero.
He dropped the machete. It clattered to the floor. Alex's heart thrilled in his chest and ice dripped through his veins and he was still smiling. He betrayed no hint of the total terror suffusing every inch of him. He let his eyes bore into Mike's.
He took another step, so he was within the range of Crowe's axe. He felt like a bow string pulled taut.
"I know which I am," Alex said. "Which are you?"
Another step.
Oh, Alex, what have you done?
You drove Lily away, but Lily had no weapon. You killed Rea, but Rea was running. You survived your fight with the man with the gun, but you had to run. You broke down. You had the epiphany that must now guide everything you do (in public, and in private). And now Crowe--Crowe who you like, Crowe who dueled with you in the dark of Kingman, laughing just as hard as you as you sprayed paintballs through a place you knew you shouldn't be--has his weapon at the ready because you dared him to.
Jeremy is right behind you with his gun. If Jeremy shoots you both down now, he will walk away covered in glory, and you will be another betrayed child who trusted the wrong man. But a proper villain, a complex villain who holds the attention of the audience, he cannot just strike down every man and woman he comes across. He has to have a code. The audience must, in some small way, hope he can win. Wilson Fisk is compelling because he risks as much as Daredevil and for a similar cause. A villain who you can't understand is a villain who you cannot idolize.
So many ways this scene can play out. You can talk, and shoot down all his petty, petulant accusations. You can strike down, and leave everyone at home thinking that what he said was true, that it touched a nerve, that you were out of control and you needed to regain control. You can't become a psycho. You've already painted Isabel that way. You must be distinct.
Above all else: you must be unflappable. You must always have the visual fixed firmly in your head. You knew that even before Rea.
So Crowe talks and jibes and mocks, and you allow yourself to smile. No, more than that: you start to chuckle. Remember, though: restraint! If you allow yourself to cackle like a maniac, you will look like a maniac. You have to look right. Like a man who is so struck by the absurdity of what he is seeing that there is no other choice but to laugh. You have to make the audience think the same thing. In tone alone, you have to say, Look at how fucking stupid this things is! Laugh with me! Laugh, because if you see something different, maybe you're just as stupid as he is!
"Hot shit," he repeated, still chuckling. "Mike, do you actually think you're tough? Was that supposed to be intimidating? Was it supposed to make me feel something?" He allowed himself to laugh harder, though he was conscious of Jeremy behind him, conscious of the axe in front. "I guess it did, but I don't think it's what you were going for."
Alex really liked the works of Aaron Sorkin, but the problem with Sorkin--as it the problem with so many TV writers--is that they don't prepare you for reality. No one is every so brilliantly, inarguably right that they floor their opponent in an argument. No one delivers the perfect one-liner that ends the fight and drives the other off in shame. It was the hardest lesson Alex ever had to learn in Debate. You see yourself as the protagonist, but so does your opponent. No matter how devastating you, are no matter how insightful, your opponent will argue. You will never win.
Alex had just been reminded of this fact by his conflict with Lily. He was pretty sure he'd come out ahead. Any contest where you called your opponent a scared rabbit and she actually ran...well, how could he not win? But the visual was still important here. If he was to win, it would not be clear or unambiguous. He simply had to come off better than his raving opponent.
He had to look and sound better than Crowe.
"Rea is dead," Alex said, his laugh fading even though his smile remained. "Because at the moment it mattered most, she was weak, and I was strong." (Christ, that sounds so much better than, "Because I was picturing The Raid in my head and she surprised me.") "And Mike, all your jokes and all your fake courage aren't going to change the fact that that's all that's going to matter. Who's weak, and who's strong. Who's fit, and who's unfit."
Alex pointed his machete towards Crowe. He remembered Rea, and the machete skidding across the floor mere moments before she'd appeared. The only reason she'd died. The only reason. And Alex knew that. Alex would never not know that. Alex knew how scared he was, knew how desperately afraid he was of dying, how haunted he was by the image at every moment.
But the character he was playing? Alexander David Tarquin, The Man Who Would Be the Fittest? Alexander David Tarquin, who would prove just how dangerous this game was? Alexander David Tarquin needed more than that. Alexander David Tarquin needed glory. Alexander David Tarquin needed to be a creature from beyond reality. A man with the poise and sincerity of a Whedon villain and the razor wit of a Sorkin hero.
