Then tension building up in the air was almost palpable. What Bridget had thought was an innocent question had started more than she had anticipated. Kris's actions were just a bit too deliberate to ignore. Steve's question hadn't help the situation much either. Almost out of instinct, Bridget looked at the bag as it was in motion. The redhead's eyes widened as she noticed the writing on the bag. G009-Reika Ishida.
"Why... why do you have someone else's bag?" Bridget asked quite deliberately. This was one of those situations where you didn't try to put things lightly. Kris was standing in front of them, acting defensively, with a gun and someone else's bag. It didn't take long for Bridget to jump to a conclusion, but she stayed her hand momentarily. Maybe it had just been a mix up? The group running this weren't exactly nice about dropping people off, who's to say the bags didn't get the same treatment.
Just stay calm. Bridget said to herself. Only act when you are in danger. Don't instigate anything.
D-Day
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Kris explained that she'd just been given the gun. Everything was cool, then. She swung her bag a little, but Kimberly paid no attention to it. After all, what did it matter? It would contain the same stuff all of theirs did. It didn't catch her attention at all, until Bridget spoke. Wait. Someone else's bag? How could she know? Kimberly's bag had nothing but a number on it. She did a double take, though, and sure enough, that bag had a number and a name. G009-Reika Ishida.
Reika. Kimberly knew Reika. Had shared lunch with the girl. Did this mean that Reika was... No. No no no no no. Reika was not dead. That was totally impossible. The short, friendly girl who had been there that day with the food fight couldn't simply be gone. This was Bayview, well, Bayview's students, and none of them would ever kill. No way. Kris couldn't have murdered Reika. She couldn't have killed Reika in self defense, either. Wasn't possible, 'cause Reika would never, ever have attacked someone.
And so it was that Kimberly found herself talking.
"It's gotta just be a mistake," she said. "I mean, Kris kinda looks like Reika, right?"
It was a fucking terrible joke, Kimberly knew, but it would buy her a few seconds. She didn't know what she was doing, didn't know why, but it was important, oh so very important, that Kris have a justification for having that bag. She had to have one, and Kimberly didn't trust the girl to provide it on her own. Not if she was on the edge. Not if she wasn't entirely coherent.
"They must've just fucked up and made a spare. Maybe they confused the Ishidas with the Fiamettas, and made three, and were all, 'What the fuck do we do with this spare now?' or something. Or, like, maybe it's just to confuse us. I mean, look: all the bags are a bit different. Some have numbers, some have names, maybe some don't have anything. I bet they just won some mega-lot on ebay or some shit, and wrote on them 'til they got bored. This may even just be a trick. A trick, to make us fight. Stop us from trusting each other, you know, 'cause they know nobody would kill otherwise. That has to be it."
It was rationalization, and transparent at that. How the fuck should Kimberly know what had happened? But it couldn't be killing. It just couldn't.
These were her classmates.
Reika. Kimberly knew Reika. Had shared lunch with the girl. Did this mean that Reika was... No. No no no no no. Reika was not dead. That was totally impossible. The short, friendly girl who had been there that day with the food fight couldn't simply be gone. This was Bayview, well, Bayview's students, and none of them would ever kill. No way. Kris couldn't have murdered Reika. She couldn't have killed Reika in self defense, either. Wasn't possible, 'cause Reika would never, ever have attacked someone.
And so it was that Kimberly found herself talking.
"It's gotta just be a mistake," she said. "I mean, Kris kinda looks like Reika, right?"
It was a fucking terrible joke, Kimberly knew, but it would buy her a few seconds. She didn't know what she was doing, didn't know why, but it was important, oh so very important, that Kris have a justification for having that bag. She had to have one, and Kimberly didn't trust the girl to provide it on her own. Not if she was on the edge. Not if she wasn't entirely coherent.
"They must've just fucked up and made a spare. Maybe they confused the Ishidas with the Fiamettas, and made three, and were all, 'What the fuck do we do with this spare now?' or something. Or, like, maybe it's just to confuse us. I mean, look: all the bags are a bit different. Some have numbers, some have names, maybe some don't have anything. I bet they just won some mega-lot on ebay or some shit, and wrote on them 'til they got bored. This may even just be a trick. A trick, to make us fight. Stop us from trusting each other, you know, 'cause they know nobody would kill otherwise. That has to be it."
It was rationalization, and transparent at that. How the fuck should Kimberly know what had happened? But it couldn't be killing. It just couldn't.
These were her classmates.
"Why... why do you have someone else's bag?"
Typical. He'd tried his hardest to ignore it, to just see how Kris acted, to try to get a read on why she had someone else's pack without asking up front and making the girl too edgy to empathise with. "Oh well," he thought, "Guess that's just how it was gonna go. I hope You have a plan...". The 'You' in question, obvious to anyone that knew Steve (if they could read his thoughts, that is) was directed to the man upstairs.
So he came up with a different plan. One that required a lot more subtlety, but at least didn't rely on spooked young ladies not asking the wrong questions. With as calm a face as he could muster, Steve chipped in "Does sound like something they'd try to pull, I mean, our year isn't all that violent..."
Of course, the casual discussion ruse was a distraction. Probably an obvious one, if you were actively looking for it, but perfectly normal if you weren't - hopefully. Heck, Steve had no idea, he was doing it on a wing and a prayer, and didn't have time to generate real plans. But nevertheless, he carried on, taking a few steps towards Kris, hoping to look as though he were just pacing. The aim of the ruse was to get close enough that, if the situation went south, he had a chance at disarming the girl. Similarly, he had no idea how he'd go about that either, but he'd improvised well enough so far...
After all, he might not be allowed to kill, but there was no commandment against knocking people out and taking their guns away, right?
Typical. He'd tried his hardest to ignore it, to just see how Kris acted, to try to get a read on why she had someone else's pack without asking up front and making the girl too edgy to empathise with. "Oh well," he thought, "Guess that's just how it was gonna go. I hope You have a plan...". The 'You' in question, obvious to anyone that knew Steve (if they could read his thoughts, that is) was directed to the man upstairs.
So he came up with a different plan. One that required a lot more subtlety, but at least didn't rely on spooked young ladies not asking the wrong questions. With as calm a face as he could muster, Steve chipped in "Does sound like something they'd try to pull, I mean, our year isn't all that violent..."
Of course, the casual discussion ruse was a distraction. Probably an obvious one, if you were actively looking for it, but perfectly normal if you weren't - hopefully. Heck, Steve had no idea, he was doing it on a wing and a prayer, and didn't have time to generate real plans. But nevertheless, he carried on, taking a few steps towards Kris, hoping to look as though he were just pacing. The aim of the ruse was to get close enough that, if the situation went south, he had a chance at disarming the girl. Similarly, he had no idea how he'd go about that either, but he'd improvised well enough so far...
After all, he might not be allowed to kill, but there was no commandment against knocking people out and taking their guns away, right?
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Chib. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Voice. Jump. Spin. Squeeze. Bang. Dead.
There wasn't an excuse. There was no goddamn excuse! Kris wasn't some pokerfaced master of deception, she couldn't fabricate a believable story on the fly as to why she had Reika's pack. She'd barely remembered ahead of Bridget noticing it, and Kris was absolutely positive at this point that Steve had spotted the name first. The writing might as well have been daubed in blood, for how damning the evidence was.
The leech was swelling for all to see.
