Ariana tried as hard as she could to will enough strength into her fingers to continue squeezing the trigger, until Marco had done the smart thing and fled. At one point, he'd fallen — she must have gotten him. A wry smile made its way upon her lips, followed by surprise at the booming explosion from what could only have been Henry's shotgun. If he wasn't dead now, Marco would at least be easy pickings for someone else. If there was anything she could bestow upon him in her dying hour, let it be that.
"F-fuck that g-guy," she stammered.
After the last of the bullets fired from the Glock, Ariana suddenly felt that the pistol — and her still-attached arm — was heavier than she was capable of holding. Her remaining arm felt weak, and as she tried to turn to look at her friends, it fell from her grasp and tumbled into the grass with a soft thud.
Her hands stopped shaking; everything was starting to tingle a little bit. That couldn't have been good. Even less good was the feeling of the ground rushing up at her as her legs weakened and gave out. She had still continued bleeding throughout the entire encounter, and she barely noticed any pain when she fell. Her fingertips felt cold, almost numb — granted she only had half as many as she did before. Groaning, Ariana used her arm to try and pull herself back up.
Nope — wasn't going to happen. Clenching her teeth, she tried to avoid the realization that she would likely never stand up again. He'd gone and done it; that bastard had killed her. Forever and always, Ariana Moretti would have to live with the indignity that she'd been murdered by Marco Volker. That fact pissed her off even more than the fact that she was dying. All of them were likely doomed, but fucking Marco? Really?
"Shit," she tried again to push herself up, but only managed to get herself into a slight leaning position. Her body was starting to fade beyond numbness; her legs weren't working. Trying to will herself away from her reckoning, she grunted a rather unladylike grunt. By this point, she could see figures standing around her. She wasn't alarmed; she knew she wasn't seeing the grim reaper or any bullshit like that, but since her vision was starting to fuzz over, the thought had crossed her mind. Thankfully, these fuzzy shapes had colour to them, and she easily identified them as Henry and Jackson.
"Don't," she tried to interject, "don't blame yourselves. He was a fucking psycho, I should have," Ariana coughed a coppery taste onto her lips. Lovely. "I should have shot him."
Everything seemed to be slipping away.
"You guys, don't," she blinked, trying to stave away the darkness, "don't forget who you are. Who we are." Her voice was raspy, none of its trademark volume cutting through the blood loss. "Help each other, just— if you can help someone, do it. We're still people."
That had been what it was all about for Ariana. If she could protect her classmates, protect the innocent... that had been her goal. Above all else, that had been her goal. She hadn't thought as much about Ross, about home. Her father would be infuriated, he'd mourn in his own quiet way. Her mother — Ariana wondered if she would mourn her; if she even could. Ross would probably do something stupid. He'd hurt; he'd feel his emotions in that stupid intense way that he always did. She loved him for that. It hadn't been very long, but she loved him for all of that stuff that seemed ridiculous about him.
She hoped he'd be okay.
"You guys, you," it was getting a lot harder to speak now, "make sure you, it's — take care of Aurelien, he's — he hurts. Pro— protect each other. Take care of each other."
Another coughing fit punctuated her words, but Ariana was trying so very hard to get her final words out. She never expected this would be so damned hard — not the message she was trying to convey, but from a purely physical standpoint, her body was trying its hardest to shut itself down.
It didn't surprise her that she'd be too stubborn to die on time. Some things never changed.
That being said, she knew it was just about time, now. Her mind was starting to become sleepy, barely cognisant of her surroundings. "Good luck," she whispered to the boys, letting herself fall back against the ground. Reaching up to her own neck, she used the rest of her strength to tear the pendant off herself. Clumsily undoing the clasp, she focused as hard as she could on the photo that she knew was inside. Her vision had deserted her, but she had it committed to memory. Ross' silly expression had cracked her up time after time. A small smile crept onto her face.
"You were always here," her voice was barely a murmur, almost inaudible.
Lowering the pendant to her mouth, she let the cool metal touch her lips, giving it kiss. Letting her arm fall to her chest, Ariana looked up at the sky; rain still lightly falling around her. None of that mattered, she couldn't even feel the rain on her face anymore. The phantom itch had vanished. Ariana could no longer feel the cold. All that she could feel was the faint feeling of amusement that played upon her face as she looked up into the sky; one final private joke.
A moment later, she was gone.
G42 - MORETTI, ARIANA -- DECEASED
Tragedy of the Commons
Day 3-4, Private.
Aurelien stood, in a small cluster of trees, feet rooted to the floor, chest heaving, mace clutched in both hands. The weight felt like it would break his fingers, snap them off and make them fall to the floor, if he held it for much longer. There was no sight nor sound of Marco anymore. Obviously. He’d been scot free the moment he’d reached the opposite treeline.
Trying to outrun an inevitability hadn’t made him feel like he’d done something. It hadn’t made him feel like he’d tried his best to do something to help Ariana. It was just a big reminder of his shortcomings, the crushed twig on the ground in front of him the closest he’d come to catching Marco.
He grit his teeth together, and realised his body had started shaking once again. He could forget all about trying to get any sort of vengeance on Blaise at this rate. If he was just going to freeze up at the sight of a chainsaw - not even a fucking firearm, another melee weapon that was just noisier and more brutal than his own - he wasn’t going to stand a chance facing up to a heartless murderer like Blaise. Someone who’d been praised, been rewarded with a much more powerful weapon. Someone who’d already shot his boyfriend in the head, doubtless without a second thought.
The thought that Dante would be disappointed in him for his actions in the clearing flashed across his mind.
Aurelien was silent as he reared back and swung the mace into the closest tree trunk, shards of bark and splinters flying everywhere. The tears streaming down his face would speak for him.
He trudged back to the others slowly, dragging his mace behind him, leaving a wide ridge in the dirt. Ariana was lying on the ground again. She wasn’t moving anymore. Couldn’t even be here to see out her final breath, could he? How many bad decisions did he have to make before people just started giving up on him? He let go off the mace, tossing the handle to the side. It teetered to the right before sticking, vicious head caught in the ground. He tilted his head up, just enough for his tired eyes to peer through his hair at the other two.
“I’m sorry…” he said. His voice cracked as he spoke. He didn’t feel like saying anything else.
Trying to outrun an inevitability hadn’t made him feel like he’d done something. It hadn’t made him feel like he’d tried his best to do something to help Ariana. It was just a big reminder of his shortcomings, the crushed twig on the ground in front of him the closest he’d come to catching Marco.
