((As the sun slowly withdrew across the lake in a golden-red blaze there was only one thing on Johnny's mind as his feet dangled off the boat deck and soaked his fur.))
He really missed Sunny. Dad, Mom, Marcela, Eduardo, Tyrell, Parker, the rifleman, every fucking one of them and everyone else could go to hell. At least Gervais probably did.
He just wanted to see her again. But he couldn't. Couldn't even cry; only pussy bitches did that, and he wasn't a pussy bitch. But he wanted to.
He shifted in his seat; he winced at the searing pain in his right shoulder, his whole arm immobile and fucking dead weight. Gun shots really weren't like the movies or Call of Duty. He at least managed to kinda patch it up like a badly wrapped Christmas gift considering there's a fucking hole through it, but gonna keep it real things didn't look good.
Heh heh. Fuck. At least he was all alone after finding the boathouse to hole up in. But if Parker or his cohort ever showed up again, Johnny was gonna fucking obliterate those twinks.
But for now, he was just gonna hang here being all wistful and deep and shit. Thinking about Sunny helped mask the pain and the regrets.
Wonder if she's seeing the same sunset now, too.
Dog Day Afternoon
Day 6, late afternoon/early evening; private
>> Day passed into night into day into sunset. Nothing changed.
That, too, was objectively inaccurate. The air shifted, the weather changed, Nia's wound showed some minor signs of improvement, fourteen people had died. All things that were theoretically significant. She very nearly took out pen and paper when the announcement played, out of habit, but with her prior notes gifted to a boy who would likely make little use of them, the action felt more than a little pointless. The realities of the game, after all, had grown past her expectations, or her capacity for reason. She had categorized potential threats so as to, by elimination, categorize potential allies.
She had lost the capacity for allyship a long time ago. There were threats, and there were bodies, and she would trust neither, and that was all.
And yet she found herself poking her head in the window of the boathouse by the lake.
It wasn't an arbitrary or ill-considered move; Nia had come to the lake to collect water, and the boathouse was the most obvious spot from which she could expect an ambush if one was incoming. Not that the woods were not a possibility, not that anywhere was safe, but threat management had to have a start point. Where things became rather less logical was when she spotted a figure sitting in the boathouse and she didn't immediately run. She couldn't literally run, of course, not without risking the butterfly strips, but she could certainly make herself scarce before she was noticed.
The boy's name eluded her, though his face struck her as somewhat familiar. He had no weapon. Threat management. So long as he couldn't sneak up on her, he was of minimal concern. No reason to flee the scene. No reason to stay, either.
There'd been no reason not to shoot Garren, had there?
She kept watching.
That, too, was objectively inaccurate. The air shifted, the weather changed, Nia's wound showed some minor signs of improvement, fourteen people had died. All things that were theoretically significant. She very nearly took out pen and paper when the announcement played, out of habit, but with her prior notes gifted to a boy who would likely make little use of them, the action felt more than a little pointless. The realities of the game, after all, had grown past her expectations, or her capacity for reason. She had categorized potential threats so as to, by elimination, categorize potential allies.
She had lost the capacity for allyship a long time ago. There were threats, and there were bodies, and she would trust neither, and that was all.
And yet she found herself poking her head in the window of the boathouse by the lake.
It wasn't an arbitrary or ill-considered move; Nia had come to the lake to collect water, and the boathouse was the most obvious spot from which she could expect an ambush if one was incoming. Not that the woods were not a possibility, not that anywhere was safe, but threat management had to have a start point. Where things became rather less logical was when she spotted a figure sitting in the boathouse and she didn't immediately run. She couldn't literally run, of course, not without risking the butterfly strips, but she could certainly make herself scarce before she was noticed.
The boy's name eluded her, though his face struck her as somewhat familiar. He had no weapon. Threat management. So long as he couldn't sneak up on her, he was of minimal concern. No reason to flee the scene. No reason to stay, either.
