((Clarice Halwood continued from 人生の曲.))
"Come out, Nancy! Fuck!"
How the fuck Clarice even made it all the way there was a mystery, even with Conrad following her and yelling for her to stop. Just rolling on pure rage and what might have been a faint glimpse of Nancy's unique sense of style in the distance. Clarice had just wanted her to stay. She hadn't wanted Nancy to die. And Nancy had fucking put a hatchet in her shoulder!
Why was she even chasing Nancy?! She didn't know what she was going to do once she found her. What could she do? Kill her?
Maybe it was that rather sobering thought that finally made Clarice slow down.
And maybe it was this sudden return of her common sense that made her realise that she'd just run off from a crowd that could have protected her. Who she'd wanted to bring to the tower. That she'd left her supplies behind and made Conrad carry them by proxy. And that her arm was slick with blood and—oh dear god.
A wave of dizziness hit her as the adrenaline receded slightly, and she stumbled before leaning against a wall.
"Didn't think that through," she said faintly.
Fuck, she hadn't even stopped to check if Conrad—
"She hit you? Are you okay?" Clarice shut her eyes for a moment before opening them again. "Did she hit anyone else?"
By the time you hear the next pop, the funk shall be within you
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ViolentMedic
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((Conrad continued from 人生の曲.))
"I don't know, I really don't know." Conrad wanted to cry, but could not. His face looked tired and he wanted Clarice to not be upset anymore. But she was hurt. She had a wounded shoulder. Blood. This was just sick. He would have never imagined to ever see his girlfriend in such an injured state, even with the wrestling she did. Sick.
"You need to calm down and recover. You should not run when wounded."
Clarice was in danger. Conrad had no clue how first aid worked. But at least they could calm down here. They walked away from the tower to a more secure location.
That was the solitary confinement cells. Just the two of them being here, they could calm down.
Clarice hopefully learned something out of it, though. That they should not trust anyone. Maria was right. Maria was smart, not following them. Not following like lambs to the slaughter. There were so many people in the bell tower, it was crowded. Freaking Nancy.
But now it was just him and her.
Conrad had goosebumps back when Nancy ran with the hatchet. She could have stabbed him with it and he would not have been able to do anything against that.
Nancy ruined everything. Now Conrad even had to split up from Barry, a person he could trust, unlike Nancy, Maria or Isabel. If Conrad, Barry and Clarice would have stayed united, who knew what they could have done. Now, he probably will not see Barry again, presumably hearing him in an announcement.
But at least he had Clarice.
Clarice was wounded and there was no way they could go to a doctor now. She had to endure the pain. While he thought Clarice would endure it, he still felt sorry for her. She did not deserve this. He did not either. They deserved going to a museum and to return home.
He opened his mouth again.
"I am sorry this happened."
"I don't know, I really don't know." Conrad wanted to cry, but could not. His face looked tired and he wanted Clarice to not be upset anymore. But she was hurt. She had a wounded shoulder. Blood. This was just sick. He would have never imagined to ever see his girlfriend in such an injured state, even with the wrestling she did. Sick.
"You need to calm down and recover. You should not run when wounded."
Clarice was in danger. Conrad had no clue how first aid worked. But at least they could calm down here. They walked away from the tower to a more secure location.
That was the solitary confinement cells. Just the two of them being here, they could calm down.
Clarice hopefully learned something out of it, though. That they should not trust anyone. Maria was right. Maria was smart, not following them. Not following like lambs to the slaughter. There were so many people in the bell tower, it was crowded. Freaking Nancy.
But now it was just him and her.
Conrad had goosebumps back when Nancy ran with the hatchet. She could have stabbed him with it and he would not have been able to do anything against that.
Nancy ruined everything. Now Conrad even had to split up from Barry, a person he could trust, unlike Nancy, Maria or Isabel. If Conrad, Barry and Clarice would have stayed united, who knew what they could have done. Now, he probably will not see Barry again, presumably hearing him in an announcement.
But at least he had Clarice.
Clarice was wounded and there was no way they could go to a doctor now. She had to endure the pain. While he thought Clarice would endure it, he still felt sorry for her. She did not deserve this. He did not either. They deserved going to a museum and to return home.
He opened his mouth again.
"I am sorry this happened."
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ViolentMedic
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"There should be something in—" Clarice moved the arm with the injured shoulder, and the throbbing flared up again. "Aaaaghhhfuck! That is just—"
Can't wrestle with a bad shoulder.
"The... the kits. They probably have... pain... things. Bandages. Stop the... ugh."
Clarice didn't bother looking for a seat. She just took a couple of steps into one of the cells and sat down. Had a vague impression of padded walls.
Who'd she left behind so far? Isabel. Maria. Jeremy. Barry. The guy with Barry. Five people she might never see again. Six if you counted Nancy. Clarice wasn't sure yet if she did. Too many, regardless of which number she picked.
Her mind was on the tower, it didn't have enough focus on the present. Think of now. Think of Conrad. He was still with her. They were still together.
"Sorry. Made you carry everything, didn't I?" Clarice gave him a strained smile. "Didn't... didn't think."
