Lori backed up when Michael said that the girl had killed Kyle. She scrambled away, grasped the dirt in her fingers, scooting backwards. Claudeson, too, scrambled away, hiding behind some other rocks. She did take one lunge forward, grabbed her owl head, and then pushed with one hand, sending her up and running. She came to a stop behind a rock next to Michael's, because they were allies now. At least, he was more her ally than the other two.
As she made it to cover she heard Claudeson ask her a question.
"I'm a good person!" she called out, somewhat anguished.
Was that true though? Are you a good person?
Not really.
Do you try to be?
Trying is hard.
"Well, maybe I'm not, but I want to be!" she added, amending her answer, leaning against a rock and holding on to her head tightly.
Suddenly she looked over and Violet was next to Michael. Lori backed away from the two of them, looking petrified.
Hoo-hooo's there?
Day 4, open
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Claudeson was still alive, apparently, though Michael wasn't sure where he was. He was still asking questions. Dead people didn't do that.
Lori was still alive, Michael caught a glimpse of her out the corner of his eye. She answered Claudeson's question. It wasn't a great answer, though maybe it actually was a great answer. There were very few good people who outright called themselves good people.
Violet was... somewhere? She was talking to someone.
- She was talking to Michael. She wanted to sit with him. It was a command, not a request. She wanted to sit with him.
His eyes widened and a little itty bitty smile crept onto his face and he felt his face get warm. He was blushing. He was blushing? Was he blushing? He couldn't even remember the last time he'd blushed.
"Cool cool, yeah."
She was behind the rock with him now. He could barely see her, even in his peripheral vision. He sure hoped she wasn't about to murder him.
"Ayyy, uh, yo. Erika's got the BKA prize. Bear's name is Bearyl. Robe's in the backpack right now. I think," he turned his head toward her a bit, enough to almost make eye contact. "- I think we're gonna be friends," he said softly before looking back forwards.
Lori corrected herself; said she wasn't a good person, but that she wanted to be one. From the corner of his eye, Michael caught her look over at him and Violet and then back away LIKE A SCARED OWL.
"Heyheyheyheyhey hey it's okay. We're okay. We're cool, I think. Lori, I -" he stuttered, and his voice suddenly got darker. "- When you're asked to fight a war that's over nothing, it's best to join the side that's gonna win. Let yourself be a bad person."
Lori was still alive, Michael caught a glimpse of her out the corner of his eye. She answered Claudeson's question. It wasn't a great answer, though maybe it actually was a great answer. There were very few good people who outright called themselves good people.
Violet was... somewhere? She was talking to someone.
- She was talking to Michael. She wanted to sit with him. It was a command, not a request. She wanted to sit with him.
His eyes widened and a little itty bitty smile crept onto his face and he felt his face get warm. He was blushing. He was blushing? Was he blushing? He couldn't even remember the last time he'd blushed.
"Cool cool, yeah."
She was behind the rock with him now. He could barely see her, even in his peripheral vision. He sure hoped she wasn't about to murder him.
"Ayyy, uh, yo. Erika's got the BKA prize. Bear's name is Bearyl. Robe's in the backpack right now. I think," he turned his head toward her a bit, enough to almost make eye contact. "- I think we're gonna be friends," he said softly before looking back forwards.
Lori corrected herself; said she wasn't a good person, but that she wanted to be one. From the corner of his eye, Michael caught her look over at him and Violet and then back away LIKE A SCARED OWL.
"Heyheyheyheyhey hey it's okay. We're okay. We're cool, I think. Lori, I -" he stuttered, and his voice suddenly got darker. "- When you're asked to fight a war that's over nothing, it's best to join the side that's gonna win. Let yourself be a bad person."
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Hiding behind the rocks, Claudeson listened to the words coming from all around him. The voices seemed almost otherworldly amid the distant din of the falls and the rain. Otherworldly; perhaps in another lifetime. He no longer subscribed to such folly. There would be no more lying to himself, to others. These people were barely shells of their former selves, and yet — the voice of the second robed figure was distant, inaudible. Michael's true colours were apparent even as he encouraged Lori to do bad things, appealed to whatever he believed was within her.
And yet — honesty. Shocking honesty, even.
Claudeson appreciated it.
"That is admirable, Lori," he called out from behind the rocks. "Michael is mistaken, of course. I do not wish to kill you; even hurt you! That is not my aim."
Michael, on the other hand — he had chosen his side. He had fallen to his fate. Claudeson knew that the scrawny introvert had fallen victim to impulses; whether he had suppressed them all along or not, he knew exactly what kind of person Michael was. If he had the opportunity, he would inflict unspeakable pain upon him. A penance, paid in blood. Not to a higher power or any type of God-like figure, but to Claudeson himself. Michael would pay for the pain that he was planning to inflict upon others.
He imagined the boy's visage, strung upon a tree, Min-jae's bolts piercing his flesh, blood running down his limbs; eye sockets staring vacantly out into the distance. Such a fate was what Michael deserved, what he deemed an appropriate punishment for the boy's transgressions — past and future. As the mental picture ran through his mind's eye, his stomach turned-over and he fought to keep whatever meal he had eaten down.
Bryan's face flashed through his mind. Whole and smiling.
Then distorted and broken.
For a brief moment, Claudeson felt a surge of guilt — then nothing.
"We have all done bad things, but the way that we conduct ourselves is based purely on the content of our character. If you try and do good, Lori, you will not go wrong. Let me help you find your path!" Michael would kill her; of that he was certain.
Salvation could take many forms.
"Come with me, Lori! Come with me and I will help you understand your place."
A lie, but Claudeson knew that Michael would only encourage mayhem. For someone as conflicted as she, it would be a fatal decision.
And yet — honesty. Shocking honesty, even.
Claudeson appreciated it.
"That is admirable, Lori," he called out from behind the rocks. "Michael is mistaken, of course. I do not wish to kill you; even hurt you! That is not my aim."
Michael, on the other hand — he had chosen his side. He had fallen to his fate. Claudeson knew that the scrawny introvert had fallen victim to impulses; whether he had suppressed them all along or not, he knew exactly what kind of person Michael was. If he had the opportunity, he would inflict unspeakable pain upon him. A penance, paid in blood. Not to a higher power or any type of God-like figure, but to Claudeson himself. Michael would pay for the pain that he was planning to inflict upon others.