He grit his teeth together, and realised his body had started shaking once again. He could forget all about trying to get any sort of vengeance on Blaise at this rate. If he was just going to freeze up at the sight of a chainsaw - not even a fucking firearm, another melee weapon that was just noisier and more brutal than his own - he wasn’t going to stand a chance facing up to a heartless murderer like Blaise. Someone who’d been praised, been rewarded with a much more powerful weapon. Someone who’d already shot his boyfriend in the head, doubtless without a second thought.
The thought that Dante would be disappointed in him for his actions in the clearing flashed across his mind.
Aurelien was silent as he reared back and swung the mace into the closest tree trunk, shards of bark and splinters flying everywhere. The tears streaming down his face would speak for him.
He trudged back to the others slowly, dragging his mace behind him, leaving a wide ridge in the dirt. Ariana was lying on the ground again. She wasn’t moving anymore. Couldn’t even be here to see out her final breath, could he? How many bad decisions did he have to make before people just started giving up on him? He let go off the mace, tossing the handle to the side. It teetered to the right before sticking, vicious head caught in the ground. He tilted his head up, just enough for his tired eyes to peer through his hair at the other two.
“I’m sorry…” he said. His voice cracked as he spoke. He didn’t feel like saying anything else.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Henry turned away from Ariana, his body still tingling from the recoil of the punt gun. Feeling a light sting, he looked down and saw that he had a tiny cut on the top of his middle finger. The thing had kicked back so hard, the trigger cut him. He shook his hand out, as if that might make the light sting go away, taking the thoughts of how Ari’s last moments might’ve felt with it.
It didn’t.
Things were different this time, though. Maybe haplessly observing the chaos on the island had hardened him. Maybe he didn’t feel as responsible for Ari, even though there were parts of him that even now continued to run through scenarios where somehow, he’d have prevented this. Believing he could've done something would've felt comfortable, if only Henry was the kind of person to turn away from the truth.
There was no preventing people from murdering each other here. Sadists like Marco aside, even regular people would resort to it if they felt threatened enough. This place was so wild, so barren of any kind of technology or potential means of escape that it might just seem like the only logical path. They couldn’t help themselves here.
That didn’t mean doing nothing. All they had was the time given to them.
That is a problem I can try to solve. In a way that might just put things right before the end, should it come to that.
An urgent expression spread across Henry’s face, and he scarcely reacted as Aurelien returned and apologized. His fingers tapped on the side of the punt gun as a course of action started to form in his mind. Weighing pros and cons. Thinking of what kind of message it would send when the videos of their experiences got out there.
A voice tore him away from his thoughts. She didn’t sound good. Henry stepped away from the others, trying to get at least mostly out of earshot.
"Henry? Are you there?"
He reached into his bag and pulled out the walkie-talkie, replying in a shaky tone.
"Y-yeah, I'm here. What's going on?"
"I... Bert's dead, I don't know who did it. I was calling to check in on you."
Liberty Wren. Henry always thought well of her; she had a good nature. He didn't want to imagine how it had happened, though he was sure he'd find out before too long.
"Damn it."
It was hard to even begin to describe what happened. Given how Camilla sounded, he decided to spare her the details.
"Things are... not good here. We just lost Ariana. Marco did it. She shot him, but he got away."
That seemed to register. Henry wasn't very good at hiding the pain in his voice, even as he tried to obfuscate the harsh reality of watching someone else get butchered.
"Are you okay? Physically."
He nodded, catching himself doing so and realizing she wasn't there with him.
"I'm fine. Not hurt. Are you alright? You don't sound good."
"Well... I ran into Justin. Greene. I got hit in the face, but I don't think anything important's broken."
The first time wasn't a fluke, then. Henry suppressed as much of the anger in his voice as he could, giving a slightly muted response. Winding himself or Camilla up with anger wasn't a good idea right now.
"Oh. Justin's playing the game too, then? I'm glad you got away. I think - I think things are getting worse."
"Seems like it to me. Justin, he- he killed Benny day one. Well..."
Another pause from Camilla's end. It said as much as her next words did:
"Now what are we gonna do?"
As Henry spoke, he found the words for the idea he'd been mulling over the past few days. Most often it came to him after the morning announcements.
"I don't think we can just sit by and let this happen. The faster they kill people, the less time we have. The really bad ones, the people who're enjoying this..."
There wasn't any good way to put it.
"They have to go."
"...player hunting."
Well, that was how people referred to it when talking about SOTF from the outside, wasn't it? Hearing the words called him back to discussions of the attacks he'd had before, and how he'd condemned it. Things really did look different from the inside, he supposed. Especially on this island, so completely barren of resources to actually do anything about it that wasn't within the terrorists' plans.
"Unfortunately. I've spent the last three days trying to figure out what else I can do. I even thought of taking this thing apart to see if I couldn't jury-rig something to get these collars off. I... I can't. We can't save ourselves. We have to buy the rest of the world time."
"That..."
Camilla seemed to need a moment to react, but he supposed it sat as well with her as it could've.
"I understand that. So... that's our only option, then?"
Now that the words had left his mouth, now that he'd begun to commit to the idea, Henry started to feel a certain kind of momentum. The question of how was almost always preferable to what or why.
"I think we have to realize this is going to get worse before it gets better. If it gets better. If we can gather as many like minded people, see if there's any way to slow things down - that's the best we can do."
"...I see. I'll- I still don't have a weapon myself, but if you're gathering people together, I'll try to find you. Where are you now?"
"We've got two guns, I'm not sure what else. I'm with Jackson and Aurelien, I dunno if you know either of those guys. We're near the Shoe Tree, you?"
"I don't know them, no. I'm at the village, west side I think."
"Okay. Things are still a bit..."
Of course, making any of this work meant everyone keeping a clear head. After what they'd seen, he couldn't be sure that was the case. They certainly hadn't seemed to be entirely sensible when they'd suggested player hunting to Henry. Coming back and declaring that he now agreed with them could go any number of ways.
"It was really messed up, Cam. I hope Ross doesn't see this. Let me talk to the other two, see if I can get them moving. I'll get back to you in a few minutes. Stay safe."
"You too. I should- I'll get moving too."
"Alright. I'll let you know once we're good, and we can meet up somewhere."
