As Rachel clutched for the edges of his shirt, he gripped her wrist in his hand. For one wild moment he considered throwing her off and fleeing into the night, but the fact was that he hadn't actually been alone at any point for the entire time he'd been here. First there had been Jaclyn, the crazy girl who'd talked of knights and noble steeds before winding up dead about half an hour later. That seemed so long ago now she might have never existed. Then Bobby and Ray, his brothers, and now Rachel. He didn't know how to survive on his own, and after a second he loosened his grip.
Rachel attempted to lure out the voice, something that made Neill feel nervous, but it was too late now. He continued to edge slowly in the direction that they had come from. After all, what were the odds that the person,, that floating, unidentified voice, was actually behind them? Glancing down to watch his feet, he became aware that they were bathed in the pale white glow of the moon, and that all around them was dark. They lit up like a beacon in the forest. We need to get out of the clearing. Need to get under the cover of the trees.
But then the voice stepped into view.
Brook. Neill didn't know Brook. He was nothing more than a name. They had no real mutual friends and had never shared a class. They came from different middle schools and lived in different parts of town. There were few people in their grade that he was less connected to. Few people that he new less about. And yet, as the gun glinted in the moonlight, it was this person, this stranger but for a name, that was probably going to kill him.
Words flitted in and out of Neill's mind like a dance. Things he knew that he should say. He needed to tell his father and his brother how much they meant to him. To tell his mother that she didn't need to feel guilty for not being around much. Needed to tell his sister how sorry he was that he hadn't been there to protect her when she was growing up; a stranger in the same town. But there was only one word that made it past his brain to his lips. A word that fluttered around in his mouth as he remained rooted to the spot. Neill Robertson, famed throughout his life for always saying more than was needed, a man of many words brought down to one.
Run.
But he couldn't say it; he knew that if they ran then Brook would shoot. It seemed he was as desperate for them to stay as he and Rachel were desperate to leave. Had Brook been crazy at school? He couldn't remember ever hearing anything. But then, he wasn't even sure who the guy hung around with, let alone the answers to delicate questions about his mental health. He'd watched the previous series'. This island would turn people crazy. In fact, Neill marvelled at how sane he still was, and attributed it to being around people.
"Hi, Brook," Neill said softly. This was a delicate matter. Treat people how you'd like to be treated. How did Brook wanted to be treated? Maybe just nicely, that was all that Neill wanted at the moment. That and a McDonalds. "Please, don't hurt us. We- we're good people," I'm a good person, Rachel is somewhat dubiously good... "We might be able to help you. Not that, um, I'm suggesting you need help. But if you want it, we can help you."
Bloodgarden
An endless dedication... (CONTENT WARNING)
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xylophonefairy†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:55 am
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler xylophonefairy. 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.
It was the hick. The one that had been killing people since about three days ago now. Rachel remembered him being more of the timid and wholly useless student council vice president. The boy could never give her a straight answer whenever she had asked him several administrative questions regarding support of GODspeed. It had seemed like a strange mixup to hear his name on the announcements so many times. Seeing him now, things made sense.
Liam was possessed.
Rachel couldn't believe her ears at Neill's bold attempt to placate the Devil's host. Did he not see how the other boy had been transformed? Did he think that one could save Liam by extending a helping hand? That was exactly how the Devil won his victories: by preying on weakness.
"No, we won't." Rachel's voice was hardened with conviction. "There is no help for you, demon. Go back to the hell you came from." Her hand left Neill's shirt and clasped the crucifix that always hung around her neck. It was only through faith in Him that she could hope to ward the Devil.
Liam was possessed.
Rachel couldn't believe her ears at Neill's bold attempt to placate the Devil's host. Did he not see how the other boy had been transformed? Did he think that one could save Liam by extending a helping hand? That was exactly how the Devil won his victories: by preying on weakness.
"No, we won't." Rachel's voice was hardened with conviction. "There is no help for you, demon. Go back to the hell you came from." Her hand left Neill's shirt and clasped the crucifix that always hung around her neck. It was only through faith in Him that she could hope to ward the Devil.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
A pair of blue eyes watched the boy who spoke, blinking with curiosity at the approach the speaker had taken. He spoke calmly, deliberately, trying to defuse the bomb that would inevitably splatter their guts all over the ground of the clearing. Still, the attempt was an entertaining one... oddly soothing, too.
His name is Neill, Brook. You went to school with this person, remember? Neill... his last name is lost somewhere, not that names are really important. They don't want to hurt you. Good! Good... having the fertilizer hurt back is always a bad thing. Very bad.
It was the longest chunk of thought Brook had verbalized to himself in a long while, not that it made more sense than the rest of the tangled mess his mind now spat out. The worst part, which he dwelled on with a half-frown tugging at the right side of his mouth, was that he realized how hopelessly stuck it all was. Yeah... that was the worst bit, realizing you were broken.
At the very least, he got some entertainment before he made his latest two kills. As he nodded and gave another slight, practically genuine smile to Neill's speech and nodded, he was already thinking of all the glorious ways he could disassemble him and watch him spill out onto the earth. Both him and Rachel, actually, but the girl wasn't exactly about to allow Brook to gloss over her presence.
"No, we won't," she said in response to Neil.
Well, there goes half of my fun now, don't it? Brook inwardly sighed.
"There is no help for you, demon. Go back to the hell you came from."
This... now this was fucking priceless. Rachel, ever the annoying GODspeed bitch interrupting all their otherwise useful meetings with her blabbering bullshit, had pulled out her crucifix. Brook gave it a quick glance; yup, the image of a dead guy hanging from a cross certainly had never been more powerful. It made him think, even, if he might be able to lash a large branch to a tree or something and crucify them...
... Nah, it'll never work. Besides, the garden has enough symbolism. Now if I could get a fountain installed...
The once calm smile had morphed into the same crazed grin he gave nearly everybody who entered this hallowed place, unbeknownst to its wearer. Oh, how he wanted to fuck with these two... how he wanted to mess with their heads until they were practically begging him to kill them both, but he only had so much time in such a pressing situation. Brook stepped towards Rachel, but only twice. Then, after a short pause, he made the muscles in his arm quiver. Quivering turned to outright convulsing which surged to the rest of his body, and as the final step, he even lurched away... careful not to drop the gun during any of it.
"Augh... AAAAAAAAAUGH!!!" Brook summoned up the air to bellow out. "P-Put that away, it burns!" An empty hand clawed in the general direction of Rachel's futile gesture while Brook tried to remember other scenes from exorcist-type movies to draw inspiration from. The ruse could only last so long though, with animalistic to demonic noises being sputtered out of his mouth before they broke down into a strange pile of human noise.