He imagined the boy's visage, strung upon a tree, Min-jae's bolts piercing his flesh, blood running down his limbs; eye sockets staring vacantly out into the distance. Such a fate was what Michael deserved, what he deemed an appropriate punishment for the boy's transgressions — past and future. As the mental picture ran through his mind's eye, his stomach turned-over and he fought to keep whatever meal he had eaten down.
Bryan's face flashed through his mind. Whole and smiling.
Then distorted and broken.
For a brief moment, Claudeson felt a surge of guilt — then nothing.
"We have all done bad things, but the way that we conduct ourselves is based purely on the content of our character. If you try and do good, Lori, you will not go wrong. Let me help you find your path!" Michael would kill her; of that he was certain.
Salvation could take many forms.
"Come with me, Lori! Come with me and I will help you understand your place."
A lie, but Claudeson knew that Michael would only encourage mayhem. For someone as conflicted as she, it would be a fatal decision.
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: Here And There Along The Echo
- Contact:
"Bear-yl," Violet repeated without a smile.
He offered information that she did not ask for. It was good information, anyway, but she wondered why it was still being fed to her. She had not made any requests of the universe to provide her with any worthwhile knowledge or foresight about the others on this island, and yet here she was, learning of who got the last BKA prize as if she had asked about it, in the same serendipitous synchronicity that she was used to as the result of careful manipulation of realm dynamics and the law of attraction. At this, she blinked. Something was strange. Things were going well. They were not supposed to be. She had set herself on a path of rapidly escalating tragedies, and on that path the only reason moments of reprieve could exist was in the form of preludes to greater catastrophe. Manufactured calms before orchestrated storms.
From Michael, she did not get that sense. His enthusiasm was earnest, if manic. There was a head in his backpack. It smelled. If Violet was correct in her assumption that perhaps the nature of her downward spiral was not as she had anticipated, then maybe she had bumble-stumbled into something that indicated she was not beyond hope. At the very least, it showed her that she had not been totally abandoned by her magick. The idea crept to the forefront of her imagination that there was certainly at least one avenue she had not considered in her earlier dismissal of the supernatural as a means of manipulating her odds of success. It was not the side of things that she was used to operating on, but it was the only option, now. That's what this was telling her, yes. A gentle nudge in the direction of salvation.
The left hand path.
She'd need the head.
Not now, though. Lori and Claudeson were having an argument, and Michael was interjecting. She'd keep herself out of it, because she really had nothing to say. It wasn't necessary to participate, strictly speaking, so there was no use in it. By keeping herself out of this trouble verbally, she left her intentions with the universe vague. Say the wrong thing, and the left hand path might close itself off to her, and she'd be down the creek without a paddle. Say the right thing, and the world around her may erupt in chaos.
But she had something that could do the talking for her.
Under her breath, she muttered to Michael,
"Let me know if I need to shoot."
He offered information that she did not ask for. It was good information, anyway, but she wondered why it was still being fed to her. She had not made any requests of the universe to provide her with any worthwhile knowledge or foresight about the others on this island, and yet here she was, learning of who got the last BKA prize as if she had asked about it, in the same serendipitous synchronicity that she was used to as the result of careful manipulation of realm dynamics and the law of attraction. At this, she blinked. Something was strange. Things were going well. They were not supposed to be. She had set herself on a path of rapidly escalating tragedies, and on that path the only reason moments of reprieve could exist was in the form of preludes to greater catastrophe. Manufactured calms before orchestrated storms.
From Michael, she did not get that sense. His enthusiasm was earnest, if manic. There was a head in his backpack. It smelled. If Violet was correct in her assumption that perhaps the nature of her downward spiral was not as she had anticipated, then maybe she had bumble-stumbled into something that indicated she was not beyond hope. At the very least, it showed her that she had not been totally abandoned by her magick. The idea crept to the forefront of her imagination that there was certainly at least one avenue she had not considered in her earlier dismissal of the supernatural as a means of manipulating her odds of success. It was not the side of things that she was used to operating on, but it was the only option, now. That's what this was telling her, yes. A gentle nudge in the direction of salvation.
The left hand path.
She'd need the head.
Not now, though. Lori and Claudeson were having an argument, and Michael was interjecting. She'd keep herself out of it, because she really had nothing to say. It wasn't necessary to participate, strictly speaking, so there was no use in it. By keeping herself out of this trouble verbally, she left her intentions with the universe vague. Say the wrong thing, and the left hand path might close itself off to her, and she'd be down the creek without a paddle. Say the right thing, and the world around her may erupt in chaos.
But she had something that could do the talking for her.
Under her breath, she muttered to Michael,
"Let me know if I need to shoot."
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Lori shrank away from Michael and Violet, stepping backwards away from them in halting, unsure steps. He was going to abandon her for Violet. If Violet said that maybe they should just kill her now for whatever weird demon things she worshiped or just because who was going to miss Lori, he'd probably do it. She saw his face when he talked to Violet and she just knew; she'd seen it before when people were talking to her and then turned away to talk to someone else they were actually excited to see.
He told her that she shouldn't aspire to being a good person and should just give up and be bad.
She didn't think she was a good person, but she wanted to be one because people liked good people. That's who you admired. If she helped people, then that would make them happy and in turn, people would like her.
Lori stuck the owl head on her head so that she could be alone for a moment. She didn't really want them to see her like this. She sniffled a bit and gloomily looked down. Everyone here had a weapon except her and they were all murderers. Lori was a sitting duck owl and as she was used to, she was severely disadvantaged compared to the people around her.
Then Claudeson called out to her, saying that she'd misunderstood his intentions and that she should go with him. She poked her fluffy head out to see beyond the rocks she'd taken shelter behind.
The fact that he believed what she had done before wasn't as important as future conduct made her feel hopeful.
"Um," she said loudly enough for it to be heard behind her second face. "
Lori glanced back and saw Violet whispering something to Michael. The fear on her face didn't show behind the mask as the two murderers conspired.
"Yuh -- you think I cuh -- could be?" she said, not sure of where Claudeson was.
He told her that she shouldn't aspire to being a good person and should just give up and be bad.
She didn't think she was a good person, but she wanted to be one because people liked good people. That's who you admired. If she helped people, then that would make them happy and in turn, people would like her.
Lori stuck the owl head on her head so that she could be alone for a moment. She didn't really want them to see her like this. She sniffled a bit and gloomily looked down. Everyone here had a weapon except her and they were all murderers. Lori was a sitting duck owl and as she was used to, she was severely disadvantaged compared to the people around her.