There'd been no reason not to shoot Garren, had there?
She kept watching.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
The sound of wood creaking came from outside the boathouse.
Johnny jolted and turned his body, wincing again as his arm felt every single degree of movement.
In the dusty and cracked window was a girl. Black hair, killer jaw, impressively thick eyebrows.
His eyes matched hers for days.
Days and a second later, he turned back around and watched the setting horizon once more.
Johnny jolted and turned his body, wincing again as his arm felt every single degree of movement.
In the dusty and cracked window was a girl. Black hair, killer jaw, impressively thick eyebrows.
His eyes matched hers for days.
Days and a second later, he turned back around and watched the setting horizon once more.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
This was the first time he'd been here.
((Justin Greene, continued from They Didn't Make It)
It seemed a little odd, just when a little bit of thought was poured to something relatively innocuous in a rare moment of downtime. He'd been here nearly a week now and there were still so many areas on his little map that he'd left unexplored and never really thought about. Because nothing was a good decision and nowhere was the 'right' direction to go. That meant doubling back to places he'd been before just because they struck him as familiar. But now, the old haunts were starting to turn up bad things and play out miniature disasters. Somebody else was dead. That was the idea in the end, to chip away at the competition and try to come out on top of the class, a class of one.
Made sleeping kind of difficult though. Nothing in particular, just this whole situation, just the whole of last night. Justin laid down and closed his eyes and was afraid of the darkness he saw so he opened them again. The darkness outside wasn't much better, but he could see shapes. It wasn't total black. His brain just needed to pick something apart so he wasn't truly alone. What was the last time he just sat with somebody else for a while? He thought it might have been Meka and Mackenzie.
Couldn't sit with Mackenzie anymore, now could he?
She was just one of growing company though. The announcements added more names every morning. It was all starting to become really dull and that scared him, because he should have felt something. He was still scared and still paranoid and jumping around corners but that was because it all concerned him and his direct experiences. He hoped it wasn't a bad sign, and that it was respectable to play it off as not having the resources to care about anybody other than himself. Just... doing the best anybody could do in a situation such as this one.
The lake sure did look nice, he supposed. There was a building too, a ramshackle old thing that was... it probably used to be a boat house at some point.
A boat house with people.
What was the last time he had company? Probably before all the murder.
Justin hunkered down low near a rock, fidgeting with the tire iron that ran warm between his fingers from constant body heat and friction.
((Justin Greene, continued from They Didn't Make It)
It seemed a little odd, just when a little bit of thought was poured to something relatively innocuous in a rare moment of downtime. He'd been here nearly a week now and there were still so many areas on his little map that he'd left unexplored and never really thought about. Because nothing was a good decision and nowhere was the 'right' direction to go. That meant doubling back to places he'd been before just because they struck him as familiar. But now, the old haunts were starting to turn up bad things and play out miniature disasters. Somebody else was dead. That was the idea in the end, to chip away at the competition and try to come out on top of the class, a class of one.
Made sleeping kind of difficult though. Nothing in particular, just this whole situation, just the whole of last night. Justin laid down and closed his eyes and was afraid of the darkness he saw so he opened them again. The darkness outside wasn't much better, but he could see shapes. It wasn't total black. His brain just needed to pick something apart so he wasn't truly alone. What was the last time he just sat with somebody else for a while? He thought it might have been Meka and Mackenzie.
Couldn't sit with Mackenzie anymore, now could he?
She was just one of growing company though. The announcements added more names every morning. It was all starting to become really dull and that scared him, because he should have felt something. He was still scared and still paranoid and jumping around corners but that was because it all concerned him and his direct experiences. He hoped it wasn't a bad sign, and that it was respectable to play it off as not having the resources to care about anybody other than himself. Just... doing the best anybody could do in a situation such as this one.
The lake sure did look nice, he supposed. There was a building too, a ramshackle old thing that was... it probably used to be a boat house at some point.
A boat house with people.
