[[Hayley Kelly continued from Confiscate the Crown]]
OW GOD WHY WOULD YOU SAY YES TO THAT FUCKING CHRISTY JESUS CHRIST FUCK.
...Okay, right, that was a while ago. Back at the campsite. How long ago was that, now? A while. Hayley wasn't good at time in the best of situations, and things like broken bones and long walks under leafy canopies that made spotting the sun impossible- yeah, things like that made it pretty fucking hard to tell. She'd say there was maybe an hour between Ema waking her up and them getting back to the campsite. Apparently she hadn't actually gone very far at all- good luck took them pretty much from point A to point B in a straight line, keeping the journey from being too difficult or perilous or whatever. Honestly, she wanted to get her stuff and get the fuck out. Sure she could hardly walk, hell, that maybe a mild problem, but that didn't mean stop walking. This coming from the girl who, once upon a time, took "it's too hot", "it's too cold", "I'm tired", "there's a really good show on right now", and "fuck you, that's why" as valid reasons to stop walking. Ah, well. Times change. It's not every day you could die at any moment, yeah?
Yeah, just the last ten.
Anyway. So she got to the campsite, and she knew something about broken noses, or she'd read something about them on Wikipedia at some point at least, and weren't you supposed to set them within, like, half an hour? Well really you were supposed to go to the fucking hospital and get them to set it for you but hahahahaha this was Survival of the Fittest, what the fuck were doctors anyway. So, okay, she was sure her face was a fucking disaster zone right now- well not a total disaster zone, not even a broken nose and a black eye and a split lip could make HER ugly I'm just that amazing right hahahaha oh god I'm a fucking mess- but like. She really shouldn't be focusing on aesthetics right now, yeah? There was that whole not dying thing. Fixing her nose wasn't gonna help her survive.
But she'd seen pictures of people with broken noses that healed wrong and they were so fucking derpy looking and dammit she was shallow so okay, she said yes.
And it hurt.
It hurt a LOT.
And okay, Hayley kept saying that, and it probably sounded pretty meaningless at this point, but fuck. Give her a break. That shit was just the worst. Ema had managed to maneuver her nose into something resembling its original position, but it was all swollen, and still bleeding, and it hurt so fucking much and then there were her ribs and just all this bruising and weijme09ajtgm9ew0tgjm90we4tgjm09e4wt90wjmaz09hw
Calm down, girly.
Deep breaths.
NO WAIT NOT DEEP BREATHS FUCK OW GET THE FUCK OUT GODDAMMIT
Whatever, anyway, fast forward to the present when everything was slightly better but not really at all. They were out of the woods, so at least she could tell that the sun was setting. They were on a clear road, so at least she could pretend they had a destination in mind. She was in slightly less pain, so at least she was starting to form coherent thoughts again. Most importantly, though, her nose had stopped bleeding. So at least she could have a fucking cigarette.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Things seemed better, then. At least by a little.
Still, though, shit seemed pretty damn bleak. At least she had a weapon again- she'd felt incredibly vulnerable with Vera all sad and bulletless, but she'd loaded her up with another clip and now she was ready for action again, bang-bang and all that noise, bluh bluh...that didn't even cheer her up much. She was in miserable shape, and there were so few people left in this game- which would be a good thing except on one hand, the few left were actual threats to her for the most part; on the other, her closeness to the end just put her that much closer to having to kill her girlfriend.
Because that was the long and fucking short of it. If she got lucky, someone else would get to her first (and what fucking world do you live in, where that's the best case scenario?), but she couldn't bet on that. It might have to be her who pulled the trigger and watched the light leave Ema's eyes and she'd know it was all her fault and what then? She'd been blaming herself for a lot of shit, a lot of dead friends, but she could easily point to about five other things that got them all killed. She hadn't actually KILLED anyone she cared about. Like, literally. With bullets. And...like, she really just didn't want to think about it. At all. Ever. She was the kind of person who could kill six (seven?) people without really thinking about it, granted, but...they didn't matter. Ema mattered. Right? She couldn't just kill her. She wasn't a monster. Or was she a monster for not thinking the others mattered, shit, she couldn't keep track of this whole moral compass thing anymore. It was pretty low priority right now.
What was high priority? Uh, not dying. Finding someplace a little less...open?
"Where are we headed, y'think?" Hayley asked Ema, raising an eyebrow and immediately wincing. Her voice had regained some of its strength over the course of the journey, but it still wasn't quite its old self.
Inhale. Exhale.
Stop thinking so fucking much and breathe. Just not too deep.
Who Died and Made You King of Anything?
Day 10 (Evening) - Private
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Hollyquin†
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Who Died and Made You King of Anything?
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[Confiscate the Crown --> Ema Ryan]
So that walk was fun and definitely wasn't awkward at all. Yeah, violently shoving Hayley's busted nose back into place with much horrendous pain and blood and screaming definitely hadn't made for a less-than-perfect group (do two people count as a group?) dynamic, totally not.
Yup, it had been weird as fuck. Ema suspected and/or hoped that Hayley didn't resent her for what had happened. Should she survive much longer, it made sure she wouldn't have a really hideously deformed nose, and if it had been left to heal wonky, Ema was pretty sure there was a good chance it would just get worse somehow. Like, bones going where they shouldn't go and all manner of other things that would've made her squeamish except for how she'd just a few hours ago been personally responsible for carving Ma'afu Tuigamala - whose name she'd come to learn the next morning, that is - up in a decidedly brutal and unnecessary manner. No, the only thing that could still really make Ema squeamish at this point was the niggling problem of how she didn't even recall doing it. Just shooting him, then looking back a few (subjective) seconds later to see all those cuts and gouges and other pleasant words for lacerations.
But back to the present. The pace had picked up considerably after the short rest at the forest campsite, with Hayley being able to move freely and at a reasonable speed, and Ema having paused to rehydrate and enjoy a few of her remaining crackers, hesitating only to realise that they'd probably been pilfered from the daypack of some unfortunate dead student. Oh well. As the duo made their way out of the forest, into the pale light of the evening on the north half of the island, Ema caught herself thinking "They wouldn't have needed them anyway, right? Better we get them than someone like Lombardi or whoever. ...oh who am I kidding? We're not exactly the good guys here either.
Wait, Ema was supposed to be focusing on the present. Besides, she'd already established that she counted as a good guy because she was probably one of the few left that even thought about this kind of thing, at least in a remorseful manner. But in retrospect, was it even remorseful? Did she regret killing either of the people she'd killed? Yes. But not for the classical "Oh no I killed a person, that's bad", altruistic, lawful good reasons. She regretted killing Sapphire because she had to see a bullet go through her skull, and because it marked her out as dangerous, a legitimate target for the real good people. She regretted killing Maf because the circumstances frightened her, and seeing his mutilated body was even more horrific than watching the bullet hole rapidly form in Sapphire's head. Whilst she'd had a "good" reaction to hearing of Hayley's first kill, and maybe slightly seeing her second, Ema didn't recall even once caring about the victims of her own actions. Only caring about how she herself suffered.
I thought we'd already established that I was a monster? So why don't I feel like one?
That was a good question. Maybe she was a psychopath, or a sociopath, whatever the difference between them was. She'd never really taken the time to find out, seeing as they always seemed to be so interchangeable. She preferred not to think about it. Not thinking about anything had gotten Ema this far without breaking down, it'd have to do, carry on doing what works. She'd have plenty of time for remorse when she wasn't in constant danger. That was a good enough excuse, Ema was going to stick with it. Time to change the subject and stop constantly dwelling on the past. Must be the second time she'd told herself to quit doing that in the last few minutes.
So. The present. Where was she, where were they going? Open ground, trees (obviously) behind them, a river to the right... the east, she thought, and quite some way off to the west was the swamp.
The swamp? Crikey, how long had it been since Ema was there? Eight days, thereabouts? Just over a week. It felt like a lifetime. The river must be the one she'd followed on her way out of it, then.
"Where are we headed, y'think?"
Oh yeah. Hayley's still there, still capable of speech and stuff. Just wasn't exercising that capability because of nose-related trauma and all that jazz. By some absurd luck, Ema's meandering thoughts had actually been relevant ahead of time, and she found herself holding back a smile as she recounted what she could remember about the place.
"I was here way back on the first night and second morning, there should be a bridge a little way to the north, I slept under it" beat, just barely "well, I say slept, sat around all night staving off paranoia, on, yeah the first night. I already said that. But there's a road on the other side, goes off to a big warehouse kind of thing in the distance. Might be worth a look, somewhere comfortable to sleep for once, maybe?"
More comfortable than sleeping under a bridge with bloody "You Know I Couldn't Last" stuck in my head, then banging my head on said bridge, for sure.
"So I'm thinking, we should probably head that way?"
Even as she made that suggestion, a glance back in Hayley's direction told her it probably wouldn't fly. Until then, the place had been so ethereally quiet it had been perfectly fine to speak whilst essentially walking away from her, without having to worry about not being heard. So naturally, it took until Ema actually looked around at her companion to notice she was running on fumes, so to speak. No way she was making it all the way to the Sawmill by herself, and it'd take a miracle for her to still be standing for that long if Ema were to help her. Time to reassess the situation.
"...maybe not. We could crash under the bridge for tonight, I guess?"
So that walk was fun and definitely wasn't awkward at all. Yeah, violently shoving Hayley's busted nose back into place with much horrendous pain and blood and screaming definitely hadn't made for a less-than-perfect group (do two people count as a group?) dynamic, totally not.
Yup, it had been weird as fuck. Ema suspected and/or hoped that Hayley didn't resent her for what had happened. Should she survive much longer, it made sure she wouldn't have a really hideously deformed nose, and if it had been left to heal wonky, Ema was pretty sure there was a good chance it would just get worse somehow. Like, bones going where they shouldn't go and all manner of other things that would've made her squeamish except for how she'd just a few hours ago been personally responsible for carving Ma'afu Tuigamala - whose name she'd come to learn the next morning, that is - up in a decidedly brutal and unnecessary manner. No, the only thing that could still really make Ema squeamish at this point was the niggling problem of how she didn't even recall doing it. Just shooting him, then looking back a few (subjective) seconds later to see all those cuts and gouges and other pleasant words for lacerations.
But back to the present. The pace had picked up considerably after the short rest at the forest campsite, with Hayley being able to move freely and at a reasonable speed, and Ema having paused to rehydrate and enjoy a few of her remaining crackers, hesitating only to realise that they'd probably been pilfered from the daypack of some unfortunate dead student. Oh well. As the duo made their way out of the forest, into the pale light of the evening on the north half of the island, Ema caught herself thinking "They wouldn't have needed them anyway, right? Better we get them than someone like Lombardi or whoever. ...oh who am I kidding? We're not exactly the good guys here either.
Wait, Ema was supposed to be focusing on the present. Besides, she'd already established that she counted as a good guy because she was probably one of the few left that even thought about this kind of thing, at least in a remorseful manner. But in retrospect, was it even remorseful? Did she regret killing either of the people she'd killed? Yes. But not for the classical "Oh no I killed a person, that's bad", altruistic, lawful good reasons. She regretted killing Sapphire because she had to see a bullet go through her skull, and because it marked her out as dangerous, a legitimate target for the real good people. She regretted killing Maf because the circumstances frightened her, and seeing his mutilated body was even more horrific than watching the bullet hole rapidly form in Sapphire's head. Whilst she'd had a "good" reaction to hearing of Hayley's first kill, and maybe slightly seeing her second, Ema didn't recall even once caring about the victims of her own actions. Only caring about how she herself suffered.