He dropped the machete. It clattered to the floor. Alex's heart thrilled in his chest and ice dripped through his veins and he was still smiling. He betrayed no hint of the total terror suffusing every inch of him. He let his eyes bore into Mike's.
He took another step, so he was within the range of Crowe's axe. He felt like a bow string pulled taut.
"I know which I am," Alex said. "Which are you?"
Another step.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Michael cocked his head to the side as he awaited Alex to rush him. But he didn't.
What the fuck? That's how it's supposed to be right?
Then Alex spoke up. Well, not quite that.
He laughed.
Michael couldn't help it. He laughed too.
Michael laughed, Alex laughed. Michael laughed harder. Alex laughed harder.
Then he stopped. What he had said had caused Michael to stop laughing as well.
Who's weak, and who's strong?
No... don't tell me...
He dropped his weapon and started walking over. What in the fuck?! Did he expect Michael to just walk away? To just give up and not embed his axe into his head? Did he really think that?! The cajones of the son of a bitch...
Well...
He was right.
Michael's left arm extended to the side, still holding the axe. He dropped it, with all the clang and echo you'd expect from dropping an axe in a dark metal hallway.
Michael couldn't help but smile back as Alex grinned at him like that. Like some small child getting his sibling in trouble for looting the cookie jar. That smug fucking grin. The eyes didn't fit though, there was something about them. Something off. Wasn't quite puppy dog eyes, but they didn't seem too happy.
Michael's right arm wanted to shake as he reached up to take his sunglasses off. He forced it to stay still. He wasn't gonna be phased by this prick. But he had to admit, something about him was unnerving. Really fucking unnerving. Michael's breath rattled. He forced it into a little laugh.
"So... You're the fittest huh?"
Michael nodded his head.
"Means you were 'entitled' to killing Rea, right?"
He hooked his glasses into his chest pocket. He placed his hands on Alex's shoulders, looking him in the eyes.
"Y'know what, Alex? I like you. I like you enough that I think I'll kill you last."
Michael nodded, and his arms dropped. He turned, as if to walk away.
At this point, you'd think he'd lost, learned the error of being cocky. That he'd walk away like nothing happened. After all the shit he's seen, you really think he'd give up like that? Of course he wasn't really gonna walk away like some damn punk.
He turned again, and swung a mean ass sucker punch in Alex's direction.
After all, just because he'd kill him last didn't mean that he wouldn't put the fucker in his place first.
What the fuck? That's how it's supposed to be right?
Then Alex spoke up. Well, not quite that.
He laughed.
Michael couldn't help it. He laughed too.
Michael laughed, Alex laughed. Michael laughed harder. Alex laughed harder.
Then he stopped. What he had said had caused Michael to stop laughing as well.
Who's weak, and who's strong?
No... don't tell me...
He dropped his weapon and started walking over. What in the fuck?! Did he expect Michael to just walk away? To just give up and not embed his axe into his head? Did he really think that?! The cajones of the son of a bitch...
Well...
He was right.
Michael's left arm extended to the side, still holding the axe. He dropped it, with all the clang and echo you'd expect from dropping an axe in a dark metal hallway.
Michael couldn't help but smile back as Alex grinned at him like that. Like some small child getting his sibling in trouble for looting the cookie jar. That smug fucking grin. The eyes didn't fit though, there was something about them. Something off. Wasn't quite puppy dog eyes, but they didn't seem too happy.
Michael's right arm wanted to shake as he reached up to take his sunglasses off. He forced it to stay still. He wasn't gonna be phased by this prick. But he had to admit, something about him was unnerving. Really fucking unnerving. Michael's breath rattled. He forced it into a little laugh.
"So... You're the fittest huh?"
Michael nodded his head.
"Means you were 'entitled' to killing Rea, right?"
He hooked his glasses into his chest pocket. He placed his hands on Alex's shoulders, looking him in the eyes.
"Y'know what, Alex? I like you. I like you enough that I think I'll kill you last."
