((Sven Vee continued from The Erika Vendetta))
This building had seen better days. So had Sven. It evened out.
He had not intended to come to this place, with its gaudy mural and unmistakable size. That had been his entire point back on the first day, hadn't it? There was no good reason to come to the village, because that's what everyone else would be doing. Even less to pick the largest, most obvious part of it. Far better to find somewhere isolated and set up there, alone, and remain solitary for as long as possible, finding what enjoyment there was to be derived in the hours before death. Yes, that was smarter, even taking into account the downpour that had cloaked the island for much of the past days.
But here he was now, master of Fort Jeremiah.
Sven had not checked the wrapped body to learn if the words revealed its identity. He didn't want to know, for any number of reasons. He had passed through the entry quickly, exploring both a kitchen and a stockroom, both of which had been thoroughly ransacked. He had not intended to find anything, or to stay long.
And yet, there was always something to scrounge up, some resource to exploit. It was human nature, or perhaps primate, judging by some of the muddy tracks in the kitchen. One man's trash, as the cliché went. Sven had liberated a small ball of thick twine from a corner of a dusty cupboard, something not entirely different from the material his bracelet was made from. He had claimed a large crate from the storeroom, heavy and tough but with no top. That was perhaps a benefit—certainly it at least mattered little as Sven sat upon the crate in front of the door to the building, open side facing down. Scattered around were pieces of scrap wood, twigs and sticks that could've been kindling, though he had made no attempt to set a fire. He had a fifteen foot long length of twine wrapped mostly up his right arm, about two feet left loose, ending in a Y-shaped stick about half again the size of Sven's hand. He twirled this aimlessly. It was the world's most pathetic yo-yo.
The rain had let up at some point. Night had come, Sven had slept, and these events may or may not have been vaguely concurrent. It was now very early morning, almost time for the daily check-in. Sven hoped not to be dislodged by it, and all the same expected to. His clothes had dried somewhat, at least. He was happier here, in front of the door, than he would be inside. He held possession of the building without being forced to occupy it. He was off to the side enough to allow others to walk past him if they so chose. He would grant them passage, if they even deigned to ask or notice him. After all, he didn't want anything that he didn't already have.
Quietly, Sven let his fingers drum on the top of the heavy crate he sat upon.
Was that a scratching sound coming from within in response?
There Is No Passion, There Is Serenity
Open, shortly before fourth announcement
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
The ominous building that stood in front of him reminded Jeff of an old joke; something that Brianna had always found hysterical enough to repeat, over and over again when she was little. It was simple, childish.
When was a door not a door?
When a door was a— big old helping of go screw yourself.
((Jeff Greene continued from Stiff Upper Lip))
Standing in front of the slightly-open door to the commissary, Jeff Greene shifted the riot shield in place, allowing it to stand in the muddy ground to take some of the strain off of his weakened arm. Sighing, he gritted his teeth in annoyance at the steps his own mind was taking to try and forget just how totally screwed they all were.
It was a jar. When a door was ajar. A jar. Hah, hah. Hysterical, right? Perhaps the joke had been funny the first few times — coming from the mouth of a little girl, after all — but after the thousandth time, Jeff never wanted to hear the stupid line ever again. He'd never been much for that kind of humour, never understood why someone would choose to be silly in such a way. Dad jokes, puns, wordplay — they just annoyed him. It always seemed lazy, real lowest-common-denominator stuff that was fine in the schoolyard for grade two kids, but when adults went around thinking they were the funniest thing since—
Jeff blinked in surprise for a second.
Bill Cosby? No. Funny in his day, perhaps, but a sexual predator of women.
Louis CK? Never a comedian that he'd particularly enjoyed; a bit too blue for his tastes, but again, another sexual deviant.
When the heck had every noted comedian become a horrible predator? Jeff racked his brain for someone inoffensive to use in his own analogy.
Robin Williams? He hadn't molested anyone, hadn't done anything egregious, unless your view on suicide were in line with real Republican, ultra fundamentalist Christian views, in which case—
"Quit stalling, Greene," he interrupted his train of thought, focusing once more upon the door in front of him. It wasn't that he was scared to go into the large building, but rather he was utterly exhausted. Another night in the rain had been taxing, and he was starting to run low on rations. He imagined that those bastard Carter brothers were probably playing the part of common thieves because of the lack of food the terrorists had allotted them. People like them, like Jeff, their dietary requirements were different and Jeff was absolutely starting to feel the effects.
But that was no excuse to be a coward. Jeff may have been a lot of things; he'd heard people say a lot about him over the years, but damned if he was ever going to accept that he was a coward. Stepping forward, he pushed the door slowly open, standing in the doorway, riot shield up in his weak arm, nail bat ready to strike in case someone came flying out at him. He called out, his voice curt but a tad weaker than he'd have liked. He doubted anyone would have noticed but him.
"Anyone here?"
When was a door not a door?
When a door was a— big old helping of go screw yourself.
((Jeff Greene continued from Stiff Upper Lip))
Standing in front of the slightly-open door to the commissary, Jeff Greene shifted the riot shield in place, allowing it to stand in the muddy ground to take some of the strain off of his weakened arm. Sighing, he gritted his teeth in annoyance at the steps his own mind was taking to try and forget just how totally screwed they all were.