I thought we'd already established that I was a monster? So why don't I feel like one?
That was a good question. Maybe she was a psychopath, or a sociopath, whatever the difference between them was. She'd never really taken the time to find out, seeing as they always seemed to be so interchangeable. She preferred not to think about it. Not thinking about anything had gotten Ema this far without breaking down, it'd have to do, carry on doing what works. She'd have plenty of time for remorse when she wasn't in constant danger. That was a good enough excuse, Ema was going to stick with it. Time to change the subject and stop constantly dwelling on the past. Must be the second time she'd told herself to quit doing that in the last few minutes.
So. The present. Where was she, where were they going? Open ground, trees (obviously) behind them, a river to the right... the east, she thought, and quite some way off to the west was the swamp.
The swamp? Crikey, how long had it been since Ema was there? Eight days, thereabouts? Just over a week. It felt like a lifetime. The river must be the one she'd followed on her way out of it, then.
"Where are we headed, y'think?"
Oh yeah. Hayley's still there, still capable of speech and stuff. Just wasn't exercising that capability because of nose-related trauma and all that jazz. By some absurd luck, Ema's meandering thoughts had actually been relevant ahead of time, and she found herself holding back a smile as she recounted what she could remember about the place.
"I was here way back on the first night and second morning, there should be a bridge a little way to the north, I slept under it" beat, just barely "well, I say slept, sat around all night staving off paranoia, on, yeah the first night. I already said that. But there's a road on the other side, goes off to a big warehouse kind of thing in the distance. Might be worth a look, somewhere comfortable to sleep for once, maybe?"
More comfortable than sleeping under a bridge with bloody "You Know I Couldn't Last" stuck in my head, then banging my head on said bridge, for sure.
"So I'm thinking, we should probably head that way?"
Even as she made that suggestion, a glance back in Hayley's direction told her it probably wouldn't fly. Until then, the place had been so ethereally quiet it had been perfectly fine to speak whilst essentially walking away from her, without having to worry about not being heard. So naturally, it took until Ema actually looked around at her companion to notice she was running on fumes, so to speak. No way she was making it all the way to the Sawmill by herself, and it'd take a miracle for her to still be standing for that long if Ema were to help her. Time to reassess the situation.
"...maybe not. We could crash under the bridge for tonight, I guess?"
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Hollyquin†
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Ah, fuck. That look on Ema's face right now, Hayley hated that look. It was the look that said "I feel sorry for you, so I'm gonna make shit easier for your sake". There were a lot of things Hayley hated about this situation (beginning and ending with pretty much fucking everything though), and it was hard for her to take pity on top of it all. But whatever, okay, her face was bruised and probably still a bit bloody and she could barely walk and okay, maybe she looked like someone who deserved pity, and maybe she really couldn't walk too much farther. Maybe she needed the fucking help and god help her, the last bruise she needed to be thinking about was the one on her ego. The one on her eye, THAT shit deserved thought, and a massive amount of concealer. She had some on her, didn't she, in her bag, but the thought of the fine motor control needed to use it right now made her need another pull of her cigarette.
Inhale.
Hey, if I haven't crushed this thing accidentally by now, I should be able to manage, right?
Exhale.
...Fuck it.
"Crashing sounds good. The kind that involves sleep. Not the kind that involves...dying. My bad, I'm...kinda out of it."
Just stop talking, all you sound is pathetic.
Whatever. Time to be the trolls under the fucking bridge.
Doing that involved moving, though. Not very much moving- not nearly as much moving as actually getting to the building-type thing in the distance would require- but moving nonetheless. She'd made it this far, granted, but the promise of incoming rest had sucked much of the will from her limbs, and she found herself seriously wondering why they couldn't just set up camp here. Right in the middle of the fucking road. Then she got through her own thick skull and realized that dying probably hurt more than this.
Yeah, okay, honeybee. Moving's a thing you can do. You just did it. You just WERE doing it. Look, hell, the sun's barely going down, it's probably like 8, that's mad early. Just pretend you're not a broken version of yourself and move.
Easier said than done, but whatever, Hayley had Ema, she's like a cane, only bigger and more...ginger..., and it really didn't take as long as she thought it would to get to the bridge. It felt like an hour. It was probably ten minutes, maybe less. Time was an irrelevant sort of thing though. Time could shut up and play somewhere else for a bit. Did that make sense? No? Whatever, she forgot about her bad...metaphors? That wasn't even a metaphor, she didn't know what that was, but either way she forgot about it because she was busy collapsing.
G-gah...
Only for a second. Like, she didn't really collapse and pass out again or anything horrible like that, but her ass did hit the ground pretty hard. That was okay though, since they were where they were supposed to be, and she didn't have to move anymore, not ever, her mind whispered, and she didn't listen. Instead she inhaled, and she exhaled, and she watched Ema unpack the thing that was almost like a bed. Towels. All the comforts of home, in her mind, at this point. She could hardly conceive of beds anymore.
She just watched, because, goddammit, there was nothing else this broken shell she lived in would let her do.
And when she could, she curled up beside Ema, a complete reversal of every other night. Pressed against her girlfriend's chest and wrapped in her arms, she supposed she should feel safe. That was how this was supposed to work. Maybe that was how it felt to Ema, in nights past, but Hayley just hated herself. Hated the Bitchmobile who'd did this to her, sure, okay, yeah, that was obvious, but hated herself for letting her ass get beaten so badly, for making Ema have to do this for her. She was supposed to be the strong one. She was supposed to protect her. Because she'd done such a bang-up job of that so far, yeah?
Appropriate word choice.
Her cigarette was long gone. For once, she had no urge to put off sleep for a moment longer, to forget herself in her lover's arms. Fuck that. That sounded like effort.
Instead, Hayley shut her eyes and tried to find some peace.
Inhale.
Hey, if I haven't crushed this thing accidentally by now, I should be able to manage, right?
Exhale.
...Fuck it.
"Crashing sounds good. The kind that involves sleep. Not the kind that involves...dying. My bad, I'm...kinda out of it."
Just stop talking, all you sound is pathetic.
Whatever. Time to be the trolls under the fucking bridge.
Doing that involved moving, though. Not very much moving- not nearly as much moving as actually getting to the building-type thing in the distance would require- but moving nonetheless. She'd made it this far, granted, but the promise of incoming rest had sucked much of the will from her limbs, and she found herself seriously wondering why they couldn't just set up camp here. Right in the middle of the fucking road. Then she got through her own thick skull and realized that dying probably hurt more than this.
Yeah, okay, honeybee. Moving's a thing you can do. You just did it. You just WERE doing it. Look, hell, the sun's barely going down, it's probably like 8, that's mad early. Just pretend you're not a broken version of yourself and move.
Easier said than done, but whatever, Hayley had Ema, she's like a cane, only bigger and more...ginger..., and it really didn't take as long as she thought it would to get to the bridge. It felt like an hour. It was probably ten minutes, maybe less. Time was an irrelevant sort of thing though. Time could shut up and play somewhere else for a bit. Did that make sense? No? Whatever, she forgot about her bad...metaphors? That wasn't even a metaphor, she didn't know what that was, but either way she forgot about it because she was busy collapsing.
G-gah...
Only for a second. Like, she didn't really collapse and pass out again or anything horrible like that, but her ass did hit the ground pretty hard. That was okay though, since they were where they were supposed to be, and she didn't have to move anymore, not ever, her mind whispered, and she didn't listen. Instead she inhaled, and she exhaled, and she watched Ema unpack the thing that was almost like a bed. Towels. All the comforts of home, in her mind, at this point. She could hardly conceive of beds anymore.
She just watched, because, goddammit, there was nothing else this broken shell she lived in would let her do.
And when she could, she curled up beside Ema, a complete reversal of every other night. Pressed against her girlfriend's chest and wrapped in her arms, she supposed she should feel safe. That was how this was supposed to work. Maybe that was how it felt to Ema, in nights past, but Hayley just hated herself. Hated the Bitchmobile who'd did this to her, sure, okay, yeah, that was obvious, but hated herself for letting her ass get beaten so badly, for making Ema have to do this for her. She was supposed to be the strong one. She was supposed to protect her. Because she'd done such a bang-up job of that so far, yeah?
Appropriate word choice.
Her cigarette was long gone. For once, she had no urge to put off sleep for a moment longer, to forget herself in her lover's arms. Fuck that. That sounded like effort.
Instead, Hayley shut her eyes and tried to find some peace.
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Nostalgia. Odd word to choose, really. It had barely been a week ago that she'd stumbled out of the seemingly endless swamp, spotted the off-white stone of the bridge out in the darkness, and decided to rest there. And yet it felt like a years. Still, Ema could just vaguely remember having sat on the cool masonry, going numb from staying there for what might have been hours, considering a one way trip to a short swim. It felt like a lifetime, because in those few days, a whole life's worth of changes had happened. Ema certainly wasn't pondering the pros and cons of drowning any more, as she helped Hayley stagger the last few metres to the dark underside of the stonework, that was for sure. If the last week had taught her anything, it was that she had a stronger desire to survive than she'd ever previously known. A desire that had driven her to kill two people in cold blood, no less. It was self defence, at the time I thought they were trying to attack! ...who am I even trying to convince here? Neither of them were ever dangerous, I just want to justify not caring that they're dead.
That morbid line of thinking didn't progress any further. Ema pressed it back to the depths of her mind where it belonged, once again assuring herself that it was just survival instinct, that she could be humane and remorseful and beg for forgiveness and all the rest of it after she made it home. And with perhaps fifty people left between Ema and victory, making it home seemed a lot more likely then than it had when she awoke at the key with no weapon, no allies, and no reasonable hope of making it through the afternoon. Yeah, fuck you Past-Ema, that miracle happened and now I'm epic-tier. Just gotta keep it going until I'm the last one standing. Fuck all the probabilities and crap, I did grow a pair, and they're cast from Mars-grade adamantium.
Ema helped Hayley down to the ground, and meandered down to the stream. By now, the nightly ritual of shrugging the coat and daypack off, unpacking the towel and blanket, setting them out on the floor and stroking them flat felt automotive to her, and it gave the girl plenty of time to reminisce. The morning after she'd woken up, that had seemed eventful at the time; a whole load of people meeting up, conversation, that Janet girl freaking out over a vibrator... it all felt so dull by comparison now. Nobody had been beheaded, nobody had been stabbed, Ema hadn't shot anyone, or sliced up their corpse for that matter. Come to think of it, she was sure she remembered Danya mentioning Janet the next day, but it hadn't really computed, with all the Hayley-killed-a-guy related freaking out. She'd drowned, that sounded like what Ema had heard. How Janet had managed that was beyond her, but she hadn't exactly listened out for a killer, it could've been forced. Her mind stopped awkwardly there, not sure where it was supposed to be going with this tangent. Quite involuntarily, Ema found herself wondering if that offending dildo was still there on the grass. If it was, probably wouldn't still be buzzing, but it'd be pretty hilarious if it somehow was.
The makeshift bedding was laid out by then, and at such a late stage in the game, Ema barely even registered it as "makeshift" any more. It'd been over a week since she even had a sofa to rest on, and slightly more recently that the prospect of real beds at the mansion had arisen. No, at this point, the unintentional-yet-functional combo was so very ubiquitous that Ema didn't think of it as anything other than her and Hayley's sleeping arrangements.