Then Brook, arms hung low in front of him and eyes fixed on Rachel, began to laugh.
"Come on... really? SERIOUSLY!?" Brook straightened his back and pointed the gun right at that stupid holy whore's face. "Do you really think anything, even God, can protect you from a bullet shot out of this gun? Say yes. Oh, pleaaaase, say yes. I can't wait to see it prove you wrong."
His name is Neill, Brook. You went to school with this person, remember? Neill... his last name is lost somewhere, not that names are really important. They don't want to hurt you. Good! Good... having the fertilizer hurt back is always a bad thing. Very bad.
It was the longest chunk of thought Brook had verbalized to himself in a long while, not that it made more sense than the rest of the tangled mess his mind now spat out. The worst part, which he dwelled on with a half-frown tugging at the right side of his mouth, was that he realized how hopelessly stuck it all was. Yeah... that was the worst bit, realizing you were broken.
At the very least, he got some entertainment before he made his latest two kills. As he nodded and gave another slight, practically genuine smile to Neill's speech and nodded, he was already thinking of all the glorious ways he could disassemble him and watch him spill out onto the earth. Both him and Rachel, actually, but the girl wasn't exactly about to allow Brook to gloss over her presence.
"No, we won't," she said in response to Neil.
Well, there goes half of my fun now, don't it? Brook inwardly sighed.
"There is no help for you, demon. Go back to the hell you came from."
This... now this was fucking priceless. Rachel, ever the annoying GODspeed bitch interrupting all their otherwise useful meetings with her blabbering bullshit, had pulled out her crucifix. Brook gave it a quick glance; yup, the image of a dead guy hanging from a cross certainly had never been more powerful. It made him think, even, if he might be able to lash a large branch to a tree or something and crucify them...
... Nah, it'll never work. Besides, the garden has enough symbolism. Now if I could get a fountain installed...
The once calm smile had morphed into the same crazed grin he gave nearly everybody who entered this hallowed place, unbeknownst to its wearer. Oh, how he wanted to fuck with these two... how he wanted to mess with their heads until they were practically begging him to kill them both, but he only had so much time in such a pressing situation. Brook stepped towards Rachel, but only twice. Then, after a short pause, he made the muscles in his arm quiver. Quivering turned to outright convulsing which surged to the rest of his body, and as the final step, he even lurched away... careful not to drop the gun during any of it.
"Augh... AAAAAAAAAUGH!!!" Brook summoned up the air to bellow out. "P-Put that away, it burns!" An empty hand clawed in the general direction of Rachel's futile gesture while Brook tried to remember other scenes from exorcist-type movies to draw inspiration from. The ruse could only last so long though, with animalistic to demonic noises being sputtered out of his mouth before they broke down into a strange pile of human noise.
Then Brook, arms hung low in front of him and eyes fixed on Rachel, began to laugh.
"Come on... really? SERIOUSLY!?" Brook straightened his back and pointed the gun right at that stupid holy whore's face. "Do you really think anything, even God, can protect you from a bullet shot out of this gun? Say yes. Oh, pleaaaase, say yes. I can't wait to see it prove you wrong."
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xylophonefairy†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:55 am
He'd almost done it. As he'd spoken, Brook's expression had softened and Neill thought for a wild moment that he might succeed. For once, his preference for talking over doing might actually have done some good. And he'd debated what to do next, perhaps he could lull Brook into something of a hypnotised state and then run away? Or should he stay here and continue his work? Perhaps he was lost on linguistics, perhaps psychiatry was his calling?! Though that required years of medical school and pre med and that meant science. Neill wasn't a hug fan of science.
Of course, just as he'd gotten his future planned out, she'd spoken.
"No we won't." Neill squeezed his eyes shut in an awkward frustration, before opening them. In the few seconds of blurriness that followed, he rolled his eyes. "There is no help for you, demon. Go back to the hell you came from." With that she clutched at her crucifix, and paralleling her, he clutched at the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. He really needed to light one up right now, but what if Brook was some crazy anti-smoking campaigner? Never aggravate the guy with the gun. Still, it wasn't like they were totally unarmed. The drip stand, broken in half, might work to confuse him for long enough for Neill to run away.
Still, Neill couldn't help but stifle a grin at Brook's impression of being posessed. It was scary as hell, yes, but it was also something he'd been secretly wanting to do for a few days now. He pressed his lips together until the urge to laugh passed, and prayed to a God that he didn't believe in that neither of the two crazy people he was sharing a clearing with noticed.
"No," Neill said quietly to Rachel. "Don't tempt him! Don't be tempted by the, er, devil," he said, trying to appeal to her.
Of course, just as he'd gotten his future planned out, she'd spoken.
"No we won't." Neill squeezed his eyes shut in an awkward frustration, before opening them. In the few seconds of blurriness that followed, he rolled his eyes. "There is no help for you, demon. Go back to the hell you came from." With that she clutched at her crucifix, and paralleling her, he clutched at the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. He really needed to light one up right now, but what if Brook was some crazy anti-smoking campaigner? Never aggravate the guy with the gun. Still, it wasn't like they were totally unarmed. The drip stand, broken in half, might work to confuse him for long enough for Neill to run away.
Still, Neill couldn't help but stifle a grin at Brook's impression of being posessed. It was scary as hell, yes, but it was also something he'd been secretly wanting to do for a few days now. He pressed his lips together until the urge to laugh passed, and prayed to a God that he didn't believe in that neither of the two crazy people he was sharing a clearing with noticed.
"No," Neill said quietly to Rachel. "Don't tempt him! Don't be tempted by the, er, devil," he said, trying to appeal to her.
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"God will protect his own."
It didn't matter what everybody else was saying. The Devil did his best work through the subtlest of temptations. Liam's taunts did little to deter her. Neither did Neill's warnings. Those were just products of the Devil's work. If anything, they just served to stoke the fire of her conviction.
Rachel didn't have much else to work with besides her crucifix. When she'd done the Lord's work earlier in this ordeal, days ago, He had provided her with something for her to use. A handy rock or stick or something of the like. There was nothing like that around right now. The only thing she had on hand was Neill, but it wasn't like she could exactly swing the other boy around to smite down a demon.
She did still have her backpack though.
Years of sports training had given her more than enough speed and coordination to make use of her only weapon at hand. Her pack hurtled through the air at the possessed boy, the girl following shortly after it. All she needed to do was to get close enough to cleanse him.
She whispered a prayer as she closed in and braced her shoulder against the impact.
