SOTF Archive/SOTF Classic

Lucas couldn't help but grimace. Even though he was decently sure that Princess was joking, her comment fell neatly into place with how Tyrell had made him feel earlier. Shame poured into him like water in the top of one of those puzzle meme things from Facebook, which basin will fill first, the answer always something stupid that didn't make sense, like him. Katelynne seemed to be asking a pretty genuine question, which eased the pain and soothed the sting, but it didn't heal the wound.

"Yeah, things are fine," Lucas said, "Tyrell went around back to the garden. There's someone else back there—"

He held up the collar tracker and waved it at her.

"—but I don't think he's dangerous, I don't recognize his name from the, uh, thingy, the words that happen, yeah."

His arm fell to his side limply. Nothing else to report. Lucas was better off outside. He needed to guard the entryway. Can't have the Erika boogeyman sneaking up and dakka-dakka-dakkaing everyone inside the God house. Nope! Lucas' job. Not because he wanted to, but because he was meant to.

"Well, if you need anything, I'll be out here," he said, leaning on the door-frame like a father who didn't know how to talk to their depressed teenager. Hang in there, champ. I'm rooting for you, sport. I'm always here if you need me, kiddo. You want anything from McDonalds, buddy?

Why was he thinking so much about dads today?

Lucas stepped outside, walked a step away from the doorway's line of sight, and bonked his head against the wall.

"... He went?" The world was screaming too loudly in her ears for her to actually understand what she was hearing. Some things never changed no matter how down and out you were: Princess still always being in precisely the worst possible mood to hear critique. Even when that critique was the anthropomorphic ennui of the entire universe reminding her she was an existential failure.

"Well go on then, join him. Do your practical, cool kids in fatigues strategy and scouting... whatever else,"

Remained hard for her to admit she was less of a romanticized ideologue than she'd prided herself on being.

...

Eventually, long after Kate had left her side and rejoined the world of the living, Princess would accidentally roll over a bit too far and ram her bleeding, lead-leaden shoulder into the floor. For a long moment's worth of instantaneous she'd very much wanted to scream- or like, whatever pained animal noise it was she had the energy left for. But she'd kept it to herself with some conscious effort. No need to make a scene, Kate had enough on her mind as was. The boys too, much as she couldn't bring herself to admit she cared about them too, that she was ashamed she'd become a burden onto their already tired shoulders just for the lifetime opportunity of watching one of her best friends messily die.

Katelynne nodded her head at Lucas as he signed off. "Yeah, will do."

A subtle thud shook the temple walls.

She turned herself back to Princess, grasped a hand around the patient's arm and gave a soft squeeze before getting back up. "I'll be around, so... if you need anything, just holler, okay?"

With another few pats on the other girl's shoulder, Katelynne wandered off.

((to be continued))

Katelynne joined Lucas outside, eventually. Not much happened. Riddled the proverbial shit full of holes. They watched the world, looking down the cliffs and into the trees. They circled the temple, on regular intervals of fifteen or so minutes. They even tested the range of the radar—Katelynne walked downhill until she disappeared from the screen, Lucas shouted at her to come back until she reappeared, then told her to stop. Eventually, the sun set. The clout gang settled back indoors to sleep. The guard rotated, and rotated, and rotated, and then it was Lucas' turn. He took his things and stepped outside into the moonlight.

The night was clear. Colder than he'd expected, a good breeze chilling his bare arms—or at least, there felt like there was one. Nobody had been awake to question why he brought his bag out with him to patrol. If they had been, they hadn't raised alarm. Once more, he did a check through his things. Tyrell took the crowbar, but Lucas still had the key-blade, the light-saber, the Minecraft sword, and, most importantly of all, the Uzi. The collar radar was in his possession as well, of course. He'd tucked it in the waistband of his pants while he picked his stuff up and brought it out. Now that he was clear of the temple and through the door, he could put the pack on his back and put the radar in his hand.

When he was halfway down the hill, he turned and looked back over his shoulder. This wasn't the first time he'd run away in his life. Back then, he hadn't left a note. It turned out he hadn't needed to, of course, because he was found—first by a stranger, and then by the police, and then by his family. Now, he wished he had a pencil and some notebook paper. He wanted to let them all know that it wasn't their fault that he was leaving. They'd done nothing wrong. It was his fault that he couldn't still for two fucking days and accept the fact that he was allowed to keep living for just a little while longer. It was his fault, he knew, that he was so hyper-fixated on exacting revenge for a grievance he wasn't even sure he cared about anymore. The last few days, as close as they'd put him to his goal, had dulled his fury as well. It was nothing anybody else had done that caused that. It was his fault for taking things the way he did.

And when he got to the treeline he turned around again, to make sure that nobody was coming after him. It was dangerous to leave them without a posted guard. That kind of impulsive, thoughtless behavior was what he was ridding them of, in the end. Maybe he should have left behind an extra shitty sword, as a token of appreciation. Selfish to the end. Lucas couldn't think of anything more fitting. The time to play to the cameras that he was some kind of hero figure was over. This was his chance. He'd be an idiot not to take it, Tyrell be damned. Fuck Tyrell, in all honesty. If anyone was to blame for Lucas leaving, actually, it was him. He'd said some rude shit. Should'a kept the fuckin' crowbar, really.

Lucas looked down at the radar. It wasn't back-lit—he had to take his flashlight out of his bag and hold it between his teeth to read the screen. It wouldn't be that big of a deal to just have the flashlight in his pocket from now on. He thought of the map he'd stared at before he 'went to sleep' earlier. If the moon was rising in the east, then if he went the other direction he'd run into the lake. That seemed as good a place as any to search. He could go, roughly, along the coast of the island—not directly at the cliffs, but he could keep it in sight. Use the trees for cover, and the coast to keep him from getting lost in the thicket. Lucas nodded—to whomstd've, he didn't know—and looked into the distance.

Well, what are you waiting for?

Go west, young man.

[Lucas Diaz continued in King's Crossing.]

Each twist she wormed into her battered body while she searched for her sheep just made her feel a little more like old store meat still wrapped around the spine.

Sleep didn't come easy. Never had.

((Princess McQuillan continued in be with me always, take any form, drive me mad))