Hayley herself was quick to lay down and get comfortable - as comfortable as one can be, nursing a broken nose and innumerable cuts and bruises - and the thoughts of rest the sight evoked soon robbed Ema of her prior intention to at least wash the blood off of her face and out of her hair first. There'd be time to do that in the morning, just another thing to add to the routine, under 'listen to the announcement', 'have breakfast' and 'look for the dildo'. Odd how none of those things seemed weird to her. Maybe because having her chin resting on Hayley's crown and Hayley's cheek pressed against her chest was an unusual and entirely novel feeling, that pushed most non-urgent thoughts out of Ema's mind. It was a nice feeling, though. She felt... she felt a way that was difficult to describe. Not so much 'strong', more along the lines of 'responsible', but that was inaccurate too. Ema felt important, needed, two things she'd scarcely had cause to describe herself as in the past 17 years. She was protecting Hayley, keeping her safe, just as Hayley herself had done for Ema ever since that night on the beach, seven long days ago.
So Ema wrapped her arms tightly around Hayley, careful not to knock against her nose, and basked in the pleasant feelings until sleep claimed her.
---
The sound of Danya's antagonistic applause didn't awaken Ema on the 11th day's morning. In fact, she awoke of her own accord, feeling strangely refreshed, having slept better that night than she had in a long while. She couldn't say for sure why, but Ema had plenty of likely-sounding ideas. As the Irish girl's eyes fluttered open in the pale light of morning, all the more pale from the shade of the bridge, a contented smile found its way to her lips. Careful not to rouse Hayley, she disengaged from the tangle of limbs, and clambered up to her feet. True to form, Ema smacked her head against the stone over her head, and henceforth toned down the optimism to make room for some spatial awareness.
Rubbing gingerly at the lump that had risen on her scalp, Ema emerged into the open and looked around. Nobody. Nobody in plain sight, at least. And with the rapidly reducing population of the island, the odds of anybody just happening to stumble across her and Hayley, this early in the morning, seemed quite small. About as small as me still being alive today. En garde and all that.
She crouched back under the bridge, pulled her coat back on, took the gun out of its inside pocket, and transferred it to the back pocket of her jeans. After some deliberation, the girl grabbed one of the two spare clips from her daypack, too, placing it in the other back pocket. She estimated that there were about three or four bullets left in the one still in the gun, so some foresight couldn't go amiss. With that done, Ema carefully made her way down to the river's edge, wary of falling victim to whatever it might have been that pulled Janet under, and knelt down.
She stayed there for several seconds, eventually deciding to lose both the coat and her shirt. The latter was tossed in the general direction of the bridge, falling under the category of things Ema couldn't throw away despite being next to useless. Now bare from the waist up, the girl leaned forwards, submerging her head and neck in the cold water. A few seconds later, she came back up, shook as much water from her hair as she could, and set about trying to clean the dried blood off of her face, forgetting that she'd elected to keep a good deal of soap in her daypack, back in the great purge of unnecessary belongings a few days ago.
Eventually, Ema scooped up her coat, returned to the shaded area, and stuffed her bloody shirt into the depths of her daypack. A short rummage later, she produced one of the remaining clean shirts, and put it on, followed by the coat. Hayley didn't seem to have moved, and the announcement hadn't started, so Ema made her way up to the top of the bridge, sat herself down on the side, pulled her hood up over sodden hair, and waited. She had plenty to wait for, after all.
The voice of Greynolds came first. In his characteristic disinterested tone, he regaled Ema with the news of the previous day's demises. Lombardi had carried on his killstreak, a couple of people she didn't really know had died, the boy she'd killed turned out to be called Ma'afu, confirming Ema's suspicion that his name had indeed been something weird and hard to remember, let alone pronounce. Greynolds also confirmed the obvious, that she'd been responsible for what happened to his body between the shooting and realising what had happened. A far bigger bombshell was Lombardi himself finally meeting his end at the hands of... a Japanese guy Ema didn't recognise. The rest of the news was comprised of unfamiliar people dying at the hands of the equally unfamiliar, so Ema tuned it out until the announcement of danger zones. She was rather sad about not being able to go back to the key to complete the round-trip of nostalgia, but otherwise it was just a matter of marking the additions to the rapidly-increasing area she wasn't allowed to go any more onto her map, and mentally noting that a narrow safe area did still exist between the two sides of the deforested areas.
Information digested, Ema got back to the important task of waiting around and doing nothing. Hayley would probably be getting up soon, what with the loudness of the announcement, so she wasn't resigned to a particularly long wait. Perhaps the two of them could see if Janet's vibrator was indeed still lying around before they carried on to wherever they planned on going. The sawmill? It had been the target for where they were going to sleep, but it was still just as good a place as any to head towards, if only as a stop along the way to the town Ema had somehow still managed not to visit yet.
That morbid line of thinking didn't progress any further. Ema pressed it back to the depths of her mind where it belonged, once again assuring herself that it was just survival instinct, that she could be humane and remorseful and beg for forgiveness and all the rest of it after she made it home. And with perhaps fifty people left between Ema and victory, making it home seemed a lot more likely then than it had when she awoke at the key with no weapon, no allies, and no reasonable hope of making it through the afternoon. Yeah, fuck you Past-Ema, that miracle happened and now I'm epic-tier. Just gotta keep it going until I'm the last one standing. Fuck all the probabilities and crap, I did grow a pair, and they're cast from Mars-grade adamantium.
Ema helped Hayley down to the ground, and meandered down to the stream. By now, the nightly ritual of shrugging the coat and daypack off, unpacking the towel and blanket, setting them out on the floor and stroking them flat felt automotive to her, and it gave the girl plenty of time to reminisce. The morning after she'd woken up, that had seemed eventful at the time; a whole load of people meeting up, conversation, that Janet girl freaking out over a vibrator... it all felt so dull by comparison now. Nobody had been beheaded, nobody had been stabbed, Ema hadn't shot anyone, or sliced up their corpse for that matter. Come to think of it, she was sure she remembered Danya mentioning Janet the next day, but it hadn't really computed, with all the Hayley-killed-a-guy related freaking out. She'd drowned, that sounded like what Ema had heard. How Janet had managed that was beyond her, but she hadn't exactly listened out for a killer, it could've been forced. Her mind stopped awkwardly there, not sure where it was supposed to be going with this tangent. Quite involuntarily, Ema found herself wondering if that offending dildo was still there on the grass. If it was, probably wouldn't still be buzzing, but it'd be pretty hilarious if it somehow was.
The makeshift bedding was laid out by then, and at such a late stage in the game, Ema barely even registered it as "makeshift" any more. It'd been over a week since she even had a sofa to rest on, and slightly more recently that the prospect of real beds at the mansion had arisen. No, at this point, the unintentional-yet-functional combo was so very ubiquitous that Ema didn't think of it as anything other than her and Hayley's sleeping arrangements.
Hayley herself was quick to lay down and get comfortable - as comfortable as one can be, nursing a broken nose and innumerable cuts and bruises - and the thoughts of rest the sight evoked soon robbed Ema of her prior intention to at least wash the blood off of her face and out of her hair first. There'd be time to do that in the morning, just another thing to add to the routine, under 'listen to the announcement', 'have breakfast' and 'look for the dildo'. Odd how none of those things seemed weird to her. Maybe because having her chin resting on Hayley's crown and Hayley's cheek pressed against her chest was an unusual and entirely novel feeling, that pushed most non-urgent thoughts out of Ema's mind. It was a nice feeling, though. She felt... she felt a way that was difficult to describe. Not so much 'strong', more along the lines of 'responsible', but that was inaccurate too. Ema felt important, needed, two things she'd scarcely had cause to describe herself as in the past 17 years. She was protecting Hayley, keeping her safe, just as Hayley herself had done for Ema ever since that night on the beach, seven long days ago.
So Ema wrapped her arms tightly around Hayley, careful not to knock against her nose, and basked in the pleasant feelings until sleep claimed her.
---
The sound of Danya's antagonistic applause didn't awaken Ema on the 11th day's morning. In fact, she awoke of her own accord, feeling strangely refreshed, having slept better that night than she had in a long while. She couldn't say for sure why, but Ema had plenty of likely-sounding ideas. As the Irish girl's eyes fluttered open in the pale light of morning, all the more pale from the shade of the bridge, a contented smile found its way to her lips. Careful not to rouse Hayley, she disengaged from the tangle of limbs, and clambered up to her feet. True to form, Ema smacked her head against the stone over her head, and henceforth toned down the optimism to make room for some spatial awareness.
Rubbing gingerly at the lump that had risen on her scalp, Ema emerged into the open and looked around. Nobody. Nobody in plain sight, at least. And with the rapidly reducing population of the island, the odds of anybody just happening to stumble across her and Hayley, this early in the morning, seemed quite small. About as small as me still being alive today. En garde and all that.
She crouched back under the bridge, pulled her coat back on, took the gun out of its inside pocket, and transferred it to the back pocket of her jeans. After some deliberation, the girl grabbed one of the two spare clips from her daypack, too, placing it in the other back pocket. She estimated that there were about three or four bullets left in the one still in the gun, so some foresight couldn't go amiss. With that done, Ema carefully made her way down to the river's edge, wary of falling victim to whatever it might have been that pulled Janet under, and knelt down.
She stayed there for several seconds, eventually deciding to lose both the coat and her shirt. The latter was tossed in the general direction of the bridge, falling under the category of things Ema couldn't throw away despite being next to useless. Now bare from the waist up, the girl leaned forwards, submerging her head and neck in the cold water. A few seconds later, she came back up, shook as much water from her hair as she could, and set about trying to clean the dried blood off of her face, forgetting that she'd elected to keep a good deal of soap in her daypack, back in the great purge of unnecessary belongings a few days ago.
Eventually, Ema scooped up her coat, returned to the shaded area, and stuffed her bloody shirt into the depths of her daypack. A short rummage later, she produced one of the remaining clean shirts, and put it on, followed by the coat. Hayley didn't seem to have moved, and the announcement hadn't started, so Ema made her way up to the top of the bridge, sat herself down on the side, pulled her hood up over sodden hair, and waited. She had plenty to wait for, after all.
The voice of Greynolds came first. In his characteristic disinterested tone, he regaled Ema with the news of the previous day's demises. Lombardi had carried on his killstreak, a couple of people she didn't really know had died, the boy she'd killed turned out to be called Ma'afu, confirming Ema's suspicion that his name had indeed been something weird and hard to remember, let alone pronounce. Greynolds also confirmed the obvious, that she'd been responsible for what happened to his body between the shooting and realising what had happened. A far bigger bombshell was Lombardi himself finally meeting his end at the hands of... a Japanese guy Ema didn't recognise. The rest of the news was comprised of unfamiliar people dying at the hands of the equally unfamiliar, so Ema tuned it out until the announcement of danger zones. She was rather sad about not being able to go back to the key to complete the round-trip of nostalgia, but otherwise it was just a matter of marking the additions to the rapidly-increasing area she wasn't allowed to go any more onto her map, and mentally noting that a narrow safe area did still exist between the two sides of the deforested areas.
Information digested, Ema got back to the important task of waiting around and doing nothing. Hayley would probably be getting up soon, what with the loudness of the announcement, so she wasn't resigned to a particularly long wait. Perhaps the two of them could see if Janet's vibrator was indeed still lying around before they carried on to wherever they planned on going. The sawmill? It had been the target for where they were going to sleep, but it was still just as good a place as any to head towards, if only as a stop along the way to the town Ema had somehow still managed not to visit yet.
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armeggedonCounselor†
- Posts: 190
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
((Janet Binachi continued from Nothing Really Matters.))