Then Claudeson called out to her, saying that she'd misunderstood his intentions and that she should go with him. She poked her fluffy head out to see beyond the rocks she'd taken shelter behind.
The fact that he believed what she had done before wasn't as important as future conduct made her feel hopeful.
"Um," she said loudly enough for it to be heard behind her second face. "
Lori glanced back and saw Violet whispering something to Michael. The fear on her face didn't show behind the mask as the two murderers conspired.
"Yuh -- you think I cuh -- could be?" she said, not sure of where Claudeson was.
"We have all done bad things, but the way that we conduct ourselves is based purely on the content of our character," Claudeson said. There was a brief moment of lucidity in Michael's mind, his eyes staring into the distance like a deer staring into headlights. He felt the cool mist of the waterfall against his face. It wasn't about what you did. It was about why you did. The person he was to Claude (and had been testing out with Erika) — 'Scary Michael' — was nothing but a character, he was pretty sure. He'd been ripping off parts of Lorne Malvo from season one of Fargo. People needed a villain.
Michael had tried to die over and over again, and the universe had said 'No! Not yet.'
People needed a villain.
The universe wanted him to be a villain.
The universe didn't want anything. It was a thing. It was only a thing. It didn't have thoughts or motives.
Michael had needed a villain.
He was his own villain.
Lucidity was scary and hurt really really bad and Michael didn't like it anymore so he pushed it back down again. He felt better now. Violet said she was ready to shoot on his command.
Agency. A new kind of agency, one Michael still wasn't used to. He was used to the universe making decisions for him. He liked things that way; it took the pressure off.
He'd always been afraid of making his own decisions. He'd always been afraid of changing the outcome of things. He'd always been afraid of accidentally hurting people.
He'd never really wanted to exist to anybody except himself.
Lucidity was nothing if not persistent. He pushed it down again again.
"Depends on who's being shot," he whispered. He was aware Violet may have been giving him a trick question. He himself had just done something similar while Claude was aiming the crossbow at Lori. "But, uh, don't shoot anyone yet."
Speaking of Lori, she was The Owl now. It was an odd choice to make, putting the owl head on; especially in a situation when you were surrounded by murderers with guns. She seemed to be buying into Claude's bullshit. She sounded like...
...she was crying. She was crying. Something someone here had done was making her cry, and judging by who she was listening to, it had been Michael who'd done it.
Something in his heart twinged. He didn't... he didn't want Lori to hurt. He wanted her to do what she needed to do to die happy.
He... he cared about her. Not a selfish care like the one he was feeling for Violet, but... a kinship, almost.
He closed his eyes and inhaled softly, turning his head towards The Lorowl. When he opened his eyes, he was crying a little bit. He didn't want Violet to see it.
"Lori -" he grimaced, the emotion almost breaking all the way through. "- you should - you should go with Claude. Hold on to your heart."
He blinked the tears away; pushed everything down. He turned his head back towards Violet. His voice was a low, rough whisper; more a growl than anything else.
"If Claude tries anything funny, shoot."
Michael had tried to die over and over again, and the universe had said 'No! Not yet.'
People needed a villain.
The universe wanted him to be a villain.
The universe didn't want anything. It was a thing. It was only a thing. It didn't have thoughts or motives.
Michael had needed a villain.
He was his own villain.
Lucidity was scary and hurt really really bad and Michael didn't like it anymore so he pushed it back down again. He felt better now. Violet said she was ready to shoot on his command.
Agency. A new kind of agency, one Michael still wasn't used to. He was used to the universe making decisions for him. He liked things that way; it took the pressure off.
He'd always been afraid of making his own decisions. He'd always been afraid of changing the outcome of things. He'd always been afraid of accidentally hurting people.
He'd never really wanted to exist to anybody except himself.
Lucidity was nothing if not persistent. He pushed it down again again.
"Depends on who's being shot," he whispered. He was aware Violet may have been giving him a trick question. He himself had just done something similar while Claude was aiming the crossbow at Lori. "But, uh, don't shoot anyone yet."
Speaking of Lori, she was The Owl now. It was an odd choice to make, putting the owl head on; especially in a situation when you were surrounded by murderers with guns. She seemed to be buying into Claude's bullshit. She sounded like...
...she was crying. She was crying. Something someone here had done was making her cry, and judging by who she was listening to, it had been Michael who'd done it.
Something in his heart twinged. He didn't... he didn't want Lori to hurt. He wanted her to do what she needed to do to die happy.
He... he cared about her. Not a selfish care like the one he was feeling for Violet, but... a kinship, almost.
He closed his eyes and inhaled softly, turning his head towards The Lorowl. When he opened his eyes, he was crying a little bit. He didn't want Violet to see it.
"Lori -" he grimaced, the emotion almost breaking all the way through. "- you should - you should go with Claude. Hold on to your heart."
He blinked the tears away; pushed everything down. He turned his head back towards Violet. His voice was a low, rough whisper; more a growl than anything else.
"If Claude tries anything funny, shoot."
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Of course — it all made perfect sense to Claudeson now that he saw it in his mind's eye. It was clear as day to him, the revelation almost filling him with a sense of joy. If only his body were capable of that emotion anymore. Instead, he soundlessly began to cry. The smile upon his face was joyous, and the darkness within his heart continued to wallow, sucking in every bit of positive energy it could find. Yes, this was exactly what he needed to do.
He could help Lori discover herself.
"Each of us are capable of great things, Lori. Each of us must discover what our greatness is; where it lay. I can help you! You believe yourself to be impure; not good. But it is up to you to decide what type of goodness you can find within. You have the want; I believe in you."
Claudeson waited a moment, wiping the tears from his eyes and glancing down at the pistol in his hand.
"Allow me to help you find your goodness, Lori. Help me make up for the damage I have caused," he shut his eyes, inhaled deeply, and opened them again. "Help me do right by you."
He had listened to so many lies over the years.
God loves you.
God is listening.
Goodness is innate.
Hard work pays off.
Religion is a guideline for a healthy life.
Each life has a purpose.
The lines went on and on and on, and each one made Claudeson feel sick to his stomach. He had to atone; for the lies that he had listened to, that he had believed. If he could help Lori understand her true self, find a sense of positivity and peace within herself, she could accomplish great things in the time she had left to her. Squeezing the butt-stock of Min-jae, Claudeson knew that he could protect her, allowing her to see the true meaning of the world while facing adversity that she could not yet fathom. She hid beneath the owl costume, thinking her true self was beyond redemption. Perhaps she did not deserve salvation, but perhaps she could find a way to open herself to a new path.