It didn't matter what everybody else was saying. The Devil did his best work through the subtlest of temptations. Liam's taunts did little to deter her. Neither did Neill's warnings. Those were just products of the Devil's work. If anything, they just served to stoke the fire of her conviction.
Rachel didn't have much else to work with besides her crucifix. When she'd done the Lord's work earlier in this ordeal, days ago, He had provided her with something for her to use. A handy rock or stick or something of the like. There was nothing like that around right now. The only thing she had on hand was Neill, but it wasn't like she could exactly swing the other boy around to smite down a demon.
She did still have her backpack though.
Years of sports training had given her more than enough speed and coordination to make use of her only weapon at hand. Her pack hurtled through the air at the possessed boy, the girl following shortly after it. All she needed to do was to get close enough to cleanse him.
She whispered a prayer as she closed in and braced her shoulder against the impact.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
((There is stuff in this post that may or may not have been approved by Joe. I'm honestly unsure. However, we're running a bit low on time, so I'm going to do what I can while staying in line with our plan, here.))
Once again, people were displaying their little habits of pathetic acts of heroism and self-preservation. It's bad enough that Rachel couldn't take a joke at all... what better way to lighten up the situation than with a few jokes, even if they're at somebody else's expense? No, not only could she not take a joke, she had to follow the trend of trying to escape her fate.
With a backpack.
Brook's left arm was already primed to swing at the object flying at his face, his forearm taking most of the impact as he swatted the article away. He impressed himself with how smoothly the whole action went down, effortlessly smacking down his victim's attempts to harm him. That'd be a good message to send, really; fight, and everything you try or pull will just end up being meaningless. Much like this whole island, really. Brook smirked, still feeling the euphoria from his success as he looked ahead to- What the fuck how did she get to me that fast oh SHIT-
That was too fast. No, that was definitely WAY too fast! The backpack that Rachel had thrown at him had hardly even hit the ground and she was already there, practically in his face. Panicked at this sudden development, Brook raised his gun arm up and tried to pull his other arm in towards his chest, but he was much too late. Before he could so much as call 'bullshit', Rachel Gettys had driven her shoulder right into his chest.
Brook wrapped his left arm around the girl's shoulder and wheezed, his foot finding the ability to plant behind him and offer some stability after yet another unexpected collision with some girl who decided it would be fun to tackle him. Really... this was the second in a row, now? He hadn't dropped the gun yet, something that would've been a bit of a death sentence, at least. Neill was still there; Brook stared at him through somewhat watering eyes even as he received the shock of his life. One person was already glomping the shit out of him, he didn't need another.
Summoning as much strength as he could through a single raspy breath, the larger boy pushed back on the girl who had checked him. He didn't need to knock her down, he just needed to get her off of him, which he managed with a good degree of decency. Coldly, without hesitation, the gun lowered to Rachel's knee, and he fired.
God, he loved doing that.
"Really? SERIOUSLY!?" Brook spat, pointing the gun between the two of them: Neill still standing, and Rachel having gotten what was coming to her. "God this, God that... what, do you actually think God's going to save you or something?" He hadn't even realized he was shaking until now. Rachel, with her stupid... her STUPID 'divine defiance' or whatever the hell you could call that attitude of hers was driving him to a new edge. For the first time in days, Brook's thoughts were coherent even to himself.
He could think of nothing scarier.
"Think about it for just a second..." Brook continued to ramble, his mouth feeling awfully dry. "We're all here, killing each other, having a grand ol' time in this fucking bloodbath. You think you're his chosen one, his... I don't know, his messiah!? Like you're special!? WAKE UP!!!" Brook was now screaming, his formerly tied-back hair hanging loosely in front of part of his face and over his shoulders. Unable to keep up the volume for risk of his voice breaking, Brook took a few moments before continuing. Now when he spoke, it was deliberate... calm, but no less furious.
"How are you so sure he even exists when he's letting something like this happen to us? Answer me, why don't you? If I'm wrong... why don't you just use 'faith', get up on that leg of yours, and kick my ass?" A shake of the head punctuated his dare. "It's because you can't. You're useless, and this is hopeless. Welcome to the real world."
Once again, people were displaying their little habits of pathetic acts of heroism and self-preservation. It's bad enough that Rachel couldn't take a joke at all... what better way to lighten up the situation than with a few jokes, even if they're at somebody else's expense? No, not only could she not take a joke, she had to follow the trend of trying to escape her fate.
With a backpack.
Brook's left arm was already primed to swing at the object flying at his face, his forearm taking most of the impact as he swatted the article away. He impressed himself with how smoothly the whole action went down, effortlessly smacking down his victim's attempts to harm him. That'd be a good message to send, really; fight, and everything you try or pull will just end up being meaningless. Much like this whole island, really. Brook smirked, still feeling the euphoria from his success as he looked ahead to- What the fuck how did she get to me that fast oh SHIT-
That was too fast. No, that was definitely WAY too fast! The backpack that Rachel had thrown at him had hardly even hit the ground and she was already there, practically in his face. Panicked at this sudden development, Brook raised his gun arm up and tried to pull his other arm in towards his chest, but he was much too late. Before he could so much as call 'bullshit', Rachel Gettys had driven her shoulder right into his chest.
Brook wrapped his left arm around the girl's shoulder and wheezed, his foot finding the ability to plant behind him and offer some stability after yet another unexpected collision with some girl who decided it would be fun to tackle him. Really... this was the second in a row, now? He hadn't dropped the gun yet, something that would've been a bit of a death sentence, at least. Neill was still there; Brook stared at him through somewhat watering eyes even as he received the shock of his life. One person was already glomping the shit out of him, he didn't need another.
Summoning as much strength as he could through a single raspy breath, the larger boy pushed back on the girl who had checked him. He didn't need to knock her down, he just needed to get her off of him, which he managed with a good degree of decency. Coldly, without hesitation, the gun lowered to Rachel's knee, and he fired.
God, he loved doing that.
"Really? SERIOUSLY!?" Brook spat, pointing the gun between the two of them: Neill still standing, and Rachel having gotten what was coming to her. "God this, God that... what, do you actually think God's going to save you or something?" He hadn't even realized he was shaking until now. Rachel, with her stupid... her STUPID 'divine defiance' or whatever the hell you could call that attitude of hers was driving him to a new edge. For the first time in days, Brook's thoughts were coherent even to himself.
He could think of nothing scarier.
"Think about it for just a second..." Brook continued to ramble, his mouth feeling awfully dry. "We're all here, killing each other, having a grand ol' time in this fucking bloodbath. You think you're his chosen one, his... I don't know, his messiah!? Like you're special!? WAKE UP!!!" Brook was now screaming, his formerly tied-back hair hanging loosely in front of part of his face and over his shoulders. Unable to keep up the volume for risk of his voice breaking, Brook took a few moments before continuing. Now when he spoke, it was deliberate... calm, but no less furious.