Janet didn't really notice how long she was walking. Exhaustion was starting to set into her mind, but sleep was not a welcome prospect. She was becoming vaguely aware that she was heading toward the sawmill, due to the nice road she was walking along. She could see the sun rising as she began to cross the bridge. Danya... or rather, his replacement's announcement was buzzing somewhere outside of the range of her conscious senses. A misstep dropped Janet to her knees, a slight groan of pain escaping her lips as she caught herself on her bad arm. She had nearly forgotten that it was hurt. To be honest, she probably should have changed the bandage long before now. Still, now that she was on the ground... getting up seemed like a truly herculean task. She rolled so that she was sitting, resolving that she would get up in just a few minutes. Just... going to rest here... for a moment....
Janet didn't really notice how long she was walking. Exhaustion was starting to set into her mind, but sleep was not a welcome prospect. She was becoming vaguely aware that she was heading toward the sawmill, due to the nice road she was walking along. She could see the sun rising as she began to cross the bridge. Danya... or rather, his replacement's announcement was buzzing somewhere outside of the range of her conscious senses. A misstep dropped Janet to her knees, a slight groan of pain escaping her lips as she caught herself on her bad arm. She had nearly forgotten that it was hurt. To be honest, she probably should have changed the bandage long before now. Still, now that she was on the ground... getting up seemed like a truly herculean task. She rolled so that she was sitting, resolving that she would get up in just a few minutes. Just... going to rest here... for a moment....
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
BZZZZZZZZZZZT.
Fuck. You.
Cursing the announcements really wasn't likely to do much, but it felt good. Felt a hell of a lot better than everything else Hayley was feeling, now that she was conscious again. For about half a second upon awakening, she was tremendously relieved to find that the stabbing pain in her nose had receded. Not completely, but enough that she felt confident that she might recover at some point in the near future. But then that half second passed and she realized that that pain had moved from her nose back down to her chest- the pain there had only gotten worse. Way worse. Every breath was an effort. Every movement was fucking agony, but it wasn't like she had to move much anyway. Just enough to pull a cigarette from her pocket. Grab her lighter. Yeah, because smoking was a great idea right now. What the fuck ever. Carpe diem. Did that work, here? Not that it mattered.
Inhale. Exhale.
Somehow, it didn't help.
Ema was gone. This stressed Hayley out a lot less than it maybe should've, since she knew Ema was more than capable of taking care of herself and she figured the other girl wouldn't stray too far from her all things considered and hey, why deny it- Hayley was in no condition to be worrying about someone else. Her presence was probably putting Ema in more danger, if anything. She refused to feel guilty about that, though. To feel bad about that would be to feel guilty for living, and she'd gotten over that a long time ago.
Anyway. Announcements. She'd missed the first half of them, but she hadn't really missed much. Much more interesting was the first line she did hear.
"Maxwell Lombardi killed... wait, no, Maxwell Lombardi was killed by Raidon Naoko, who did a pretty good job of it."
Hayley burst into a laugh that quickly turned into a hacking cough as she clutched at her chest, which at this point was clearly unequipped to handle such behavior on her part. But, seriously. Seriously, Maxwell fucking Lombardi, dead. Dead! She finally saw his pretty little face up close, relatively at least, and he'd JUST escaped her...and now he was dead. King of Survival of the Fittest, top killer by a long shot- dead and fucking gone. It was funny, it really was. Who's to say what would have happened had she gotten to him before he'd fled, the day before? Maybe he'd still be alive. Or maybe she'd be dead. This Raidon Naoko, he was damn good at this, far as she could tell.
She wondered idly if he was quite as cute as Maxwell had been.
What a waste, this game. Honestly.
Ah well. The king is dead. Long live the king.
Another pull. She kept listening, failing to learn anything of real importance. The name Thea Kairos sounded...weirdly familiar for reasons she couldn't quite place. More importantly, where the fuck was her kill? The Bitchmobile, no way she'd survived their encounter. You don't live after you're shot in the gut like that. Not on Survival of the Fittest you don't. That girl-
Thea Kairos. Cheerleader. James Mulzet's girlfriend. Friends with Charlene Norris. Oh. OH.
Well. Can't get much clearer than that, really. Apparently she'd managed to stumble all the way to the damn House of Mirrors before dying and now she didn't even get credit for it. Annoying, yes. Very annoying, actually. She had half a mind to complain to a camera about it but that wouldn't get her anywhere except farther on the Irredeemably Evil side of their audience's morality scale.
For now, anyway, she was satisfied with knowing the Bitchmobile's identity. Now was time to...move, she supposed. Lying here, prone, taking increasingly shallow pulls of her cigarette and sulking- she was an easy target, one anyone left at this stage in the game would have no trouble dispatching. Now you have to sit, Hayley. She stuck the cigarette in her mouth and used both hands to push herself up- slowly, painfully, agonizingly. She managed it, somehow, but it would be a little while before she'd be able to coax herself into standing.
Instead, she grabbed her gun. Vera. Took her cigarette back in her other hand. Now this, this was preparedness.
The devil is dead. Long live the devil.
Inhale. Exhale.
Wait.
Fuck. You.
Cursing the announcements really wasn't likely to do much, but it felt good. Felt a hell of a lot better than everything else Hayley was feeling, now that she was conscious again. For about half a second upon awakening, she was tremendously relieved to find that the stabbing pain in her nose had receded. Not completely, but enough that she felt confident that she might recover at some point in the near future. But then that half second passed and she realized that that pain had moved from her nose back down to her chest- the pain there had only gotten worse. Way worse. Every breath was an effort. Every movement was fucking agony, but it wasn't like she had to move much anyway. Just enough to pull a cigarette from her pocket. Grab her lighter. Yeah, because smoking was a great idea right now. What the fuck ever. Carpe diem. Did that work, here? Not that it mattered.
Inhale. Exhale.
Somehow, it didn't help.
Ema was gone. This stressed Hayley out a lot less than it maybe should've, since she knew Ema was more than capable of taking care of herself and she figured the other girl wouldn't stray too far from her all things considered and hey, why deny it- Hayley was in no condition to be worrying about someone else. Her presence was probably putting Ema in more danger, if anything. She refused to feel guilty about that, though. To feel bad about that would be to feel guilty for living, and she'd gotten over that a long time ago.
Anyway. Announcements. She'd missed the first half of them, but she hadn't really missed much. Much more interesting was the first line she did hear.
"Maxwell Lombardi killed... wait, no, Maxwell Lombardi was killed by Raidon Naoko, who did a pretty good job of it."
Hayley burst into a laugh that quickly turned into a hacking cough as she clutched at her chest, which at this point was clearly unequipped to handle such behavior on her part. But, seriously. Seriously, Maxwell fucking Lombardi, dead. Dead! She finally saw his pretty little face up close, relatively at least, and he'd JUST escaped her...and now he was dead. King of Survival of the Fittest, top killer by a long shot- dead and fucking gone. It was funny, it really was. Who's to say what would have happened had she gotten to him before he'd fled, the day before? Maybe he'd still be alive. Or maybe she'd be dead. This Raidon Naoko, he was damn good at this, far as she could tell.
She wondered idly if he was quite as cute as Maxwell had been.
What a waste, this game. Honestly.
Ah well. The king is dead. Long live the king.
Another pull. She kept listening, failing to learn anything of real importance. The name Thea Kairos sounded...weirdly familiar for reasons she couldn't quite place. More importantly, where the fuck was her kill? The Bitchmobile, no way she'd survived their encounter. You don't live after you're shot in the gut like that. Not on Survival of the Fittest you don't. That girl-
Thea Kairos. Cheerleader. James Mulzet's girlfriend. Friends with Charlene Norris. Oh. OH.
Well. Can't get much clearer than that, really. Apparently she'd managed to stumble all the way to the damn House of Mirrors before dying and now she didn't even get credit for it. Annoying, yes. Very annoying, actually. She had half a mind to complain to a camera about it but that wouldn't get her anywhere except farther on the Irredeemably Evil side of their audience's morality scale.
For now, anyway, she was satisfied with knowing the Bitchmobile's identity. Now was time to...move, she supposed. Lying here, prone, taking increasingly shallow pulls of her cigarette and sulking- she was an easy target, one anyone left at this stage in the game would have no trouble dispatching. Now you have to sit, Hayley. She stuck the cigarette in her mouth and used both hands to push herself up- slowly, painfully, agonizingly. She managed it, somehow, but it would be a little while before she'd be able to coax herself into standing.
Instead, she grabbed her gun. Vera. Took her cigarette back in her other hand. Now this, this was preparedness.
The devil is dead. Long live the devil.
Inhale. Exhale.
Wait.
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Waiting, even for a few minutes, wore thin rather quickly. It was odd to think how she could distinctly remember sitting in almost the exact same place as she was now, several days earlier, for hours on end, and yet here she was now making a move after maybe five minutes. Mindsets and priorities change. Time marches on, and Ema was finally starting to move along with it. After all, the King Killer was dead now, that left a world of possibilities open. That Raidon guy that killed him could easily move to become the new #1 most feared player, or the power vacuum could consume the other top killers and leave the unknowns like Ema to win the day. Anything can happen in the next half hour... who remains when the curtain falls? Totally gonna be me.
The rather random intrusion of Enter Shikari into Ema's psyche was actually a welcome change from the until-then omnipresent depressing voice Morrissey. A nice injection of energy and optimism into the almost dull routine of running around and trying to be on the "kill" side of "kill or be killed" each day. Forty people left. Most of them with three or more kills to their names, hardened and ruthless, the sorts of people Ema would normally run away from very quickly. But she was one of those forty people now. She had two kills under her belt. She could be hard, she could be ruthless. She just had to put her mind to it and remember that success was the only option, and that remorse could wait until she wasn't fighting for her life. It was just a temporary state of sociopathy, right?
Lyrical thoughts aside, there was ridiculously-out-of-place boredom to attend to. Disregarding both Rou's imaginary voice and the relative absurdity of being able to be bored in such a situation, Ema clambered back onto the bridge proper, and made her way across to the eastern shore. Just as the memories of Janet "It's me! Janet V!", Josie, and Sierra were coming back, and with her vision focused on the area in general rather than anything in particular, her foot knocked against something solid, but with a slight amount of give to it. Naturally, she looked down.
Bodies. Four of them, not clustered together as such, but in pretty close proximity. For some reason, Ema expected, by some absurd coincidence, to see one of those three girls lying there. Instead, and perhaps equally unlikely, she saw somebody else that she knew, hard to identify at first from the savage beating that had been dealt to her head, but eventually recognisable as Gloria Benson. "B-But so-some people c-call me G-G-Glory..." The incredibly shy, stuttery one from the prom. Who was the other guy there at the time? Rob, or Bob, or Robert. Yeah, Robert. Until now, Ema hadn't even thought about Gloria, even considered the possibility that she was on the island as well. Come to think of it, Robert hadn't occurred to her either, or that boy Isaiah. And by now they were probably all dead. Who'd have thunk it, Ema Ryan, outlasting all those people and making it this far? I must be some kind of badass.
She knelt down by the bodies for a moment, pondering whether or not she should do something with them. The river was right there, it was a bog-standard makeshift burial, but it probably beat being left out in the middle of a field with a load of junk and mud around them. Then again, not using that energy up on something that couldn't really help her in the long run also beat using it up and then maybe later getting into a fight and being too exhausted from moving four bodies to win it. Gotta think tactical here. The tactical thinking didn't stop Ema from talking aloud, though. "I'm sorry, Gloria." she began, not quite aware that the words weren't only in her mind. "It's not even my fault, but... you didn't deserve this."
A pause. A laugh.