It was a jar. When a door was ajar. A jar. Hah, hah. Hysterical, right? Perhaps the joke had been funny the first few times — coming from the mouth of a little girl, after all — but after the thousandth time, Jeff never wanted to hear the stupid line ever again. He'd never been much for that kind of humour, never understood why someone would choose to be silly in such a way. Dad jokes, puns, wordplay — they just annoyed him. It always seemed lazy, real lowest-common-denominator stuff that was fine in the schoolyard for grade two kids, but when adults went around thinking they were the funniest thing since—
Jeff blinked in surprise for a second.
Bill Cosby? No. Funny in his day, perhaps, but a sexual predator of women.
Louis CK? Never a comedian that he'd particularly enjoyed; a bit too blue for his tastes, but again, another sexual deviant.
When the heck had every noted comedian become a horrible predator? Jeff racked his brain for someone inoffensive to use in his own analogy.
Robin Williams? He hadn't molested anyone, hadn't done anything egregious, unless your view on suicide were in line with real Republican, ultra fundamentalist Christian views, in which case—
"Quit stalling, Greene," he interrupted his train of thought, focusing once more upon the door in front of him. It wasn't that he was scared to go into the large building, but rather he was utterly exhausted. Another night in the rain had been taxing, and he was starting to run low on rations. He imagined that those bastard Carter brothers were probably playing the part of common thieves because of the lack of food the terrorists had allotted them. People like them, like Jeff, their dietary requirements were different and Jeff was absolutely starting to feel the effects.
But that was no excuse to be a coward. Jeff may have been a lot of things; he'd heard people say a lot about him over the years, but damned if he was ever going to accept that he was a coward. Stepping forward, he pushed the door slowly open, standing in the doorway, riot shield up in his weak arm, nail bat ready to strike in case someone came flying out at him. He called out, his voice curt but a tad weaker than he'd have liked. He doubted anyone would have noticed but him.
"Anyone here?"
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
"I'm here," Sven replied mildly, from off to the side.
He had not been noticed. He didn't begrudge the newcomer that; he had been invisible in his own fashion, perched on the crate in the shadow of the building in the pre-dawn murk, sentinel and spy all in one. He had not particularly intended to be noticed, but he also had not conspired to conceal himself. Now that a query had been lodged, and by someone who didn't seem to be readying himself to knock holes in the skulls of prospective respondents, it was only polite to announce his own presence.
It did feel slightly intrusive. Sven had heard the boy talk to himself, had watched him size up the entrance, hype himself up. He was a big guy. If he was upset about the breach of privacy, well, Sven was not actually particularly worried. That wasn't to say he was laying a trap for this particular visitor, far from it. The time for that had passed, for the moment. He reached to pat the lightsaber at his hip, but finding it gone he instead softly ran his fingertips over the corner of the box they lay nearest.
"There's someone else inside too," Sven continued, "in a certain manner of speaking."
Even as the words left his mouth, he realized they were unlikely to endear him to the newcomer. If questions were asked, Sven would have no—wait.
Wait. Hold up just a moment. Sven squinted.
"Oh, hey," he said, breaking into a loose grin. "It's you. I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you for a second there."
He gestured vaguely at his own arm, where the guy had worn a sling when last their paths crossed, and then at his sunglasses, which had nothing to do with anything. It felt like they'd parted yesterday and a million years ago at once, and he couldn't say which was closer to the mark. He had a hunch, a little inkling, as to why he hadn't recognized his newfound guest at first glance, but it would be rather gauche to bring up in this context. Also, they were no longer separated by the calming expanse of a large river, and no longer united by any sort of stone-based purpose. Sven loosely considered digging through his bag to see if he did have a Go set (he really couldn't remember; had he even explored his personal effects beyond what he kept in his pockets?) or else to improvise one in the dirt with pebbles and twigs, but he had a hunch it might not be a physical enough diversion for his visitor.
Besides, he did not particularly want to stand up.
"You can sit, if you like," Sven said, gesturing to the ground before him. "It's pretty dry by now."
He had not been noticed. He didn't begrudge the newcomer that; he had been invisible in his own fashion, perched on the crate in the shadow of the building in the pre-dawn murk, sentinel and spy all in one. He had not particularly intended to be noticed, but he also had not conspired to conceal himself. Now that a query had been lodged, and by someone who didn't seem to be readying himself to knock holes in the skulls of prospective respondents, it was only polite to announce his own presence.
It did feel slightly intrusive. Sven had heard the boy talk to himself, had watched him size up the entrance, hype himself up. He was a big guy. If he was upset about the breach of privacy, well, Sven was not actually particularly worried. That wasn't to say he was laying a trap for this particular visitor, far from it. The time for that had passed, for the moment. He reached to pat the lightsaber at his hip, but finding it gone he instead softly ran his fingertips over the corner of the box they lay nearest.
"There's someone else inside too," Sven continued, "in a certain manner of speaking."
Even as the words left his mouth, he realized they were unlikely to endear him to the newcomer. If questions were asked, Sven would have no—wait.
Wait. Hold up just a moment. Sven squinted.
"Oh, hey," he said, breaking into a loose grin. "It's you. I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you for a second there."
He gestured vaguely at his own arm, where the guy had worn a sling when last their paths crossed, and then at his sunglasses, which had nothing to do with anything. It felt like they'd parted yesterday and a million years ago at once, and he couldn't say which was closer to the mark. He had a hunch, a little inkling, as to why he hadn't recognized his newfound guest at first glance, but it would be rather gauche to bring up in this context. Also, they were no longer separated by the calming expanse of a large river, and no longer united by any sort of stone-based purpose. Sven loosely considered digging through his bag to see if he did have a Go set (he really couldn't remember; had he even explored his personal effects beyond what he kept in his pockets?) or else to improvise one in the dirt with pebbles and twigs, but he had a hunch it might not be a physical enough diversion for his visitor.