Kris didn't think she ever wanted to be back home more than at the moment Bridget spoke up again. The thinly veiled horror was what did it. That nuance of tone demonstrated that even in such a short while, the island had made Kris into somebody else. This wasn't her. This wasn't what she was supposed to be. Kris was meant to be that obsessive skater girl with big dreams, not somebody people looked at in fear and trepedation, wondering if she was going to try to kill them (next).
She hadn't meant it. Somehow, Kris didn't think that anybody was going to take that for a reason any more than she herself had.
Kris used the interval in which Kimberly scrabbled to come up with an excuse - any excuse for her to have Reika's bag to quietly unravel. For a time, Kris had thought that she'd managed to regain her composure a little, get a handle on herself after the panic that had resulted in somebody's death. Each and every notion of this being the case was over the course of the next few seconds torn to shreds, showing them to be the paper-thin falsehoods that they truly were.
Pistol in the palm, staring. Dangerous, it'll only lead to death. She thinks that distinctly. Then does nothing. Hesitates, decides to hold on. And Kris knows. Kris knows... Too easy to kill. In the end. It is.
The entire time, Kris didn't say another word. No attempts to justify or explain because she didn't even want to. Bothering to try would be more contemptible than the fact she'd killed somebody. Besides, guilt was written into the look in her eyes, the expression on her face; two little things that sent Kimberly's theories down into dust instantly. Steve's agreement with that rang equally hollow, and Kris found she didn't believe that he would buy that. It was clutching at straws and quite obviously at that.
He was moving. He was planning something.
And with that bolt of alarm, Kris found she'd taken a step back and in one motion, pulled out the pistol. She held it low, pointed at the sand, left hand clamped onto right wrist to steady it, but with very clear intent. Kris didn't even remember consciously deciding to draw the gun, but whatever sinister authority had dictating she pulled the trigger before had acted now. It was instinctive. And sickening. It was little more than animal, flight or fight. The words had backed her into a corner and so she was retaliating by baring fangs. For the first time in her life, Kris found herself cursing the swiftness of her own reflexes.
Kris wet her lips. "Stand there, just... stay there, okay?" the last thing Kris wanted was for Steve to make any sudden moves. Her nerves were frayed already and the pistol's weight was such a horrible comfort in her hand.
Murrrrderrrrrerrr. Kind've a funny word. Label too. Slap it right on her forehead, right enough. Perfectly true.
There wasn't an excuse. There was no goddamn excuse! Kris wasn't some pokerfaced master of deception, she couldn't fabricate a believable story on the fly as to why she had Reika's pack. She'd barely remembered ahead of Bridget noticing it, and Kris was absolutely positive at this point that Steve had spotted the name first. The writing might as well have been daubed in blood, for how damning the evidence was.
The leech was swelling for all to see.
Kris didn't think she ever wanted to be back home more than at the moment Bridget spoke up again. The thinly veiled horror was what did it. That nuance of tone demonstrated that even in such a short while, the island had made Kris into somebody else. This wasn't her. This wasn't what she was supposed to be. Kris was meant to be that obsessive skater girl with big dreams, not somebody people looked at in fear and trepedation, wondering if she was going to try to kill them (next).
She hadn't meant it. Somehow, Kris didn't think that anybody was going to take that for a reason any more than she herself had.
Kris used the interval in which Kimberly scrabbled to come up with an excuse - any excuse for her to have Reika's bag to quietly unravel. For a time, Kris had thought that she'd managed to regain her composure a little, get a handle on herself after the panic that had resulted in somebody's death. Each and every notion of this being the case was over the course of the next few seconds torn to shreds, showing them to be the paper-thin falsehoods that they truly were.
Pistol in the palm, staring. Dangerous, it'll only lead to death. She thinks that distinctly. Then does nothing. Hesitates, decides to hold on. And Kris knows. Kris knows... Too easy to kill. In the end. It is.
The entire time, Kris didn't say another word. No attempts to justify or explain because she didn't even want to. Bothering to try would be more contemptible than the fact she'd killed somebody. Besides, guilt was written into the look in her eyes, the expression on her face; two little things that sent Kimberly's theories down into dust instantly. Steve's agreement with that rang equally hollow, and Kris found she didn't believe that he would buy that. It was clutching at straws and quite obviously at that.
He was moving. He was planning something.
And with that bolt of alarm, Kris found she'd taken a step back and in one motion, pulled out the pistol. She held it low, pointed at the sand, left hand clamped onto right wrist to steady it, but with very clear intent. Kris didn't even remember consciously deciding to draw the gun, but whatever sinister authority had dictating she pulled the trigger before had acted now. It was instinctive. And sickening. It was little more than animal, flight or fight. The words had backed her into a corner and so she was retaliating by baring fangs. For the first time in her life, Kris found herself cursing the swiftness of her own reflexes.
Kris wet her lips. "Stand there, just... stay there, okay?" the last thing Kris wanted was for Steve to make any sudden moves. Her nerves were frayed already and the pistol's weight was such a horrible comfort in her hand.
Murrrrderrrrrerrr. Kind've a funny word. Label too. Slap it right on her forehead, right enough. Perfectly true.
Things had gone south faster than Bridget had anticipated. Something set off Kris, causing her to pull her gun. The redhead tensed, glancing at Steve, who had apparently set the skater off, judging by the fact her eyes were firmly planted on him. Something had to happen to end this situation. Fast. Bridget's first instinct was to just rush Kris and hope she didn't shoot, but rational thought told her that wasn't a good idea. New plan.
"Kris, no one is going to hurt you." Bridget very deliberately placing her bag on the ground in front of her, as well as the nunchucks she had stuffed into her belt. With nothing hindering her any more, the Irish girl raised her hands. "I'm going to walk towards you now, okay? I don't want you to freak out or anything." That said, she took the first step forward.
Slowly, deliberately, Bridget moved forward. "Kris, this doesn't have to end bad." Each step took her a little bit closer to the girl. She stopped after a few steps, not wanting to push her luck too much. At least the distance between them was a bit smaller. "We won't hurt you. I promise." Another step forward. Slowly, didn't need to set off a potentially bloody situation. Just needed to get Kris to drop the gun. "Just put away the gun, and we can talk it out."
"Kris, no one is going to hurt you." Bridget very deliberately placing her bag on the ground in front of her, as well as the nunchucks she had stuffed into her belt. With nothing hindering her any more, the Irish girl raised her hands. "I'm going to walk towards you now, okay? I don't want you to freak out or anything." That said, she took the first step forward.
Slowly, deliberately, Bridget moved forward. "Kris, this doesn't have to end bad." Each step took her a little bit closer to the girl. She stopped after a few steps, not wanting to push her luck too much. At least the distance between them was a bit smaller. "We won't hurt you. I promise." Another step forward. Slowly, didn't need to set off a potentially bloody situation. Just needed to get Kris to drop the gun. "Just put away the gun, and we can talk it out."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
All of a sudden everything had just become incredibly fucked up. Steve started moving, and Kris completely flipped her shit and pulled out the gun. Kimberly just stood there, staring. Wait, were they serious? Was Kris actually going to shoot Steve? Was Bridget actually going to get close to her, hands raised, like some movie mediator? How was this possible? This was insane. Utterly insane. There was no fucking way things were going to go like this. No fucking way her classmates, her friends, were going to kill each other. This could not be happening. It was all a bad joke.