"Yeah, like anybody else here did." another pause, a sigh, a realisation of what she was doing. "It's fucked up. And what's more, I'm sitting here discussing it with a corpse. Isaiah's pa wouldn't approve." Another laugh. Less than a laugh, really, more of a chuckle. A little inward recognition of the recollection, so unlike Ema to remember such a throwaway comment in such a meaningless conversation, so long ago. The girl manoeuvred herself back from one knee into a sitting position, by now quite at ease in the company of four corpses, with the smell being the only thing to put her off. She looked back over her shoulder, seeing the small column of smoke before the smoker, acknowledging that Hayley was at least awake, up not up and moving. Ema gave a wave, in case the other girl was worried about where she was. She'd go back in a moment, just as soon as she mustered the will to get up. Besides, she still had something to look for, she didn't quite remember what any more, but there was something she'd come across the bridge to find. Something to do with Gloria? No, someone else.
What is even wrong with my bloody memory? Honestly. I remember light conversation from a month ago but not what I was thinking about five seconds ago. This is your brain on Ema.
The rather random intrusion of Enter Shikari into Ema's psyche was actually a welcome change from the until-then omnipresent depressing voice Morrissey. A nice injection of energy and optimism into the almost dull routine of running around and trying to be on the "kill" side of "kill or be killed" each day. Forty people left. Most of them with three or more kills to their names, hardened and ruthless, the sorts of people Ema would normally run away from very quickly. But she was one of those forty people now. She had two kills under her belt. She could be hard, she could be ruthless. She just had to put her mind to it and remember that success was the only option, and that remorse could wait until she wasn't fighting for her life. It was just a temporary state of sociopathy, right?
Lyrical thoughts aside, there was ridiculously-out-of-place boredom to attend to. Disregarding both Rou's imaginary voice and the relative absurdity of being able to be bored in such a situation, Ema clambered back onto the bridge proper, and made her way across to the eastern shore. Just as the memories of Janet "It's me! Janet V!", Josie, and Sierra were coming back, and with her vision focused on the area in general rather than anything in particular, her foot knocked against something solid, but with a slight amount of give to it. Naturally, she looked down.
Bodies. Four of them, not clustered together as such, but in pretty close proximity. For some reason, Ema expected, by some absurd coincidence, to see one of those three girls lying there. Instead, and perhaps equally unlikely, she saw somebody else that she knew, hard to identify at first from the savage beating that had been dealt to her head, but eventually recognisable as Gloria Benson. "B-But so-some people c-call me G-G-Glory..." The incredibly shy, stuttery one from the prom. Who was the other guy there at the time? Rob, or Bob, or Robert. Yeah, Robert. Until now, Ema hadn't even thought about Gloria, even considered the possibility that she was on the island as well. Come to think of it, Robert hadn't occurred to her either, or that boy Isaiah. And by now they were probably all dead. Who'd have thunk it, Ema Ryan, outlasting all those people and making it this far? I must be some kind of badass.
She knelt down by the bodies for a moment, pondering whether or not she should do something with them. The river was right there, it was a bog-standard makeshift burial, but it probably beat being left out in the middle of a field with a load of junk and mud around them. Then again, not using that energy up on something that couldn't really help her in the long run also beat using it up and then maybe later getting into a fight and being too exhausted from moving four bodies to win it. Gotta think tactical here. The tactical thinking didn't stop Ema from talking aloud, though. "I'm sorry, Gloria." she began, not quite aware that the words weren't only in her mind. "It's not even my fault, but... you didn't deserve this."
A pause. A laugh.
"Yeah, like anybody else here did." another pause, a sigh, a realisation of what she was doing. "It's fucked up. And what's more, I'm sitting here discussing it with a corpse. Isaiah's pa wouldn't approve." Another laugh. Less than a laugh, really, more of a chuckle. A little inward recognition of the recollection, so unlike Ema to remember such a throwaway comment in such a meaningless conversation, so long ago. The girl manoeuvred herself back from one knee into a sitting position, by now quite at ease in the company of four corpses, with the smell being the only thing to put her off. She looked back over her shoulder, seeing the small column of smoke before the smoker, acknowledging that Hayley was at least awake, up not up and moving. Ema gave a wave, in case the other girl was worried about where she was. She'd go back in a moment, just as soon as she mustered the will to get up. Besides, she still had something to look for, she didn't quite remember what any more, but there was something she'd come across the bridge to find. Something to do with Gloria? No, someone else.
What is even wrong with my bloody memory? Honestly. I remember light conversation from a month ago but not what I was thinking about five seconds ago. This is your brain on Ema.
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armeggedonCounselor†
- Posts: 190
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
((Crappy short post is crappy. I'm dog-tired from work. Maybe I'll come back and make it better.))
Janet jerked up, snorting loudly as she woke from her doze. The reason became clear very rapidly- there was someone moving around below her feet. Under the bridge. She got to her feet unsteadily, pulling her gun from her pocket and cocking it. She stepped over to the edge of the bridge, to see.... Whoever that was. Hayley's latest toy. No sign of the dangerous one, though to be fair Ema (yes, that was the name, Ema) was still to be considered dangerous.
She raised the gun, debating to herself about pulling the trigger. It would be easy. One shot, less competition. Closer to getting her revenge on the bastards who had done all of this to them. And the ones who killed Jay. But she could feel Jay's eyes on her, from beyond. Or perhaps it was her own conscience finally speaking up.
Janet jerked up, snorting loudly as she woke from her doze. The reason became clear very rapidly- there was someone moving around below her feet. Under the bridge. She got to her feet unsteadily, pulling her gun from her pocket and cocking it. She stepped over to the edge of the bridge, to see.... Whoever that was. Hayley's latest toy. No sign of the dangerous one, though to be fair Ema (yes, that was the name, Ema) was still to be considered dangerous.
She raised the gun, debating to herself about pulling the trigger. It would be easy. One shot, less competition. Closer to getting her revenge on the bastards who had done all of this to them. And the ones who killed Jay. But she could feel Jay's eyes on her, from beyond. Or perhaps it was her own conscience finally speaking up.
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
Minutes passed. Bunches of them, though Hayley wasn't noticing, particularly, how much time was passing her by. She was occupied with her cigarette, and eventually with the second cigarette she lit with the remnants of the first. The looked down at the near-empty pack of Marlboro Smooths with something like regret. These were the last cigarettes she'd ever have, ever, (probably) and she was nearly done with them. They felt like a countdown. Like a warning. She'd been saving them, spreading them out, but how much longer did she have for that luxury? She'd really hate herself if she died without finishing this pack. Such a waste. Not unlike everything else about this island.
Three left. The way she was feeling, they'd be burnt through soon enough, though she'd like to hold onto one. Either as a gesture of victory or as a way to say goodbye.
This was boring, though. Sitting here under this bridge with her cigarette and her gun...boring. Boring was better than dying- hell, that mantra had gotten her through a lot of the last eleven (holy shit we're on eleven now) days. Still, she found her mind wandering, and her mind only seemed capable of touching one subject now. Anything else, all the other shit that once occupied her mind in her waking hours- parties, friends, attractive people, the various projects she started and never got around to finishing, video games- all seemed so foreign now. Too far away to even be considered. Even her parents, even her best friend, her Johnny- they were part of a separate world. Not here. Not relevant.
No, here on Survival of the Fittest, everything came back to Ema Ryan.
And why shouldn't it? The only other person she'd spent a substantial amount of time with on the island had been dead for, what, five days now? Ema wasn't dead. Ema was still here, somewhere nearby, she could feel it, Ema was the special one, Ema had been there for, what, eight days now? Eight days and five corpses and a bunch of nervous breakdowns and a whole lot of other crap besides. Ema fucking Ryan. Who would've fucking thought.
In some ways, it was the best thing that could've happened. In some sick, fucking twisted ways. But if it wasn't for Survival of the Fittest...well, by now she'd be home. It probably would've been a decently fun trip, she probably would've gotten drunk a few times and snuck out to meet Kyle and yeah, the two of them would probably still be together, and life would go on as usual until August when she knew she'd be breaking up with him. But Kyle was dead and August was a thing that wasn't happening and now there was Ema, who by all means she should have lost forever. Considering that their breakup was a thousand percent her own damn fault.
Okay, so she was going to die, but at least she could do this whole love thing. It was like a fairytale, except the prince and princess both kill a bunch of people.
And then probably die horribly themselves.
So a really fucked up fairytale, then.
She heard footsteps nearby. Presumably Ema's. Hopefully Ema's. They could be anyone's, really, and she wouldn't know, given how limited her vision was from her current position. If she wanted to know exactly who it was hearing, she was going to have to go find them. And when she heard a second pair of footsteps- coming, unmistakably, from another position- then yeah, she was real curious. Because at this point there was not a single other person left on the island she'd be happy to see.
Now you have to stand, Hayley.
Her cigarette went back in her mouth, Vera held tight, and she pushed herself slowly, painfully, agonizingly off the ground, the edge of the bridge the only thing keeping her upright. Her empty hand moved almost without her knowledge to clutch at her chest, a silent scream escaping her because fuck. Something was wrong. Something was horribly fucking wrong here and she'd known that, but this cinched it. Her head spun, from pain and from an inexplicable dizziness, and for a moment she found herself forgetting why she'd stood up in the first place.
She concentrated on the cigarette in her mouth. A pathetically shallow inhale. An exhale, a wisp of smoke. It was all her ruined lungs could manage. But it was enough. Something to focus on. Something to keep her steady. Just for a minute. Just so she could see what was happening.
Hayley clicked the safety off. Took a few short steps. One, two, three. Clinging to the wall. Her vision was blurry, like this was all a dream.
The girl she saw just around the bend, though- not a dream. Not Ema. But holding a gun, at least she thought it was a gun, something shining faintly in the sunlight, pointed in the direction where Hayley'd heard the other set of footsteps. The ones that must've been Ema.
It took a surprising number of moments for all of this to click. But the pain wasn't helping her think. Neither was the way her eyes were refusing to make any of the images she was seeing clear.
Consciously, she had no idea who it was in front of her. It was all shadows, glowing shadows, silhouettes. It was a girl, that was about all she could tell from the shape- she was too far away and everything was too unfocused for her to tell details. But on some level, she must've known, some part of her brain that wasn't communicating with her well right now must've been capturing these images, because the feelings welled up. Stupid, useless jealousy. Jealousy, of all fucking things, on day 11 on Survival of the Fittest. The subconscious knowledge that somewhere, miles away, one of her best friends was hoping this girl would turn around and see her, shoot her before she got the chance. Hoping Hayley would lose. Jealous, and anger, and words once spoken that ran through her head again, not that she had the capacity to acknowledge them. Not now.
"I hope we never see each other again."
She thought of the girl's eyes. The ones she couldn't see but could, somehow. The ones empty of malice, of hate, even of resignation. Empty of anything that would drive someone to kill. How do you make it this far, with eyes like that? And she wondered what she'd find reflected back in her own if she could see them.
Not that it mattered much, anymore.
She took the most careful aim she could manage. Her hands shook.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Just like that.
Three left. The way she was feeling, they'd be burnt through soon enough, though she'd like to hold onto one. Either as a gesture of victory or as a way to say goodbye.
This was boring, though. Sitting here under this bridge with her cigarette and her gun...boring. Boring was better than dying- hell, that mantra had gotten her through a lot of the last eleven (holy shit we're on eleven now) days. Still, she found her mind wandering, and her mind only seemed capable of touching one subject now. Anything else, all the other shit that once occupied her mind in her waking hours- parties, friends, attractive people, the various projects she started and never got around to finishing, video games- all seemed so foreign now. Too far away to even be considered. Even her parents, even her best friend, her Johnny- they were part of a separate world. Not here. Not relevant.