Eventually, perhaps she could help him; casting down people like Michael, like Tyrell. People whose actions and whose inner thoughts were strictly bad. People who used religion as a crutch; used the island and their circumstances as an excuse to do evil. If he could help her understand; she could be his ally. They could strike back and show those evil people what penance truly was.
One cannot shoot their pistol if they do not possess fingers.
You cannot knife someone if the skin has been removed from your hands.
Poisoners cannot risk poisoning themselves if they do not have a tongue to taste the difference.
Lori could help. Claudeson saw it so clearly. Expectantly, he waited, waiting with the pistol in his hands. If MIchael or the other girl came around the boulder, he would shoot them. Not fatally, but enough to deter them from their hellish pathway of destruction.
"I will not hurt you, Lori. I promise. We can find your goodness, together. Please, come with me."
He had so much he could teach her.
He could help Lori discover herself.
"Each of us are capable of great things, Lori. Each of us must discover what our greatness is; where it lay. I can help you! You believe yourself to be impure; not good. But it is up to you to decide what type of goodness you can find within. You have the want; I believe in you."
Claudeson waited a moment, wiping the tears from his eyes and glancing down at the pistol in his hand.
"Allow me to help you find your goodness, Lori. Help me make up for the damage I have caused," he shut his eyes, inhaled deeply, and opened them again. "Help me do right by you."
He had listened to so many lies over the years.
God loves you.
God is listening.
Goodness is innate.
Hard work pays off.
Religion is a guideline for a healthy life.
Each life has a purpose.
The lines went on and on and on, and each one made Claudeson feel sick to his stomach. He had to atone; for the lies that he had listened to, that he had believed. If he could help Lori understand her true self, find a sense of positivity and peace within herself, she could accomplish great things in the time she had left to her. Squeezing the butt-stock of Min-jae, Claudeson knew that he could protect her, allowing her to see the true meaning of the world while facing adversity that she could not yet fathom. She hid beneath the owl costume, thinking her true self was beyond redemption. Perhaps she did not deserve salvation, but perhaps she could find a way to open herself to a new path.
Eventually, perhaps she could help him; casting down people like Michael, like Tyrell. People whose actions and whose inner thoughts were strictly bad. People who used religion as a crutch; used the island and their circumstances as an excuse to do evil. If he could help her understand; she could be his ally. They could strike back and show those evil people what penance truly was.
One cannot shoot their pistol if they do not possess fingers.
You cannot knife someone if the skin has been removed from your hands.
Poisoners cannot risk poisoning themselves if they do not have a tongue to taste the difference.
Lori could help. Claudeson saw it so clearly. Expectantly, he waited, waiting with the pistol in his hands. If MIchael or the other girl came around the boulder, he would shoot them. Not fatally, but enough to deter them from their hellish pathway of destruction.
"I will not hurt you, Lori. I promise. We can find your goodness, together. Please, come with me."
He had so much he could teach her.
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: Here And There Along The Echo
- Contact:
First, a warning against. Then, a criteria for. But the instruction was still unclear. What constituted something worth shooting at? It looked, from here, like whatever Claudeson was about to do, Lori was wanting. She was peeking past her rock and looking over towards him, still encased in the owl costume. Claudeson stayed behind his own rock. Violet didn't dare move past the boulder, despite her proximity with Michael. It was unnerving, to say the least, how much she had to tolerate in order to get what she wanted. But of course, she never intended to shoot. Fate was dangling in front of her the key to her survival; she just had to find the right moment to grab it.
And that would likely be whenever Michael finally broke. Whenever he decided that she needed to fire. That would be, naturally, the most chaotic moment between the four of them. Someone would step out of line. Do the wrong thing. Say the wrong words. All hell would break loose and, in the confusion, Violet would take the head. She felt bad, but it was necessary. For her. It wasn't unlike a prank she'd play. Just messing. She could give the head back when she was done, if there was still a person to give it back to. Maybe she'd make sure there wasn't.
That was one way to do things. Michael tells her to fire, she turns and fires at him. He gets what he asks for, and it's sort of funny, in a Looney Tunes sort of way. Violet season, Michael season. And it would still fall under the blanket of necessity. It would still be just because she needed the head, in order to conduct her ritual and save herself. Just one logical step forward. Violet, on a path downward. Violet, previously believing that there was no way out but through, seeing a ray of hope shining from above. Violet, doing all she could to take that chance. To secure safe passage. Logic, taking long steps.
She remained at the ready behind the boulder, checking and re-checking herself mentally. If there was a hole in her view, she couldn't see it. If she found one, she'd abandon the idea. That was all it would take. Just one hole. Likely small and round. Enter, and exit.
And that would likely be whenever Michael finally broke. Whenever he decided that she needed to fire. That would be, naturally, the most chaotic moment between the four of them. Someone would step out of line. Do the wrong thing. Say the wrong words. All hell would break loose and, in the confusion, Violet would take the head. She felt bad, but it was necessary. For her. It wasn't unlike a prank she'd play. Just messing. She could give the head back when she was done, if there was still a person to give it back to. Maybe she'd make sure there wasn't.
That was one way to do things. Michael tells her to fire, she turns and fires at him. He gets what he asks for, and it's sort of funny, in a Looney Tunes sort of way. Violet season, Michael season. And it would still fall under the blanket of necessity. It would still be just because she needed the head, in order to conduct her ritual and save herself. Just one logical step forward. Violet, on a path downward. Violet, previously believing that there was no way out but through, seeing a ray of hope shining from above. Violet, doing all she could to take that chance. To secure safe passage. Logic, taking long steps.
She remained at the ready behind the boulder, checking and re-checking herself mentally. If there was a hole in her view, she couldn't see it. If she found one, she'd abandon the idea. That was all it would take. Just one hole. Likely small and round. Enter, and exit.
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Lori took off the owl head and looked on as Michael's tears spill down in synchronization with her own. She blinked frantically, tears clinging to her lashes until they broke free and traveled slowly down the planes of her face. She whipped her head around when she heard Claudeson address them again, address her, to be more specific.
Claudeson's rhetoric scared her a little, but the basic message was good. He wanted to make up for what he'd done by helping her, and he believed that she could find some kind of deeper meaning her. It was something that she doubted, but it sounded very appealing. Lori had no idea how that would work. Life hadn't given her a lot of opportunities to try and do the right thing at any time. People tended to railroad her into being hostile and negative, so that's how she had always been.