Walking back to the other two, still not far from Ariana's body, Henry wore a grave expression. He hung his head for a moment, before looking back up at them.
"We need to talk about what comes next."
It didn’t.
Things were different this time, though. Maybe haplessly observing the chaos on the island had hardened him. Maybe he didn’t feel as responsible for Ari, even though there were parts of him that even now continued to run through scenarios where somehow, he’d have prevented this. Believing he could've done something would've felt comfortable, if only Henry was the kind of person to turn away from the truth.
There was no preventing people from murdering each other here. Sadists like Marco aside, even regular people would resort to it if they felt threatened enough. This place was so wild, so barren of any kind of technology or potential means of escape that it might just seem like the only logical path. They couldn’t help themselves here.
That didn’t mean doing nothing. All they had was the time given to them.
That is a problem I can try to solve. In a way that might just put things right before the end, should it come to that.
An urgent expression spread across Henry’s face, and he scarcely reacted as Aurelien returned and apologized. His fingers tapped on the side of the punt gun as a course of action started to form in his mind. Weighing pros and cons. Thinking of what kind of message it would send when the videos of their experiences got out there.
A voice tore him away from his thoughts. She didn’t sound good. Henry stepped away from the others, trying to get at least mostly out of earshot.
"Henry? Are you there?"
He reached into his bag and pulled out the walkie-talkie, replying in a shaky tone.
"Y-yeah, I'm here. What's going on?"
"I... Bert's dead, I don't know who did it. I was calling to check in on you."
Liberty Wren. Henry always thought well of her; she had a good nature. He didn't want to imagine how it had happened, though he was sure he'd find out before too long.
"Damn it."
It was hard to even begin to describe what happened. Given how Camilla sounded, he decided to spare her the details.
"Things are... not good here. We just lost Ariana. Marco did it. She shot him, but he got away."
That seemed to register. Henry wasn't very good at hiding the pain in his voice, even as he tried to obfuscate the harsh reality of watching someone else get butchered.
"Are you okay? Physically."
He nodded, catching himself doing so and realizing she wasn't there with him.
"I'm fine. Not hurt. Are you alright? You don't sound good."
"Well... I ran into Justin. Greene. I got hit in the face, but I don't think anything important's broken."
The first time wasn't a fluke, then. Henry suppressed as much of the anger in his voice as he could, giving a slightly muted response. Winding himself or Camilla up with anger wasn't a good idea right now.
"Oh. Justin's playing the game too, then? I'm glad you got away. I think - I think things are getting worse."
"Seems like it to me. Justin, he- he killed Benny day one. Well..."
Another pause from Camilla's end. It said as much as her next words did:
"Now what are we gonna do?"
As Henry spoke, he found the words for the idea he'd been mulling over the past few days. Most often it came to him after the morning announcements.
"I don't think we can just sit by and let this happen. The faster they kill people, the less time we have. The really bad ones, the people who're enjoying this..."
There wasn't any good way to put it.
"They have to go."
"...player hunting."
Well, that was how people referred to it when talking about SOTF from the outside, wasn't it? Hearing the words called him back to discussions of the attacks he'd had before, and how he'd condemned it. Things really did look different from the inside, he supposed. Especially on this island, so completely barren of resources to actually do anything about it that wasn't within the terrorists' plans.
"Unfortunately. I've spent the last three days trying to figure out what else I can do. I even thought of taking this thing apart to see if I couldn't jury-rig something to get these collars off. I... I can't. We can't save ourselves. We have to buy the rest of the world time."
"That..."
Camilla seemed to need a moment to react, but he supposed it sat as well with her as it could've.
"I understand that. So... that's our only option, then?"
Now that the words had left his mouth, now that he'd begun to commit to the idea, Henry started to feel a certain kind of momentum. The question of how was almost always preferable to what or why.
"I think we have to realize this is going to get worse before it gets better. If it gets better. If we can gather as many like minded people, see if there's any way to slow things down - that's the best we can do."
"...I see. I'll- I still don't have a weapon myself, but if you're gathering people together, I'll try to find you. Where are you now?"
"We've got two guns, I'm not sure what else. I'm with Jackson and Aurelien, I dunno if you know either of those guys. We're near the Shoe Tree, you?"
"I don't know them, no. I'm at the village, west side I think."
"Okay. Things are still a bit..."
Of course, making any of this work meant everyone keeping a clear head. After what they'd seen, he couldn't be sure that was the case. They certainly hadn't seemed to be entirely sensible when they'd suggested player hunting to Henry. Coming back and declaring that he now agreed with them could go any number of ways.
"It was really messed up, Cam. I hope Ross doesn't see this. Let me talk to the other two, see if I can get them moving. I'll get back to you in a few minutes. Stay safe."
"You too. I should- I'll get moving too."
"Alright. I'll let you know once we're good, and we can meet up somewhere."
Walking back to the other two, still not far from Ariana's body, Henry wore a grave expression. He hung his head for a moment, before looking back up at them.
"We need to talk about what comes next."
Jackson stared down at the now still body of Ariana for what felt like forever. He had failed. Failed to do the one thing he swore to himself he would do. Protect someone. Of course he did. She told them not to blame themselves, but how could he not? He should have been there sooner. He should have done something. Anything. Instead he just stood there wide eyed and watched it all happen. Like he was in the audience at some hyper-realistic stage play. How weak was he? He couldn’t step up and be a man when it mattered the most, and now Ariana, his first true ally, was dead in front of him.
The others, at least, tried to do something. But Jackson? What could he have done. He was weak and had no weapon. He could lie to himself and say there was nothing for him to have done. But inside he knew the truth. He could have. He should have. But he was too scared. Too miserably incompetent. And it cost someone their life. The same thing had happened before. He let Mikki and Bree go off on their own the first day, and they both ended up dead before he knew it. If he’d been there he could have perhaps saved them from that. If he’d been there for Ariana, she might still be alive.
Why was he like this?
Everyone was fighting, but he was just a deer in the headlights. He hated it. He hated himself. He hated that this was happening. That people had to die. That people were killing. And especially that he was too much of a coward and weakling to attempt to stop it. Sure, he could talk a big game when there was no immediate danger, but when the chips were down, he’d proven to himself time and time again that he wasn’t up to the task. He was nobody’s hero. He couldn’t ave anyone. In the end, he probably wouldn’t even be able to save himself.
“Me too.” He replied to Aurelian’s apology.