No, here on Survival of the Fittest, everything came back to Ema Ryan.
And why shouldn't it? The only other person she'd spent a substantial amount of time with on the island had been dead for, what, five days now? Ema wasn't dead. Ema was still here, somewhere nearby, she could feel it, Ema was the special one, Ema had been there for, what, eight days now? Eight days and five corpses and a bunch of nervous breakdowns and a whole lot of other crap besides. Ema fucking Ryan. Who would've fucking thought.
In some ways, it was the best thing that could've happened. In some sick, fucking twisted ways. But if it wasn't for Survival of the Fittest...well, by now she'd be home. It probably would've been a decently fun trip, she probably would've gotten drunk a few times and snuck out to meet Kyle and yeah, the two of them would probably still be together, and life would go on as usual until August when she knew she'd be breaking up with him. But Kyle was dead and August was a thing that wasn't happening and now there was Ema, who by all means she should have lost forever. Considering that their breakup was a thousand percent her own damn fault.
Okay, so she was going to die, but at least she could do this whole love thing. It was like a fairytale, except the prince and princess both kill a bunch of people.
And then probably die horribly themselves.
So a really fucked up fairytale, then.
She heard footsteps nearby. Presumably Ema's. Hopefully Ema's. They could be anyone's, really, and she wouldn't know, given how limited her vision was from her current position. If she wanted to know exactly who it was hearing, she was going to have to go find them. And when she heard a second pair of footsteps- coming, unmistakably, from another position- then yeah, she was real curious. Because at this point there was not a single other person left on the island she'd be happy to see.
Now you have to stand, Hayley.
Her cigarette went back in her mouth, Vera held tight, and she pushed herself slowly, painfully, agonizingly off the ground, the edge of the bridge the only thing keeping her upright. Her empty hand moved almost without her knowledge to clutch at her chest, a silent scream escaping her because fuck. Something was wrong. Something was horribly fucking wrong here and she'd known that, but this cinched it. Her head spun, from pain and from an inexplicable dizziness, and for a moment she found herself forgetting why she'd stood up in the first place.
She concentrated on the cigarette in her mouth. A pathetically shallow inhale. An exhale, a wisp of smoke. It was all her ruined lungs could manage. But it was enough. Something to focus on. Something to keep her steady. Just for a minute. Just so she could see what was happening.
Hayley clicked the safety off. Took a few short steps. One, two, three. Clinging to the wall. Her vision was blurry, like this was all a dream.
The girl she saw just around the bend, though- not a dream. Not Ema. But holding a gun, at least she thought it was a gun, something shining faintly in the sunlight, pointed in the direction where Hayley'd heard the other set of footsteps. The ones that must've been Ema.
It took a surprising number of moments for all of this to click. But the pain wasn't helping her think. Neither was the way her eyes were refusing to make any of the images she was seeing clear.
Consciously, she had no idea who it was in front of her. It was all shadows, glowing shadows, silhouettes. It was a girl, that was about all she could tell from the shape- she was too far away and everything was too unfocused for her to tell details. But on some level, she must've known, some part of her brain that wasn't communicating with her well right now must've been capturing these images, because the feelings welled up. Stupid, useless jealousy. Jealousy, of all fucking things, on day 11 on Survival of the Fittest. The subconscious knowledge that somewhere, miles away, one of her best friends was hoping this girl would turn around and see her, shoot her before she got the chance. Hoping Hayley would lose. Jealous, and anger, and words once spoken that ran through her head again, not that she had the capacity to acknowledge them. Not now.
"I hope we never see each other again."
She thought of the girl's eyes. The ones she couldn't see but could, somehow. The ones empty of malice, of hate, even of resignation. Empty of anything that would drive someone to kill. How do you make it this far, with eyes like that? And she wondered what she'd find reflected back in her own if she could see them.
Not that it mattered much, anymore.
She took the most careful aim she could manage. Her hands shook.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Just like that.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hollyquin. 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.
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armeggedonCounselor†
- Posts: 190
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
Footsteps to her side, clicking into Janet's mind. She turned, time seeming to drag against her as she did, her aim shifting to land on the other, the one who was already lifting her gun to fire. Janet was quicker. Her finger contracted, once, and the recoil drove her arm sideways, the gun slipping from her poor grip as the other girl answered with five. She heard shots hitting the ground behind her, felt hot pinpoints of pain streak into her flesh, heard herself gasp in pain, and heard, in response a dull gurgle as blood pooled into her lungs. She fell backward, gasping for breath, feeling at once the panic and calmness, acceptance. She had known that she would be here someday, at this point on the edge of consciousness, seeing into that dark abyss beyond. She could hear her own pulse in her head, growing fainter as her own heart pushed blood out of her body, killing her with each traitorous pulse.
And then the blackness took over, and she felt nothing.
[GIRL 102: JANET BINACHI: TERMINATED]
((Serpentis.Deteramot: Eliminated))
And then the blackness took over, and she felt nothing.
[GIRL 102: JANET BINACHI: TERMINATED]
((Serpentis.Deteramot: Eliminated))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler armeggedonCounselor. 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.
Ema's attention was first drawn away from her lovely corpsey tea party - well, not really a tea party, more a one-sided conversation, and there wasn't even any tea invo-- FOCUS. It was first drawn away, before being drawn back again by her dissection of the phrase "tea party", by what sounded like someone jerking awake, as if from a bad dream, or having been forcibly woken up. Or just being surprised that they were even asleep. That sort of startled snort kind of sound, Ema knew it well from being woken up long before she wanted to by her parents. It was nearby, too. Maybe one of those corpses wasn't actually dead?
Not so, as it turned out. Ema turned her head towards the general origin of the sound, having spent long enough in thought that she was hence staring down the barrel of Janet Binachi's handgun. Bollocks. There really wasn't anything she could do, and frankly, it was all her fault. The sight of Gloria Benson had grabbed her attention right away, and she hadn't thought to check if what had looked like a dead body a few feet away actually had been dead, which gave Janet plenty of time to just wake up and pull a gun on her. She could go for her gun, being in her back pocket and everything, but the second Janet saw it, that'd be plenty cause to shoot her without asking questions. Even fidgeting would probably be suspicious enough for that. And with the few living people left on the island, no cleverly chosen words would be enough to talk her out of firing if she actually wanted to to begin with. Ema was a killer, she was armed and dangerous, and even as a team based only on survival, they both knew one would have to kill the other eventually.
Ema was absolutely without options. Helpless. And it was horrifying to contemplate, even before admitting she had nobody to blame but herself. She was doomed to die here, and it was entirely her own doing. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, and every quaking inch of her body betrayed her fear and desperation. Ema Ryan did not want to die, yet here that choice was out of her hands, and she could see her fate literally staring her in the face. And knowing one's doom is infinitely more terrifying than being taken by surprise.
But then the outright miraculous happened. The sound of feet colliding with stone. Hayley Kelly's footsteps. Ema couldn't help but look, and evidently, neither could Janet. The girl was armed as well; it stood to reason she wouldn't take kindly to seeing a gun pointed in Ema's direction. What came next, came quickly. Six gunshots filled the air, hard to tell whose were whose, and when they were through, both Janet and Hayley were no longer standing. Ema reacted quickly, running first to Janet to relieve her of the gun, fearing she might still be alive and capable of using it in spite, then to Hayley.
Mercifully, Hayley actually was alive. She'd been hit, and that pain, combined with all the other injuries she was experiencing pain from, must've been what floored her. It was just a flesh wound, though, similar to the one Ema had sustained on her shoulder a few days before, if considerably less shallow.
No time for panic. Panic was the enemy. It didn't matter that panic had scored Ema two kills so far, it'd also scored her an unhealthy degree of paranoia - partly directed at herself - and presumably a good deal of infamy she'd been comfortably without beforehand, whilst not giving her any tangible benefit, as neither Ma'afu nor Sapphire had been carrying weapons. No, panic was bad, Ema needed to think clearly. Clear thought yielded the obvious course of action. She ran the short distance across the bridge to the other side of the river, vaulted the side down to the bank, and quite literally dove for her daypack. A few seconds of hasty searching later, she emerged back onto the bridge with her so-far-unopened first aid kit in hand.
First things first, she rolled up the sleeve of the wounded arm. That done, she pulled on a pair of latex gloves - because an infection was the last thing Hayley needed, on top of all her other health problems - and, assuming the purpose of various parts of the kit, cleaned the wound with a drop of rubbing alcohol, placed one of the smaller pieces of gauze over the wound, then secured it in place with a bandage, all the while outright ignoring any complaints or pain from Hayley. This needed doing.
When all was done, Ema sat back, instantly dreading the very real possibility that she'd done something incredibly wrong. Her rational mind told her that there was no part of her very basic treatment that could be harmful; alcohol disinfected the wound, or something, then the gauze stopped the bleeding and the bandage held the gauze in place. Those things wouldn't be in a first aid kit if their most obvious use could somehow be harmful, right? Of course, her irrational mind was simultaneously inventing ways the alcohol could be killing Hayley's cells or poisoning her blood, or how the bandage could be too tight and somehow fuck up the rest of her arm, or how the gauze might not be sterile enough. The fear showed in her face, try as she might to hide it.
So instead she tried to take her mind off of it, just like everything else she didn't like on the island, instead focusing on the gun she'd taken from Janet. A Colt Anaconda .45 revolver, not that she actually knew that. In fact, she instantly assumed it was a .44 Magnum, the only revolver she actually knew by name. Fuck yeah, most powerful handgun in the wild west. Revolver Ocelot up in this bitch. Hayley and I are gonna be mad pro now.
At that, she realised she hadn't actually said a word to Hayley for the entire morning, not even a panicked call of her name upon seeing her shot down, so, finally, Ema elected to rectify that. "Uh... stupid question, are you okay?"
[Possibly subject to edits, but the major details are solid so yeah.]
Not so, as it turned out. Ema turned her head towards the general origin of the sound, having spent long enough in thought that she was hence staring down the barrel of Janet Binachi's handgun. Bollocks. There really wasn't anything she could do, and frankly, it was all her fault. The sight of Gloria Benson had grabbed her attention right away, and she hadn't thought to check if what had looked like a dead body a few feet away actually had been dead, which gave Janet plenty of time to just wake up and pull a gun on her. She could go for her gun, being in her back pocket and everything, but the second Janet saw it, that'd be plenty cause to shoot her without asking questions. Even fidgeting would probably be suspicious enough for that. And with the few living people left on the island, no cleverly chosen words would be enough to talk her out of firing if she actually wanted to to begin with. Ema was a killer, she was armed and dangerous, and even as a team based only on survival, they both knew one would have to kill the other eventually.
Ema was absolutely without options. Helpless. And it was horrifying to contemplate, even before admitting she had nobody to blame but herself. She was doomed to die here, and it was entirely her own doing. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, and every quaking inch of her body betrayed her fear and desperation. Ema Ryan did not want to die, yet here that choice was out of her hands, and she could see her fate literally staring her in the face. And knowing one's doom is infinitely more terrifying than being taken by surprise.
But then the outright miraculous happened. The sound of feet colliding with stone. Hayley Kelly's footsteps. Ema couldn't help but look, and evidently, neither could Janet. The girl was armed as well; it stood to reason she wouldn't take kindly to seeing a gun pointed in Ema's direction. What came next, came quickly. Six gunshots filled the air, hard to tell whose were whose, and when they were through, both Janet and Hayley were no longer standing. Ema reacted quickly, running first to Janet to relieve her of the gun, fearing she might still be alive and capable of using it in spite, then to Hayley.