"How are you so sure he even exists when he's letting something like this happen to us? Answer me, why don't you? If I'm wrong... why don't you just use 'faith', get up on that leg of yours, and kick my ass?" A shake of the head punctuated his dare. "It's because you can't. You're useless, and this is hopeless. Welcome to the real world."
Rachel's world was pain. Her leg, no her entire body, was on fire.
God, it hurt so much.
She clutched at her leg. It was wet. She could feel it leaking between her fingers. Blood. So much blood. And pain.
She tried to stand. To even move her body. But everything hurt so much.
Was this what it felt like to die?
Rachel didn't want to die. There was still so much to do. So many souls to bring to the Lord's embrace. He had asked her of it. His will had to be done.
God, she just wished that everything would stop hurting.
My child.
He was here. He had come to save her. To deliver her from this demon.
Her eyes looked up, and saw Liam pointing his gun away from her. His lips were moving. His voice was not his own.
You have failed me, my child.
That was impossible. She had done as was asked. As He had directed.
How had she failed? She opened her mouth to inquire, but the Lord's words continued from Liam's lips.
What are My commandments?
Cold shock met with fiery pain. Of course she knew them. Every good Christian should. She also knew which one she had broken.
You have blood on your hands, My child.
Blood seeped through her pants, through her fingers. But there was more than just her blood. Theodore's blood and Edward's blood. She could feel it staining her hands. Staining her soul.
This wasn't fair. She had done as she had been asked. She had been given directions and she'd followed them. Why was God turning away from her now, when she needed him the most?
You know your sin. What do you have to say for yourself?
No. She knew she had done right. It was His fault for not giving clear directions. It was His fault for forcing her to have to kill.
But if she was a sinner, she was going to Hell when she died. And if God was forsaking her now, it wouldn't be long before that happened.
So she did the only thing she knew to get out of her eternal damnation. She bowed her head and tried to will the pain away. It subsided just the tiniest, enough for her to squeak out the words of the rite: "Bless me Father, for I have sinned."
God, it hurt so much.
She clutched at her leg. It was wet. She could feel it leaking between her fingers. Blood. So much blood. And pain.
She tried to stand. To even move her body. But everything hurt so much.
Was this what it felt like to die?
Rachel didn't want to die. There was still so much to do. So many souls to bring to the Lord's embrace. He had asked her of it. His will had to be done.
God, she just wished that everything would stop hurting.
My child.
He was here. He had come to save her. To deliver her from this demon.
Her eyes looked up, and saw Liam pointing his gun away from her. His lips were moving. His voice was not his own.
You have failed me, my child.
That was impossible. She had done as was asked. As He had directed.
How had she failed? She opened her mouth to inquire, but the Lord's words continued from Liam's lips.
What are My commandments?
Cold shock met with fiery pain. Of course she knew them. Every good Christian should. She also knew which one she had broken.
You have blood on your hands, My child.
Blood seeped through her pants, through her fingers. But there was more than just her blood. Theodore's blood and Edward's blood. She could feel it staining her hands. Staining her soul.
This wasn't fair. She had done as she had been asked. She had been given directions and she'd followed them. Why was God turning away from her now, when she needed him the most?
You know your sin. What do you have to say for yourself?
No. She knew she had done right. It was His fault for not giving clear directions. It was His fault for forcing her to have to kill.
But if she was a sinner, she was going to Hell when she died. And if God was forsaking her now, it wouldn't be long before that happened.
So she did the only thing she knew to get out of her eternal damnation. She bowed her head and tried to will the pain away. It subsided just the tiniest, enough for her to squeak out the words of the rite: "Bless me Father, for I have sinned."
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xylophonefairy†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:55 am
Neill's eyes widened and he took a step back as the sound of the shot riccocheted around them. His foot twisted over a tree stump, and he stopped, just as Rachel fell to the floor. Brook was mocking her for her beliefs, and as much as he might have agreed with his devil impression a few moments earlier, this irritated him. He struggled to find the words, there were too many of them milling around in his brain. He didn't know what he was feeling, how he felt about Rachel, whom he had been so scared of before, reduced to Brook's mercy as she sat broken on the floor. How he felt about the fact that he was still here, the fact that his legs wouldn't move, even though he was willing them to. He's distracted! This is your time to run!
He turned, just about convincing himself to leave, when he heard her speak. It was a quiet, desperate sound, just loud enough for him to hear what she was saying. And then his breath caught in his throat and bile churned in his stomach. His heart pulsed to that blood rushed up around his ears, and he could feel his cheeks growing ever so slightly warm. He had spent so long worrying about himself, that he hadn't even bothered to think about what other people were worrying for.
"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."
That was what they said when they asked for forgiveness. Christians and Catholics and things. The reason they asked for forgiveness was because they didn't want to go to Hell when they died, but wanted to frolic with Jesus and the 69 virgins. And suddenly, with crashing realisation, he felt worried for her. He was scared on her behalf that she would end up in the Hell that she had dedicated her entire life to trying to avoid, because of the things she had been forced into while she was on this island. He closed his eyes for a moment, and said a prayer for the first time in his life.
Hi, God, or whoever you are. If anyone's there. Please, forgive her. Forgive everyone. This is an unfair world, and this is an unfair trial. When it's kill or be killed what are supposed to do, pray? She's been so... religious all her life, she doesn't deserve it to end like this. Uh, that's all. Amen?
"Leave her alone," Neill said when he opened his eyes. He felt his eyes begin to water and rubbed them furiously, already planning to blame his tears on hayfever. "Just let her die in peace."
He turned, just about convincing himself to leave, when he heard her speak. It was a quiet, desperate sound, just loud enough for him to hear what she was saying. And then his breath caught in his throat and bile churned in his stomach. His heart pulsed to that blood rushed up around his ears, and he could feel his cheeks growing ever so slightly warm. He had spent so long worrying about himself, that he hadn't even bothered to think about what other people were worrying for.
"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."
That was what they said when they asked for forgiveness. Christians and Catholics and things. The reason they asked for forgiveness was because they didn't want to go to Hell when they died, but wanted to frolic with Jesus and the 69 virgins. And suddenly, with crashing realisation, he felt worried for her. He was scared on her behalf that she would end up in the Hell that she had dedicated her entire life to trying to avoid, because of the things she had been forced into while she was on this island. He closed his eyes for a moment, and said a prayer for the first time in his life.