Besides, he did not particularly want to stand up.
"You can sit, if you like," Sven said, gesturing to the ground before him. "It's pretty dry by now."
((Paloma is now here.))
Another night spent in the wood didn't do anything good to Paloma. She was thirsty, tired, her throat tightened, incapable to ignore her hunger, even she tried to hide it wouldn't go away her eyes searched everywhere for a bag. She was incapable of thinking about anything than her hunger entered the building.
It had caught her eyes food became her only source of her thought. there wasn't any food within. she had to searched more. something to sustain her mind. her body became weak. her mind couldn't give up where her body had failed. she searched and she searched and food made itself known. she had to be quiet. since it was the most colorful she had seen on the island other than the blood that dripped on her eye.
Even if it couldn't be described as beautiful, eat it was still the prettiest thing she could managed to gather on this island. The fauna would be a strong contender for that spot, but they were temporary beings. This building would last until the hurricane the food is there. go get it or a grenade or a bomb. Perhaps, it could be pegged as beauitful between the shattered bricks and the colors.
Anyways, this was just a distraction. Something to gawk at to avoid looking at the possibility of dying. The list she had in her head was growing. The things to sketch. The things to draw. The things to create, to become, to love and to live for. The things she didn't need to think of constantly, things she didn't to grasp at. The things that she didn't to wrestle away from people. The things inside of her head.
Things that could sustain her, sustain me. sustain us. the more you say a word the less it makes sense does it? sustain me. sustain our body. sustain our mind and souls. with food. food for thoughts. how many time a word can be repeated without being sustaining. without the food reaching us. the food stop being a word. the food isn't there. food. that's a weird word. food. that's like a foot but without the toes. it was a quiet word. but it also screamed. the food was there. it was somewhere. she was hearing it. the food was speaking. there were two of them. she was hungry. the food was around. she was getting closer. closer to the source of food. source of live. source of sustainable energy. something like that. a monologue. a monologue for food. a monologue for glory. perhaps less. perhaps more. she was hungry. the food. what did she want again? what was the food again? what did it mean? she knew it was speaking. she was hungry. her brain was screaming if it could scream instead it was typing. food? food? again and again. the word had stopped making sense. it wasn't a word anymore. it was something she couldn't grasp. food? food was where again? where the voices where and it was without a doubt that she was near. perhaps Paloma had lacked a mouth. she was perhaps born without one. the food? it was still there. gnawing her tumors. it ate and it ate and it ate and it ate and it ate and it ate and suddenly it was full. the food was feasting on her. it was thriving. finding holes finding lives finding crevices to lay itself in. it begged and it borrowed and it cried and it screamed and it smiled and it killed. food. yeah. food. I trusted you. food? no. it wasn't food. it stopped being a word a long time ago. perhaps it was something else now. perhaps it was something bigger than that. where could she find food? how would her hunger be quenched? satiated? filled? sustained? perhaps food was her hunger and the hunger was her food. was it still hunger still? was it hunger for hunger? she doubted herself. quiet. hunger. Something to dull the nausea and the pain just so that she could actually sleep.
She heard their voices as she entered the building. The broken arpeggios of sweet honey voices coming from the darkness. She smiled. She had to smile. There was feeling she wanted. It sounded nice. She was happy. She couldn't ask for it. Paloma had to hunt it down. Searched for supplies, earn it again. She did it once, she failed the second time, now there was her third time. Paloma knew she could do it, she just didn't know how.
Another night spent in the wood didn't do anything good to Paloma. She was thirsty, tired, her throat tightened, incapable to ignore her hunger, even she tried to hide it wouldn't go away her eyes searched everywhere for a bag. She was incapable of thinking about anything than her hunger entered the building.
It had caught her eyes food became her only source of her thought. there wasn't any food within. she had to searched more. something to sustain her mind. her body became weak. her mind couldn't give up where her body had failed. she searched and she searched and food made itself known. she had to be quiet. since it was the most colorful she had seen on the island other than the blood that dripped on her eye.
Even if it couldn't be described as beautiful, eat it was still the prettiest thing she could managed to gather on this island. The fauna would be a strong contender for that spot, but they were temporary beings. This building would last until the hurricane the food is there. go get it or a grenade or a bomb. Perhaps, it could be pegged as beauitful between the shattered bricks and the colors.
Anyways, this was just a distraction. Something to gawk at to avoid looking at the possibility of dying. The list she had in her head was growing. The things to sketch. The things to draw. The things to create, to become, to love and to live for. The things she didn't need to think of constantly, things she didn't to grasp at. The things that she didn't to wrestle away from people. The things inside of her head.