Mercifully, Hayley actually was alive. She'd been hit, and that pain, combined with all the other injuries she was experiencing pain from, must've been what floored her. It was just a flesh wound, though, similar to the one Ema had sustained on her shoulder a few days before, if considerably less shallow.
No time for panic. Panic was the enemy. It didn't matter that panic had scored Ema two kills so far, it'd also scored her an unhealthy degree of paranoia - partly directed at herself - and presumably a good deal of infamy she'd been comfortably without beforehand, whilst not giving her any tangible benefit, as neither Ma'afu nor Sapphire had been carrying weapons. No, panic was bad, Ema needed to think clearly. Clear thought yielded the obvious course of action. She ran the short distance across the bridge to the other side of the river, vaulted the side down to the bank, and quite literally dove for her daypack. A few seconds of hasty searching later, she emerged back onto the bridge with her so-far-unopened first aid kit in hand.
First things first, she rolled up the sleeve of the wounded arm. That done, she pulled on a pair of latex gloves - because an infection was the last thing Hayley needed, on top of all her other health problems - and, assuming the purpose of various parts of the kit, cleaned the wound with a drop of rubbing alcohol, placed one of the smaller pieces of gauze over the wound, then secured it in place with a bandage, all the while outright ignoring any complaints or pain from Hayley. This needed doing.
When all was done, Ema sat back, instantly dreading the very real possibility that she'd done something incredibly wrong. Her rational mind told her that there was no part of her very basic treatment that could be harmful; alcohol disinfected the wound, or something, then the gauze stopped the bleeding and the bandage held the gauze in place. Those things wouldn't be in a first aid kit if their most obvious use could somehow be harmful, right? Of course, her irrational mind was simultaneously inventing ways the alcohol could be killing Hayley's cells or poisoning her blood, or how the bandage could be too tight and somehow fuck up the rest of her arm, or how the gauze might not be sterile enough. The fear showed in her face, try as she might to hide it.
So instead she tried to take her mind off of it, just like everything else she didn't like on the island, instead focusing on the gun she'd taken from Janet. A Colt Anaconda .45 revolver, not that she actually knew that. In fact, she instantly assumed it was a .44 Magnum, the only revolver she actually knew by name. Fuck yeah, most powerful handgun in the wild west. Revolver Ocelot up in this bitch. Hayley and I are gonna be mad pro now.
At that, she realised she hadn't actually said a word to Hayley for the entire morning, not even a panicked call of her name upon seeing her shot down, so, finally, Ema elected to rectify that. "Uh... stupid question, are you okay?"
[Possibly subject to edits, but the major details are solid so yeah.]
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.
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
Before she knew it, the ground was rushing up to meet her back.
And, shit, okay. Okay, now she was on the floor, now her entire body was screaming at her, now her chest rose and fell violently as she broke into another coughing fit brought on by the deep breath she tried to take, trying to compensate for the air that the quick trip down had stolen. Trying desperately to breathe. And there was pain, hell yes there was pain, but pain was a world Hayley Kelly was well and familiar with by now. And the pain in her chest was still there and present and vying for her attention, and only getting worse with every fucking hacking cough her body wouldn't let her suppress. But no, that pain was...not any less than it had been, worse if anything, but its effect seemed diminished. Because there was more pain, this one coming from...from over on her right, her sense of her body was too vague to tell immediately, but...was that her arm?
"Alexander Campbell died of I-thought-it'd-be-fine-to-field-amputate-my-arm."
And fear shot through her.
She'd been shot. What the hell else could've laid her out like this, flat on her fucking back? Like, maybe if a wolf ran out of the woods and tackled her, but she'd probably figure that out, and it would probably still be here, trying to eat hfocus, Hayley. So this was sort of long overdue, given all the people she'd shot at in the last week who had guns themselves. All the people who had failed to hit her, either because she caught them by surprise or simply because everyone's aim on this island was terrible. So okay, maybe the law of averages demanded she get shot, and granted, there were worse places to be shot than in the arm. And even with her presently fuzzy grip on her own anatomy, Hayley could tell this wound wasn't as bad as it could've been. The pain wasn't quite as bad as that in her chest. Probably the bullet hadn't hit her straight on.
Small mercies. Tiny fucking mercies.
It was hard for her to be grateful when she could feel the blood dripping down her arm. When she still had the words from the announcement, Danya's words, echoing in her head. Alex had been shot, Alex had been shot in the arm, and it was only a flesh wound, she'd thought, and then apparently he cut his arm off, and she really didn't want to cut her arm off. She liked her arm. Nothing for it but to live, I guess. If I get out of here I can get my shit fixed up at an actual hospital. No field amputations here, thank you.
She could be as flippant as she wanted, but deep down- fuck, for the first time in a while now she felt something past resignation- something more like fear. Not that it showed on her face when Ema, her Ema- was she okay? Hayley's vision was still hazy, but she looked to be- was suddenly hovering above her. Her face was occupied by her efforts to not show exactly how much pain she was in. How well that was working out, she wasn't certain. She wasn't exactly known for being stoic.
Her sense of time seemed as distorted as her vision, as she had no clue that Ema had to leave her for even a moment, to fetch that first aid kit. In her mind, Ema was there, always there, with the first aid kid inexplicably at the ready. She felt her girlfriend's hands touch her arm, and she felt...better. Even as the alcohol touched her open wound. Even as she swallowed back a scream. Even then.
"Uh... stupid question, are you okay?"
And she burst out laughing again. Miraculously this time it wasn't sucked into another hacking cough- this one settled for just being a pale imitation of laughter.
"I-I've been...better. I-is she...dead?"
Not that she didn't know the answer. Janet Binachi was dead. Janet Binachi was dead and if Hayley was right all along, right in thinking that the escape boats didn't blow up after all- she didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to think about Jay Holland watching this shit on TV. Can't give a fuck anymore. Just...can't.
The princess sociopath.
Quiet. Too...tired.
And, shit, okay. Okay, now she was on the floor, now her entire body was screaming at her, now her chest rose and fell violently as she broke into another coughing fit brought on by the deep breath she tried to take, trying to compensate for the air that the quick trip down had stolen. Trying desperately to breathe. And there was pain, hell yes there was pain, but pain was a world Hayley Kelly was well and familiar with by now. And the pain in her chest was still there and present and vying for her attention, and only getting worse with every fucking hacking cough her body wouldn't let her suppress. But no, that pain was...not any less than it had been, worse if anything, but its effect seemed diminished. Because there was more pain, this one coming from...from over on her right, her sense of her body was too vague to tell immediately, but...was that her arm?
"Alexander Campbell died of I-thought-it'd-be-fine-to-field-amputate-my-arm."
And fear shot through her.
She'd been shot. What the hell else could've laid her out like this, flat on her fucking back? Like, maybe if a wolf ran out of the woods and tackled her, but she'd probably figure that out, and it would probably still be here, trying to eat hfocus, Hayley. So this was sort of long overdue, given all the people she'd shot at in the last week who had guns themselves. All the people who had failed to hit her, either because she caught them by surprise or simply because everyone's aim on this island was terrible. So okay, maybe the law of averages demanded she get shot, and granted, there were worse places to be shot than in the arm. And even with her presently fuzzy grip on her own anatomy, Hayley could tell this wound wasn't as bad as it could've been. The pain wasn't quite as bad as that in her chest. Probably the bullet hadn't hit her straight on.
Small mercies. Tiny fucking mercies.
It was hard for her to be grateful when she could feel the blood dripping down her arm. When she still had the words from the announcement, Danya's words, echoing in her head. Alex had been shot, Alex had been shot in the arm, and it was only a flesh wound, she'd thought, and then apparently he cut his arm off, and she really didn't want to cut her arm off. She liked her arm. Nothing for it but to live, I guess. If I get out of here I can get my shit fixed up at an actual hospital. No field amputations here, thank you.
She could be as flippant as she wanted, but deep down- fuck, for the first time in a while now she felt something past resignation- something more like fear. Not that it showed on her face when Ema, her Ema- was she okay? Hayley's vision was still hazy, but she looked to be- was suddenly hovering above her. Her face was occupied by her efforts to not show exactly how much pain she was in. How well that was working out, she wasn't certain. She wasn't exactly known for being stoic.
Her sense of time seemed as distorted as her vision, as she had no clue that Ema had to leave her for even a moment, to fetch that first aid kit. In her mind, Ema was there, always there, with the first aid kid inexplicably at the ready. She felt her girlfriend's hands touch her arm, and she felt...better. Even as the alcohol touched her open wound. Even as she swallowed back a scream. Even then.
"Uh... stupid question, are you okay?"
And she burst out laughing again. Miraculously this time it wasn't sucked into another hacking cough- this one settled for just being a pale imitation of laughter.
"I-I've been...better. I-is she...dead?"
Not that she didn't know the answer. Janet Binachi was dead. Janet Binachi was dead and if Hayley was right all along, right in thinking that the escape boats didn't blow up after all- she didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to think about Jay Holland watching this shit on TV. Can't give a fuck anymore. Just...can't.
The princess sociopath.
Quiet. Too...tired.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hollyquin. 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.
Despite Ema's worst fears, it looked like Hayley was going to be alright after all. She was still breathing, there wasn't any blood escaping from beneath the bandage, and she'd even managed to respond pretty quickly, even if it did sound rather forced. Injured, yes, but thinking straight and able to articulate herself too. It'd have to be enough. In the mean time, might as well check on Janet. "I think so, lemme make sure."
The girl stood, fiddled with her new revolver until she figured out how to open the cylinder, found there was at least one bullet in there, and promptly chambered it, then pulled back the hammer for good measure. She had no idea if it was necessary, but better safe than sorry. Loaded gun in hand, Ema approached Janet's body, barrel aimed for the centre of her chest - she didn't fancy the consequences of aiming for the head and missing - and slowly lowered herself down to inspect the presumably-dead girl's vitals.
But then she had an idea. One she couldn't resist carrying out, and could at least palm off as a means of checking that Janet wasn't just playing dead. So, in a manner that only superficially mirrored the original, Ema stopped a few feet from Janet's unmoving face and yelled, quite loudly, "Oi, Suzy!"
No response. Close enough to switch her aim to Janet's head, Ema kept the barrel of her gun trained right for the forehead, whilst she checked for a pulse with her left hand. Had she arrived earlier, she may have found a weak heartbeat, but now - and understandably so, with so much blood already spilled on the ground - there was nothing. Janet wasn't getting back up. Ema, on the other hand, was entirely capable of standing up again, and did so, still smirking ever so slightly from her latest stupid reference. It was a good feeling, to be able to insert some humour into her life, even now. A little reminder of the real world she was fighting to get back to. And speaking of fighting, with Hayley all Last Stand mode and all, time to collect the victor's spoils; a healthy addition to her supplies of food and water, the spare ammunition for the revolver, plus another spare gun and the ammo for that, too. A good haul, all in all.
Twirling the revolver around her finger by the trigger guard, Ema made her way back across to Hayley, stopping halfway to note I don't even care that it was only one turn, holy shit that was some badass gun-twirling right there. Let's do that again! Of course, on the second try, the gun managed only about 400 degrees of spin before flying off of Ema's finger and landing in the mud in spite of her scrambling attempts to grab it in mid-air. That it didn't discharge into her foot was a miracle Ema put down to the accumulated bad luck she'd experienced so far finally paying off. Or something like that. Stooping to pick the gun up, the Irish girl carefully put the hammer back into its rest position, and tucked her new toy into her right pocket.
"We should probably move on, yeah?" she remarked as she returned to Hayley's side, offering a hand to help her up. "Way too open out here, I don't fancy getting attacked again."