And so, Kimberly didn't think twice about what she did next. It was exactly what she would have done back in Saint Paul, if one of her friends was being a total bitch. She started walking towards Kris, making no efforts to appear menacing but not trying to hide that she was pissed, either. She was simply going to get close enough to command attention, then chew her out. Chew her out for being so stupid, so reactive. True, she could see that Kris was on edge. She didn't give a damn, though. Kris wouldn't shoot her, wouldn't shoot anyone. No way. No way in hell.
"Don't worry, guys," she said, continuing her advance. "Kris won't hurt us."
Somewhere in the back of Kimberly's mind, though, the pieces were starting to click together. Her optimism was beginning to crumble. This was her last desperate action, her last hope at maintaining her grasp on reality. Because, if things had truly changed so much, so that a normal girl, a good girl, would have killed Reika Ishida and would gun them down now, in cold blood, well, Kimberly would be out of control. She would be completely powerless, cast adrift, and that was not something that could happen. She had to maintain control over this situation, and if that meant outpacing the others to Kris, meant forcing her hand, well, so be it. If this was a battle of the wills, of Kris' panic against Kimberly's optimism, she was damn sure going to win it.
"Come on," she said. "If you're going to shoot, shoot. Otherwise, let's fucking calm down and talk, but we're classmates, so I'm not having any of this POW bullshit Bridget's taking."
Something in her mind started screaming that she'd just made the worst mistake possible.
And so, Kimberly didn't think twice about what she did next. It was exactly what she would have done back in Saint Paul, if one of her friends was being a total bitch. She started walking towards Kris, making no efforts to appear menacing but not trying to hide that she was pissed, either. She was simply going to get close enough to command attention, then chew her out. Chew her out for being so stupid, so reactive. True, she could see that Kris was on edge. She didn't give a damn, though. Kris wouldn't shoot her, wouldn't shoot anyone. No way. No way in hell.
"Don't worry, guys," she said, continuing her advance. "Kris won't hurt us."
Somewhere in the back of Kimberly's mind, though, the pieces were starting to click together. Her optimism was beginning to crumble. This was her last desperate action, her last hope at maintaining her grasp on reality. Because, if things had truly changed so much, so that a normal girl, a good girl, would have killed Reika Ishida and would gun them down now, in cold blood, well, Kimberly would be out of control. She would be completely powerless, cast adrift, and that was not something that could happen. She had to maintain control over this situation, and if that meant outpacing the others to Kris, meant forcing her hand, well, so be it. If this was a battle of the wills, of Kris' panic against Kimberly's optimism, she was damn sure going to win it.
"Come on," she said. "If you're going to shoot, shoot. Otherwise, let's fucking calm down and talk, but we're classmates, so I'm not having any of this POW bullshit Bridget's taking."
Something in her mind started screaming that she'd just made the worst mistake possible.
So the gun wasn't pointed directly at him, that was a good start. The way Kris was intently aiming at nobody, yet still managing to look threatening, it seemed almost like she was just as terrified of shooting as the three unarmed ones were of being shot. Weird.
Unfortunately, those were revelations that didn't really register for Steve, not straight away. He was more occupied with doign as instructed, and staying exactly where he was. No advancing, and certainly nothing sudden. Steve did not have a death wish, and he didn't feel like risking two other people's lives either. It was at that kind of time he wished he'd drawn a better lot than a set of cardboard moustaches, if he'd had a gun of his own, he could at least have equalised the situation, and forced Kris into a retreat with the whole mutually assured death logic. But it wasn't to be.
Silence fell. The tension was almost palpable, for those few seconds, before Bridget spoke. She was moving towards Kris, slowly, likewise not risking a quick movement. She seemed to be trying to placate the other girl, but Steve wasn't really paying attention, he was too busy trying to come to terms with everything he was seeing. He didn't know Kris well, but he knew she wasn't the type to just accept the situation and start killing at the drop of a hat. She looked almost disgusted by the weapon in her hands. Then Kimberly started speaking too, trying a more direct, lecture-like approach, riskier, but she probably knew what she was doing. Still, Kris looked so very out of place, uncomfortable. Guilty.
Things were starting to fall in to place in Steve's mind. Maybe she had killed Reika. But she hadn't meant to, it had been an accident, a mis-fire, self-defence, something like that. He wasn't sure, and he wasn't going to commit to a guess just yet, either. So for the time being, Steve held his tongue, and his ground.
Unfortunately, those were revelations that didn't really register for Steve, not straight away. He was more occupied with doign as instructed, and staying exactly where he was. No advancing, and certainly nothing sudden. Steve did not have a death wish, and he didn't feel like risking two other people's lives either. It was at that kind of time he wished he'd drawn a better lot than a set of cardboard moustaches, if he'd had a gun of his own, he could at least have equalised the situation, and forced Kris into a retreat with the whole mutually assured death logic. But it wasn't to be.
Silence fell. The tension was almost palpable, for those few seconds, before Bridget spoke. She was moving towards Kris, slowly, likewise not risking a quick movement. She seemed to be trying to placate the other girl, but Steve wasn't really paying attention, he was too busy trying to come to terms with everything he was seeing. He didn't know Kris well, but he knew she wasn't the type to just accept the situation and start killing at the drop of a hat. She looked almost disgusted by the weapon in her hands. Then Kimberly started speaking too, trying a more direct, lecture-like approach, riskier, but she probably knew what she was doing. Still, Kris looked so very out of place, uncomfortable. Guilty.
Things were starting to fall in to place in Steve's mind. Maybe she had killed Reika. But she hadn't meant to, it had been an accident, a mis-fire, self-defence, something like that. He wasn't sure, and he wasn't going to commit to a guess just yet, either. So for the time being, Steve held his tongue, and his ground.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Chib. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Rational thinking was out of the window and clinging onto the frame by its fingertips. It wasn't a matter of Kris refusing to slow down and think about all of this, she simply wasn't able to. The feelings of horror at what she was doing were there, but the voice of reason was a faint cry on the fringes of the roaring maelstrom of her mind. Kris' thoughts kept flashing back to Reika, replaying what had happened over and over in her head (Voice. Jump. Spin...), then onto everything going on in front of her. There was no time for calm, to stop and question why she was acting this way. It was happening too fast.
Why couldn't they just stay goddamn still!? Did they think that because she'd spoken to Steve that it was a-okay for THEM to move!?
Without even paying any mind to what she was doing, Kris edged backward, away from the others. She didn't step, merely shuffled, digging little trenches in the sand with her heels. Bridget advanced, she retreated, nothing more to it. Proximity was bad, dangerous. Not for Kris, like the other girl was suggesting with her reassurances, but for them.
Being hurt wasn't Kris' worry.
Kimberly didn't help, in fact she did the opposite of help. She was just... wrong! She wouldn't do anything to hurt them!? But what about Reika? Kris had been the same person with the same gun and... and... how could she know that? How the fucking hell could Kim know that!?
Kris was trembling uncontrollably now, unable to even keep the pistol pointed in the same place consistently. As Kimberly moved forwards, more than Steve, more than Bridget, the wavering barrel of Kris' gun came up from the ground until it was pointed in the direction of the trio. The tremors running through her body meant that not even Kris knew whether it was aimed specifically at one of the three or just in their general direction. Even with her left hand still clutching her wrist to steady it, Kris couldn't keep things still.