Hi, God, or whoever you are. If anyone's there. Please, forgive her. Forgive everyone. This is an unfair world, and this is an unfair trial. When it's kill or be killed what are supposed to do, pray? She's been so... religious all her life, she doesn't deserve it to end like this. Uh, that's all. Amen?
"Leave her alone," Neill said when he opened his eyes. He felt his eyes begin to water and rubbed them furiously, already planning to blame his tears on hayfever. "Just let her die in peace."
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
The gun moved from the disgusting girl on the ground, covered in her own pitable and wretched hypocrisy, to the boy who had spoken up - the boy who could have just shut his mouth and walked away at any time, and Brook probably would not have even noticed. Instead, it seemed like somebody wanted to play hero. If that's what he wanted to do, then Brook would just have to give this hero a fitting end to his story.
"And who the fuck are you talking to!?" He said it with a sneer, trying to force out every bit of contempt in his soul so he could saturate his voice with it. "Not me, I hope. Dying in peace... what a laugh. I shot her in the fucking leg, and here you are bellyaching that she's going to die!" Disgust turned to glee on a sharp emotional dime, and the next words were slathered in barely-contained laughter.
"Actually, you know what, she probably is going to die, come to think of it. With all that blood leaking out, and all. Does that strike you as particularly peaceful? No. So, I'll probably just hasten the process. Because... you know, I'm just that nice a guy, right?"
He had suffered long enough around these two. At least it was dark out, so he didn't have to suffer through their expressions in vivid detail. It was a small saving's grace, to say the least, but still the best he could hope for.
"That is..." Brook said, the contempt returning to his voice as he glared at Neill. "... after I kill your stupid ass!" The trigger of his shiny new toy was pulled yet again. Even though he squeezed it for less than a second, it excited him how many times it popped. Either two or three, there was no telling, but he just couldn't wait to see the pain etched in one's face, the screams, the blood pouring...
And yet, for some reason, he felt disappointed with himself.
Perhaps it was the simplicity in his actions, or something more. Something wasn't right about the garden anymore. Had he lost his touch, or was this something else? It'd have to wait until daylight, probably. Until then, there was still the matter of Rachel. Rachel, and all the blood inside her.
"... You know what?" Brook said after a short, melancholy sigh. "I've gotten a little tired of looking at you. I was thinking about, you know, beating up on that precious face of yours, skinning you alive, finding a toaster and burning your ear off, I don't know... something stupid. But I'm bored, and... in my opinion, you've been alive way. WAY. Too long."
The gun pointed at the girl's forehead. Who the hell was going to stop him, anyway? This island clearly wanted it all. Things were meant to have happened like this.
"So, um, can you die? Kay, thanks."
Another bang, and then silence.
"F... Fuck... Tiffany?" Of course, nobody was going to answer back.
Brook felt alone.
"And who the fuck are you talking to!?" He said it with a sneer, trying to force out every bit of contempt in his soul so he could saturate his voice with it. "Not me, I hope. Dying in peace... what a laugh. I shot her in the fucking leg, and here you are bellyaching that she's going to die!" Disgust turned to glee on a sharp emotional dime, and the next words were slathered in barely-contained laughter.
"Actually, you know what, she probably is going to die, come to think of it. With all that blood leaking out, and all. Does that strike you as particularly peaceful? No. So, I'll probably just hasten the process. Because... you know, I'm just that nice a guy, right?"
He had suffered long enough around these two. At least it was dark out, so he didn't have to suffer through their expressions in vivid detail. It was a small saving's grace, to say the least, but still the best he could hope for.
"That is..." Brook said, the contempt returning to his voice as he glared at Neill. "... after I kill your stupid ass!" The trigger of his shiny new toy was pulled yet again. Even though he squeezed it for less than a second, it excited him how many times it popped. Either two or three, there was no telling, but he just couldn't wait to see the pain etched in one's face, the screams, the blood pouring...
And yet, for some reason, he felt disappointed with himself.
Perhaps it was the simplicity in his actions, or something more. Something wasn't right about the garden anymore. Had he lost his touch, or was this something else? It'd have to wait until daylight, probably. Until then, there was still the matter of Rachel. Rachel, and all the blood inside her.
"... You know what?" Brook said after a short, melancholy sigh. "I've gotten a little tired of looking at you. I was thinking about, you know, beating up on that precious face of yours, skinning you alive, finding a toaster and burning your ear off, I don't know... something stupid. But I'm bored, and... in my opinion, you've been alive way. WAY. Too long."
The gun pointed at the girl's forehead. Who the hell was going to stop him, anyway? This island clearly wanted it all. Things were meant to have happened like this.
"So, um, can you die? Kay, thanks."
Another bang, and then silence.
"F... Fuck... Tiffany?" Of course, nobody was going to answer back.
Brook felt alone.
((Jason Harris continued from Never Take Friendship Personal))
Jason gritted his teeth before looking back upwards. "Please let Brook be here. Please" As he closed his lips he looked up past the thick mass of twisted pines and the ridge of muddy grass ahead of him. Storm clouds looked to be looming on the horizon beginning to cut out the sunlight across the coast making the forest become even darker and cold. Jason had a small gesture with his hand towards Nathan. He didn't know if the storm would pass overhead or stay but he wasn't too keen on slogging through rain slicked mud. "He's close mate, we'll find him."
Dropping his gaze, he took a steadying breath. He couldn't afford to panic now. The two had walked a long way. Hours of walk even. The faint voices up ahead, somewhere in the forest gave him hope though. The two had heard a sound earlier and the continued drone of human speech drove them on.
Jason moved quickly. Loose scree and snags of wood tripped his feet. It was hard to walk, and even harder to keep balance down the steep slope that he worked his way down.
Push on Jase, push on. His body kept up. He was tired, so tired now but the voices were closer. He could hear tone now. There were at least two voices, but he wasn't sure who yet. He gripped the pistol in his hand tightly, this time, finger off the trigger. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.
It's got to be Brook. It's just got to.
Jason gritted his teeth before looking back upwards. "Please let Brook be here. Please" As he closed his lips he looked up past the thick mass of twisted pines and the ridge of muddy grass ahead of him. Storm clouds looked to be looming on the horizon beginning to cut out the sunlight across the coast making the forest become even darker and cold. Jason had a small gesture with his hand towards Nathan. He didn't know if the storm would pass overhead or stay but he wasn't too keen on slogging through rain slicked mud. "He's close mate, we'll find him."
Dropping his gaze, he took a steadying breath. He couldn't afford to panic now. The two had walked a long way. Hours of walk even. The faint voices up ahead, somewhere in the forest gave him hope though. The two had heard a sound earlier and the continued drone of human speech drove them on.