What more was there to say? Ariana was dead. Marco was gone. Everything was terrible. Henry walked away. Jackson didn’t care. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from Ariana. She was so still. Another victim on a list of hundreds. Her eyes still stared up at the sky, but there was nothing in them. No life. No playful sarcasm dancing behind the orbs. Just emptiness. Jackson reached a hand forward and closed them slowly and gently. Give her some sort of respect in death at least. He looked down. His jeans were covered in her blood. A pool of it sitting in front of him. He just sat and stared until Henry’s voice returned and broke him from his thoughts.
“Next is pretty obvious. We’re all gonna end up like this.” There was a quiver in his voice. He couldn’t shake the fear.
“We let her down. I… I didn’t do anything. I failed.” He clenched his fist and slammed it into the wet ground. Tears fell from his eyes as he struggled to contain his bubbling anger.
“I’m so fucking useless. I can’t save anyone. I can’t protect anyone. I’m just getting people killed.” His voice cracked as he spoke.
“It’s my fault. I called out to her. Distracted her. Let him… Fuck…” Jackson buried his face in his palm and let the silent tears flow.
The others, at least, tried to do something. But Jackson? What could he have done. He was weak and had no weapon. He could lie to himself and say there was nothing for him to have done. But inside he knew the truth. He could have. He should have. But he was too scared. Too miserably incompetent. And it cost someone their life. The same thing had happened before. He let Mikki and Bree go off on their own the first day, and they both ended up dead before he knew it. If he’d been there he could have perhaps saved them from that. If he’d been there for Ariana, she might still be alive.
Why was he like this?
Everyone was fighting, but he was just a deer in the headlights. He hated it. He hated himself. He hated that this was happening. That people had to die. That people were killing. And especially that he was too much of a coward and weakling to attempt to stop it. Sure, he could talk a big game when there was no immediate danger, but when the chips were down, he’d proven to himself time and time again that he wasn’t up to the task. He was nobody’s hero. He couldn’t ave anyone. In the end, he probably wouldn’t even be able to save himself.
“Me too.” He replied to Aurelian’s apology.
What more was there to say? Ariana was dead. Marco was gone. Everything was terrible. Henry walked away. Jackson didn’t care. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from Ariana. She was so still. Another victim on a list of hundreds. Her eyes still stared up at the sky, but there was nothing in them. No life. No playful sarcasm dancing behind the orbs. Just emptiness. Jackson reached a hand forward and closed them slowly and gently. Give her some sort of respect in death at least. He looked down. His jeans were covered in her blood. A pool of it sitting in front of him. He just sat and stared until Henry’s voice returned and broke him from his thoughts.
“Next is pretty obvious. We’re all gonna end up like this.” There was a quiver in his voice. He couldn’t shake the fear.
“We let her down. I… I didn’t do anything. I failed.” He clenched his fist and slammed it into the wet ground. Tears fell from his eyes as he struggled to contain his bubbling anger.
“I’m so fucking useless. I can’t save anyone. I can’t protect anyone. I’m just getting people killed.” His voice cracked as he spoke.
“It’s my fault. I called out to her. Distracted her. Let him… Fuck…” Jackson buried his face in his palm and let the silent tears flow.
Aurelien raised an eyebrow as Jackson echoed his apology, but didn’t say anything more. Far as he was concerned, the other boy didn’t have anything to be sorry for here. What was he supposed to have done? Flung himself headfirst into the chainsaw? Without a weapon?Then there’d have been two dead bodies, and neither of them would have been Marco’s.
Henry had fired his weapon. Ariana had fired hers, even with her arm sliced off and the last of her blood draining away. And Aurelien? Aurelien had frozen. He’d stood still like a deer in the headlights and hadn’t done a damn thing until it was all over. Useless. Fucking useless. He didn’t think he could forgive himself for that one.
He wanted to ask where Henry was walking off to, but he kept his mouth shut in the end. Much as they were all suffering in their own way, they all needed to find their own ways to cope. Maybe this was Henry’s, and if that was the case, he wasn’t about to pry. He stood there, in bitter, heavy silence, not really staring at anything at all, until the boy came back.
Forgiveness was something he didn’t think he could give himself. But to forget? That was something he’d have to do. Not that he’d faltered, because he’d need to use that as a painful reminder. But to forget the shame, the self-hatred he was feeling. It was only going to hold him back and make him even more likely to snap and lash out and hurt somebody who didn’t deserve it.
This was especially pertinent, now that Ariana was gone. He was going to have to try and keep himself in check more than ever, because she had been the main driving force in keeping his blood rush from reaching his head. Jackson clearly wasn’t in any state of mind to help. And Henry… well, speaking truthfully, Aurelien really didn’t think the other boy had a chance of dealing with his temper, if the earlier encounter by the tree was anything to go by. So he took a long, deep breath and folded his arms, grabbing his bicep with his right hand and squeezing it, using it as an impromptu stress ball, before he said his part.
“Cut that out.”
He looked at Jackson as he spoke. He spoke loudly, and his words were a command rather than a request, but he did as best he could to keep any malice out of them. He didn’t want to get angry at Jackson. Again; everybody had their own way of coping, everyone was suffering in their own ways. It was just that Aurelien knew firsthand, through his various volunteering work, how self-destructive some coping mechanisms. And he knew, from what had happened the previous day, how suffering could totally overwhelm and envelope you.
“We haven’t let her down yet. We still know what we need to do, and we’re still able to do it. But if we all keep blaming ourselves for her death, and keep wallowing in self-pity, then we’re never going to be able to kill Blaise, or Marco, or whichever murderer pops onto our radar next, and then… then we’ll have let her down.”
He turned to look at Henry, arms still tightly folded.
“As far as I’m concerned, what comes next is still the same. We go again. We kill Blaise. Just add Marco to the list as well.”
‘We go again’. An infamous phrase, divorced from its original context, but holding the very same meaning; we keep on going, no matter the adversity we face, until we physically cannot go any further.
Aurelien had a proposition of his own. He would wait for a moment, and see what Henry had to say.
Henry had fired his weapon. Ariana had fired hers, even with her arm sliced off and the last of her blood draining away. And Aurelien? Aurelien had frozen. He’d stood still like a deer in the headlights and hadn’t done a damn thing until it was all over. Useless. Fucking useless. He didn’t think he could forgive himself for that one.