What was the last time he had company? Probably before all the murder.
Justin hunkered down low near a rock, fidgeting with the tire iron that ran warm between his fingers from constant body heat and friction.
She could have killed him in seconds if she'd wanted to, and he only turned away from her. Fascinating.
Seconds was perhaps an overstatement, as that would only hold true if she shot through the window. Doable, yes—the glass in question seemed both thin and unstable enough to not hamper the trajectory of a bullet, especially at minimal range—but the blowback of broken glass and the added noise were ideally to be avoided. Still, it would add less than a minute to walk to the boathouse's door and shoot from that direction. Unless he had prepared a trap of some sort, which seemed unlikely considering his apparently blase attitude, that would be that.
It was all academic, of course. Theoretical. Intriguing, though. Wasn't it?
Having established himself as not a threat, Nia's move was to refill her water, maybe use the boathouse as cover for her back since at the very least she'd know the boy behind her lacked a means to attack her at range. And then she could leave, and find some other secluded spot to waste away some more hours. Three million died of waterborne illness a year. Iodine should suffice. But the taste would be awful.
There had to be more.
The boathouse door creaked as she pulled it slowly open, gauging a near non-existent reaction. Curious.
Now she could go.
There had to be.
She sat.
Seconds was perhaps an overstatement, as that would only hold true if she shot through the window. Doable, yes—the glass in question seemed both thin and unstable enough to not hamper the trajectory of a bullet, especially at minimal range—but the blowback of broken glass and the added noise were ideally to be avoided. Still, it would add less than a minute to walk to the boathouse's door and shoot from that direction. Unless he had prepared a trap of some sort, which seemed unlikely considering his apparently blase attitude, that would be that.
It was all academic, of course. Theoretical. Intriguing, though. Wasn't it?
Having established himself as not a threat, Nia's move was to refill her water, maybe use the boathouse as cover for her back since at the very least she'd know the boy behind her lacked a means to attack her at range. And then she could leave, and find some other secluded spot to waste away some more hours. Three million died of waterborne illness a year. Iodine should suffice. But the taste would be awful.
There had to be more.
The boathouse door creaked as she pulled it slowly open, gauging a near non-existent reaction. Curious.
Now she could go.
There had to be.
She sat.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
The boathouse door creaked open. Johnny twisted around and clenched through the pain.
It was the girl from behind the window. He watched her as she approached, the black... the black gun on her waist glowing in the partial shade. She had what looked like a hammer, too, for whatever reason like she was about to so some carpentry or some shit.
He kept watching from his deck seat over the gently rolling water. He nudged his duffel bag closer. The plastic bottles sticking out of the flap croaked.
He kept watching as she walked
and walked
and walked
and sat near him. The gun and hammer stayed secure, left alone from human hands.
He felt relieved, somewhat. She seemed non-threatening and all business. Whatever the bitch had to do in this boathouse, it didn't matter if Johnny was here or not.
He spat a hot saliva missile a good few feet into the lake and took another swig of the water bottle in his good hand before watching her again. But not before his stomach grumbled, his eyes flinching as the groan echoed from the walls and the rafters.
His kingdom for a cheeseburger right about now.
It was the girl from behind the window. He watched her as she approached, the black... the black gun on her waist glowing in the partial shade. She had what looked like a hammer, too, for whatever reason like she was about to so some carpentry or some shit.
He kept watching from his deck seat over the gently rolling water. He nudged his duffel bag closer. The plastic bottles sticking out of the flap croaked.
He kept watching as she walked
and walked
and walked
and sat near him. The gun and hammer stayed secure, left alone from human hands.
He felt relieved, somewhat. She seemed non-threatening and all business. Whatever the bitch had to do in this boathouse, it didn't matter if Johnny was here or not.
He spat a hot saliva missile a good few feet into the lake and took another swig of the water bottle in his good hand before watching her again. But not before his stomach grumbled, his eyes flinching as the groan echoed from the walls and the rafters.