Jason moved quickly. Loose scree and snags of wood tripped his feet. It was hard to walk, and even harder to keep balance down the steep slope that he worked his way down.
Push on Jase, push on. His body kept up. He was tired, so tired now but the voices were closer. He could hear tone now. There were at least two voices, but he wasn't sure who yet. He gripped the pistol in his hand tightly, this time, finger off the trigger. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.
It's got to be Brook. It's just got to.
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Maybe Rachel had killed some people. She had sinned. But God always took back in his sinners. He always welcomed back his prodigal child and throw a feast for them. All she would need to do was confess her sins and beg for His forgiveness. It was the only time she would ever dream of begging, but heaven should be worth begging for.
"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended You," she whispered, calling on the prayer for this rite. "I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell," the words hissed out from under breath, the pain of her leg threatening to drive her deeper into despair, "but most of all because they offend you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love." Rachel looked up at Liam, his words mocking her mortality. A loud crack and a dull thud shook her from her prayer.
Still, she had to continue. She had to finish the prayer, or she wouldn't be forgiven. It was just like every other Saturday, when she would say be in the confessional saying these same words. They rolled off her tongue, each one following the previous one as recorded in her memory.
Just finish the prayer, and forget the distractions: the pain, the demon's voice, the reaper's scythe.
"I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin."
A part of her mind, as it did every week, wondered what her penance would be. Would she have to pray three Our Fathers? Or maybe a decade of the rosary? It would only take a few minutes to pray. And then after she did her penance, God would welcome her back into His arms.
"In Jesus' name-"
Liam had felt that there was no need to wait to give Rachel her penance: a bullet.
G087: Rachel Gettys - DECEASED
"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended You," she whispered, calling on the prayer for this rite. "I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell," the words hissed out from under breath, the pain of her leg threatening to drive her deeper into despair, "but most of all because they offend you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love." Rachel looked up at Liam, his words mocking her mortality. A loud crack and a dull thud shook her from her prayer.
Still, she had to continue. She had to finish the prayer, or she wouldn't be forgiven. It was just like every other Saturday, when she would say be in the confessional saying these same words. They rolled off her tongue, each one following the previous one as recorded in her memory.
Just finish the prayer, and forget the distractions: the pain, the demon's voice, the reaper's scythe.
"I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin."
A part of her mind, as it did every week, wondered what her penance would be. Would she have to pray three Our Fathers? Or maybe a decade of the rosary? It would only take a few minutes to pray. And then after she did her penance, God would welcome her back into His arms.
"In Jesus' name-"
Liam had felt that there was no need to wait to give Rachel her penance: a bullet.
G087: Rachel Gettys - DECEASED
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GregTheAnti-Viking†
- Posts: 267
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:10 am
((Nathan Choultard continued from Never Take Friendship Personal))
Nathan's heart sunk when he first heard the announcement. The escape had failed. Everyone that had made it onto the boats, had died. Feelings of relief, and fear mixed in within his mind. He had survived, if only by sheer luck because he followed Jason. But now, they were going towards the belly of the beast.
And now, there was no escape to run back to.
It had finally occured to him that his body was aching. Running for miles upon miles was taking it's toll on his legs. He felt as if for the past week and a half had aged him considerably. He still looked eighteen, but inside he felt like an old man. His feet were throbbing and they struggled to gain footing on the slick grass.
Jason was a few steps ahead of him, apparently he still had the energy to keep going. Either that or he had decided that Brook may provide a way to end it all. At this point, Nathan just didn't know what to think of that.
So why was he still searching for Brook? Was it a death wish? The thought made Nathan's face twist in a grimace. Maybe it was.
And yet still he followed.
Maybe it was the knowledge that he was almost in the halls of celebrity in which all the killers of the island found themselves. If he wasn't a terrible shot, Jason would have end up dead. And then Jason had forgiven him. Somehow, he found it in himself to forgive him.
Maybe he still had a debt to repay.
Nathan heard a voice in the distance. It was still fuzzy, but it was a man's voice, that much he knew. Jason had quickly pulled up his gun and pushed on. Nathan gulped and skulked through the forest towards the voice. As he stepped closer, his nostrils were assaulted with a foul cocktail of smells. Blood, piss, shit, and a million other disgusting scents he couldn't describe snuck into his nose and stalled his movement. It took every fibre in his body to restrain his gag reflex.
He draped his hands over his mouth and nose, but even that couldn't stem the tide of smells. A gunshot rung out and instinct took over, Nathan rushed over to the nearest tree to hide. There was a clearing behind the tree and curiosity had taken over. He shuffled his head, to get a quick glimpse.
He wished he hadn't. All he could see was bodies. Pools of blood staining the green grass, and scattered corpses littering the forest floor.
Nathan whiped back into hiding and prayed that he wasn't seen. Even if it wasn't Brook that did all that. They were in the prescence of a killer.
They shouldn't have come.
Nathan's heart sunk when he first heard the announcement. The escape had failed. Everyone that had made it onto the boats, had died. Feelings of relief, and fear mixed in within his mind. He had survived, if only by sheer luck because he followed Jason. But now, they were going towards the belly of the beast.
And now, there was no escape to run back to.
It had finally occured to him that his body was aching. Running for miles upon miles was taking it's toll on his legs. He felt as if for the past week and a half had aged him considerably. He still looked eighteen, but inside he felt like an old man. His feet were throbbing and they struggled to gain footing on the slick grass.
Jason was a few steps ahead of him, apparently he still had the energy to keep going. Either that or he had decided that Brook may provide a way to end it all. At this point, Nathan just didn't know what to think of that.
So why was he still searching for Brook? Was it a death wish? The thought made Nathan's face twist in a grimace. Maybe it was.
And yet still he followed.
Maybe it was the knowledge that he was almost in the halls of celebrity in which all the killers of the island found themselves. If he wasn't a terrible shot, Jason would have end up dead. And then Jason had forgiven him. Somehow, he found it in himself to forgive him.
Maybe he still had a debt to repay.
Nathan heard a voice in the distance. It was still fuzzy, but it was a man's voice, that much he knew. Jason had quickly pulled up his gun and pushed on. Nathan gulped and skulked through the forest towards the voice. As he stepped closer, his nostrils were assaulted with a foul cocktail of smells. Blood, piss, shit, and a million other disgusting scents he couldn't describe snuck into his nose and stalled his movement. It took every fibre in his body to restrain his gag reflex.
He draped his hands over his mouth and nose, but even that couldn't stem the tide of smells. A gunshot rung out and instinct took over, Nathan rushed over to the nearest tree to hide. There was a clearing behind the tree and curiosity had taken over. He shuffled his head, to get a quick glimpse.
