((Meka Gibson continued from "...we must try until it kills us."))
Meka slouched against a wall in the house, holding the bow upright and tapping it against the floor. Nearby, covered with some spare sheets he had found in the house, was the body of Rhonda. He had her laid out on the floor and properly wrapped like a mummy. It was a bit grotesque, but he figured he had to do something for her. Rhonda didn’t deserve to be seen like this, so he could at least try to cover her as best as he could.
It had been a few hours since he returned to the hideout. Dolly and Marceline were still not back. He didn’t know how long they had been gone or what could be keeping them. He had to assume the worst, though. After all, if Rhonda could suddenly be killed like she was, couldn’t they?
He let out a long sigh. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t right to go for the negative. But how could he not feel that way? People were dying all over this island because they were scared enough or inhibited enough to commit murder. Odds are, it would definitely continue that way until just one person was left.
That wasn’t an option Meka was excited for. At the very least, he needed a way to end the game now. He had run numerous ideas in his head. It was raining, so there wasn’t any way he could get a signal fire going. He was also lacking in resources and knowledge to get the collars off. Cameras were everywhere, so any blatant sabotages were out. If he was going to be killed for rebelling, he wanted to at least know he had a chance to do something they couldn’t stop.
Meka stopped tapping the bow on the floor. He glanced over to the camera in the corner of the room. He wasn’t sure who was watching this. The terrorists, obviously, but he remembered reading that the footage from SOTF was always delayed a few weeks after the events. For all he knew, his father was watching this weeks from now. Maybe President Canon, the shitshow president, was watching him too. The future was looking at him, and he had to say or do something.
“Let me talk about Rhonda,” he said aloud.
“Rhonda was on the way to safety/on the way to serenity
On the way to peace treaties and security.”
Meka continued to freestyle. He wasn’t sure where he was going or if it was any good, but it felt good to just get the words out.
“Struck down in her prime/a strike to her neck
By a friend in only name/a strike to the heart
Trust broken in the rain/a strike to her eyes
Left mourned in pain/a strike to the brain
All on the way to hope/but nope
Abandoned by God/a strike to the soul.”
Meka rubbed his head. He wanted to keep going, but he found it was getting difficult with his throat starting to seize.
Even Jesus got his crown in front of a crowd
Open, mid-afternoon Day 3
"That was beautiful."
Framed in the doorway of the house, dripping from the rain, a girl stood, with a saber drawn at her side. She knew Emeka Gibson, had heard his poetry before. It had touched her from time to time, but she hadn't thought too highly of it back in school.
But as she was, soaked through, cold, miserable, alone, it sounded like the tones of an angel.
(Mackenzie Baker continued from Don't Stray Off the Path)
Mackenzie shook out her purple straw hat, letting the water drip onto the floor before placing it back on her head. The wrapped-up bundle caught her gaze, her eyes lingering over it for a lengthy period of time. He'd said that Rhonda was under the sheets. That would be...
"Rhonda Lawson..." Mackenzie hadn't heard her name in the announcements, which meant that she'd died just recently, which begged the question, "How did she, umm..."
She'd spent another sleepless night under the stars, haunted and tormented by every sound, every change in the wind. The bags under her eyes told the story, as well as the way she swayed lightly as she stood. She looked like death, and wanted nothing more than to collapse somewhere.
But she couldn't. They were everywhere. Killers, maniacs, waiting in the distance, past where the rain blocked her vision, always lurking in the shadows. She half-walked, half-stumbled, fixing Meka's broken bow with her gaze. Would he try something? Was he waiting for her to lower her guard? Could she afford to even sit down in his presence?
No, she couldn't, not until she was sure that he hadn't been the one who did Rhonda in. The saber still hung loosely from her grip, held there perhaps by sheer will. She adjusted her grip, held it more tightly. One wrong move...just take one wrong move...
Framed in the doorway of the house, dripping from the rain, a girl stood, with a saber drawn at her side. She knew Emeka Gibson, had heard his poetry before. It had touched her from time to time, but she hadn't thought too highly of it back in school.
But as she was, soaked through, cold, miserable, alone, it sounded like the tones of an angel.