His kingdom for a cheeseburger right about now.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Quiet.
Maybe the people in the distance knew each other, and that's why they hadn't come to blows. Something didn't seem entirely correct about that assessment; the peace was too uneasy and fragile in a way anybody was capable of breaking it with an errant twitch. His presence alone would probably shatter it. The moment either one of them spotted him peeping in on them, for instance, would invite violence and trouble his way. But he still watched, with occasional glances behind him or at other surroundings of the lake. This was an open spot, so anybody could approach. By now there was a confirmed presence of people who would simply shoot on sight, people who killed just to kill.
Justin had a reason. They were just random. That's what he told himself, and that's what was true to him. Attention went back to the boat house under a slowly burning, tanning sky.
He considered just sitting on the rock and looking out over the lake, seeming inattentive. If they did spot him and those two really didn't know each other, the peace had a chance of continuing because everybody was just there for the quiet. Nobody actively watched another. But that was a lot of risk for no conceivable reward. He was enjoying the ambiance just fine, with just a little bit of tension.
It would have been nice to have somebody to watch his back, Justin thought wistfully. He stopped short of deluding himself that it would make everything easier. There were cons to having a partner in crime, not the least of which was only one of you could live. Eventually, somebody would turn on somebody.
Actually, maybe these two were on to something.
Maybe the people in the distance knew each other, and that's why they hadn't come to blows. Something didn't seem entirely correct about that assessment; the peace was too uneasy and fragile in a way anybody was capable of breaking it with an errant twitch. His presence alone would probably shatter it. The moment either one of them spotted him peeping in on them, for instance, would invite violence and trouble his way. But he still watched, with occasional glances behind him or at other surroundings of the lake. This was an open spot, so anybody could approach. By now there was a confirmed presence of people who would simply shoot on sight, people who killed just to kill.
Justin had a reason. They were just random. That's what he told himself, and that's what was true to him. Attention went back to the boat house under a slowly burning, tanning sky.
He considered just sitting on the rock and looking out over the lake, seeming inattentive. If they did spot him and those two really didn't know each other, the peace had a chance of continuing because everybody was just there for the quiet. Nobody actively watched another. But that was a lot of risk for no conceivable reward. He was enjoying the ambiance just fine, with just a little bit of tension.
It would have been nice to have somebody to watch his back, Justin thought wistfully. He stopped short of deluding himself that it would make everything easier. There were cons to having a partner in crime, not the least of which was only one of you could live. Eventually, somebody would turn on somebody.
Actually, maybe these two were on to something.
The ground was wet.
Nia made a face for a moment as her body touched the ground, both from the unpleasant dampness and from the stretch on her still-healing wound. She'd had to change out some of the butterfly strips earlier that morning, re-sanitizing, re-bandaging, ignoring the ugly brown stains on her only shirt. It appeared to be healing as well as could be expected, or at the very least there were no signs of sepsis. It would have been an unpleasant and undignified way to go, after everything she had done. At the very least she was loathe to give him the credit.
It hurt, still. Undefined pain given definition. She didn't want the words for it.
The boy was silent. His stomach was not. It was funny, wasn't it? Familiar, almost, though she wasn't certain Aoi's or Garren's had complained in quite the same way but for in her imagination. More of an implication of hunger than a matter of evidence. The body typically began to crave food again five to six hours after last consumption, though it generally would take twice as long for that craving to turn to pain. It would take far longer than most of them had alive to actually starve to death, though every step on that particular journey would be deeply unpleasant.
Was he out of food, she wondered, as though it mattered much.
It did, in another way undefined. Why had she given Garren the energy bar? Why wasn't he dead?
She plucked, from the top of her bag, an orange. The banana from her prize had been her breakfast earlier in the day; she had not wanted to risk any of her prizes rotting in her grasp. Her information on the topic, unfortunately, was limited, but she had been fairly certain that even in the humidity the fruit would not rot in less than two days, and her bet had proven fruitful. The orange was still as pristine as she could hope for. She pressed her thumb through the skin and tore at it carefully, letting the scraps rest on her leg; they were perfectly edible, though less appealing, better saved for later.