He wished he hadn't. All he could see was bodies. Pools of blood staining the green grass, and scattered corpses littering the forest floor.
Nathan whiped back into hiding and prayed that he wasn't seen. Even if it wasn't Brook that did all that. They were in the prescence of a killer.
They shouldn't have come.
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xylophonefairy†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:55 am
Two shots.
Bang. Bang.
Two little bullets, he could see one of them on the ground, the one that had passed straight through him slightly above and to the left of his navel. Another had gone into his shoulder and gotten stuck, it felt cold and metallic. Neill swayed as he tried to make sense of what had happened; his head felt cloudy.
There was a part of his book, when Claudette's brother was found guilty of treason in England and was being put to death, when he made a speech. Or would make a speech, as the fire started pounding in his skin and getting deeper, and a gust of wind whistled through the hole in his abdomen, Neill realised that he probably wasn't going to get to write his book. And as Benoit faced his demise, he was facing his own.
He stumbled back, knocking into a tree and half slumping to the floor. His hands rested on his bent knees, and his palms left sweat patches against his trousers. He moved them to his eyes, trying to keep them open. As long as I can see something I'm still alive. Blearily, and through fading vision, he saw Brook shoot Rachel squarely in the forehead. Point blank. Her hand unravelled from her rosary for the last time.
Benoit's speech... The hardest part to write came easily to him now. He spoke it out loud, rolling the words around on his tongue.
"I started a revolution because I saw innocent people killing their others for no reason. I saw their regret, and I saw the expression on their faces as they looked into the deepest and darkest corners of what made them human."
Neill used the tree he had fallen against to lever himself to his feet. Any movement of his left arm ached like someone scratching their fingernails on a blackboard, it grated deep parts of his brain he was barely sure existed. But he focussed on Rachel's dead body, her corpse, and then towards Brook, feeling a surge of adrenaline and hatred as he lurched forwards. He had no weapon; the drip stand was with his bag, discarded just out of reach, but his hands burned with a need to do something.
Even as he pushed himself away from the tree, he realised it was a mistake. He would live a lot longer sitting patiently and quietly and waiting to die. But none of it was worth it if he couldn't get some revenge. We should have waited for Bobby. I should have run away from Rachel and gone to the boats. I wonder how the people on the boats are doing. They might be back in America by now. Sitting on plastic chairs and drinking milkshakes. Watching TV. Playing computer games.
Freedom.
"Aaaaaaah!" Neill yelled, almost gleefully. It was a sound he hadn't attempted to make in almost a decade, the sound of him and Sam running down the hill near their home, brandishing sticks with mud painted across their cheeks. The sound they made as they jumped from the top of the sturdy bookcase in their Mom's living room onto the sofa. The sound as they chased Yvonne around the lawn, as she ducked behind their father's knees and he laughed and scooped her tiny frame up in his arms, missing her as much as her brothers were. And Neill and Sam had run in circles around their Dad, still making that childhood noise. The yell.
Neill stumbled forward as his yell ran out of steam; brandishing his right fist as he hunched his left should painfully. Blood poured from the hole in his body and the movement created another gust of wind that tickled parts of his body that were never supposed to be exposed to the outside world. And after the third step, half of the distance between him and his target, half of the distance between him and his redemption, he fell.
He thought he could hear the echo of his yell, but it faded quickly. Instead it was replaced with distant voices, a twig snapping. People, nearby. Neill wanted to call out to them, to warn them of the madman that was residing in these woods. Warn them of the garden he hoped he was important enough to become a part of.
Then very quickly there was nothing.
B021, NEILL ROBERTSON - DECEASED.
Bang. Bang.
Two little bullets, he could see one of them on the ground, the one that had passed straight through him slightly above and to the left of his navel. Another had gone into his shoulder and gotten stuck, it felt cold and metallic. Neill swayed as he tried to make sense of what had happened; his head felt cloudy.
There was a part of his book, when Claudette's brother was found guilty of treason in England and was being put to death, when he made a speech. Or would make a speech, as the fire started pounding in his skin and getting deeper, and a gust of wind whistled through the hole in his abdomen, Neill realised that he probably wasn't going to get to write his book. And as Benoit faced his demise, he was facing his own.
He stumbled back, knocking into a tree and half slumping to the floor. His hands rested on his bent knees, and his palms left sweat patches against his trousers. He moved them to his eyes, trying to keep them open. As long as I can see something I'm still alive. Blearily, and through fading vision, he saw Brook shoot Rachel squarely in the forehead. Point blank. Her hand unravelled from her rosary for the last time.
Benoit's speech... The hardest part to write came easily to him now. He spoke it out loud, rolling the words around on his tongue.
"I started a revolution because I saw innocent people killing their others for no reason. I saw their regret, and I saw the expression on their faces as they looked into the deepest and darkest corners of what made them human."
Neill used the tree he had fallen against to lever himself to his feet. Any movement of his left arm ached like someone scratching their fingernails on a blackboard, it grated deep parts of his brain he was barely sure existed. But he focussed on Rachel's dead body, her corpse, and then towards Brook, feeling a surge of adrenaline and hatred as he lurched forwards. He had no weapon; the drip stand was with his bag, discarded just out of reach, but his hands burned with a need to do something.
Even as he pushed himself away from the tree, he realised it was a mistake. He would live a lot longer sitting patiently and quietly and waiting to die. But none of it was worth it if he couldn't get some revenge. We should have waited for Bobby. I should have run away from Rachel and gone to the boats. I wonder how the people on the boats are doing. They might be back in America by now. Sitting on plastic chairs and drinking milkshakes. Watching TV. Playing computer games.
Freedom.
"Aaaaaaah!" Neill yelled, almost gleefully. It was a sound he hadn't attempted to make in almost a decade, the sound of him and Sam running down the hill near their home, brandishing sticks with mud painted across their cheeks. The sound they made as they jumped from the top of the sturdy bookcase in their Mom's living room onto the sofa. The sound as they chased Yvonne around the lawn, as she ducked behind their father's knees and he laughed and scooped her tiny frame up in his arms, missing her as much as her brothers were. And Neill and Sam had run in circles around their Dad, still making that childhood noise. The yell.
Neill stumbled forward as his yell ran out of steam; brandishing his right fist as he hunched his left should painfully. Blood poured from the hole in his body and the movement created another gust of wind that tickled parts of his body that were never supposed to be exposed to the outside world. And after the third step, half of the distance between him and his target, half of the distance between him and his redemption, he fell.