Things that could sustain her, sustain me. sustain us. the more you say a word the less it makes sense does it? sustain me. sustain our body. sustain our mind and souls. with food. food for thoughts. how many time a word can be repeated without being sustaining. without the food reaching us. the food stop being a word. the food isn't there. food. that's a weird word. food. that's like a foot but without the toes. it was a quiet word. but it also screamed. the food was there. it was somewhere. she was hearing it. the food was speaking. there were two of them. she was hungry. the food was around. she was getting closer. closer to the source of food. source of live. source of sustainable energy. something like that. a monologue. a monologue for food. a monologue for glory. perhaps less. perhaps more. she was hungry. the food. what did she want again? what was the food again? what did it mean? she knew it was speaking. she was hungry. her brain was screaming if it could scream instead it was typing. food? food? again and again. the word had stopped making sense. it wasn't a word anymore. it was something she couldn't grasp. food? food was where again? where the voices where and it was without a doubt that she was near. perhaps Paloma had lacked a mouth. she was perhaps born without one. the food? it was still there. gnawing her tumors. it ate and it ate and it ate and it ate and it ate and it ate and suddenly it was full. the food was feasting on her. it was thriving. finding holes finding lives finding crevices to lay itself in. it begged and it borrowed and it cried and it screamed and it smiled and it killed. food. yeah. food. I trusted you. food? no. it wasn't food. it stopped being a word a long time ago. perhaps it was something else now. perhaps it was something bigger than that. where could she find food? how would her hunger be quenched? satiated? filled? sustained? perhaps food was her hunger and the hunger was her food. was it still hunger still? was it hunger for hunger? she doubted herself. quiet. hunger. Something to dull the nausea and the pain just so that she could actually sleep.
She heard their voices as she entered the building. The broken arpeggios of sweet honey voices coming from the darkness. She smiled. She had to smile. There was feeling she wanted. It sounded nice. She was happy. She couldn't ask for it. Paloma had to hunt it down. Searched for supplies, earn it again. She did it once, she failed the second time, now there was her third time. Paloma knew she could do it, she just didn't know how.
The familiarity of the voice caused Jeff to actually relax a little bit. It was that strange kid from the waterfall; the one who'd joined in his momentary respite from the madness. Skipping stones had been the closest thing he had to a friendly conversation with anyone in days, and while it had been a diversion, he'd thought back on it more than once. That sense of calm, that feeling of serenity — it barely existed anymore for any of them. Jeff knew he'd never been one for any of that yoga nonsense or new-age 'serenity now' mumbo-jumbo, but taking a second to watch stones skip across the water's edge had put him at ease.
"Uh, thanks," he allowed, stepping around to the side of the building. It wasn't like he trusted the boy or anything, but the last time they'd met he'd been walking around as though he didn't have a care in the world. Or carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Jeff wasn't exactly sure — it didn't matter.
He didn't sit.
"Are you—" Jeff stopped himself, rephrasing his question. "How have you been? I see you've lost your, uh, sword."
Indeed, the boy's plastic toy seemed to have vanished. Whatever silly name it had, in the end it was just a piece of plastic. Perhaps the space-case had finally clued in.
"Uh, thanks," he allowed, stepping around to the side of the building. It wasn't like he trusted the boy or anything, but the last time they'd met he'd been walking around as though he didn't have a care in the world. Or carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Jeff wasn't exactly sure — it didn't matter.
He didn't sit.
"Are you—" Jeff stopped himself, rephrasing his question. "How have you been? I see you've lost your, uh, sword."
Indeed, the boy's plastic toy seemed to have vanished. Whatever silly name it had, in the end it was just a piece of plastic. Perhaps the space-case had finally clued in.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
"Oh," Sven said, "right. Yes, I—no, I..."
The phrasing was really tripping him up. Had he lost the lightsaber? Not exactly. But had he given it away? Well, yes and no. He had handed it over, but he wouldn't have called the exchange precisely willing. But it certainly hadn't been forced upon him, either. He couldn't rightly say that the weapon had been taken from him.
"The other guy has it now," Sven settled upon. There had been two other guys, and yet somehow, in this single moment of great and true insight and clarity, he divined that the boy before him was probably resoundingly uninterested in precisely which of the others had taken up the toy.
"It was his birthday."
The morning gloom reached out all around them. This place, Sven knew, was very colorful. The mural adorning the building aspired to a sort of naturalism, but Sven didn't need two eyes to judge it mediocre. There was this tendency, he found, among certain artists to try to tame nature, to capture its majesty in an idyllic yet precious manner. A greeting card image or something that could adorn an old hotel held no meaning, no resonance. Nature was awesome, in an Old Testament sort of way. It was more colorful in a moment than every pigment all together. Humanity could capture it for a time, lock a piece of it away, but soon enough it would burst free, angry yowls and fangs and claws.
"And I'm fine," he added. "Thanks."
The real story of this island was told in the surroundings of the village. You didn't have to go far to reach the overgrown trees, and even from here, if you squinted a bit, you could make out rustling leaves, the hairy fingers almost like his own, the life waiting, watching, maybe angry, maybe vengeful. The woods were full of a thousand types of plants, and maybe if you were in tune with them you wouldn't have to worry about starving. Maybe if you weren't, everything would end quicker. Maybe even less painfully.
The rumbling of stomachs was perhaps as close as it came to a universal form of motivation. A famished beast was a foolish one, willing to take risks it should've been too clever for. It made things surprisingly easy, he thought.
Sven was forgetting his manners.
"How are you?" he asked.
The phrasing was really tripping him up. Had he lost the lightsaber? Not exactly. But had he given it away? Well, yes and no. He had handed it over, but he wouldn't have called the exchange precisely willing. But it certainly hadn't been forced upon him, either. He couldn't rightly say that the weapon had been taken from him.
"The other guy has it now," Sven settled upon. There had been two other guys, and yet somehow, in this single moment of great and true insight and clarity, he divined that the boy before him was probably resoundingly uninterested in precisely which of the others had taken up the toy.
"It was his birthday."