The apple core, too. She could have kept it. Garren probably didn't know he could eat the whole thing. Wasteful. Waste of time. Waste of effort.
She pulled off the first section and offered it to the boy.
Undefined self. Undefined future. Her head hurt. What was she doing? She should shoot him. She could shoot him. Later. Always later.
Nia made a face for a moment as her body touched the ground, both from the unpleasant dampness and from the stretch on her still-healing wound. She'd had to change out some of the butterfly strips earlier that morning, re-sanitizing, re-bandaging, ignoring the ugly brown stains on her only shirt. It appeared to be healing as well as could be expected, or at the very least there were no signs of sepsis. It would have been an unpleasant and undignified way to go, after everything she had done. At the very least she was loathe to give him the credit.
It hurt, still. Undefined pain given definition. She didn't want the words for it.
The boy was silent. His stomach was not. It was funny, wasn't it? Familiar, almost, though she wasn't certain Aoi's or Garren's had complained in quite the same way but for in her imagination. More of an implication of hunger than a matter of evidence. The body typically began to crave food again five to six hours after last consumption, though it generally would take twice as long for that craving to turn to pain. It would take far longer than most of them had alive to actually starve to death, though every step on that particular journey would be deeply unpleasant.
Was he out of food, she wondered, as though it mattered much.
It did, in another way undefined. Why had she given Garren the energy bar? Why wasn't he dead?
She plucked, from the top of her bag, an orange. The banana from her prize had been her breakfast earlier in the day; she had not wanted to risk any of her prizes rotting in her grasp. Her information on the topic, unfortunately, was limited, but she had been fairly certain that even in the humidity the fruit would not rot in less than two days, and her bet had proven fruitful. The orange was still as pristine as she could hope for. She pressed her thumb through the skin and tore at it carefully, letting the scraps rest on her leg; they were perfectly edible, though less appealing, better saved for later.
The apple core, too. She could have kept it. Garren probably didn't know he could eat the whole thing. Wasteful. Waste of time. Waste of effort.
She pulled off the first section and offered it to the boy.
Undefined self. Undefined future. Her head hurt. What was she doing? She should shoot him. She could shoot him. Later. Always later.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Johnny snatched the orange slice and tore into it in a snarling frenzy, nearly shredding his own hand open with his canines as the orange screamed for mercy and sprayed its sinewy juices in agony.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his good hand. The acidic residue burned on his lips. He hated oranges.
And then he kept watching the girl.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his good hand. The acidic residue burned on his lips. He hated oranges.
And then he kept watching the girl.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Justin decided to chance it.
His own food supplies were running low. He couldn't tell from this distance what the two of them were eating, but food was food, and this served as the best chance to try and seize a peaceful moment for his gain. So he tried his plan of coming out behind the rock and merely sitting on it, adopting the appearance of somebody who wasn't trying to hide. He turned his head toward the lake, but his eyes stayed on the boat house. His hand slid up and down the tire iron, gliding along the slightly rough textured grip and then slipping down the smoother, slippery part. Despite it looking rusty in parts, other bits looked pristine, as if it had been polished. Justin wouldn't be surprised if it turned out his constantly working at it from worry contributed to that.
Watching them while trying to look like he wasn't watching them, he sat and he waited.
His own food supplies were running low. He couldn't tell from this distance what the two of them were eating, but food was food, and this served as the best chance to try and seize a peaceful moment for his gain. So he tried his plan of coming out behind the rock and merely sitting on it, adopting the appearance of somebody who wasn't trying to hide. He turned his head toward the lake, but his eyes stayed on the boat house. His hand slid up and down the tire iron, gliding along the slightly rough textured grip and then slipping down the smoother, slippery part. Despite it looking rusty in parts, other bits looked pristine, as if it had been polished. Justin wouldn't be surprised if it turned out his constantly working at it from worry contributed to that.