The girl stood, fiddled with her new revolver until she figured out how to open the cylinder, found there was at least one bullet in there, and promptly chambered it, then pulled back the hammer for good measure. She had no idea if it was necessary, but better safe than sorry. Loaded gun in hand, Ema approached Janet's body, barrel aimed for the centre of her chest - she didn't fancy the consequences of aiming for the head and missing - and slowly lowered herself down to inspect the presumably-dead girl's vitals.
But then she had an idea. One she couldn't resist carrying out, and could at least palm off as a means of checking that Janet wasn't just playing dead. So, in a manner that only superficially mirrored the original, Ema stopped a few feet from Janet's unmoving face and yelled, quite loudly, "Oi, Suzy!"
No response. Close enough to switch her aim to Janet's head, Ema kept the barrel of her gun trained right for the forehead, whilst she checked for a pulse with her left hand. Had she arrived earlier, she may have found a weak heartbeat, but now - and understandably so, with so much blood already spilled on the ground - there was nothing. Janet wasn't getting back up. Ema, on the other hand, was entirely capable of standing up again, and did so, still smirking ever so slightly from her latest stupid reference. It was a good feeling, to be able to insert some humour into her life, even now. A little reminder of the real world she was fighting to get back to. And speaking of fighting, with Hayley all Last Stand mode and all, time to collect the victor's spoils; a healthy addition to her supplies of food and water, the spare ammunition for the revolver, plus another spare gun and the ammo for that, too. A good haul, all in all.
Twirling the revolver around her finger by the trigger guard, Ema made her way back across to Hayley, stopping halfway to note I don't even care that it was only one turn, holy shit that was some badass gun-twirling right there. Let's do that again! Of course, on the second try, the gun managed only about 400 degrees of spin before flying off of Ema's finger and landing in the mud in spite of her scrambling attempts to grab it in mid-air. That it didn't discharge into her foot was a miracle Ema put down to the accumulated bad luck she'd experienced so far finally paying off. Or something like that. Stooping to pick the gun up, the Irish girl carefully put the hammer back into its rest position, and tucked her new toy into her right pocket.
"We should probably move on, yeah?" she remarked as she returned to Hayley's side, offering a hand to help her up. "Way too open out here, I don't fancy getting attacked again."
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.
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Hollyquin†
- Posts: 332
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:24 am
"Oi, Suzy!"
This is my girlfriend. The one making ridiculous Call of Duty references on Survival of the Fittest. This explains so fucking much.
Hayley had nothing to do but lay here and wait for the news she already knew. At the very least, her initial panic at her gunshot wound (oh man, I have a gunshot wound, that is almost cool) was subsiding. It still hurt, sure, but the pain had faded relatively quickly- or had the pain in her chest simply increased? Her breath was coming in short bursts, but at least it was coming hahaha okay focus, but still, every inhale and every exhale was met with another...she needed a good metaphoric description here, shooting seemed inaccurate in comparison to the pain in her arm and she'd been using stabbing way too much, lately, fuck it it hurts that's all I need to know stop thinking about it QUICK HAYLEY FIND A DISTRACTION
She wasn't holding her cigarette anymore. That was a distraction. That was the worst distraction ever. Fuck distractions. She needed a cigarette, another one, right now, her ruined lungs and her blurry vision and the way her mind seemed to be drifting off a bit more than usual, all of a sudden, those things were irrelevant. She was Hayley fucking Kelly and she ran on nicotine.
But right now, that involved moving a bit more than she'd like. Right now she was content...content was a bad word choice, content implied that she wasn't annoyed and suffering from some seriously unmanageable cravings and in a lot of pain and rather wanting, more and more with every breath she managed, to cry, or scream, or somehow indicate exactly how badly she was suffering. She could tell from Ema's face, as much of it as she could see, anyway, that the other girl was seriously underestimating the severity of her condition. Hayley's fault for trying to hold back, she supposed. But, anyway, right now she was- occupied, was a good word. Occupied, watching the sky. In her ruined eyes all she saw was blue.
And then, something else in her field of vision. A blurry human form that was nonetheless unmistakable, even before she heard its voice.
"We should probably move on, yeah? Way too open out here, I don't fancy getting attacked again."
Move on.
Move on.
If she hadn't already suspected Ema's ignorance, she would know, now. If Ema thought Hayley was able to walk all the way to that goddamn sawmill- the one that seemed so far away the day before when her chest hadn't hurt quite so badly- Ema had no idea how badly things were going right now. But really, what the fuck could she do about it? No thanks, I'd rather lie here being very obvious and prone and easy-targetish in the middle of a fucking road. It'll be a bloody blast. Literally. Oh man I am so brilliant. No, that was stupid, they had to move, they had to move, as out of the question as that seemed. There was a hand hovering above her, and she was going to take it.
"R-right."
Why did she have to sound so scared.
But she took the hand. Tiny and pale and just like hers. And somehow she made her way back to standing, and everything was mostly colors, colors and blurs and she wondered why her vision was failing her when it was her chest that hurt- maybe she had a concussion, considering how many times she'd been punched in the face that seemed reasonable, and also like something else she needed to worry about. Her vision seemed to clear a little, maybe just enough that she could see her Ema as something other than a person-shaped blob. Her body was on fire. Her body hated her. But she smiled and blinked in her girlfriend's direction because at least until they got to their destination, she was going to hold on.
"You mind g-getting...Vera for me? Probably...probably shouldn't bend back d-down."
Oh. Right.
"...and hang on, let me light another up..."
[[Hayley Kelly continued and concluded in Destroya]]
This is my girlfriend. The one making ridiculous Call of Duty references on Survival of the Fittest. This explains so fucking much.
Hayley had nothing to do but lay here and wait for the news she already knew. At the very least, her initial panic at her gunshot wound (oh man, I have a gunshot wound, that is almost cool) was subsiding. It still hurt, sure, but the pain had faded relatively quickly- or had the pain in her chest simply increased? Her breath was coming in short bursts, but at least it was coming hahaha okay focus, but still, every inhale and every exhale was met with another...she needed a good metaphoric description here, shooting seemed inaccurate in comparison to the pain in her arm and she'd been using stabbing way too much, lately, fuck it it hurts that's all I need to know stop thinking about it QUICK HAYLEY FIND A DISTRACTION
She wasn't holding her cigarette anymore. That was a distraction. That was the worst distraction ever. Fuck distractions. She needed a cigarette, another one, right now, her ruined lungs and her blurry vision and the way her mind seemed to be drifting off a bit more than usual, all of a sudden, those things were irrelevant. She was Hayley fucking Kelly and she ran on nicotine.
But right now, that involved moving a bit more than she'd like. Right now she was content...content was a bad word choice, content implied that she wasn't annoyed and suffering from some seriously unmanageable cravings and in a lot of pain and rather wanting, more and more with every breath she managed, to cry, or scream, or somehow indicate exactly how badly she was suffering. She could tell from Ema's face, as much of it as she could see, anyway, that the other girl was seriously underestimating the severity of her condition. Hayley's fault for trying to hold back, she supposed. But, anyway, right now she was- occupied, was a good word. Occupied, watching the sky. In her ruined eyes all she saw was blue.
And then, something else in her field of vision. A blurry human form that was nonetheless unmistakable, even before she heard its voice.
"We should probably move on, yeah? Way too open out here, I don't fancy getting attacked again."
Move on.
Move on.
If she hadn't already suspected Ema's ignorance, she would know, now. If Ema thought Hayley was able to walk all the way to that goddamn sawmill- the one that seemed so far away the day before when her chest hadn't hurt quite so badly- Ema had no idea how badly things were going right now. But really, what the fuck could she do about it? No thanks, I'd rather lie here being very obvious and prone and easy-targetish in the middle of a fucking road. It'll be a bloody blast. Literally. Oh man I am so brilliant. No, that was stupid, they had to move, they had to move, as out of the question as that seemed. There was a hand hovering above her, and she was going to take it.
"R-right."
Why did she have to sound so scared.
But she took the hand. Tiny and pale and just like hers. And somehow she made her way back to standing, and everything was mostly colors, colors and blurs and she wondered why her vision was failing her when it was her chest that hurt- maybe she had a concussion, considering how many times she'd been punched in the face that seemed reasonable, and also like something else she needed to worry about. Her vision seemed to clear a little, maybe just enough that she could see her Ema as something other than a person-shaped blob. Her body was on fire. Her body hated her. But she smiled and blinked in her girlfriend's direction because at least until they got to their destination, she was going to hold on.
"You mind g-getting...Vera for me? Probably...probably shouldn't bend back d-down."
Oh. Right.
"...and hang on, let me light another up..."
[[Hayley Kelly continued and concluded in Destroya]]
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hollyquin. 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 would've been premature to say 'And so all was well', but Ema couldn't stop herself thinking it all the same. Hayley was still in no fit shape to be walking very far, let alone defending herself, but it looked as though she'd be okay, given enough time to rest and recover. Besides, hadn't the guy that won V3 been beaten up almost as badly just before going into the big finale and winning? Ema was pretty sure that was the case, she'd at least paid attention to the end of the last game; it was almost impossible not to, what with all the hype surrounding it.
"R-right."
On second thoughts, that didn't sound so good. That sounded frightened, as though there was something about all of this that Hayley wasn't letting on. Ema made a mental note to more thoroughly check her girlfriend's injuries later on, when it was safer to do so. Sure she wouldn't be able to make an anywhere near accurate diagnosis if there was some kind of internal damage, but an educated guess couldn't hurt, and if there was just another injury Hayley was hiding for whatever reason - pride, not wanting to worry her, Ema didn't know, it was just a hastily constructed theory - well, she could try to do something about it.
But that was all academic unless the considerably-less-dynamic duo could actually get to somewhere safe enough for Ema to get her makeshift triage on. Who am I kidding, I only know the word triage from Team Fortress... So, when Hayley accepted her hand, Ema pulled the unfortunate girl up, and obliged when asked to grab her dropped gun. Wouldn't do to be caught unaware again but without backup, would it? With Hayley busy lighting one of her last remaining cigarettes, Ema took the liberty of tucking 'Vera' into Hayley's back pocket, and offered an arm to help her walk the rest of the way to the (hopefully) safe haven of Sawmill. It was probably going to be a very long trip.
Hold on, Hayley, you can't die now, not yet. Just hold on...
[Ema Ryan --> Destroya]
"R-right."
On second thoughts, that didn't sound so good. That sounded frightened, as though there was something about all of this that Hayley wasn't letting on. Ema made a mental note to more thoroughly check her girlfriend's injuries later on, when it was safer to do so. Sure she wouldn't be able to make an anywhere near accurate diagnosis if there was some kind of internal damage, but an educated guess couldn't hurt, and if there was just another injury Hayley was hiding for whatever reason - pride, not wanting to worry her, Ema didn't know, it was just a hastily constructed theory - well, she could try to do something about it.
But that was all academic unless the considerably-less-dynamic duo could actually get to somewhere safe enough for Ema to get her makeshift triage on. Who am I kidding, I only know the word triage from Team Fortress... So, when Hayley accepted her hand, Ema pulled the unfortunate girl up, and obliged when asked to grab her dropped gun. Wouldn't do to be caught unaware again but without backup, would it? With Hayley busy lighting one of her last remaining cigarettes, Ema took the liberty of tucking 'Vera' into Hayley's back pocket, and offered an arm to help her walk the rest of the way to the (hopefully) safe haven of Sawmill. It was probably going to be a very long trip.
Hold on, Hayley, you can't die now, not yet. Just hold on...
[Ema Ryan --> Destroya]
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.