Michael told her that she should go with Claudeson. He said, "Hold on to your heart."
Her brain told her that she should go with Claudeson, then. Michael had already admitted his was the path of destruction, being bad. That was obviously not good for her since she'd become collateral in that.
As she observed Michael and she felt that sameness in him of whatever she felt. Their tears were sister and brother, somehow.
Lori put the head on her rock and took the few steps to close the gulf, hugging Michael tightly with her owl wings. Maybe he preferred Violet, and maybe he said that they should just give up on decency, but he hadn't pushed her away.
"You're weird," she said with her wavering voice, burying her face into his thin chest. "You're super weird. But you cared about me for a few minutes and almost no one does that. So thanks for trying to help and for talking to me. You're fair. You're ok. Be-ak safe."
Embarrassed, she let go quickly and ran back to her head and bag. She picked them up and ran over to where she heard Claudeson's voice coming from.
Claudeson's rhetoric scared her a little, but the basic message was good. He wanted to make up for what he'd done by helping her, and he believed that she could find some kind of deeper meaning her. It was something that she doubted, but it sounded very appealing. Lori had no idea how that would work. Life hadn't given her a lot of opportunities to try and do the right thing at any time. People tended to railroad her into being hostile and negative, so that's how she had always been.
Michael told her that she should go with Claudeson. He said, "Hold on to your heart."
Her brain told her that she should go with Claudeson, then. Michael had already admitted his was the path of destruction, being bad. That was obviously not good for her since she'd become collateral in that.
As she observed Michael and she felt that sameness in him of whatever she felt. Their tears were sister and brother, somehow.
Lori put the head on her rock and took the few steps to close the gulf, hugging Michael tightly with her owl wings. Maybe he preferred Violet, and maybe he said that they should just give up on decency, but he hadn't pushed her away.
"You're weird," she said with her wavering voice, burying her face into his thin chest. "You're super weird. But you cared about me for a few minutes and almost no one does that. So thanks for trying to help and for talking to me. You're fair. You're ok. Be-ak safe."
Embarrassed, she let go quickly and ran back to her head and bag. She picked them up and ran over to where she heard Claudeson's voice coming from.
Claude talked some more. Violet didn't shoot.
The Owl was Lori again and she was walking towards him and she was crying openly and Michael stood up and he was on autopilot and he could feel something constricting him and he was being engulfed and -
- hug.
He was crying too now and he felt like he was dying and it hurt and his throat let out a shocked choked squeak and he reciprocated the hug with only his left arm because he had a gun in his right hand and he didn't want to accidentally shoot Lori and he could feel her heart beating and he listened to what she had to say and every word hurt because she was dying and he was dying and everyone was dying.
Everyone was dying. Everyone was dying and they knew they were dying but they didn't want to die. Same as it ever was. The island hadn't changed a fucking thing, it was just -
- it was just everyone's personal metaphor. It was just a plot device for the internal narrative. It was a catalyst. It was a lit match setting the fuse of a powder keg alight but the powder keg had always been there.
It made people give in. That was all it did. It hurt people until they gave in; until they broke.
Scary Michael hadn't been a character. He'd been quoting a character but his thoughts were all actual thoughts. Cult Michael hadn't been a character either.
He was who he was. He wasn't who he used to be. That was it. That was the answer.
He felt Lori tear herself away. He let her. "You are a good person," he wanted to say but did not say, because he needed Lori to get away and he knew he would kill her one day if she didn't. "I love you," he wanted to say but did not say, because he was letting go of his heart.
"Be free, fly away," he did say, because he didn't know what else he could still say. He looked at her with teary, vacant, dead eyes.
And he let her go.
And he blinked his tears away for what might have been the last time.
Camila hadn't asked him to kill her. He'd asked her if he could kill her. He hadn't been expecting her to say yes. She hadn't said yes.
But he'd known she wouldn't say no.
She didn't say no.
And that was why he'd killed her.
"Maybe it's for the best that people like us stay away, if we cannot trust ourselves," she had said. She was right.
All that was left of Michael was his name, his pulse, his gun, and the sentences 'Camila Cañizares was the next to go when Michael Froese shot her. In our opinion, it was simple and effective work'.
All Beryl had ever been was a crush. All Bearyl had ever been was a pun.
Michael was a black hole. He was the void. He was a lie. He was nothing. Michael - Michael = Michael.
He wasn't a good person. He wasn't a bad person. He was a person. He was an animal. He was insane. He was a murderer.
He was a robot. He was a meat computer. He was a mechanical music man. He was a killing machine. He was matter and electricity.
He was a nebula. He was a force of chaos. He oscillated into things and sent them into oscillations without losing any of his momentum. He was a perpetual motion machine. He was a perpetual emotion machine.
He was born to lose control. He was the author of his own disaster.
He had a gun. It was his pen.
He knew how to hurt people. The devil had nothing on him.
He wasn't malevolent. He knew this wasn't a zero-sum game. He knew both hugs and drugs led down the same road. He knew nothing that happened here would matter to anybody who wasn't going to die on the island. He knew that wasn't true. He knew the rest of the world would care about the story of the survivor. He knew that was the only person they would care about.
He knew that past this point in the game every death would be a mercy kill. He knew everyone was completely fucked. He knew nobody made it out alive. He knew you could check out any time you wanted, but you could never leave. He knew there were no real winners here except for the people who died early on.
He knew if he ever saw Lori again he would kill her. He didn't want to kill her, but he knew he would.
He was a villain. He didn't know if he could still be anything else. Murder was a utilitarian thing in a place like this.
His superego was a burned-out husk. His ego was burning down; he'd just set it on fire.
He was tired of acting like nobody died.
He was tired of acting.
He was tired.
He was just tired.
He sat back down against the rock and deflated, kind of. His arm grazed against the ground, tearing off the patchwork mesh of band-aids covering the graze wound on his bicep. Violet was still here. He looked up at her, his eyes empty; his face empty. He laughed a single, shallow laugh. He did not smile.
"Here, no one sleeps; one lays up while the other lies down."
A song lyric. He spoke it. He liked speaking in cryptic nonsense. Maybe he'd sing the full song later, maybe he wouldn't.
He didn't care if Violet fired. He didn't care if Claude killed Lori.
He didn't care.
The Owl was Lori again and she was walking towards him and she was crying openly and Michael stood up and he was on autopilot and he could feel something constricting him and he was being engulfed and -
- hug.