Watching them while trying to look like he wasn't watching them, he sat and he waited.
She giggled. A sharp, choking exhale. The rest could wait.
She popped the second section of orangeb into her mouth. A pleasant distraction from the taste of stale, wet air. It was an odd sight, the sunset, not because there was anything unusual about it objectively, but because she wanted to look at it. She remembered days ago telling Alexander she'd wanted to go to the waterfall just to see it, and she hadn't lied, but the rushing water inspired nothing she hadn't felt from a million photographs. What had changed, since then?
Her body count. A few dozen more bodies besides. It didn't matter. The sky matched the fruit squeezed between her teeth.
Alexander felt like a distant dream. His last words, at least, still rang clear.
Live, Nia. Even if you have to kill every last bastard in your way.
She noticed, then, the faintest of motions out the window, out of the corner of her eye. The sort of minor flicker that would pass by entirely without note in the real world, a passing bird, a leave floating on the breeze, a gnat. Only her heightened paranoia made her take notice of it at all, and here, in this odd eye of the storm she'd found herself dwelling in, she suddenly found herself loathe to acknowledge it. Not acknowledging it, of course, was potentially suicide. She remembered the previous morning, fetching her rifle and breakfast, as safe as she could hope to be and yet besot with too much tension to properly enjoy it.
Objectively she should feel more fear now, not less. The knowledge that a gunshot through the window would kill her dining companion and not her was really all she had by way of comfort.
But she nodded at him, and tilted her head toward the window. Someone would shoot him, or they wouldn't. Her legs tensed. The rest of her rejected the motion.
Live, Nia, he said. She wouldn't forget. Could you take a time out from living without dying? This qualified as a stress test of the concept.
She popped the second section of orangeb into her mouth. A pleasant distraction from the taste of stale, wet air. It was an odd sight, the sunset, not because there was anything unusual about it objectively, but because she wanted to look at it. She remembered days ago telling Alexander she'd wanted to go to the waterfall just to see it, and she hadn't lied, but the rushing water inspired nothing she hadn't felt from a million photographs. What had changed, since then?
Her body count. A few dozen more bodies besides. It didn't matter. The sky matched the fruit squeezed between her teeth.
Alexander felt like a distant dream. His last words, at least, still rang clear.
Live, Nia. Even if you have to kill every last bastard in your way.
She noticed, then, the faintest of motions out the window, out of the corner of her eye. The sort of minor flicker that would pass by entirely without note in the real world, a passing bird, a leave floating on the breeze, a gnat. Only her heightened paranoia made her take notice of it at all, and here, in this odd eye of the storm she'd found herself dwelling in, she suddenly found herself loathe to acknowledge it. Not acknowledging it, of course, was potentially suicide. She remembered the previous morning, fetching her rifle and breakfast, as safe as she could hope to be and yet besot with too much tension to properly enjoy it.
Objectively she should feel more fear now, not less. The knowledge that a gunshot through the window would kill her dining companion and not her was really all she had by way of comfort.
But she nodded at him, and tilted her head toward the window. Someone would shoot him, or they wouldn't. Her legs tensed. The rest of her rejected the motion.
Live, Nia, he said. She wouldn't forget. Could you take a time out from living without dying? This qualified as a stress test of the concept.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
The girl laughed. Johnny sneered and turned his head back to the lake. Was there something fucking funny?
He turned back around, and now she was staring at the window like she saw a ghost or somethin'. She nodded her head to him, like she wanted him to go take a look.
Ugh, women. Fine.
He pushed himself up and off the deck, every nerve giving him a friendly reminder about the goddamn hole in his arm. But he was able to get up and stumbled to the dirty window.
Justin was here, in clear view. Just sitting on a rock, some sorta tire iron caressed in his hands. Waiting.