And still Kimberly advanced.
And...
Kris didn't mean it.
The intention was a warning shot, something to get the others to just back off. Fire to miss and all that. Except Kris didn't. As her finger tightened on the trigger, everything froze and it was as if she was a statue. Certainly, her body was as still as one. At that very instant before firing, Kris knew that this wasn't going to sail harmlessly past the others, and... the gun went off.
Kimberly! Jolt of recoil, pain to the wrist. A hit! Kimberly's shot! A scream, was it her or Kris? Puff of blood, droplets sailing. Oh god Kimberly!
Horrorstruck, all the colour drained from her face and every last logical thought running for the hills, Kris turned tail and ran. No, fled.
She... she hadn't...
((Kris continued in A Pit Stop of Sorts
GMing = Vole approved.))
Why couldn't they just stay goddamn still!? Did they think that because she'd spoken to Steve that it was a-okay for THEM to move!?
Without even paying any mind to what she was doing, Kris edged backward, away from the others. She didn't step, merely shuffled, digging little trenches in the sand with her heels. Bridget advanced, she retreated, nothing more to it. Proximity was bad, dangerous. Not for Kris, like the other girl was suggesting with her reassurances, but for them.
Being hurt wasn't Kris' worry.
Kimberly didn't help, in fact she did the opposite of help. She was just... wrong! She wouldn't do anything to hurt them!? But what about Reika? Kris had been the same person with the same gun and... and... how could she know that? How the fucking hell could Kim know that!?
Kris was trembling uncontrollably now, unable to even keep the pistol pointed in the same place consistently. As Kimberly moved forwards, more than Steve, more than Bridget, the wavering barrel of Kris' gun came up from the ground until it was pointed in the direction of the trio. The tremors running through her body meant that not even Kris knew whether it was aimed specifically at one of the three or just in their general direction. Even with her left hand still clutching her wrist to steady it, Kris couldn't keep things still.
And still Kimberly advanced.
And...
Kris didn't mean it.
The intention was a warning shot, something to get the others to just back off. Fire to miss and all that. Except Kris didn't. As her finger tightened on the trigger, everything froze and it was as if she was a statue. Certainly, her body was as still as one. At that very instant before firing, Kris knew that this wasn't going to sail harmlessly past the others, and... the gun went off.
Kimberly! Jolt of recoil, pain to the wrist. A hit! Kimberly's shot! A scream, was it her or Kris? Puff of blood, droplets sailing. Oh god Kimberly!
Horrorstruck, all the colour drained from her face and every last logical thought running for the hills, Kris turned tail and ran. No, fled.
She... she hadn't...
((Kris continued in A Pit Stop of Sorts
GMing = Vole approved.))
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Kris was backing up, but Kimberly just kept moving. It was simple. Kris wouldn't shoot her. Kimberly would get close, push the gun down, and then...
Kris' look changed, just slightly. Hardly noticeable, but it was enough. At that moment, clarity came crashing down. Kimberly realized it all. Realized she'd been deluding herself, playing games. This was real. They were on SOTF. They were all going to die, and she was going to be the first. No, not the first. The second. Reika... Fuck. Kris had really shot Reika. She was going to really shoot Kimberly.
She had just a split second to react. She lurched to the side. It was enough to save her life, but not her arm. Crack. A gunshot. Kimberly felt it impact her left shoulder, not as pain but as force, spinning her around and around, toppling to the ground. A scream rang out. Was it her own? She couldn't tell. She was disconnected from herself. All she could see was white. The second shot would be coming soon. How had it gone wrong? How had it ended like this? Was she really going to die here, bleeding out face down on the sand of some beach in the middle of nowhere, far away from her friends and family, nothing left to do but fade into cold oblivion?
No. No, it couldn't be. It just couldn't. It wasn't fair.
Pain, now. Flowing down her arm. Her arm. Pain. She tried to move it. Couldn't. She tried to move, but just couldn't. What had happened? How could it all have gone to pieces? She'd had it under control. She was going to stop Kris. Going to calm them all down. This was Bayview. Nobody would kill. Nobody would fight. Impossible. No. Lies. She'd known. The whole damn time, she'd known, just hid from it. Manufactured this belief, this faith that wasn't her, betrayed herself just for a few more minutes of sanity, of reality. And what had she gotten for it? What had it paid out? Pain, and soon, surely, death.
Anger, now, flashed through her. Sheer rage. Kris. The bitch. Fuck her. Who the hell was she to do this? She was dead too. She wasn't making it out of here, not if she was running and gunning already. What was the purpose, then? Just to spread pain and suffering? Some sort of fucked-up revenge against the world, externalizing the inner pain? Such beautiful ideas and turns of phrase those had seemed, when Kimberly had scribbled them into a notebook in her bedroom months ago. Her poetry, so much dark and depressing shit, now rendered meaningless and hollow by the sheer reality of what she faced. Pain wasn't stumbling home from the bus at five in the morning and not getting bitched out about it, not being acknowledged. Pain was lying on foreign soil, forced into some sick fight, shot and bleeding and not even really understanding why.
All the songs that had been her companions for years flashed up again, and she understood them in a way she never had before. And it's one, two, three, what are we fighting for, Kris? Don't ask me, I don't give a damn. Blackness. Edging in on her sight. No. Was she going into shock? Breaking down? Dying? Not yet. She was not dying yet. Had to pull herself together.
Had her grandparents even noticed she was gone? The thought was sudden, unbidden. Surely, though, they must have. Someone must have notified the guardians. But what about her parents? That was a shocker. They weren't so present in her life. She hardly saw them, but fuck, they were her parents. She loved them, and they loved her too, but they just weren't around. They might not even know. They'd been coming to her graduation. Would that be how they were greeted at the airport? The news that she'd died? How terrible. No, wait, her grandparents would call them, wouldn't they? Wouldn't they? They'd never paid so much attention. Never really cared. Fuck, they might just be glad to have Kimberly out of their hair.
Somehow, she managed to roll over, screaming (again? for the first time? Fuck if she knew). She flopped her head to the left. Blood. Staining the sand. Sand in the wound. Red rolling down her arm. Her fedora, lying on the ground, out of her reach. Must've fallen off as she toppled. Red on it too. Damn. Her favorite hat. Pain.
Where was Kris? When was the second shot coming? No, wait, she was gone. Gone, leaving Kimberly to die like this. Not even the decency for a mercy kill. Her thoughts were muddled. Unclear. Unreal. Bitch. Kris was a bitch. She'd seemed cool, but... no. No, just a poser. Fucking phony. How could she have... Reika. Someone Kimberly barely knew, but a nice enough girl. Gone now. Was that it? Was Kris going to go around, take everything Kimberly even remotely cared about and destroy it? Reika gone. Arm immobile. Hat covered in blood. Sure looked like it.
"Fuck! Oh god, oh fuck, oh god, my arm!" Screaming, shouting. Sure to draw attention, draw everyone nearby. Kimberly was so far beyond caring right now. She could make things out again, at least. Steve and Bridget... Were they alright? Only one shot, so they had to be.
"Help!" Oh, how she hated that. She was asking for help. Kris had even taken her independence, left her crippled and maybe dying (probably not, she realized, if they could stop the bleeding. Small fucking comfort). She'd always been able to skim by, forcing her way through situations, trusting her assertiveness, and now she'd been one-upped. The ultimate conversation stopper. Was Kris right? Had she figured out the secret here? All rules gone, the only authority or respect possible that which you command with violence? Heh. Well. Horror story, alright. As bad as it got.