He wanted to ask where Henry was walking off to, but he kept his mouth shut in the end. Much as they were all suffering in their own way, they all needed to find their own ways to cope. Maybe this was Henry’s, and if that was the case, he wasn’t about to pry. He stood there, in bitter, heavy silence, not really staring at anything at all, until the boy came back.
Forgiveness was something he didn’t think he could give himself. But to forget? That was something he’d have to do. Not that he’d faltered, because he’d need to use that as a painful reminder. But to forget the shame, the self-hatred he was feeling. It was only going to hold him back and make him even more likely to snap and lash out and hurt somebody who didn’t deserve it.
This was especially pertinent, now that Ariana was gone. He was going to have to try and keep himself in check more than ever, because she had been the main driving force in keeping his blood rush from reaching his head. Jackson clearly wasn’t in any state of mind to help. And Henry… well, speaking truthfully, Aurelien really didn’t think the other boy had a chance of dealing with his temper, if the earlier encounter by the tree was anything to go by. So he took a long, deep breath and folded his arms, grabbing his bicep with his right hand and squeezing it, using it as an impromptu stress ball, before he said his part.
“Cut that out.”
He looked at Jackson as he spoke. He spoke loudly, and his words were a command rather than a request, but he did as best he could to keep any malice out of them. He didn’t want to get angry at Jackson. Again; everybody had their own way of coping, everyone was suffering in their own ways. It was just that Aurelien knew firsthand, through his various volunteering work, how self-destructive some coping mechanisms. And he knew, from what had happened the previous day, how suffering could totally overwhelm and envelope you.
“We haven’t let her down yet. We still know what we need to do, and we’re still able to do it. But if we all keep blaming ourselves for her death, and keep wallowing in self-pity, then we’re never going to be able to kill Blaise, or Marco, or whichever murderer pops onto our radar next, and then… then we’ll have let her down.”
He turned to look at Henry, arms still tightly folded.
“As far as I’m concerned, what comes next is still the same. We go again. We kill Blaise. Just add Marco to the list as well.”
‘We go again’. An infamous phrase, divorced from its original context, but holding the very same meaning; we keep on going, no matter the adversity we face, until we physically cannot go any further.
Aurelien had a proposition of his own. He would wait for a moment, and see what Henry had to say.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Jackson looked up in surprise as Aurelien’s booming voice cut him off from his self-deprecation. It was possibly the most he’d heard the other boy talk since joining up with him, and the weight of his words struck a chord inside Jackson as he let the larger boy talk him down. Everything he said was correct. Jackson understood this, but still the darkness in his heart wanted to argue. To scream that he was wrong. To make himself the culprit. The one to blame. The reason everything went wrong. It made it easier for him to give up. To fall away and let others take the lead. To pretend he was useless, because that was easier than actually having to do anything.
God… he hated that part of himself.
Aurelien was still willing to fight. To try. Why couldn’t he be like that? Strong. A leader. Someone people could count on. Ariana never gave up, even when she knew she was done for. She still had the willpower to fight back. He wished he had that. That part of him that just refused to give in. But in his life all he ever did was give up. Drown his sorrows in alcohol and blend himself into the crowd.
He wanted to be better.
Stronger.
He wanted to live a life he could be proud of, even if there wasn’t much of it left.
He had to try. He had to. If not, then all these years he’d been right about himself. Worthless and awful. That’s not how he wanted to die. He didn’t want to die a loser. He wanted to be a hero. He had to stand up, and fight, dammit. He had to! Or else he may as well die right here, right now.
He wasn’t done living yet.
With a newfound fire in his eyes, Jackson grabbed the gun Ariana dropped from the ground. Sure, Marco got away with her bag, and there probably wasn’t any ammo left, but at least it was something! He pulled himself from the ground and faced Aurelien. His face was still flush and red from the tears, but his eyes were hard now. Harder than maybe ever before.
“Yeah.” He held out his fist toward Aurelien, aiming for a fist-bump.
“We go again.”
God… he hated that part of himself.
Aurelien was still willing to fight. To try. Why couldn’t he be like that? Strong. A leader. Someone people could count on. Ariana never gave up, even when she knew she was done for. She still had the willpower to fight back. He wished he had that. That part of him that just refused to give in. But in his life all he ever did was give up. Drown his sorrows in alcohol and blend himself into the crowd.
He wanted to be better.
Stronger.
He wanted to live a life he could be proud of, even if there wasn’t much of it left.
He had to try. He had to. If not, then all these years he’d been right about himself. Worthless and awful. That’s not how he wanted to die. He didn’t want to die a loser. He wanted to be a hero. He had to stand up, and fight, dammit. He had to! Or else he may as well die right here, right now.
He wasn’t done living yet.
With a newfound fire in his eyes, Jackson grabbed the gun Ariana dropped from the ground. Sure, Marco got away with her bag, and there probably wasn’t any ammo left, but at least it was something! He pulled himself from the ground and faced Aurelien. His face was still flush and red from the tears, but his eyes were hard now. Harder than maybe ever before.
“Yeah.” He held out his fist toward Aurelien, aiming for a fist-bump.
“We go again.”
Henry shot Jackson a terse look, bristling at first at his fatalist response. Aurelien stepped in before he could say anything though. At first it was a bit of a relief - he’d never thought he was especially good at cheering people up. His Dad would get into these depressive states s
ometimes, and it wasn’t easy to know what to say to someone like that. Someone smart enough to see every possibility, who was better at figuring out problems than just about anyone. What do you say to someone who had every tool at their disposal, and still couldn’t find their way out of an emotional hole?
He realized he was thinking less about Jackson, and more about himself. He was sure if there had been two Henrys, one with a collar and one without, they’d be arguing fiercely over his chosen course of action.
How he wished he still had that version of himself to talk to. To figure things out with. That one hadn’t seen the intractable nature of their situation played out in blood and tears. That one might have an idea that was better than doing their best to slow the clock. Some way of getting out that didn’t depend on channelling their collective desire to do something or in Aurelien’s case, get revenge.
He stepped towards the others. There was just this Henry, wet with rainwater and laden with explosives and plans of action that ranged from suicidal to morally bankrupt. That was the one that would make his case.
“That’s not enough,” he said, speaking with as much self-assurance as he could muster.