Fuck. Fatass must've seen the girl come in.
He clenched his teeth. Fuck...
Fuck!!
He pounded his fist on the windowsill and stepped away. His eyes darted everywhere as he paced around the boathouse.
He fucked up. Fucked up big. This really... really might've been it.
He turned back around, and now she was staring at the window like she saw a ghost or somethin'. She nodded her head to him, like she wanted him to go take a look.
Ugh, women. Fine.
He pushed himself up and off the deck, every nerve giving him a friendly reminder about the goddamn hole in his arm. But he was able to get up and stumbled to the dirty window.
Justin was here, in clear view. Just sitting on a rock, some sorta tire iron caressed in his hands. Waiting.
Fuck. Fatass must've seen the girl come in.
He clenched his teeth. Fuck...
Fuck!!
He pounded his fist on the windowsill and stepped away. His eyes darted everywhere as he paced around the boathouse.
He fucked up. Fucked up big. This really... really might've been it.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Justin thought he saw motion in that window, like there was a shape of greater complexity than just dust or the warping of glass before it was gone. It was like those old photos meant to spook you, the ones where there's supposedly a ghostly face in the window of the attic and it's supposed to belong to an old woman that owned the house previously before she passed in untimely fashion. Unsure of what he had seen, or if he had seen anything, his mind was left to fill the blanks and paint revisited images of what he might have seen, varying in vividness and clarity.
There was another face, this one far less ambiguous. Well, never mind, he definitely knew what he saw that time. Whoever was in that boathouse finally spotted him and knew he was there.
No gunfire yet, which was encouraging. But it wasn't a safe bet there wouldn't be any gunfire in the near future, but he wasn't accomplishing anything just sitting on this rock with his thumb up his ass. His stomach gurgled to remind him what he stood to gain. Justin stood up, cradling the tire iron to his chest as he scooted off the rock and began to walk closer.
Don't shoot. Don't shoot. Don't shoot. I don't want to kill you.
Yet.
There was another face, this one far less ambiguous. Well, never mind, he definitely knew what he saw that time. Whoever was in that boathouse finally spotted him and knew he was there.
No gunfire yet, which was encouraging. But it wasn't a safe bet there wouldn't be any gunfire in the near future, but he wasn't accomplishing anything just sitting on this rock with his thumb up his ass. His stomach gurgled to remind him what he stood to gain. Justin stood up, cradling the tire iron to his chest as he scooted off the rock and began to walk closer.
Don't shoot. Don't shoot. Don't shoot. I don't want to kill you.
Yet.
Stress test was maybe unfortunate phrasing in a situation where stress could easily be fatal.
Looking back, it was difficult to pinpoint the moment at which Nia had erred; that, in itself, was distressing, as it indicated some severe lapse in her attentiveness to her own actions. The hours since Aoi had been disposed of had dragged by without much to comment on, only the announcements interrupting a mindless fugue that only truly ended when she'd spotted the boy in the boathouse. That was her first mistake, allowing inactivity to be processed as boredom for so long. A lack of reason to be attentive did not excuse inattentiveness. The boy in the garden had been inattentive. Where had that left him?
He'd been standing in the wrong place, at the wrong time. As though he was unaware of the danger, or at least as though he was too stupid to consider the consequences of his inaction. Standing there. Not bothering to run, even, not until it was too late.
She looked at the boy in front of her, banging on the window pane.
What had changed?
She'd handed him a piece of her orange. She hadn't seriously considered shooting him. Not really. Why?
She had only begun to consider the question when his fist hit the windowsill. The sharp sound breaking her out of some sort of illogical reverie she hadn't noticed herself falling into. She'd wasted a slice of orange on him, she'd wasted her perfectly edible apple core on Garren, even, the day before, why, they hadn't done anything to her, certainly, neither had Bill. Neither had Aoi, not really, though his existence was an obstacle she had no other means of removing. She refused to regret that action, at least.