(Mackenzie Baker continued from Don't Stray Off the Path)
Mackenzie shook out her purple straw hat, letting the water drip onto the floor before placing it back on her head. The wrapped-up bundle caught her gaze, her eyes lingering over it for a lengthy period of time. He'd said that Rhonda was under the sheets. That would be...
"Rhonda Lawson..." Mackenzie hadn't heard her name in the announcements, which meant that she'd died just recently, which begged the question, "How did she, umm..."
She'd spent another sleepless night under the stars, haunted and tormented by every sound, every change in the wind. The bags under her eyes told the story, as well as the way she swayed lightly as she stood. She looked like death, and wanted nothing more than to collapse somewhere.
But she couldn't. They were everywhere. Killers, maniacs, waiting in the distance, past where the rain blocked her vision, always lurking in the shadows. She half-walked, half-stumbled, fixing Meka's broken bow with her gaze. Would he try something? Was he waiting for her to lower her guard? Could she afford to even sit down in his presence?
No, she couldn't, not until she was sure that he hadn't been the one who did Rhonda in. The saber still hung loosely from her grip, held there perhaps by sheer will. She adjusted her grip, held it more tightly. One wrong move...just take one wrong move...
A pair of wet, muddy hands clutched the door frame once Mackenzie vacated it and walked inside. The hands had been down in the mud, soaked in water and grief. Once they'd come up, they'd wandered.
Not very far, it seemed. From the back of a house to the front.
Eyes bloodshot from a mixture of tears and rainwater, covered in dirt, water, mud and blood, a figure pulled themselves into the doorway. The bags under his eyes matched his posture, this was someone shaken to the very core of their being. Survival of the Fittest stripped its contestants down to the bare bones, and Claudeson Bademosi felt bare.
Bare in heart, bare in soul. Naked aside from the clothes upon his body.
Now amidst the presence of his peers, he was truly alone.
Truly.
Pulling himself through the doorway, he lurched to his left and allowed himself to crumple down, sliding slowly down the wall just inside of the house and landing with a wet thud. Min-jae the crossbow still hung around his neck and his pack was water-logged. He simply looked at them both, limp, unmoving yet still entirely too aware of his surroundings.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued from For What It's Worth)) He said nothing. Waited.
Not very far, it seemed. From the back of a house to the front.
Eyes bloodshot from a mixture of tears and rainwater, covered in dirt, water, mud and blood, a figure pulled themselves into the doorway. The bags under his eyes matched his posture, this was someone shaken to the very core of their being. Survival of the Fittest stripped its contestants down to the bare bones, and Claudeson Bademosi felt bare.
Bare in heart, bare in soul. Naked aside from the clothes upon his body.
Now amidst the presence of his peers, he was truly alone.
Truly.
Pulling himself through the doorway, he lurched to his left and allowed himself to crumple down, sliding slowly down the wall just inside of the house and landing with a wet thud. Min-jae the crossbow still hung around his neck and his pack was water-logged. He simply looked at them both, limp, unmoving yet still entirely too aware of his surroundings.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued from For What It's Worth)) He said nothing. Waited.
Meka's writer's block (speaker's block?) was interrupted by a girl's voice. He quickly turned and saw a girl coming into the house from the rain. He recognized the purple straw hat as belonging to Mackenzie Baker. They had passed each other's paths during school, but it was when she spoke that Meka remembered how. Rhonda. They had a mutual friend in Rhonda. And now Mackenzie had stumbled upon a vigil for her former friend.
Meka sighed.
"Quinn Abert," he said. "That's what happened."
Meka stood up from his place, keeping the bow by his side. Mackenzie did have a sword in hand, which gave some momentary fear in case she thought he killed Rhonda. But Meka knew he shouldn't be scared. Mackenzie deserved to know the truth, and he was willing to divulge.
"Rhonda ran after Quinn, and when I caught up, Rhonda was laying on the ground, stabbed in the neck. Quinn just killed her friend and didn't even stick around to see her die."
Before Meka could continue, he heard a thumping sound and noticed a boy near the door. The boy said nothing, merely staring at Meka and Mackenzie. Meka knew who he was too. Claudeson Bademosi was one of the other Nigerian kids from school and was known for his sterling reputation. He looked like he had seen or been through something rough, so Meka spoke.
"Hey, Claude," he said. "Are you okay?"
Meka sighed.