Her thoughts were losing coherency. Pain and panic and, on some level, disbelief. Kimberly flailed with her right arm, though. She needed to be ready. Something. Anything. Large rock. That'll do. That would keep her safe.
Safe...
Kris' look changed, just slightly. Hardly noticeable, but it was enough. At that moment, clarity came crashing down. Kimberly realized it all. Realized she'd been deluding herself, playing games. This was real. They were on SOTF. They were all going to die, and she was going to be the first. No, not the first. The second. Reika... Fuck. Kris had really shot Reika. She was going to really shoot Kimberly.
She had just a split second to react. She lurched to the side. It was enough to save her life, but not her arm. Crack. A gunshot. Kimberly felt it impact her left shoulder, not as pain but as force, spinning her around and around, toppling to the ground. A scream rang out. Was it her own? She couldn't tell. She was disconnected from herself. All she could see was white. The second shot would be coming soon. How had it gone wrong? How had it ended like this? Was she really going to die here, bleeding out face down on the sand of some beach in the middle of nowhere, far away from her friends and family, nothing left to do but fade into cold oblivion?
No. No, it couldn't be. It just couldn't. It wasn't fair.
Pain, now. Flowing down her arm. Her arm. Pain. She tried to move it. Couldn't. She tried to move, but just couldn't. What had happened? How could it all have gone to pieces? She'd had it under control. She was going to stop Kris. Going to calm them all down. This was Bayview. Nobody would kill. Nobody would fight. Impossible. No. Lies. She'd known. The whole damn time, she'd known, just hid from it. Manufactured this belief, this faith that wasn't her, betrayed herself just for a few more minutes of sanity, of reality. And what had she gotten for it? What had it paid out? Pain, and soon, surely, death.
Anger, now, flashed through her. Sheer rage. Kris. The bitch. Fuck her. Who the hell was she to do this? She was dead too. She wasn't making it out of here, not if she was running and gunning already. What was the purpose, then? Just to spread pain and suffering? Some sort of fucked-up revenge against the world, externalizing the inner pain? Such beautiful ideas and turns of phrase those had seemed, when Kimberly had scribbled them into a notebook in her bedroom months ago. Her poetry, so much dark and depressing shit, now rendered meaningless and hollow by the sheer reality of what she faced. Pain wasn't stumbling home from the bus at five in the morning and not getting bitched out about it, not being acknowledged. Pain was lying on foreign soil, forced into some sick fight, shot and bleeding and not even really understanding why.
All the songs that had been her companions for years flashed up again, and she understood them in a way she never had before. And it's one, two, three, what are we fighting for, Kris? Don't ask me, I don't give a damn. Blackness. Edging in on her sight. No. Was she going into shock? Breaking down? Dying? Not yet. She was not dying yet. Had to pull herself together.
Had her grandparents even noticed she was gone? The thought was sudden, unbidden. Surely, though, they must have. Someone must have notified the guardians. But what about her parents? That was a shocker. They weren't so present in her life. She hardly saw them, but fuck, they were her parents. She loved them, and they loved her too, but they just weren't around. They might not even know. They'd been coming to her graduation. Would that be how they were greeted at the airport? The news that she'd died? How terrible. No, wait, her grandparents would call them, wouldn't they? Wouldn't they? They'd never paid so much attention. Never really cared. Fuck, they might just be glad to have Kimberly out of their hair.
Somehow, she managed to roll over, screaming (again? for the first time? Fuck if she knew). She flopped her head to the left. Blood. Staining the sand. Sand in the wound. Red rolling down her arm. Her fedora, lying on the ground, out of her reach. Must've fallen off as she toppled. Red on it too. Damn. Her favorite hat. Pain.
Where was Kris? When was the second shot coming? No, wait, she was gone. Gone, leaving Kimberly to die like this. Not even the decency for a mercy kill. Her thoughts were muddled. Unclear. Unreal. Bitch. Kris was a bitch. She'd seemed cool, but... no. No, just a poser. Fucking phony. How could she have... Reika. Someone Kimberly barely knew, but a nice enough girl. Gone now. Was that it? Was Kris going to go around, take everything Kimberly even remotely cared about and destroy it? Reika gone. Arm immobile. Hat covered in blood. Sure looked like it.
"Fuck! Oh god, oh fuck, oh god, my arm!" Screaming, shouting. Sure to draw attention, draw everyone nearby. Kimberly was so far beyond caring right now. She could make things out again, at least. Steve and Bridget... Were they alright? Only one shot, so they had to be.
"Help!" Oh, how she hated that. She was asking for help. Kris had even taken her independence, left her crippled and maybe dying (probably not, she realized, if they could stop the bleeding. Small fucking comfort). She'd always been able to skim by, forcing her way through situations, trusting her assertiveness, and now she'd been one-upped. The ultimate conversation stopper. Was Kris right? Had she figured out the secret here? All rules gone, the only authority or respect possible that which you command with violence? Heh. Well. Horror story, alright. As bad as it got.
Her thoughts were losing coherency. Pain and panic and, on some level, disbelief. Kimberly flailed with her right arm, though. She needed to be ready. Something. Anything. Large rock. That'll do. That would keep her safe.
Safe...
Too far. Kris was too far away. Even if Bridget had made the attempt to stop what was about to happen, it'd have been too late. The distance was too great, even without the sand to hinder her. All she could do was watch in horror. A pull of the trigger, the report of the gun, and then blood. It took a moment for Bridget to register just what had gone on, but by the time she did, Kris had run off.
Blood was pouring out of Kimberly's shoulder. There was so much. Kimberly needed help. So much blood. Bridget tried to move towards her, to try and help her, but her feet weren't moving. They were refusing, stubbornly glued to the soft sand. This is not the time to get freaked out by the sight of blood! she mentally berated herself. You're stronger than this! You've seen blood before! No matter what Bridget told herself, she wouldn't move. Sure, she had seen blood before, usually her own, but never in this quantity. And certainly never from a gun shot wound.
Let's go, Bridget! Get over it! Move. Your. Feet. The red haired girl took a timid step forward, coinciding with Kimberly's plea of help. That finally snapped her out of whatever she had gotten herself in. Freaking out could wait. Someone needed help. Bridget dashed to Kimberly's side, practically sliding on the sand. Frantically grabbing the first day pack, which happened to be Kimberly's she ripped it open and located the first aid kit.
One thing was painfully obvious as soon as she opened the kit. She had no clue what she was doing. Everything in the box was so foreign to her. Bridget recognized a few things from her own injuries, but she still had no clue what she was doing. "Shit..." she said audibly without realizing, trying to figure out what to do. What was it they always say to do? You gotta stop the bleeding or something.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you, but I have no fucking clue what I'm doing." Bridget said to the frantic girl. Every second that passed, the girl lost more blood. Without even thinking, the redhead frantically pressed on top of the wound with her bare hands, trying to stop the bleeding any way she could. Of course, what she didn't know was that she was going about it all wrong. "Dammit Kimberly, you better not die on us here."