He was crying too now and he felt like he was dying and it hurt and his throat let out a shocked choked squeak and he reciprocated the hug with only his left arm because he had a gun in his right hand and he didn't want to accidentally shoot Lori and he could feel her heart beating and he listened to what she had to say and every word hurt because she was dying and he was dying and everyone was dying.
Everyone was dying. Everyone was dying and they knew they were dying but they didn't want to die. Same as it ever was. The island hadn't changed a fucking thing, it was just -
- it was just everyone's personal metaphor. It was just a plot device for the internal narrative. It was a catalyst. It was a lit match setting the fuse of a powder keg alight but the powder keg had always been there.
It made people give in. That was all it did. It hurt people until they gave in; until they broke.
Scary Michael hadn't been a character. He'd been quoting a character but his thoughts were all actual thoughts. Cult Michael hadn't been a character either.
He was who he was. He wasn't who he used to be. That was it. That was the answer.
He felt Lori tear herself away. He let her. "You are a good person," he wanted to say but did not say, because he needed Lori to get away and he knew he would kill her one day if she didn't. "I love you," he wanted to say but did not say, because he was letting go of his heart.
"Be free, fly away," he did say, because he didn't know what else he could still say. He looked at her with teary, vacant, dead eyes.
And he let her go.
And he blinked his tears away for what might have been the last time.
Camila hadn't asked him to kill her. He'd asked her if he could kill her. He hadn't been expecting her to say yes. She hadn't said yes.
But he'd known she wouldn't say no.
She didn't say no.
And that was why he'd killed her.
"Maybe it's for the best that people like us stay away, if we cannot trust ourselves," she had said. She was right.
All that was left of Michael was his name, his pulse, his gun, and the sentences 'Camila Cañizares was the next to go when Michael Froese shot her. In our opinion, it was simple and effective work'.
All Beryl had ever been was a crush. All Bearyl had ever been was a pun.
Michael was a black hole. He was the void. He was a lie. He was nothing. Michael - Michael = Michael.
He wasn't a good person. He wasn't a bad person. He was a person. He was an animal. He was insane. He was a murderer.
He was a robot. He was a meat computer. He was a mechanical music man. He was a killing machine. He was matter and electricity.
He was a nebula. He was a force of chaos. He oscillated into things and sent them into oscillations without losing any of his momentum. He was a perpetual motion machine. He was a perpetual emotion machine.
He was born to lose control. He was the author of his own disaster.
He had a gun. It was his pen.
He knew how to hurt people. The devil had nothing on him.
He wasn't malevolent. He knew this wasn't a zero-sum game. He knew both hugs and drugs led down the same road. He knew nothing that happened here would matter to anybody who wasn't going to die on the island. He knew that wasn't true. He knew the rest of the world would care about the story of the survivor. He knew that was the only person they would care about.
He knew that past this point in the game every death would be a mercy kill. He knew everyone was completely fucked. He knew nobody made it out alive. He knew you could check out any time you wanted, but you could never leave. He knew there were no real winners here except for the people who died early on.
He knew if he ever saw Lori again he would kill her. He didn't want to kill her, but he knew he would.
He was a villain. He didn't know if he could still be anything else. Murder was a utilitarian thing in a place like this.
His superego was a burned-out husk. His ego was burning down; he'd just set it on fire.
He was tired of acting like nobody died.
He was tired of acting.
He was tired.
He was just tired.
He sat back down against the rock and deflated, kind of. His arm grazed against the ground, tearing off the patchwork mesh of band-aids covering the graze wound on his bicep. Violet was still here. He looked up at her, his eyes empty; his face empty. He laughed a single, shallow laugh. He did not smile.
"Here, no one sleeps; one lays up while the other lies down."
A song lyric. He spoke it. He liked speaking in cryptic nonsense. Maybe he'd sing the full song later, maybe he wouldn't.
He didn't care if Violet fired. He didn't care if Claude killed Lori.
He didn't care.
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
He heard discussion from across the way, but Claudeson couldn't make out the exact words that were being spoken. It didn't matter, in the end. Whatever happened next would shape the lives of all of them; perhaps for the better. If Michael came around the side of the boulder, it would undoubtedly shape his for the worse. There was evil here, that much was all too clear to him. Michael would have to be stopped, though he deserved nothing but anguish. For some reason, Claudeson knew that if nothing else, that was a certainty. Perhaps he could flay the skin from his hands, prevent him from shooting anyone else. That would be less of a violent response than shooting him, and it would allow him to live as long as he could. Experience the agony of survival for enough time that he could understand why things had gone the way that—
Was that penance truly enough?
Claudeson's train of thought was interrupted by a form quickly making its way around the boulder. He tensed, but was more than pleased to see that the owl had in fact decided to trust him; to join him. That was a leap — he hesitated to call it faith, because he knew how far that would go — on her behest, and he was thankful to her for having made it.
"Lori," he started warmly, smiling at her. "I am so happy you decided to come with me. I fear Michael shall lead you down a dark path."
His eyes glinted.
"We do not want that, do we?"
Was that penance truly enough?
Claudeson's train of thought was interrupted by a form quickly making its way around the boulder. He tensed, but was more than pleased to see that the owl had in fact decided to trust him; to join him. That was a leap — he hesitated to call it faith, because he knew how far that would go — on her behest, and he was thankful to her for having made it.
"Lori," he started warmly, smiling at her. "I am so happy you decided to come with me. I fear Michael shall lead you down a dark path."
His eyes glinted.
"We do not want that, do we?"
-
MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: Here And There Along The Echo
- Contact:
It was a teddy bear.
She knew that all along. There was no catching of the light in a strange way that made it look like something else. There was no delirious mirage in front of her, poking out of the top of Michael's bag, bloodied and dripping with strips of flesh. Violet was not that far gone. She was not far gone at all. At least, she didn't think so. It was necessary to act the part, perhaps. To enter strangely into a conversation, to rearrange events according to her own whims via the methods of chaos. Chaos Magick was very powerful. Sometimes the train needed to be moved to another track. Just minutes ago these three were together, and with her crazed appearance they were driven apart, and Violet, here, was reaching, struggling, to grab a teddy bear from Michael's bag.
The confusion came in the spiritual energy. Michael poured many of his feelings into this bear, into this makeshift voodoo doll for the dead. It was swirling with an emotional aura one would find in a cadaver. Violet had been to funerals. She had felt the air in the room. It was the same color as this, radiating from plush the same as it would from embalmed skin. It did not matter, for Violet's purposes, if it was a bear or a head. They were both invested in. They were both loved. They both contained magnitudes, different in form though not in velocity.