"Quinn Abert," he said. "That's what happened."
Meka stood up from his place, keeping the bow by his side. Mackenzie did have a sword in hand, which gave some momentary fear in case she thought he killed Rhonda. But Meka knew he shouldn't be scared. Mackenzie deserved to know the truth, and he was willing to divulge.
"Rhonda ran after Quinn, and when I caught up, Rhonda was laying on the ground, stabbed in the neck. Quinn just killed her friend and didn't even stick around to see her die."
Before Meka could continue, he heard a thumping sound and noticed a boy near the door. The boy said nothing, merely staring at Meka and Mackenzie. Meka knew who he was too. Claudeson Bademosi was one of the other Nigerian kids from school and was known for his sterling reputation. He looked like he had seen or been through something rough, so Meka spoke.
"Hey, Claude," he said. "Are you okay?"
Quinn Abert. Of course. Yet another person who had much to answer for. They were all going to pay for what they'd done, all of them.
Mackenzie nodded, listening to Meka's explanation as she stood over Rhonda's body. She wanted to say something, maybe some words of comfort or reassurance, but her brain wasn't putting words together, so she simply said, "I'm sorry." That was all.
A dragging noise behind her, followed by Meka's all-too-casual greeting. She turned, saw a Claudeson-shaped bundle of dirt and filth slump down in abject misery, and she stepped against her end of the wall, slid down, and assumed a similar posture on the floor, her saber casually placed beside her.
She locked eyes with Claude, saw something haunted behind there. He'd been through something...some kind of terror that had shaken him down to the core of his being, and left him as an empty husk. A zombie, like her, yet different in some fundamental way. What was truly happening behind those eyes?
"I'm glad you're safe," she finally said. Claudeson was a good man, never meaning ill for anyone, always trying to keep a chipper attitude. He didn't deserve whatever he'd gone through, and if she had even a modicum of energy, she would have tried to walk over and give him a hug. But as it was, all she could manage was a smile, a weary, eyes-half-closed smile that made her look stoned more than happy. Maybe if she could get some rest, even a little...
She spared a glance for the pouring rain coming in through the doorway. Part of her brain was trying to be responsible, even while the rest of it was slowly powering down. Her brain told her that leaving the door unguarded like that was just inviting someone to peek in from outside and see them hunkered down and defenseless. It insisted that they needed to hide further in, away from prying eyes, maybe barricade the doorway with a chair or something.
Well, that part of her brain could shut up, she concluded. This was Claudeson's time. Claudeson, Rhonda, Meka...anything except what was out there. It was too big, too much for her right now. Just focus on the little things. That was all that was important at the moment.
Mackenzie nodded, listening to Meka's explanation as she stood over Rhonda's body. She wanted to say something, maybe some words of comfort or reassurance, but her brain wasn't putting words together, so she simply said, "I'm sorry." That was all.
A dragging noise behind her, followed by Meka's all-too-casual greeting. She turned, saw a Claudeson-shaped bundle of dirt and filth slump down in abject misery, and she stepped against her end of the wall, slid down, and assumed a similar posture on the floor, her saber casually placed beside her.
She locked eyes with Claude, saw something haunted behind there. He'd been through something...some kind of terror that had shaken him down to the core of his being, and left him as an empty husk. A zombie, like her, yet different in some fundamental way. What was truly happening behind those eyes?
"I'm glad you're safe," she finally said. Claudeson was a good man, never meaning ill for anyone, always trying to keep a chipper attitude. He didn't deserve whatever he'd gone through, and if she had even a modicum of energy, she would have tried to walk over and give him a hug. But as it was, all she could manage was a smile, a weary, eyes-half-closed smile that made her look stoned more than happy. Maybe if she could get some rest, even a little...
She spared a glance for the pouring rain coming in through the doorway. Part of her brain was trying to be responsible, even while the rest of it was slowly powering down. Her brain told her that leaving the door unguarded like that was just inviting someone to peek in from outside and see them hunkered down and defenseless. It insisted that they needed to hide further in, away from prying eyes, maybe barricade the doorway with a chair or something.
Well, that part of her brain could shut up, she concluded. This was Claudeson's time. Claudeson, Rhonda, Meka...anything except what was out there. It was too big, too much for her right now. Just focus on the little things. That was all that was important at the moment.