“It’s not enough to just do this for revenge, or because we have nothing else to do. We have to be smart about this. One body gets us one day. We can’t save ourselves, that much I know. Any way out of this is going to involve outside help. Obviously we can’t signal them, we don’t have anything to really work around the collars with. What we do have is time. Time these so-called players are wearing through it faster than they need to. If they wanted to just win this thing, they’d kill one person and ride it out.”
He looked to the gun Jackson was holding, then to his own.
“They’re burning through the days the rest of the world has left to find us, and that has to stop. Moreover, they forfeited any consideration towards ensuring their survival when they turned against us. As far as I’m concerned, they’re acting as proxy for the terrorists. I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone in my life. I’ve tried my best not to. But even if it meant my head coming off like a top a few seconds after, I’d still put a bullet in Danya for what he and his organization has done. In lieu of that…”
Henry adjusted the makeshift strap on his weapon.
“...in lieu of that, Blaise and Marco and Quinn and the rest can’t be allowed to keep going. I have a walkie-talkie - Camila Bell’s on the other end. I’ve told her as much. These people are alone by necessity of what they’re doing. With a group of us working together, we have more than a fighting chance.”
He stopped speaking as quickly as he’d barrelled through the whole speech. Taking any more time would’ve made him question it more, and that wasn’t something he had the luxury to do. It felt like ignoring the real problem at hand, like they would just be busying themselves with this until they came up against the real impossible situation.
No. This was the path forward. These were their problems to solve. The problem of other minds, who also couldn’t accept dying a meaningless death just short of their twenties. He only hoped he could convince the others it was for a higher purpose, something beyond the profound loss they were all feeling. It was the only way they’d keep their heads, and get it done.
Get it done. What a way to put it.
ometimes, and it wasn’t easy to know what to say to someone like that. Someone smart enough to see every possibility, who was better at figuring out problems than just about anyone. What do you say to someone who had every tool at their disposal, and still couldn’t find their way out of an emotional hole?
He realized he was thinking less about Jackson, and more about himself. He was sure if there had been two Henrys, one with a collar and one without, they’d be arguing fiercely over his chosen course of action.
How he wished he still had that version of himself to talk to. To figure things out with. That one hadn’t seen the intractable nature of their situation played out in blood and tears. That one might have an idea that was better than doing their best to slow the clock. Some way of getting out that didn’t depend on channelling their collective desire to do something or in Aurelien’s case, get revenge.
He stepped towards the others. There was just this Henry, wet with rainwater and laden with explosives and plans of action that ranged from suicidal to morally bankrupt. That was the one that would make his case.
“That’s not enough,” he said, speaking with as much self-assurance as he could muster.
“It’s not enough to just do this for revenge, or because we have nothing else to do. We have to be smart about this. One body gets us one day. We can’t save ourselves, that much I know. Any way out of this is going to involve outside help. Obviously we can’t signal them, we don’t have anything to really work around the collars with. What we do have is time. Time these so-called players are wearing through it faster than they need to. If they wanted to just win this thing, they’d kill one person and ride it out.”
He looked to the gun Jackson was holding, then to his own.
“They’re burning through the days the rest of the world has left to find us, and that has to stop. Moreover, they forfeited any consideration towards ensuring their survival when they turned against us. As far as I’m concerned, they’re acting as proxy for the terrorists. I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone in my life. I’ve tried my best not to. But even if it meant my head coming off like a top a few seconds after, I’d still put a bullet in Danya for what he and his organization has done. In lieu of that…”
Henry adjusted the makeshift strap on his weapon.
“...in lieu of that, Blaise and Marco and Quinn and the rest can’t be allowed to keep going. I have a walkie-talkie - Camila Bell’s on the other end. I’ve told her as much. These people are alone by necessity of what they’re doing. With a group of us working together, we have more than a fighting chance.”
He stopped speaking as quickly as he’d barrelled through the whole speech. Taking any more time would’ve made him question it more, and that wasn’t something he had the luxury to do. It felt like ignoring the real problem at hand, like they would just be busying themselves with this until they came up against the real impossible situation.
No. This was the path forward. These were their problems to solve. The problem of other minds, who also couldn’t accept dying a meaningless death just short of their twenties. He only hoped he could convince the others it was for a higher purpose, something beyond the profound loss they were all feeling. It was the only way they’d keep their heads, and get it done.
Get it done. What a way to put it.
Aurelien nodded, and returned Jackson’s fist bump. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t believe Jackson expected him to smile, and if he did, then he was just gonna have to live with the disappointment. His fault for not paying attention better, if that was the case. It was good to see that the other boy still had some fight left in him, regardless. They were all gonna need something like that, after all, that drive and internal spark, no matter how small, to pick yourself up and keep on going, even when faced with loss after loss.
He listened intently as Henry started to speak. Or, at least, he tried to do so. He heard the first few sentences crystal clear. The rest quickly faded in and out, background noise, secondary to his own thoughts. He let himself get lost in them, comparing what Henry was suggesting to his own thoughts and goals.
Henry had clearly been thinking this over and thinking about the long run. The ‘what happens now?’ after catching up with Blaise and Marco, and after killing them was simple and clear; move on to the next multi-time killer and take them out, then the next, then the next, until there was nobody left who you could describe as a ‘player’ on the island. Then they’d just… wait, ride out the increased amount of time they had with no murderers left, hoping for the accidents and injuries around them to keep their collar detonations at bay, until some saviour arrived on the shores of the island to rescue them all.
Aurelien hadn’t thought that far ahead since his second morning out here.
Ever since he’d found Dante, he’d only had one thing on his mind; to get bloody revenge on Blaise. That was all. That was the only thing he’d cared about. After that, his plans for the future came to a dead halt. There was nothing beyond Blaise’s corpse but a solid wall of shadowy uncertainty. As far as he’d been concerned, he could die whilst battering Blaise to death, or perish from his wounds immediately after killing them for all he cared. He’d have gotten revenge. He’d have done it all for Dante. He didn’t care about anything or anybody else.
He still only truly had feelings of deep-rooted hatred for Blaise, as well as some for Marco now, but at least with Henry’s plan he had goals beyond that. Something more to live for and to focus on. Henry had said they needed to do more than just act because they had nothing better to do, but for somebody with no idea of what his path should be, ‘just something to do’ was much, much more than he’d had the day before.
Aurelien shifted awkwardly, resting one hand on the handle of the mace, drumming his fingers absent-mindedly against it. Morale amongst the group wasn’t high, but it was there, now that they all had something to strive for. It was fragile. It could be strengthened if they bolstered their group, or found one of their targets. It could be shattered in an instant if they failed as badly as this again.