Michael nodded, and his arms dropped. He turned, as if to walk away.
At this point, you'd think he'd lost, learned the error of being cocky. That he'd walk away like nothing happened. After all the shit he's seen, you really think he'd give up like that? Of course he wasn't really gonna walk away like some damn punk.
He turned again, and swung a mean ass sucker punch in Alex's direction.
After all, just because he'd kill him last didn't mean that he wouldn't put the fucker in his place first.
-
Yugikun
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- Contact:
Quite a lot had happened within the last minute or so.
Lily had left, spewing some gamebotty nonsense as she did so. Had she ever considered the idea that maybe there were people out there who weren’t really interested in winning? He didn’t know. He didn’t think so. He honestly didn’t really care. Lily wasn’t on his list of friends, and if the future decided that they were going to meet again before one of them met their end, then so be it, really. She was quickly replaced by Michael. Crowe. Not someone on Jeremy’s list of friends, either. Not on Jeremy’s list of enemies, either, but MIchael stood fairly close to it. He imagined back then that he wouldn’t exactly feel comfortable hanging out with someone who bullied other students. He could have been wrong, of course, but he could have been right back then. It was a risk he deemed best not to take.
But anyway, back to the main story. Michael was here. Said some… weird things. Asked Jeremy if he had killed Conrad.
Apparently he was Isabel, now?
But he stayed silent. Maybe he could have made a little comment mocking him for his really bad assumption, but he imagined that it wouldn’t go over well. Besides, Alex had gotten in front first. He was the first one to start arguing. Maybe it was best for him if he just stayed quiet. Stayed back. Good plan? Yeah, good plan.
He did have to admit though; he giggled, slightly, as Michael had thrusted his pelvis at Alex.
But the laughing stopped as soon as Alex responded. Stepped forward.
So much for staying under the radar.
And now there was yet another choice on his hands, as Alex got hit. There was a gun in his pocket. He could use it. Help someone else in this fight. Or he could run, leave them both alone.
But he couldn’t run. They were in the way. If he wanted to get through the fight had to end.
There was a gun in his pocket.
Alex had killed someone.
The right option was standing right in front of him.
The gun was in his hands now, he was raising it.
But…
There was something telling him otherwise. Again. He had made a deal. He couldn’t go back on it immediately after he’d made it.
And besides, he had a list he had to fulfil.
…
“I suppose I’m obligated to fulfill my part of the agreement we had.”
Two steps forwards. The gun was pointed out. Past Alex. Towards Michael.
“I’d suggest you hold it.”
Lily had left, spewing some gamebotty nonsense as she did so. Had she ever considered the idea that maybe there were people out there who weren’t really interested in winning? He didn’t know. He didn’t think so. He honestly didn’t really care. Lily wasn’t on his list of friends, and if the future decided that they were going to meet again before one of them met their end, then so be it, really. She was quickly replaced by Michael. Crowe. Not someone on Jeremy’s list of friends, either. Not on Jeremy’s list of enemies, either, but MIchael stood fairly close to it. He imagined back then that he wouldn’t exactly feel comfortable hanging out with someone who bullied other students. He could have been wrong, of course, but he could have been right back then. It was a risk he deemed best not to take.
But anyway, back to the main story. Michael was here. Said some… weird things. Asked Jeremy if he had killed Conrad.
Apparently he was Isabel, now?
But he stayed silent. Maybe he could have made a little comment mocking him for his really bad assumption, but he imagined that it wouldn’t go over well. Besides, Alex had gotten in front first. He was the first one to start arguing. Maybe it was best for him if he just stayed quiet. Stayed back. Good plan? Yeah, good plan.
He did have to admit though; he giggled, slightly, as Michael had thrusted his pelvis at Alex.
But the laughing stopped as soon as Alex responded. Stepped forward.
So much for staying under the radar.
And now there was yet another choice on his hands, as Alex got hit. There was a gun in his pocket. He could use it. Help someone else in this fight. Or he could run, leave them both alone.
But he couldn’t run. They were in the way. If he wanted to get through the fight had to end.
There was a gun in his pocket.
Alex had killed someone.
The right option was standing right in front of him.