Blood was pouring out of Kimberly's shoulder. There was so much. Kimberly needed help. So much blood. Bridget tried to move towards her, to try and help her, but her feet weren't moving. They were refusing, stubbornly glued to the soft sand. This is not the time to get freaked out by the sight of blood! she mentally berated herself. You're stronger than this! You've seen blood before! No matter what Bridget told herself, she wouldn't move. Sure, she had seen blood before, usually her own, but never in this quantity. And certainly never from a gun shot wound.
Let's go, Bridget! Get over it! Move. Your. Feet. The red haired girl took a timid step forward, coinciding with Kimberly's plea of help. That finally snapped her out of whatever she had gotten herself in. Freaking out could wait. Someone needed help. Bridget dashed to Kimberly's side, practically sliding on the sand. Frantically grabbing the first day pack, which happened to be Kimberly's she ripped it open and located the first aid kit.
One thing was painfully obvious as soon as she opened the kit. She had no clue what she was doing. Everything in the box was so foreign to her. Bridget recognized a few things from her own injuries, but she still had no clue what she was doing. "Shit..." she said audibly without realizing, trying to figure out what to do. What was it they always say to do? You gotta stop the bleeding or something.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you, but I have no fucking clue what I'm doing." Bridget said to the frantic girl. Every second that passed, the girl lost more blood. Without even thinking, the redhead frantically pressed on top of the wound with her bare hands, trying to stop the bleeding any way she could. Of course, what she didn't know was that she was going about it all wrong. "Dammit Kimberly, you better not die on us here."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.
Watching carefully as he was, it wasn't difficult for Steve to catch that look in Kris' eyes as she fired. It wasn't aggression, far from it. It was just as he'd thought, she was afraid, she hadn't fired to kill Kimberly, she hadn't even done it conciously; instinct had kicked in and made her protect herself from the percieved threat. Well, at least that was better than being sure she was a cold-blooded killer.
Odds are the same thing had happened to Reika, and that had only served to put the skater even more on edge. It hadn't been her fault, not truly. Danya had been the one to put her in a game made of panic and fear, he'd been the one to put a gun in her hand, and it was his influence that had Kris tense enough to feel threatened enough to shoot her fellow students. Steve was sure of that now. Inwardly, he forgave her.
Bridget had already sprung into action, doing her best to apply pressure to the wound and stem the blood flow. It was far from professional, but it did seem to be working. For a moment, Steve considered running after Kris, to see if he could calm her down, not repeating Kimberly's mistake. But he dismissed that idea quickly, in her current state, the agitated girl would probably try to defend herself no matter how passive he was. Instead, he joined Bridget at her fallen friend's side.
The blood was disconcerting, but not repulsive. It was the sheer volume that almost made Steve recoil, as opposed to it's nature, but he calmed his stomach and addressed Bridget "Just keep the pressure on it, I'll get the bandages.". In all honesty, he had little idea what he was doing either, and chided himself for never taking the time to learn first aid, when lessons had always been on offer. But it was best to just act confident, and hopefully it would help the other two stay calm themselves, even if he was actually terrified of doing something wrong.
First step, he tore the sleeve from Kimberly's left arm, making the wound visible and accessible. Next, he used it to wipe the blood that was already outside away. Next up, a bandage... except within the few seconds he took to look for bandages and disinfectant in the first-aid kit, a fresh flow had undone all of his previous work.
Panic took over.
With a desperate glance at Bridget, Steve simply blurted "She won't stop bleeding!"
Odds are the same thing had happened to Reika, and that had only served to put the skater even more on edge. It hadn't been her fault, not truly. Danya had been the one to put her in a game made of panic and fear, he'd been the one to put a gun in her hand, and it was his influence that had Kris tense enough to feel threatened enough to shoot her fellow students. Steve was sure of that now. Inwardly, he forgave her.
Bridget had already sprung into action, doing her best to apply pressure to the wound and stem the blood flow. It was far from professional, but it did seem to be working. For a moment, Steve considered running after Kris, to see if he could calm her down, not repeating Kimberly's mistake. But he dismissed that idea quickly, in her current state, the agitated girl would probably try to defend herself no matter how passive he was. Instead, he joined Bridget at her fallen friend's side.
The blood was disconcerting, but not repulsive. It was the sheer volume that almost made Steve recoil, as opposed to it's nature, but he calmed his stomach and addressed Bridget "Just keep the pressure on it, I'll get the bandages.". In all honesty, he had little idea what he was doing either, and chided himself for never taking the time to learn first aid, when lessons had always been on offer. But it was best to just act confident, and hopefully it would help the other two stay calm themselves, even if he was actually terrified of doing something wrong.
First step, he tore the sleeve from Kimberly's left arm, making the wound visible and accessible. Next, he used it to wipe the blood that was already outside away. Next up, a bandage... except within the few seconds he took to look for bandages and disinfectant in the first-aid kit, a fresh flow had undone all of his previous work.
Panic took over.
With a desperate glance at Bridget, Steve simply blurted "She won't stop bleeding!"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Chib. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Pain. More pain. Kimberly blinked, and Bridget and Steve were next to her. Had she passed out? They'd been standing further away a split second ago. Steve was saying something. The bleeding wouldn't stop? Her arm hurt, so much more now than when the bullet hit. It hurt all over, and she still couldn't move it, oh fuck, she couldn't move her left arm at all. What were they doing to her? She'd forgotten that it had been immobilized even before. All she could tell was that they were hurting her. They said they were trying to help her, but they weren't at all, they were hurting her, maybe killing her.
Clarity. A sudden realization. They were just like Kris. They'd planned to use her, but now that she was injured, she was worthless. The only problem was, Kris hadn't finished her off, so they were going to. Had to be it. They didn't have good weapons, and they didn't want her to struggle, so they were feigning assistance. It wouldn't work, though. Kimberly was not going to die quietly. She started screaming as loudly as she could. She had to get them off her, get them away. They were going to kill her. She wasn't ready to die. She couldn't die like this. Just couldn't. She'd imagined her death before, countless times. It came with being a horror story fanatic. Nothing she'd thought of could compare with the terror of this situation, though. She was totally powerless. Totally at the mercy of her tormentors, foes who were not drooling monsters but people she'd thought of as friends less than five minutes ago.
The rock in Kimberly's right hand was about the size of her fist. She felt around it. It had a pointy bit. That would have to be the striking surface. She was not going down without a fight. Kris might've been able to get the drop on her, but Kimberly was so over her optimism right now. She was ready to do anything to live, including beating someone else bloody. It wasn't ideal, but she'd do just about anything not to die.
She vaguely wondered whether she was wrong. Was it possible Steve and Bridget really were trying to help her? No. No, it couldn't be. She didn't know anyone at Bayview. Not really. Kris had proved that damn well. They were all potential enemies now. All killers in disguise. Had to be. Easier to understand that way. Easier to react.
Kimberly was weak. She didn't know if she'd be able to even pull herself into a sitting position. Was she in shock? She didn't know. First aid was not her strong suit. She could still move her right arm just fine, though a bit more slowly and feebly than she was used to. It would have to be enough.
She slowly brought the rock into position, then started flailing it at the hands of her would-be helpers. She couldn't tell if she'd hit them. Her angle was all wrong for any real force. At least if they were holding her arm down, though, they wouldn't be focused on hurting her. Yes. This would buy her a few more seconds to think. She couldn't die here. Just couldn't.