She didn't think about anything. Didn't think about why grabbing Nancy was a bad idea. Or what she'd planned to do if she caught up. How many other kids had chased the people who hurt them without thinking, and acted on impulse when they caught up? How many deaths had happened that way?
Clarice was suddenly very glad she hadn't found Nancy. No matter how mad she was at the girl right now.
Can't wrestle with a bad shoulder.
"The... the kits. They probably have... pain... things. Bandages. Stop the... ugh."
Clarice didn't bother looking for a seat. She just took a couple of steps into one of the cells and sat down. Had a vague impression of padded walls.
Who'd she left behind so far? Isabel. Maria. Jeremy. Barry. The guy with Barry. Five people she might never see again. Six if you counted Nancy. Clarice wasn't sure yet if she did. Too many, regardless of which number she picked.
Her mind was on the tower, it didn't have enough focus on the present. Think of now. Think of Conrad. He was still with her. They were still together.
"Sorry. Made you carry everything, didn't I?" Clarice gave him a strained smile. "Didn't... didn't think."
She didn't think about anything. Didn't think about why grabbing Nancy was a bad idea. Or what she'd planned to do if she caught up. How many other kids had chased the people who hurt them without thinking, and acted on impulse when they caught up? How many deaths had happened that way?
Clarice was suddenly very glad she hadn't found Nancy. No matter how mad she was at the girl right now.
No. Painkillers? No. There were no painkillers there. Conrad searched but just found aspirin.
"I am so sorry, Clarice. I can't find any."
He showed her the first aid kit and put out some medications while bandaging her.
"There is ibuprofen and aspirin, though, if that might help."
What now?
Talk. About anything.
"I did not mind carrying everything." He wanted to smile back at Clarice but really, it was not a pleasant view with the wounded shoulder. Conrad looked away.
After a break, he added more.
"Next time we see a group, we should not approach them. It's the best, I suggest. Really, we want to avoid this to be repeated."
He looked back to Clarice.
"We definitely need to try to act more cautious."
"I am so sorry, Clarice. I can't find any."
He showed her the first aid kit and put out some medications while bandaging her.
"There is ibuprofen and aspirin, though, if that might help."
What now?
Talk. About anything.
"I did not mind carrying everything." He wanted to smile back at Clarice but really, it was not a pleasant view with the wounded shoulder. Conrad looked away.
After a break, he added more.
"Next time we see a group, we should not approach them. It's the best, I suggest. Really, we want to avoid this to be repeated."
He looked back to Clarice.
"We definitely need to try to act more cautious."
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ViolentMedic
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"Shit. Nah, I doubt an aspirin's gonna make it any better. Just... just bandage me up, then. I'll deal."
Clarice paused here and there as the pain continued to thump in her shoulder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Similar to a heartbeat, only it didn't feel in time with it. Because she knew, after that run—and also, well, being attacked with a fucking hatchet—that her heart was going way faster. Even so, it was starting to slow as they stayed here. Calming down again.
"Still. Two bags of supplies plus that halberd thing? Be a great workout routine if everything wasn't—" Clarice cut off at a particularly bad ripple of pain, pressing her lips together and shutting her eyes as she tried not to make any noise.
The terrorists probably got off to kids in pain. It made as much sense as any reason for this sick game. She wasn't giving them any more audio for them to loop in the background while jerking off, if she could help it.
Conrad eventually started speaking. Moving back to cautiousness. To 'outlasting,' even if he didn't say that precise word. This time, Clarice didn't immediately snap at him. She had to admit that the bell thing hadn't... hadn't really worked out. And she hadn't even gotten to ring the damn thing.
But she'd probably not done any favours by grabbing Nancy like that. Fuck, in hindsight that was super aggressive.
"I... can deal with cautious," Clarice said slowly, not looking at Conrad either. She frowned for a bit, staring at the padded walls, before looking back at him. "But what are we supposed to do? Hide in a hole and let everyone else die? Fuck that. I don't want to leave this island alone."
Clarice paused here and there as the pain continued to thump in her shoulder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Similar to a heartbeat, only it didn't feel in time with it. Because she knew, after that run—and also, well, being attacked with a fucking hatchet—that her heart was going way faster. Even so, it was starting to slow as they stayed here. Calming down again.
"Still. Two bags of supplies plus that halberd thing? Be a great workout routine if everything wasn't—" Clarice cut off at a particularly bad ripple of pain, pressing her lips together and shutting her eyes as she tried not to make any noise.
The terrorists probably got off to kids in pain. It made as much sense as any reason for this sick game. She wasn't giving them any more audio for them to loop in the background while jerking off, if she could help it.
Conrad eventually started speaking. Moving back to cautiousness. To 'outlasting,' even if he didn't say that precise word. This time, Clarice didn't immediately snap at him. She had to admit that the bell thing hadn't... hadn't really worked out. And she hadn't even gotten to ring the damn thing.
But she'd probably not done any favours by grabbing Nancy like that. Fuck, in hindsight that was super aggressive.
"I... can deal with cautious," Clarice said slowly, not looking at Conrad either. She frowned for a bit, staring at the padded walls, before looking back at him. "But what are we supposed to do? Hide in a hole and let everyone else die? Fuck that. I don't want to leave this island alone."
Remember that, okay? Just...whatever happens. You're good.
((Harold Porter's stepping closer.))
Not like he didn't appreciate the vote of confidence, but Harold was having a hard time agreeing with Lizzie's words. Partly out of principle, partly because he hadn't actually done anything yet. He meant every word he had said, but that's all they were, words. He supposed that, if nothing else, they'd helped calm Lizzie down. Might have made Astrid think a bit, though he doubted it. Still, he couldn't let himself get caught up in feeling good about his little spot of philosophy back there.
He'd written a moving thesis statement without bothering to fill out the rest of the essay, laid out a grand plan and then decided to have lunch and a nice nap. Sure, it was better than doing nothing, and it gave him a place to start, but that's all it was. A start. A prelude to the things that actually mattered.
And speaking of things that actually mattered, as he stepped out into the hallway Harold had caught a glimpse of Clarice running like... well, like a furious wrestler into an asylum, the truth sounded hellish enough as it was, no need to pretty it up with metaphors, trailed by her boyfriend. Both of them were up the stairs and out of his sight before he could call out to them. He tensed for a moment, ready to intercept if it turned out someone was chasing after them, but the only thing that moved was the dust they'd displaced.
Whatever the case, they'd obviously been in trouble. Clarice and Conrad had been running together, not chasing each other, so there probably wasn't any immediate danger; still, Harold couldn't just let this sit without trying to find and check up on them. He turned back to Ty, filled him in on the situation. They agreed to head to the second floor together, then split up and try to find Clarice. Couldn't just leave a member of the team behind, after all. Well, they already had, technically speaking. Thankfully.
Harold would've felt a lot safer with Rod at his back, but he was glad that at least one of his friends was gonna live to hit drinking age. Not that Harold was planning on letting any of his friends die, at least not while he still had his body. Ty had given Harold the sword, and it was disturbing how used he'd already gotten to carrying it around. He'd swap it for a shield in a heartbeat, even if it wasn't made out of Vibranium Steel.
Just as he was thinking that the second floor'd never run out of empty rooms to poke his head into and gurney-littered hallways to walk, Harold heard a familiar voice as he reached the gate that seemed to mark the start of Solitary Confinement. He soon found Clarice and Conrad sitting inside one of the cells. "Clarice, it's me." Harold called out as he approached. He raised a hand to wave, but realized that he was also raising the sword with it, so he kind of just aborted the gesture entirely. He leaned against the doorframe, unintentionally blocking them in, and held his weapon down at his side. "It's good to see you - oh jesus," he gasped as he got his first clear look at Clarice. Happy as he was to see one of his best friends, Harold would've preferred it to be without a new, ugly wound in her shoulder.
"What happened to you guys? Are - are you okay?" His words sounded weak, even to him, but the shock of seeing Clarice, who he had always pictured as practically indestructible, seriously injured had robbed him of any momentum he'd had. Harold couldn't fix this, either. He was talented at hurting people, not healing them.
((Harold Porter's stepping closer.))
Not like he didn't appreciate the vote of confidence, but Harold was having a hard time agreeing with Lizzie's words. Partly out of principle, partly because he hadn't actually done anything yet. He meant every word he had said, but that's all they were, words. He supposed that, if nothing else, they'd helped calm Lizzie down. Might have made Astrid think a bit, though he doubted it. Still, he couldn't let himself get caught up in feeling good about his little spot of philosophy back there.
He'd written a moving thesis statement without bothering to fill out the rest of the essay, laid out a grand plan and then decided to have lunch and a nice nap. Sure, it was better than doing nothing, and it gave him a place to start, but that's all it was. A start. A prelude to the things that actually mattered.
And speaking of things that actually mattered, as he stepped out into the hallway Harold had caught a glimpse of Clarice running like... well, like a furious wrestler into an asylum, the truth sounded hellish enough as it was, no need to pretty it up with metaphors, trailed by her boyfriend. Both of them were up the stairs and out of his sight before he could call out to them. He tensed for a moment, ready to intercept if it turned out someone was chasing after them, but the only thing that moved was the dust they'd displaced.
Whatever the case, they'd obviously been in trouble. Clarice and Conrad had been running together, not chasing each other, so there probably wasn't any immediate danger; still, Harold couldn't just let this sit without trying to find and check up on them. He turned back to Ty, filled him in on the situation. They agreed to head to the second floor together, then split up and try to find Clarice. Couldn't just leave a member of the team behind, after all. Well, they already had, technically speaking. Thankfully.
Harold would've felt a lot safer with Rod at his back, but he was glad that at least one of his friends was gonna live to hit drinking age. Not that Harold was planning on letting any of his friends die, at least not while he still had his body. Ty had given Harold the sword, and it was disturbing how used he'd already gotten to carrying it around. He'd swap it for a shield in a heartbeat, even if it wasn't made out of Vibranium Steel.
Just as he was thinking that the second floor'd never run out of empty rooms to poke his head into and gurney-littered hallways to walk, Harold heard a familiar voice as he reached the gate that seemed to mark the start of Solitary Confinement. He soon found Clarice and Conrad sitting inside one of the cells. "Clarice, it's me." Harold called out as he approached. He raised a hand to wave, but realized that he was also raising the sword with it, so he kind of just aborted the gesture entirely. He leaned against the doorframe, unintentionally blocking them in, and held his weapon down at his side. "It's good to see you - oh jesus," he gasped as he got his first clear look at Clarice. Happy as he was to see one of his best friends, Harold would've preferred it to be without a new, ugly wound in her shoulder.
"What happened to you guys? Are - are you okay?" His words sounded weak, even to him, but the shock of seeing Clarice, who he had always pictured as practically indestructible, seriously injured had robbed him of any momentum he'd had. Harold couldn't fix this, either. He was talented at hurting people, not healing them.
"I don't know, Clarice. I really don't know other than that we will be cautious to not let this thing repeat itself. We don't want to get hurt anymore."
Conrad finished bandaging Clarice and thought for a bit before replying to the injured Clarice who was in pain. He ignored the workout comment, even if he was meant to laugh, be amused, smile - he was not in a mood to.
"Really, you sound like ibu could really help you. Even if it won't help as much, it certainly could make you feel better."
Looking around, Conrad caught an intruder. A sword appeared.
Was the attacker of Clarice following them?
No.
It was Harold.
But, Harold held a sword, ready to slay them, if he wanted. His voice did not sound like that was the case, but...
dejavu.
Voices don't mean anything in this death game.
Conrad did not let his guard down. Conrad won't let Clarice let her guard down. Not after what had happened the last time they trusted someone with a weapon.
"We are not okay. She was injured about..." Hours? Half an hour. Half an hour sounds like a good time span to say. "half an hour ago."
Conrad replied to Harold. Quick, fast, short. Harsh. As if he was a doctor who treated Clarice. That was how he felt. And Harold came in, trying to help, interrupting them with a freaking sword.
He observed him. And if Harold did anything dangerous, Conrad would be ready.
Conrad finished bandaging Clarice and thought for a bit before replying to the injured Clarice who was in pain. He ignored the workout comment, even if he was meant to laugh, be amused, smile - he was not in a mood to.
"Really, you sound like ibu could really help you. Even if it won't help as much, it certainly could make you feel better."
Looking around, Conrad caught an intruder. A sword appeared.
Was the attacker of Clarice following them?
No.
It was Harold.
But, Harold held a sword, ready to slay them, if he wanted. His voice did not sound like that was the case, but...
dejavu.
Voices don't mean anything in this death game.
Conrad did not let his guard down. Conrad won't let Clarice let her guard down. Not after what had happened the last time they trusted someone with a weapon.
"We are not okay. She was injured about..." Hours? Half an hour. Half an hour sounds like a good time span to say. "half an hour ago."
Conrad replied to Harold. Quick, fast, short. Harsh. As if he was a doctor who treated Clarice. That was how he felt. And Harold came in, trying to help, interrupting them with a freaking sword.
He observed him. And if Harold did anything dangerous, Conrad would be ready.
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ViolentMedic
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"Look, I'm all about not repeating the hatchet thing, but one of us is gonna get way more than hurt if this game goes how those assholes want it to go." Clarice half-shrugged, remembering a tiny bit too late that her shoulder was injured. "Fuck, why did I do that? Anyway, y'know, damned if you do, damned if you don't. I'd rather be damned while not being an asshole."
Conrad finished wrapping her up. The bandages didn't feel... right... to Clarice. She'd had her share of injuries before. She'd broken her arm when she was a kid. She wasn't sure if that had been better or worse than this, since it'd been a long time ago and time tended to take the sting off. But she had the feeling that the bandaging, or something, had been done wrong. Like there was something she'd forgot.
But whatever. Conrad was a smart guy, but he wasn't a doctor. She couldn't expect him to whip out the best health care. She'd make do.
"I thought ibuprofen's for puking. I saw it in a game Scout was playing once." Clarice paused, then added, "No, wait. That's ipecac. Okay, fine, whatever. Thanks for, uh... you know, doing the bandaging and stuff." She tried to smile at Conrad. It failed, looking a little more rigor mortis like than she'd meant.
Though it turned more genuine at the relief of seeing a friend appear in the doorway. Harold was on the wrestling team with her, and he was loads into political activism and stuff. Cared about shit. Wasn't an asshole, and never had been. Would never, ever suggest playing or that they should hide in a hole and wait for everyone to die.
Her grin became strained again for a moment as Harold raised the sword he was holding (Nancy had always been fine back at school, too) but he lowered it again quickly. Her grin returned to as normal as it could be, given the pain in her shoulder.
"Oh god, am I glad to see you. Things have just been the worst."
Clarice glanced at her shoulder (and it was a relief that now for the most part she couldn't see the gaping, open wound) and grimaced at Harold.
"Nancy's what happened. She's got a hatchet, and I tried to get her to stick around and form an alliance and I grabbed her arm and she hit me." Clarice wrinkled her nose and said, "That's probably my fault on some level. Be careful if you see her, though."
The candid words were split up by the occasional harsh breath and the casualness ruined by the weak, strained tone. In an attempt to reassure Harold she was fine, she put on her best Black Knight voice.
"'Tis but a scratch."
Sure, Monty Python references in grim situations weren't the most inventive, but she didn't have the focus to think of anything better.
Conrad finished wrapping her up. The bandages didn't feel... right... to Clarice. She'd had her share of injuries before. She'd broken her arm when she was a kid. She wasn't sure if that had been better or worse than this, since it'd been a long time ago and time tended to take the sting off. But she had the feeling that the bandaging, or something, had been done wrong. Like there was something she'd forgot.
But whatever. Conrad was a smart guy, but he wasn't a doctor. She couldn't expect him to whip out the best health care. She'd make do.
"I thought ibuprofen's for puking. I saw it in a game Scout was playing once." Clarice paused, then added, "No, wait. That's ipecac. Okay, fine, whatever. Thanks for, uh... you know, doing the bandaging and stuff." She tried to smile at Conrad. It failed, looking a little more rigor mortis like than she'd meant.
Though it turned more genuine at the relief of seeing a friend appear in the doorway. Harold was on the wrestling team with her, and he was loads into political activism and stuff. Cared about shit. Wasn't an asshole, and never had been. Would never, ever suggest playing or that they should hide in a hole and wait for everyone to die.
Her grin became strained again for a moment as Harold raised the sword he was holding (Nancy had always been fine back at school, too) but he lowered it again quickly. Her grin returned to as normal as it could be, given the pain in her shoulder.
"Oh god, am I glad to see you. Things have just been the worst."
Clarice glanced at her shoulder (and it was a relief that now for the most part she couldn't see the gaping, open wound) and grimaced at Harold.
"Nancy's what happened. She's got a hatchet, and I tried to get her to stick around and form an alliance and I grabbed her arm and she hit me." Clarice wrinkled her nose and said, "That's probably my fault on some level. Be careful if you see her, though."
The candid words were split up by the occasional harsh breath and the casualness ruined by the weak, strained tone. In an attempt to reassure Harold she was fine, she put on her best Black Knight voice.
"'Tis but a scratch."
Sure, Monty Python references in grim situations weren't the most inventive, but she didn't have the focus to think of anything better.
Once the initial shock wore off, Harold managed to get a hold of himself. It was still terrible that Clarice had been hurt, of course, but it looked like Conrad had been able to take care of her wound as best he could, given the circumstances. Much better than Harold could've, in any case. He only really knew Conrad through Clarice, but he'd always seemed like a good dude. Harold gave him a nod as he entered the cell proper.
Before he sat down, Harold made sure to set his sword down, leaning it against the wall opposite him, close to the other two. He needed to make it clear that he didn't have any bad intentions, especially since they'd already been attacked once and probably weren't exactly keen to have a big dude with a weapon in close proximity to them, threatening or no. Even Astrid had gotten that much right. In any case, Harold settled down to listen to Clarice's story.
By the time she was done speaking, Harold felt extremely unnerved, but he still made an effort to meet her joke with a joke. "Well, I'm glad you're not quite dead." Even wounded, Clarice's spirit seemed as indomitable as ever, and Harold had to do his best to keep up. She had a gash in her shoulder, what was his excuse to mope or stammer? Still, finally having a name and face in place of the vague, amorphous mental image of killers that Harold had had in his head unsettled him. Silly as it seemed, he'd held a small hope that they'd finally be the ones to rise against Evil's games and prove them wrong once and for all, even if it did mean their deaths.
It wouldn't help anyone to dwell on that, though. If Harold ran into Nancy, he'd have to do his best to talk her down, and if that didn't work... well, he'd figure out some way to keep her from hurting anyone else.
"I've got some good news for you, at least." Harold said, hoping to brighten the mood. "Ty's with me! We split up a couple minutes ago to check this floor out, but he should be here soon. That's his sword, actually," he said, gesturing towards it. "We're both fine, and I bet we'll all feel a whole lot better once we got the whole team together in one place."
Before he sat down, Harold made sure to set his sword down, leaning it against the wall opposite him, close to the other two. He needed to make it clear that he didn't have any bad intentions, especially since they'd already been attacked once and probably weren't exactly keen to have a big dude with a weapon in close proximity to them, threatening or no. Even Astrid had gotten that much right. In any case, Harold settled down to listen to Clarice's story.
By the time she was done speaking, Harold felt extremely unnerved, but he still made an effort to meet her joke with a joke. "Well, I'm glad you're not quite dead." Even wounded, Clarice's spirit seemed as indomitable as ever, and Harold had to do his best to keep up. She had a gash in her shoulder, what was his excuse to mope or stammer? Still, finally having a name and face in place of the vague, amorphous mental image of killers that Harold had had in his head unsettled him. Silly as it seemed, he'd held a small hope that they'd finally be the ones to rise against Evil's games and prove them wrong once and for all, even if it did mean their deaths.
It wouldn't help anyone to dwell on that, though. If Harold ran into Nancy, he'd have to do his best to talk her down, and if that didn't work... well, he'd figure out some way to keep her from hurting anyone else.
"I've got some good news for you, at least." Harold said, hoping to brighten the mood. "Ty's with me! We split up a couple minutes ago to check this floor out, but he should be here soon. That's his sword, actually," he said, gesturing towards it. "We're both fine, and I bet we'll all feel a whole lot better once we got the whole team together in one place."
Something was making Conrad nervous with Harold talking to his girlfriend, while having a sword in the room. His halberd was on the ground, but the sword was just there. It was creepy. It looked like it was there to be quickly picked up, leaning on the wall. Surprising people with an attack is a common thing in wrestling, right? Him talking about Ty, talking about the team. A team. Alliance. Conrad was not in the wrestling team. Was Harold implying that the wrestling club members should unite to survive? Conrad knew that Clarice would never ever join such a thing, but what did he know about Ty and Harold planning to do so? Ty scavenging the building with the plan to find items for Harry itself was a scary thought. The former terrible person who bullied people in a situation like SOTF. Why should Ty keep being friendly? What would stop him from becoming his old self again?
And Clarice just mindlessly believing his words was worrying him as well. The two of them joking. Clarice liked it, Harold liked it. But Conrad did not find any of this funny. Clarice was doing the same mistake over and over again. Conrad had to help. Perhaps, Harold is no bad guy. But even then, being cautious is the best solution for Clarice and Conrad.
Conrad Timothy Harrod stared at the sword leaning on the wall. Such a thing could kill someone. Such a weapon could injure someone hard. It was deadly and this could be bad. It's a weapon, and like all weapons it's dangerous if it's in the wrong hands.
Conrad knew he could be quick. A couple of steps, a grab, and back to Clarice. Now, Conrad had the sword.
Much more safe.
Pointing the sword to the ground, he looked at Harold, with an undecided and uneasy frown.
"Sorry. Precautionary move."
Conrad had the sword, Harold had no sword. Clarice was safe.
"Swords are not an item I want to deal with. Not after what Nancy did with her weapon to her."
He looked at Clarice's face and was not surprised at her reaction to his stealing. But he had the responsibility.
And Clarice just mindlessly believing his words was worrying him as well. The two of them joking. Clarice liked it, Harold liked it. But Conrad did not find any of this funny. Clarice was doing the same mistake over and over again. Conrad had to help. Perhaps, Harold is no bad guy. But even then, being cautious is the best solution for Clarice and Conrad.
Conrad Timothy Harrod stared at the sword leaning on the wall. Such a thing could kill someone. Such a weapon could injure someone hard. It was deadly and this could be bad. It's a weapon, and like all weapons it's dangerous if it's in the wrong hands.
Conrad knew he could be quick. A couple of steps, a grab, and back to Clarice. Now, Conrad had the sword.
Much more safe.
Pointing the sword to the ground, he looked at Harold, with an undecided and uneasy frown.
"Sorry. Precautionary move."
Conrad had the sword, Harold had no sword. Clarice was safe.
"Swords are not an item I want to deal with. Not after what Nancy did with her weapon to her."
He looked at Clarice's face and was not surprised at her reaction to his stealing. But he had the responsibility.
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ViolentMedic
- Posts: 813
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
"Oh, sweet. You found Ty? Bernie wasn't with him by any chance, was she?" Although even as she said it, she realised that Harold would have mentioned her if she had been. She supposed not everyone was lucky enough to wake up not far from their boyfriend. "But yeah, that's pretty great. We're the only wrestlers on the trip, aren't we? I'd say 'too bad Rod wasn't on the trip' but given... what that means... y'know?"
There was a tiny glimmer of doubt in Clarice's mind. She liked Ty a lot, he was one of her best friends and they were co-captains of the wrestling team. But there had been a time when Ty hadn't been so friendly. When he'd been a bully. Clarice had hated him during that time, even though once he'd turned over a new leaf they'd ended up friends. There was part of her that was worried that he might relapse.
But that was dumb. Even if he had still been a bully, there was a difference between a bully and a killer.
And then suddenly, Conrad was gone from her side. Suddenly, he had the sword.
"Conrad, what the fuck?"
She tried to stand up, so she could cross the room and take it back. But a wave of dizziness hit her as she tried. Fucking hatchet. She quickly sat down again.
"Harold's not Nancy! And he put down the weapon! Doesn't mean you have to steal it, that doesn't resolve anything except that now you have all the weapons." Clarice's glare got more pronounced. "And Harold wasn't the one saying 'we should try and outlast everyone.'"
She immediately recoiled at her own accusation. Conrad was just worried, he wouldn't actually play. camn, what the fuck was happening to her? One scratch and suddenly everyone feels like an enemy.
Though, Conrad did steal a fucking sword. And everything he'd said since they woke up was some variation of not trusting anyone, or hiding, or 'outlasting.' All of it was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Clarice slowly started to get to her feet again, using her good arm for support. Her eyes didn't leave Conrad, her glare still accusatory. And maybe a little hurt.
There was a tiny glimmer of doubt in Clarice's mind. She liked Ty a lot, he was one of her best friends and they were co-captains of the wrestling team. But there had been a time when Ty hadn't been so friendly. When he'd been a bully. Clarice had hated him during that time, even though once he'd turned over a new leaf they'd ended up friends. There was part of her that was worried that he might relapse.
But that was dumb. Even if he had still been a bully, there was a difference between a bully and a killer.
And then suddenly, Conrad was gone from her side. Suddenly, he had the sword.
"Conrad, what the fuck?"
She tried to stand up, so she could cross the room and take it back. But a wave of dizziness hit her as she tried. Fucking hatchet. She quickly sat down again.
"Harold's not Nancy! And he put down the weapon! Doesn't mean you have to steal it, that doesn't resolve anything except that now you have all the weapons." Clarice's glare got more pronounced. "And Harold wasn't the one saying 'we should try and outlast everyone.'"
She immediately recoiled at her own accusation. Conrad was just worried, he wouldn't actually play. camn, what the fuck was happening to her? One scratch and suddenly everyone feels like an enemy.
Though, Conrad did steal a fucking sword. And everything he'd said since they woke up was some variation of not trusting anyone, or hiding, or 'outlasting.' All of it was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Clarice slowly started to get to her feet again, using her good arm for support. Her eyes didn't leave Conrad, her glare still accusatory. And maybe a little hurt.
Conrad's move was so unexpected that Harold had a bit of trouble wrapping his head around it, at first. One moment they'd all been sitting and talking, the next Conrad had dashed across the room and nabbed the sword. Dude could have just asked for Harold to chuck it into the hall or something if he didn't feel comfortable, no need for theft! Harold looked to Clarice for guidance, saw her struggle and fail to stand up. Normally it'd be best for her to be the one to deal with her boyfriend's weirdness, but Harold didn't want her to strain herself, and he wanted this situation resolved as soon as possible. It was about time that he actually did something, anyways, prove that he was someone that could be relied on.
Harold stood up and slowly approached Conrad. Harold would do his best to talk him down if he could, but if worst came to worst he was fairly confident he could wrestle that sword away from him. He didn't like the way Conrad moved in short, jerky movements, spat his words out in bursts. He seemed nervous, exactly the sort of person you'd prefer not to have a sword in a small, confined space.
"Conrad, man, we're all friends here, right?" Harold said as he stepped closer. "Ty and I, we're buddies with Clarice, you know that. Do you really think we'd mess with her or her boyfriend?" He stood right in front of Conrad, looking down at the smaller boy. "So please, there's no need for this. Drop the sword and we can all get back to sitting down in this comfy cell."
Harold stood up and slowly approached Conrad. Harold would do his best to talk him down if he could, but if worst came to worst he was fairly confident he could wrestle that sword away from him. He didn't like the way Conrad moved in short, jerky movements, spat his words out in bursts. He seemed nervous, exactly the sort of person you'd prefer not to have a sword in a small, confined space.
"Conrad, man, we're all friends here, right?" Harold said as he stepped closer. "Ty and I, we're buddies with Clarice, you know that. Do you really think we'd mess with her or her boyfriend?" He stood right in front of Conrad, looking down at the smaller boy. "So please, there's no need for this. Drop the sword and we can all get back to sitting down in this comfy cell."
Harold, who was not Nancy, as Clarice stated, might have not attacked him yet. But, he had the potential to do so. A bigger potential than Nancy would have. Harry could wrestle. Conrad could not. Harry attacks him and Conrad's dead.
"Clarice, that's not what I've said!"
He exclaimed that statement with an angry voice. A lie, misunderstanding. Now Harold would distrust him even more.
"I do not plan to outlast my classmates!"
Conrad knew that he could not. Would not kill anybody. Even with the sword in his hand and Harry or Clarice as a target - he would never bring himself to kill either of them. He was a human. He had morals. He was rational.
That's why he should stop being angry at his girlfriend for accusing him of being a coldhearted person. She was hurt herself. She was too trusting. Conrad could handle this.
But then the wrestler talked. Something about the way it was brought to him felt wrong. It was too optimistic, too utopian. Too much of a Clarice illusion.
Harold, coming closer. Step, step, step. Closer.
Conrad could not move. He was shaking, he knew that Harry could use some wrestling techniques to quickly knock him out. Harold was coming closer, until he could reach Conrad. Until he could grab him. Attack him. Harold was so big.
His life is in danger. But maybe it wasn't his life anymore. The terrorists basically owned the life of Conrad by having an explosive collar around his neck. And they could detonate it any time.
And then he thrust the sword forward, trying to push him away. With force.
"Clarice, that's not what I've said!"
He exclaimed that statement with an angry voice. A lie, misunderstanding. Now Harold would distrust him even more.
"I do not plan to outlast my classmates!"
Conrad knew that he could not. Would not kill anybody. Even with the sword in his hand and Harry or Clarice as a target - he would never bring himself to kill either of them. He was a human. He had morals. He was rational.
That's why he should stop being angry at his girlfriend for accusing him of being a coldhearted person. She was hurt herself. She was too trusting. Conrad could handle this.
But then the wrestler talked. Something about the way it was brought to him felt wrong. It was too optimistic, too utopian. Too much of a Clarice illusion.
Harold, coming closer. Step, step, step. Closer.
Conrad could not move. He was shaking, he knew that Harry could use some wrestling techniques to quickly knock him out. Harold was coming closer, until he could reach Conrad. Until he could grab him. Attack him. Harold was so big.
His life is in danger. But maybe it wasn't his life anymore. The terrorists basically owned the life of Conrad by having an explosive collar around his neck. And they could detonate it any time.
And then he thrust the sword forward, trying to push him away. With force.
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Harold had messed up. Plain and simple.
He'd let his guard down. Hadn't thought that any of them were in real danger, had been treating this as more of a practice run at being the hero than anything else. Hadn't thought anything could have really happened to him, not while he was with Clarice. Hadn't stopped to consider Conrad's feelings, hadn't considered that he might somehow be intimidated by the 6'3'' wrestleman that had been confidently walking up to him.
Harold blankly stared down at the sword that was now piercing his chest, held by Conrad's trembling hands. Opened and closed his mouth, trying to figure out how to process this information. Settled on a stunned "...Huh?"
He stumbled backwards. The sword popped free with a sickening squelching noise, and the blood it had been stemming suddenly flowed free, staining his Deadpool t-shirt even redder. Harold would have found it entertainingly characteristic in any other circumstance.
"Why did you... I-I wasn't gonna hurt you-" Harold stammered, sweating. He didn't want to look down again, didn't want to think about the pain that was growing more and more overwhelming as each second passed by to twist the knife a centimeter deeper.
He suddenly felt faint, would have dumbly toppled over backwards like so many Goliaths past if someone hadn't suddenly grabbed ahold of him, keeping him upright. Harold sank against them, unable to muster the energy to even turn his head, simply staring at Conrad and the now-bloodstained sword he held in his hands.
He'd let his guard down. Hadn't thought that any of them were in real danger, had been treating this as more of a practice run at being the hero than anything else. Hadn't thought anything could have really happened to him, not while he was with Clarice. Hadn't stopped to consider Conrad's feelings, hadn't considered that he might somehow be intimidated by the 6'3'' wrestleman that had been confidently walking up to him.
Harold blankly stared down at the sword that was now piercing his chest, held by Conrad's trembling hands. Opened and closed his mouth, trying to figure out how to process this information. Settled on a stunned "...Huh?"
He stumbled backwards. The sword popped free with a sickening squelching noise, and the blood it had been stemming suddenly flowed free, staining his Deadpool t-shirt even redder. Harold would have found it entertainingly characteristic in any other circumstance.
"Why did you... I-I wasn't gonna hurt you-" Harold stammered, sweating. He didn't want to look down again, didn't want to think about the pain that was growing more and more overwhelming as each second passed by to twist the knife a centimeter deeper.
He suddenly felt faint, would have dumbly toppled over backwards like so many Goliaths past if someone hadn't suddenly grabbed ahold of him, keeping him upright. Harold sank against them, unable to muster the energy to even turn his head, simply staring at Conrad and the now-bloodstained sword he held in his hands.
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ViolentMedic
- Posts: 813
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
"Fuck off, that was exactly what you said! 'Try to outlast the other persons, until we're the only ones left?' Ring a fucking bell?!"
Clarice managed to get on her feet as Harold was talking. Harold was saying calm words. Calm, reasonable words. He wasn't lashing out like she was. For a few moments, she'd thought... she'd thought it would be fine. Yeah, she was angry—because seriously, what the fuck? But she'd thought... she'd thought...
Didn't matter what she'd thought, because it was wrong.
She'd run forward too late to stop Conrad. Just soon enough to grab Harold before he fell over.
Harold was a huge guy, even compared to her, and she would have struggled supporting him even under normal circumstances. It felt like she was tearing her shoulder open further as she tried. She gritted her teeth to stop herself from screaming, sweat pouring down her face.
She just managed to guide Harold to the padded wall, so he had something to lean against. He was leaking blood. Far worse than her shoulder, far worse than anything she'd seen, even been able to properly imagine. Fear swept through her. No, worse than fear, pure dread at what that meant.
Clarice turned back to Conrad. She shifted over, still bracing Harold with her good arm. Moving so that she was between Harold and Conrad. Like she should have done to start with.
"Back away, Conrad. Back the fuck away!" she snarled.
Clarice managed to get on her feet as Harold was talking. Harold was saying calm words. Calm, reasonable words. He wasn't lashing out like she was. For a few moments, she'd thought... she'd thought it would be fine. Yeah, she was angry—because seriously, what the fuck? But she'd thought... she'd thought...
Didn't matter what she'd thought, because it was wrong.
She'd run forward too late to stop Conrad. Just soon enough to grab Harold before he fell over.
Harold was a huge guy, even compared to her, and she would have struggled supporting him even under normal circumstances. It felt like she was tearing her shoulder open further as she tried. She gritted her teeth to stop herself from screaming, sweat pouring down her face.
She just managed to guide Harold to the padded wall, so he had something to lean against. He was leaking blood. Far worse than her shoulder, far worse than anything she'd seen, even been able to properly imagine. Fear swept through her. No, worse than fear, pure dread at what that meant.
Clarice turned back to Conrad. She shifted over, still bracing Harold with her good arm. Moving so that she was between Harold and Conrad. Like she should have done to start with.
"Back away, Conrad. Back the fuck away!" she snarled.