The morning gloom reached out all around them. This place, Sven knew, was very colorful. The mural adorning the building aspired to a sort of naturalism, but Sven didn't need two eyes to judge it mediocre. There was this tendency, he found, among certain artists to try to tame nature, to capture its majesty in an idyllic yet precious manner. A greeting card image or something that could adorn an old hotel held no meaning, no resonance. Nature was awesome, in an Old Testament sort of way. It was more colorful in a moment than every pigment all together. Humanity could capture it for a time, lock a piece of it away, but soon enough it would burst free, angry yowls and fangs and claws.
"And I'm fine," he added. "Thanks."
The real story of this island was told in the surroundings of the village. You didn't have to go far to reach the overgrown trees, and even from here, if you squinted a bit, you could make out rustling leaves, the hairy fingers almost like his own, the life waiting, watching, maybe angry, maybe vengeful. The woods were full of a thousand types of plants, and maybe if you were in tune with them you wouldn't have to worry about starving. Maybe if you weren't, everything would end quicker. Maybe even less painfully.
The rumbling of stomachs was perhaps as close as it came to a universal form of motivation. A famished beast was a foolish one, willing to take risks it should've been too clever for. It made things surprisingly easy, he thought.
Sven was forgetting his manners.
"How are you?" he asked.
"Fine." She revealed herself, the food was here assuring that she was heard and seen. "I'm doing dandy."
She yawned. Paloma kept the tiny demon they spoke. it spoke, rather. voice under control. She was smiling, showing more teeth than she usually could. She needed to earn her next meal. Paloma knew there was a several ways to earn it, but she wasn't sure which path to take.
She stepped toward them.it was there. two of them. it or they. same thing. food. Her eyes rolled to Sven then to Jeff. They were probably aware of what happened a week ago. Maybe they had more on their plates, Paloma knew she did but it was still sitting in the back of her mind.
"So." She crossed her arms prey. eat. feast. and sighed. "You guys wouldn't have spare some food, it would really help a gal out."
It was a honest offer. If they had heart, they would give it to her. If they didn't, she would have to take it by force. One way or the other, she was getting it. It just depended on them on if blood would be shed. Knowing what she had in mind, it would be sufficient to quench her thirst.
She yawned. Paloma kept the tiny demon they spoke. it spoke, rather. voice under control. She was smiling, showing more teeth than she usually could. She needed to earn her next meal. Paloma knew there was a several ways to earn it, but she wasn't sure which path to take.
She stepped toward them.it was there. two of them. it or they. same thing. food. Her eyes rolled to Sven then to Jeff. They were probably aware of what happened a week ago. Maybe they had more on their plates, Paloma knew she did but it was still sitting in the back of her mind.
"So." She crossed her arms prey. eat. feast. and sighed. "You guys wouldn't have spare some food, it would really help a gal out."
It was a honest offer. If they had heart, they would give it to her. If they didn't, she would have to take it by force. One way or the other, she was getting it. It just depended on them on if blood would be shed. Knowing what she had in mind, it would be sufficient to quench her thirst.
Sven was nice enough, harmless even, but Jeff could see that if the island hadn't been getting to him, something else was wrong with him all together. The way he explained the absence of his toy was stated in such a way that Jeff couldn't help but wonder just how many marbles his poor classmate had been playing with even before all of this shit had gone down. Nodding in understanding, he was about to answer Sven's query before he was interrupted by someone else doing it for him. Spinning to where the new voice was coming from, his hand tightened on the bat. Violence was never a first answer, but in this brand new reality, maybe it wasn't the last.
Taking stock of the girl's request, Jeff's eyes narrowed as he finally placed the dishevelled spectre in front of him. Paloma Salt; the Paloma Salt whom had been the very first one to decide that murder was a-okay. Before any of them had lost their humanity or given in to whatever ridiculous bullshit excuses they wanted to use to explain why they did what they did, Paloma had beaten them all to it.
Abel hadn't been a good friend or anything like that, but he had seemed like a pretty average guy. He deserved better than that. Deserved better than having his head smashed in.
Feeling his blood starting to boil, Jeff bit the inside of his lip to stifle his anger.
"You'd do better not to sneak up on people," he chastised, cushioning the tone of his words only half-successfully. As to her request, well — Jeff wasn't running a charity.
"Food? Sure. Anything I can spare — no. What happened to yours?"
Such a small girl, he'd have been surprised if she'd gone and eaten it all already. Besides, she'd killed Abel, presumably for his supplies, so she should have had double the spoils of the rest of them. Maybe she'd lost them, running for her life. Maybe someone had robbed her.
Karma was a bitch, after all.
Taking stock of the girl's request, Jeff's eyes narrowed as he finally placed the dishevelled spectre in front of him. Paloma Salt; the Paloma Salt whom had been the very first one to decide that murder was a-okay. Before any of them had lost their humanity or given in to whatever ridiculous bullshit excuses they wanted to use to explain why they did what they did, Paloma had beaten them all to it.
Abel hadn't been a good friend or anything like that, but he had seemed like a pretty average guy. He deserved better than that. Deserved better than having his head smashed in.
Feeling his blood starting to boil, Jeff bit the inside of his lip to stifle his anger.
"You'd do better not to sneak up on people," he chastised, cushioning the tone of his words only half-successfully. As to her request, well — Jeff wasn't running a charity.
"Food? Sure. Anything I can spare — no. What happened to yours?"
Such a small girl, he'd have been surprised if she'd gone and eaten it all already. Besides, she'd killed Abel, presumably for his supplies, so she should have had double the spoils of the rest of them. Maybe she'd lost them, running for her life. Maybe someone had robbed her.