Clarity. A sudden realization. They were just like Kris. They'd planned to use her, but now that she was injured, she was worthless. The only problem was, Kris hadn't finished her off, so they were going to. Had to be it. They didn't have good weapons, and they didn't want her to struggle, so they were feigning assistance. It wouldn't work, though. Kimberly was not going to die quietly. She started screaming as loudly as she could. She had to get them off her, get them away. They were going to kill her. She wasn't ready to die. She couldn't die like this. Just couldn't. She'd imagined her death before, countless times. It came with being a horror story fanatic. Nothing she'd thought of could compare with the terror of this situation, though. She was totally powerless. Totally at the mercy of her tormentors, foes who were not drooling monsters but people she'd thought of as friends less than five minutes ago.
The rock in Kimberly's right hand was about the size of her fist. She felt around it. It had a pointy bit. That would have to be the striking surface. She was not going down without a fight. Kris might've been able to get the drop on her, but Kimberly was so over her optimism right now. She was ready to do anything to live, including beating someone else bloody. It wasn't ideal, but she'd do just about anything not to die.
She vaguely wondered whether she was wrong. Was it possible Steve and Bridget really were trying to help her? No. No, it couldn't be. She didn't know anyone at Bayview. Not really. Kris had proved that damn well. They were all potential enemies now. All killers in disguise. Had to be. Easier to understand that way. Easier to react.
Kimberly was weak. She didn't know if she'd be able to even pull herself into a sitting position. Was she in shock? She didn't know. First aid was not her strong suit. She could still move her right arm just fine, though a bit more slowly and feebly than she was used to. It would have to be enough.
She slowly brought the rock into position, then started flailing it at the hands of her would-be helpers. She couldn't tell if she'd hit them. Her angle was all wrong for any real force. At least if they were holding her arm down, though, they wouldn't be focused on hurting her. Yes. This would buy her a few more seconds to think. She couldn't die here. Just couldn't.
(GMing approved by KillerVole)
Bridget was trying desperately to stop the bleeding using only her hands, to no avail. Kimberly just kept bleeding. So much blood. On her hands. No! Now is not the time! mentally berating herself, Bridget pressed harder. Steve had torn off the sleeve, giving the duo a better look at the wound. Blood was gushing out in tiny spurts from the finger sized hole in her shoulder. There had to be something they could do to sto-"Fuck!" Bridget exclaimed, pulling her arms back. Kimberly had hit her hand with a fairly large rock, hard enough that there was probably going to be a decent bruise on her hand. Nothing was broken though thankfully.
"What the hell Kim!" Bridget screamed at the girl, who was still flailing wildly. Each time she swung the rock, the flow of blood increased, which was increasing in volume due to the fact that no pressure was being applied on the wound. "Stop moving, you're just making it worse!" Kimberly seemed to be ignoring Bridget's request, still trying to hit her with the rock. There was only one thing left to do.
"Steve, I'm going to need you to deal with the wound." was all Bridget said before springing into action. Kimberly took another swing, and this time the red head was able to catch the wild swing by the girl's wrist. "Stop... moving!" with a quick wrench of Kimberly's wrist, Bridget forced the rock out of the frantic girl's hand, the improvised weapon tumbling back into sand. 7 years of training guided Bridget's actions, forcing the other girl's arm back into a basic key lock, putting just enough pressure on Kimberly's elbow joint to stop the movement. The injured shoulder remained free, which would allow Steve to move in and treat the wound.
"I'm sorry, just don't move. I don't want to hurt you, but if you struggle you'll just make it worse on yourself." Bridget's tone was firm, and she just hoped that Kimberly would come to her senses.
Bridget was trying desperately to stop the bleeding using only her hands, to no avail. Kimberly just kept bleeding. So much blood. On her hands. No! Now is not the time! mentally berating herself, Bridget pressed harder. Steve had torn off the sleeve, giving the duo a better look at the wound. Blood was gushing out in tiny spurts from the finger sized hole in her shoulder. There had to be something they could do to sto-"Fuck!" Bridget exclaimed, pulling her arms back. Kimberly had hit her hand with a fairly large rock, hard enough that there was probably going to be a decent bruise on her hand. Nothing was broken though thankfully.
"What the hell Kim!" Bridget screamed at the girl, who was still flailing wildly. Each time she swung the rock, the flow of blood increased, which was increasing in volume due to the fact that no pressure was being applied on the wound. "Stop moving, you're just making it worse!" Kimberly seemed to be ignoring Bridget's request, still trying to hit her with the rock. There was only one thing left to do.
"Steve, I'm going to need you to deal with the wound." was all Bridget said before springing into action. Kimberly took another swing, and this time the red head was able to catch the wild swing by the girl's wrist. "Stop... moving!" with a quick wrench of Kimberly's wrist, Bridget forced the rock out of the frantic girl's hand, the improvised weapon tumbling back into sand. 7 years of training guided Bridget's actions, forcing the other girl's arm back into a basic key lock, putting just enough pressure on Kimberly's elbow joint to stop the movement. The injured shoulder remained free, which would allow Steve to move in and treat the wound.
"I'm sorry, just don't move. I don't want to hurt you, but if you struggle you'll just make it worse on yourself." Bridget's tone was firm, and she just hoped that Kimberly would come to her senses.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.
Still panicking. Blood everywhere, staining the sand red. And with every passing second, Kimberly's wound expanded the small pool that had collected. Not looking good.
Steve was about to tell Bridget to try doing it differently, since the pressure wasn't helping at all. And then he noticed it. Oddly enough, he saw the splatter of blood before he realised what was wrong with it. At the distance it was from the rest of the crimson sand, it couldn't be from Kimberly's shoulder, unless...
And then his musing was abruptly answered. It was indeed from the shoulder, blood now spurting out in small arcs. It was shortly joined, though by some that definately wasn't Kimberly's. "Argh, fff--" he began, as the delayed pain hit him. Kimberly was flailing about wildy with a sharp rock. Bridget seemed fine, but a jagged, thankfully shallow, cut had been scratched into his own bicep. And it stung like a bitch. But that didn't mean he had to delve into the realms of profanity. "--for the love of.. get a hold of yourself!"
"Steve, I'm going to need you to deal with the wound."
Helpfully, though, Bridget had decided to get a hold of her instead, pinning the offending arm behind her back and disarming the frantic girl on the floor. And so it was left to him to deal with the profusely bleeding shoulder, now worsened by the still-struggling torso it was coming from. Well, no time like the present.
Steve still wasn't even sure what he was doing, but his hands seemed to go into autopilot, his left gripping tightly around the wound whilst his right once again cleaned it of blood. The wound continued to weep, but less than before. Progress. But by that point, he was starting to wonder whether it was worth it - he didn't know how much blood the body contained, but a hell of a lot of it was now on the sand. Doubt racked his brain. His grip loosened, the flow worsened. He tried to repeat what he'd done, but it didn't seem to work any more, he couldn't remember what had worked. His head fell, hair fell across his field of vision, already blurring from tears.
What a time to get realistic.
For all Steve knew, Kimberly was already dead.
He would be soon, too.
Just delaying the inevitable, then.
"I can't... I can't do it, Bridget. I.. I can't fucking do it.". His voice had a calm, slow nature to it, but the shakiness was all too present too. Tears ran down his face as he turned to face the other girl. Blood seeped down his arm. "We're gonna die, she's just first."