The term being completely relative, Claudeson stared right through Meka. "Okay," he repeated, his voice hollow and ragged. It was as though he were trying to remember what the word meant, or piecing together the wherewithal to make his mouth form proper sentences. Slowly letting his gaze go from Meka to Mackenzie, he wondered just how truly 'okay' either of them may have been. What kinds of horrors had they borne witness to? How could they even pretend that anything was all right — in the world, on the island, in their hearts? They had to know that nothing was fine.
Claudeson was very much not fine. He had suffered a terrible loss, the implications of which he was still trying to work out for himself.
"We are not okay. Look where we are," his voice was barely a whisper, and it cracked. "This — this is not safety. This is not salvation."
Slowly he rose to his feet, his body aching as he did so. Every move seemed as though it took three times the effort for him to make. Leaning over, he picked Min-jae up from the floor, not bothering to use its strap.
"This is hell. Non-metaphorical, actual hell."
Turning back to the door, he walked through it, but turned as he went to leave. He had just arrived, yet something about the good nature of both of his classmates urged him away from here. They still had the illusion of safety, a sliver of their humanity remained.
"We're damned."
With that, the hollowed-out husk that had once been Claudeson Bademosi turned and disappeared out into the rain, leaving a trail of despair in his wake. ((Claudeson Bademosi continued in Valediction))
Claudeson was very much not fine. He had suffered a terrible loss, the implications of which he was still trying to work out for himself.
"We are not okay. Look where we are," his voice was barely a whisper, and it cracked. "This — this is not safety. This is not salvation."
Slowly he rose to his feet, his body aching as he did so. Every move seemed as though it took three times the effort for him to make. Leaning over, he picked Min-jae up from the floor, not bothering to use its strap.
"This is hell. Non-metaphorical, actual hell."
Turning back to the door, he walked through it, but turned as he went to leave. He had just arrived, yet something about the good nature of both of his classmates urged him away from here. They still had the illusion of safety, a sliver of their humanity remained.
"We're damned."
With that, the hollowed-out husk that had once been Claudeson Bademosi turned and disappeared out into the rain, leaving a trail of despair in his wake. ((Claudeson Bademosi continued in Valediction))
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Finally, somebody else got it.
((Justin continued from elsewhere in town))
Maybe the others were right in saying that such cynical thinking wouldn't actually get them anywhere. In his self-doubt, Justin compounded his thinking onto itself to doubt even that detail: did Aliya actually say that? Did Tony? Maybe it was Michael? Maybe, he thought he was onto something with this one, it was part of Benny's ramblings from before he ran off, before the brain bleeding took him. You son of a bitch, you couldn't have just died in a more convenient way, could you? Nobody could have gotten to you first and erased all the guilt.
Or maybe it wasn't about the guilt, and it was fully about the convenience, giving Justin the peace of mind in knowing he hadn't killed and could still get into heaven, and that his classmates wouldn't be trying to send him straight to hell in a fit of self-righteousness. And every time he found himself going down that road of thinking, he tried to identify how it was exactly he got to this point. He couldn't, because it just wasn't important enough to pour that much time and energy into. Continuing to think about the little things meant he didn't have to think about the BIG things too hard, and it all got to be left alone as a big picture, which Claude had summed up so well: This is Hell.
But it was worse than hell, Justin thought as he watched from under the bare shelter offered from another hollow building as Claudeson left. There hung the risk above everybody's heads that the slightest misstep could cause a painful death. When you're in actual Hell, that part of the process had already been done and sealed, and it was, he imagined, not something the forsaken denizens of a lake of fire and brimstone worried about too much beyond the BLISTERING SEARING AGONY. That, and as he remembered from an episode of M.A.S.H. watched over dinner at the coffee table, there are no innocents in Hell. But on the island, almost everybody here was innocent... or at least, started out that way.
The real hell was realizing you either died innocent, or forced yourself to live.
Justin braved the rain once more - he was already soaked from that disaster earlier, so no harm done - and began to approach. He gripped the pipe, but for reasons he wasn't sure of quite yet, didn't raise it.
He just wanted to get closer now and accomplish something today.
What was it?
((Justin continued from elsewhere in town))
Maybe the others were right in saying that such cynical thinking wouldn't actually get them anywhere. In his self-doubt, Justin compounded his thinking onto itself to doubt even that detail: did Aliya actually say that? Did Tony? Maybe it was Michael? Maybe, he thought he was onto something with this one, it was part of Benny's ramblings from before he ran off, before the brain bleeding took him. You son of a bitch, you couldn't have just died in a more convenient way, could you? Nobody could have gotten to you first and erased all the guilt.
Or maybe it wasn't about the guilt, and it was fully about the convenience, giving Justin the peace of mind in knowing he hadn't killed and could still get into heaven, and that his classmates wouldn't be trying to send him straight to hell in a fit of self-righteousness. And every time he found himself going down that road of thinking, he tried to identify how it was exactly he got to this point. He couldn't, because it just wasn't important enough to pour that much time and energy into. Continuing to think about the little things meant he didn't have to think about the BIG things too hard, and it all got to be left alone as a big picture, which Claude had summed up so well: This is Hell.
But it was worse than hell, Justin thought as he watched from under the bare shelter offered from another hollow building as Claudeson left. There hung the risk above everybody's heads that the slightest misstep could cause a painful death. When you're in actual Hell, that part of the process had already been done and sealed, and it was, he imagined, not something the forsaken denizens of a lake of fire and brimstone worried about too much beyond the BLISTERING SEARING AGONY. That, and as he remembered from an episode of M.A.S.H. watched over dinner at the coffee table, there are no innocents in Hell. But on the island, almost everybody here was innocent... or at least, started out that way.
The real hell was realizing you either died innocent, or forced yourself to live.
Justin braved the rain once more - he was already soaked from that disaster earlier, so no harm done - and began to approach. He gripped the pipe, but for reasons he wasn't sure of quite yet, didn't raise it.
He just wanted to get closer now and accomplish something today.
What was it?
Meka watched as Claudeson went on his ramble. It definitely hurt Meka to see a normally positive person be pushed to such a point. Not that Meka could be too surprised. After all, four days ago he didn't imagine he would see one of his good friends die right before him. But it still didn't make it all the better to see it happen. Claudeson didn't even feel like doing much else. He just wandered back outside the house after saying his piece, leaving Meka and Mackenzie behind.
"Well..." Meka started.
He wasn't sure how to follow that. After all, what was he to say?
He shook his head and sighed.
"Well, that's not what either of us were hoping to hear" he said to Mackenzie, stepping closer to her.
"Do you want to get him back?"
"Well..." Meka started.
He wasn't sure how to follow that. After all, what was he to say?
He shook his head and sighed.
"Well, that's not what either of us were hoping to hear" he said to Mackenzie, stepping closer to her.
"Do you want to get him back?"
Claudeson was dead; not physically, but there was no life left in that man. He didn't even give them a chance to refute him, to tell him that there was still hope. He probably wouldn't have accepted it.
Mackenzie just stood silently, watching him depart. She rested her chin on her hands, staring down at the floor in thought. Was she going to hear his name in the announcements tomorrow? Was this the last time she would ever see him, a broken wreck of the man he once was?
No...they couldn't let that happen, not when they still had a chance to save him!
At Meka's prompting, Mackenzie forced herself to her feet, trying to push away the exhaustion. She nodded, saber in hand, and ran out the door, shouting, "Claudeson, wa-"
But the words died in her throat as she ran outside and there, striding towards them, was none other than Justin Greene. Justin, the nice kid who she thought would never hurt a fly, until he killed Benedict Murray with a tire iron. That's what the announcement had said, right? And wouldn't you know, there it was, right there in his hand.
"Stay back, Justin!" she demanded, holding a hand out for Meka to stay put while she tried to put on a brave face. "I know what you've done!" She raised her saber, pointing it at him as if daring him to walk right into it. Her hand was shaking, fear suddenly sending a shot of adrenaline into her system, her mind slowly coming back online. They couldn't retreat inside. He had a shorter weapon, and hers would get stuck in the walls and ceiling.
No, it had to be out here in the open. It was the only way for her to survive.
Mackenzie just stood silently, watching him depart. She rested her chin on her hands, staring down at the floor in thought. Was she going to hear his name in the announcements tomorrow? Was this the last time she would ever see him, a broken wreck of the man he once was?
No...they couldn't let that happen, not when they still had a chance to save him!
At Meka's prompting, Mackenzie forced herself to her feet, trying to push away the exhaustion. She nodded, saber in hand, and ran out the door, shouting, "Claudeson, wa-"
But the words died in her throat as she ran outside and there, striding towards them, was none other than Justin Greene. Justin, the nice kid who she thought would never hurt a fly, until he killed Benedict Murray with a tire iron. That's what the announcement had said, right? And wouldn't you know, there it was, right there in his hand.
"Stay back, Justin!" she demanded, holding a hand out for Meka to stay put while she tried to put on a brave face. "I know what you've done!" She raised her saber, pointing it at him as if daring him to walk right into it. Her hand was shaking, fear suddenly sending a shot of adrenaline into her system, her mind slowly coming back online. They couldn't retreat inside. He had a shorter weapon, and hers would get stuck in the walls and ceiling.
No, it had to be out here in the open. It was the only way for her to survive.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Justin stopped walking forward, at least for the moment. He'd been out in the rain for plenty of time now, long enough to soak his hair, his clothes and his bags, leaving him to pray that his food's packaging remained intact so he wouldn't wake up to soggy bread and mushy crackers. It would have been the least of his problems, naturally, but sometimes a little thing like that could be the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.
"Wuh...-hut did I do?" he asked. It was a genuine question directed back to Mackenzie, as there could have been a few things she was referring to. The attack on Benedict, the incident in the square with Tanisha and Ned that resulted in Ned's death... he was still close by to where it happened, so it seemed reasonable Tanisha would go running and telling other people, if she hadn't been shot already. He stared at the girl bast the saber, like the sword wasn't even there. It was a sword. He'd been facing down worse at the hands of somebody who didn't want to immediately shoot him, and somebody who tried to do just that. A sword gave him some time to react. Maybe strike back, maybe run away.
She seemed terrified of him. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Everybody hostile, everybody attacking. Tony and Ailya understood. Nobody else had the context to... Justin frowned. No, he was definitely at fault for Benny's death. He didn't 'accidentally' kill him, even if he no longer wanted him to die by the time the kid failed at living. But at least the two he was with before didn't immediately turn on him. Even if they eventually would. They would all have to eventually turn on each other. That was why he left.
"What do yuh... you think I'm gonna do?"
"Wuh...-hut did I do?" he asked. It was a genuine question directed back to Mackenzie, as there could have been a few things she was referring to. The attack on Benedict, the incident in the square with Tanisha and Ned that resulted in Ned's death... he was still close by to where it happened, so it seemed reasonable Tanisha would go running and telling other people, if she hadn't been shot already. He stared at the girl bast the saber, like the sword wasn't even there. It was a sword. He'd been facing down worse at the hands of somebody who didn't want to immediately shoot him, and somebody who tried to do just that. A sword gave him some time to react. Maybe strike back, maybe run away.
She seemed terrified of him. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Everybody hostile, everybody attacking. Tony and Ailya understood. Nobody else had the context to... Justin frowned. No, he was definitely at fault for Benny's death. He didn't 'accidentally' kill him, even if he no longer wanted him to die by the time the kid failed at living. But at least the two he was with before didn't immediately turn on him. Even if they eventually would. They would all have to eventually turn on each other. That was why he left.
"What do yuh... you think I'm gonna do?"
Meka looked back to Rhonda's body as Mackenzie ran out to find Claudeson. He wasn't sure what they were going to do if Claudeson came in. Dolly and Marceline had to come back soon, so he didn't know if they'd be okay with two new people in the house. He still wasn't sure how they'd handle Rhonda's death. At the very least, they had to just take a moment to get things settled.
That was until he heard Mackenzie shouting. He made his way to the door only to see Mackenzie holding a hand towards him. He then noticed that Claudeson was gone, but there was another guy here. Justin Greene. He killed someone the other day. Meka should be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but considering he saw what happened to someone who gave a killer the benefit of the doubt, he wasn't entirely sure if he could.
Meka held the bow close to him, tightening his grip on it. He sighed and stared out as Justin asked what they thought he would do.
"The same thing you did to Benedict. Seems like the obvious conclusion," Meka said.
"Or is there anything else we should know?"
That was until he heard Mackenzie shouting. He made his way to the door only to see Mackenzie holding a hand towards him. He then noticed that Claudeson was gone, but there was another guy here. Justin Greene. He killed someone the other day. Meka should be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but considering he saw what happened to someone who gave a killer the benefit of the doubt, he wasn't entirely sure if he could.
Meka held the bow close to him, tightening his grip on it. He sighed and stared out as Justin asked what they thought he would do.
"The same thing you did to Benedict. Seems like the obvious conclusion," Meka said.
"Or is there anything else we should know?"
Mackenzie didn’t know what to do; whether to run, or advance. She was doing neither, frozen as she was in the doorway, her sword wobbling in the air. Justin had stopped, thank God for that, but now they were at a standstill, two powers poised on the brink of inescapable conflict, just a few short strides separating them. If one of them came further, disaster would inevitably follow. One, or perhaps all three of them, wouldn’t leave the encounter unscathed.
Meka voiced Mackenzie’s objection, gave words to why she couldn’t trust Justin, but she wanted to go further. It wasn’t the what that concerned her, but the why, the reason for Benedict’s death. She didn’t want to think that after what she’d known of him, that he could be a murderer.
“Was it self-defense, Justin? Did he attack you?” she demanded, almost pleadingly. She wanted to trust Justin, wanted to believe that the kind guy she’d seen in the past was still there. It had to have been self-defense, or an accident, or... something! Anything!
Just please...please...she begged with her eyes to him to give her a reason to let him go, so that they could still be friends. So that she wouldn’t have to...
Meka voiced Mackenzie’s objection, gave words to why she couldn’t trust Justin, but she wanted to go further. It wasn’t the what that concerned her, but the why, the reason for Benedict’s death. She didn’t want to think that after what she’d known of him, that he could be a murderer.
“Was it self-defense, Justin? Did he attack you?” she demanded, almost pleadingly. She wanted to trust Justin, wanted to believe that the kind guy she’d seen in the past was still there. It had to have been self-defense, or an accident, or... something! Anything!
Just please...please...she begged with her eyes to him to give her a reason to let him go, so that they could still be friends. So that she wouldn’t have to...
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
The inside of his cheeks tasted like pennies.
Justin licked all around his cheeks when Meka spoke to him. Hostile, just like Michael had been back then. He didn't blame him at all, but he didn't have to like it, either. If he was dealing with Meka, he imagined, he already would have attacked by now. His knuckles whitened around the tire iron, the only thing that wasn't trying to drive him away or question him.
Mackenzie, it sounded like, was almost looking for a reason to let him in. Justin swallowed the saliva collecting in his mouth and spoke, looking at her sword rather than looking her in the eyes.
"I e-e-panicked," he said. Technically the truth, but for some reason he felt like a shitstain on the ground for saying it, like he was misrepresenting himself. Maybe he was. Mackenzie wouldn't know the difference. Meka probably wouldn't care. "And i-i-it just happened, u-uh, without thinking. And... and people freaked out." The ball of his left foot twisted back and forth in the dirt. Something to focus on.
"Aliya and Tony took me away, and... he was, was fine the last time I saw him. Like, told him I was sorry. Ben. Told him I didn't mean it and like, he was fine with it. None of us knew he died until tomorrow."
All true. They didn't need to know that he tried to kill again, that in the end, he thought it was the right thing for Benedict to die. They just needed to know
what he told them. Would it be enough?
Justin licked all around his cheeks when Meka spoke to him. Hostile, just like Michael had been back then. He didn't blame him at all, but he didn't have to like it, either. If he was dealing with Meka, he imagined, he already would have attacked by now. His knuckles whitened around the tire iron, the only thing that wasn't trying to drive him away or question him.
Mackenzie, it sounded like, was almost looking for a reason to let him in. Justin swallowed the saliva collecting in his mouth and spoke, looking at her sword rather than looking her in the eyes.
"I e-e-panicked," he said. Technically the truth, but for some reason he felt like a shitstain on the ground for saying it, like he was misrepresenting himself. Maybe he was. Mackenzie wouldn't know the difference. Meka probably wouldn't care. "And i-i-it just happened, u-uh, without thinking. And... and people freaked out." The ball of his left foot twisted back and forth in the dirt. Something to focus on.
"Aliya and Tony took me away, and... he was, was fine the last time I saw him. Like, told him I was sorry. Ben. Told him I didn't mean it and like, he was fine with it. None of us knew he died until tomorrow."
All true. They didn't need to know that he tried to kill again, that in the end, he thought it was the right thing for Benedict to die. They just needed to know
what he told them. Would it be enough?
Meka remained in the doorway and watched as Justin explained what happened with Benedict. Meka wasn't entirely sure whether or not to trust him. Wasn't that how these games played out? A person commits accidental murder, then it spirals out of control until they become a spree killer? Was that what was happening to Justin now? There were gaps in his story. Tony and Aliya disappeared from the narrative, so for all Meka knew, they could be dead just around the corner.
Of course, that was a lot to think about, and maybe a lot of it was paranoia. Justin still had a chance to prove himself and allow Meka and Mackenzie to see him as a negated threat. Meka may as well offer it.
"Look, if you're serious that it was an accident, then prove to us you're not a threat right now," Meka said.
Meka gestured to a nearby bush.
"How about you toss that bar you're holding over there? Then we can talk without the need for violence. When we're done, you can get your weapon and leave. I won't hurt you if you do that. Mackenzie, sound good to you?"
Of course, that was a lot to think about, and maybe a lot of it was paranoia. Justin still had a chance to prove himself and allow Meka and Mackenzie to see him as a negated threat. Meka may as well offer it.
"Look, if you're serious that it was an accident, then prove to us you're not a threat right now," Meka said.
Meka gestured to a nearby bush.
"How about you toss that bar you're holding over there? Then we can talk without the need for violence. When we're done, you can get your weapon and leave. I won't hurt you if you do that. Mackenzie, sound good to you?"
Mackenzie tried to parse Justin's explanation. It seemed plausible...good enough for her, at any rate. But Meka didn't seem entirely convinced, proposing an alternate plan that, even to Mackenzie's untrained ears, sounded like it had absolutely nothing that would coax Justin onboard. They said nothing about getting rid of their weapons, just telling him to get rid of his, at which point he would be defenseless and at their mercy. Who would take someone up on an offer like that?
But perhaps that was the point? Extend untenable terms of surrender to either force an opponent to withdraw or force him to attack? In effect, by presenting a scenario in which he would be alone, without his weapon, surrounded by people with weapons who expressed intent to do bodily harm, he would have no choice but to reject these terms, thereby allowing them to pretend that they presented the olive branch of peace and understanding, but it was pushed away in favor of perpetuating a campaign of aggression.
Jeez, she needed to get some rest. She was getting all flowery again.
"That's not fair, Meka," she said. "Listen, I believe him, all right? I know him! He would never hurt someone without a good reason. Can't we just...go back inside? But keep our weapons in our bags? That's fair, right?"
That seemed like a fair compromise. Everyone was on equal footing, and they'd all have fair warning if someone was going to pull something. Maybe there was a better plan, but Mackenzie really wanted to get out of this rain.
She looked around for Claudeson while they were talking, hoping that he hadn't left, that they could still find him, but no, nothing was moving around here. He was gone for good, so all they could do is hunker down and hope they could find him when the rain stopped.
IF it stopped.
But perhaps that was the point? Extend untenable terms of surrender to either force an opponent to withdraw or force him to attack? In effect, by presenting a scenario in which he would be alone, without his weapon, surrounded by people with weapons who expressed intent to do bodily harm, he would have no choice but to reject these terms, thereby allowing them to pretend that they presented the olive branch of peace and understanding, but it was pushed away in favor of perpetuating a campaign of aggression.
Jeez, she needed to get some rest. She was getting all flowery again.
"That's not fair, Meka," she said. "Listen, I believe him, all right? I know him! He would never hurt someone without a good reason. Can't we just...go back inside? But keep our weapons in our bags? That's fair, right?"
That seemed like a fair compromise. Everyone was on equal footing, and they'd all have fair warning if someone was going to pull something. Maybe there was a better plan, but Mackenzie really wanted to get out of this rain.
She looked around for Claudeson while they were talking, hoping that he hadn't left, that they could still find him, but no, nothing was moving around here. He was gone for good, so all they could do is hunker down and hope they could find him when the rain stopped.
IF it stopped.