He opened his mouth, then after a moment, grunted and closed it, switching his energy to wrenching the mace from the ground with both hands. His proposition would stay in his head for now. If the best case scenario came to pass, it would stay there forever.
Right now was not the correct time to tell the others to shoot him in the head if he ever faltered like he had with Ariana again.
“All right,” he murmured, more so his mouth could say something than for any other reason. “I’m down. Anyone who commits to playing, we’ll seek them out. I can do that. We gonna meet up with Camilla, then? Or is she forming her own group on the other side of the island? Two groups working separately for the same goal?”
He rolled his shoulders, letting himself adjust to the weight in his hands once more.
“Either way, chances of Quinn or Blaise running into this specific clearing aren’t real high. We should get moving.”
He listened intently as Henry started to speak. Or, at least, he tried to do so. He heard the first few sentences crystal clear. The rest quickly faded in and out, background noise, secondary to his own thoughts. He let himself get lost in them, comparing what Henry was suggesting to his own thoughts and goals.
Henry had clearly been thinking this over and thinking about the long run. The ‘what happens now?’ after catching up with Blaise and Marco, and after killing them was simple and clear; move on to the next multi-time killer and take them out, then the next, then the next, until there was nobody left who you could describe as a ‘player’ on the island. Then they’d just… wait, ride out the increased amount of time they had with no murderers left, hoping for the accidents and injuries around them to keep their collar detonations at bay, until some saviour arrived on the shores of the island to rescue them all.
Aurelien hadn’t thought that far ahead since his second morning out here.
Ever since he’d found Dante, he’d only had one thing on his mind; to get bloody revenge on Blaise. That was all. That was the only thing he’d cared about. After that, his plans for the future came to a dead halt. There was nothing beyond Blaise’s corpse but a solid wall of shadowy uncertainty. As far as he’d been concerned, he could die whilst battering Blaise to death, or perish from his wounds immediately after killing them for all he cared. He’d have gotten revenge. He’d have done it all for Dante. He didn’t care about anything or anybody else.
He still only truly had feelings of deep-rooted hatred for Blaise, as well as some for Marco now, but at least with Henry’s plan he had goals beyond that. Something more to live for and to focus on. Henry had said they needed to do more than just act because they had nothing better to do, but for somebody with no idea of what his path should be, ‘just something to do’ was much, much more than he’d had the day before.
Aurelien shifted awkwardly, resting one hand on the handle of the mace, drumming his fingers absent-mindedly against it. Morale amongst the group wasn’t high, but it was there, now that they all had something to strive for. It was fragile. It could be strengthened if they bolstered their group, or found one of their targets. It could be shattered in an instant if they failed as badly as this again.
He opened his mouth, then after a moment, grunted and closed it, switching his energy to wrenching the mace from the ground with both hands. His proposition would stay in his head for now. If the best case scenario came to pass, it would stay there forever.
Right now was not the correct time to tell the others to shoot him in the head if he ever faltered like he had with Ariana again.
“All right,” he murmured, more so his mouth could say something than for any other reason. “I’m down. Anyone who commits to playing, we’ll seek them out. I can do that. We gonna meet up with Camilla, then? Or is she forming her own group on the other side of the island? Two groups working separately for the same goal?”
He rolled his shoulders, letting himself adjust to the weight in his hands once more.
“Either way, chances of Quinn or Blaise running into this specific clearing aren’t real high. We should get moving.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Henry’s words were harsh but true. It wasn’t enough to do this for themselves. For their own reasons. They had to do this for something bigger than themselves. Bigger than their personal stakes. These killers were doing more than hurting their friends, they were hurting everyone’s chance, no matter how minute that chance was, of survival. Of someone coming to find them and take them home. Jackson wasn’t going to lie to himself. That wasn’t going to happen, no matter how many days passed, but knowing that the slight chance existed somehow still made him feel a twinge of hope.
Hope was as dangerous as anything else here, but for now, he could use it as a comfort.
Henry revealed they had another ally in Camilla Bell, who he was in contact with across the island via walkie talkie. Jackson had to admit, knowing there was someone else working towards the same goal was also a comfort. Together, maybe there was a chance. Maybe they could have an impact. Keep people alive just one more day. One more hour, even. It's all they could hope for in this hell. Aurelien asked his question before he had a chance. Two groups both working to take down the killers and protect as many lives as possible? That sounded good. That sounded heroic. That sounded like they actually had a chance.
Jackson wanted what little was left of his life to mean something.
Jackson wanted to be remembered for more than being a drunk who ruined parties.
Thinking about it, after the last few days, that sounded so absolutely stupid to him. His life had been meaningless.
He wanted to die with a smile on his face, knowing he did something worthwhile.
“Yeah, let’s move. I’m tired of this view.” He looked down at Ariana’s corpse once more.
He wished he could have saved her. He’d make sure to save the next one.
“I’ll follow you guys. I’m ready.”
[Jackson Sullivan Continued In They Didn't Make It]
Hope was as dangerous as anything else here, but for now, he could use it as a comfort.
Henry revealed they had another ally in Camilla Bell, who he was in contact with across the island via walkie talkie. Jackson had to admit, knowing there was someone else working towards the same goal was also a comfort. Together, maybe there was a chance. Maybe they could have an impact. Keep people alive just one more day. One more hour, even. It's all they could hope for in this hell. Aurelien asked his question before he had a chance. Two groups both working to take down the killers and protect as many lives as possible? That sounded good. That sounded heroic. That sounded like they actually had a chance.
Jackson wanted what little was left of his life to mean something.
Jackson wanted to be remembered for more than being a drunk who ruined parties.
Thinking about it, after the last few days, that sounded so absolutely stupid to him. His life had been meaningless.
He wanted to die with a smile on his face, knowing he did something worthwhile.
“Yeah, let’s move. I’m tired of this view.” He looked down at Ariana’s corpse once more.
He wished he could have saved her. He’d make sure to save the next one.
“I’ll follow you guys. I’m ready.”
[Jackson Sullivan Continued In They Didn't Make It]
Henry nodded in agreement with Aurelien, glad to see they’d at least agreed on a guiding principle. He explained the situation with Camila, nodding as Aurelien indicated they should get moving soon.
“She’s not far; I figure we’ll meet up with her and go from there. We can radio her as we go.”