Steve was about to tell Bridget to try doing it differently, since the pressure wasn't helping at all. And then he noticed it. Oddly enough, he saw the splatter of blood before he realised what was wrong with it. At the distance it was from the rest of the crimson sand, it couldn't be from Kimberly's shoulder, unless...
And then his musing was abruptly answered. It was indeed from the shoulder, blood now spurting out in small arcs. It was shortly joined, though by some that definately wasn't Kimberly's. "Argh, fff--" he began, as the delayed pain hit him. Kimberly was flailing about wildy with a sharp rock. Bridget seemed fine, but a jagged, thankfully shallow, cut had been scratched into his own bicep. And it stung like a bitch. But that didn't mean he had to delve into the realms of profanity. "--for the love of.. get a hold of yourself!"
"Steve, I'm going to need you to deal with the wound."
Helpfully, though, Bridget had decided to get a hold of her instead, pinning the offending arm behind her back and disarming the frantic girl on the floor. And so it was left to him to deal with the profusely bleeding shoulder, now worsened by the still-struggling torso it was coming from. Well, no time like the present.
Steve still wasn't even sure what he was doing, but his hands seemed to go into autopilot, his left gripping tightly around the wound whilst his right once again cleaned it of blood. The wound continued to weep, but less than before. Progress. But by that point, he was starting to wonder whether it was worth it - he didn't know how much blood the body contained, but a hell of a lot of it was now on the sand. Doubt racked his brain. His grip loosened, the flow worsened. He tried to repeat what he'd done, but it didn't seem to work any more, he couldn't remember what had worked. His head fell, hair fell across his field of vision, already blurring from tears.
What a time to get realistic.
For all Steve knew, Kimberly was already dead.
He would be soon, too.
Just delaying the inevitable, then.
"I can't... I can't do it, Bridget. I.. I can't fucking do it.". His voice had a calm, slow nature to it, but the shakiness was all too present too. Tears ran down his face as he turned to face the other girl. Blood seeped down his arm. "We're gonna die, she's just first."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Chib. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
It was working. The rock had connected with them, both of them. She'd shown them that she wasn't some easy prey to be killed so simply. No, Kimberly was going to make them work for it. They could take everything from her except her ability to resist. That, she would keep until her dying breath.
Well, that was what she thought. Then even it fell apart. Bridget did something to her, and the rock fell from her grasp, and her good arm was useless too, and Kimberly realized that things hurt so much and she couldn't do anything about it, she could just lie here passively and hope it was quick and easy, and that was the worst, that total lack of control. She'd never felt like this before. In the past, Kimberly had only ever let a situation get out of hand when she consciously chose to do so. She'd always had something, an out, a last ditch resort, something to make a situation different, be it for better or worse.
Tears. Fuck, tears. She was crying. Kimberly never cried, but she could feel the wetness on her face, see the world blurring. Oh fuck. Please let it be blood, not tears. Anything but tears. She was really going to die, wasn't she? She was really going to fade into nothing. No more anything. No more songs, no more friends, no more late night parties. She sort of wanted a cigarette. Wasn't that the rule? Dying folks got one last cigarette? They were in her bag, though. Nothing in the world could have let her slip Bridget's grasp and make it there. Besides, would she even be able to light the damn things with just one hand? Fuck.
She wished she had another chance. It was terrible, but she wished this could all be just a dream, that she could restart this little game, wake up on the beach, and instead of talking with Bridget, brain her with the grappling hook. Slip over to Steve and garotte him while he slept. Be ready when Kris showed up, ready with a smile and a kind word, then a quick blow to the back of the head. Take the gun, and show everyone what she could do. Wait, no, if she was wishing, she might as well just wish to be back at home. Never to have taken this trip. Then there would be no regrets, no pain, no betrayal. Just her, at home. Oh, and she wished she would never see that bitch Kris again. They could all be at home, only Kris would get hit by a bus or some shit. Yeah. That'd be good.
Her arm wasn't looking any better. Steve didn't look so great either. He was talking. Kimberly forced herself to hear. Well, that confirmed it. She was fucked. Everyone knew it. Hey, viewers back home, there enough action in this scene? This beat the heart-wrenching shit on ER? "We tried, Mrs. Nguyen, but we just couldn't save you granddaughter. Our best intern used all the random shit he could dredge up, but he just wasn't prepared to remove a bullet. It's a most unusual case for a school camping trip." Fuck that shit. This... couldn't be it.
She wouldn't die yet. Not without taking these two with her. She'd have to... to bite them or something. Anything. Wait, why was she attacking them? She couldn't remember. Kris. Kris was the one who deserved it all. Kris...
Why, Kris? Poor... Reika's sister. Kimberly couldn't remember her first name right now. Maybe the girl would avenge them both. Or something. Vengeance for the dead was worthless, though. Didn't do them a damn bit of good.
Tough to concentrate now. Too much pain. Too many tears.
Well, that was what she thought. Then even it fell apart. Bridget did something to her, and the rock fell from her grasp, and her good arm was useless too, and Kimberly realized that things hurt so much and she couldn't do anything about it, she could just lie here passively and hope it was quick and easy, and that was the worst, that total lack of control. She'd never felt like this before. In the past, Kimberly had only ever let a situation get out of hand when she consciously chose to do so. She'd always had something, an out, a last ditch resort, something to make a situation different, be it for better or worse.
Tears. Fuck, tears. She was crying. Kimberly never cried, but she could feel the wetness on her face, see the world blurring. Oh fuck. Please let it be blood, not tears. Anything but tears. She was really going to die, wasn't she? She was really going to fade into nothing. No more anything. No more songs, no more friends, no more late night parties. She sort of wanted a cigarette. Wasn't that the rule? Dying folks got one last cigarette? They were in her bag, though. Nothing in the world could have let her slip Bridget's grasp and make it there. Besides, would she even be able to light the damn things with just one hand? Fuck.
She wished she had another chance. It was terrible, but she wished this could all be just a dream, that she could restart this little game, wake up on the beach, and instead of talking with Bridget, brain her with the grappling hook. Slip over to Steve and garotte him while he slept. Be ready when Kris showed up, ready with a smile and a kind word, then a quick blow to the back of the head. Take the gun, and show everyone what she could do. Wait, no, if she was wishing, she might as well just wish to be back at home. Never to have taken this trip. Then there would be no regrets, no pain, no betrayal. Just her, at home. Oh, and she wished she would never see that bitch Kris again. They could all be at home, only Kris would get hit by a bus or some shit. Yeah. That'd be good.
Her arm wasn't looking any better. Steve didn't look so great either. He was talking. Kimberly forced herself to hear. Well, that confirmed it. She was fucked. Everyone knew it. Hey, viewers back home, there enough action in this scene? This beat the heart-wrenching shit on ER? "We tried, Mrs. Nguyen, but we just couldn't save you granddaughter. Our best intern used all the random shit he could dredge up, but he just wasn't prepared to remove a bullet. It's a most unusual case for a school camping trip." Fuck that shit. This... couldn't be it.
She wouldn't die yet. Not without taking these two with her. She'd have to... to bite them or something. Anything. Wait, why was she attacking them? She couldn't remember. Kris. Kris was the one who deserved it all. Kris...
Why, Kris? Poor... Reika's sister. Kimberly couldn't remember her first name right now. Maybe the girl would avenge them both. Or something. Vengeance for the dead was worthless, though. Didn't do them a damn bit of good.
Tough to concentrate now. Too much pain. Too many tears.