The gun was in his hands now, he was raising it.
But…
There was something telling him otherwise. Again. He had made a deal. He couldn’t go back on it immediately after he’d made it.
And besides, he had a list he had to fulfil.
…
“I suppose I’m obligated to fulfill my part of the agreement we had.”
Two steps forwards. The gun was pointed out. Past Alex. Towards Michael.
“I’d suggest you hold it.”
(Skipping with permission)
The punch was satisfying, played out perfectly. The boxing exhale, the crack of wind trailing along the arm, the clap of the impact. Everything was perfect, hell, Michael's knuckles even hurt from that one. Wondered how Alex's jaw felt. He felt his left arm prepare for the next blow when something in his peripherals moved.
Michael's blood froze, and his eyes widened like dinner plates.
Jeremy pointed his gun at the violent Mike Score look-a-like.
"Ho!" Michael raised his arms and backed away. There was no way he could get around a bullet, not at this range, not with Jeremy's line of sight on him. Michael wasn't stupid, he knew if he tried shit here, he'd get a bullet through the head. Or worse, a bullet through the head...
"Woah, hey man... L-listen..."
His axe was on the ground, he couldn't believe he fell for something so stupid. Alex and Jeremy were teamed up, they could've planned this. They probably did plan this. Easiest trick in the book, the slight of hand. Fuck! They had him by the balls and he couldn't even swing back, son of a bitch!
"Y-you're pointing that a-at the wrong person... Y-you really think an asshole like that's got your back?! He'll suffocate you in-in your fuckin' sleep!"
He had to think of something, had to get out of here. If he moved now, Jeremy would put one right through him. Michael was scared. He was scared as a fucking fuck!
"J-just think this through..."
His foot slowly edged over to his axe...
The punch was satisfying, played out perfectly. The boxing exhale, the crack of wind trailing along the arm, the clap of the impact. Everything was perfect, hell, Michael's knuckles even hurt from that one. Wondered how Alex's jaw felt. He felt his left arm prepare for the next blow when something in his peripherals moved.
Michael's blood froze, and his eyes widened like dinner plates.
Jeremy pointed his gun at the violent Mike Score look-a-like.
"Ho!" Michael raised his arms and backed away. There was no way he could get around a bullet, not at this range, not with Jeremy's line of sight on him. Michael wasn't stupid, he knew if he tried shit here, he'd get a bullet through the head. Or worse, a bullet through the head...
"Woah, hey man... L-listen..."
His axe was on the ground, he couldn't believe he fell for something so stupid. Alex and Jeremy were teamed up, they could've planned this. They probably did plan this. Easiest trick in the book, the slight of hand. Fuck! They had him by the balls and he couldn't even swing back, son of a bitch!
"Y-you're pointing that a-at the wrong person... Y-you really think an asshole like that's got your back?! He'll suffocate you in-in your fuckin' sleep!"
He had to think of something, had to get out of here. If he moved now, Jeremy would put one right through him. Michael was scared. He was scared as a fucking fuck!
"J-just think this through..."
His foot slowly edged over to his axe...
[suggest we just switch to Alex-->Mike-->Jeremy-->, barring any more skips]
Crowe lowered his axe, and put a hand on his shoulder. Alex folded his hands into his pockets, and lifted his eyebrows. "Funny," he said. "I might have said the same.
Crowe turned away, and Alex closed his eyes. He allowed a slight smile to play across his lips. The closing of his eyes was a moment of relief, as he realized he would manage to escape with his image intact and without Crowe's blood on his hands. The smile was artifice, to preserve his air of cool command.
And the world exploded, and Alex collapsed to the floor, the heavy weight of the huge sword on his back bringing him down even as it dug painfully into his skin.
He remembered the gunshot in the warehouse, the white-hot pain of a bullet scraping across his skull. He remembered thinking he was dead. He thought so again now. He thought the axe had been swung in his moment of careless inattention, and that eyes and skull were split and blood and brains ran out and oh god how inglorious, how-
How similar getting an axe to the face felt like getting a punch to the face.
He'd been hit before. Of course he'd been hit before. Not this hard, but Alex was insufferable in martial arts classes, and he knew it too. Just a punch to the face. Crowe had punched him in the face. He had laid down his weapon, and Crowe had punched him in the face.
He hurt, and he wanted to hurt Crowe for this. He wanted to rise to his feet. No, he needed to rise to his feet. He needed to regain control of the situation, restore his image, he needed to make Crowe hurt for hurting him, the bastard had hurt his face, his face, the face he needed preserved, the face that would become famous, the face he loved and took pride in, he needed the sonofabitch to pay-!
And if Alex did it wrong, he would look even worse. He would become the same kind of monster preying on the weak that he accused Isabel of being. He would...
Too much risk to describe. Never lose your cool. Never break. No more Reas.
So instead, he started laughing.
The timing was perfect, though he didn't know it. He hadn't even registered that Crowe was babbling, too lost in the thick fog of pain and rage. He caught only the tail-end of his words--"-in your fuckin' sleep...just think this through!"
He rolled to his feet with all the grace he could muster, even though his nose felt crooked. As he rose, he pulled the enormous sword from his back in one clean move. He wobbled a little on his feet and turned the moment's clumsiness into a manic jig.
"A punch!" he shouted, laughing still. "A fist, not an axe! Interesting, interesting, interesting!" Alex had no way of knowing this, but he looked demented: blood trickled from the corner of his grinning mouth, showing off red-stained teeth, and his eyes burned above the steady stream of blood flowing freely from his nose. The enormous sword rested casually on his shoulders, so long it almost scraped the other wall.
"Why the fist?" he asked, leaning forwards. "Why not just try to kill me?"
Crowe lowered his axe, and put a hand on his shoulder. Alex folded his hands into his pockets, and lifted his eyebrows. "Funny," he said. "I might have said the same.
Crowe turned away, and Alex closed his eyes. He allowed a slight smile to play across his lips. The closing of his eyes was a moment of relief, as he realized he would manage to escape with his image intact and without Crowe's blood on his hands. The smile was artifice, to preserve his air of cool command.
And the world exploded, and Alex collapsed to the floor, the heavy weight of the huge sword on his back bringing him down even as it dug painfully into his skin.
He remembered the gunshot in the warehouse, the white-hot pain of a bullet scraping across his skull. He remembered thinking he was dead. He thought so again now. He thought the axe had been swung in his moment of careless inattention, and that eyes and skull were split and blood and brains ran out and oh god how inglorious, how-
How similar getting an axe to the face felt like getting a punch to the face.
He'd been hit before. Of course he'd been hit before. Not this hard, but Alex was insufferable in martial arts classes, and he knew it too. Just a punch to the face. Crowe had punched him in the face. He had laid down his weapon, and Crowe had punched him in the face.
He hurt, and he wanted to hurt Crowe for this. He wanted to rise to his feet. No, he needed to rise to his feet. He needed to regain control of the situation, restore his image, he needed to make Crowe hurt for hurting him, the bastard had hurt his face, his face, the face he needed preserved, the face that would become famous, the face he loved and took pride in, he needed the sonofabitch to pay-!
And if Alex did it wrong, he would look even worse. He would become the same kind of monster preying on the weak that he accused Isabel of being. He would...
Too much risk to describe. Never lose your cool. Never break. No more Reas.
So instead, he started laughing.
The timing was perfect, though he didn't know it. He hadn't even registered that Crowe was babbling, too lost in the thick fog of pain and rage. He caught only the tail-end of his words--"-in your fuckin' sleep...just think this through!"
He rolled to his feet with all the grace he could muster, even though his nose felt crooked. As he rose, he pulled the enormous sword from his back in one clean move. He wobbled a little on his feet and turned the moment's clumsiness into a manic jig.
"A punch!" he shouted, laughing still. "A fist, not an axe! Interesting, interesting, interesting!" Alex had no way of knowing this, but he looked demented: blood trickled from the corner of his grinning mouth, showing off red-stained teeth, and his eyes burned above the steady stream of blood flowing freely from his nose. The enormous sword rested casually on his shoulders, so long it almost scraped the other wall.
"Why the fist?" he asked, leaning forwards. "Why not just try to kill me?"
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”