The lack of a gunshot cracking through the window proved circumstances were not irreversibly damaged by her own failures. Someone was coming, that someone did not have a gun, they might not even be looking to hurt them, though Nia was not inclined to bank on that possibility. Perhaps they had personal issues with the boy, perhaps that was the cause of his panic. It didn't matter. He didn't matter. She didn't even know his name.
She did not run. Not yet. The risk of setting off the boy further was too great; he might well forget her generosity and target her. Wait for an opening. There would always be an opening. It was so easy, slipping back into herself. She had no excuse for losing that for so long.
She remembered tucking under the pier with her prizes, once again. Unable to relax for the last time it might be permissible.
What had changed?
Something was wrong.
Looking back, it was difficult to pinpoint the moment at which Nia had erred; that, in itself, was distressing, as it indicated some severe lapse in her attentiveness to her own actions. The hours since Aoi had been disposed of had dragged by without much to comment on, only the announcements interrupting a mindless fugue that only truly ended when she'd spotted the boy in the boathouse. That was her first mistake, allowing inactivity to be processed as boredom for so long. A lack of reason to be attentive did not excuse inattentiveness. The boy in the garden had been inattentive. Where had that left him?
He'd been standing in the wrong place, at the wrong time. As though he was unaware of the danger, or at least as though he was too stupid to consider the consequences of his inaction. Standing there. Not bothering to run, even, not until it was too late.
She looked at the boy in front of her, banging on the window pane.
What had changed?
She'd handed him a piece of her orange. She hadn't seriously considered shooting him. Not really. Why?
She had only begun to consider the question when his fist hit the windowsill. The sharp sound breaking her out of some sort of illogical reverie she hadn't noticed herself falling into. She'd wasted a slice of orange on him, she'd wasted her perfectly edible apple core on Garren, even, the day before, why, they hadn't done anything to her, certainly, neither had Bill. Neither had Aoi, not really, though his existence was an obstacle she had no other means of removing. She refused to regret that action, at least.
The lack of a gunshot cracking through the window proved circumstances were not irreversibly damaged by her own failures. Someone was coming, that someone did not have a gun, they might not even be looking to hurt them, though Nia was not inclined to bank on that possibility. Perhaps they had personal issues with the boy, perhaps that was the cause of his panic. It didn't matter. He didn't matter. She didn't even know his name.
She did not run. Not yet. The risk of setting off the boy further was too great; he might well forget her generosity and target her. Wait for an opening. There would always be an opening. It was so easy, slipping back into herself. She had no excuse for losing that for so long.
She remembered tucking under the pier with her prizes, once again. Unable to relax for the last time it might be permissible.
What had changed?
Something was wrong.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
There was nothing in the boathouse Johnny could use. He kept pacing around the room, rubbing his hand over his sweaty and hot and sticky forehead.
Could maybe hide under the boat, but that'd be too easy. Justin knew they were there. He'd just tear the place up. People with two kills to their name didn't do this shit on accident.
Justin wasn't even visible outside the window anymore.
Fuck.
Johnny took a look at the girl. At the gun.
...Right. She had the gun. Wish he had a name to her face to know if she'd been the kinda person who actually had to use it or not but that was really besides the point now.
He had to trust her.
He gestured at her, wrapping his hands together and forming an L with his thumbs and forefingers.
And then he hobbled over behind the door, behind the hinged side.
And waited.
Could maybe hide under the boat, but that'd be too easy. Justin knew they were there. He'd just tear the place up. People with two kills to their name didn't do this shit on accident.
Justin wasn't even visible outside the window anymore.
Fuck.
Johnny took a look at the girl. At the gun.
...Right. She had the gun. Wish he had a name to her face to know if she'd been the kinda person who actually had to use it or not but that was really besides the point now.
He had to trust her.
He gestured at her, wrapping his hands together and forming an L with his thumbs and forefingers.
And then he hobbled over behind the door, behind the hinged side.
And waited.