They were going to be doing a whole lot of figuring and assuming and guessing. Things no one really liked doing when lives hung in the balance. More often than not the way things had to be done in situations like this.
At least Jackson seemed to be getting some wind back in his sails again, Henry thought. Even if it wasn’t at all a positive motivation, their morbid task was at least something for his companion to hang onto.
His eye caught a glimpse of a camera as they were heading away from the Shoe Tree. It had been destroyed; no doubt the act that ended Caroline Ford’s act, as the announcements and her corpse indicated. He couldn’t pretend to understand her motivations nor did he really want to infer meaning where there wasn’t any. Even still, he couldn’t help but feel that what she’d done - what she might’ve done, was the more honourable thing at least. The smallest act of resistance against the real enemy. An act that wasn’t just fighting back against another unwilling proxy.
Guilt weighed him down as they pressed on. Despite the display of confidence he put forward, he quietly hoped they didn’t run into anyone else. Nothing he’d said when he first met these people was necessarily untrue - he’d just found a paper-thin way to justify it to himself. A way to make an incredibly short-term solution seem like it had some noble, higher purpose. It wasn’t that he doubted he could pull the trigger when faced with a terminal threat; he had proven as much already.
They weren’t likely going to survive. What he wanted, if not survival, was some way to hurt the terrorists. If not on a physical victory, then a spiritual one. They ought to have a message to send, somehow.
The last thing he wanted anyone to think on seeing this was “It really didn’t take much for them to give in, did it?”
People were better than this. Better than their end. If he wanted anything to be told about his story, it was that.
((Henry Sparks continued elsewhere))
“She’s not far; I figure we’ll meet up with her and go from there. We can radio her as we go.”
They were going to be doing a whole lot of figuring and assuming and guessing. Things no one really liked doing when lives hung in the balance. More often than not the way things had to be done in situations like this.
At least Jackson seemed to be getting some wind back in his sails again, Henry thought. Even if it wasn’t at all a positive motivation, their morbid task was at least something for his companion to hang onto.
His eye caught a glimpse of a camera as they were heading away from the Shoe Tree. It had been destroyed; no doubt the act that ended Caroline Ford’s act, as the announcements and her corpse indicated. He couldn’t pretend to understand her motivations nor did he really want to infer meaning where there wasn’t any. Even still, he couldn’t help but feel that what she’d done - what she might’ve done, was the more honourable thing at least. The smallest act of resistance against the real enemy. An act that wasn’t just fighting back against another unwilling proxy.
Guilt weighed him down as they pressed on. Despite the display of confidence he put forward, he quietly hoped they didn’t run into anyone else. Nothing he’d said when he first met these people was necessarily untrue - he’d just found a paper-thin way to justify it to himself. A way to make an incredibly short-term solution seem like it had some noble, higher purpose. It wasn’t that he doubted he could pull the trigger when faced with a terminal threat; he had proven as much already.
They weren’t likely going to survive. What he wanted, if not survival, was some way to hurt the terrorists. If not on a physical victory, then a spiritual one. They ought to have a message to send, somehow.
The last thing he wanted anyone to think on seeing this was “It really didn’t take much for them to give in, did it?”
People were better than this. Better than their end. If he wanted anything to be told about his story, it was that.
((Henry Sparks continued elsewhere))
“Gotcha.”
He didn’t need to say anything more, not right now. To do so would be a waste of time. He doubted he’d talk much on the way to Camilla, either. When they met up with her? Yeah he’d probably say something then, just to fill her in on the score, what had happened with them all. What his own deal was.
He’d never really talked much with Camilla back at school - hell, even with Henry giving him her last name, he still wasn’t sure which one he was talking about - but he’d barely interacted with Henry or Jackson or Ariana before these last few days either. And now look. He was part of a group of player killers. Funny how these things worked out. Hilarious, really.
Well. Anyway. Wasn’t as though they’d likely be talking about their hobbies any time soon, anyway.
It would be nice if they could, obviously. Wonderful even. Maybe that was something he could work towards after they’d taken Blaise and Marco and all the other multiple time killers down. That was a good goal to work towards, one he simply couldn’t think about now. He didn’t want to think about anything other than watching Blaise’s last breaths slip away, until the act was done.
He had thought as much already, but this just reinforced it. The others could get the final blow on Marco or Quinn or Erika if they wanted, he didn’t care. But he was going to be the one to plunge the knife into Blaise’s heart. Nobody was going to stop him from doing that.
Aurelien didn’t say anything, though, as he wrapped both hands around the handle of the mace and hefted it back into his arms, grunting as he pulled it from the earth. He had a hunch that mentioning it wouldn’t be the best idea. He couldn’t tell exactly why but, hey. Best to actually show some restraint here.
God knew his impulses had already stuck his neck into a noose multiple times now.
((Aurelien Valter continued in They Didn't Make It))
He didn’t need to say anything more, not right now. To do so would be a waste of time. He doubted he’d talk much on the way to Camilla, either. When they met up with her? Yeah he’d probably say something then, just to fill her in on the score, what had happened with them all. What his own deal was.
He’d never really talked much with Camilla back at school - hell, even with Henry giving him her last name, he still wasn’t sure which one he was talking about - but he’d barely interacted with Henry or Jackson or Ariana before these last few days either. And now look. He was part of a group of player killers. Funny how these things worked out. Hilarious, really.
Well. Anyway. Wasn’t as though they’d likely be talking about their hobbies any time soon, anyway.
It would be nice if they could, obviously. Wonderful even. Maybe that was something he could work towards after they’d taken Blaise and Marco and all the other multiple time killers down. That was a good goal to work towards, one he simply couldn’t think about now. He didn’t want to think about anything other than watching Blaise’s last breaths slip away, until the act was done.
He had thought as much already, but this just reinforced it. The others could get the final blow on Marco or Quinn or Erika if they wanted, he didn’t care. But he was going to be the one to plunge the knife into Blaise’s heart. Nobody was going to stop him from doing that.
Aurelien didn’t say anything, though, as he wrapped both hands around the handle of the mace and hefted it back into his arms, grunting as he pulled it from the earth. He had a hunch that mentioning it wouldn’t be the best idea. He couldn’t tell exactly why but, hey. Best to actually show some restraint here.
God knew his impulses had already stuck his neck into a noose multiple times now.
((Aurelien Valter continued in They Didn't Make It))
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017