Violet could almost brush against it with her fingers, now. Michael stood, distracted, holding Lori, who had crossed the distance much faster than Violet thought possible from her perspective. Violet's tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth as her arm stretched beyond itself, shaking as she strained to not move and make noise. If Michael turned, it was all over. If Lori looked over at her, it was also all over. If Claudeson saw from the other side what she was doing, if her joints cracked, if her gun shifted, if her knee hit the ground, it was over, it was over, it was over, it was over.
The hug ended. Violet withdrew quickly. It was over anyway. Michael sat back down, and gave Violet a new order. She didn't appreciate taking orders, from him. She also didn't like cryptic ones. He was sitting a little too close, so she shifted to the side, sure now that it was not in Claudeson's best interest to fire on them. Lori was being spirited away, and Violet was overseeing that transaction. Was she willing to kill over a teddy bear? Perhaps it was the most important teddy bear to ever exist. Perhaps, if she did not take it, she would die. And perhaps she would die anyway.
"I can lay both of them down, if you'd like," Violet offered, holding her gun tightly.
She knew that all along. There was no catching of the light in a strange way that made it look like something else. There was no delirious mirage in front of her, poking out of the top of Michael's bag, bloodied and dripping with strips of flesh. Violet was not that far gone. She was not far gone at all. At least, she didn't think so. It was necessary to act the part, perhaps. To enter strangely into a conversation, to rearrange events according to her own whims via the methods of chaos. Chaos Magick was very powerful. Sometimes the train needed to be moved to another track. Just minutes ago these three were together, and with her crazed appearance they were driven apart, and Violet, here, was reaching, struggling, to grab a teddy bear from Michael's bag.
The confusion came in the spiritual energy. Michael poured many of his feelings into this bear, into this makeshift voodoo doll for the dead. It was swirling with an emotional aura one would find in a cadaver. Violet had been to funerals. She had felt the air in the room. It was the same color as this, radiating from plush the same as it would from embalmed skin. It did not matter, for Violet's purposes, if it was a bear or a head. They were both invested in. They were both loved. They both contained magnitudes, different in form though not in velocity.
Violet could almost brush against it with her fingers, now. Michael stood, distracted, holding Lori, who had crossed the distance much faster than Violet thought possible from her perspective. Violet's tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth as her arm stretched beyond itself, shaking as she strained to not move and make noise. If Michael turned, it was all over. If Lori looked over at her, it was also all over. If Claudeson saw from the other side what she was doing, if her joints cracked, if her gun shifted, if her knee hit the ground, it was over, it was over, it was over, it was over.
The hug ended. Violet withdrew quickly. It was over anyway. Michael sat back down, and gave Violet a new order. She didn't appreciate taking orders, from him. She also didn't like cryptic ones. He was sitting a little too close, so she shifted to the side, sure now that it was not in Claudeson's best interest to fire on them. Lori was being spirited away, and Violet was overseeing that transaction. Was she willing to kill over a teddy bear? Perhaps it was the most important teddy bear to ever exist. Perhaps, if she did not take it, she would die. And perhaps she would die anyway.
"I can lay both of them down, if you'd like," Violet offered, holding her gun tightly.
-
Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Lori nodded in response to Claudeson, slowly, hesitating, punctuated by an unsure smile.
Normally she was a suspicious person, overly pessimistic, some would say. But even scraps could turn off that mode of thinking, but scraps were infrequent, which made her all the more susceptible to them.
"Alright, let's go," she said, bag on her should and head in her hands.
They should leave this place. She felt that Michael understood her (despite initial impressions) , but couldn't help her. Conversely, Claudeson might not have understood her, but wanted to help. That was good enough, she decided.
((Lori Martin continued in Swerve ))
Normally she was a suspicious person, overly pessimistic, some would say. But even scraps could turn off that mode of thinking, but scraps were infrequent, which made her all the more susceptible to them.
"Alright, let's go," she said, bag on her should and head in her hands.
They should leave this place. She felt that Michael understood her (despite initial impressions) , but couldn't help her. Conversely, Claudeson might not have understood her, but wanted to help. That was good enough, she decided.
((Lori Martin continued in Swerve ))
"Mm, I think it'd be more useful to keep them laying up," Michael lied, because he cared about Lori and maybe even Claude a little bit.
He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do any of this.
He cared. He cared so goddamn much. He couldn't kill his empathy. He couldn't kill Michael Froese. Truths slowly unearthed themselves in his mind. His eyes glazed over again as his brain did the thing his brain did.
Was Nia still alive? He'd shot her, he knew that. He just didn't know where he'd shot her. He hoped it had been immediately fatal, because otherwise he'd potentially sentenced Nia to a slow and agonizing death. He'd used Jeremiah's death to hurt her, to goad her into shooting him, and then he'd shot her in the back. If he'd ever been a good person, he knew he wasn't one anymore.
If he ever saw Nia again, he'd show her Jeremiah's last words. She had a right to know them.
Michael didn't know what Beryl's last words had been. He didn't know if Camila's last words had been spoken to him, or to nobody.
He'd never felt guilt over killing Camila. It had been her choice; it would have been cruel to leave her alive. He'd just made her aware of the choice. He'd killed her out of compassion. He felt guilt over the hurt her death caused those who were still alive.
Bearyl had never been about Beryl, had it? It was a metaphor. The name was an incidental pun. The implement of destruction held by the bear too was incidental; it didn't feel right to take it away from the bear. Camila had given it to the bear for a reason. Nobody would ever know the reason; it had died with Camila.
The past was a grotesque animal.
Michael hadn't ever been mourning for just Beryl; at least not since Jeremiah's death, he was pretty sure. He'd been mourning for everyone, alive and dead. Beryl'd just given him an outlet for it; an umbrella to put all the feelings under.
He wasn't sure if he'd ever really loved her. He knew he couldn't still really love her, because she was dead and all she'd ever been was a maybe-mutual crush. She'd been his friend. In life, all she'd ever been to him was a friend.
He'd had so many chances to kill Erika; and he'd chosen not to. He'd known letting Erika have the gun would lead to bad things. He was sure she'd killed again by now. He hadn't felt comfortable not letting her have the gun.
Even after all this time, he was still playing the observer. He was trying his best not to exist. He didn't want to be a bother. He was trying to live life like he was reading a story. He couldn't not exist now. He'd been dragged into the story, head-first. The world knew his name. The island knew his name. Name, gun, efficient, murderer. That was who he was now.