Karma was a bitch, after all.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
The boy Sven was speaking to was not the one who answered his question. Maybe it would've been more polite to be surprised, but he couldn't quite manage it. Right now, he was distracted in ways that were difficult to articulate. It was like he was listening to mildly unpleasant music while two voices behind him held a conversation he didn't want to hear. When the music dipped, words from the background came through clearly and he had to force their meaning to bounce off his intellect; when it swelled, they receded to nothing but murmurs, but he knew always that they were there. This set him on edge, though it wasn't anybody's fault. He wanted the quiet back, but the tension between the four of them, their secrets and hidden plans and needs and base instincts, it was too much.
The boy was unimpressed with the girl, that much was clear. Maybe she had done something horrible. Maybe they'd met earlier. Maybe the setup was just suspect. That all wasn't too important to Sven right now either.
"Maybe," he said, calm but clear, volume a bit too high, "we can have this conversation over breakfast? I can spare a bar."
He could, too—offering one to this girl, whoever she was, would be nowhere near the most frivolous use for his rations. He had eaten two of the bars, he thought, on past days, so he had seven and a half left. He had polished off the bread and most of the crackers before. With death inevitably lurking, why not eat the best food first? He'd also gone through most of whatever snacks and such he'd packed for the trip. He couldn't even remember them now. He couldn't even be sure he'd had anything at all. Except, no, the one thing he did have for sure, in his lefthand pocket, slightly sticky from the heat and humidity, was half a dozen of those hard candies with the wrappers that looked like watermelon slices. Were they supposed to be strawberries, actually? They looked far more like watermelons, but didn't taste like them. Didn't taste like strawberry either.
In any case, Sven dug a bar out of his bag, the little twig attached to the twine getting merrily tangled in the straps as he did, and pitched it underhand to the girl. He missed horribly; it fell about halfway.
"Sorry," he said, wincing, afraid he'd maybe looked like he'd done that on purpose, like he was degrading her, making her crawl for food, "I'm sorry, I'm not—I'm no good at throwing things, I... Would you like a candy?"
He held out his palm, two of the hard candies resting upon it, and looked between the boy and the girl, raising his eyebrows to show that the offer was open to anyone who might wish to partake.
Well, almost anyone.
The boy was unimpressed with the girl, that much was clear. Maybe she had done something horrible. Maybe they'd met earlier. Maybe the setup was just suspect. That all wasn't too important to Sven right now either.
"Maybe," he said, calm but clear, volume a bit too high, "we can have this conversation over breakfast? I can spare a bar."
He could, too—offering one to this girl, whoever she was, would be nowhere near the most frivolous use for his rations. He had eaten two of the bars, he thought, on past days, so he had seven and a half left. He had polished off the bread and most of the crackers before. With death inevitably lurking, why not eat the best food first? He'd also gone through most of whatever snacks and such he'd packed for the trip. He couldn't even remember them now. He couldn't even be sure he'd had anything at all. Except, no, the one thing he did have for sure, in his lefthand pocket, slightly sticky from the heat and humidity, was half a dozen of those hard candies with the wrappers that looked like watermelon slices. Were they supposed to be strawberries, actually? They looked far more like watermelons, but didn't taste like them. Didn't taste like strawberry either.
In any case, Sven dug a bar out of his bag, the little twig attached to the twine getting merrily tangled in the straps as he did, and pitched it underhand to the girl. He missed horribly; it fell about halfway.
"Sorry," he said, wincing, afraid he'd maybe looked like he'd done that on purpose, like he was degrading her, making her crawl for food, "I'm sorry, I'm not—I'm no good at throwing things, I... Would you like a candy?"
He held out his palm, two of the hard candies resting upon it, and looked between the boy and the girl, raising his eyebrows to show that the offer was open to anyone who might wish to partake.
Well, almost anyone.
((Garnet Barnes continued from Please Refrain))
Voices were coming from inside the building and Garnet hadn't moved since she heard them.
She was--it was complicated. She needed other people, or she was going to slowly or not so slowly go completely insane, but each time she thought she was ready to step around the corner and enter the building, her guts pitched and roiled and she felt near enough ready to cry from sheer anxiety. How had things gone, before? Among the group Garnet had met right from the start, two had gone killer, one scarily, heartwrenchingly so, and two were dead. Both at the hands of Lorenzo, the person that Emil and Emmett had been so concerned about warning them off of.
Marco was off living his heavy big time quotes best life unquotes (she was still mad, thinking about him, still so fucking mad). Erika was... Garnet couldn't come close to unpacking her feelings about what Erika was doing. She'd sat a few feet away from her on a weekly, sometimes twice weekly basis for literal years. They had a bond. And now she was doing--all these things she was doing were--it was...
It was why Garnet stood hunched against the wall with her hands behind her head, tucking herself down. If that was something one of her close friends could do, how could Garnet possibly open herself up to someone else doing the same? She didn't know many people as well as she thought she knew Erika. She didn't know if her heart could take that trust being ripped to pieces all over again.
But she said she would. She was supposed to be doing things. Trying to make a difference. Needed to be meet people to do that. Good and bad. Especially bad.
Garnet tried not to throw up. She was good enough for this, wasn't she?
Was she just talk?
Voices were coming from inside the building and Garnet hadn't moved since she heard them.
She was--it was complicated. She needed other people, or she was going to slowly or not so slowly go completely insane, but each time she thought she was ready to step around the corner and enter the building, her guts pitched and roiled and she felt near enough ready to cry from sheer anxiety. How had things gone, before? Among the group Garnet had met right from the start, two had gone killer, one scarily, heartwrenchingly so, and two were dead. Both at the hands of Lorenzo, the person that Emil and Emmett had been so concerned about warning them off of.
Marco was off living his heavy big time quotes best life unquotes (she was still mad, thinking about him, still so fucking mad). Erika was... Garnet couldn't come close to unpacking her feelings about what Erika was doing. She'd sat a few feet away from her on a weekly, sometimes twice weekly basis for literal years. They had a bond. And now she was doing--all these things she was doing were--it was...
It was why Garnet stood hunched against the wall with her hands behind her head, tucking herself down. If that was something one of her close friends could do, how could Garnet possibly open herself up to someone else doing the same? She didn't know many people as well as she thought she knew Erika. She didn't know if her heart could take that trust being ripped to pieces all over again.
But she said she would. She was supposed to be doing things. Trying to make a difference. Needed to be meet people to do that. Good and bad. Especially bad.
Garnet tried not to throw up. She was good enough for this, wasn't she?
Was she just talk?
If Paloma wasn't ravenous, she might have laughed as the shot of Sven clearly missed its target. However, she was unable to ignore her hunger as it taunted her. She go. you have it. go go. didn't know what exactly what she wanted from this. She had assumed they wouldn't give it to her so she would need to do something degrading. painful. humiliating. violent. Hunger and thirst slowly became mixed feelings.
There was a hint of guilt, but mainly, a large drop of sadness. If Paloma had tears in her body, i want them. i thirst. she would have gladly let them fall. She was also grateful that Sven had extended his arm, not hit her, but to help her. It was nice quiet feeling. But she was hungry and she had questions to answer and to ask.
"Everyone I've met tried to do something to me."
That was all. Paloma didn't need to comment further. They could make their own ideas or theories or comments on it. It didn't matter. What mattered however was that there was a little piece of candy laying on Sven's hand. She smiled. It actually worked. It worked better than playing fetch with a granola bar.
"And I thought-" she grabbed the little piece of candy and walked backward until she hit a wall, "you guys would try the same so I-"
She really realized she had no plan. Her tongue felt heavy. She popped the candy. She didn't want to speak anymore.
There was a hint of guilt, but mainly, a large drop of sadness. If Paloma had tears in her body, i want them. i thirst. she would have gladly let them fall. She was also grateful that Sven had extended his arm, not hit her, but to help her. It was nice quiet feeling. But she was hungry and she had questions to answer and to ask.
"Everyone I've met tried to do something to me."
That was all. Paloma didn't need to comment further. They could make their own ideas or theories or comments on it. It didn't matter. What mattered however was that there was a little piece of candy laying on Sven's hand. She smiled. It actually worked. It worked better than playing fetch with a granola bar.
"And I thought-" she grabbed the little piece of candy and walked backward until she hit a wall, "you guys would try the same so I-"
She really realized she had no plan. Her tongue felt heavy. She popped the candy. She didn't want to speak anymore.
Sven spared Jeff the indiginty of having to tell another murderous classmate to leave, and probably — for the time being — spared him another violent encounter. Paloma had killed someone, and no matter what she said, no matter what she did, that wasn't something he was going to just forget. The toss of the granola bar was off, and while it missed wildly, Jeff didn't bear smirk. Instead, he simply grunted and leaned slightly back against the wall.
"I'm good, thanks," he mumbled, though instantly he regretted it. Candy was a luxury in this place, and while he hadn't lived his life basking in luxury, if there was ever a time to indulge, maybe this was it. No matter, his lips twitched but he remained silent. Paloma offered an excuse, an explanation — no, definitely an excuse, and at that, Jeff barely restrained a scoff. He didn't want to antagonize someone who was an outed killer, but yeah, no shit people were after you.
"Might have something to do with your track record," he bit his tongue from saying anything more. Abel had been a bit of a knob, definitely one of those classic sports bro types that he had zero patience for, but that didn't mean that he deserved to die. As long as Paloma was here before them, Jeff was going to keep his guard firmly up. Not to mention, Sven was a wildcard and not someone that he truly understood, stone skipping notwithstanding.
"But no, we're not going to do anything to you." A pause. "Unless you try something first."
Exhaling through his nose, Jeff reached up and scratched the days-old stubble that was now covering his face. It made a scratchy noise in the silence of the commissary.
"So don't."
It wasn't a request.
"I'm good, thanks," he mumbled, though instantly he regretted it. Candy was a luxury in this place, and while he hadn't lived his life basking in luxury, if there was ever a time to indulge, maybe this was it. No matter, his lips twitched but he remained silent. Paloma offered an excuse, an explanation — no, definitely an excuse, and at that, Jeff barely restrained a scoff. He didn't want to antagonize someone who was an outed killer, but yeah, no shit people were after you.
"Might have something to do with your track record," he bit his tongue from saying anything more. Abel had been a bit of a knob, definitely one of those classic sports bro types that he had zero patience for, but that didn't mean that he deserved to die. As long as Paloma was here before them, Jeff was going to keep his guard firmly up. Not to mention, Sven was a wildcard and not someone that he truly understood, stone skipping notwithstanding.
"But no, we're not going to do anything to you." A pause. "Unless you try something first."
Exhaling through his nose, Jeff reached up and scratched the days-old stubble that was now covering his face. It made a scratchy noise in the silence of the commissary.
"So don't."
It wasn't a request.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
"Don't worry," Sven agreed, "I don't do anything..."
The sentence was supposed to continue, likely culminating in "to anyone," but he lost the thread and instead it just trailed off. He'd made his offer, the scene was set, and it was time to eat, but he wasn't feeling hungry at all. Had he been, perhaps some of these recent uses of food might have struck him as frivolous. It might be something to ponder, later.
As it was, everything felt very still. What tension there had been had drained away, leaving those remaining to converse or just to enjoy the silence.
No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than the speakers screamed to life. The voice that came from them was right, but the words were not. Sven's brow wrinkled as he closed his eyes tight for a moment, took a deep breath. He had no idea what was happening behind the scenes. Maybe he could've speculated, had he cared to pry. Maybe he could've made up his own answers. Maybe they would've been better.
As usual, the names didn't mean a tremendous amount to him. He couldn't match them to faces in his mind.
Track record, though? That was a curious turn of phrase from the boy. Sven kept an eye on the two he sat with, spinning the twig on the string around and around in long lazy loops. Those words, with a moment's musing, implied he was in the presence of a killer. Had she struck again? Was her name echoing around them even now? Was this about to become a fight?
Lips pursed, he waited to find out.
The sentence was supposed to continue, likely culminating in "to anyone," but he lost the thread and instead it just trailed off. He'd made his offer, the scene was set, and it was time to eat, but he wasn't feeling hungry at all. Had he been, perhaps some of these recent uses of food might have struck him as frivolous. It might be something to ponder, later.
As it was, everything felt very still. What tension there had been had drained away, leaving those remaining to converse or just to enjoy the silence.
No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than the speakers screamed to life. The voice that came from them was right, but the words were not. Sven's brow wrinkled as he closed his eyes tight for a moment, took a deep breath. He had no idea what was happening behind the scenes. Maybe he could've speculated, had he cared to pry. Maybe he could've made up his own answers. Maybe they would've been better.
As usual, the names didn't mean a tremendous amount to him. He couldn't match them to faces in his mind.
Track record, though? That was a curious turn of phrase from the boy. Sven kept an eye on the two he sat with, spinning the twig on the string around and around in long lazy loops. Those words, with a moment's musing, implied he was in the presence of a killer. Had she struck again? Was her name echoing around them even now? Was this about to become a fight?
Lips pursed, he waited to find out.
Breathe, GarBar, breathe.
Even if trying to handle this was the hardest thing in the world, there wasn't another option. She handled this or she faded away into nothing, already the walking dead. She needed to get a grip.
She really wished that she had her hat. She wished for a bunch of other things too, but some of them weren't realistic. Not being here. Killers not killing. Killers not being people she counted as friends, or at least counted as not-crazy-murderers. She wished for the team. She wished for the team to all be alive. A hat was just a hat, but it was attainable. Something that she could reach for that wasn't as nuts and as arrogant as trying to tear the whole thing down. Shit, what was she thinking?
Garnet rapped herself in the head with a knuckle and then straightened up. Enough. Enough enough enough. Yeah, so, this sucked, but it was going to continue to suck unless she at least tried.
She stepped around and walked through the door of the building with a bright, cheery "Hi!" on her lips.
"Hi--"
Jeff. Football player. Kinda douchey. Sven, arts guy, lil weird, but so was she.
And... Paloma.
Garnet's mouth shut. Her third killer, huh?
Even if trying to handle this was the hardest thing in the world, there wasn't another option. She handled this or she faded away into nothing, already the walking dead. She needed to get a grip.
She really wished that she had her hat. She wished for a bunch of other things too, but some of them weren't realistic. Not being here. Killers not killing. Killers not being people she counted as friends, or at least counted as not-crazy-murderers. She wished for the team. She wished for the team to all be alive. A hat was just a hat, but it was attainable. Something that she could reach for that wasn't as nuts and as arrogant as trying to tear the whole thing down. Shit, what was she thinking?
Garnet rapped herself in the head with a knuckle and then straightened up. Enough. Enough enough enough. Yeah, so, this sucked, but it was going to continue to suck unless she at least tried.
She stepped around and walked through the door of the building with a bright, cheery "Hi!" on her lips.
"Hi--"
Jeff. Football player. Kinda douchey. Sven, arts guy, lil weird, but so was she.
And... Paloma.
Garnet's mouth shut. Her third killer, huh?
"I-"
He wasn't wrong. If he were wrong, Paloma wouldn't feel this tingly feeling of guilt trickling down her throat. Her saliva felt thick and snotty as if she were about to vomit. Paloma didn't trust her nerve endings anymore; they were always lying to her. But as her throat squeezed, so did her eyes.
She wasn't allowed to cry. Paloma was only allowed to cry if she bled, and if she bled, she wouldn't cry she would scream. As the wave of emotions came through her, she opened her mouth. The candy hid under tongue. She pushed it back between her gums and her teeth.
"I'm not planning to." She was. was she? how? where?
She squeezed her eyes opened again. As she opened them, a new person arrived. Paloma squeezed them shut again. please, go away. fade. disappear. become something else.
He wasn't wrong. If he were wrong, Paloma wouldn't feel this tingly feeling of guilt trickling down her throat. Her saliva felt thick and snotty as if she were about to vomit. Paloma didn't trust her nerve endings anymore; they were always lying to her. But as her throat squeezed, so did her eyes.
She wasn't allowed to cry. Paloma was only allowed to cry if she bled, and if she bled, she wouldn't cry she would scream. As the wave of emotions came through her, she opened her mouth. The candy hid under tongue. She pushed it back between her gums and her teeth.
"I'm not planning to." She was. was she? how? where?
She squeezed her eyes opened again. As she opened them, a new person arrived. Paloma squeezed them shut again. please, go away. fade. disappear. become something else.