He thought he could hear the echo of his yell, but it faded quickly. Instead it was replaced with distant voices, a twig snapping. People, nearby. Neill wanted to call out to them, to warn them of the madman that was residing in these woods. Warn them of the garden he hoped he was important enough to become a part of.
Then very quickly there was nothing.
B021, NEILL ROBERTSON - DECEASED.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
How annoying all the bravado was, that somebody who was supposed to be dead could show more life than anybody else in the garden. For all his strangely endearing attempts to cling to life, to no doubt jump up and thank the grand gardener for the gift bestowed to him, Neill still managed to be a major nuisance with his approach. Brook felt his body automatically turn to the boy who was lurching in his direction. It was almost cute, actually, how all of it was coming into play.
Until Neill's image flashed to the memory of a boy who Brook had killed days ago doing the same thing. A hand reached up to tenderly hold the nose that Ridley had savagely beaten. He could have been so close to ending it all right then and there, cutting Tiffany's presentation short. How many lives now laid quietly on the floor of the garden? They had blended together so well, and for a moment, Brook had forgotten the significance of each.
This was no longer cute, what Neill was doing. Even as he fell to the ground, as harmless and bleeding so finely, Brook could only focus on the fight he held just moments before. Each flower could have been the one to end it all, and this served as a shocking reminder of his own mortality. All that blood on the ground... on everybody's faces... caked all over himself.
I don't love any of this.
Sounds... there were sounds from all around. Inside the garden? Outside? Brook looked around, but now nobody was moving. Not Rachel, not Neill... everybody was finally dead for once. That meant outside.
I'm afraid of this... right?
"Hel..." His voice cracked. One minor inconvenience solved by clearing his throat. He had to look good for television, after all. The cameras... he had spotted one just before those last two showed up, but he dared not touch it. After all, they were immortalizing this act. His act. Tiffany's memory, whether she deserved it or not.
"Helloooooo?" Brook called out to the forest. "Somebody out there? Could've sworn I had company..."
Until Neill's image flashed to the memory of a boy who Brook had killed days ago doing the same thing. A hand reached up to tenderly hold the nose that Ridley had savagely beaten. He could have been so close to ending it all right then and there, cutting Tiffany's presentation short. How many lives now laid quietly on the floor of the garden? They had blended together so well, and for a moment, Brook had forgotten the significance of each.
This was no longer cute, what Neill was doing. Even as he fell to the ground, as harmless and bleeding so finely, Brook could only focus on the fight he held just moments before. Each flower could have been the one to end it all, and this served as a shocking reminder of his own mortality. All that blood on the ground... on everybody's faces... caked all over himself.
I don't love any of this.
Sounds... there were sounds from all around. Inside the garden? Outside? Brook looked around, but now nobody was moving. Not Rachel, not Neill... everybody was finally dead for once. That meant outside.
I'm afraid of this... right?
"Hel..." His voice cracked. One minor inconvenience solved by clearing his throat. He had to look good for television, after all. The cameras... he had spotted one just before those last two showed up, but he dared not touch it. After all, they were immortalizing this act. His act. Tiffany's memory, whether she deserved it or not.
"Helloooooo?" Brook called out to the forest. "Somebody out there? Could've sworn I had company..."
The echo of the gunshots reverberated around the ominously silent woods. Jason hadn't noticed it up to that point but he hadn't heard a single animal noise for quite some time now and the loud bangs from the pistol made the reason abundantly clear. He turned to Nathan, his face stiff and white.
"Nath," he said, "Whatever happens next I want you to do whatever you need to, to survive. Do you understand?" Jason clasped Nathan's hand in his own and pushed it towards Nathan's pistol. "Whatever it takes." He looked eyes with his friend for a moment to ensure he understood before sending his gaze over to the clearing the duo were on the edge of. The place was a horrible facsimile of the neat, well kept rows of flowers Brook had maintained around his own yard any time Jason came to visit. Bodies were scattered everywhere, seemingly haphazard in layout initially but if you knew a little bit of horticulture you could spot the differences. Here the arm pushed up against the dirt to make a slight furrow, there a head allowing just enough light while providing a windbreak for any flowers that were to bloom in it's shadow.
Jason jerked involuntarily as Brooks voice filled the emptiness. The sound had a haunted quality to it, as if unsure of it's own reality. Gritting his teeth he stepped in to the clearing itself, his pistol clutched tightly in one hand. He had come to bring Brook back. To see that he was okay. This time would be different, Nathan was with him to keep him in check, to make sure no one got shot. Despite these reassurances he couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Brook, it's us." Jason spoke as stepped towards his friend. The sight which greeted him was no less of a shock than the corpse strewn landscape that surrounded the three. The normally happy-go-lucky, clean Brook was a mess. Thin rivulets of blood had dried down his face an shirt and his clothes were torn and battered, and there - lying like a doll watching this carnage unfold was Tiffany's body. The girl he had killed.
Jason risked a quick, concerned glance at Nathan. Now that the boats were destroyed he wasn't sure what to do. "Brook mate. It's over. We've come to take you home."
"Nath," he said, "Whatever happens next I want you to do whatever you need to, to survive. Do you understand?" Jason clasped Nathan's hand in his own and pushed it towards Nathan's pistol. "Whatever it takes." He looked eyes with his friend for a moment to ensure he understood before sending his gaze over to the clearing the duo were on the edge of. The place was a horrible facsimile of the neat, well kept rows of flowers Brook had maintained around his own yard any time Jason came to visit. Bodies were scattered everywhere, seemingly haphazard in layout initially but if you knew a little bit of horticulture you could spot the differences. Here the arm pushed up against the dirt to make a slight furrow, there a head allowing just enough light while providing a windbreak for any flowers that were to bloom in it's shadow.
Jason jerked involuntarily as Brooks voice filled the emptiness. The sound had a haunted quality to it, as if unsure of it's own reality. Gritting his teeth he stepped in to the clearing itself, his pistol clutched tightly in one hand. He had come to bring Brook back. To see that he was okay. This time would be different, Nathan was with him to keep him in check, to make sure no one got shot. Despite these reassurances he couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Brook, it's us." Jason spoke as stepped towards his friend. The sight which greeted him was no less of a shock than the corpse strewn landscape that surrounded the three. The normally happy-go-lucky, clean Brook was a mess. Thin rivulets of blood had dried down his face an shirt and his clothes were torn and battered, and there - lying like a doll watching this carnage unfold was Tiffany's body. The girl he had killed.
Jason risked a quick, concerned glance at Nathan. Now that the boats were destroyed he wasn't sure what to do. "Brook mate. It's over. We've come to take you home."
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