He was still who people needed him to be.
A person couldn't be anyone except themself.
x = x
Michael = Michael
Camila = Camila
He'd thought about mercy killing Benny before he ran away, he remembered. He'd pointed Adam Dodd's gun at Justin, he remembered. He'd threatened to shoot him, he remembered.
The island hadn't changed a goddamn thing about Michael. He'd been broken as soon as he'd woken up on day one. He'd been broken even before that.
Even before the island, he wasn't sure if he could remember what it felt like to be happy. He'd never been young. He'd just pretended.
Michael's life had been one long series of short interminable flashes of electricity. Beryl's life had been one long series of short interminable flashes of electricity. Morgan's life had been one long series of short interminable flashes of electricity. Camila's life had been one long series of short interminable flashes of electricity. Lori's life had been one long series of short interminable flashes of electricity.
That was what life was.
Nothing was inherently anything. Reality was what you made of it. You saw what you believed, not believed what you saw. The past was malleable; the future didn't exist.
He was at peace with death. He'd always been at peace with death.
He'd never been at peace with life.
Any death here was a mercy.
Mercy killer. Killing out of love. Killing out of empathy.
That was what people needed.
No survivors.
Michael blinked. Seconds had passed. He looked up at Violet again. She was unstable, he knew. She had to have had a reason for not shooting him; for giving him authority over whether or not she fired. She had an angle here. Everyone always had an angle; a motive. That was how people worked. Nobody did things for no reason. He looked away briefly. Exhaled. "I, uh..." he trailed off. Inhaled. Looked back to Violet. "...Why give me that decision? I'm not the one pointing a gun at them."
He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do any of this.
He cared. He cared so goddamn much. He couldn't kill his empathy. He couldn't kill Michael Froese. Truths slowly unearthed themselves in his mind. His eyes glazed over again as his brain did the thing his brain did.
Was Nia still alive? He'd shot her, he knew that. He just didn't know where he'd shot her. He hoped it had been immediately fatal, because otherwise he'd potentially sentenced Nia to a slow and agonizing death. He'd used Jeremiah's death to hurt her, to goad her into shooting him, and then he'd shot her in the back. If he'd ever been a good person, he knew he wasn't one anymore.
If he ever saw Nia again, he'd show her Jeremiah's last words. She had a right to know them.
Michael didn't know what Beryl's last words had been. He didn't know if Camila's last words had been spoken to him, or to nobody.
He'd never felt guilt over killing Camila. It had been her choice; it would have been cruel to leave her alive. He'd just made her aware of the choice. He'd killed her out of compassion. He felt guilt over the hurt her death caused those who were still alive.
Bearyl had never been about Beryl, had it? It was a metaphor. The name was an incidental pun. The implement of destruction held by the bear too was incidental; it didn't feel right to take it away from the bear. Camila had given it to the bear for a reason. Nobody would ever know the reason; it had died with Camila.
The past was a grotesque animal.
Michael hadn't ever been mourning for just Beryl; at least not since Jeremiah's death, he was pretty sure. He'd been mourning for everyone, alive and dead. Beryl'd just given him an outlet for it; an umbrella to put all the feelings under.
He wasn't sure if he'd ever really loved her. He knew he couldn't still really love her, because she was dead and all she'd ever been was a maybe-mutual crush. She'd been his friend. In life, all she'd ever been to him was a friend.
He'd had so many chances to kill Erika; and he'd chosen not to. He'd known letting Erika have the gun would lead to bad things. He was sure she'd killed again by now. He hadn't felt comfortable not letting her have the gun.
Even after all this time, he was still playing the observer. He was trying his best not to exist. He didn't want to be a bother. He was trying to live life like he was reading a story. He couldn't not exist now. He'd been dragged into the story, head-first. The world knew his name. The island knew his name. Name, gun, efficient, murderer. That was who he was now.
He was still who people needed him to be.
A person couldn't be anyone except themself.
x = x
Michael = Michael
Camila = Camila
He'd thought about mercy killing Benny before he ran away, he remembered. He'd pointed Adam Dodd's gun at Justin, he remembered. He'd threatened to shoot him, he remembered.
The island hadn't changed a goddamn thing about Michael. He'd been broken as soon as he'd woken up on day one. He'd been broken even before that.
Even before the island, he wasn't sure if he could remember what it felt like to be happy. He'd never been young. He'd just pretended.
Michael's life had been one long series of short interminable flashes of electricity. Beryl's life had been one long series of short interminable flashes of electricity. Morgan's life had been one long series of short interminable flashes of electricity. Camila's life had been one long series of short interminable flashes of electricity. Lori's life had been one long series of short interminable flashes of electricity.
That was what life was.
Nothing was inherently anything. Reality was what you made of it. You saw what you believed, not believed what you saw. The past was malleable; the future didn't exist.
He was at peace with death. He'd always been at peace with death.
He'd never been at peace with life.
Any death here was a mercy.
Mercy killer. Killing out of love. Killing out of empathy.
That was what people needed.
No survivors.
Michael blinked. Seconds had passed. He looked up at Violet again. She was unstable, he knew. She had to have had a reason for not shooting him; for giving him authority over whether or not she fired. She had an angle here. Everyone always had an angle; a motive. That was how people worked. Nobody did things for no reason. He looked away briefly. Exhaled. "I, uh..." he trailed off. Inhaled. Looked back to Violet. "...Why give me that decision? I'm not the one pointing a gun at them."
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Good, excellent. Lori was on board, she was willing. It was an excellent series of events, one that he felt momentarily reinvigorated for having experienced. Everything was still dull in his mind, his emotions but a faded memory of what they once were. Lori was looking for someone to point her in the right direction. Claudeson knew that whatever direction she ended up heading in, he could be a compass for her, a guide through the darkness. She could be his project, his pupil.
He just wasn't entirely sure which direction they would head — towards the light or away from it.
All he could see now were shades of grey.
Smiling a hollow smile, he made his retreat, following Lori away from the area and the damaged duo that hid behind the boulder on the other side of the waterfall area.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued in I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream))
He just wasn't entirely sure which direction they would head — towards the light or away from it.
All he could see now were shades of grey.
Smiling a hollow smile, he made his retreat, following Lori away from the area and the damaged duo that hid behind the boulder on the other side of the waterfall area.
((Claudeson Bademosi continued in I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream))